But I must not weary you with my portrait gallery, my walls

are covered with curious figures; let me sketch for you

our ‘vaccinations,’ which take place every Tuesday at one

o’clock. The numbers of the babies are distributed beforehand

amongst the _élèves_ who are to perform the operations;

thus, 25 Ste. Marie to one, 32 Ste. Marthe to another, and

so on. The _élèves_ seek their babies and bring them into

the Hall of the Nurses, a large upper room, full already of

women and babies. A space is cleared by one of the windows,

chairs placed; in the centre sits M. Blot, the director of

the operation; I occupy a chair beside him. Mademoiselle,

who superintends another division, stands beside, and then

baby after baby is subjected to the awkward manœuvres of

the _élèves_, to their utmost dissatisfaction. The babies

are very ugly in their coarse hospital swaddling clothes;

I never saw the little beings so enveloped before. They

are just like mummies, but they perform a terrible concert

altogether, with the voices of the _élèves_ to help them.

I sit a quiet spectator of the operation, occasionally

addressing a question to M. Blot as he touches knife after

knife on the arm of the infant before him; which question

seems rather to embarrass the handsome _interne_, for he

colours, or passes his hand through his hair and looks

intently at the baby, in a very un-Frenchmanlike manner. I

think he must be very _young_, or very much in awe of me,

for he never ventures to give me a direct look, and seems

so troubled when I address him that I very rarely disturb

his life in that way.

I think I have given you enough of my external hospital life

to enable you to picture me somewhat in my surroundings; do

you want to know how the spirit feels in its curious home?

Then know, dear friends, that it is strong and hopeful,

that it has moments of weariness, of intense yearning for

its true related life, but that it lives ever in the great

presence of the Eternal, and feels the angels always near.

The difficult breaking-in to the practical work of the obstetrician is

noted in the journal of those days; and also the pleasant comradeship

which gradually sprang up with the very intelligent young physician

who served as _interne_ at that time; this companionship was a great

relief to my imprisonment in La Maternité.

_Notes from the Journal._

_July 4._—Attended lessons by the _aides-sages-femmes_;

very clever instruction. Spent the day in the _salle

d’accouchements_, but was disgusted by the treatment of a

_primipara_. With all the instruction they have received,

the very first principles of humane treatment seem too

often neglected. They are still ignorant midwives with

their mischievous interference.... The version seemed to

me horrible. I almost fainted.... Spent the night in the

infirmary—weary work. I cannot bear this loss of sleep....

To-day, three operations; much interested in the morning,

but grew weary and disgusted in the afternoon.

_July 22._—Attended the _interne’s_ visit and spoke to him

about one of the patients; he replied so pleasantly that I

said a little more, and he promised to lend me a medical

journal to look over, and see how I liked it. The little

friendliness encouraged me....

_August 12._—The poor woman whom I have attended as my first

complete patient gave me a little _prie-dieu_ which she had

made. Her humble heart longs to express its gratitude. I put

it in my Bible where my friends are reading to-day.... M.

Dubois again waited after the lecture to say a few pleasant

words. He wished I would stay a year and gain the gold medal;

said I should be the best obstetrician, male or female,

in America! Had quite a pleasant visit to the infirmary,

where M. Blot made me observe several interesting points,

and answered my questions intelligently and frankly....

_August 24._—Quite taken by surprise at the infirmary visit

this afternoon. M. Blot met me so pleasantly, and asked me

to give him some lessons in English. I think he must have

been meditating this request for some time; it had hardly

the air of a spontaneous thought. I like him. I hope we

may come a little more closely together....

_September 2._—I have been quite happy for three hours.

I must note down what I’ve learned. M. Blot brought his

microscope to the Infirmerie des Élèves. I was exceedingly

interested in his microscopic lecture. He showed us in a

work of M. Hébert’s the difference between the epithélium

pavimenteux, such as covers the tongue, skin, &c., and

the epithélium vibratile, as in other parts, and the

fibro-plastic formations in the reparation of tissues,

showing specimens of each kind. The first species was

represented by a cellule full of little cellules, a _noyau_

in the centre containing a nucleolus—thus.... The second

was of elongated form, thus.... The third represented the

growth of fibre from cells, which cells are distinguished

from the first by the relatively smaller size of the _noyau_,

thus.... By such examination different formations can be

distinguished from each other; thus cancer possesses very

distinctive elements. It is necessary to examine bodies

of varying shapes under different foci of the microscope,

otherwise illusions may be created. In illustration he

placed some blood globules, and showed us that what appeared

a central spot in each globule was owing to the convexity

not being in focus, and it disappeared when the focus was a

little lengthened. He spoke also of a paper read before a

society yesterday by a young physician, which proved that

the azote, which in the ox is voided by the excrement, in

the cow is absorbed into the milk; and that the difference

in the manure of the two is great.

He is busy himself now in preparing for an examination of

_internes_; if he gain the gold medal, he has the right

to enter any hospital he chooses as _interne_ for a second

term, and receive also his M.D., not otherwise granted to

an _interne_. What chance have women, shut out from these

instructions? Work on, Elizabeth!...

To-day M. Blot spoke of a friend, Claude Bernard, a

distinguished young inquirer, who is now, he thinks, on

the eve of a discovery that will immortalise him—viz. the

discovery of an accessory circulation, by which substances

are sent directly to the kidneys without traversing the

general circulation, which will explain, for instance, the

rapid effect of champagne on the kidneys. This second heart

is situated in the ascending vena cava, close by the liver;

strong muscular fibres are evident in the human subject, but

in the horse are as large as quills. He does not perceive

yet what veins return the blood, if his supposition be

true. He also spoke of the power which the liver has of

secreting sugar in a normal state, when animals are fed on

certain substances which can be so converted; also of the

curious experiment by which a dog was made, in his presence,

to secrete albuminous or diabetic urine, according to the

pricking of one or another point of the pneumogastric nerve

near its origin....[6]

At the afternoon visit we had quite a philosophical

discussion on society, &c. Mlle. Mallet was delighted with

a _bon mot_ of M. Blot. She remarked that she understood

that _les demoiselles_ had answered like _anges_. ‘Yes,’

he answered, ‘_en ôtant le g_.’ They had been unusually

stupid! She asked me if M. Blot were not rather _moqueur_.

I said I did not know, but that I had discovered that he

was very ambitious. His sentiments seem to be good, but

his character is certainly not French.

_September 21._—M. Dubois stopped to speak to me after

the lecture, and again expressed his great desire that I

should remain a year in the institution. I told him I had

determined to remain another three months; but I had many

other branches to study. He replied that anything else I

might learn elsewhere as well as in Paris, but that the

opportunity of seeing all that was remarkable in three

thousand deliveries in that space of time could be met

with nowhere else in the world; that it equalled the whole

practice of most physicians, and he was persuaded that I

should regret it if I did not remain. He parted saying he

would talk the matter over again with me. If it be pure

interest that makes him urge this, I am glad; but it seems

to me now an impossible endurance.

_October 4._—Another midnight scene—a strange spectacle of

suffering and of science. As I stood on the crowded benches

of the amphitheatre I heard the clock strike one, the holy

noon of night. I wondered how long our sins would thus be

fearfully visited upon us. The rain beat in torrents on

the skylight, the wind shook the building, and I could look

with intense interest on that rare and dangerous accident

submitted to our investigation—lithotomy, the only way to

save life; a tedious operation lasting, I should think, an

hour, for in the hurry of midnight dressing I had forgotten

my watch....

To-night I have been walking in the wood; the wind blows

fresh under the clear starlight. I am happier now that

my mind is clearly determined to leave at the end of six

months, with the conviction that my work here is thoroughly

done....

_October 30._—Madame Charrier sent for me this afternoon

to present me with _my portrait_. It was a lithograph

picture of Elizabeth Blackwell, taken from a history of

_sages-femmes célèbres_. This lady, about 1737, published

a work on medical botany in two large folio volumes, in

order to get her husband, a medical man, out of prison,

where he was confined for debt.

I imagined a whole romance out of the picture, and a little

biography—a romance of a beautiful, true spirit, struggling

with a society too strong to be turned from its ancient

habits of evil. But the pure spirit is not lost, it is

working bravely still.

_A Sortie from La Maternité._

October 22.

DEAR FRIENDS, ONE AND ALL,—Yesterday I spent a delightful

day—a day which I passed in doing nothing—and it was so

pleasant, so refreshing, that I must tell you about it.

I had laid out so many plans for my first day of freedom.

I was to see so many medical people, and so many medical

places, that I was almost exhausted in the anticipation,

and when my leave of absence actually came, when all things

worked right, and I was neither _en service_, nor in the

infirmary, nor in the reception, and when moreover, for

a wonder, it did not rain, I just determined to give up

everything like business, forget there was such a thing as

medicine or such a place as the Maternité, and give myself

up like a child to the pleasure of looking and moving and

eating, and everything that was natural and nothing that

was wise! In fact, I found that I could really do nothing of

business in a satisfactory way in the short space of eleven

hours, so my troublesome conscience for once was quiet, and

permitted me to waste a day. I was really amused at myself

to find how anxious I was that it should not rain, and how

impatient I was for the moment to arrive when I could leave,

for by the rules of the place Anna must take me out, and

Anna must bring me back precisely at eight o’clock! The

_directeur_ could not help laughing when he informed me of

these regulations; still, as he said, ‘no exceptions could

be made.’ Anna was anxious that I should lose no portion

of my short day. She woke up an hour earlier than usual,

with the sense of some weighty responsibility resting upon

her, which she could not at first understand; but as the

idea of the Maternité dawned upon her she rose in haste,

and at nine o’clock the summons for Mademoiselle Blackwell

was shouted forth under the windows of my dormitory. You

must know that these _sorties_ are quite an event to the

_élèves_; they gather about the happy departing one with all

manner of good wishes for her enjoyment and safe return. So

while one hooked my dress, another fastened my gloves, a

third arranged my collar, the rest admired with the often

repeated compliment, ‘Oh, que vous êtes belle!’ and all

sped me on my way with the pleasant greetings of their

kind, light hearts.

How gay and free and delightful the city seemed to me after

my four months’ imprisonment—four months shut up within

the high boundary wall of the institution, with the sky

above the tops of tall houses only visible, and all life

concentrated in a single subject! My chest seemed to grow

broader as I stepped over the threshold and saw no barrier

before me, but the beautiful Luxembourg Garden on one side,

and unending streets on the other. The variety of busy life,

the gay dresses, the cheerful houses, looked charming to

me. I was surprised to find how strange everything seemed.

I really saw Paris again for the first time, and criticised

everything as on my first arrival. We walked down the long

avenue that led from the observatory to the garden. On

each side are nursery grounds on a much lower level than

the great central avenue; they form a large lake of trees

and flowers on each side the promenade. We descended into

the beautiful flowery labyrinth to admire the magnificent

dahlias of all colours and in immense quantities. The French

are very fond of what they call _corbeilles_. There is one

in every court of the Maternité; it is a large round plot

of ground, filled to overflowing with every variety of

bright flower, enclosed by a trellis-work that is covered

inside and outside by morning glories, nasturtiums, &c.,

so that it is nothing but a hedge of flowers. The nursery

grounds we walked through were full of these, which sent

forth a delicious odour; and occasionally they were varied

by an enclosed grass plot, hollowed out, and kept in the

most beautiful order, with bright borders of flowers. As

we ascended to the garden I was struck by the noble trees,

dressed now in their varied autumn robes, through which the

marble statues and antique palace sparkled as brightly as in

the green summer time. We were saluted by showers of dead

leaves, which gave the children much sport and the keepers

much trouble. By the western gate is the immense block of

buildings in which Anna has her pretty _appartement_. She

introduced me to them, for the change of residence had been

made since my retirement from the world, and I duly admired

the elegant furniture, carved ceiling, tasteful paper, and

above all the pretty look-out upon a long avenue of trees

whose autumn foliage shed a warm glow through the rooms.

At half-past twelve we hurried off to attend a magnetic

_séance_ at the Baron Dupotet’s, which commenced precisely

at one o’clock; and finding the omnibus too slow, we jumped

into a cab with a lady who was bound on the same errand.

Now I must describe a magnetic _séance_ to you; but I

beg that you will receive the description with becoming

seriousness, for I have a decided respect for M. Dupotet, and

if any risibility should be excited it will proceed from your

own nervous imagination, and not from my sober portraiture.

These revelations of a higher sphere of existence are

received up several pairs of stairs, in the back-room of

a house situated in the heart of the city. It is a large,

somewhat darkened room hung round with curious pictures, and

lined with very curious people. Mesmer occupies a large frame

carved with firebrands and anchors and other significant

images; he looks fixedly at a pale lady hanging opposite to

him, who has evidently undergone several magnetic crises.

There are some verses framed and hanging very near the

ceiling, surrounded by a thick wreath of yellow immortelles,

but I have not yet been able to decipher their meaning. On

the seats lining the walls about fifty persons assemble.

It is an original assembly always, though it seems to be

constantly changing. There was a lady with a small hole in

her cheek, a child with a crooked neck, and the painter

to the King of Sweden, with very light eyes and hair and

great impressibility, with his companion who laughs and

says, ‘Oui, monsieur,’ to every question addressed to him;

and the son of the English Consul to Sicily, who displays a

large amount of good clothes, good flesh, a little peaked

moustache, and an immense amount of enthusiasm. But it

would be difficult to give all the varieties of structure

and expression in this group of believing heretics, some

looking very fierce, some very sheepish, some with features

turned up, some with them turned down, and some with them

turned every way. The folding-doors of this room open into

a small cabinet which is always opened on these occasions

to receive Madame Dupotet and all the impressible ladies

who form a circle inside, and go through many sympathetic

manœuvres during the magnetising in the larger room: that

is to say, the impressible ladies perform various antics,

for Madame Dupotet, who is fat, fair, and forty, seems in no

way affected, but looks on with smiling health and assists

the nervous ladies. There was one remarkably fat dame,

seated just within the folding-doors, who had powerful fits

of nervous twitching, which gave her a singular appearance

of pale, tremulous red jelly.

It would be impossible to describe the ornaments of M.

Dupotet’s study cabinet—the mystic symbols and black-letter

books of the Black Art; but there is a little metallic mirror

of oval form, traced with magic characters, which exerts a

truly wonderful effect upon impressible subjects, exciting

an ecstasy of delight or a transport of rage; but always

an irresistible attraction for all who are affected by the

magnetic influence. While M. Dupotet has been displaying it

to the one particular object of his attention, half-a-dozen

others steal up from all parts of the room to seize the

prize; one little old lady under the magnetic influence

came tottering up, with the drollest expression of violent

jealousy on her face, and with her clenched fist prepared to

fight the other equally eager disputants for the possession

of this wonderful mirror.

Unfortunately, this particular meeting passed without any

of those singular occurrences which are said sometimes to

electrify the spectators. I heard much of the ecstasy of a

young man which had thrilled every person present—believer or

non-believer—the meeting before, in which the ordinary law

of gravitation seemed to be superseded, and the entranced

soul would actually have fled up into the heaven it was

striving for had not M. Dupotet clasped the body tightly in

his arms and commanded it back! But though no miracle was

wrought, the faithful audience hung with intense interest on

every manifestation of simple magnetic power; the aspiring

features assumed a higher aspect, the downward ones bent

more determinedly, and the red jelly became more tremulous

at every fresh magnetisation; and when the _séance_ closed

everybody shook everybody’s hand, and found it good to have

been there.

Now, do not think my picture is a caricature—verily, I am

very serious. There is an odd side to all reformers, to

all who are pursuing a new idea earnestly, that is very

whimsical. I am obliged to laugh at it; and yet I have

true respect for M. Dupotet. Though he believes in ancient

magic, though he lives in the hope of working miracles,

I really believe him to be an honest, enthusiastic man,

engaged with his whole soul in pursuing what seems to him the

most important of all discoveries. His manner is perfectly

unpretending, his conversation full of good sense; for

twenty-five years he has pursued the same object, through

suffering and ridicule and failure. He is honest, I am sure;

how much truth he may possess I am at present quite unable

to say; for my position, whilst it has given me occasional

glimpses of his proceedings, has given no power of really

investigating them; but some time I hope to really study

magnetism.

As we walked back we stopped at the Louvre; I longed to

see again that rich collection of art, particularly the

statues, that seemed more beautiful than ever. We called in

the Rue de Seine, hoping to gratify my old landlady, but

she was out. Then Anna introduced me to her reading-room,

where we studied the affairs of Europe, and grew indignant

at the barbarism which seems for the moment triumphant.

Anna took great pleasure all day in filling me with all

manner of eatables, having great faith in ‘the very best

beef,’ and I must confess that when dinner was concluded

my dress felt a little tight at the waist!

Punctually at eight o’clock the recluse retired again from

the vanities of the world. But, seriously, the idle day

refreshed me; I needed it, and feel all the better for a

little change.

_October 24._—A most pleasant occurrence. Professor Lee,

my Geneva Professor of Materia Medica, is in town, and is

coming to see me to-morrow. He has been making a tour of two

months in Great Britain, and now he visits Paris. How glad

I shall be to see him, as a friend whom I respect, and with

whom I can have a long delightful gossip! perhaps also he

can give me information and some advice and introductions.

_October 25._—By these most absurd regulations I was not

allowed to show Dr. Lee over the hospital when he called.

However, the _directeur_ escorted him, and M. Blot offered

an introduction to Ricord.

Although the residence in La Maternité was an extremely trying one

from the utter absence of privacy, the poor air and food, and really

hard work when sleep was lost on the average every fifth night,

yet the medical experience was invaluable at that period of pioneer

effort. It enabled me later to enter upon practice with a confidence

in one important branch of medicine that no other period of study

afforded; and I have always been glad that I entered the institution,

notwithstanding the very grave accident which now befell me.

This event was noted at the time as follows:—

_Sunday, November 4._—Served all day in the infirmary, and

witnessed M. Dayau’s first application of the serrefine. I

felt all the afternoon a little grain of sand, as it were,

in one eye. I was afraid to think what it might be, for in

the dark early morning, whilst syringing the eye of one

of my tiny patients for purulent ophthalmia, some of the

water had spurted into my own eye. It was much swollen at

night, and in the morning the lids were closely adherent

from suppuration.

_November 5._—I applied for permission to leave until the

eye was well, and was refused. I went to the infirmary

of the _élèves_ and informed M. Blot that I was prisoner.

He examined the eye carefully, discovered that it was the

dreaded disease, consulted his chief, and then told me that

as everything depended on the early active treatment, he

should give up the first days entirely to me. He expressed

much sympathy, arranged everything for me in the most

thoughtful way, and I went to bed—I little knew for how

long! I despatched a note to my sister, and then active

treatment commenced—the eyelids cauterised, leeches to the

temple, cold compresses, ointment of belladonna, opium to the

forehead, purgatives, footbaths, and sinapisms, with broth

for diet. The eye was syringed every hour, and I realised

the danger of the disease from the weapons employed against

it. Poor Anna came down in the evening to sympathise with

the ‘inflamed eye’ I had written about, and was dreadfully

shocked. She has told me since how many times she hid behind

the curtain to cry. My friendly young doctor came every two

hours, day and night, to tend the eye, Mlle. Mallet acting

in the alternate hours. The infirmary was kept profoundly

quiet, and a guard appointed day and night. The sympathy

was universal and deep, the _élèves_ asking after me with

tears. An unheard-of permission was granted to Anna to visit

me three times a day. For three days this continued—then

the disease had done its worst; and I learned from the

tone of my friends that my eye was despaired of. Ah! how

dreadful it was to find the daylight gradually fading as

my kind doctor bent over me, and removed with an exquisite

delicacy of touch the films that had formed over the pupil!

I could see him for a moment clearly, but the sight soon

vanished, and the eye was left in darkness.

For three weeks I lay in bed with both eyes closed, then

the right eye began to open gradually, and I could get up

and do little things for myself. How kind everybody was! I

shall never forget it. Anna, with her faith in magnetism,

came down regularly three times a day in rain and snow to

sympathise and impart ‘the vital fluid.’ My friendship

deepened for my young physician, and I planned a little

present for his office. Madame Charrier entered into it with

spirit; we had long discussions together, and finally secured

an elegant pair of lamps for his consultation-rooms, which

I hurried through the corridors to see, bundled up in my

dressing-gown and shawl, looking and feeling very much like

a ghost. The lamps were conveyed to his room that night. The

next morning he came to me evidently full of delight, and

longing to be amiable, yet too conscientious to infringe

the rules of the Maternité by acknowledging the present.

He admired my braid of long hair, wondered how fingers

without eyes could arrange anything so beautifully regular;

spoke of the Protestant religion, thought if he joined any

Church it would be that; turned to go, turned back again,

and was evidently hardly able to leave without thanking me.

Mlle. Mallet told me that the night before he had run in

to Madame Charrier to tell her of his present, and on his

way out passed by the cloisters in an evident perplexity,

longing to enter the infirmary of the _élèves_, but unable

to do so. I do admire his delicate conscientiousness!

I received a visit from M. Davenne, who had sent me a

message of sympathy. I could not clearly make him out with

my dim eye, but had a general idea of a short, elderly

man standing hat in hand, and regarding me as one would

a solemn religious spectacle. M. Boivin made some very

friendly remarks to me, and concluded, raising his hand,

‘et, voyez-vous? c’est d’une patience.’

‘Angélique!’ replied M. Davenne.

_Saturday, 22nd._—Oh, how happy I am at this moment, for

Dubois has just left me, understanding for the first time

the justice of my determination to obtain a full medical

education, and obliged to confess that I was right in

principle. I shall have my _congé_, and a hope of _cliniques_

and study in the Eccentric hospitals. Heaven has answered

that heart-cry of the other night.

_Wednesday, 26th._—Off actually! I dressed for the first

time. Bandaged and veiled; the carriage drove to the door,

Anna guided me in. I made kind adieus, caught glimpses

of stone walls in the cold dull light, and thus ended my

Maternité life. I felt very weak, and laughed hysterically

the whole evening.

The following letter, written at this time to an uncle, an officer

in the British army, shows the important support which the mind can

render the body in combating disease:—

DEAR UNCLE,—I thank you with all my heart for the kind

sympathy you have expressed for me so warmly. Fate certainly

gave me a strange and sudden blow, but now I am up again

strong and hopeful, and eager for work, and I beg uncle

to feel quite sure that a brave soldier’s niece will never

disgrace the colours she fights under; but will be proud of

the wounds gained in a great cause, and resolve more strongly

than ever to ‘conquer or die.’ In truth, dear friends,

the accident might have been so much worse that I am more

disposed to rejoice than to complain. Even in its present

state the eye is not a very striking disfigurement, and it

will gradually become still less so. As to the more serious

consideration—loss of vision—I still hope to recover that in

time, and meanwhile the right eye grows daily stronger. I

can write without difficulty, read a little, and hope soon

to resume my usual employments. I certainly esteem myself

very fortunate, and I still mean to be at no very distant

day _the first lady surgeon in the world_.

I find from your letters that there is a possibility of

your visiting Paris. I should rejoice in the prospect of

meeting you, if my own stay were certain; but it is by no

means so. I have already accomplished much in France, but I

find it very difficult to proceed further; still, I cannot

yet judge decidedly of my prospects. I have just received

permission from Government to visit the hospitals, which is

encouraging, and one opening may lead to others, so that

I may still hope to meet you some day, unless you should

grow frightened at the idea of my scalpel and lancet, and

feel uncertain how far the ties of relationship may modify

the experimental researches of the medical student!

Believe me, very truly,

Your niece,

ELIZABETH BLACKWELL.

But the six months which followed my departure from the Maternité

proved to be a time of great mental suffering, under which a strong

physical constitution threatened to give way; for the condition

of the affected organ entirely prevented that close application to

professional study which was needed. Both anatomical and surgical

work were out of the question; and even reading had to be laid aside.

I followed a few lectures and some _cliniques_ at the Hôtel-Dieu,

by permission of M. Roux, and engaged a _répétiteur_, but this was

quite inadequate to accomplish the end in view.

In June of 1850 a visit to the fine mountain air of Priessnitz’s famous

establishment at Gräfenberg was resolved on, in the hope of regaining

strength and power of study. Travelling rapidly through France,

Germany, and Prussia, in five days I reached the famous water-cure

region. On the journey a day had been spent in Berlin, where I had

been struck by the arrogance of the Prussian officers, and the fear

which was expressed by a friend with whom I talked freely in Kroll’s

Garden lest conversation should be overheard!

Freiwaldau, at the foot of the Gräfenberg, was full of _Kurgäste_;

but, being warned by a lady to whom I brought an introduction that it

would be impossible for a lady to go alone to the Gräfenberg Hotel,

for it ‘was full of gentlemen who went about in their shirt-sleeves,’

I was rather perplexed as to where to go. A home letter describes

this curious experience:—

_Gräfenberg_, 3 P.M.—On a shady seat on the brow of a

hill commanding a most beautiful prospect. Dearly beloved

people, this cometh to you from a very watery person in a

very watery place. The sound of water is heard everywhere.

But I must give you some particulars. Not being able to

find lodgings in Freiwaldau, I left word for Priessnitz to

call, and was sitting in my little upper room at the hotel,

feeling decidedly blue, when the door opened and in walked a

middle-sized, elderly man, with sun-burnt face marked with

the smallpox, with grey hair, light-blue eyes, a pleasant

expression of face, and dressed in country-best style. I

liked his appearance, ’twas honest and good. He examined

me very closely with his little blue eyes all the time I

was explaining my wishes. Then, in his abrupt manner, he

told me he could make me quite strong in about six weeks,

and the cure would do no harm to my eye. When I told him

that I was informed Gräfenberg was quite full, he said,

‘You _can_ come, child; come this afternoon, and bring your

things with you,’ and off he went. I felt quite relieved to

be spared the bother of lodging-hunting and housekeeping.

I determined to face the innumerable gentlemen in shirt

sleeves, and let properness go; if the _Gräfinn_ did not

like my position—why, she might dislike it! When I reached

the place of my destination I was a little confounded.

At the very top of the house, with bare rafters for the

roof and the wall, a row of little windows a foot high let

into the roof above my head, a wooden crib full of straw,

three wooden chairs, a table, and low bureau with a green

earthenware bowl; this was my room and its furniture. I

must have looked rather dismayed, for the girl hastened

to inform me that I had an Italian count and countess for

my next-door neighbours, and that there were eight ladies

and eight gentlemen on the same floor, and that we should

be out in the woods all day. Of course I could say nothing

when I found I had such noble neighbours, or rather when

I found that it was really the last vacant room in the house!

When the bell rang for tea I was shown into an immense hall

that might seat 500 people, gaily painted, and ornamented

with chandeliers. I sat down and found myself, to my utter

amazement, beside a row of ladies in grand toilette gossamer

dresses with short sleeves and waists a _little lower_ than

I thought waists were ever worn; hair dressed out with

curls and flowers, bracelets (I counted five on the arm

next me) and rings to match! The long tables were covered

with alternate bowls of sour and sweet milk, and brown

bread and butter. The bread looked inviting, but when, with

difficulty, I had sawn off a morsel, it was so sour that I

could hardly swallow it; but the milk was good, and I did

it justice. People kept coming in in groups, very merry,

but all talking German; the gentlemen, I presume, were in

shirt sleeves, but as they were all covered with coats, I

was not shocked!

The next morning early I went through a series of hydropathic

operations, at which Priessnitz assisted, as he always does

the first time. The course never varied—viz. packing, a

half-bath, a plunge bath, a wet bandage, and some glasses

of cold water at six o’clock in the morning; an _Abreibung_,

sitz bath, and another wet bandage at twelve o’clock; ditto

at four P.M., and water _ad libitum_ all through the day.

The diet is plain, but every morning an old woman opens a

white-bread shop outside the dining-room, to which almost

every one is customer. Each one comes in from the early

morning walk, buys a roll, and marches in with it under

his arm; and morning and evening the little strawberry

gatherers offer the Alpine strawberries, with their fine

wild-wood flavour, for sale.

Everybody seems to have a good appetite. My own is ravenous;

a half-day in the open air, rambling over these fine

mountain-sides, stimulated by the wind and the abundant

really living water, I find myself suddenly in strong,

vigorous health, and the idea of sickness seems a fable.

At first I felt very lonely in such a large assembly; but

now I speak to a good many, and I have found one young

American, Mr. Glynn, who seems like a brother in this

concourse of strangers. He is about twenty-two, nearly blind

from amaurosis, but one of the ‘smartest’ fellows I have

ever met; quick as a flash, full of Yankee shrewdness, he

bears his terrible misfortune with real heroism, and has

rendered me numberless little services.

There are several mountain-sides laid out with walks

innumerable. The favourite early morning walk is to the

Priessnitz spring; you wind round and up the mountain,

partly through open, sweet-smelling fields, partly through

pleasant fir woods, passing several springs by the way, each

with its name and inscription and rustic seats around; at

each you stop and drink, chat a little with those you meet,

and perhaps sit down for a few moments. It is very sweet at

this hour: the leaves smell so fresh, the beautiful flowers

are covered with dew, and the cuckoo is heard in the woods

all day. This stroll generally occupies two hours....

It is very amusing to watch the people. Gräfenberg is the

rage in Germany; all classes are represented here. The

Countess von Westhalp offers to introduce me to a fashionable

English circle in Freiwaldau, headed by Lady Darley; and to

our great indignation the ‘butcher’ Haynau, notorious for

his barbarities, made his appearance here one day. In the

house we have gymnasium, billiard-room, library, theatre,

and balls frequently take place....

Priessnitz has 500 patients under his care, and with their

friends they amount to hundreds more. You see him sitting

at the head of one of the large tables, three times a day,

looking very pleasant. He is quiet and simple in manner,

but has a very determined mouth. They say he is proud of

having been an Austrian serf. His pleasant-looking daughter

is married to an Hungarian baron.

These foreign titles are really a farce. I am here in my loft

one day, in slippers and old dressing-gown, when a knock

comes to my door. When I open it, a tall, black-whiskered

foreigner appears, who presents the respects of Mme. la

Princesse Obolenska, and hopes I will call upon her when

I next go to Freiwaldau. The man made quite sure that I

was I—as well he might, for I never had quite such queer

surroundings.... I paid my visit, a professional one, after

all. I had to put up with four gulden, instead of the honour;

but she was a simple, pleasant lady, and we parted on the

pleasantest terms. This was, in fact, my first regular

professional consultation.

The air and water, however, of that lovely region, with the constant

outdoor life and endless rambles over the Bohemian mountain-sides,

proved too stimulating to the still sensitive organ: a violent attack

of inflammation supervened. With great difficulty I returned to Paris,

and placed myself under the care of the famous oculist Desmarres.

This gentleman rendered me the most skilful and generous aid. In the

course of a few weeks he restored me to active work again, although

the sight of one eye was permanently lost, and the intention of making

surgery a speciality necessarily abandoned.

During this trying period of Parisian study, my cousin, Mr. Kenyon

Blackwell, a South Staffordshire ironmaster, was endeavouring to

promote my strong desire to study in one of our London hospitals.

He applied to the able and highly esteemed dean of St. Bartholomew’s

Hospital, who presented the application to the treasurer. The subject

was referred to the Medical Council of the hospital. The result was

forwarded to me as follows:—

At a House Committee held on Tuesday, the 14th day of May,

1850, a letter addressed to the treasurer from Mr. Paget,

communicating to him the request of Miss Elizabeth Blackwell,

a lady well connected in this country and the United States,

to attend as a student in the wards and other departments

of the hospital, was read, when the treasurer reported that

the same had been referred to the Medical Council, and the

opinion of all the members of the council having been read,

and Mr. Paget having attended and furnished the committee

with such information as was required, it was resolved:

‘That in the opinion of this committee Miss

Blackwell

should be admitted as a student under such regulations

as the treasurer and almoners may from time to time deem

necessary.’

James Paget, Esq.

The ticket of admission forwarded at the same time granted permission

to study in any ward, and follow the visit of any physician or surgeon

who was willing to extend to me the facilities of his department.

The permission was accompanied by a cordial welcome from the dean,

Mr. James Paget, M.R.C.S.

This was indeed joyful news. I could now in an open and honourable

way, no longer regarded with suspicion, but protected by the highest

medical sanction, devote myself to the unlimited field of practical

medicine so cordially thrown open to me, and which I ardently desired

to study. I hastened to London, and, after some little difficulty in

obtaining lodgings, on account of being a lady, alone, established

myself in rooms in Thavies Inn, then a delightfully quiet set of

houses, entered by an archway from busy Holborn.

Every morning after breakfast I now regularly betook myself to the

hospital, spending many hours there daily, and making the Faith

wards, under Dr. Burrows, my headquarters; but Messrs. Lawrence,

Stanley, and Lloyd courteously welcomed me to their wards. Indeed,

every department was cordially opened to me, _except the department

for female diseases_!

Kind old Dr. Hue was always ready to show me cases of interest, and

he took me by an underground passage, which led to Christ’s Hospital,

to taste the famous pea-soup made for the lads of that old Foundation

school.

I particularly valued the special visits of clinical observation,

without students, which Dr. Baly and Mr. Kirkes were making.

Mr. Kirkes was preparing a new edition of his excellent ‘Student’s

Physiology,’ and Dr. Baly was pursuing his valuable investigations

on dysentery. In relation to the latter, it is noted in my journal:

‘He is so gentle, so friendly, and so learned in his art, that he

teaches me more than anyone else.’

I also attended Mr. Paget’s admirable lectures on pathological anatomy,

given in the amphitheatre. My seat there was always courteously

reserved for me. I experienced also the utmost consideration from

the students, a large class of whom always followed Dr. Burrows’s

visits. Indeed, so natural did this innovation of a lady student soon

become, that when, the following year, I paid my farewell visit to

the treasurer, he remarked, to my great gratification, ‘Why, we had

quite forgotten you were here!’

Many home letters mark the various incidents of this extremely

interesting period of study.

London, 28 Thavies Inn: November 1.

DEAR FRIENDS,—When I arrived in London on October 3, I was

actually dismayed by the intolerable atmosphere, the dense

envelope of foggy smoke that made me sick during the day

and kept me awake at night; and as I continued to make

observations on persons and things, and finally settled

down in my present prosaic lodgings, I asked myself with

astonishment, Is this the same London I saw a year and a

half ago, or is it a different person examining the same

objects? But now, happily, that state of forlornity has

passed away. I have almost forgotten the smoke; my lodgings

are clean and convenient. I am making friends, and I shall

use all the opportunities I can get for studying social

subjects and seeing society, provided they do not interfere

with my work and are not too expensive.

My first introduction to St. Bartholomew’s was at a

breakfast at Mr. Paget’s. He has a house within the hospital

boundaries, and a special oversight of the students. At

the commencement of each session he invites the students to

breakfast in parties of about a dozen, and to one of those

breakfasts I, on my arrival, was invited. The students seemed

to be gentlemanly fellows, and looked with some curiosity

at their new companion; the conversation was general and

pleasant, the table well covered, Mrs. Paget very sensible

and agreeable, so that it was quite a satisfactory time.

Soon after I was invited to meet a distinguished German

gentleman, Professor Kölliker, whom I found most agreeable

and intelligent. My old acquaintance, Professor Owen,

entertained us with traditions of London. Dr. Carpenter

was also present, and some of the older students, looking

very amiable, though awkward. The gentlemen I find more

friendly than the ladies; I fear I shall find them in the

shocked phase this winter. There are, however, a few decided

exceptions....

But now I am going to tell mother of a visit which I made

yesterday on purpose to amuse her—viz. to our old Bridge

Street minister, Dr. Leifchild, whose christening of me I

distinctly remember! Between three and four, on my return

from hospital, I set out determined to hunt up the family,

and after searching directories and trudging several miles,

and being wrongly directed, when I finally inquired at

No. 5 Camden Street, a quiet, respectable house, whether

Dr. Leifchild was in, I listened with great relief to the

announcement that he was probably taking his nap. I was

ushered into a large plainly furnished parlour, where sat

Mrs. Leifchild, sewing by a round table in the middle. My

childish recollection had retained a general impression

of the person, though I should not have recognised her.

She is seventy-two, and wearing spectacles, but does not

look more than fifty, so fresh, plump, and pretty, though

unfortunately so deaf that she could only hear an occasional

word. I announced myself. She replied, ‘I remember the

family well. Mr. Blackwell was deacon in the chapel. You

are one of his sisters.’ I could hardly make her believe

that I was third _daughter_. She remembered A. and M. well;

said they were clever girls; she knew they would turn out

something remarkable, but she had no recollection of me.

Their son John came in at that moment—a tall, thin man,

reminding me of the Lane Seminary student, Jones. I don’t

know whether I ever saw him before. Of course the doctor

was sent for to see the stranger. I recognised him at

once, and should have known him anywhere—fat, rosy, and

laughing, notwithstanding his grey hair. I did not detect

anything of the old man in him. ‘Ah,’ said he, ‘I know

that face,’ and then he made me take my bonnet off and

occupy a large chair by the fire, and tell him all about

the family, and particularly my mother. ‘A sweet creature

she was! How I should like to see her again! Doesn’t she

talk about visiting England? I wish she would.’ He spoke

of father with great affection, as a true friend. He had

received most beautiful letters from him. ‘If my memoirs

are published, one of his letters will appear in them.’

They had been told that the two eldest Miss Blackwells were

very dashing girls, and wanted to know the truth. Then,

why had I come to England? I told him I had been doing a

rather singular thing; I had been studying medicine. He

looked at me to see if I were in earnest, and then burst

out into such a hearty, merry laugh that I joined in with

all my might. ‘Yes, I had obtained a diploma as doctor in

medicine.’ ‘You—doctor!’ and then another hearty laugh. Of

course Mrs. Leifchild wanted to know what we were laughing

at. ‘Why, my dear, that girl there is Doctor in Medicine!’

and then I must give them the whole history; and I certainly

never had three more attentive listeners, interrupted by the

doctor’s exclamations: ‘Bless me, what she has done; what

she has suffered! Why, the girl’s a genius! Where did she

get it all from? Why, no man could have done what she has

done!’ And if ever I stopped, John would say, ‘Now, Miss

Blackwell, pray go on; it’s the most interesting narrative I

ever listened to; you left off at Paris.’ I was much amused.

To that little family, who had been staying so quietly at

home in the same routine, it did sound like a romance. When

I had done, the doctor declared ‘it was a capital thing—it

was the beginning of a new era.’ And John at once brought

out pen and paper and begged me to give him my autograph.

The doctor said the Rev. Mr. May, from America, was an old

friend and class-mate who had visited England about two

years ago, and he graphically described their interview.

When Dr. L. opened the door, he started back. ‘No! Yes!

It isn’t—it is! It can’t be possible! It is very certain;

but won’t you let me in?’ From Mr. May he learned that the

eldest of the Blackwells had become Socinians; and then

I must give an account of my religious faith. Of course I

spoke up for myself. I told him my religion was certainly

a little peculiar; but nevertheless it was a very good and

very strong one—and he didn’t seem much troubled about the

state of my soul; indeed, I believe that, on the whole,

he considered that it was a little safer than most of the

ladies’ of his acquaintance! So, mother, I beg you to take

the same view of the matter. Altogether, I met with the

heartiest reception. The doctor placed all his influence

at my service, and Mrs. Leifchild will write you all the

news of your old Bristol friends. So I hope you approve of

my calling....

Now I am writing in a queer place—viz. one of the wards

of St. Bartholomew’s, whilst awaiting the visit of one

of the physicians. This famous old hospital is only five

minutes’ walk from my lodgings, and every morning, as the

clock strikes nine, I walk down Holborn Hill, make a short

cut through the once famous Cock Lane, and find myself at

a gate of the hospital that enables me to enter with only

a side glance at Smithfield Cattle Market. ‘Punch’ had

really frightened me by his account of the dangerous tumult

of animals; but, happily, I need only glance across the

open space, forgetting the bulls, pigs, &c., that occupy

it now, and also the fearful fires of persecution once

lighted there, and try to bring back the time when it was

lined with gay tents, and surrounded by galleries filled

with beauty, eager to witness the brilliant encounters of

arms that took place there in the age of tournaments. Now

a little dark figure with doctorial sack and writing-case

under arm makes its way through assembling students,

who politely step aside to let it pass, and entering the

museum, studies its numerous preparations till the hour

of lecture, when an attendant shows it to a seat. I only

attend regularly one course of lectures—viz. Mr. Paget’s

very interesting course on pathology. Mr. Paget spoke to

the students before I joined the class. When I entered and

bowed, I received a round of applause. My seat is always

reserved for me, and I have no trouble. There are, I think,

about sixty students, the most gentlemanly class I have

ever seen. I have been here about ten days. There are so

many physicians and surgeons, so many wards, and all so

exceedingly busy, that I have not yet got the run of the

place; but the medical wards are thrown open unreservedly to

me, either to follow the physician’s visits or for private

study; later, I shall attend the surgical wards. At first

no one knew how to regard me. Some thought I must be an

extraordinary intellect overflowing with knowledge; others,

a queer, eccentric woman; and none seemed to understand that

I was a quiet, sensible person who had acquired a small

amount of medical knowledge, and who wished by patient

observation and study to acquire considerably more. One

of the old physicians takes much interest in the strange

little doctor, and has given me valuable hints from his

own experience; but I confess that this system of practice

is both difficult and repellent to me; I shall, however,

study it diligently. Mr. Paget, who is very cordial, tells

me that I shall have to encounter much more prejudice from

ladies than from gentlemen in my course. I am prepared for

this. Prejudice is more violent the blinder it is, and I

think that Englishwomen seem wonderfully shut up in their

habitual views. But a work of the ages cannot be hindered

by individual feeling. A hundred years hence women will

not be what they are now.

The growing perplexity of the conscientious student awakening to the

uncertainty of the art of medicine is now apparent in letters written

at this time.

_November 20, 1850._

DEAR E.,—I want to talk to you seriously about the

future—that is to say, my _medical future_. It has been

a heavy, perplexing subject to me on what system I should

practise, for the old one appeared to me wrong, and I have

even thought every heresy better; but since I have been

looking into these heresies a little more closely I feel

as dissatisfied with them as with the old one. We hear

of such wonderful cures continually being wrought by this

and the other thing, that we forget on how small a number

the novelty has been exercised, and the failures are never

mentioned; but on the same principle, I am convinced that

if the old system were the heresy, and the heresy the

established custom, we should hear the same wonders related

of the drugs. Neither hydropathy nor mesmerism are what their

enthusiastic votaries imagine them to be. At Gräfenberg I

could not hear of one case of perfect cure, and unfortunately

the undoubtedly great resources of cold water are not so

developed and classified as to enable a young practitioner

to introduce it, professedly, into his practice. Mesmerism

has not converted me since watching its effects on patients.

I do wish most heartily that I could discover more of the

remedial agency of magnetism, for my conviction is that it

ought to be powerfully beneficial in some cases; and as I

find they have a magnetic dispensary here in London, I shall

certainly try and attend it frequently. I am sorry that

I have been unable hitherto to attend more to homœopathy,

the third heresy of the present time, but I am trying now

to find out opportunities. Here I have been following now

with earnest attention, for a few weeks, the practice of

a very large London hospital, and I find the majority of

patients do get well; so I have come to this conclusion—that

I must begin with a practice which is an old-established

custom, which has really more expressed science than any

other system; but nevertheless, as it dissatisfies me

heartily, I shall commence as soon as possible building up

a hospital in which I can experiment; and the very instant

I feel _sure_ of any improvement I shall adopt it in my

practice, in spite of a whole legion of opponents. Now E.,

future partner, what say you—is it not the only rational

course? If I were rich I would not begin private practice,

but would only experiment; as, however, I am poor, I have

no choice. I look forward with great interest to the time

when you can aid me in these matters, for I have really no

_medical friend_; all the gentlemen I meet seem separated

by an invincible, invisible barrier, and the women who

take up the subject partially are inferior. It will not

always be so; when the novelty of the innovation is past,

men and women will be valuable friends in medicine, but

for a time that cannot be. I spend now about three or four

hours each day in the wards, chiefly medical, diagnosing

disease, watching the progress of cases, and accustoming

my ear to the stethoscope. Already, in this short time, I

feel that I have made progress, and detect sounds that I

could not distinguish on my entrance. I advise you, E., to

familiarise yourself with the healthy sounds of the chest.

When you go home, auscultate all the family; you will find

quite a variety in the sounds, though all may be healthy

persons. Lay a cloth over the chest and listen with the ear

simply; it is as good as a stethoscope with clean people.

I wish I could lend you my little black stethoscope that

I brought from the Maternité.

I have been disappointed in one thing here—the Professor of

Midwifery and the Diseases of Women and Children wrote me a

very polite note, telling me that he entirely disapproved of

a lady’s studying medicine, and begging me to consider that

his neglecting to give me aid was owing to no disrespect

to me as a lady, but to his condemnation of my object.

By-the-by, I must tell you of a scientific explanation of

the toughness of meat which I obtained from Mr. Paget’s

lecture the other morning; it arises from cooking meat

during the _rigor mortis_! Would not that be a delicate

suggestion for a squeamish individual?...

28 Thavies Inn: 1850.

DEAR DR. DICKSON,—I believe that my kind preceptor and

earliest medical friend will be interested in a little

account of my foreign life.

My request for permission to attend St. Bartholomew’s

Hospital was cordially granted, and I have received a

friendly welcome from professors and students. I have the

full rights of a student granted to me. I do not attend

many of the lectures, but confine my attention chiefly

to the practice of the hospital, and at present, more

particularly, to the medical practice. If I remain through

the summer, I shall gradually extend my visits to the

surgical and other wards, as I am particularly anxious to

become widely acquainted with disease. I am obliged to feel

very sceptical as to the wisdom of much of the practice

which I see pursued every day. I try very hard to believe,

I continually call up my own inexperience and the superior

ability of the physicians whose actions I am watching;

but my doubts will not be subdued, and render me the more

desirous of obtaining the bedside knowledge of sickness

which will enable me to _commit heresy_ with intelligence

in the future, if my convictions impel me to it. I hope

you will forgive this confession of want of faith, which I

do not venture to make to my present instructors, for the

English are in general too conservative to have sympathy

with unbelief, however honest.

I do not find so active a spirit of investigation in the

English professors as in the French. In Paris this spirit

pervaded young and old, and gave a wonderful fascination

to the study of medicine, which even I, standing only on

the threshold, strongly felt. There are innumerable medical

societies there, and some of the members are always _on the

eve_ of most important discoveries; a brilliant theory is

_almost_ proved, and creates intense interest; some new plan

of treatment is always exciting attention in the hospitals,

and its discussion is widely spread by the immense crowds

of students freely admitted. The noble provision of free

lectures, supported by the French Government, increases this

tendency; the distinguished men who fill the chairs in these

institutions have all the leisure and opportunity necessary

for original investigation, and a receptive audience always

ready to reflect the enthusiasm of the teacher. I have often

listened to some of these eloquent men in the College of

France, their natural eloquence increased by the novelty or

brilliant suggestions of the subject, till I shared fully

in the enthusiasm of the assembly; and then, in the excited

feeling of the moment, I would enter with some friend into

the beautiful adjacent garden of the Luxembourg, and,

sitting down at the foot of some noble statue, we would

prolong the interest by discussion; while the brilliant

atmosphere, the trees, the wind and the water, the fine old

palace and the varied groups of people moving amongst the

flowers, contributed to the charm of the moment, producing

some of the intensest pleasurable sensations I have ever

enjoyed. I cannot wonder that students throng to Paris,

instead of to the immense smoke-hidden London; here there

is no excitement, all moves steadily onward, constantly but

without enthusiasm. No theory sets the world on fire till

it is well established, and the German observers are much

more studied than the French. Everything is stamped by good

sense and clear substantial thought; my respect is fully

commanded, but I often long for a visit to the College of

France and a stroll in the Luxembourg.

Whilst devoting all my daytime to the rare advantage of practical

study so providentially opened to me, the evenings were in another

direction equally delightful and beneficial. I was sitting, one dull

afternoon, in my bare lodging-house drawing-room, somewhat regretfully

thinking of the bright skies of Paris and pleasant study under the

trees of the Luxembourg Garden, when the door opened and three young

ladies entered, and introduced themselves as Miss Bessie Rayner Parkes

and the Misses Leigh Smith.

This proved the commencement of a lifelong friendship. These ladies

were filled with a noble enthusiasm for the responsible and practical

work of women in the various duties of life. They warmly sympathised

in my medical effort, and were connected with that delightful society

of which Lady Noel Byron, Mrs. Follen, Mrs. Jameson, the Herschels,

and Faraday were distinguished members, and with which the Rev. Mr.

Morris and the Hon. Russell Gurney were in full sympathy.

My young friends hung my dull rooms with their charming paintings,

made them gay with flowers, and welcomed me to their family circles

with the heartiest hospitality.

A bright social sun henceforth cheered the somewhat sombre atmosphere

of my hospital life; for when the day’s duties were accomplished

there was always some pleasant social gathering, or some concert or

lecture attended with friends, to refresh the medical student. I often

walked home from my friends in the West between twelve and one at

night (being too poor to engage cabs), not exhausted, but invigorated

for the next day’s work. Lady Noel Byron became warmly interested

in my studies. I went with her to Faraday’s lectures, visited her at

Brighton, and she long remained one of my correspondents.

One of my most valued acquaintances was Miss Florence Nightingale,

then a young lady at home, but chafing against the restrictions that

crippled her active energies. Many an hour we spent by my fireside in

Thavies Inn, or walking in the beautiful grounds of Embley, discussing

the problem of the present and hopes of the future. To her, chiefly,

I owed the awakening to the fact that sanitation is the supreme goal

of medicine, its foundation and its crown.

My acquaintance also with Professor Georgii, the Swedish professor

of kinesipathy and the favourite disciple of Brandt, whose

consultation-rooms in Piccadilly I often visited, strengthened my

faith in the employment of hygienic measures in medicine. When, in

later years, I entered into practice, extremely sceptical in relation

to the value of drugs and ordinary medical methods, my strong faith

in hygiene formed the solid ground from which I gradually built up

my own methods of treatment. Looking back upon a long medical life,

one of my happiest recollections is of the number of mothers whom I

influenced in the healthy education of their children.

Letters written home at this date indicate the vivid interests of

the time.

November 1850.

DEAR E.,—The great topics of the day here are the Great

Industrial Exhibition and Popery.

On November 5 the bells were ringing and the boys hurrahing

for ‘Gunpowder Plot Day.’ This anniversary was celebrated

with more enthusiasm than usual from the Pope’s having

appointed a Cardinal Archbishop of England, and ‘No Popery’

placards are posted everywhere.

The great building of iron and glass for the Exhibition

is rapidly rising in Hyde Park, and the papers in this

rank-loving country duly inform us whenever Prince

Albert comes in from Windsor to inspect its progress, and

furthermore that the Prince is modelling a group of statuary,

and the Queen designing a carpet, to figure in the display.

The last time I was at the Twamleys’ we drove round to see

the building, which is a curious sight from the delicate

appearance of the immense quantity of iron framework; it

looks too fragile to support a crowd, and yet it will hold

myriads. There is a splendid old elm tree which they have

enclosed in the building, and his great black arms look in

strange contrast to the surrounding tracery.

December 24, 1850.

DEAR M.,—I was just stretching myself after breakfast, and

thinking that I must put on my boots and turn out into the

horrible fog that was darkening daylight, when your welcome

letters came, and it being holiday time I treated myself

to an immediate perusal. I must beg you not to imagine me

sitting in a large bare room in an _inn_. The term ‘inn’

is only applied in this case to a particularly quiet and

respectable little street. The term ‘Inns of Court’ means

a number of buildings round an open court, withdrawn from

the street, entered by an arched passage under some house,

and used now or at some former time for law purposes. That

was the origin of Thavies Inn; it was formerly a portion

of an old law court, and is particularly _proper_, having

iron gates at the archway, which are shut at night, and a

porter living in the little house at the entrance, who is

always on the look-out for beggars or other un-respectable

characters; and the way in which a little barrel organ

that has managed to slip in is ‘shut up’ at the first bar

has always amused me, and provoked me at the same time.

The room also, which was bare enough at first, has assumed

a much more homelike aspect since two young friends sent

me some pictures to hang on the walls, and a portfolio of

paintings, with a little stand on which to place a new one

every day; and having turned the sideboard into a bookcase,

I can assure you it looks quite comfortable when I have

drawn the round table to the fire and settled down for the

evening.

Your letter alludes to many topics of interest. First of

all this ‘Woman’s Rights Convention,’ held at Worcester,

Mass. I have read through all the proceedings carefully.

They show great energy, much right feeling, but not, to my

judgment, a great amount of strong, clear thought. This last,

of course, one ought not to expect in the beginning; but

in my own mind I have settled it as a society to respect,

to feel sympathy for, to help incidentally, but not—for

me—to work with body and soul. I cannot sympathise fully

with an anti-man movement. I have had too much kindness,

aid, and just recognition from men to make such attitude of

women otherwise than painful; and I think the true end of

freedom may be gained better in another way. I was touched

by the kind remembrance of W. H. C., which placed my name

on the Industrial Committee; and if I were in America and

called on to attend I should certainly send them a note

full of respect and sympathy; but I must keep my energy

for what seems to me a deeper movement. But I think you

did perfectly right to act on the Education Committee, and

if I can send you any information I will gladly do so.

But I feel a little perplexed by the main object of the

Convention—Woman’s Rights. The great object of education

has nothing to do with woman’s rights, or man’s rights,

but with the development of the human soul and body. But

let me know how you mean to treat the subject, and I will

render you what aid I can.... My head is full of the idea of

organisation, but not organisation of women in opposition to

men. I have been lately meditating constantly on this idea,

and seeking some principle of organisation which should be

a constantly growing one, until it became adequate to meet

the wants of the time.... This horrible fact of immorality

has weighed upon me fearfully since I came to London, for

I believe in no city in the world does it show itself so

_publicly_ as it does here. In Paris it is legalised and

hidden, and is recognised and profitable as a branch of

the Government!

In the United States it is not so old and widespread (written

in 1850); but here in London it has been let alone, has

taken an unrestrained course, exists to a fearful extent,

and shows itself conspicuously in its lowest form. At

all hours of the night I see groups of our poor wretched

sisters, standing at every corner of the streets, decked

out in their best, which best is generally a faded shawl

and even tattered dress, seeking their wretched living; and

many aching hearts I have seen looking through the thin,

hungry features. But I will not pain you farther; you know

the general fact, though you have never had it pressed home

to you in a thousand ways, as I have. My great dream is

of a grand moral reform society, a wide movement of women

in this matter; the remedy to be sought in every sphere of

life—radical action—not the foolish application of plasters,

that has hitherto been the work of the so-called ‘moral

reform’ societies; we must leave the present castaway, but

redeem the rising generation. In my own mind I have divided

my ‘Union’ into many branches, several of which I see Mr.

Channing has proposed for this ‘Woman’s Rights Society.’

Education to change both the male and female perverted

character; industrial occupation, including formation of

a priesthood of women; colonial operations, clubs, homes,

social unions, a true Press, and many other things, have

been among my visions; and the whole so combined that it

could be brought to bear on any outrage or prominent evil.

In England I should seek to interest the Queen, and place

her, as the highest representative of womanhood, at the head

of this grand moral army. Indeed, many of my modifications

naturally fit themselves to English society, which is

immediately around one. When I return to America, of course

the European mould of my thoughts will drop off, and fit

itself to the New World; but it never can be an anti-man

movement.... One thing now pleases me much; all the women

seem to like me, from the aristocratic Miss Montgomery,

bosom friend of one of the Queen’s maids of honour, down

to the humble sisters of the hospital, all welcome me,

and many with enthusiasm. I have passed several delightful

evenings with Mrs. Follen, Mrs. Jameson, and the Chapmans;

the De Morgans, Morells, and many others are unceasing in

their kindness. I find these people varying in religion

and everything else, but all alive and open to progressive

ideas—if they are not shocked back. There seems to be a

very large class of this kind, who are not united in any

special effort, but in whom the true ideas are germinating,

which will some time—perhaps in their children, for things

move slowly in England—reach a perfect development. It is

my _impression_, for I ought only to put it in that modest

form, that the corresponding class in America is less humane,

more addicted to money-getting and party spirit; and that

reform ideas in America are much more talked of, but less

acted on....

April 4, 1851.

DEAR E.,—I have been very gay lately, with so many social

entertainments. One evening at the Hon. Miss Murray’s I

saw the Duchess of Buckingham, Duke of Argyll, Marquis of

Lansdowne, and many distinguished people, Sir Lyon Playfair,

Sir John Herschel, the Speaker of the House of Commons,

&c. But my studies go steadily on, and I do enjoy going

round with Dr. Baly; he is so gentle and friendly, and so

learned in his art, that he teaches me more than anyone

else. I wish I could go round with him oftener....

But I must tell you of a delightful three days’ visit that

I made to Lady Byron at Brighton a week ago. I had heard

her most highly spoken of, and her connection with the

poet has thrown a romance around her; so when I received

through Miss Montgomery an invitation from her, stating

that she had herself paid some attention to medical matters

and would be most happy to see me, and that her friend Dr.

King would do the honours of the well-arranged hospital at

Brighton, I determined to accept, and give myself a three

days’ treat. I arrived in Brighton one bright, blowing

afternoon. Nearly three miles of good stone houses face the

broad sea, the road in front of them forming a delightful

elevated promenade open to the spray and the Atlantic

winds. In the distance at one extremity was Beachy Head,

at the other the projecting point that hid Portsmouth, and

far out, dim in the distance, lay the Isle of Wight. Bare,

rounded, green hills formed the background to the town.

In the bow-windowed parlour of one of these large stone

houses I was set down, and soon after, Lady Byron, who had

been to the railroad to look for me, entered—a slender,

rather small, but venerable-looking lady of sixty, with

fair complexion, delicate features, and grey hair. She

welcomed me kindly, and conversed for a little while with

a gentle, benevolent manner, but a voice that had a very

sad tone in it. I found that she was a confirmed invalid,

and learned afterwards that she had never recovered from

the blow caused by the conduct of her husband, whom she had

worshipped with real idolatry. Then we went out to see the

sunset and some electrical apparatus, and on our return

I was introduced to Mrs. Jameson, the authoress, who was

paying a little visit, and to Dr. King, a beautiful old

gentleman, more of a philosopher, however, than a physician.

The next morning I had a delightful _tête-à-tête_ breakfast

with Mrs. Jameson, who is a charming person with a warm

Irish heart, an exquisite appreciation of art, and a deep

interest in all high reform. Meanwhile it had begun to rain

and the wind battered the house furiously, but nevertheless

I went in the carriage with Dr. King to visit the hospital

and a famous manufactory of mineral waters. I returned in

a hurry to go off with Mrs. Jameson and hear Fanny Kemble

read ‘Macbeth.’ This was a great treat, for I had never

heard Shakespeare well given. I had caught a glimpse of

Fanny Kemble the evening before, when Mrs. Jameson had

brought her back from reading the ‘Midsummer Night’s Dream.’

She entered the parlour for a few minutes, throwing open

the door and declaiming a tragic Shakespearian quotation,

dressed in rose-coloured satin, with a crimson mantle

trimmed with white fur, a large bouquet in her bosom, her

jet-black hair braided low down, with large black eyes, and

a grand, deep-toned voice. She sat on the sofa beside Lady

Byron—a most strange contrast. She was really magnificent

in ‘Macbeth,’ dressed in black velvet trimmed with ermine,

and Mrs. Jameson, who sat beside me, was in raptures.

The longer I saw Lady Byron the more she interested me; her

insight and judgment are admirable, and I never met with

a woman whose scientific tendencies seemed so strong. She

seemed well versed in medicine and was her own physician,

having consulted many physicians who were quite unable to

aid her; she has for many years taken particular interest

in labour schools, and has some admirably arranged on her

estates. I much enjoyed my conversation with her, for she

has a rare intelligence and a long experience. On Sunday she

took me to hear a most eloquent preacher, a Mr. Robertson,

who preached on the wisdom of Solomon and Christ. He is

now in the Established Church, but will, I imagine, soon

work himself out, for he is continually progressing, and

has already drawn upon himself much persecution from his

professional brethren. I certainly never heard his equal

in torrent-like eloquence; it was quite a flood.

How gloriously the wind howled round the house at night! As

I lay in bed and listened to the wind and the heavy swell

of the waves, it was delicious. There is a pier built far

out into the water as a private promenade. I had a beautiful

walk there all alone one evening at sunset as the tide was

coming in. On Sunday afternoon I was obliged to leave my

new friends. Lady Byron, in a purple velvet mantle lined

with white silk, a rich dress, and a purple satin bonnet

trimmed with black lace, escorted me to the cars and put me

into the second class, which economy obliged me to take.

With the most hearty shake of the hand we parted, and we

have exchanged several notes since I returned, for, as I

said, she interests me, and I want to know more of her.

I have a standing invitation to Mrs. Jameson’s Thursday

evening meetings, of which I shall try to avail myself

frequently. Life opens to me in London, social life

particularly; but I am looking with pleasure to my return.

I am too impatient to begin my practical career to be

able to stay anywhere much longer where that is not to be

commenced....

_April 7._—Miss Murray invited me to see the Queen’s

favourite little German baron, but I did not accept; for to

go such a distance on foot or in omnibus in my silk dress

to meet people with whom I should probably have little

sympathy, and to whom I should only seem a quiet, ill-dressed

person, seemed to me foolish.... Spent the evening at Mrs.

Follen’s. Miss Montgomery told me a very strange story

of her father’s ‘double’ appearing to her and her brother

when they were children playing together during his absence

in London. They were amusing themselves by dressing-up in

clothes taken from a closet on the staircase, when, hearing

their father’s study door open and fearing reproof, they

shut themselves in the closet, watching through a crack of

the door their father in his dressing-gown with a candle in

his hand slowly ascend the staircase. They then remembered

that their father had gone to London, and rushed up to

their mother’s room, where she was dressing for a party,

exclaiming, ‘Papa has come home! We saw him come out of

the library with a candle in his hand and go upstairs.’

The authority of this story was unimpeachable, the details

minute. What must one think of it?...

_April 17._—Went down with my friend Florence to Embley

Park. The laurels were in full bloom. Examined the handsome

house and beautiful grounds. Saturday a perfect day. Walked

much with Florence in the delicious air, amid a luxury of

sights and sounds, conversing on the future. As we walked

on the lawn in front of the noble drawing-room she said,

‘Do you know what I always think when I look at that row

of windows? I think how I should turn it into a hospital

ward, and just how I should place the beds!’ She said she

should be perfectly happy working with me, she should want

no other husband.

_April 20._—A beautiful Sabbath morning. Saw the sea and Isle

of Wight in the distance; watched the peasants’ picturesque

scarlet cloaks going to church. As we crossed the fields,

conversing on religious matters, it was a true communion....

_May 1._—A most brilliant opening of the Great Exhibition.

Thanks to Cousin S., who is an exhibitor, we enjoyed a

sight which we shall always remember. The place was so vast

that the musical sound of the great organ was lost in the

beating of the air. The great building, resplendent with

the products of the whole world, was filled to overflowing

with enthusiastic spectators. When the Queen, holding Prince

Albert’s arm, with the young Prince of Wales on one side and

the Princess Royal on the other, followed by the aged Duke

of Wellington arm in arm with the Marquis of Anglesea, and

a long train of nobility and distinguished men, made the

tour of the building and declared it open, it was indeed

a memorable sight.

The advisability of remaining in England and establishing myself

in practice in London was seriously considered at this time. Under

other circumstances I should gladly have made the attempt, for I

was strongly attracted to my native land. But I was extremely poor,

with no capital to fall back on, and with a great horror of running

into debt; neither had I any circle of family friends to aid me, and

whilst I saw the importance of a settlement in London, I realised

also its difficulties. Meanwhile the years of my study in America

had produced their effect there. Popular feeling had sanctioned the

effort. In both Philadelphia and Boston attempts were being made to

form schools for women. My sister Emily also had adopted the medical

life. She had entered the Medical College of Cleveland, Ohio, and was

looking forward to joining me ultimately in the medical work; my own

family also, to whom I was warmly attached, were fully expecting my

return.

I determined, therefore, after much anxious consideration, to make

my first settlement in New York, hoping in ten or fifteen years’ time

to have attained a position, when I might be able to work in England.

The parting from English friends and opportunities was a painful one.

London: May 5.

I gave the day to Florence, who is about leaving, uncertain

whether she will see me again. We heard Mr. Ellis lecture

at the National Association on Political Economy. We

also visited the Verral Hospital, but were not favourably

impressed by the judiciousness of the exercises. Dined with

her at the Bracebridges’, and parted from her with tears.

_May 20._—Visited Guy’s Hospital, Dr. Oldham doing the

honours most kindly. The museum is the best for study that

I have yet seen. There are about 600 beds in the hospital;

twenty are for midwifery, especially under Dr. Oldham’s

care, providing about 1,800 cases in the year, and looked

after by four young students, who are maintained by the

hospital for that purpose. There was a room especially

devoted to electrical treatment. The whole establishment

bore the marks of wealth.

_July 15._—Wished Dr. Oldham good-bye, who expressed great

friendliness, wished to see my sister should she visit

England, and offers to make an application for admission

to Guy’s Hospital....

_July 17._—Said good-bye to Mr. Paget, Dr. Burrows, Dr.

Hue, &c.—in fact, cut my connection with the hospitals. Did

it with much regret; all were extremely kind, expressing

the utmost interest and respect for the work. Mrs. Paget

introduced me to a lady as ‘a benefactor to the race,’

and hoped to hear of me through Mr. Paget. He spoke of the

perfectly satisfactory nature of the experiment, and that

it may be done by another lady under similar circumstances,

but _not_ as a simple student, he thinks. Dr. Burrows also

was extremely friendly, and paid me indirectly the highest

compliment, as having ‘established a principle for others,

by the success of my laudable enterprise; he thought that

quite a new idea had been gained in this matter, which

would help anyone else in future.’ I found also, with

mingled sadness and triumph, that _now_ I might do anything

I pleased at St. Bartholomew’s. They have learned to know

and welcome me as I am going away, and are, as Mr. Paget

said, sorry to lose me.

_Last Days in England.—Farewells._

_Saturday, July 19, 1851._—I have wished all good-bye, and

am now ready to go. Much as I regret England, my deepest

feelings are with my work, which I always carry with me....

Bessie P. spent part of the day with me. We parted with a

few cheerful words, but I saw her face colour with emotion

as she looked back and saw me watching her from the door.

Beautiful, true heart! it grieves me deeply to part from

her....

_Monday, 21st._—Left London at seven o’clock. A. turned from

me in tears. I felt very sad as I looked at her thin face

and thought of all she has suffered, and will suffer.... In

the evening I met a cordial welcome at Dudley.... Howy and I

made an expedition to Worcester and Malvern; it gave us an

opportunity for much intimate conversation. We had lovely

weather, and found the country exceedingly beautiful. Rode

up the Worcestershire Beacon on donkeys, eating, talking,

and laughing at our entanglement with other parties, and

enchanted with the prospect; there was a tent on the hill,

and parties dancing. We slid all the way down, and walked

by Gully’s and Wilson’s water-cure establishments. Visited

the noble old Worcester Cathedral, but looked in vain for

our crest of arms, said to be there on the windows. Went

over Grainger’s china manufactory; the production of cups

and saucers on the wheel was like magic....

To Liverpool, but found the ship would not sail until

Saturday. The very sight of it made me sick; so Cousin

S. accompanied me to Manchester, where we had a very

interesting visit. Mr. Wilson, an intelligent business

man, escorted us over a large cotton manufactory. It was

of exceeding interest. Eight hundred looms were at work in

one room; mostly tended by women and many very young girls.

We commenced our inspection by descending by ropes deep

down into the vaults, where the cotton arrives from America

and India; we then proceeded through room after room where

all the processes were conducted, from breaking up the

bales, tearing to pieces, sorting, carding, forming into

sheets, twisting, spinning, weaving, and finally measuring

and folding the cloth. We went up and down, by movable

trap-doors, underground from street to street, all through

the immense establishment. The noise was tremendous, the

dust and heat oppressive. I noticed closely the workwomen,

who seemed brutified by their toil; their physiognomies

were assuming the projecting mouth of the lower animals.

Most of them carried their hair-comb stuck in the back of

their head; they were mostly youngish women, sallow and

perspiring, and I noticed one woman so exhausted that she

was obliged continually to sit down; they had often more

than one loom to feed. They keep the men and women separate

in their work as far as possible....

_Saturday, 26th._—Actually my last day on this noble British

land! I left pale good Cousin S. standing in the street of

Dudley; watched dear H. running up the railway bank as I

rushed off in the train; and then I felt that I was indeed

severed from England, and only anxious to get through my

journey. I found myself at night on board ship, out in the

Mersey. Another most important page in life fairly closed!

Adieu, dear friends! Heaven keep us all!