"Mrs. Packard is alienated from her kindred, and even her own father and
husband."
I will confess I am alienated from _such_ manifestations of love as they
showed me while in the Asylum; that is, from none at all. Not one, except
my adopted sister, and my two sons at Chicago, ever made an attempt to
visit me, or even wrote me scarcely one line. I do say, this was rather
cold sympathy for one passing through such scenes as I was called to pass
through. This fact was not only an enigma to myself, but it was so to all
my Asylum friends, and even to the Doctor himself, if I can believe his
own words. He would often say to me, "Mrs. Packard, who are your friends?
have you any in the wide world? If so, why do they not look after you?"
I used at first to say, I have many friends, and no enemies, except Mr.
Packard, that I know of in the whole world. All my relatives love me
tenderly. But after watching in vain for three years of prison life for
them to show me some proof of it, I changed my song, and owned up, I had
no friends worth the name; for my adversity had tried or tested their
love, and it had all been found wanting--entirely wanting. So it looked to
me from _that_ stand point. And I still insist upon it, this was a sane
conclusion. For what is that love worth, that can't defend its friend in
adversity? I say it is not worth the name of love.
But it must be remembered, I saw then only one side of the picture. The
other side I could not see until I saw my friends, and looked from _their_
standpoint. Then I found that the many letters I had written had never
reached them; for Mr. Packard had instructed Dr. McFarland, and had
insisted upon it, that not a single letter should be sent to any of my
friends, not even my father, or sons, without reading it himself, and then
sending it to him to read, before sending it; and so he must do with all
the letters sent to me; and the result was, scarcely none were delivered
to me, nor were mine sent to my friends. But instead of this, a brisk
correspondence was kept up between Dr. McFarland and Mr. Packard, who both
agreed in representing me as very insane; so much so, that my good
demanded that I be kept entirely aloof from their sympathy. I have seen
and read these letters, and now, instead of blaming my friends for
regarding me as insane, I don't see how they could have come to any other
conclusion. From _their_ standpoint, they acted judiciously, and kindly.
They were anxious to aid the afflicted minister to the extent they could,
in restoring reason to his poor afflicted, maniac wife, and they thought
the Superintendent understood his business, and with him, and her kind
husband to superintend, they considered I must be well cared for.
And again, how could they imagine, that a man would wish to have the
reputation of having an insane wife, when he had not? And could the good
and kind Mr. Packard neglect even his poor afflicted wife? No, she must be
in good hands, under the best of care, and it is her husband on whom we
must lavish our warmest, tenderest, sympathies! Yes, so it was; Mr.
Packard managed so as to get all the sympathy, and his wife none at all.
He got all the money, and she not a cent. He got abundant tokens of
regard, and she none at all. In short, he had buried me in a living tomb,
with his own hands, and he meant there should be no resurrection. And the
statement that I was alienated from my friends when I was entered, is
utterly _false_. No one ever loved their kindred or friends with a warmer
or a purer love than I ever loved mine.
Neither was I alienated even from Mr. Packard, when he entered me. As
proof of this, I will describe my feelings as indicated by my conduct, at
the time he forced me from my dear ones at home. After the physicians had
examined me as described in my Introduction, and Mr. Packard had ordered
me to dress for a ride to the Asylum, I asked the privilege of having my
room vacated, so that I might bathe myself, as usual, before dressing;
intending myself to then secure about my person, _secretly_, my
Bible-class documents, as all that I had said in defence of my opinions
was in writing, never having trusted myself to an extemporaneous
discussion of my new ideas, lest I be misrepresented. And I then felt that
these documents, alone, were my only _defence_, being denied all and every
form of justice, by any trial. I therefore resorted to this innocent
stratagem, as it seemed to me, to secure them; that is, I did not tell Mr.
Packard that I had any other reason for being left alone in my room than
the one I gave him.
But he refused me this request, giving as his only reason, that he did not
think it best to leave me alone. He doubtless had the same documents in
view, intending thus to keep me from getting them, for he ordered Miss
Rumsey to be my lady's maid, as a spy upon my actions. I dared not attempt
to get them with her eye upon me, lest she take them from me, or report me
to Mr. Packard, as directed by him so to do, as I believed. I resolved
upon one more stratagem as my last and only hope, and this was, to ask to
be left alone long enough to pray in my own room once more, before being
forced from it into my prison. When, therefore, I was all dressed, ready
to be kidnapped, I asked to see my dear little ones, to bestow upon them
my parting kiss. But was denied this favor also!
"Then," said I, "can I bear such trials as these without God's help? And
is not this help given us in answer to our own prayers? May I not be
allowed, husband, to ask this favor of God _alone_ in my room, before
being thus exiled from it?"
"No," said he, "I don't think it is best to let you be alone in your
room."
"O, husband," said I, "you have allowed me no chance for my secret
devotions this morning, can't I be allowed this one last request?"
"No; I think it is not best; but you may pray with your door open."
I then kneeled down in my room, with my bonnet and shawl on, and in the
presence and hearing of the sheriff, and the conspiracy I offered up my
petition, in an audible voice, wherein I laid my burdens frankly, fully,
before my sympathizing Saviour, as I would have done in secret. And this
Miss Rumsey reports, that the burden of this prayer was for _Mr. Packard's
forgiveness_. She says, I first told God what a great crime Mr. Packard
was committing in treating his wife as he was doing, and what great guilt
he was thus treasuring up to himself, by this cruel and unjust treatment
of the woman he had sworn before God to protect; and what an awful doom he
must surely meet with, under the government of a just God, for these his
great sins against me, and so forth; and then added, that if it was
possible for God to allow me to bear his punishment _for him_, that he
would allow me so to do, if in that way, his soul might be redeemed from
the curse which must now rest upon it. In short, the burden of my prayer
was, that I might be his redeemer, if my sufferings could in any possible
way atone for his sins. Such a petition was, of course looked upon by this
conspiracy, as evidence of my insanity, and has been used by them, as
such. But I cannot but feel that in God's sight, it was regarded as an
echo of Christ's dying prayer for his murderers, prompted by the same
spirit of gospel forgiveness of enemies. In fact, if I know anything of my
own heart, I do know that it then cherished not a single feeling of
resentment towards him. But my soul was burdened by a sense of his great
guilt, and only desired his pardon and forgiveness.
As another proof of this assertion, I will describe our parting interview
at the Asylum. He had stayed two nights at the Asylum, occupying the
stately guest chamber and bed alone, while I was being locked up in my
narrow cell, on my narrow single bed, with the howling maniacs around for
my serenaders. He sat at the sumptuous table of the Superintendent,
sharing in all its costly viands and dainties, and entertained by its
refined guests, for his company and companions. While I, his companion,
ever accustomed to the most polished and best society, was sitting at our
long table, furnished with nothing but bread and meat; and my companions,
some of them, gibbering maniacs, whose presence and society must be
purchased only at the risk of life or physical injury. He could walk about
the city at his pleasure, or be escorted in the sumptuous carriage, while
I could only circumambulate the Asylum yard, under the vigilant eye of my
keeper. O, it did seem, these two days and nights, as though my
affectionate heart would break with my over much sorrow. No sweet darling
babe to hug to my heart's embrace--no child arms to encircle my neck and
bestow on my cheek its hearty "good night" kiss. No--nothing, nothing, in
my surroundings, to cheer and soothe my tempest tossed soul.
In this sorrowful state of mind Mr. Packard found me in my cell, and asked
me if I should not like an interview with him, in the parlor, as he was
about to leave me soon.
"Yes," said I, "I should be very glad of one," and taking his arm, I
walked out of the hall. As I passed on, one of the attendants remarked:
"See, she is not alienated from her husband, see how kindly she takes his
arm!" When we reached the parlor, I seated myself by his side, on the
sofa, and gave full vent to my long pent up emotions and feelings.
"O, husband!" said I, "how can you leave me in such a place? It seems as
though I cannot bear it. And my darling babe! O, what will become of him!
How can he live without his mother! And how can I live without my babe,
and my children! O, do, do, I beg of you, take me home. You know I have
_always_ been a true and loving wife to you, and how can you treat me so?"
My entreaties and prayers were accompanied with my tears, which is a very
uncommon manifestation with me; and while I talked, I arose from my seat
and walked the room, with my handkerchief to my eyes; for it seemed as if
my heart would break. Getting no response whatever from him, I took down
my hand to see why he did not speak to me when--what did I see! my husband
sound asleep, nodding his head!
"O, husband!" said I, "can you sleep while your wife is in such agony?"