Eighty Years and More; Reminiscences 1815-1897
"Affectionately yours,
"Elizabeth Cady Stanton."
To this Mrs. Osborne sent the following reply:
"Dear Mrs. Stanton:
"In your skit
Against your sisterhood who knit,
Or useful make their fingers,
I wonder if--deny it not--
The habit of Lucretia Mott
Within your memory lingers!
"In retrospective vision bright,
Can you recall dear Martha Wright
Without her work or knitting?
The needles flying in her hands,
On washing rags or baby's bands,
Or other work as fitting?
"I cannot think they thought the less,
Or ceased the company to bless
With conversation's riches,
Because they thus improved their time,
And never deemed it was a crime
To fill the hours with stitches.
"They even used to preach and plan
To spread the fashion, so that man
Might have this satisfaction;
Instead of idling as men do,
With nervous meddling fingers too,
Why not mate talk with action?
"But as a daughter and a niece,
I pride myself on every piece
Of handiwork created;
While reveling in social chat,
Or listening to gossip flat,
My gain is unabated.
"That German emperor you scorn,
Seems to my mind a monarch born,
Worthy to lead a column;
I'll warrant he could talk and work,
And, neither being used to shirk,
Was rarely very solemn.
"I could say more upon this head,
But must, before I go to bed.
Your idle precepts mocking,
Get out my needle and my yarn
And, caring not a single darn.
Just finish up this stocking."
CHAPTER XXVII.
SIXTIETH ANNIVERSARY OF THE CLASS OF 1832--THE WOMAN'S BIBLE.
I returned from Geneva to New York city in time to celebrate my
seventy-sixth birthday with my children. I had traveled about constantly
for the last twenty years in France, England, and my own country, and
had so many friends and correspondents, and pressing invitations to
speak in clubs and conventions, that now I decided to turn over a new
leaf and rest in an easy-chair. But so complete a change in one's life
could not be easily accomplished. In spite of my resolution to abide in
seclusion, my daughter and I were induced to join the Botta Club, which
was to meet once a month, alternately, at the residences of Mrs. Moncure
D. Conway and Mrs. Abby Sage Richardson. Though composed of ladies and
gentlemen it proved dull and unprofitable. As the subject for discussion
was not announced until each meeting, no one was prepared with any
well-digested train of thought. It was also decided to avoid all
questions about which there might be grave differences of opinion. This
negative position reminded me of a book on etiquette which I read in my
young days, in which gentlemen were warned, "In the presence of ladies
discuss neither politics, religion, nor social duties, but confine
yourself to art, poetry, and abstract questions which women cannot
understand. The less they know of a subject the more respectfully they
will listen." This club was named in honor of Mrs. Botta, formerly Miss
Anne Lynch, whose drawing room for many years was the social center of
the literati of New York.
On January 16, 1892, we held the Annual Suffrage Convention in
Washington, and, as usual, had a hearing before the Congressional
Committee. My speech on the "Solitude of Self" was well received and was
published in the Congressional Record. The _Woman's Tribune_ struck off
many hundreds of copies and it was extensively circulated.
Notwithstanding my determination to rest, I spoke to many clubs, wrote
articles for papers and magazines, and two important leaflets, one on
"Street Cleaning," another on "Opening the Chicago Exposition on
Sunday." As Sunday was the only day the masses could visit that
magnificent scene, with its great lake, extensive park, artificial
canals, and beautiful buildings, I strongly advocated its being open on
that day. One hundred thousand religious bigots petitioned Congress to
make no appropriation for this magnificent Exposition, unless the
managers pledged themselves to close the gates on Sunday, and hide this
vision of beauty from the common people. Fortunately, this time a sense
of justice outweighed religious bigotry. I sent my leaflets to every
member of Congress and of the State legislatures, and to the managers of
the Exposition, and made it a topic of conversation at every
opportunity. The park and parts of the Exposition were kept open on
Sunday, but some of the machinery was stopped as a concession to narrow
Christian sects.
In June, 1892, at the earnest solicitation of Mrs. Russell Sage, I
attended the dedication of the Gurley Memorial Building, presented to
the Emma Willard Seminary, at Troy, New York, and made the following
address:
"MRS. PRESIDENT, MEMBERS OF THE ALUMNAE:
"It is just sixty years since the class of '32, to which I
belonged, celebrated a commencement in this same room. This was the
great event of the season to many families throughout this State.
Parents came from all quarters; the _élite_ of Troy and Albany
assembled here. Principals from other schools, distinguished
legislators, and clergymen all came to hear girls scan Latin verse,
solve problems in Euclid, and read their own compositions in a
promiscuous assemblage. A long line of teachers anxiously waited
the calling of their classes, and over all, our queenly Madame
Willard presided with royal grace and dignity. Two hundred girls in
gala attire, white dresses, bright sashes, and coral ornaments,
with their curly hair, rosy cheeks, and sparkling eyes, flitted to
and fro, some rejoicing that they had passed through their ordeal,
some still on the tiptoe of expectation, some laughing, some in
tears--altogether a most beautiful and interesting picture.
"Conservatives then, as now, thought the result of the higher
education of girls would be to destroy their delicacy and
refinement. But as the graduates of the Troy Seminary were never
distinguished in after life for the lack of these feminine virtues,
the most timid, even, gradually accepted the situation and trusted
their daughters with Mrs. Willard. But that noble woman endured for
a long period the same ridicule and persecution that women now do
who take an onward step in the march of progress.
"I see around me none of the familiar faces that greeted my coming
or said farewell in parting. I do not know that one of my
classmates still lives. Friendship with those I knew and loved best
lasted but a few years, then our ways in life parted. I should not
know where to find one now, and if I did, probably our ideas would
differ on every subject, as I have wandered in latitudes beyond the
prescribed sphere of women. I suppose it is much the same with many
of you--the familiar faces are all gone, gone to the land of
shadows, and I hope of sunshine too, where we in turn will soon
follow. "And yet, though we who are left are strangers to one
another, we have the same memories of the past, of the same type of
mischievous girls and staid teachers, though with different names.
The same long, bare halls and stairs, the recitation rooms with the
same old blackboards and lumps of chalk taken for generation after
generation, I suppose, from the same pit; the dining room, with its
pillars inconveniently near some of the tables, with its thick,
white crockery and black-handled knives, and viands that never
suited us, because, forsooth, we had boxes of delicacies from home,
or we had been out to the baker's or confectioner's and bought pies
and cocoanut cakes, candy and chewing gum, all forbidden, but that
added to the relish. There, too, were the music rooms, with their
old, second-hand pianos, some with rattling keys and tinny sound,
on which we were supposed to play our scales and exercises for an
hour, though we often slyly indulged in the 'Russian March,'
'Napoleon Crossing the Rhine,' or our national airs, when, as
slyly, Mr. Powell, our music teacher, a bumptious Englishman, would
softly open the door and say in a stern voice, 'Please practice the
lesson I just gave you!'
"Our chief delight was to break the rules, but we did not like to
be caught at it. As we were forbidden to talk with our neighbors in
study hours, I frequently climbed on top of my bureau to talk
through a pipe hole with a daughter of Judge Howell of Canandaigua.
We often met afterward, laughed and talked over the old days, and
kept our friendship bright until the day of her death. Once while
rooming with Harriet Hudson, a sister of Mrs. John Willard, I was
moved to a very erratic performance. Miss Theresa Lee had rung the
bell for retiring, and had taken her rounds, as usual, to see that
the lights were out and all was still, when I peeped out of my
door, and seeing the bell at the head of the stairs nearby, I gave
it one kick and away it went rolling and ringing to the bottom. The
halls were instantly filled with teachers and scholars, all in
white robes, asking what was the matter. Harriet and I ran around
questioning the rest, and what a frolic we had, helter-skelter, up
and down stairs, in each other's rooms, pulling the beds to pieces,
changing girls' clothes from one room to another, etc., etc. The
hall lamps, dimly burning, gave us just light enough for all manner
of depredations without our being recognized, hence the unbounded
latitude we all felt for mischief. In our whole seminary
course--and I was there nearly three years--we never had such a
frolic as that night. It took all the teachers to restore order and
quiet us down again for the night. No suspicion of any
irregularities were ever attached to Harriet and myself. Our
standing for scholarship was good, hence we were supposed to
reflect all the moralities.
"Though strangers, we have a bond of union in all these memories,
of our bright companions, our good teachers, who took us through
the pitfalls of logic, rhetoric, philosophy, and the sciences, and
of the noble woman who founded the institution, and whose unselfish
devotion in the cause of education we are here to celebrate. The
name of Emma Willard is dear to all of us; to know her was to love
and venerate her. She was not only good and gifted, but she was a
beautiful woman. She had a finely developed figure, well-shaped
head, classic features, most genial manners, and a profound
self-respect (a rare quality in woman), that gave her a dignity
truly royal in every position. Traveling in the Old World she was
noticed everywhere as a distinguished personage. And all these
gifts she dedicated to the earnest purpose of her life, the higher
education of women.
"In opening this seminary she could not find young women capable of
teaching the higher branches, hence her first necessity was to
train herself. Amos B. Eaton, who was the principal of the
Rensselaer Polytechnic School for boys here in Troy, told me Mrs.
Willard studied with him every branch he was capable of teaching,
and trained a corps of teachers and regular scholars at the same
time. She took lessons of the Professor every evening when he had
leisure, and studied half the night the branches she was to teach
the next day, thus keeping ahead of her classes. Her intense