Eighty Years and More; Reminiscences 1815-1897
waited in silence for a long time; at length a middle-aged man, with a
broad-brimmed hat, arose and responded in a sing-song tone: "All I have
to say is, if a hen can crow, let her crow," emphasizing "crow" with an
upward inflection on several notes of the gamut. The meeting adjourned
with mingled feelings of surprise and merriment. I confess that I felt
somewhat chagrined in having what I considered my unanswerable arguments
so summarily disposed of, and the serious impression I had made on the
audience so speedily dissipated. The good man intended no disrespect, as
he told me afterward. He simply put the whole argument in a nutshell:
"Let a woman do whatever she can."
With these new duties and interests, and a broader outlook on human
life, my petty domestic annoyances gradually took a subordinate place.
Now I began to write articles for the press, letters to conventions held
in other States, and private letters to friends, to arouse them to
thought on this question.
The pastor of the Presbyterian Church, Mr. Bogue, preached several
sermons on Woman's Sphere, criticising the action of the conventions in
Seneca Falls and Rochester. Elizabeth McClintock and I took notes and
answered him in the county papers. Gradually we extended our labors and
attacked our opponents in the New York _Tribune_, whose columns were
open to us in the early days, Mr. Greeley being, at that time, one of
our most faithful champions.
In answering all the attacks, we were compelled to study canon and civil
law, constitutions, Bibles, science, philosophy, and history, sacred and
profane. Now my mind, as well as my hands, was fully occupied, and
instead of mourning, as I had done, over what I had lost in leaving
Boston, I tried in every way to make the most of life in Seneca Falls.
Seeing that elaborate refreshments prevented many social gatherings, I
often gave an evening entertainment without any. I told the young
people, whenever they wanted a little dance or a merry time, to make our
house their rallying point, and I would light up and give them a glass
of water and some cake. In that way we had many pleasant informal
gatherings. Then, in imitation of Margaret Fuller's Conversationals, we
started one which lasted several years. We selected a subject each week
on which we all read and thought; each, in turn, preparing an essay ten
minutes in length.
These were held, at different homes, Saturday of each week. On coming
together we chose a presiding officer for the evening, who called the
meeting to order, and introduced the essayist. That finished, he asked
each member, in turn, what he or she had read or thought on the subject,
and if any had criticisms to make on the essay. Everyone was expected to
contribute something. Much information was thus gained, and many spicy
discussions followed. All the ladies, as well as the gentlemen, presided
in turn, and so became familiar with parliamentary rules. The evening
ended with music, dancing, and a general chat. In this way we read and
thought over a wide range of subjects and brought together the best
minds in the community. Many young men and women who did not belong to
what was considered the first circle,--for in every little country
village there is always a small clique that constitutes the
aristocracy,--had the advantages of a social life otherwise denied them.
I think that all who took part in this Conversation Club would testify
to its many good influences.
I had three quite intimate young friends in the village who spent much
of their spare time with me, and who added much to my happiness: Frances
Hoskins, who was principal of the girls' department in the academy, with
whom I discussed politics and religion; Mary Bascom, a good talker on
the topics of the day, and Mary Crowninshield, who played well on the
piano. As I was very fond of music, Mary's coming was always hailed with
delight. Her mother, too, was a dear friend of mine, a woman of rare
intelligence, refinement, and conversational talent. She was a Schuyler,
and belonged to the Dutch aristocracy in Albany. She died suddenly,
after a short illness. I was with her in the last hours and held her
hand until the gradually fading spark of life went out. Her son is
Captain A.S. Crowninshield of our Navy.
My nearest neighbors were a very agreeable, intelligent family of sons
and daughters. But I always felt that the men of that household were
given to domineering. As the mother was very amiable and
self-sacrificing, the daughters found it difficult to rebel. One summer,
after general house-cleaning, when fresh paint and paper had made even
the kitchen look too dainty for the summer invasion of flies, the queens
of the household decided to move the sombre cook-stove into a spacious
woodhouse, where it maintained its dignity one week, in the absence of
the head of the home. The mother and daughters were delighted with the
change, and wondered why they had not made it before during the summer
months. But their pleasure was shortlived. Father and sons rose early
the first morning after his return and moved the stove back to its old
place. When the wife and daughters came down to get their breakfast (for
they did all their own work) they were filled with grief and
disappointment. The breakfast was eaten in silence, the women humbled
with a sense of their helplessness, and the men gratified with a sense
of their power. These men would probably all have said "home is woman's
sphere," though they took the liberty of regulating everything in her
sphere.
CHAPTER X.
SUSAN B. ANTHONY.
The reports of the conventions held in Seneca Falls and Rochester, N.Y.,
in 1848, attracted the attention of one destined to take a most
important part in the new movement--Susan B. Anthony, who, for her
courage and executive ability, was facetiously called by William Henry
Channing, the Napoleon of our struggle. At this time she was teaching in
the academy at Canajoharie, a little village in the beautiful valley of
the Mohawk.
"The Woman's Declaration of Independence" issued from those conventions
startled and amused her, and she laughed heartily at the novelty and
presumption of the demand. But, on returning home to spend her vacation,
she was surprised to find that her sober Quaker parents and sister,
having attended the Rochester meetings, regarded them as very profitable
and interesting, and the demands made as proper and reasonable. She was
already interested in the anti-slavery and temperance reforms, was an
active member of an organization called "The Daughters of Temperance,"
and had spoken a few times in their public meetings. But the new gospel
of "Woman's Rights," found a ready response in her mind, and, from that
time, her best efforts have been given to the enfranchisement of women.
As, from this time, my friend is closely connected with my narrative
and will frequently appear therein, a sketch of her seems appropriate.
Lord Bacon has well said: "He that hath wife and children hath given
hostages to fortune; for they are impediments to great enterprises
either of virtue or mischief. Certainly the best works, and of greatest
merit for the public, have proceeded from the unmarried or childless
men; which, both in affection and means, have married and endowed the
public."
This bit of Baconian philosophy, as alike applicable to women, was the
subject, not long since, of a conversation with a remarkably gifted
Englishwoman. She was absorbed in many public interests and had
conscientiously resolved never to marry, lest the cares necessarily
involved in matrimony should make inroads upon her time and thought, to
the detriment of the public good. "Unless," said she, "some women
dedicate themselves to the public service, society is robbed of needed
guardians for the special wants of the weak and unfortunate. There
should be, in the secular world, certain orders corresponding in a
measure to the grand sisterhoods of the Catholic Church, to the members
of which, as freely as to men, all offices, civic and ecclesiastical,
should be open." That this ideal will be realized may be inferred from
the fact that exceptional women have, in all ages, been leaders in great
projects of charity and reform, and that now many stand waiting only the
sanction of their century, ready for wide altruistic labors.
The world has ever had its vestal virgins, its holy women, mothers of
ideas rather than of men; its Marys, as well as its Marthas, who, rather
than be busy housewives, preferred to sit at the feet of divine wisdom,
and ponder the mysteries of the unknown. All hail to Maria Mitchell,
Harriet Hosmer, Charlotte Cushman, Alice and Phoebe Gary, Louisa Alcott,
Dr. Elizabeth Blackwell, Frances Willard, and Clara Barton! All honor to
the noble women who have devoted earnest lives to the intellectual and
moral needs of mankind!
Susan B. Anthony was of sturdy New England stock, and it was at the foot
of Old Greylock, South Adams, Mass., that she gave forth her first
rebellious cry. There the baby steps were taken, and at the village
school the first stitches were learned, and the A B C duly mastered.
When five winters had passed over Susan's head, there came a time of
great domestic commotion, and, in her small way, the child seized the
idea that permanence is not the rule of life. The family moved to
Battenville, N.Y., where Mr. Anthony became one of the wealthiest men in
Washington County. Susan can still recall the stately coldness of the
great house--how large the bare rooms, with their yellow-painted floors,
seemed, in contrast with her own diminutiveness, and the outlook of the
schoolroom where for so many years, with her brothers and sisters, she
pursued her studies under private tutors.
Mr. Anthony was a stern Hicksite Quaker. In Susan's early life he
objected on principle to all forms of frivolous amusement, such as
music, dancing, or novel reading, while games and even pictures were
regarded as meaningless luxuries. Such puritanical convictions might
have easily degenerated into mere cant; but underlying all was a broad
and firm basis of wholesome respect for individual freedom and a brave
adherence to truth. He was a man of good business capacity, and a
thorough manager of his wide and lucrative interests. He saw that
compensation and not chance ruled in the commercial world, and he
believed in the same just, though often severe, law in the sphere of
morals. Such a man was not apt to walk humbly in the path mapped out by
his religious sect. He early offended by choosing a Baptist for a wife.
For this first offense he was "disowned," and, according to Quaker
usage, could only be received into fellowship again by declaring himself
"sorry" for his crime in full meeting. He was full of devout
thankfulness for the good woman by his side, and destined to be thankful
to the very end for this companion, so calm, so just, so far-seeing. He
rose in meeting, and said he was "sorry" that the rules of the society
were such that, in marrying the woman he loved, he had committed
offense! He admitted that he was "sorry" for something, so was taken
back into the body of the faithful! But his faith had begun to weaken in
many minor points of discipline. His coat soon became a cause of offense
and called forth another reproof from those buttoned up in conforming
garments. The petty forms of Quakerism began to lose their weight with
him altogether, and he was finally disowned for allowing the village
youth to be taught dancing in an upper room of his dwelling. He was
applied to for this favor on the ground that young men were under great
temptation to drink if the lessons were given in the hotel; and, being a