WOMAN.

It was on "Woman in the Nineteenth Century" that Margaret was now

testing her power as a writer. 'I have finished the pamphlet,' she

writes, 'though the last day it kept spinning out beneath my hand.

After taking a long walk, early one most exhilarating morning, I sat

down to work, and did not give it the last stroke till near nine in

the evening. Then I felt a delightful glow, as if I had put a good

deal of my true life in it, and as if, should I go away now, the

measure of my foot-print would be left on the earth.'

A few extracts from her manuscripts upon this subject may be of

interest, as indicating the spirit and aim with which she wrote:--

'To those of us who hate emphasis and exaggeration, who

believe that whatever is good of its kind is good, who shrink

from love of excitement and love of sway, who, while ready for

duties of many kinds, dislike pledges and bonds to any,--this

talk about "Woman's Sphere," "Woman's Mission," and all such

phrases as mark the present consciousness of an impending

transition from old conventions to greater freedom, are most

repulsive. And it demands some valor to lift one's head amidst

the shower of public squibs, private sneers, anger, scorn,

derision, called out by the demand that women should be put on

a par with their brethren, legally and politically; that they

should hold property not by permission but by right, and that

they should take an active part in all great movements. But

though, with Mignon, we are prompted to characterize heaven as

the place where

"Sie fragen nicht nach Mann nie Weib,"

yet it is plain that we must face this agitation; and beyond

the dull clouds overhead hangs in the horizon Venus, as

morning-star, no less fair, though of more melting beauty,

than the glorious Jupiter, who shares with her the watch.

* * * * *

'The full, free expression of feeling must be rare, for this

book of Bettina Brentano's to produce such an effect. Men who

have lived in the society of women all their days, seem never

before to have dreamed of their nature; they are filled with

wonderment and delight at these revelations, and because

they see the woman, fancy her a genius. But in truth her

inspiration is nowise extraordinary; and I have letters from

various friends, lying unnoticed in my portfolio, which are

quite as beautiful. For one, I think that these veins of gold

should pass in secret through the earth, inaccessible to all

who will not take the trouble to mine for them. I do not like

Bettina for publishing her heart, and am ready to repeat to

her Serlo's reproof to Aurelia.'

* * * * *

'How terrible must be the tragedy of a woman who awakes to

find that she has given herself wholly to a person for whom

she is not eternally fitted! I cannot look on marriage as on

the other experiments of life: it is the one grand type that

should be kept forever sacred. There are two kinds of love

experienced by high and rich souls. The first seeks, according

to Plato's myth, another half, as being not entire in itself,

but needing a kindred nature to unlock its secret chambers

of emotion, and to act with quickening influence on all its

powers, by full harmony of senses, affections, intellect,

will; the second is purely ideal, beholding in its object

divine perfection, and delighting in it only in degree as

it symbolizes the essential good. But why is not this love

steadily directed to the Central Spirit, since in no form,

however suggestive in beauty, can God be fully revealed?

Love's delusion is owing to one of man's most godlike

qualities,--the earnestness with which he would concentrate

his whole being, and thus experience the Now of the I Am.

Yet the noblest are not long deluded; they love really the

Infinite Beauty, though they may still keep before them a

human form, as the Isis, who promises hereafter a seat at the

golden tables. How high is Michel Angelo's love, for instance,

compared with Petrarch's! Petrarch longs, languishes; and

it is only after the death of Laura that his muse puts on

celestial plumage. But Michel always soars; his love is a

stairway to the heavens.

* * * * *

'Might not we women do something in regard to this Texas

Annexation project? I have never felt that I had any call to

take part in public affairs before; but this is a great

moral question, and we have an obvious right to express our

convictions. I should like to convene meetings of the women

everywhere, and take our stand.

* * * * *

'Had Christendom but been true to its standard, while

accommodating its modes of operation to the calls of

successive times, woman would now have not only equal _power_

with man,--for of that omnipotent nature will never permit

her to be defrauded,--but a _chartered_ power, too fully

recognized to be abused. Indeed, all that is wanting is, that

man should prove his own freedom by making her free. Let

him abandon conventional restriction, as a vestige of that

Oriental barbarity which confined woman to a seraglio. Let

him trust her entirely, and give her every privilege already

acquired for himself,--elective franchise, tenure of property,

liberty to speak in public assemblies, &c.

'Nature has pointed out her ordinary sphere by the

circumstances of her physical existence. She cannot wander

far. If here and there the gods send their missives through

women, as through men, let them speak without remonstrance.

In no age have men been able wholly to hinder them. A Deborah

must always be a spiritual mother in Israel; a Corinna may

be excluded from the Olympic games, yet all men will hear her

song, and a Pindar sit at her feet. It is man's fault that

there ever were Aspasias and Ninons. These exquisite forms

were intended for the shrines of virtue.

'Neither need men fear to lose their domestic deities. Woman

is born for love, and it is impossible to turn her from

seeking it. Men should deserve her love as an inheritance,

rather than seize and guard it like a prey. Were they noble,

they would strive rather not to be loved too much, and to turn

her from idolatry to the true, the only Love. Then, children

of one Father, they could not err, nor misconceive one

another.

'Society is now so complex, that it is no longer possible to

educate woman merely as woman; the tasks which come to her

hand are so various, and so large a proportion of women are

thrown entirely upon their own resources. I admit that this

is not their state of perfect development; but it seems as

if heaven, having so long issued its edict in poetry and

religion, without securing intelligent obedience, now

commanded the world in prose, to take a high and rational

view. The lesson reads to me thus:--

'Sex, like rank, wealth, beauty, or talent, is but an accident

of birth. As you would not educate a soul to be an aristocrat,

so do not to be a woman. A general regard to her usual sphere

is dictated in the economy of nature. You need never enforce

these provisions rigorously. Achilles had long plied the

distaff as a princess, yet, at first sight of a sword, he

seized it. So with woman, one hour of love would teach her

more of her proper relations, than all your formulas and

conventions. Express your views, men, of what you _seek_ in

woman: thus best do you give them laws. Learn, women, what you

should _demand_ of men: thus only can they become themselves.

Turn both from the contemplation of what is merely phenomenal

in your existence, to your permanent life as souls. Man, do

not prescribe how the Divine shall display itself in woman.

Woman, do not expect to see all of God in man. Fellow-pilgrims

and helpmeets are ye, Apollo and Diana, twins of one heavenly

birth, both beneficent, and both armed. Man, fear not to yield

to woman's hand both the quiver and the lyre; for if her urn

be filled with light, she will use both to the glory of

God. There is but one doctrine for ye both, and that is the

doctrine of the SOUL.

Thus, in communion with the serene loveliness of mother-earth, and

inspired with memories of Isis and Ceres, of Minerva and Freia, and

all the commanding forms beneath which earlier ages symbolized their

sense of the Divine Spirit in woman, Margaret cherished visions of the

future, and responded with full heart to the poet's prophecy:--

"Then comes the statelier Eden back to men;

Then reign the world's great bridals, chaste and calm;

Then springs the crowning race of human-kind."

It was but after the usual order of our discordant life,--where

Purgatory lies so nigh to Paradise,--that she should thence be

summoned to pass a Sunday with the prisoners at Sing-Sing. This was

the period when, in fulfilment of the sagacious and humane counsels of

Judge Edmonds, a system of kind discipline, combined with education,

was in practice at that penitentiary, and when the female department

was under the matronly charge of Mrs. E.W. Farnum, aided by Mrs.

Johnson, Miss Bruce, and other ladies, who all united sisterly

sympathy with energetic firmness. Margaret thus describes her

impressions:--

'We arrived on Saturday evening, in such resplendent

moonlight, that we might have mistaken the prison for a

palace, had we not known but too well what those massive walls

contained.

'Sunday morning we attended service in the chapel of the male

convicts. They listened with earnest attention, and many were

moved to tears. I never felt such sympathy with an audience

as when, at the words "Men and brethren," that sea of faces,

marked with the scars of every ill, were upturned, and the

shell of brutality burst apart at the touch of love. I

knew that at least heavenly truth would not be kept out by

self-complacence and dependence on good appearances.

'After twelve at noon, all are confined in their cells, that

the keepers may have rest from their weekly fatigue. But I was

allowed to have some of the women out to talk with, and the

interview was very pleasant. They showed the natural aptitude

of the sex for refinement. These women were among the

so-called worst, and all from the lowest haunts of vice. Yet

nothing could have been more decorous than their conduct,

while it was also frank; and they showed a sensibility

and sense of propriety, which would not have disgraced any

society. All passed, indeed, much as in one of my Boston

classes. I told them I was writing about Woman; and, as my

path had been a favored one, I wanted to gain information from

those who had been tempted and afflicted. They seemed to

reply in the same spirit in which I asked. Several, however,

expressed a wish to see me alone, as they could then say

_all_, which they could not bear to before one another. I

shall go there again, and take time for this. It is very

gratifying to see the influence these few months of gentle and

intelligent treatment have had upon these women; indeed, it is

wonderful.'

So much were her sympathies awakened by this visit, that she rejoiced

in the opportunity, soon after offered, of passing Christmas with

these outcasts, and gladly consented to address the women in their

chapel. "There was," says one present, "a most touching tenderness,

blended with dignity, in her air and tone, as, seated in the desk, she

looked round upon her fallen sisters, and begun: 'To me the pleasant

office has been given, of 'wishing you a happy Christmas.' A

simultaneous movement of obeisance rippled over the audience, with

a murmured 'Thank you;' and a smile was spread upon those sad

countenances, like sunrise sparkling on a pool." A few words from this

discourse,--which was extemporaneous, but of which she afterward made

an imperfect record,--will show the temper in which she spoke:--

'I have passed other Christmas days happily, but never felt

as now, how fitting it is that this festival should come among

the snows and chills of winter; for, to many of you, I

trust, it is the birth-day of a higher life, when the sun of

good-will is beginning to return, and the evergreen of hope

gives promise of the eternal year. * * *

'Some months ago, we were told of the riot, the license, and

defying spirit which made this place so wretched, and the

conduct of some now here was such that the world said:--"Women

once lost are far worse than abandoned men, and cannot be

restored." But, no! It is not so! I know my sex better. It is

because women have so much feeling, and such a rooted respect

for purity, that they seem so shameless and insolent, when

they feel that they have erred and that others think ill of

them. They know that even the worst of men would like to see

women pure as angels, and when they meet man's look of scorn,

the desperate passion that rises is a perverted pride, which

might have been their guardian angel. Might have been! Rather

let me say, which may be; for the great improvement so rapidly

wrought here gives us all warm hopes. * * *

'Be not in haste to leave these walls. Yesterday, one of you,

who was praised, replied, that "if she did well she hoped that

efforts would be made to have her pardoned." I can feel the

monotony and dreariness of your confinement, but I entreat

you to believe that for many of you it would be the greatest

misfortune to be taken from here too soon. You know, better

than I can, the temptations that await you in the world; and

you must now perceive how dark is the gulf of sin and sorrow,

towards which they would hurry you. Here, you have friends

indeed; friends to your better selves; able and ready to

help you. Born of unfortunate marriages, inheriting dangerous

inclinations, neglected in childhood, with bad habits and bad

associates, as certainly must be the case with some of you,

how terrible will be the struggle when you leave this shelter!

O, be sure that you are fitted to triumph over evil, before

you again expose yourselves to it! And, instead of wasting

your time and strength in vain wishes, use this opportunity to

prepare yourselves for a better course of life, when you are

set free. * * *

'When I was here before, I was grieved by hearing several of

you say, "I will tell you what you wish to know, if I can be

alone with you; but not before the other prisoners; for, if

they know my past faults, they will taunt me with them." O,

never do that! To taunt the fallen is the part of a fiend. And

you! you were meant by Heaven to become angels of sympathy and

love. It says in the Scripture: "Their angels do always behold

in heaven the face of my Father." So was it with you in your

childhood; so is it now. Your angels stand forever there to

intercede for you; and to you they call to be gentle and good.

Nothing can so grieve and discourage those heavenly friends as

when you mock the suffering. It was one of the highest praises

of Jesus, "The bruised reed he will not break." Remember that,

and never insult, where you cannot aid, a companion. * * *

'Let me warn you earnestly against acting insincerely, and

appearing to wish to do right for the sake of approbation

I know you must prize the good opinion of your friendly

protectors; but do not buy it at the cost of truth. Try to be,

not to seem. Only so far as you earnestly wish to do right for

the sake of right, can you gain a principle that will sustain

you hereafter; and that is what we wish, not fair appearances

now. A career can never be happy that begins with falsehood.

Be inwardly, outwardly true; then you will never be weakened

or hardened by the consciousness of playing a part; and if,

hereafter, the unfeeling or thoughtless give you pain, or

take the dreadful risk of pushing back a soul emerging

from darkness, you will feel the strong support of a good

conscience. * * *

'And never be discouraged; never despond; never say, "It is

too late." Fear not, even if you relapse again and again. Many

of you have much to contend with. Some may be so faulty, by

temperament or habit, that they can never on this earth lead a

wholly fair and harmonious life, however much they strive.

Yet do what you can. If in one act,--for one day,--you can do

right, let that live like a point of light in your memory; for

if you have done well once you can again. If you fall, do

not lie grovelling; but rise upon your feet once more, and

struggle bravely on. And if aroused conscience makes you

suffer keenly, have patience to bear it. God will not let you

suffer more than you need to fit you for his grace. At the

very moment of your utmost pain, persist to seek his aid, and

it will be given abundantly. Cultivate this spirit of prayer.

I do not mean agitation and excitement, but a deep desire for

truth, purity, and goodness, and you will daily learn how near

He is to every one of 'us.''

These fragments, from a hasty report transcribed when the impressions

of the hour had grown faint, give but a shadow of the broad good

sense, hearty fellow-feeling, and pathetic hopefulness, which made so

effective her truly womanly appeal.

This intercourse with the most unfortunate of her sex, and a desire

to learn more of the causes of their degradation, and of the means

of restoring them, led Margaret, immediately on reaching New York, to

visit the various benevolent institutions, and especially the prisons

on Blackwell's Island. And it was while walking among the beds of the

lazar-house,--mis-called "hospital,"--which then, to the disgrace

of the city, was the cess-pool of its social filth, that an incident

occurred, as touching as it was surprising to herself. A woman was

pointed out who bore a very bad character, as hardened, sulky, and

impenetrable. She was in bad health and rapidly failing. Margaret

requested to be left alone with her; and to her question, 'Are you

'willing to die?' the woman answered, "Yes;" adding, with her usual

bitterness, "not on religious grounds, though." 'That is well,--to

understand yourself,' was Margaret's rejoinder. She then began to

talk with her about her health, and her few comforts, until the

conversation deepened in interest. At length, as Margaret rose to

go, she said: 'Is there not anything I can do 'for you?' The woman

replied: "I should be glad if you will pray with me."

The condition of these wretched beings was brought the more home to

her heart, as the buildings were directly in sight from Mr. Greeley's

house, at Turtle Bay, where Margaret, on her arrival, went to reside.

'Seven hundred females,' she writes,

'are now confined in the Penitentiary opposite this point.

We can pass over in a boat in a few minutes. I mean to visit,

talk, and read with them. I have always felt great interest in

those women who are trampled in the mud to gratify the brute

appetites of men, and wished that I might be brought naturally

into contact with them. Now I am.'