_She begins private practice--Mrs. Schmidt and many physicians plan
to establish a Maternity Hospital for her--Her father renews his
insistence that she should marry--Recollections of a report of the
Female Medical College of Pennsylvania, located in Philadelphia, and
of Dr. Schmidt’s comment on it, turn her thoughts to America, and
she decides to emigrate--She receives official acknowledgment of her
work at the Hospital, together with a gift of money--Accompanied by a
younger sister, she arrives in New York. (Twenty-four years of age:
1852-1853.)_
I made my preparations to leave the hospital on the 15th of November,
1852. What was I to do? I was not made to practice quietly, as is
commonly done; my education and aspirations demanded more than this.
For the time, I could do nothing more than inform my patients that I
intended to practice independently.
My father again wished that I should marry, and I began to ask
myself whether marriage is an institution to relieve parents from
embarrassment. When troubled about the future of a son, parents are
ready to give him to the army; when in fears of the destiny of a
daughter, they induce her to become the slave of the marriage bond.
I never doubted that it was more unendurable and unworthy to be a
wife without love than a soldier without a special calling for that
profession, and I never could think of marriage as the means to
procure a shelter and bread. I had so many schemes in my head that I
would not listen to his words. Among these was especially the wish to
emigrate to America.
The Pennsylvania Female Medical College had sent its first report to
Dr. Schmidt, who had informed me as well as his colleagues of it and
had advocated the justice of such a reform. It was in March, 1852, that
he spoke of this, saying to those present, “In America, women will now
become physicians, like the men; this shows that only in a republic can
it be proved that science has no sex.”
This fact recurred to my memory, and I decided to go to America to
join in a work open to womanhood on a larger scale; and for the next
two months, I did nothing but speculate how to carry out my design of
emigration.
I had lived rather expensively and lavishly, without thinking of laying
up any money; and my whole fortune, when I left the Charité, consisted
of sixty dollars.
One thing happened in connection with my leaving the hospital which I
must relate here. Director Horn was required to justify his conduct to
the minister to whom the change had to be reported, and a committee was
appointed to hear the accusation and to pass judgment upon the affair.
As this was done in secrecy and not before a jury, and as the accuser
was a man of high rank, I knew nothing of it until Christmas Eve when I
received a document stating that, “as a gratification for my services
for the benefit of the city of Berlin” in instructing the class of
midwives, a compensation was decreed me of fifty dollars.
This was a large sum for Berlin, such as was given only on rare
occasions. I was also informed that Director Horn was instructed to
give me, should I ever demand it, a first-class certificate of what my
position had been in the hospital, with the title of Chief attached.
For whatever I had suffered from the injustice of my enemies, I was
now fully recompensed. I inquired who had taken my part so earnestly
against Director Horn as to gain this action, and found that it was Dr.
Müller the pathologist, backed by several other physicians. Director
Horn, it was said, was greatly humiliated by the decision of Minister
von Raumer, who could not see the least justice in his conduct in this
matter, and had I not left the hospital so readily, I should never have
stood so firmly as after this secret trial.
It was done, however, and I confidently told my mother of my design to
emigrate. Between my mother and myself there existed not merely the
strongest relation of maternal and filial love, but also a professional
sympathy and peculiar friendship, which was the result of two similar
minds and hearts, and which made me stand even nearer to her than as a
child I possibly could have done. She consented with heart and soul,
encouraged me in all my plans and expectations, and asked me at once at
what time I would leave.
I next told my father and the rest of the family of my plan. My third
sister (Anna), a beautiful, joyous young girl, exclaimed, “And I will
go with you!” My father, who would not listen to my going alone,
at once consented to our going together. But I thought differently.
In going alone, I risked only my own happiness; in going with her,
I risked hers too, while I should be constantly restricted in my
adventurous undertakings by having her, who knew nothing of the world
save the happiness of a tranquil family life, with me.
The next day I told them that I had changed my mind and should not go
away, but should establish myself in Berlin. Of course, I received
a torrent of gibes on my fickleness, for they did not understand my
feelings in respect to the responsibility that I feared to take for my
younger sister.
I began to establish myself in practice. Mrs. Schmidt, who was anxious
to assist me in my new career, suggested to those physicians who were
my friends the establishment of a private hospital which should be
under my care. She found them strongly in favor of the plan, and had I
not been constantly speculating about leaving for America, this scheme
would have been realized.
But Dr. Schmidt’s words after reading the first report of the
Philadelphia Female Medical College recurred to me again and again. I
had resolved to emigrate, and I took my measures accordingly. I went
secretly to Drs. Müller and Ebert and procured certificates attesting
my position in respect to them in the hospital. I then obtained the
certificate from Director Horn, and I carried them all to the American
Chargé d’Affaires (Theodore S. Fay) to have them legalized in English,
so that they would be of service to me in America.[2]
When I told Drs. Ebert and Müller and Mrs. Schmidt of my intention to
emigrate, they pronounced me insane. They thought that I had the best
field of activity open in Berlin and could not comprehend why I should
seek greater freedom of person and of action.
Little really is known in Berlin about America, and to go there is
considered as great an undertaking as to seek the river Styx in order
to go to Hades. The remark that I heard from almost every quarter was,
“What! you wish to go to the land of barbarism, where they have negro
slavery and where they do not know how to appreciate talent and genius?”
But this could not prevent me from realizing my plans. I had idealized
the freedom of America and especially the reform of the position of
women, to such an extent that I would not listen to their arguments.
After having been several years in America, very probably I would think
twice before undertaking again to emigrate, for even the idealized
freedom has lost a great deal of its charm when I consider how much
better it could be.
Having put everything in order, I told my father of my conclusion to
leave. He was surprised to hear of it the second time, but I showed him
my papers in readiness for the journey and declared that I should go
as soon as the ship was ready to sail, having a hundred dollars, just
money enough to pay my passage.
He would not give his consent unless my sister Anna accompanied me,
thinking her, I suppose, a counterpoise to any rash undertakings in
which I might engage in a foreign land. If I wished to go, therefore,
I was forced to have her company, of which I should have been very glad
had I not feared the moral care and responsibility.
We decided to go in a fortnight. My father paid her passage and gave
her a hundred dollars in cash, just enough to enable us to spend a
short time in New York, after which he expected either to send us more
money or that we would return; and, in case we did this, an agreement
was made with the shipping merchant that payment should be made on our
arrival in Hamburg.
On the 13th of March, 1853, we left the paternal roof, to which we
should never return. My mother bade us adieu with tears in her eyes,
saying, “_Au revoir_ in America!” She was determined to follow us.
Here ends my Berlin and European life, and I can assure you that this
was the hardest moment I ever knew. Upon my memory is forever imprinted
the street, the house, the window behind which my mother stood waving
her handkerchief. Not a tear did I suffer to mount to my eyes in order
to make her believe that the departure was an easy one, but a heart
beating convulsively within punished me for the restraint.
My father and brothers accompanied us to the depot, where the cars
received us for Hamburg. On our arrival there, we found that the ice
had not left the Elbe and that the ship could not sail until the river
was entirely free. So we were forced to remain three weeks in Hamburg.
We had taken staterooms in the clipper ship _Deutschland_. Besides
ourselves, there were sixteen passengers in the first cabin, people
good enough in their way, but not sufficiently attractive to induce us
to make their acquaintance. We observed a dead silence as to who we
were, where we were going, or what was the motive of our emigrating
to America. The only person that we ever spoke to was a Mr. R. from
Hamburg, a youth of nineteen, who like ourselves had left a happy home
in order to try his strength in a strange land.
The voyage was of forty-seven days’ duration, excessively stormy but
otherwise very dull, like all voyages of this kind, and had it not
been for the expectations that filled our hearts, we should have died
of _ennui_. As it was, the days passed slowly, made worse by the
inevitable seasickness of our fellow-passengers, and we longed for the
hour that should bring us in sight of the shores of the New World.
And now commences my life in America.