Harriet Martineau
ever written. She wrote, also, and signed an "Appeal to the Women of
England" upon the subject, where her name headed the list of signers,
whilst that of Florence Nightingale came next. Two such women,
venerated not less for the intellectual capacity and practical wisdom
than for the devoted benevolence that they had shown in their long
lives, were well able to arouse and lead the moral sense of the
womanhood of England in this crisis. Other respected names were soon
added to theirs, but it would not be easy to over-estimate the value
of the self-sacrificing, brave action, at the most critical moment, of
these two great and honorable women.
Besides writing articles, and appeals, and signing documents which
were placarded as election posters in some great towns, Mrs. Martineau
helped that cause in the way told in the following letter to Mr.
Atkinson:
May 21st, 1871.
One pleasant thing has happened lately. I _longed_ for money for a
public object [repeal of the acts in question], and, unable to do
better, worked a chair, and had it beautifully made up. It was
produced at a great evening party in, London, and seized upon and
vehemently competed for, and it has actually brought fifty
guineas! In the middle of the night it occurs to me what a thing
it is to give fifty guineas--so much as I had longed for money to
give that fund. I was asked for a letter of explanation and
statement to go with the chair, and, of course, did it by that
post.
Work for this cause formed the most keen and active interest of her
latest years. In this she thought and labored constantly. She gave her
name and support to other objects, but only quietly. Amongst other
things she was a member of the Women's Suffrage Society; and she was a
subscriber to the movement for the medical education of women.
In all public affairs, indeed, her interest remained keen and unabated
to the very last, as the letters for which I am indebted to Mr.
Atkinson, and which I am to quote, will abundantly show. These letters
will indicate, too, something of the quiet course of her now uneventful
daily life. Sick and weary as she was, it will be seen that literature
and politics, the public welfare, and the concerns of her household's
inmates, still occupied her thoughts and her pen.
LETTERS TO MR. ATKINSON.
August 24, 1870.
... I am as careful as possible to prevent anyone losing sleep on
my account, and being disturbed at meals, or failing in air,
exercise and pleasure. If these regular healthy habits of my
household become difficult, we are to have a trained nurse at once.
This is settled. I am disposed to think, myself, that the last
stage will be short, probably the end sudden.
The tone of this last sentence is no affectation. "She used to talk
about her death as if it meant no more than going into the next room,"
said one who knew her in these years.
September 10, 1870.
... I am not sure whether you have read Dr. Bence Jones's _Life
and Letters of Faraday_. I have been thankful, this last week,
for the strong interest of that book, which puts Continental
affairs out of my head for hours together. The first half volume
is rather tiresome--giving us four times as much as necessary of
the uncultivated youth's early prosing on crude moralities, etc.
It is quite right to give us _some_ of this, to show from how low
a point of thought and style he rose up to his perfection of
expression as a lecturer and writer; but a quarter of the early
stuff would have been enough for that. The succeeding part, for
hundreds of pages, is the richest treat I have had for many a
day. I can only distantly and dimly follow the scientific
lectures and writings; but I understand enough of sympathy; and
the disclosures of the moral nature of the man is perfectly
exquisite. I have never known, and have scarcely dreamed of, a
spirit and temper so thoroughly uniting the best attributes of
the sage and the child.
October 18, 1870.
I had my envelope directed yesterday, but was prevented writing,
and in the evening came your welcome letter. I am glad to know
_when_ you mean to leave your quarters; and every line from
France is interesting.
I wonder whether you remember a night in London when dear Mrs.
Reid and you and I were returning in her carriage from Exeter
Hall and the _Messiah_. I was saying that that sacred drama
reminded me of Holy Philae, and the apotheosis of Osiris, and how
the one was as true as the other, with its "Peace on earth, and
good-will to men," so false a prophesy, etc., etc. Whereupon Mrs.
Reid said, plaintively (of the _Messiah_), "I believe it all at
the time," but she did not set up any pretense of the promises
having been fulfilled. It does not seem as if Christendom had got
on very much since the world said, "See how these Christians love
one another!" I seem to have got to a new state of mind about
war, or I may perhaps forget the emotions of youth; but I seem
never before to have felt the horror, disgust, shame--in short,
misery--that the spectacle of this war creates now. I am reading
less and less in the newspapers; for the truth is, I cannot
endure it. There is no good in any _hopeless_ spectacle; and for
France, I am, like, most people, utterly hopeless.... By selling
themselves for twenty years to the worst and meanest man in
Europe, the people of France have incurred destruction; and
though most of us knew this all the time, we do not suffer the
less from the spectacle now.... I suppose the French will have no
alternative but peace in a little while; but, when all that is
settled, internal strife and domestic ruin will remain ahead. The
truth is, the _morale_ of the French is corrupted to the core.
All habit of integrity and sincerity is apparently lost; and when
a people prefers deception to truth, vain-glory to honor, passion
to reason--all is over. I will leave it, for it is a terrible
subject. I must just say that I believe and know that there _are_
French citizens--a very few--who understand the case, but they
are as wretched as they necessarily must be. But "the gay,
licentious, proud," the pleasure-loving, self-seeking
aristocracy, and the brutally ignorant rural population, must
entirely paralyze the intelligent, an honest few scattered in
their midst. But I must leave all this.
The only news we have is of the royal marriage (Princess Louise)
which pleases everybody. It is a really great event--as a sign
politically, and as a fact socially and morally. After the
Queen's marriage, I wrote repeatedly on behalf of repealing the
Royal Marriage Act _then_, while there could be no invidious
appearance in it. The present chaotic condition of Protestant
princedoms in Germany may answer the purpose almost as well as a
period of abeyance. Any way, the relaxation seems a wise and
happy one.
My items of news are small in comparison, but not small to me;
especially that a happy idea struck me lately, of trying a spring
mattress as a means of obtaining sleep of some continuance. I
have ventured upon getting one; and, after four nights, there is
no doubt of my being able to sleep longer, and with more loss of
consciousness than for a very long time. Last night I once slept
three hours with only one break. Otherwise, I go on much the
same. There is one objection to these beds which healthy people
are unaware of--that so much more strength is required to move in
bed, from want of _purchase_. This is a trouble, but the
advantages far outweigh it.
Dear Jenny comes home to-morrow evening, all the better, I am
assured, for three weeks at the sea, in breeze and sun, and all
manner of beauty of land and sea (at Barmouth, and with a merry
party of young people). And here is a game basket, arrived from
parts unknown, with a fine hare, two brace of partridges, and a
pheasant. A savory welcome for Jenny! Cousin Mary has been more
good and kind than I can say. She stays for Jenny, and leaves us
on Friday. I must not begin upon Huxley, Tyndall, and Evans, whom
I have been reading. Much pleasure to you, dear friend, in your
closing weeks.
Yours ever,
H. MARTINEAU.
The sleepless nights repeatedly mentioned in these letters were a
source of great suffering to her in these latest years; under medical
advice she tried smoking as a means of procuring better rest, with
some success. She smoked usually through the chiboque which she had
brought home with her from the East, and which she had there learned
to use, as she relates with her customary simplicity and directness
in the appendix to _Eastern Life_: "I found it good for my health,"
she says there, "and I saw no more reason why I should not take it
than why English ladies should not take their glass of sherry at
home--an indulgence which I do not need. I continued the use of my
chiboque for some weeks after my return, and then only left it off
because of the inconvenience." When health and comfort were to be
promoted by it, she resumed it. Her nights were, nevertheless, very
broken, and frequent allusions occur in her letters to the suffering
of sleeplessness, with its concomitant of drowsiness in the day-time.
The next letter is on trivial topics, truly; but is none the less
valuable for the unconscious record which it affords of her domestic
character. The anxiety for her household companion's enjoyment, the
delight in the kindness that the young folk had shown to each other
and to the poor Christmas guests, the pleasure in the happiness of
other people, are all characteristic features which are of _no
trivial_ consequence.
AMBLESIDE, Jan. 2, '71.
I am so sorry for the way you are passing from the old year to
the new that I cannot help saying so. I ought to be anything but
sorry, considering what good you are doing--essential,
indispensable good; but you must be so longing for your own
quiet, warm home, and the friends around it, that I heartily wish
you were there.... As for me, my business is to promote, as far
as possible, the cheerfulness of my household. There really has
been much fun,--and yet more sober enjoyment, throughout this
particular Christmas. In my secret mind I am nervously anxious
about Jenny to whom cold is a sort of poison; but, when she had
once observed that there was much less cold here than at home, or
anywhere else that she could be, I determined to say no more, and
to make the best of it. She said it for my sake, I know (the only
reason for her ever speaking of herself), and I frankly received
it as a comfortable saying. She is getting on better than any of
us expected, and she has been thoroughly happy in exercising our
hospitalities.... Jenny's brother Frank came for three days at
Christmas; and Harriet made herself housekeeper and secretary,
and made Jenny the guest, to set her wholly at liberty for her
brother. It was quite a pretty sight--they were all so happy!
There was a kitchen party on Christmas Day; by far the best we
ever had; for Frank did the thing thoroughly--read a comic tale,
taught the folk games, played off the snapdragons, and finally
produced boxes of new and strange crackers, which spat forth the
most extraordinary presents! All the guests and the servants were
in raptures with him. The oldest widow but one vowed that "she