on the appearance of the waiter, exclaimed, "Beefsteak!" This time he
comprehended me, and went laughingly away to bring me a good breakfast. I
often saw the same waiter afterwards at the hotel; and he never saw me
without laughing, and exclaiming, "Beefsteak!"
In the course of the forenoon, I was taken in a carriage to the house of
Mrs. Severance; but the family were not at home. I returned to the hotel,
somewhat disheartened and disappointed. Although I should have supposed
that death was not far off if no disappointment had happened to me when I
least expected it, yet this persistent going wrong of every thing in
Cleveland was really rather dispiriting. But a bright star soon broke
through the clouds, in the shape of Mr. Severance, who came into the
parlor directly after dinner, calling for me in so easy and so cordial a
manner, that I forgot every thing, and was perfectly happy. This feeling,
however, lasted only until I reached the house. I found four fine
children, all full of childish curiosity to hear me talk; who, as soon as
they found that I could not make myself understood by them, looked on me
with that sort of contempt peculiar to children when they discover that a
person cannot do as much as they can themselves. Mr. Severance, too, was
expecting to find me accomplished in music, "like all Germans;" and had to
learn that I had neither voice nor ear for the art. Mrs. Severance
understood a little German, yet not half enough to gain any idea of how
much or how little I was capable of doing; and therefore looked upon me
with a sort of uncertainty as to what was my real capacity. This position
was more provoking than painful; there was even something ludicrous in it:
and, when not annoyed, I often went into my room to indulge in a hearty
laugh by myself.
I met with a most cordial reception in the college The dean (Dr. John J.
Delamater) received me like a father; and, on the first day, I felt
perfectly at home. All was going on well. I had a home at Mrs.
Severance's; while, despite my mutilated English, I found many friends in
the college, when circumstances changed every thing. Some changes occurred
in Mr. Severance's business; and he was forced, in consequence, to give up
house-keeping At that time, I did not know that the Physiological Society
was ready to lend me money; and was therefore in great distress. I never
experienced so bitter a day as that on which Mrs. Severance told me that I
could stay with her no longer. It was but five weeks after my arrival, and
I was not able to make myself understood in the English language, which
was like chaos to me. On the same day, I well remember, that, for the
first time in my life, I made an unsuccessful attempt to borrow money;
and, because it was the first and the last time, it was the more painful
to me to be refused. I envied the dog that lived, and was happy without
troubling his brain; I envied the kitchen-maid that did her work
mechanically, and enjoyed life far more than those fitted by nature for
something higher, while the world would go on just as well without them as
with them.
Mrs. Severance secured a boarding-place for me for the rest of the winter;
and paid my board, amounting to thirty-three dollars, from the funds of
the society. I lived quietly by myself; studied six hours daily at home,
with four dictionaries by me; attending six lectures a day, and going in
the evening for three hours to the dissecting-rooms. I never conversed
with any one in the boarding-house nor even asked for any thing at the
table; but was supplied like a mute. This silence was fruitful to me.
About New Year, I ventured to make my English audible; when, lo! every one
understood me perfectly. From this time forward, I sought to make
acquaintances, to the especial delight of good old Dr. Delamater, who had
firmly believed that I was committing gradual suicide. Through Mrs.
Severance, I became acquainted with Dr. Harriot K. Hunt, who was then on a
visit to Cleveland; and, through her, with the Rev. A.D. Mayo, who was
pastor of a small society there, known as that of the Liberal Christians.
I found many dear and valued friends during my residence in Cleveland, but
none to whom I am bound in lasting gratitude as to Mr. Mayo, who offered
me his assistance when he learned that I was in need; my extra expenses
having swallowed up the little money that I had brought with me, so that I
had not even enough to return to my sisters in New York. As the minister
of a small congregation advocating Liberal ideas, he had a hard position
in Cleveland, both socially and pecuniarily; yet he offered to share his
little with me. I was forced to accept it; and I am now, and have always
been, glad that I did so. No one, that has not had the experience, can
appreciate the happiness that comes with the feeling, that a rich man has
not cast a fragment of his superfluity towards you (and here let me
remark, that it is next to impossible to find wealth and generosity go
together in friendship), but that the help comes from one who must work for
it as well as the recipient. It proves the existence of the mutual
appreciation that is known by the name of "friendship." The apple given by
a friend is worth ten times more than a whole orchard bestowed in such a
way as to make you feel that the gift is but the superfluity of the donor.
I remained for ten months a member of Mr. Mayo's family; when he received
a call to Albany, and changes had to be made in his household. During this
time, I earned a little money by giving lessons in German, that served to
cover my most necessary expenses. For the last five months that I spent in
Cleveland, I carried in my purse one solitary cent as a sort of talisman;
firmly believing that some day it would turn into gold: but this did not
happen; and on the day that I was expecting the receipt of the last
eighteen dollars for my lessons, which were designed to bear my expenses
to New York, I gave it to a poor woman in the street who begged me for a
cent; and it doubtless, ere long, found its way into a gin-shop.
The twenty months that I spent in Cleveland were chiefly devoted to the
study of medicine in the English language; and in this I was assisted by
most noble-hearted men. Dr. Delamater's office became a pleasant spot, and
its occupants a necessity to me; and, on the days that I did not meet
them, my spirits fell below zero. In spite of the pecuniary distress from
which I constantly suffered, I was happier in Cleveland than ever before
or since. I lived in my element; having a fixed purpose in view, and
enjoying the warmest tokens of real friendship. I was liked in the
college; and, though the students often found it impossible to repress a
hearty laugh at my ridiculous blunders in English, they always showed me
respect and fellowship in the highest sense of the terms. In the beginning
of the first winter, I was the only woman; after the first month, another
was admitted; and, during the second winter, there were three besides
myself that attended the lectures and graduated in the spring. I should
certainly look upon this season as the spring-time of my life, had not a
sad event thrown a gloom over the whole.
In the autumn of 1854, after deciding to go to Cleveland to resume my
medical studies, I wrote to my parents to tell them of my hopes and aims.
These letters were not received with the same pleasure with which they
had been written. My father, who had encouraged me before my entrance upon
a public career, was not only grieved by my return to my old mode of life,
but greatly opposed to it, and manifested this in the strongest words in
the next letter that I received from him. My mother on the contrary, who
had not been at all enthusiastic in the beginning, was rather glad to
receive the news. As I had left many good friends among the physicians of
Berlin, my letters were always circulated, after their arrival, by one of
their number who stood high in the profession; and, though I did not
receive my father's approbation, he sent me several letters from strangers
who approved my conduct, and who, after hearing my letters, had sent him
congratulations upon my doings in America. How he received the respect
thus manifested to him, you can judge from a passage in one of his
letters, which I will quote to you:--
"I am proud of you, my daughter; yet you give me more grief than any other
of my children. If you were a young man, I could not find words in which
to express my satisfaction and pride in respect to your acts; for I know
that all you accomplish you owe to yourself: but you are a woman, a weak
woman; and all that I can do for you now is to grieve and to weep. O my
daughter! return from this unhappy path. Believe me, the temptation of
living for humanity _en masse,_ magnificent as it may appear in its aim,
will lead you only to learn that all is vanity; while the ingratitude of
the mass for whom you choose to work will be your compensation."
Letters of this sort poured upon me; and, when my father learned that
neither his reasoning nor his prayers could turn me from a work which I
had begun with such enthusiasm, he began to threaten; telling me that I
must not expect any pecuniary assistance from him; that I would contract
debts in Cleveland which I should never be able to pay, and which would
certainly undermine my prospects; with more of this sort. My good father
did not know that I had vowed to myself, on my arrival in America, that I
would never ask his aid; and besides, he never imagined that I could go
for five months with a single cent in my pocket. Oh, how small all these
difficulties appeared to me, especially at a time when I began to speak
English! I felt so rich, that I never thought money could not be had,
whenever I wanted it in good earnest.
After having been nine months in Cleveland, I received news that my
mother had left Berlin with my two youngest sisters to pay us a visit, and
to see what the prospects would be for my father in case she chose to
remain. Dear Mary, shall I attempt to describe to you the feeling that
over-powered me on the receipt of these tidings? If I did, you never could
feel it with me: for I could not picture in words the joy that I felt at
the prospect of beholding again the mother whom I loved beyond all
expression, and who was my friend besides; for we really never thought of
each other in our relation of mother and child, but as two who were bound
together as friends in thought and in feeling. No: I cannot give you a
description of this, especially as it was mingled with the fear that I
might not have the means to go to greet her in New York before another ten
months were over. Day and night, night and day, she was in my mind; and,
from the time that I had a right to expect her arrival, I counted the
hours from morning until noon, and from noon until night, when the
telegraph office would be closed. At length, on the 18th of September, the
despatch came,--not to me, but to my friend Mr. Mayo,--bearing the words,
"Tell Marie that she must calmly and quietly receive the news that our
good mother sleeps at the bottom of the ocean, which serves as her
monument and her grave." Mary, this is the most trying passage that I have
to write in this sketch of my life; and you must not think me weak that
tears blot the words as I write. My mother fell a victim to sea-sickness
which brought on a violent hemorrhage, that exhausted the sources of life.
She died three weeks before the vessel reached the port; and my two
sisters (the one seventeen and the other nine years of age) chose rather
to have her lowered on the Banks of Newfoundland, than bring to us a
corpse instead of the living. They were right; and the great ocean seems
to me her fitting monument.
Of course, upon the receipt of these tidings, I could remain no longer in
Cleveland, but took my last money, and went to New York to stay for a
while with my afflicted brother and sisters. The journey was very
beneficial to me; for, without it, I should not have been able to go
through my winter's study. During my stay in New York, I often visited Dr.
Elizabeth Blackwell, and learned that the little dispensary was closed
because her practice prevented her from attending it regularly; but that,
during my absence, she had been trying to interest some wealthy friends
in the collection of money, to enable us, after my return in the spring,
to commence again upon a little larger scale. To effect this, she proposed
to hold a fair during the winter after my return; and we concluded that
the first meeting for this purpose should be held during my visit in New
York. She succeeded in calling together a few friends at her house, who
determined to form a nucleus for a Fair Association for the purpose of
raising money for the New-York Infirmary.
I made a visit of a few days to Boston, and then returned again to
Cleveland. The winter passed in very much the same manner as the first,
with the difference that I spoke better English, and visited many friends
whom I had made during the preceding year. In the spring of 1856, I
graduated. Shortly after commencement, the Dean of the College (Dr.
Delamater) called upon me at the house of a friend with whom I was staying
on a visit. A call from this venerable gentleman was a thing so unusual,
that numberless conjectures as to what this visit might mean flitted
through my brain on my way to the parlor. He received me, as usual,
paternally; wished me a thousand blessings; and handed back to me the note
for one hundred and twenty dollars, payable in two years, which I had
given for the lecture-fees; telling me, that, in the meeting of the
Faculty after graduating-day it was proposed by one of the professors to
return the note to me as a gift; to which those present cheerfully gave a
unanimous vote, adding their wishes for my success, and appointing Dr.
Delamater as their delegate to inform me of the proceedings. This was a
glorious beginning, for which I am more than thankful, and for which I was
especially so at that time, when I had barely money enough to return to
New York, with very small prospects of getting means wherewith to commence
practice. The mention of this fact might be thought indiscreet by the
Faculty in Cleveland, were they still so organized as to admit women;
which, I am sorry to say, is no longer the case; though they give as their
reason, that women at present have their own medical colleges, and,
consequently, have no longer need of theirs.
Before I quit the subject of the Cleveland College I must mention a fact,
which may serve as an argument against the belief that the sexes cannot
study together without exerting an injurious effect upon each other.
During the last winter of my study, there was such emulation in respect to
the graduating honors among the candidates for graduation comprising
thirty-eight male and four female students, that all studied more closely
than they had ever done before--the men not wishing to be excelled by the
women, nor the women by the men; and one of the professors afterwards told
me, that whereas it was usually a difficult thing to decide upon the three
best theses to be read publicly at the commencement, since all were more
or less indifferently written, this year the theses were all so good, that
it was necessary, to avoid doing absolute injustice, to select thirteen
from which parts should be read. Does not this prove that the stimulus of
the one sex upon the other would act rather favorably than otherwise upon
the profession? and would not the very best tonic that could be given to
the individual be to pique his _amour propre_ by the danger of being
excelled by one of the opposite sex? Is not this natural? and would not
this be the best and the surest reformation of humanity and its social
condition, if left free to work out its own development?
On the day following the visit of Dr. Delamater, I received a letter from
my brother-in-law, in which he told me that his business compelled him to
go to Europe for half a year; and that he had, therefore, made
arrangements for me to procure money, in case that I should need it to
commence my practice. He said that he intended to assist me afterwards;
but that, as he thought it best for my sister (his wife) to live out of
New York during his absence, he was willing to lend me as much money as I
required until his return. I accepted his offer with infinite pleasure;
for it was another instance of real friendship. He was by no means a rich
man, but was simply in the employ of a large importing house.
With these prospects I left Cleveland. Immediately after my arrival in New
York, I began to look out for a suitable office; consulting Dr. Elizabeth
Blackwell, with whom I had maintained a constant correspondence, in regard
to location. I soon found that I could not obtain a respectable room
without paying an exorbitant price. Some were afraid to let an office to a
female physician, lest she might turn out a spiritual medium, clairvoyant
hydropathist, &c.; others, who believed me when I told them that I had a
diploma from a regular school, and should never practise contrary to its
requirements, inquired to what religious denomination I belonged, and
whether I had a private fortune, or intended to support myself by my
practice; while the third class, who asked no questions at all, demanded
three dollars a day for a back parlor alone, without the privilege of
putting a sign on the house or the door. Now, all this may be very
aggravating, when it is absolutely necessary that one should have a place
upon which to put a sign to let the world know that she is ready to try
her skill upon suffering humanity; but it has such a strongly ludicrous
side, that I could not be provoked, in spite of all the fatigue and
disappointment of wandering over the city, when, with aching limbs, I
commenced the search afresh each morning, with the same prospect of
success. I finally gave up looking for a room, and accepted Dr. Elizabeth
Blackwell's offer; to occupy her back parlor (the front one serving as her
own office); of which I took possession on the 17th of April.
Meanwhile, I had regularly attended the Thursday fair-meetings; wondering
how persons could afford to meet to so little purpose. There was scarcely
any life in these gatherings; and, when I saw ladies come week after week
to resume the knitting of a baby's stocking (which was always laid aside
again in an hour or two, without any marked progress), I began to doubt
whether the sale of these articles would ever bring ten thousand cents,
instead of the ten thousand dollars which it was proposed at the first
meeting to raise in order to buy a house. I used to say on Wednesday,
"To-morrow we have our fair-meeting. I wonder whether there will be, as
usual, two and a half persons present, or three and three-quarters."
I grew at length heartily sick of this kind of effort, and set about
speculating what better could be done. The idea occurred to me to go from
house to house, and ask for a dime at each, which, if given, would amount
to ten dollars a day; and, with the money thus collected daily for half a
year, to establish a nucleus hospital, which, as a fixed fact, should
stimulate its friends to further assistance.
I took my note-book, and wrote out the whole plan, and also calculated the
expenses of such a miniature hospital as I proposed; including furniture
beds, household utensils; every thing, in short, that was necessary in
such an institution. With this book, which I still have in my possession,
I went one evening into Dr. Blackwell's parlor, and, seating myself, told
her that _I_ could not work any longer for the fair in the way that the
ladies were doing; and then read my plan to her, which I advocated long
and earnestly. She finally agreed with me that it would be better
speedily to establish a small hospital than to wait for the large sum that
had been proposed; though she did not approve of the scheme of the dime
collection, fearing that I would not only meet with great annoyances, but
would also injure my health in the effort. At that time, after some
discussion, I agreed with her: now I think that this plan would have been
better than that which I afterwards followed. On the same evening, I
proposed, and we agreed, that, on a year from that day (the 1st of May,
1857), the New-York Infirmary should be opened.
I went to rest with a light heart, but rose sorrowfully in the morning.
"In one year from to-day, the Infirmary must be opened," said I to myself;
"and the funds towards it are two pairs of half-knit babies' stockings."
The day was passed in thinking what was the next best scheme to raise
money for its foundation. At length I remembered my visit to Boston, and
some friends there whose influence might help me _to beg_ for an
_institution for American women_. For myself I could never have begged; I
would sooner have drowned myself: now I determined to beg money from
Americans to establish an institution for their own benefit. This plan was
disclosed to Dr. Blackwell, and agreed upon, as there was nothing risked
in it; I taking the whole responsibility.
On the next day, the fair-meeting was held at Dr. Blackwell's. The new
plan was brought forward; and, although it was as yet nothing but a plan,
it acted like a warm, soft rain upon a field after a long drought. The
knitting and sewing (for which I have a private horror under all
conditions) were laid aside, to my great relief; and the project was
talked of with so much enthusiasm, that I already saw myself in
imagination making my evening visits to the patients in the New-York
Infirmary; while all the members present (and there were unusually many; I
think, six or seven) discussed the question the next day among their
circles of friends, whether Henry Ward Beecher or a physician of high
standing should make the opening speech in the institution.
This excitement increased the interest exceedingly and the succeeding
meetings were quite enthusiastic. The babies' stockings were never again
resumed (don't think that, because I detested those stockings so much, I
am cruel enough to wish the little creatures to go barefoot); but plans
were made for raising money in New York, and for getting articles for sale
on a larger scale. Dr. Blackwell wrote to her sister. Dr. Emily
Blackwell, who was at that time studying in England, requesting her to
make collections among their friends in that country; which she did with
success.