“More than we hoped, in that dark time,
When, faint with watching, few, and worn,
We saw no welcome day-star climb
The cold, grey pathway of the morn.
“O weary hours! O night of years!
What storms our darkling pathway swept,
Where, beating back our thronging fears,
By faith alone our march we kept.”
The year 1874 was a period of great depression and discouragement for
our cause, while in that same year were recorded, more openly than ever
before, the bold and vast designs of our opponents, the Regulationists,
throughout Europe. For them it was the year of the greatest hope, and of
the apparent approaching triumph of all their schemes.
Mr. Gladstone’s sudden resignation of office in the early part of the
year, and the dissolution of Parliament, took the country by surprise
and confused the reckonings of our Abolitionist party, who had for some
years laboured, and with considerable success, to win the personal
adhesion, one by one, of the members of the Parliament now dissolved.
Our faithful Parliamentary leader, Mr. W. Fowler, lost his seat in the
General Election which followed. Several of our best friends in the
House also failed to secure their return to Parliament. But still more
unfavourable for us was the excitement which prevailed during the spring
and summer concerning several other political questions important for
the people at large, causing our movement to take only a secondary place
for the time, even in the minds of many who were truly convinced and in
earnest about it. Our principles, indeed, seemed to be scarcely
represented in the General Election. Those among us who understood the
vital and far-reaching nature of those principles, and who had learned
wherein our true strength lay, now held many grave and rather sorrowful
consultations. It was at this time that one of our most solemn
agreements was formed for united waiting upon God. An invitation was
sent to our friends and allies throughout the United Kingdom to join, on
a certain day, in groups in their own towns or neighbourhoods, in order
definitely once more to place this sacred cause, and everything
connected with it, in the hands of the Omnipotent Ruler of all.
It will be necessary to go back in order to trace the growth of the
Regulation system in Europe, and the increasing audacity of the
pretensions of certain medical and administrative cliques, culminating
in a vast design, of which I am about to speak. This sketch shall be
brief, for it is not my intention in these Reminiscences to enter into
any of the medical and police details, which we were forced for many
years to look into and judge. The aspects of the question on which these
bear are set forth in other works, which are obtainable in England and
on the Continent; for at the time of which I am now writing, a vast
literature from the pens of the Regulationists had already been
produced. I may mention the most important of the works on that side,
namely: a ponderous volume by Dr. Jeannel, of Lyons; a large and, from
the literary point of view, meritorious work by Dr. Mireur, of
Marseilles; two books by M. Lecour, Prefect of the Morals’ Police in
Paris, and others in German and other languages.
Up to the times of the First Empire in France, all regulations and laws
directed against the social vice in the different countries of Europe
were simply repressive, sometimes ferociously repressive, and in general
taking effect upon the physically weaker sex only. Vicious men or women,
who were hopelessly smitten by the greatest physical evil resulting from
vice, were generally expelled or forcibly isolated. In some towns of
France at one period such were hanged!
I have already indicated that it was during the profound disorganisation
and misery produced by the wars of the First Empire that the system of
the Police des Mœurs was first discussed, and in some cases established
throughout the different countries of the European Continent. Gradually
the contagion in favour of this oppressive and delusive scheme spread,
until a complete network of regulations was formed, the meshes of which
were drawn more tightly year by year. At first, in some countries,
respect for individual liberty and for the private life of the humbler
citizens, opposed a feeble barrier against the wholesale adoption of
this system; but ultimately the hygienic question (considered solely
from the materialistic point of view) dominated all others, and medical
cliques sprang up in every country, claiming to be the sole repositories
of wisdom concerning this great question which involves principles of
justice, good government, economy, liberty, and virtue. This new-born
medical tyranny, once having found its feet, never paused in its onward
march, and it was generally acknowledged that the professional dictum of
the doctors on this subject must become of absolute and exclusive
authority. _Salis populi suprema lex_ was their boasted motto, applied
in a very limited sense, however, and, because (of necessity)
indissolubly linked with police and Governmental tyranny exercised over
one sex alone, it became a falsehood and a mere cloak for the most
selfish and cynical system ever devised by the materialistic egotist.
Having now grown bold, the defenders of this system began to feel that
there was only one thing more needed to crown their success, one step
further to be taken in order to complete this vast network. In 1825 the
Belgian Society of Natural and Medical Science had thrown out a feeler
in the direction of extending the system throughout the whole of Europe.
Ten years afterwards, 1835, this question was again discussed in
Brussels by the Medical Congress of Belgium. In 1841 the Council of
Salubrity of Marseilles discussed the question, and resolved on the
desirability of unity of action among all the different European
administrations. In 1843 there again was held a deliberative meeting on
the subject in the Belgian Academy of Medicine. In 1852 the
“International Hygienic Congress” met in Brussels and discussed “the
legislative and administrative measures necessary to impose upon all
Communes the duty of carrying out the Regulations.” Finally, upon the
invitation of the Belgian Government, the Belgian Superior Council of
Hygiene elaborated in 1855 and 1856 a project for this purpose for all
the Communes of their own Kingdom.
I cannot help remarking here on the fact that, while the public
authorities in Belgium seem to have been the first to adopt, and, I
might almost say, to devour greedily these evil principles first
promulgated under Napoleon I., and while, up to some twelve years ago,
the Belgian regulations were looked upon with profound respect by the
defenders of this system in all countries as being the most perfect, the
ideal form of this system, and the one which it was desirable should be
imitated everywhere, later Belgian _authorities_, on the other hand,
have been the first in Europe to take the initiative in endeavouring to
throw off the yoke of this detestable tyranny. I say the Belgian
authorities. In every other country the authorities have been slowly and
with difficulty moved by the persistent action of different classes of
the people, and the pressure of public opinion continued year after
year. Nowhere except in Belgium has there been witnessed the remarkable
sight of a Prime Minister with the majority of his colleagues in the
Government, men of weight, and of serious character, deciding to
endeavour themselves to bring about this reform which we advocate, and
openly coming forward to announce their agreement with the principles of
the Abolitionists. It is true that these honest men had been previously
influenced—I may say, quietly educated—on the whole question by the
“Belgian Society of Public Morality,” the prime mover in which was M.
Jules Pagny, of Brussels, who afterwards had the powerful support of M.
Emile de Laveleye, a Belgian himself. But till the year 1890, when we
were invited to hold our International Congress in Brussels, and,
indeed, up to the moment in which I am now writing, no Government of any
country except that of Belgium has placed itself at the front of this
movement, mastering the whole subject with an admirable humility and
patience, and studying the best means of combating immorality, beginning
with the abolition of this great public injustice and iniquity, State
Regulation of vice.[4]
To return. It was the example of Brussels in 1856, probably, which
influenced the doctors of Paris to promote a great demonstration by
inviting the International Medical Congress to meet in that city in
1867. At that Congress the question of a universal application of the
Police des Mœurs was considered. In order to give more _éclat_ to the
measures there proposed, the Congress voted by acclamation, before
beginning to discuss the question, that a Commission should be nominated
at the end of the discussion which should be charged to visit the
Governments of all countries to urge them to adopt a uniform system of
medical police government in order to stamp out throughout the world the
scourge of the physical effects of men’s vices. Among the numerous
papers read on that occasion the most important was that of Dr. Jeannel,
which entered minutely into all the international measures proposed to
be adopted.
In 1869, the same year in which our organised opposition to the system
arose in England, the question of international action in favour of
regulated vice was discussed at a Conference at St. Petersburg. In the
same year the well-known Dr. Crocq, of Brussels, and Dr. Rollet, of
Lyons, presented at the Congress of Florence a report which they had
been charged to draw up by the Congress at Paris. This report concluded
with a petition from the Commission to the French Foreign Minister,
praying him to further the appointment of an International Commission in
order to “draw up a uniform regulation which should have the force of
law in every country in the world.”
In 1873 the question was again brought forward in Vienna by the
International Medical Congress held in that city. It had been somewhat
cautiously, in the meanwhile, brought up at a Medical Congress in Rome
in 1871, and again in Bordeaux early in 1873. It was at this Congress of
Vienna, however, that the boldest and most triumphant note was sounded
which had ever been heard from the Regulationist camp. The Congress
demanded the prompt enactment of an international law in order to carry
out their vast designs. A majority of the speakers on this occasion
warmly recommended that the regulations of Brussels should be adopted as
the model, one of them asserting, amidst the approbation of the
listeners, that “_from the moment when prostitution shall become a
regular and recognised institution, admitted and regulated by the State,
its perfect organisation will become possible_.”[5]
We have strong evidence that the placing upon the English Statute Book
of the law 1866–69 for the regulation of vice had greatly contributed to
raise the hopes of the promoters of the international system which was
aimed at. They looked upon the action of the English Parliament as a
most happy presage; and from the year 1867 they had begun to act, with
increasing determination, to multiply their assaults everywhere, and to
arrogate to themselves the powers of legislators by drawing up endless
Bills (_Projets de loi_) which they believed they would ultimately be
able to impose on every nation. Everything pointed to the fact that they
were about to strike a blow which should bring all the Governments of
the civilised world down upon their knees before the great god of
so-called medical science, and force them to conform to its will.
At this moment, however, a little cloud began to be visible on the edge
of their vast and brilliant horizon. The Organising Committees of the
Medical Congress of Philadelphia in 1876, and of one which was proposed
for Geneva in 1877, learned with astonishment that certain doctors who
were to be present at these meetings were coming prepared to oppose not
only the great ideal International Project which had been so laboriously
built up, but the principle and essence of the system of the Police des
Mœurs itself. It would not do, they thought, to meet this opposition
unprepared, or in any way to be drawn into a compromise. The Committees
of these two Congresses therefore deemed it prudent simply to cut the
question entirely out of their programmes!
From that time forward the International Regulation System which had
been so imperiously demanded from the different Governments has been but
rarely and very timidly defended. One may judge of the decline of the
courage of the Regulationists by the ever feebler and fainter echoes of
that demand which have been heard in every succeeding Regulationist
Conference on the question, concluding by the Congress recently held at
Lyons (in 1894), where the system of the Police des Mœurs only found
three defenders.
On the 25th of June, 1874—the year of discouragement of which I have
spoken—a few friends of the Abolitionist cause met to confer together at
York. Their conference was in many respects a remarkable one. It
consisted of a mere handful of the most steadfast supporters of the
cause, who had come, some of them, from long distances. All were filled
with a profound sense of the solemnity of the purpose which had brought
them together. It was a time, as I have said, of deep depression in the
work. Those who were present fully recognised the powerful array of
organised forces against which they had to contend; they were filled
with a kind of awe in the contemplation of those forces and the
magnitude of the difficulties with which they were called to grapple. At
the same time, every one of that group seemed animated by a deep and
certain conviction that the cause would triumph. The circumstances under
which this conference took place were such as to call strongly for the
exercise of that faith which alone can animate reformers to contend
against a sudden increase of an evil at whose destruction they aim. The
voice of the Abolitionists had for a time been partially stilled by the
clash of parties in the general election. For a time even the most
energetic workers were unable to see what steps for the continuance of
the work could most effectively be taken. Having hitherto felt
themselves engaged in a battle for the abolition of the State sanction
of vice in Great Britain only, they had become aware that a large and
powerful organization on the Continent was seeking to increase the
efficacy of the vice regulations, and for that purpose was appealing
confidently to England to take the lead in organising under all the
Governments of Europe an international scheme for the application of
these regulations to every country, and to every seaport throughout the
world.
After a period of silence for united prayer, the Rev. C. S. Collingwood,
Rector of Southwick, Sunderland, addressed the little group around him
in words which have never been forgotten by those who passed through the
trial of faith of that year,—words which were assuredly inspired by God,
and were His message to us at that period of anxious suspense. He said:—
“Our ceasing to be heard in Parliament for a time, or in the Press, or
by public meetings, means necessarily so much clear gain to the other
side. We have a most solemn charge, and cannot even maintain our ground
except on the condition of ceaseless warfare. Much of the hostile
pressure comes from abroad, and we shall do well to consider the
propriety of carrying the war into the enemy’s country by establishing
relations with leading and earnest opponents of the regulation of sin,
say in France, Belgium, Prussia, Italy, etc., and stimulating opposition
in these countries, and perhaps holding our own International Congress.
There can be no doubt that in all the countries subjected to this
degrading system, a few sparks would create a great fire of indignation
and revolt against the immoral system.
“Observe the world-wide schemes of the enemy—they will not rest till the
whole world is under their regulations; and they have hitherto got all
they wanted, until they touched the sacred soil of England. From the
moment when that desecration was known opposition commenced. North,
South, East, West, the Regulationists have marched without let or
hindrance, and they dream not yet of anything but further conquests.
‘What,’ we may imagine them saying, ‘what are trifling checks at the
Cape of Good Hope, or in the United States, or in Bombay?[6] What is a
temporary delay in England to a party whose plans embrace the whole wide
world? There are plenty of other fields to occupy. Only keep up a steady
fire upon England; she is the centre of the position; carry England and
you are masters of the world.’
“We must not suppose that it is only the _Lancet_, or a Mr. Berkley
Hill, or a Mr. Acton that we have to face. Behind them is a sort of
International League of the doctors, supported by the institutions of
Continental Europe. What (they ask) are a few women, a few noisy
agitators, a few hundred thousand petitioners, a few superannuated
prejudices? Yes, what are we,—only a few Christian Englishwomen and
Englishmen—what are we against so-called science, and all the allies it
invokes, against Kings and Prime Ministers, many-voiced over all the
face of the earth? What, with International Medical Congresses,
International Conferences, Governments looking on us with contempt and
anger, newspapers stamping us out, the majority of a most influential
profession smiling scorn on our protests, all kinds of figures arrayed
against us, even the figures of our own insignificant minority, against
the voice of civilised Europe—What are we to think?—to do? Should we not
rest content with the verdict[7] of May, 1873, and leave the field to
the undisputed possession of supervised vice? _No! a thousand times no!_
We will remember the victory over Amalek, ‘the first of the nations,’ by
a feeble people sustained by prayer; we will think of the stripling
David, how he defeated Goliath with a sling and a stone; we will mark
the vanity of Sennacherib’s ‘great host’ and how it melted away before
the might of God, invoked by the faithful Hezekiah; and time would fail
to multiply encouraging facts which abound in modern as well as ancient
times, and command those who defend God’s cause never to despair.
“Some of us must remember how hopeless we used to think the abolition of
American slavery. The constitution of the United States, the political
power of the South, the apathy of the North, the attitude of the
religious bodies, all made it seem the wildest of hopes. But we have
seen it abolished, and we will never despair in any struggle where we
are sure God is on our side. It is the blessedness of history, both
sacred and profane, that when all the force is spent, and the noise of
the times is over, it tells us of the power of the pure, the just, the
true, and the impuissance of whatever has arrayed itself against these
angels of God. As ‘principles are rained in blood,’ so they have their
dark hours, which daunt no true man nor woman, but drive them to God’s
footstool, there to receive faith and strength for fresh encounters and
new efforts. The weapons of our warfare are not carnal; we believe, and
therefore we speak and fight; and comparatively few though we may be, we
measure not our prospects of success by numbers, or weight, or metal; we
recall those former Heaven-blessed struggles, in which the King’s
soldiers were as few and as feeble as we, and we know that we shall
succeed if we faint not.
“When Granville Sharp, in 1772, obtained the famous decision that a
slave is free as soon as he touches English territory, he did not think
it one of the first steps towards the general abolition of the slave
trade and of slavery everywhere; but it was so; and thus, when some
noble ones among us raised a cry of horror and indignation on finding
that supervised vice had presumed to desecrate our English soil, they
little guessed how far their voices would reach, nor what the work was
upon which they unwittingly were entering, nor what the victories which
they were to achieve. But they have already been able to produce great
effects in Africa, Australia, and the United States; and, though still
unsuccessful at home, we and they believe that the opposition which has
commenced in England will obtain its utmost success here, and that a
force of public opinion and true sentiment is being slowly generated
which will cross all lands and seas, and in its progress sweep away
everywhere the monstrous organisation of vice, against which we lift our
voices to-day.”
These words found an echo in the breasts of all present, and from that
conference all departed feeling that a new era was dawning upon the
whole movement, which could only lead to the final triumph of the cause
of justice and morality, far beyond the limits of our own country.
This conference at York marked the first step in that great expansion of
the movement which has called forth a protest against legalised vice in
so many countries, resulting in an organised international opposition to
that modern slave system. The meeting at York passed a formal
resolution, not embracing any large scheme, but merely accepting, with
approbation, a proposition to open correspondence with opponents of the
Regulation system abroad, and requesting the Ladies’ National
Association, who had already several foreign correspondents, to commence
operations, with a view to stimulate public opinion in Continental
countries.
This work of opening correspondence, in accordance with the resolution
above mentioned, was, in its beginning, an apparently feeble, as it was,
indeed, a laborious undertaking, carried on somewhat in the vague and in
the dark. Having obtained a list of addresses of philanthropic workers
in various countries in Europe, I posted a brief appeal to every address
contained in it, in the hope of drawing forth some expression of
sympathy in our objects.
One little incident may illustrate the manner in which, before and
during that campaign, every effort seemed to be providentially guided.
In August of that year I picked up, by what we call chance, a little
book containing the names and addresses of persons connected with some
international benevolent organization. I addressed a few letters to some
of these, making an appeal on this question. One of these was addressed
to a Mr. Humbert, of Neuchâtel. It never reached its destination, and,
had it done so, possibly might never have met with a response; but the
Neuchâtel postman made a mistake, as postmen sometimes, though very
seldom, do. In this case it was a happy mistake. He took the letter to
another Mr. Humbert, Mr. Aimé Humbert, who opened it. He was no stranger
to the question. He had for years said to himself, “When I am more free
from other public work, I must turn to this terrible subject.”
Shortly afterwards I received a letter from Mr. Aimé Humbert,
acknowledging my appeal as providential. I had told him of my projected
visit to the Continent that same winter, and in reference to that he
said:—“You are about to confront not only the snows of winter, but the
ice that binds so many hearts on the Continent. Bring among us, then,
the fire of that faith which can remove mountains. The breath of the
most High can break the icebergs in pieces, and kindle a mighty
conflagration.”
It was one of the most severe winters of this century (1874–1875), but
the opposition of the elements seemed a little matter in comparison with
that of the prejudice, blindness and passion which threatened at first
to block the way to success in such an enterprise.
As Mr. Aimé Humbert occupied for so many years a very prominent position
in our International Federation, I may here give a brief account of his
career previous to our becoming acquainted with him.
He was born in 1819, in the Canton of Neuchâtel, educated at Lausanne
and several of the German Universities, and married, in 1843, Marie
Müller, daughter of the Secretary of the Royal Consistory of Wurtemburg.
At the close of the revolution which severed Neuchâtel from the crown of
Prussia, M. Humbert, who was one of the principal actors in securing the
freedom of his Canton, was called to take a part in its Government, and
filled for ten years the office of Minister of Public Instruction.
Nominated at the same time a Member of the Federal Parliament, he
occupied for one year the Post of President of the “Chambres des Etats
Suisses.” The Federal Council charged him, in 1858, to act with the
Minister Plenipotentiary of Switzerland, M. Kearn, in concluding the
treaty of Paris concerning Neuchâtel. In 1862 he was entrusted by the
Federal Council with a Mission to Japan, as Envoy Extraordinary and
Minister Plenipotentiary, to bring about a treaty of Commerce with
Switzerland. His very excellent work on Japan, which has given him a
status in Europe as a geographer, has been translated into English.
In his character as a scientific man he was also appointed a Member of
the École Polytechnique of Zurich, Corresponding Member of the
Geographical Society of Geneva, and a member of the Honorary Committee
of the International Geographical Congress of Paris; besides being
appointed President or Member of many other Literary and Scientific
Societies.
But before I go on to speak of our first essay on the Continent, I must
record an event at home which gave a great impulse to our cause.
The defeat of the Liberal party in this year (1874), freed Mr. Stansfeld
from the restraints of office as a Minister of the Crown. In July Sir
Harcourt Johnstone invited a number of Members of Parliament to his
house to discuss the position of the Abolitionist question. Mr.
Stansfeld went there with others, and proposed that Sir Harcourt himself
should move in the House for leave to bring in a Bill for Repeal. This
he did.
On the 15th October a great public meeting was held in the Colston Hall,
Bristol, at which Mr. Stansfeld made his first public appearance as a
champion of our cause. It was a notable occasion. He was surrounded on
the platform by a number of the best and most devoted men and women, who
had worked from the beginning, and who watched his entrance upon this
field of battle with a very deep and solemn interest. It was the first
time that an ex-Minister of the Crown, a distinguished and recognised
leader of one of the great political parties, had appeared upon our
platform. It would be difficult to exaggerate the value of such service
to our cause; but Mr. Stansfeld brought to it not only his widely known
name, but deep convictions, indomitable courage and great eloquence.
This, his first speech for us, attracted the attention of the whole
country, and led to a discussion of the question by the press of the
country, which for a short time abandoned the “conspiracy of silence,”
resuming it again, however, some weeks later. The _Times_ sincerely
regretted “that a statesman of Mr. Stansfeld’s eminence should identify
himself with such an hysterical crusade, in which it is impossible to
take part without herding with prurient and cynical fanatics.” The
_Saturday Review_ said that “Governments with real responsibility upon
them cannot regard life with this primitive straightforwardness, and
must be content to trust that what is required for the health of a
people is also the most in harmony with Christianity.” Which was a
supremely haughty way of saying that if the methods of Governments and
Christianity did not agree, so much the worst for Christianity.[8]
After an address of extraordinary power, full of lucid argument, Mr.
Stansfeld concluded with the following words:—“Full of a sense of
special responsibility, I have dived down into the very depths of this
question, and have impressed myself with the profound conviction that
this system is immoral and unconstitutional, and calculated to degrade
and debase the manhood and the womanhood of the country. I have watched
the insidious materialism creeping over the country and entangling in
the meshes of its wide-sweeping net many good men and good women
unconscious whither they were going, and deceived by appeals made to
them in the name of benevolence, and for the sake of diminishing
physical suffering. I have seen good men and women, brave men and braver
women master the intense repugnance which a refined and sensitive person
must feel on such a subject; I have seen women with all their exquisite
sensitiveness coming before the public to plead the cause of virtue
against that of legalised vice; and I have marked these women hounded
down, hooted at with unseemly language, gestures, and even threats, and
I know that, were not the spirit of the law of this country too strong,
their lives and persons might have been exposed to danger and to
outrage, as the lives and persons of the Abolitionists of America were
at the hands of the man-stealers and slave-holders of the South. I have
marked these things. I have put my hand to the plough; I have cast in my
lot with those men and women (for ever reverenced be their names!) who
hitherto have led a hope which too long has seemed a forlorn hope; and
never will I desist, and never will they desist, from this sacred
agitation until these degrading laws are blotted out from the statute
book for ever.”
Mr. Stansfeld made no vain boast on this occasion. He has kept his word.
He has fulfilled his promise. In numberless meetings at home and abroad,
on many important occasions, his powerful advocacy of our cause has been
heard, and up to the present time, in spite of the pressure of other
public duties, and of the encroaching disabilities of age, he has
maintained the same attitude; he has lent his powerful aid to the great
question of Abolition in India, and never fails in his interest and
helpfulness in any part of the work in which we are engaged.[9]
I left England for the Continent in December, 1874, and reached Paris,
accompanied by one of my sons, my husband and my other sons joining me
ten days later.
I was armed with some good introductions, or rather affectionate
recommendations from English friends to all and every one who might
consent to hear my message. One of these was signed by Mr. William Shaen
on behalf of our National Association, of which he was the able
President for a long period of years. Another was from the Friends’
Abolitionist Society, and was signed by leading men and women among the
Quakers. This body of Christians had gained the hearts of our
Continental neighbours in a remarkable degree by their devotion to the
sufferers (of both nationalities engaged) during and after the
Franco-German War. I found their name a ready passport on several
occasions. Lord Derby, our Foreign Minister at the time, very willingly
gave me a letter, written from the Foreign Office, stating briefly my
aims, and his desire for my safety and success. This last was useful in
Paris.
It was bitterly cold. The streets of Paris were filled with melting
snow, and a depressing fog hung over the city. After making several
calls on members of the Protestant community, I went to the headquarters
of the monstrous police tyranny in Paris. I gave an account of this
visit, in writing, to one of our leading friends at home. I reproduce
the letter here, as impressions recorded at the time are more vivid than
those which we may try to revive after many years.
“_December, 1874._
“I spent a part of yesterday at the Prefecture of the Morals’ Police; it
was an exceedingly painful visit to me. I was struck in the first place
with the grandeur of the externals of the Prefect’s office, and the
evidence of the political and social power wielded by that man Lecour.
The office is one of those handsome blocks of buildings on the banks of
the Seine. It has great gateways, within which guards are pacing up and
down; a broad stone staircase, where guards stand at intervals; a number
of official-looking men passing to and fro with papers, or accompanying
people desiring an audience. I reached the top of the stone stairs and
the Prefect’s outer door, over which in large gold letters were printed
the words: ‘_Arrestations, Service des Mœurs_.’ I was faint and out of
breath, and an old guard stared at me with curiosity as I gazed at those
mendacious words, ‘Service of Morals.’ I knew it all before, but here
the fact came upon me, with peculiar and painful vividness, that man had
made woman his degraded slave by a decree which is heralded in letters
of gold, and by a tyranny of procedure which, if it were applied to men,
would soon set all Paris in flames, and not merely a few of its
buildings. That _Service des Mœurs_ seemed a most impudent proclamation
of the father of lies; it so clearly and palpably means the ‘_Service de
Debauche_.’ M. Lecour’s whole conversation showed that it is debauchery
and not morals that he is providing for and serving.
“I entered, and was kept waiting in an ante-room for half an hour, until
the great man had dismissed certain business. At last a venerable
servant, in livery covered with gold lace, directed me to follow him. He
ushered me into Lecour’s audience chamber, a well-furnished room. His
appointments and surroundings are more imposing than the room of any
Minister of State that I have yet seen in England. There were two men in
the room whose business was not yet concluded; why Lecour admitted me
then I do not know; perhaps he was nervous about seeing me alone. He
might have guessed that I would take stock of all I saw and heard. He
was standing behind an imposing desk, with his visitors in front of him.
He waved his hand majestically, and bade me be seated, telling the
venerable servant to give me a newspaper to read. I pretended to look at
the newspaper, but kept my ears open to every word which was spoken.
What occurred left on my mind the most mournful impression. What a
tragedy there seemed to be implied in the scene which passed! The first
man Lecour asked to state his case was a gentlemanly elderly man,
fatherly-looking, grave and sad; he spoke in a low, hoarse voice, and
appeared to be making a great effort to repress his feelings; his voice
and words were those of a man full of wrath and sorrow. I thought there
was a look of suppressed vengeance about him. He leaned on an umbrella,
clutching the handle tightly with both hands; there was a long
altercation; on Lecour’s side flippancy, sentiment, many words, and an
apparent desire to get rid of the man by a few promises while making out
a case against a woman for whom this man had come to plead. Frequently
the Prefect lowered his voice so that I could not catch his words,
while, in the midst of his gesticulations and talk, the other man
repeated three times in a voice which I can never forget: ‘But you
accused her! you accused her!’ Then I heard Lecour detail in many and
rapid words how the woman (she might have been the daughter of the
elderly man; she was evidently some one dear to him) had at one time
been guilty of ‘levity.’ He hinted something mysteriously about her
antecedents having been questionable. I longed to fling back the charge
and ask the Prefect of his own antecedents, and the present life of the
men for whom he now provides shameful indulgence. Lecour then told of an
interview he himself had had with the woman (this seemed fearfully to
agitate the elderly man), in which he described how she wept and showed
signs of deep distress. ‘I told her,’ said the Prefect, ‘that if I saw
signs of a real repentance persevered in, I should _forgive_ her.’ These
last words were spoken in a tone of conscious power and pride. The man
Lecour appears to me—and I tried to judge without prejudice—very
shallow, vain, talkative; his arguments are of the weakest; he has a
certain dramatic cleverness, and acts all he says with face, arms and
legs. His countenance is to me very repulsive, although his face, which
is in the barber’s block style, might be called handsome as to hair,
eyes, eyelashes, etc. He has a fixed smile, that of the hypocrite,
though certainly he is _not_ exactly a hypocrite. He is simply a shallow
actor, an acrobat, a clever stage-manager. Probably he persuades himself
of what he is constantly saying to others; intoxicated with the sense of
power, chattering and gesticulating like an ape, at the head of an
office which is as powerful as that of the Roman Prefects of the City in
the time of Rome’s corruption. And such is the man who stands in the
position of holding in his hand, so to speak, the keys of heaven and
hell, the power of life and death, for the women of Paris!
“The elderly man was not in the least consoled by the assurance ‘I would
forgive her,’ and only repeated his sullen ‘but you accused her.’ I
think he was pleading to get her name taken off the register of shame.
That he did not succeed, and turned and left the room in silence with no
salutation to the Prefect, should show to our Englishmen what a tyranny
for _themselves_, as men and fathers, this horrible system may become.
M. Jules Favre tells me that the head of the Government in France can do
nothing without the consent of the Prefects of Police, permanent
officials, stronger than the Government itself, and that MacMahon sends
for these men first thing every morning to take counsel with them. Is it
not a good deal like that wretched time in Rome, when the Pretorian
Guards elected, deposed, or dictated to the Emperor of the time, and
became themselves the most oppressive of tyrants?
“The second man who had an audience was of a different kind. He was a
young, stout, overfed-looking man, and his conversation with Lecour was
of a friendly character. The Prefect called him near to him behind his
great desk, and much of the conversation was in whispers. It seemed to
be concerning the internal economy of some of the protected houses of
debauchery. The young man asked about the literature allowed in these
houses, and Lecour deprecated certain journals, which were too
republican, and ought not to be read by women. Lecour regulates the
reading in these houses, and he turned to a great bundle of papers to
show the young man those papers which were allowed. Lecour professed
affection and esteem for the young man, and there was a kindness in his
manner which contrasted strongly with his conduct towards the elderly
man.
“Having dismissed his young protégé, the great man was ready for me. By
this time anger had made me bold. I stood up before him, declining to
sit. I told him who I was, and why I had come to Paris. He said he knew
very well who I was. His manner became rather excited and uneasy. I
continued all the time to look very steadily, but not rudely, at him. I
knew that I, at least, was utterly sincere, and I inwardly invoked the
presence of Him who is the searcher of hearts, that He might be there, a
witness between us two. Instinctively, therefore, I kept my eyes fixed
on the man to see if there was any sincerity in him. He became more and
more talkative, as if to drown me with words; in fact, I could scarcely
get a word spoken. I therefore just put a distinct question or two in
the few pauses allowed, as if desirous of information, and then he
started off volubly with his answers. This was useful to me, for he
surely said much more than was prudent. I asked him the latest
statistical results. He hesitated, but when I pressed for it he opened a
desk and gave me a little book, the last written by himself, which has
some curious matter in it. I asked if vice and disease were diminished
or increased the last five years in Paris. He answered promptly, ‘Oh,
increased, they go always increasing, continually increasing’; these
were his words (in French, he does not speak a word of English). Then I
tried to hold him to a point, and get him to tell me the causes of this
increase. He attributed it solely to two things, which I think will
surprise you, _i.e._, to the temporary ascendency of the Commune, and
the increasing ‘coquetry’ of women. I could not restrain an expression
of contempt at his last remark, which he seemed to think quite a
satisfactory and exhaustive answer. I then made an onslaught, and said
(looking up at a speck of blue sky, which I saw through the window, and
holding on to it, as it were) that I—we—consider the whole system which
he represents as an absurdity, because of its inequality of application;
that men are immoral, and liable to the physical scourge of vice as well
as women, while the system only attacks women; and that any theory of
health, based on injustice and a supposed necessity for vice, must end
in not only ridiculous and total failure, but in increased confusion and
vice. He listened impatiently, still with his fixed smile. I purposely
avoided speaking of morality or religion, and tried to nail him to the
logical view of necessary failure through injustice and one-sidedness of
application. Off he went again, denouncing women and their seductions. I
interrupted him rather abruptly by reminding him that in this crime
which he was denouncing, namely, prostitution, there were two parties
implicated. I asked him if he had been so long at the Prefecture without
its occurring to him that the men for whose health he labours, and for
whom he enslaves women, are guilty in the same sense as women. This
challenge as to the equality of guilt, and, perhaps, a little irony in
my tone, roused him, and he became agitated and excited. He left his
retreat, and came out into the room and paced up and down. He then
acted, in the most disagreeable manner, an imaginary scene between a
poor woman, a temptress, and a young man. He seemed to think that I was
an ignoramus, and that this would convert me. He described in the old,
hackneyed, sentimental manner with which we are familiar, an ‘honourable
young man’ dining out, partaking _un peu généreusement_ of wine; a girl
meets him, marks his unsteady gait—and then he acted how she would place
her arm in his and tempt him. There was no comparison, he said, between
the two: the man was simply careless; the woman was a deliberate,
determined corrupter. ‘With what motive?’ I asked, ‘tell me, is it not
often the case that the woman is poor, for I know that in Paris work is
scarcely to be found just now; or else she is a slave in one of your
permitted houses, and is sent out by her employers on what is their,
rather than her, business?’ He smilingly denied this and said, ‘Oh, no,
no, it was not poverty, it was simply coquetry.’ Then he said in a
pompous and would-be impressive manner, ‘Madame, remember this, that
women continually injure _honest_ men, but no man ever injures an honest
woman.’ Then he stood as one who had cast down a challenge which could
not be taken up. ‘Excuse me,’ I said, ‘you, yourself, have written
otherwise in your book. Here you speak of “wives and honest girls
injured by immoral and depraved men.”’ Then he changed his tone and
replied, ‘Ah, yes, but all that belongs to the region of romance; I am
only speaking of what can be recognised and forbidden by the police. The
police cannot touch the region of romance; nor can the State. You would
not desire that it should, would you?’ I replied that I desired justice,
but that I could not expect justice in this matter at the hands of the
police. Then he suddenly assumed a solemn expression and changed his
line of argument. He said, ‘Madame, écoutez! moi, je suis religieux; I
am as religious as yourself.’ Then he said, as a religious man, he must
admire the punishment of vice (in women only), and that when you could
not punish you must regulate; that among all the plans the world has
ever tried, which is of any avail, and the thing of which I would myself
become eventually the advocate, when I had had more experience, was his
own system, the system of arrests, constant arrests of women. He kept
reiterating that he was as religious as myself, and I said rather
sharply, ‘That may be, sir; I did not come here, however, to speak to
you about religion, but about justice.’ To me they are one. The religion
he spoke of was merely a bit of sentiment unworthy of the name. I
brought him back to the failure, hygienically, of his system, on account
of its injustice. He shrugged his shoulders and said, ‘But who hopes to
see perfect justice established? Who hopes for great hygienic results?’
‘Those,’ I replied, ‘belong, I suppose, to the region of romance.’ I
thanked him for his information, and asked him to be so good as to give
me a letter which would admit me to the whole of the St. Lazare. (The
St. Lazare was then entirely at the Prefect’s service, an immense
prison, hospital, and general depôt for all the unhappy women of Paris,
both for the vicious and those accused only of _vagabondage_, or who
were seeking work and had no friends.) He summoned a secretary, and in a
commanding way, directed him to write a letter giving me _carte blanche_
to see everything. When the man brought it back, Lecour sat down and
wrote a postscript, in which he requested ‘that every facility should be
given to the very honourable lady from England.’ Then he signed it
largely and stamped it with the stamp of the Prefect. So now I can go
about under his benign protection. I smiled as he wrote, thinking of the
shadowy fears which some of my friends felt when I was leaving England,
lest I should be seriously annoyed by the police. How wonderfully
Providence turns things upside down! Here was the very head of the
much-hated Morals’ Police himself sanctioning all I might wish to do
with a great flourish, and full of vanity in the performance.
“I could now enter even any of the dreadful houses which are under his
superintendence; his letter would be all-powerful. At the door, I
suddenly remembered the case of an innocent Swiss girl I had found, whom
his police are tormenting. I stated her case, assuming that he would at
once give orders for her to be let alone. At this his smiling character
suddenly changed for a moment. Almost spitting like a cat, he said, with
sudden irritation, ‘Mais quelles bêtises vous ont-elles dit!’ and a
strange expression came over his face. But he quickly recovered himself.
He evidently was making an effort to produce a good impression, and to
part friends. I felt very sad as I left his place.”