Eighty Years and More; Reminiscences 1815-1897
persecution and petty annoyances suffered at every turn. To be rudely
gazed at in public and private, to be the conscious subjects of
criticism, and to be followed by crowds of boys in the streets, were
all, to the very last degree, exasperating. A favorite doggerel that our
tormentors chanted, when we appeared in public places, ran thus:
"Heigh! ho! in rain and snow,
The bloomer now is all the go.
Twenty tailors take the stitches,
Twenty women wear the breeches.
Heigh! ho! in rain or snow,
The bloomer now is all the go."
The singers were generally invisible behind some fence or attic window.
Those who wore the dress can recall countless amusing and annoying
experiences. The patience of most of us was exhausted in about two
years; but our leader, Mrs. Miller, bravely adhered to the costume for
nearly seven years, under the most trying circumstances. While her
father was in Congress, she wore it at many fashionable dinners and
receptions in Washington. She was bravely sustained, however, by her
husband, Colonel Miller, who never flinched in escorting his wife and
her coadjutors, however inartistic their costumes might be. To tall,
gaunt women with large feet and to those who were short and stout, it
was equally trying. Mrs. Miller was also encouraged by the intense
feeling of her father on the question of woman's dress. To him the whole
revolution in woman's position turned on her dress. The long skirt was
the symbol of her degradation.
The names of those who wore the bloomer costume, besides those already
mentioned, were Paulina Wright Davis, Lucy Stone, Susan B. Anthony,
Sarah and Angelina Grimke, Mrs. William Burleigh, Celia Burleigh,
Charlotte Beebe Wilbour, Helen Jarvis, Lydia Jenkins, Amelia Willard,
Dr. Harriet N. Austin, and many patients in sanitariums, whose names I
cannot recall. Looking back to this experiment, I am not surprised at
the hostility of men in general to the dress, as it made it very
uncomfortable for them to go anywhere with those who wore it. People
would stare, many men and women make rude remarks, boys followed in
crowds, with jeers and laughter, so that gentlemen in attendance would
feel it their duty to show fight, unless they had sufficient
self-control to pursue the even tenor of their way, as the ladies
themselves did, without taking the slightest notice of the commotion
they created. But Colonel Miller went through the ordeal with coolness
and dogged determination, to the vexation of his acquaintances, who
thought one of his duties as a husband was to prescribe his wife's
costume.
Though we did not realize the success we hoped for by making the dress
popular, yet the effort was not lost. We were well aware that the dress
was not artistic, and though we made many changes, our own good taste
was never satisfied until we threw aside the loose trousers and adopted
buttoned leggins. After giving up the experiment, we found that the
costume in which Diana the Huntress is represented, and that worn on the
stage by Ellen Tree in the play of "Ion," would have been more artistic
and convenient. But we, who had made the experiment, were too happy to
move about unnoticed and unknown, to risk, again, the happiness of
ourselves and our friends by any further experiments. I have never
wondered since that the Chinese women allow their daughters' feet to be
encased in iron shoes, nor that the Hindoo widows walk calmly to the
funeral pyre; for great are the penalties of those who dare resist the
behests of the tyrant Custom.
Nevertheless the agitation has been kept up, in a mild form, both in
England and America. Lady Harberton, in 1885, was at the head of an
organized movement in London to introduce the bifurcated skirt; Mrs.
Jenness Miller, in this country, is making an entire revolution in every
garment that belongs to a woman's toilet; and common-sense shoemakers
have vouchsafed to us, at last, a low, square heel to our boots and a
broad sole in which the five toes can spread themselves at pleasure.
Evidently a new day of physical freedom is at last dawning for the most
cribbed and crippled of Eve's unhappy daughters.
It was while living in Seneca Falls, and at one of the most despairing
periods of my young life, that one of the best gifts of the gods came to
me in the form of a good, faithful housekeeper. She was indeed a
treasure, a friend and comforter, a second mother to my children, and
understood all life's duties and gladly bore its burdens. She could fill
any department in domestic life, and for thirty years was the joy of our
household. But for this noble, self-sacrificing woman, much of my public
work would have been quite impossible. If by word or deed I have made
the journey of life easier for any struggling soul, I must in justice
share the meed of praise accorded me with my little Quaker friend Amelia
Willard.
There are two classes of housekeepers--one that will get what they want,
if in the range of human possibilities, and then accept the inevitable
inconveniences with cheerfulness and heroism; the other, from a kind of
chronic inertia and a fear of taking responsibility, accept everything
as they find it, though with gentle, continuous complainings. The latter
are called amiable women. Such a woman was our congressman's wife in
1854, and, as I was the reservoir of all her sorrows, great and small, I
became very weary of her amiable non-resistance. Among other domestic
trials, she had a kitchen stove that smoked and leaked, which could
neither bake nor broil,--a worthless thing,--and too small for any
purpose. Consequently half their viands were spoiled in the cooking, and
the cooks left in disgust, one after another.
In telling me, one day, of these kitchen misadventures, she actually
shed tears, which so roused my sympathies that, with surprise, I
exclaimed: "Why do you not buy a new stove?" To my unassisted common
sense that seemed the most practical thing to do. "Why," she replied, "I
have never purchased a darning needle, to put the case strongly, without
consulting Mr. S., and he does not think a new stove necessary." "What,
pray," said I, "does he know about stoves, sitting in his easy-chair in
Washington? If he had a dull old knife with broken blades, he would soon
get a new one with which to sharpen his pens and pencils, and, if he
attempted to cook a meal--granting he knew how--on your old stove, he
would set it out of doors the next hour. Now my advice to you is to buy
a new one this very day!"
"Bless me!" she said, "that would make him furious; he would blow me
sky-high." "Well," I replied, "suppose he did go into a regular tantrum
and use all the most startling expletives in the vocabulary for fifteen
minutes! What is that compared with a good stove 365 days in the year?
Just put all he could say on one side, and all the advantages you would
enjoy on the other, and you must readily see that his wrath would kick
the beam." As my logic was irresistible, she said, "Well, if you will go
with me, and help select a stove, I think I will take the
responsibility."
Accordingly we went to the hardware store and selected the most
approved, largest-sized stove, with all the best cooking utensils, best
Russian pipe, etc. "Now," said she, "I am in equal need of a good stove
in my sitting room, and I would like the pipes of both stoves to lead
into dumb stoves above, and thus heat two or three rooms upstairs for my
children to play in, as they have no place except the sitting room,
where they must be always with me; but I suppose it is not best to do
too much at one time." "On the contrary," I replied, "as your husband is
wealthy, you had better get all you really need now. Mr. S. will
probably be no more surprised with two stoves than with one, and, as you
expect a hot scene over the matter, the more you get out of it the
better."
So the stoves and pipes were ordered, holes cut through the ceiling, and
all were in working order next day. The cook was delighted over her
splendid stove and shining tins, copper-bottomed tea kettle and boiler,
and warm sleeping room upstairs; the children were delighted with their
large playrooms, and madam jubilant with her added comforts and that
newborn feeling of independence one has in assuming responsibility.
She was expecting Mr. S. home in the holidays, and occasionally weakened
at the prospect of what she feared might be a disagreeable encounter. At
such times she came to consult with me, as to what she would say and do
when the crisis arrived. Having studied the _genus homo_ alike on the
divine heights of exaltation and in the valleys of humiliation, I was
able to make some valuable suggestions.
"Now," said I, "when your husband explodes, as you think he will,
neither say nor do anything; sit and gaze out of the window with that
far-away, sad look women know so well how to affect. If you can summon
tears at pleasure, a few would not be amiss; a gentle shower, not enough
to make the nose and eyes red or to detract from your beauty. Men cannot
resist beauty and tears. Never mar their effect with anything bordering
on sobs and hysteria; such violent manifestations being neither refined
nor artistic. A scene in which one person does the talking must be
limited in time. No ordinary man can keep at white heat fifteen minutes;
if his victim says nothing, he will soon exhaust himself. Remember every
time you speak in the way of defense, you give him a new text on which
to branch out again. If silence is ever golden, it is when a husband is
in a tantrum."
In due time Mr. S. arrived, laden with Christmas presents, and Charlotte
came over to tell me that she had passed through the ordeal. I will give
the scene in her own words as nearly as possible. "My husband came
yesterday, just before dinner, and, as I expected him, I had all things
in order. He seemed very happy to see me and the children, and we had a
gay time looking at our presents and chatting about Washington and all
that had happened since we parted. It made me sad, in the midst of our
happiness, to think how soon the current of his feelings would change,
and I wished in my soul that I had not bought the stoves. But, at last,
dinner was announced, and I knew that the hour had come. He ran upstairs
to give a few touches to his toilet, when lo! the shining stoves and
pipes caught his eyes. He explored the upper apartments and came down
the back stairs, glanced at the kitchen stove, then into the dining
room, and stood confounded, for a moment, before the nickel-plated
'Morning Glory.' Then he exclaimed, 'Heavens and earth! Charlotte, what
have you been doing?' I remembered what you told me and said nothing,
but looked steadily out of the window. I summoned no tears, however, for
I felt more like laughing than crying; he looked so ridiculous flying
round spasmodically, like popcorn on a hot griddle, and talking as if
making a stump speech on the corruptions of the Democrats. The first
time he paused to take breath I said, in my softest tones: 'William,
dinner is waiting; I fear the soup will be cold.' Fortunately he was
hungry, and that great central organ of life and happiness asserted its
claims on his attention, and he took his seat at the table. I broke what
might have been an awkward silence, chatting with the older children
about their school lessons. Fortunately they were late, and did not know
what had happened, so they talked to their father and gradually restored
his equilibrium. We had a very good dinner, and I have not heard a word
about the stoves since. I suppose we shall have another scene when the
bill is presented."
A few years later, Horace Greeley came to Seneca Falls to lecture on
temperance. As he stayed with us, we invited Mr. S., among others, to