English, and was well-versed in European, especially German literature
and history, but had little reverence for the learning and literary
history of her own country. Her parents began by dictations and by
interesting excerpts from Anglo-Saxon history to make her breathe their
atmosphere and adapt herself to their habits of thought. After her
many years of seclusion a new world opened before her young eyes when
she made her first appearance in the gay society of New Orleans at the
time of the Exposition. Now was formed her first acquaintance with
theatre and opera. She was well prepared for this,--really her first
encounter with life,--bringing to it a mind vigorous by nature and well
disciplined by the study of history and economics. Hence, in spite of
the great enthusiasm with which she met the world, she was prevented
from forming any but just judgments of men and things. She was queen
of Comus this same season,[13] and somewhat later while attending her
father on his triumphal procession through Alabama and Georgia she
was introduced to the Confederate veterans by General Gordon as 'The
Daughter of the Confederacy,'--an eminently appropriate title which she
always wore in a manner worthy of her father's daughter.
In 1879 the family had moved to Beauvoir, where they lived until the
death of Jefferson Davis. Miss Winnie's devotion to her father is said
to have been beautiful. She was his constant companion, accompanying
him on all his trips through the South; she served him as private
secretary and assistant in all his literary work. She would walk hand
in hand with him by the sounding sea; she would pore over volumes
uninteresting to her because she knew his heart was in them; she would
read aloud to him by the hour, and when he was weary she would sing to
him sweet old Southern songs. In fact she was the stay of his declining
years, succeeding in her effort to fill not only her own place but that
of the sons he had lost.
After the death of the husband and father, Mrs. Davis and her daughter
moved to the North. They felt that they must do so in order to secure
work, which was now a necessity.[14] It was also a great advantage
to them in their literary labors to be in close touch with their
publishers, and the Northern climate was better suited to the mother's
health. 'The Daughter of the Confederacy' received an urgent and hearty
invitation to attend every function connected with the 'lost cause,'
which she always accepted when it was possible. Both hemispheres
were shocked at the announcement that her life had been cut short at
Narragansett Pier on the 18th of September 1898. As was fitting, her
body was buried at Richmond, where her cradle had stood,--in that
city which is richest in memories of the 'lost cause' and all that is
associated with it.
Splendid was the character of this woman who had been fondled and
kissed in her babyhood by such men as Alexander H. Stephens, Judah
P. Benjamin, Stephen R. Mallory, and the immortal Robert E. Lee. The
hopes they expressed for her future usefulness as they stood around
her cradle were fulfilled in rich measure. She always remained a child
in her simplicity and in her exquisite purity of soul; she was a woman
in dignity and in her ideas of justice before leaving the nurse's
arms. Even when she was a mere baby she resented any reflection upon
her truthfulness or sincerity; once when somebody reproved her for a
supposed fault and threatened to tell her mother, she replied, "Do
tell her, she always understands me; I am not afraid of my mother."
After she had become known as one of the most cultured women of her
time,--up to the very hour of her death, in fact,--she did not give up
her tender, baby ways with her mother, to whom she would say simply, "I
try to be a good girl, do you think, dear, I am?" She was unaffected,
charitable, honest, and loyal. Her love for little children was very
marked; to the sick and afflicted she was a ministering angel; she was
almost worshiped by the poor people and the children about Beauvoir.
It is said that she never allowed tramps to be turned away hungry
even though she saw them impose upon her repeatedly. She was a model
listener and would sit with her blue eyes shining with sympathy. Too
modest to lead the conversation, she did so only when her interest
in the subject and her knowledge of it made her forget herself and
inspired her to speak. She was chary of expressing her opinions,
which were honest and well-considered, and especially disliked
pronunciamentos.
Charles Dudley Warner, who knew her and loved her for many years,
pays a high tribute in an article as yet unpublished to her sterling
character and ingenuous face, her sweet disposition, and power of
great affection. He emphasizes her sympathetic nature, her simplicity
of manner, her open-eyed candor, her transparent sincerity, and her
unworldliness,--her disposition to place spiritual things above
material things. He was especially struck with the fact that she was
free from prejudice and bitterness with regard to the war between
the States. He had reason to know that she rather shrank from the
demonstrations of the Confederate veterans towards her, as she was a
little timid in such matters, and had a very humble opinion of herself
and her merits and womanly reluctance to such publicity. Yet she met
the trying situation admirably, her tact and delicacy preventing her
from making any mistakes. She seemed to the veterans the embodiment of
those principles for which they had fought, and she always remained
true to the traditions of her family and of her beloved Southland.
The first thing Miss Davis published was a little poem in blank verse
which appeared in 'The Times-Democrat;' it was an address to a group of
giant pines at Beauvoir and was signed 'The Colonel.' She was a member
of a little literary club in New Orleans called the 'Pangnostics,' at
which each girl read a paper at an appointed time. 'The Daughter's
of the Confederacy' chose for her subject Robert Emmet, in whom she
felt a strong interest because Mrs. Davis' grandfather, Colonel James
Kempe, of Natchez, had been one of Emmet's men before he was sixteen.
Besides questioning her mother closely as to the stories which her
great-grandfather had told about the ill-fated struggle for freedom in
the home of his youth, she read at least twenty books on Irish history
or subjects related to it, in order to prepare herself for writing,
'An Irish Knight of the Nineteenth Century,'[15] as the piece was
called, contains a vivid portrayal of the oppression of Ireland from
the earliest times and a sympathetic sketch of the young patriot, whose
life was a romantic tragedy. The author shows as great enthusiasm for
freedom as does Schiller in his 'Robbers.' Charles Dudley Warner, who
was present when the paper was read to the club, was much pleased with
it, and Mr. and Mrs. Davis were so proud of it that they decided to
have it published, expecting only to distribute copies gratuitously
among their friends. However, it went through three editions, and
although she had only a small percentage on the books, which sold for
twenty-five cents, it brought the young girl $300. Mr. Ridpath once
told Mrs. Davis that it had gone through many Irish societies and
awakened much enthusiasm.
The next publication, entitled 'Serpent Myths,' appeared in 'The North
American Review.'[16] It shows wide reading and offers an interesting
and ingenious theory to explain the origin of these myths. After this
came some short descriptions of German life written for various papers
and some clever bits of versification which were never published. Two
or three years after her father's death she wrote for 'The Ladies' Home
Journal' a very strong article against foreign education for American
girls, on the ground that such education gives the pupil a different
point of view from her own people and puts her out of harmony with
her surroundings. This piece attracted wide attention in the North as
well as in the South. She wrote for 'Belford's Magazine'[17] a clever
criticism of Colonel William Preston Johnston's theory that Hamlet was
intended as a characterization of James I, of England.
Miss Davis next resolved to write a book, and chose for her subject
a story her mother had told her about a veiled doctor that had once
attended a member of Mrs. Davis' family in Pennsylvania. It shows the
delicacy of her nature that she feared she might wound the feelings of
his family and accordingly laid the scene of her story at Wickford,
Rhode Island, in an old house which she had seen there. The main
incidents of this novel[18] are true. As it is her most ambitious work,
I will speak of it in detail.[19]
Doctor Gordon Wickford, the heir of the leading family in a provincial
town, has married a city belle. She is a beautiful blonde, whose
"glory lies in her hair," which she treasures above all other earthly
possessions, including her husband. "He had prostrated himself
spiritually before her beauty, and demanded nothing but the acceptance
of his adulation." Too late he finds out that blind infatuation has
caused him to marry a woman who is so vain, shallow, and frivolous as
to be utterly unworthy of him. The uncongenial surroundings among which
she finds herself serve to accent her lack of loveliness of character,
and to widen the chasm between them. This becomes impassable, as far
as he is concerned, when he catches her in a downright lie. Then he
turns upon her for the first time, and tells her that, while she may
remain in his house, she shall henceforth be his wife only in name. The
spirit and determination he shows reveal to her a force of character
she had never suspected in one who had been accustomed to yield to her
in everything, and she begins to respect him thoroughly. Only after
she has lost his love does she realize the value of it, and then she
strives to win it back, while a genuine love for him begins to grow up
within her own bosom.
As time goes on Wickford recognizes the fact that he is doomed to die
of cancer, that dread disease to which other members of his family had
already fallen victim. On returning from the city, where his worst
fears with regard to his condition have been confirmed, he is thinking
of seeking a reconciliation with Isabel, his wife, in order that she
may comfort him in the trying hours that are to come. He hesitates
because he has heard her make so many unfeeling remarks about the
afflicted and infirm, and knows she cannot bear to come into contact
with suffering. While he is still in doubt what to do, a scene of which
he is an unseen witness convinces him of his wife's infidelity, and in
a moment of delirium he cuts off her beautiful hair and throws it into
the fire. After this he is ill of brain-fever for a long time.
As he has completely ignored his wife ever since he discovered that she
had been lying, he is not aware of the change in her feeling toward
him. He persistently refuses to listen when his old aunt attempts to
plead the cause of Isabel.
His sensitive nature cannot bear the thought of everybody seeing the
mark of the loathsome disease as it slowly eats its way, so he covers
his face with a black veil, which he never removes. He loses sight of
his own condition in ministering to the sufferings of others. Finally,
after many months his own hour comes, and he locks himself within his
office, determined that no mortal eye shall see his last sufferings.
He writes a letter to his wife beseeching her to respect his wishes
in this matter, and assuring her that by doing so she can atone for
all her sins against him. She obeys him to the letter, refusing, in
spite of vigorous protests, to allow anyone to enter his chamber. She
takes her position just outside his door, and listens with agony to
his moaning until the end comes, when she finds a note, written just
before he expired, in which he recognizes her love for him and asks
her forgiveness. After her own great sorrow she is able really to
sympathize with the sufferings of others, and finally goes down to the
grave respected by all who know her.
Such is the story, briefly told. The title reminds us of Hawthorne's
parable, 'The Minister's Black Veil.' Both Doctor Wickford and Parson
Hooper put on the veil never to lay it aside even for a moment, and
the effect on the outside world is naturally very much the same in
both cases, but here the resemblance ceases, for the cause is physical
in one instance and moral in the other. The selfishness and levity of
Madame Wickford find a parallel in the heroine of Benson's 'Dodo',
while her 'new birth' is not altogether unlike that of Marcella, who
is, however, an infinitely stronger character. More interesting still
is a comparison between our novel and 'The Forge Master' of George
Ohnet. Claire persists in receiving the advances of her husband,
Philippe Derblay, with such coldness that he finally loses patience and
pays her in her own coin. Her respect for him is awakened, and when he
is on the point of fighting a duel for her sake, she rushes in between
him and his adversary, revealing to him the fact that she now loves him
devotedly. Thus a reconciliation is effected. I do not mean to say that
our author has borrowed anything from these stories, for, while she is
probably acquainted with them all, it is by no means certain that she
has read any one of them. I have mentioned these points of resemblance
merely because I think they are interesting.
I have heard the situations in 'The Veiled Doctor' characterized as
unnatural and melodramatic, and the style criticised as stilted.
With this opinion I cannot agree. Our author partially disarms
criticism by calling our attention to the perspective,--the events
being supposed to have taken place in "those times when the lives of
men and women swung between the two poles of war's brutality and a
super-refined sentimentalism, which seems mawkish to their more prosaic
grandchildren." The ideals of different periods are not the same, and
it is hardly safe to take those of our own as a perfectly reliable
standard in judging those of another. For instance, to our age Goethe's
'Sorrows of Werther' seems full of maudlin sentimentality, yet it
was received with wild enthusiasm when it appeared, for it mirrored
perfectly the spirit of the time. All are agreed that a story should
harmonize, at least in a general way, with its historical setting, for
else we should be reminded of Horace's picture of the figure with a
woman's head, a horse's neck, feathered body, and a fish's tail.
When we take into consideration the sensitive nature of Gordon Wickford
and the ignorance of the physicians of his day with regard to the
proper treatment of cancer, his desire to die alone does not seem
so unnatural, and, if this view be accepted, Isabel's obedience is
easily understood. It must be confessed that the most sympathetic and
practical character in the book is 'Aunt Hannah.'
The style is not always what it should be, our author being at times
unable to resist the temptation to use high-sounding phrases, but it
sometimes manifests considerable strength, and we find numerous bits of
description that are really clever and show excellent taste in their
simplicity. I quote several passages:
"As yet the trees in the street had not completely hidden their
graceful branch-lines in new spring greenery; there were still light
young shoots in the box hedges, and the air was full of the breath of
the spring. In the old garden long lines of crocus, yellow jonquils,
and single blue hyacinths hedged the grass-plots. The snowballs
were covered with great foamy white balls, periwinkles looked up
clear-eyed from under the parlor windows, and everywhere the single
blue violets were making the air sweet with their spring thanksgiving.
The tall standard roses had thrown out pale-green racemes, and the
'bridal-wreath' bushes were just commencing to powder their branches
with miniature blossoms. A young moon hung like a reap-hook in the
evening sky; the bride and groom could see it between a fret-work of
flowery apple and pear branches as they paced backward and forward in
the soft air."
"At last the day broke rosy and splendid over a steel-blue sea."
"There was a freshness on her cheeks and a dewy look about her eyes
that seemed to answer to the glory of the new day, and to proclaim her
an integral part of the summer morning."
"Autumn had dressed the old town in sober suits of brown, laced with
yellow and red; there was a sharp tang in the salt sea air that sent
the blood dancing. The smell of the ripe apples, crushed by the
cider-presses, pervaded the orchards, and in the fields the stacked
dried corn showed the unsuspected wealth of golden pumpkins that grew
between rows. Out in the woods the ferns had grown wan and pale, and
the fading leaves began to carpet the dead summer's undergrowth. Day
after day the officer and the lady rode away from the tree-shaded
streets to the silent autumn forests where silver-gray oak-boles
upheld canopies of brown velvet leaves. The gumtrees burned like fire,
and the hickory and sassafras gleamed golden over the red sumach and
whortleberry that made the old fields seem deluged with the blood of
some mighty battle. At times the long lines of homing ducks would
pass them, or a V of wild geese would sweep over their heads, crying
'honk-honk!'"
"Evening had come on, and the bare boughs were etched black against
a lemon-colored sky, which melted into orange where it kissed the
horizon."
"The rosy glow in the west faded to ashen gray as the day burned itself
out."
"Autumn followed, spreading its rich India carpet of leaves before the
retreating footsteps of the dying year."
"Again the dawn swept up out of the sea, rosy and clear; she could see
the pink light of a new day on the western walls of the passage."
"He labored under the oppressive aloofness begotten by sorrow, which
endows even the most familiar objects with a strangeness borrowed from
the new relation that we thenceforth bear to our dead selves. The old
landmarks seemed to be obliterated by the torrents of his anguish and
he felt no more of the balm he anticipated from a sense of homecoming
than he might have experienced in entering any wayside tavern. His
disease created a spiritual alienation from all things, and in his
heart, like the Jewish lepers, he cried out perpetually, 'Unclean!
unclean!' proclaiming his eternal separation from humanity."
"There were all sorts of half-fledged thoughts nestling in his heart as
he strode out into the night."
"A sudden apprehension shook her, every overwrought nerve in her body
seemed strained to listen; the wind had risen since dark, and was
moaning in the chimney. She heard him fumble with the bolts; it seemed
an age before the door flew open with a crash, and the storm rushed
in whooping, making the candles flicker and starting the smouldering
logs into a blaze. Some one was talking to the Captain in the hall;
now the door closed, and she heard his quick step coming back alone.
The presentiment of impending evil that had oppressed her all day now
took the form of anxiety for her husband; her fear grew into an awful
certainty of misfortune as she listened for the Captain's return. Could
Gordon have been taken ill? Was there an accident on the journey? Could
he even be dead? 'Oh God,' she prayed dumbly, 'not without saying
good-bye,--not angry with me, and without good-bye!'"
Finally, the moral of the book is one that has the sanction of the
father of Greek tragedy; it is the familiar adage that wisdom comes
through suffering. The strongest feature of the story is its interest;
I could hardly put it down before I had finished it. This interest,
which is inspired by its intrinsic merit, is increased by the fact that
it is the work of 'The Daughter of the Confederacy.' While it is not a
great book, it is well worth reading.
Next came many unsigned essays for different journals,--a Christmas
story for 'The World,' and a pretty one called 'Maiblume' for 'Arthur's
Home Journal.' Then followed a comprehensive article on 'The Women of
the South before the War,'--before she was born. Mrs. Davis gave her
the material, and her beautiful, pure soul shed upon it the moonlight
of idealism. The piece last mentioned, as well as a remarkable paper
on her father's character as she saw it, was published by McClure's
syndicate.
Miss Davis was unusually well-versed in Chinese history, as she had
spent two years reading it because of her intention of writing a
Chinese novel. On this account 'A Romance of Summer Seas' has so strong
a _vraisemblance_ that people thought the author had visited the scenes
so vividly described. Her knowledge of the Chinese world is shown also
in an article not yet published which has for its title, 'An Experiment
in Chinese Money;' it was written at the time of the silver and gold
contest.
It was a cherished wish of the dutiful daughter to put herself in a
position to buy a little home in a beautiful country district and a
little pony carriage for her mother and herself. With this in view
she wrote 'A Romance of Summer Seas,'[20] which she had first intended
to call 'An Unconventional Experiment.' She had contemplated writing
a novel of which the scene should be laid at Hong-Kong,--a novel of a
more ambitious nature than 'A Romance of Summer Seas.'
The 'unconventional experiment' consists in a young girl's being
forced by circumstances to travel under the sole guardianship of a
young Englishman from their home, Penang, off the coast of the Malay
Peninsula, to Hong-Kong and Yokohama. The summer seas of the Orient and
the two cities last named form the background of the story. The pair
are very reserved and stand aloof from the other passengers until these
begin to gossip about them and to whisper that the relations between
them are not just what they should be. This causes two or three fights,
two challenges, and one duel, all of which might have been avoided if
the people on board had minded their own business. It also brings about
a marriage between the young man and young girl in question, who have
been awakened by these rude happenings to the consciousness that they
love one another.
The characters are well-drawn and lifelike. Bush, the Globe Trotter,
who tells the story, proves to be a very entertaining _raconteur_
in spite of the reputation he has of being an insufferable bore. He
is loyal and true, and does not hesitate to risk his life for his
new-found friend. Malcolm Ralstone and Minerva Primrose, the pair
in whom the interest of the story centers, are not idealized but
thoroughly human. Guthrie, the Kansas cattle king, is the best-drawn
character of all; he is kind-hearted and manly, but the personification
of vulgarity,--one of that type of Americans who travel much because
they think it is the thing to do, make themselves very conspicuous
by their loudness, bad manners, and ignorance, and do all they can
to bring our country into disrepute. They are aided in this noble
work by such vulgarians as the American consul at Hong-Kong,--these
creatures who owe their prominence to the abuses of our consular
system. Miss Edwina Starkey is a revised but unimproved edition of
Mrs. Jellyby,--what Mrs. Jellyby might have been if she had become a
sour old maid. Though an apostle of 'The Brotherhood for the Diffusion
of Light,' Miss Edwina has about as much of the true spirit of
Christianity as she has of personal beauty. Among the minor characters
Doctor Clark is admirably drawn.
The book contains many charming bits of description; one has the
feeling that Miss Davis must have visited these scenes which she so
vividly paints. The life on shipboard seems very real. We find evidence
of the closest observation of the world, and the results of this
observation sententiously expressed. A quiet humor pervades the story,
which is realistic in the best sense and quite healthy.
I insert a few extracts.
"We were all up on deck enjoying the black glory of the night,--stars
set in a velvet pall overhead, and, below, the phosphorus fringes that
edged every ripple in the water and made the ship's wake shine like a
reflection of the Milky Way."