the Infirmary must be opened, we began to look about for a suitable house.
In autumn, I went to Boston to see what aid could be obtained there. I
cannot tell you here in what manner I became acquainted with a circle of
noble women, who had both means and the disposition to employ them for
such a purpose: it suffices to say, that I interested them in the
undertaking and obtained a hundred dollars towards the expenses of the
fair, together with a promise of a large table of fancy-goods, and an
invitation to come again in case any further aid was needed. At the end of
three weeks, I left Boston for Philadelphia; but here I was not
successful, as all who were interested in the medical education of women
contributed largely already to the Philadelphia College. A small table of
fancy-goods was the result of my visit there. The money and promise of
goods that I received in Boston stimulated our friends in New York to such
a degree, that, in spite of Dr. Elizabeth Blackwell's doubts as to whether
we should cover the expenses, the fair realized a thousand dollars. Yet
this was not half sufficient to commence the proposed hospital; and I
therefore proposed to Dr. Elizabeth Blackwell that I should go on another
begging tour through New England, while she and her sister (Dr. Emily
Blackwell, who had arrived from England a week before the fair) should
arrange matters in New York, where they had more acquaintances than I. I
went for the second time to Boston in February, and met with unexpected
success; bringing back about six hundred dollars in cash, with promises of
a like sum for the ensuing two years. I had represented our scheme as a
three-years' experiment In the mean time, the Drs. Blackwell had hired a
large, old-fashioned house, No. 64, Bleeker Street, which we had looked at
together, and which was very well suited to our purpose, devoting the rest
of their time chiefly to endeavors to interest the Legislature in our
enterprise; the result of which was, that, though nothing was granted us
that spring, the next winter, when we could show our institution in
operation, the usual dispensary grant was extended to us.
On the 3d of April, I returned from Boston, and almost immediately went to
work with some of our lady-managers to order beds and to furnish the
house and dispensary, and also to superintend the internal changes. After
five weeks of hard work, I had the pleasure, on the 15th of May, 1857, of
listening in the wards of the New-York Infirmary to the opening speeches
delivered by the Rev. Henry Ward Beecher, Dr. Elder, and Rev. Dudley Tyng.
A few days afterwards, I admitted the first house-patient and opened the
dispensary, which I attended two days in the week; Drs. Elizabeth and
Emily Blackwell taking charge of it for the remaining four days. I had
offered two years' gratuitous services as my contribution to the
Infirmary, remaining there not only as resident physician, but also as
superintendent of the household and general manager; and attending to my
private practice during the afternoon. The institution grew rapidly, and
the number of dispensary patients increased to such an extent, that the
time from seven in the morning until one in the afternoon was wholly
occupied in the examination of cases. In the second year of the existence
of the Infirmary the state of Dr. Elizabeth Blackwell's health compelled
her to go to Europe: and for nine months Dr. Emily Blackwell and I took
charge of the business, which at this time was considerable; the
attendance at the dispensary averaging sixty daily.
During the course of this year, I received letters from some of the
Trustees of the New-England Female Medical College in Boston, inquiring
whether I were inclined to take charge of a hospital in connection with
that institution. A consultation on the subject with Drs. Elizabeth and
Emily Blackwell seemed to prove to us, that by doing this, and helping the
college to attain its objects, we could probably best aid the cause of the
medical education of women. After hesitating for a long time what course
to pursue, I went to Boston in the spring of 1859, in order to define in a
public address my views and position in respect to the study of medicine.
I found so great a desire prevailing for the elevation of the institution
to the standard of the male medical colleges, and such enthusiasm in
respect to the proposed hospital, that I concluded at once to leave the
Infirmary; Dr. Elizabeth Blackwell's absence having proved that it could
be sustained by two, not only without loss, but with a steady increase,
secured by the good done by its existence. Having fulfilled my promise of
two years to the institution, on the 5th of June, 1859, I left for
Boston, where I am now striving to make the hospital-department as useful
as the New-York Infirmary is to the public and the students.
Now, my dear Mary, you may think me very long in my story, especially in
the latter part, of which you know much already; but I could not refrain
from writing fully of this part of my life, which has been the object of
all my undertakings, and for which I have borne trials and overcome
difficulties which would have crushed nine out of ten in my position. I do
not expect that this will be the end of my usefulness; but I do expect
that I shall not have to write to you any more of my doings. It was simply
in order that you, my friend, should understand me fully, and because you
have so often expressed a wish to know my life before we met, that I
finished this work. Now you have me externally and internally, past and
present: and although there have been many influences besides which have
made their impressions on my peculiar development, yet they are not of a
nature to be spoken of as facts; as, for instance, your friendship for me.
On looking back upon my past life, I may say that I am like a fine ship,
that, launched upon high seas, is tossed about by the winds and waves,
and steered against contrary currents, until finally stranded upon the
shore, where, from the materials, a small boat is built, just strong
enough to reach the port into which it had expected to enter with proudly
swelling sails. But this ambition is entirely gone; and I care now very
little whether the people recognize what is in me or not, so long as the
object for which I have lived becomes a reality.
And now, my good friend, I must add one wish before I send these last few
pages to you; namely, that I may be enabled some day to go with you to
Berlin, to show you the scenes in which my childhood and youth were
passed, and to teach you on the spot the difference between Europe and
America. All other inducements to return have vanished. The death of my
father during the last year severed the last tie that bound me to my
native place. Nearly all the men who aided in promoting my wishes have
passed away; and the only stimulus that now remains to revisit the home of
my youth is the wish to wander about there with you, and perhaps two or
three other of my American friends. Until this can be accomplished, I hope
to continue my present work in the New-England Female Medical College,
which, though by no means yet what we wish it to be, is deserving of
every effort to raise it to the stand that it ought to take among the
medical institutions of America.
Yours with love,
Marie E. Zakrzewska.
Boston, September, 1859.
* * * * *
The sweet, pure song has ended. Happy she who has been permitted to set
its clear, strong notes to music. I need not murmur that my own old
hand-organ grows useless, since it has been permitted to grind out the
_key_. Yet Marie's story is told so modestly, and with so much personal
reserve, that, for the sake of the women whom we are both striving to
help, I must be forgiven for directing the public attention to a few of
its points.
In all respects, the "little blind doctor" of the story is the Marie
Zakrzewska that we know. The early anecdotes give us the poetic
impressibility and the enduring muscular fibre, that make themselves felt
through the lively, facile nature. The voice that ordered the fetters
taken off of crazy Jacob is the voice we still hear in the wards of the
hospital. But that poetic impressibility did not run wild with crazy
fancies when she was left to sleep on the floor of the dead-house: the
same strong sense controlled it that started the "tassel manufactory" in
New York, where it had been meant to open a physician's office. Only
thirteen years old when she left school, she had but little aid beside a
_steady purpose_ in preparing for her career. We hear of her slatternly
habits; but who would ever guess them, who remembers the quiet, tasteful
dress of later years?
How free from all egotism is the record! The brain-fever which followed
her attendance on her two aunts is mentioned as quietly as if it were a
sprained foot. Who of us but can see the wearing-away of nervous energy
which took place with the perpetual care of a cancer and a somnambulist
pressed also by the hard reading suggested by Dr. Arthur Lütze? Berlin
educated the second La Chapelle; but it was for America, not Germany. The
dreadful tragedy of Dr. Schmidt's death is hardly dwelt upon long enough
to show its full effects, so fearful is our friend of intruding a personal
matter.
When "Woman's Right to Labor" was printed, many persons expressed their
regret that so little was said about sin and destitution in Boston itself;
and many refused to believe that every pit-fall and snare open in the Old
World gaped as widely here. "You have only the testimony of the girls
themselves," they would reply, when I privately told them what I had not
thought it wise to print. I have never regretted yielding to the motives
which decided me to withhold much that I knew. "If they believe not Moses
and the prophets, neither would they believe though one rose from the
dead," said, of old, the divine voice; and the hearts that were not
touched by what I thought it fit to tell would never have been stirred to
energy by fuller revelations.
In these pages, authenticated by a pure and cultivated woman, who holds a
high position among us, every fact at which I hinted is made plain; and
here no careless talker may challenge the record with impunity. Here, as
in New York, smooth-faced men go on board the emigrant-ship, or the
steerage of the long-expected steamer; here, as there, they make friendly
offers and tell plausible lies, which girls who have never walked the
streets of Berlin at night, nor seen the occupants of a hospital-ward at
the Charité, can hardly be expected to estimate at their just worth. The
stories which I have told of unknown sufferers are here repeated. The
grand-daughter of Krummacher marries a poor shoemaker to save herself from
vice, and poor German Mary drowns herself in the Hudson because she feels
herself a burden on a heartless brother. Better far to sink beneath its
waves than beneath the more remorseless flood which sweeps over all great
cities. Now, when the story of the Water-street cap-makers is told, to be
matched by many another in Boston itself, it is no longer some ignorant,
half-trained stranger who tells the story, but the capable, skilled woman,
who, educated for better things, made tassels and coiffures, and accepted
commissions in embroidery, till the merchants were convinced that here,
indeed, was a woman without reproach. Water-street merchants would do well
to remember hereafter that the possibilities of a Zakrzewska lie hidden in
every oppressed girl, and govern themselves accordingly. Think of this
accomplished woman, able to earn no more than thirty-six cents a day,--a
day sixteen hours long, which finished a dozen caps at three cents each!
What, then, must become of clumsy and inferior work-women? Think of it
long and patiently, till you come to see, as she bids you, the true
relation between the idleness of women and money in the Fifth Avenue and
the hunted squalor of women without money at the Five Points. Women of
Boston, the parallel stands good for you. Listen, and you may hear the
dull murmur of your own "Black Sea," as it surges against your gateway.
Hasten to save those whom it has not yet overwhelmed Believe me that many
of them are as pure and good as the babes whom you cradle in cambric and
lace. If you will not save them, neither shall you save your own beloved
ones from the current which undermines like a "back-water" your costliest
churches, your most sacred homes.
Caroline H. Dall.
Oct. 29, 1860.
L'Envoi.
"Unbarred be all your gates, and opened wide,
Till she who honors women shall come in!"
Dante: Sonnet xx.
Footnotes
[1] Pronounced Zak-shef-ska.
[2] "The undersigned, Secretary of Legation of the United States of
America, certifies that Miss Marie Elizabeth Zakrzewska has exhibited to
him very strong recommendations from the highest professional authorities
of Prussia, as a scientific, practical, experienced _accoucheuse_ of
unusual talent and skill. She has been chief _accoucheuse_ in the Royal
Hospital of Berlin, and possesses a certificate of her superiority from
the Board of Directors of that institution. She has not only manifested
great talent as a practitioner, but also as a teacher; and enjoys the
advantage of a moral and irreproachable private character. She has
attained this high rank over many female competitors in the same branch;
there being more than fifty[A] in the city of Berlin who threaten, by
their acknowledged excellence, to monopolize the obstetric art."
Theo. S. Fay.
"Legation United States, Berlin, Jan. 26, 1853."
[SEAL.]
[A] "Upon inquiry, I find that, instead of fifty, there are one hundred
and ten female _accoucheuses_ in Berlin.
"THEO. S. FAY."
[3] Here I have to remark, that, not being able to speak English, I
conducted my business at the different stores either in German or French,
as I easily found some of the _employées_ who could speak one of these
languages.