A LADY WHO DID NOT KNOW THAT SHE WAS A LADY.
"Ellen! Ellen! Oh, Ellen! Ellen Sanders!" Ellen Sanders, a belle in
Negro society, had just sat down to partake of a 10:30 A. M. breakfast
when she heard this call. She arose hastily and rushed to the diningroom
door that opened into the yard, and saw Margaret Marston, another Negro
society belle, leaning over the fence that separated her home from that
of Ellen. Margaret was holding a newspaper in one hand, one arm being
thrown over the paling to hold her up, as she was standing with her feet
upon the lower railing to which the palings were nailed. The look of her
eye, the appearance of her face, the shaking newspaper, and her almost
hysterical shrieks for Ellen, all betokened a high degree of excitement.
"Pray, Margaret! what on earth can be the matter? Why, you frightened me
nearly to death, girl. What on earth is it?"
"Ellen, do just come here. There is something in this paper that is just
too awful for anything."
"Let me see it," said Ellen, running to where Margaret stood. "Is
somebody dead?" she asked in anxious tones.
"Worse than that," said Margaret.
"I don't see anything, Margaret," said Ellen, scanning the paper with
the haste born of eagerness and excitement.
"Look up there at the top of the column headed, 'Situations wanted,' at
the very first advertisement. Oh Ellen, it is just dreadful," said
Margaret, as though her heart was about to break.
Ellen read the piece pointed out to her. The paper fell from her hand,
and without saying a word, she staggered backwards until she reached the
porch to the dining room from which she had come. She dropped down upon
the floor of the porch in a sitting posture, as though what she had read
had robbed her of all strength, and had shattered her nervous system.
Finally, drawing a long breath, she said:
"Well, well, well, did you ever! But I always did tell you that Erma
Wysong would come to some bad end. And just think! you used to like her
so well, too."
"Yes, I did, Ellen. But I am done now. Just think! she was the head of
our class when we were graduated at the High School, and thus she brings
disgrace upon our entire class. Ah, me! It is just too dreadful to think
about. It has actually made me sick. I really fear that I shall have to
go to bed from the shock," remarked Margaret.
"I don't feel like eating another mouthful of breakfast," said Ellen.
"But it may be that it is not our Erma," she continued.
"Yes, but it is! Don't you see that the advertisement refers you to her
street, number and all," replied Margaret.
"Well, all that I can say is, she is disgraced forever; and as for my
part, I don't purpose to ever speak to her again!"
"Speak to her! Of course not! If we recognize her, that will make us as
bad as she is--'_particeps criminis_', the Latins would say. I just wish
I could see her so that I could pass her and turn away my head without
speaking. I could go five miles out of my way, just to catch her eye and
then look away from her in disdain," said Margaret.
"Have you told your mamma?" queried Ellen.
"No," said Margaret. "Give me the paper. I had forgotten that."
Ellen arose, walked to the paper, picked it up from the ground and
handed it over the fence. Margaret took it and hurried around the house
to the place where her mother was. As fast as she goes, let us precede
her there, and find out what we can of Mrs. Marston. It is now about
eleven o'clock in the day, and Mrs. Mollie Marston, Margaret's mother,
is standing before a washtub, with huge piles of dirty clothes all about
her. A piece of white cloth is tied about her head; her sleeves are
pushed beyond her elbows, and she is wearily rubbing away at the
clothes, a settled look of pain being upon her fast wrinkling face. She
is now fifty-five years of age, and her whole life--both the part that
lies in the time of slavery and the part that has come afterwards--her
whole life has been one long day of toil, with no prospect of a sunset
and an hour of rest before the coming of the eternal sleep. By "taking
in washing" from wealthy white people, she had aided her husband in his
attempts to own a little home. When Margaret was old enough to go to
school, she had sent her, and had managed to keep her there, well clad
and supplied with books, only by the hardest sort of toil. Before day
dawned on a Monday morning, and while night yet frowned his blackest on
Saturday night, she was found either at the washtub or ironing board,
striving to make her "pints meet." She had denied herself all
ornamentation and pleasures of whatever sort involving the expenditure
of money. The barest necessities of life were all that she allowed
herself. Thus we find her at work when Margaret rushes around and says,
"Mamma, mamma, let me read something to you in the morning paper." Mrs.
Marston straightened up as though the effort gave her pain; she had been
bending over the tub in one position so long. With a smile of admiration
on her face, she turned toward Margaret and prepared to listen.
Margaret, knowing her mother's pride in her accomplishments, cleared her
throat in order to read in her most pleasing and effective voice the
statement that had so horrified her and her classmate:
"SITUATIONS WANTED--FEMALE HELP.
"A young Negro woman, Erma Wysong, desires a position as cook,
washerwoman, nurse or housemaid in a white family. The best of
references. Address 202 Sylvanus Street."
"Now, mamma, did you ever think THAT of Erma Wysong? After her poor
mamma and papa, both of whom are now dead, worked so hard to educate
her, she is going to throw that education away in the washtub, in the
kitchen, or rolling some white woman's baby about. If her dead mother
only knew how Erma was about to disgrace her education, she could not
rest easy in her grave. Of course there is no other kind of work open
for her to do just now, but if she had only held herself up for two or
three years, she might have gotten a school to teach when some of the
other teachers died or got married. But as it is, she has just gone and
ruined herself forever. Well, mamma, I promise you faithfully that while
you are alive, and after you are dead, I'll starve before I bring
disgrace upon the education which you and papa have worked so hard to
give me. I'll never throw my education away by bending over a washtub or
by moving about in a white man's kitchen. No, indeed! Depend upon that,
mamma, you dear, kind mamma," said Margaret, with many an emphatic toss
of her head. She gave her mamma a resounding kiss, and leaving the much
overburdened woman in the midst of huge piles of clothes, she went to
renew her gossip with Ellen.
"What does your mamma think of it, Margaret," asked Ellen.
"Oh, mamma was just so struck that she could not say a word. It is just
dreadful. Why, it will have a tendency to stop parents from educating
their children, if they are to act like that," remarked Margaret.
"Yes," joined in Ellen, "and it might make some of our weak-minded
parents think that we educated girls ought to cook and wash clothes and
scrub floors at home."
"That would be too horrid. Why, we would then be no higher in life than
our slave time mothers who did such work. White girls occupying the
social station in their race that we do in our race would suffer
themselves to be carried out of their homes dead before they would
perform such menial tasks. And, Ellen, we must hold up our race just as
they do their race. Why, just think, if we educated girls go to work, it
can be truthfully said that our race has no first-class society."
"Margaret, the more I think of what Erma has done, the worse I feel. Let
us go out and tell all the other educated girls about it before any of
them chance to meet Erma and speak to her as cordially as ever. She is
the first Negro girl that has disgraced her education by offering to go
to work, and we must all pounce down upon her so fast and hard that she
will be the last; all of our set must snub her right and left. It may
bring her to her senses, too."
"That is a capital idea, Ellen! Let us get ready at once."
So saying, they went to their respective rooms, dressed themselves in
the finest articles of wear in their wardrobes, and sallied forth to
spread everywhere the news of the _disgrace_, as they termed it, of
their classmate.
As Mrs. Marston said nothing to Margaret let us not follow these girls
in their crusade, but rather let us linger to catch a glimpse of her
simple but honest mind and heart. As soon as Margaret had gone the dear
old woman, prematurely aged by excessively hard toiling, stopped work,
took up her pipe and sat down to smoke, as was her wont whenever she had
a knotty problem to solve. Erma Wysong's case was troubling her
exceedingly, for she had been a favorite girl with her. On her way from
school, Erma would always stop in to see "Dear Aunt Mollie" and have a
gay chat. Thus, she had learned to love her. As Erma grew older, her
modest, lady-like bearing the more deeply impressed Mrs. Marston, who
sought in every way to cement the tie of friendship between her daughter
and Erma, knowing that continued association with her was a decided gain
for Margaret. In all of Erma's life Mrs. Marston had never known her to
be guilty of a wrong, or indiscreet, act, and we put it mildly when we
say that she was shocked over the news just imparted to her concerning
Erma. As the advertisement was just out, she felt sure that she could
find Erma yet at home, and might after all succeed in preventing her
from taking the contemplated step, so fatal to her standing in 's'iety.'
With such thoughts coursing through her mind she took the white rag from
her head, pulled down her sleeves, put on a stiff white apron and a
broad brimmed straw hat and went forth to save Erma.
Heroic soul! Perhaps no monument will ever be reared to those noble
Negro women who, emerging from slavery, were at once enslaved again by
their children and bore their heavy burdens uncomplainingly, in a vain
attempt to build up upon their poor bruised shoulders an aristocracy
such as they had left behind, their educated children to be the
aristocrats. Their like will hardly be seen on earth again!
Mrs. Marston, on reaching Erma's home found her singing gaily and moving
about the room dusting and setting things aright. Erma received her so
joyfully that she felt a lump rise in her throat each time she attempted
to state the purpose of her visit. At length she said, "Miss Erm, whut
erbout all dis awfil news gwine 'round 'bout you?"
Erma's smile died away suddenly, her breath came quick and fast and she
began to tremble all over. She said in tones that showed great anxiety,
"I have not heard any bad news about myself, Mrs. Marston. What can it
be?"
"Thar now! I had my doubts 'bout it frum de fust. Wy de pore chile doan
no nuthin 'bout it," poured forth Mrs. Marston.
Erma felt a chill creeping over her frame, she was so full of fear as to
the nature of the charge against her. Some children that have not been
burned dread the fire. If the charge involved anything sinful she knew
beforehand that she was innocent; but it was a terror to her pure soul
to have to even contemplate the passing within the limits of the
_shadow_ of wrong. She awaited Mrs. Marston's further utterances with a
nervous twitching of her thin, beautiful lips.
"Wal, Miss Erm--I mus 'call you Miss, es you is now er young 'oman; but
I knowed you wen you wuz er tiny gal--I allus lubbed you powerfil much,
yes, powerfil much, Miss Erm. Yer mammy which is dead, wucked hard ter
git you an edification an den dide, pore soul. 'Do I ain't been tellin'
whut wuz runnin' in my min', I hez been stud'in' 'bout you fir de
longis', puzzlin' my pore noddle ter try ter help you. But I hez been
hard prest myself. You see, Miss Erm, Margie is a 'siety young 'oman
now, and hez de doctors and lieyers and skule teachers ter cum ter call
on her; and it wucks me powerfil hard ter dress her fit ter go in 'siety
and look es good es eny udder 'siety gal, white er black. Den, pianners
is all de rage now, and me and my old man has got her one ub dem. Den
she has ter go off fir vakashun ub summers lack de white 'siety belles.
All dese tings, Miss Erm, makes it powerfil hard fir me ter make buckle
and tongue meet. You see her daddy and me am bof gittin' ole and kain't
wuck lack we uster. My back is kinder stiff an' weak an' I had ter quit
washin' fir Mrs. Mayo las' week caus' I hed too much ter do fir my
present strenf. Ef it wuzn't fir all dis I wuz tinking powerfil hard ub
'doptin you fir my own gal ter hab wid me. My Margie ain't so steddy as
she mout be, and you would be sich good soshasun fir her. But more'n one
'siety gal on my hans just now 'ud be more'n I could stan' up ter.
Howsomever, I hes lubbed you jes' de same an' I is powerfil glad,
powerfil glad it ain't so whut I hearn read." Thus spoke Mrs. Marston,
about as much to herself as to Erma, her head bent forward, her eyes
cast down and her hand to her cheek, as if lost in deep meditation.
In trembling tones, Erma said, "But, Mrs. Marston, you have not told me
what was being said against me."
"Ain't I? Laws a mussy on my furgitful soul. 'Skuse me. I hes bin
stud'in' so powerfil hard. Wal, Miss Erm, dey tole me--min' you, I ain't
said _whut_ dey--dey tole me you wus gwine ter hire out ter white folks
ter scrub an' wash an' i'ne an' nuss babies an' do all sich disgracefil
tings for an edicated 'siety lady."
"Is that the crime that is alleged against me?" asked Erma, drawing a
good long breath after her prolonged suspense.
"I doan' know 'bout bein' 'leged agin' you, whutsomever dat mout be. But
dey is sayin' dat whut I hez tole you is so, and dey is sayin' it
powerfil strong. An' dat is 'zactly whut brung me here fir ter see you."
With a joyful laugh, Erma sprang over to Mrs. Marston and well nigh
smothered her with an avalanche of kisses. Sitting on one of Mrs.
Marston's knees, with an arm thrown fondly about her neck, Erma spoke as
follows:
"My dear Aunt Mollie, because our race has borrowed the white man's
language, manner of dress, religion, ideas of home, philosophy of life,
we have apparently decided that everything that the white man does is
good for us to imitate. We do not stop to think that the white race has
deep, ingrained faults as a race; and thus we proceed to imitate faults
and virtues alike, indiscriminately and instinctively. We unhesitatingly
adopt even those erroneous traits in the white man's character that have
oppressed us. Now, Aunt Mollie, one of the most baneful evils that
slavery has left us is the idea that physical labor is a badge of
disgrace, and that a condition of luxurious idleness is the most
exalted, the most honorable, the ideal existence. The Southern white
people are the parents of the idea that physical labor is disgraceful,
and, being such an imitative people, we have accepted without question,
their standard of what is honorable. Aunt Mollie, the insidious
influence of that idea is what makes the rising generation of Negro
youths so idle and so averse to physical labor. They are imitating the
wealthy young white man, who cites the fact that he does not have to
work as proof positive that he is a gentleman. The young Negro decides
that he can and must be a gentleman like the young white man. This idea
that work is disgraceful is destined to ruin thousands of Negro girls
who are going to try to play 'lady' and abstain from employment. No, no,
Aunt Mollie, labor is not in the least degree degrading, even if the
white people do seem to think so. Believe me, Aunty, there is no
disgrace connected with the doing of any work that is honest. Work,
hard, hard work, has not stained your soul, dear Aunt Mollie. You are as
much a true woman as any queen, as much a lady as that woman who has
never deigned to stoop to tie her own shoe."
Mrs. Marston shook her head as though Erma's way of looking at things
was beyond her comprehension.
But Erma continued, coming nearer home in her argument:
"If Margaret were to take her place by your side day by day and do what
you do it would not corrupt her soul any more than it has corrupted
yours. And so long as the soul is pure God loves you, and who dares
despise what God loves? God loves an honest heart, even when the frame
that contains it is bending over the washtub. It would be so grand, Aunt
Mollie, if you could get Margaret out of that false notion of life,
borrowed from white people in the South. She would be so much help to
your overburdened frame. I could scarcely repress my tears as you told
me how you, an aged, feeble woman labored so hard for that young, strong
and vigorous girl to sustain her in a false notion of life. Yes, yes,
Mrs. Marston, I am going to hire out. There is a little mortgage on our
home that must be paid. Then, too, I wish to earn money enough to enable
me to finish my education. These ends being honorable and desirable, I
am willing to perform any task that is honorable, though menial to
attain them. Now, Aunt Mollie, I have an engagement at four o'clock and
must leave you. Pray for me, for I shall be most viciously assailed by
my own people who feel that the stand they take against me has a
parallel in the white race where the common laborer is shut out from
social recognition by the well-to-do element. And you know how hard a
Negro will throw a stone at another if he feels that he has the sanction
of the white people. Nevertheless, I shall strive in my humble way to
prove that labor is not inimical to ladyhood."
"Pray for you! God bless yer pew soul! Dat I will, Erm, dat I will,"
said Aunt Mollie, brushing away with her horny hands the tears from her
eyes. She continued, "Disgrace or no disgrace, dere is powerfil few lack
you, Erm, powerfil few. Ef you eber needs a home, come to your Aunt
Mollie Marston's. Good day. So long, chile, God bless you."
Mrs. Marston walked homeward, musing over Erma's sayings. "Wal, I hez
notused dat dem northun wimmin es cums doun here doos wuck. I 'specks
dese Suverners hes got us blevin' wrong ter tink dat a washtub spiles
yer ladyship. Mebbe arter all I hez been a lady and didunt know it all
dis whiul. Been cheated outen my standing in life foolin' arter dese
Suverners! I declar' it begins ter peer ter me dat Erm is right, 'do I
'fess I didunt ketch on ter all de pints in her argifikashun. One pint
she made 'prest me powerfil much. It mout not hurt Margie so much ef she
would help her ole mammy er bit. It is gitting hard fir me ter liff and
tote dem big tubs like I hez ter do, fir dey shuah air heavy. I uster
help my mammy ter liff hern. Margie mout do a little ub de cookin' and
i'nin' and let her pore mammy rest some. I hez been wuckin' so hard all
my days and I hez nebber had no rest. But I ain't here fir much longer.
Frum de way my rheumatis feels, Jesus will be callin' me soon." Thinking
thus, she went back to her work. As she labored, the sweet face and
tender brown eyes of Erma were peeping up through the soapsuds and the
sight thereof made her happy and her task the lighter. Strange to say,
and perhaps not strange after all, her mind did not once go out to her
own daughter, who, in company with Ellen Sanders, was stirring up the
entire city against an orphan girl whose only offense was that she had
decided to obey the Bible injunction to labor six days in the week.