Eighty Years and More; Reminiscences 1815-1897
in destroying his self-respect, nor in hounding him out of the British
Parliament, though, after a brave and protracted resistance on his part,
they did succeed in hounding him into the grave.
It was pitiful to see the Irish themselves, misled by a hypocritical
popular sentiment in England, turn against their great leader, the only
one they had had for half a century who was able to keep the Irish
question uppermost in the House of Commons year after year. The course
of events since his death has proved the truth of what he told them, to
wit: that there was no sincerity in the interest English politicians
manifested in the question of Home Rule, and that the debates on that
point would cease as soon as it was no longer forced on their
consideration. And now when they have succeeded in killing their leader,
they begin to realize their loss. The question evolved through the
ferment of social opinions was concisely stated, thus: "Can a man be a
great leader, a statesman, a general, an admiral, a learned chief
justice, a trusted lawyer, or skillful physician, if he has ever broken
the Seventh Commandment?"
I expressed my opinion in the _Westminster Review_, at the time, in the
affirmative. Mrs. Jacob Bright, Mrs. Ellen Battelle Dietrick of Boston,
Kate Field, in her _Washington_, agreed with me. Many other women spoke
out promptly in the negative, and with a bitterness against those who
took the opposite view that was lamentable.
The Jackson case was a profitable study, as it brought out other
questions of social ethics, as well as points of law which were ably
settled by the Lord Chancellor. It seems that immediately after Mr. and
Mrs. Jackson were married, the groom was compelled to go to Australia.
After two years he returned and claimed his bride, but in the interval
she felt a growing aversion and determined not to live with him. As she
would not even see him, with the assistance of friends he kidnaped her
one day as she was coming out of church, and carried her to his home,
where he kept her under surveillance until her friends, with a writ of
_habeas corpus_, compelled him to bring her into court. The popular idea
"based on the common law of England," was, that the husband had this
absolute right. The lower court, in harmony with this idea, maintained
the husband's right, and remanded her to his keeping, but the friends
appealed to the higher court and the Lord Chancellor reversed the
decision.
With regard to the right so frequently claimed, giving husbands the
power to seize, imprison, and chastise their wives, he said: "I am of
the opinion that no such right exists in law. I am of the opinion that
no such right ever did exist in law. I say that no English subject has
the right to imprison another English subject, whether his wife or not."
Through this decision the wife walked out of the court a free woman. The
passage of the Married Women's Property Bill in England in 1882 was the
first blow at the old idea of coverture, giving to wives their rights of
property, the full benefit of which they are yet to realize when
clearer-minded men administer the laws. The decision of the Lord
Chancellor, rendered March 18, 1891, declaratory of the personal rights
of married women, is a still more important blow by just so much as the
rights of person are more sacred than the rights of property.
One hundred years ago, Lord Chief Justice Mansfield gave his famous
decision in the Somerset case, "That no slave could breathe on British
soil," and the slave walked out of court a free man. The decision of the
Lord Chancellor, in the Jackson case, is far more important, more
momentous in its consequences, as it affects not only one race but
one-half of the entire human family. From every point of view this is
the greatest legal decision of the century. Like the great Chief Justice
of the last century, the Lord Chancellor, with a clearer vision than
those about him, rises into a purer atmosphere of thought, and
vindicates the eternal principles of justice and the dignity of British
law, by declaring all statutes that make wives the bond slaves of their
husbands, obsolete.
How long will it be in our Republic before some man will arise, great
enough to so interpret our National Constitution as to declare that
women, as citizens of the United States, cannot be governed by laws in
the making of which they have no part? It is not Constitutional
amendments nor statute laws we need, but judges on the bench of our
Supreme Court, who, in deciding great questions of human rights, shall
be governed by the broad principles of justice rather than precedent.
One interesting feature in the trial of the Jackson case, was that both
Lady Coleridge and the wife of the Lord Chancellor were seated on the
bench, and evidently much pleased with the decision.
It is difficult to account for the fact that, while women of the highest
classes in England take the deepest interest in politics and court
decisions, American women of wealth and position are wholly indifferent
to all public matters. While English women take an active part in
elections, holding meetings and canvassing their districts, here, even
the wives of judges, governors, and senators speak with bated breath of
political movements, and seem to feel that a knowledge of laws and
constitutions would hopelessly unsex them.
Toward the last of April, with my little granddaughter and her nurse, I
went down to Bournemouth, one of the most charming watering places in
England. We had rooms in the Cliff House with windows opening on the
balcony, where we had a grand view of the bay and could hear the waves
dashing on the shore. While Nora, with her spade and pail, played all
day in the sands, digging trenches and filling them with water, I sat on
the balcony reading "Diana of the Crossways," and Bjornson's last novel,
"In God's Way," both deeply interesting. As all the characters in the
latter come to a sad end, I could not see the significance of the title.
If they walked in God's way their career should have been successful.
I took my first airing along the beach in an invalid chair. These bath
chairs are a great feature in all the watering places of England. They
are drawn by a man or a donkey. The first day I took a man, an old
sailor, who talked incessantly of his adventures, stopping to rest every
five minutes, dissipating all my pleasant reveries, and making an
unendurable bore of himself. The next day I told the proprietor to get
me a man who would not talk all the time. The man he supplied jogged
along in absolute silence; he would not even answer my questions.
Supposing he had his orders to keep profound silence, after one or two
attempts I said nothing. When I returned home, the proprietor asked me
how I liked this man. "Ah!" I said, "he was indeed silent and would not
even answer a question nor go anywhere I told him; still I liked him
better than the talkative man." He laughed heartily and said: "This man
is deaf and dumb. I thought I would make sure that you should not be
bored." I joined in the laugh and said: "Well, to-morrow get me a man
who can hear but cannot speak, if you can find one constructed on that
plan."
Bournemouth is noteworthy now as the burial place of Mary Wolstonecraft
and the Shelleys. I went to see the monument that had been recently
reared to their memory. On one side is the following inscription:
"William Godwin, author of 'Political Justice,' born March 3rd, 1756,
died April 7th, 1836. Mary Wolstonecraft Godwin, author of the
'Vindication of the Rights of Women,' born April 27th, 1759, died
September 10th, 1797." These remains were brought here, in 1851, from
the churchyard of St. Pancras, London. On the other side are the
following inscriptions: "Mary Wolstonecraft Godwin, daughter of William
Godwin and widow of the late Percy Bysshe Shelley, born August 30th,
1797, died February 1st, 1851. Percy Florence Shelley, son of Percy
Shelley and Mary Wolstonecraft, third baronet, born November 12th, 1819,
died December 5th, 1889. "In Christ's Church, six miles from
Bournemouth, is a bas-relief in memory of the great poet. He is
represented, dripping with seaweed, in the arms of the Angel of Death.
As I sat on my balcony hour after hour, reading and thinking of the
Shelleys, watching the changing hues of the clouds and the beautiful
bay, and listening to the sad monotone of the waves, these sweet lines
of Whittier's came to my mind:
"Its waves are kneeling on the strand,
As kneels the human knee,--
Their white locks bowing to the sand,
The priesthood of the sea!
"The blue sky is the temple's arch,
Its transept earth and air,
The music of its starry march
The chorus of a prayer."
American letters, during this sojourn abroad, told of many losses, one
after another, from our family circle; nine passed away within two
years. The last was my sister Mrs. Bayard, who died in May, 1891. She
was the oldest of our family, and had always been a second mother to her
younger sisters, and her house our second home.
The last of June my son Theodore's wife and daughter came over from
France to spend a month with us. Lisette and Nora, about the same size,
played and quarreled most amusingly together. They spent their mornings
in the kindergarten school, and the afternoons with their pony, but
rainy days I was impressed into their service to dress dolls and tell
stories. I had the satisfaction to hear them say that their dolls were
never so prettily dressed before, and that my stories were better than
any in the books. As I composed the wonderful yarns as I went along, I
used to get very tired, and sometimes, when I heard the little feet
coming, I would hide, but they would hunt until they found me. When my
youngest son was ten years old and could read for himself, I graduated
in story telling, having practiced in that line twenty-one years. I
vowed that I would expend no more breath in that direction, but the
eager face of a child asking for stories is too much for me, and my vow
has been often broken. All the time I was in England Nora claimed the
twilight hour, and, in France, Lisette was equally pertinacious. When
Victor Hugo grew tired telling his grandchildren stories, he would wind
up with the story of an old gentleman who, after a few interesting
experiences, took up his evening paper and began to read aloud. The
children would listen a few moments and then, one by one, slip out of
the room. Longfellow's old gentleman, after many exciting scenes in his
career, usually stretched himself on the lounge and feigned sleep. But
grandmothers are not allowed to shelter themselves with such devices;
they are required to spin on until the bedtime really arrives.
On July 16, one of the hottest days of the season, Mrs. Jacob Bright and
daughter, Herbert Burroughs, and Mrs. Parkhurst came down from London,
and we sat out of doors, taking our luncheon under the trees and
discussing theosophy. Later in the month Hattie and I went to Yorkshire
to visit Mr. and Mrs. Scatcherd at Morley Hall, and there spent several
days. We had a prolonged discussion on personal rights. One side was
against all governmental interference, such as compulsory education and
the protection of children against cruel parents; the other side in
favor of state interference that protected the individual in the
enjoyment of life, liberty, and happiness. I took the latter position.
Many parents are not fit to have the control of children, hence the
State should see that they are sheltered, fed, clothed, and educated. It
is far better for the State to make good citizens of its children in
the beginning, than, in the end, to be compelled to care for them as
criminals.
While in the north of England we spent a few days at Howard Castle, the