A Doomed Iniquity was the title of a pamphlet issued by Josephine Butler in 1896. It embodied an authoritative condemnation of State Regulation of Vice from persons of very different trains of thought, in France, Germany, and Belgium, who regarded the question from various points of view—scientific, political and religious—but all agreed in proclaiming the complete failure and injustice of the system, “of which they have had a far longer experience than we in England had.” The first was from Dr. Charles Mauriac, who at one time strongly defended the system, but had now published a book on the hygienic aspect of the question, in which he declared that the old coercive method was “breaking to pieces on all sides like a worm-eaten building on the point of falling to ruin,” and advocated a new method “which will emancipate woman from the last remnants of slavery, and render her free, as men are, to enter a hospital and to leave it without constraint whenever it seems good to her.” The second was from Herr Bebel, the leader of the Socialist party in Germany, who pointed out the failure, cruelty and injustice of the system—a flagrant injustice which was “only possible because it is men alone who govern and who make the laws.” The third opinion was given in a memorial to the Pope, from the Belgian Society of Public Morality, signed by all the Catholic bishops of Belgium, and others including the Prime Minister, praying his “Holiness to condemn, with an authority which is recognised by the whole world, this system so fatal to the well-being of souls, and so dangerous to the social order.”

Herr Bebel’s statement had been written to a Swiss friend, for use in the struggle at Geneva, referred to in the following letters, when a blind popular vote endorsed the recognition by the administration of “tolerated houses.” It is worth noting that eleven years later the Federal High Court of Switzerland pronounced the establishment of such houses in Geneva to be illegal: “comme contraire aux bonnes moeurs,” adding, “le fait qu’il serait autorisÉ par l’administration ne saurait lui enlever ce caractÈre.”

To various friends.

Geneva, March 25th, 1896.

I have been called to witness a dark page in the history of human life. It is pain to me to have to record it; but its lessons are needful and solemn, and I wish I had a voice to reach to the end of the civilised world, that those lessons might be heard. How many years we have had the hard task imposed on us of trying to show people—good people—the horrible principles embodied in the State regulation of vice, and the results which must necessarily follow—and they would not, will not believe us.

I must tell you first the dark side, and we must not shrink from letting it be known far and wide; and then I will go back and record the events of the last fortnight, among which you will find many things which will make you glad, as they have made us glad, in the midst of so much horror. Well you already know the result of the Popular Vote. We had 4068 as against 8300—a crushing defeat. But presently I must explain to you how the people were misled by the Government; so that this cannot be quite truly said to be the verdict of the people, though to all the world it seems so. It will be and is a great triumph for our adversaries everywhere. As M. Ador said (one of our friends in the Grand Council), it is (he believed) the first time in the history of the world when a moral question of such import has been submitted to the verdict of the people, and their verdict is in favour of continued legalised vice; and it is the first time that the popular vote has been taken on the basis of the “Droit d’Initiative,” a recent law in Switzerland from which much good was expected.

The horrors revealed last week, and especially those of Sunday night, have however so far exceeded the dismay caused by the immense majority against us, that I must speak first of those. And you will not wonder when I say that I am glad, as many others are, that the gates of this Inferno were thrown open, and that the results of a hundred years of Government organised and protected vice have been for once fully revealed. In a meeting on Monday of our gentlemen (who now number some hundreds of really convinced and militant abolitionists) they asked me some questions about our English battle, and in answering I said, “Gentlemen, you are able to face the truth, which is that Geneva is governed by the brothel keepers (tenanciers). They are the masters of the city, the masters of the situation. It is they, with their following, who have now given a mandate to the Council of State and the Grand Council, to strengthen their position, and to plant more firmly than ever in your midst government by tenanciers.” They all agreed. “It is true, it is true,” they cried. “It is of no use to disguise it.”

Sunday morning—the voting day—rose brilliantly, a blue sky without a cloud, and the most brilliant sunshine. Mme. de Gingins and I went to an early service in a Free Church, where most of our friends go. They sent me a message to speak a few words. (All scruples about women speaking in churches vanished like a slight cloud before the midday sun in the presence of such a solemn day for the people, when all the faith and courage and patience of women were as much wanted as those of men.) There was great life in that morning service, at the end of which most of us had the Sacrament together, in almost absolute silence. I should rather have liked that we had all received it standing, with a drawn sword in one hand, as the old crusaders did! The spirit of war however was there, as well as the Master’s benediction: “My peace I give unto you.” On the way home we elected to take a drive all round the city, Mme. de Gingins and I in her carriage, which waited for us. The streets were already (at 10 a.m.) very crowded, but the people were quiet, it being so early. I looked with sympathy at the faces of numbers of poor and honest-looking workmen, who seemed to be anxious.

Oh, I never saw anything like the beauty of the Rhone that day, rolling its magnificent waves and curling, dancing waters along (the waters about which Ruskin has half a chapter of eloquent description). The main colour is a clear sapphire blue, shading off into sky blues, purples and pale rose colours, and flecked with streaks of golden sunlight. Geneva is a beautiful city, and the birds were singing, and the young leaves appearing on the avenues of trees.

At 5 p.m. we went, by the invitation of M. Favre, to his house, where he had invited all the leading abolitionists to assemble to hear the result of the poll, and, if necessary, to stay all night—sixty or seventy of us!—because it was well known if we had had a victory the vengeance of the tenanciers’ mob would have made it perilous for any of us to pass through the streets.

I shall never forget that memorable evening and night. M. Favre is the most prominent man of Geneva, belonging to the old nobility. His house is just a little removed from the town, on a little rising ground whence you see all Geneva lying like a map before you. It is one of the fortresses of the old nobles, before the Reformation, and it was there that some hundreds of Huguenot refugees from France were harboured by an ancestor of M. Favre in the times of Louis XIV. There is a huge stone archway by which you enter a great courtyard, whence stairs ascend in the open air to different parts of the fortress. It is all of solid rock and stone; no mob would have a chance to enter, and here the refugees of March 22nd, 1896, were received. When we first went about fourteen of us had dinner, and food was kept going in the dining-room till midnight for all the abolitionist presidents at the different urns who kept dropping in till 10 p.m. Those, who came from the country arrondissements, of course got in rather late, some of them having narrowly escaped rough handling. M. Bridel came last, and they telephoned for news of him, but no answer came. His wife was very pale and anxious, but at last he appeared. The voting in his quarter had continued late. Last of all, M. de Meuron came from La Fusterie, where all the votes had been collected and counted, and where the final result was given out. It was a great shock and grief to all, and hard to bear. About forty or fifty men (who had been at the urns all day) were assembled in that room, with their dusty boots (having had no time to change) and their tired faces, and stood for nearly an hour in groups in that large room of the Huguenot fortress discussing all the circumstances. As I looked at their good faces and heard their words, I felt more encouraged than I have ever yet been in Geneva. These were the men who make corps d’Élite, who lead forlorn hopes, and who by this very defeat and disaster are welded into a more complete and convinced body of combatants than could ever have been formed by a victory, and I felt the strong brotherhood which had grown up among them in a short time. There were Democrats and Conservatives, Protestants, Catholics and Freethinkers, but all “straight men,” honest, and in great earnest. When they had conversed some time, afterwards they proposed that we should resolve ourselves into a committee, which we did, forming a circle. That consultation was wonderfully practical, and to the point. Slowly, but surely, a spirit of resoluteness, and even encouragement, took the place of the first feeling of dismay. It was a memorable assembly; I shall never forget it.

Then we began to feel and to hear from our fortress the beginning of the demoniacal orgies of that night. M. Favre made M. and Mme. de Meuron stay all night, and a few others, as the threats of the mob were rather alarming. We all stayed till nearly midnight. We had among our faithful following a number of humble men and women, who came in now and again to report on what was passing, and next day the worst they had told us was more than confirmed. When the result of the poll was known, the leading tenanciers, with their banners and following, forced their way into the large Church of the Fusterie, at the entrance of which the final result of the voting had been made known, and then began scenes and processions which had been organised beforehand. It is a pain to write of it; but it is well that the worst should be known, well that the Genevese should have had the awful revelation of the vileness of what they have been harbouring in their midst. You may know perhaps, that every house of debauchery under Government sanction and protection is obliged to hang up a red lamp over the door, as a guide to visitors. So that now, and especially since Sunday night, that powerful institution which now rules Geneva is designated as the “Lampe rouge.” They had organised processions in case of a victory, with designs and red lamps. They marched through the whole city, a mass of devilry and obscenity which, I suppose, could hardly be seen anywhere else, except perhaps in Paris. Soldiers had been posted all about the Fusterie, but nevertheless the “red lamps” rushed into the church and marched round it inside, locking the gendarmerie out. The latter could not even succeed in forcing their way round the outside of the church, so dense was the crowd. Inside it seems the “red lamps” held a sort of service to the devil—tramping, swearing, and singing songs of the utmost blasphemy and obscenity. Having “consecrated” their red lamps in the large church, they went on to all the other churches, and filled the air in front of each with their blasphemies. Then branches of the procession went running to the different places which they hated most, and where they hoped to find some abolitionists—first to the Young Men’s Christian Association, but they had an avant-courrier in the person of one of our scouts, who ran faster and told that the “red lamps” were coming, so that all the men assembled in that building had just time to get out and disperse, and only windows were left to be battered in. They went to our Federation office, but it was locked up and all dark—M. Minod being with us in the Huguenot fortress. Then a number of them made a furious rush to the Eaux Vives, to break into M. de Meuron’s house, but it was also locked up and not a soul in it. They demonstrated furiously in front of it. So through the long hours devilry reigned in this city, which on that early Sunday morning had looked so fair. It was an open and impudent saturnalia, flaring its open shame before the eyes of all, “La Lampe rouge” carried everywhere, like a divinity, and the decent part of the population cowering before it, or getting out of sight.

In one matter the kind prayers of our friends were answered. Just about midnight, when we in the fortress wanted to get home, and anxieties were felt as to our getting back without being attacked, a tremendous rain fell for about an hour, though till then the sky had been clear. It seemed sent by God. It damped the unholy ardour of the followers of the “Lampe rouge,” and drove many of them into their retreats, so that at that hour we were able to get home without being recognised, as there was darkness as well as heavy rain. I do not think there was much bodily injury. At one moment, in front of the Fusterie, one of our presidents at the urns was knocked down in the crowd, and seemed likely to be trampled, and a student of the university drew his sword (one of those swords concealed in a walking stick) to defend our friend. A great commotion followed, and the student was arrested. There was a great deal of violence, but no serious hurt. The “red lamps” finally assembled before the office of the Genevois, and the editor was called to harangue them. I think he felt a little ashamed of the devilry he had helped to call up, and begged them to keep quiet and go to bed, assuring them that “pietism,” i.e. Christianity, was killed for ever in Geneva from that night. Oh! shade of Calvin!

Now to explain in a degree the great majority against us. I sent you some of the voting papers. Is it any wonder that such a paper should puzzle the ordinary elector? You know how stupid electors often are. I doubt if our own people in England would all have voted right if the question had been put to them in that complicated form. If the question had been, “Do you desire the abolition or the maintenance of the maisons tolÉrÉes?” every man, woman, and boy would have understood, because the maisons tolÉrÉes are as much in evidence and known as the cathedral or the market-place. But the question put before the electors was “(1) Do you approve of the projet de loi de l’initiative? Yes or no. (2) Do you approve of the projet de loi of the Government? Yes or no.” You can see what a throwing of dust in their eyes this was. Working men were asking, What does it mean?—honestly asking; and you know that during the past five weeks our party were not allowed to hold meetings to instruct the people. Every meeting was broken up by the “Lampes rouges,” and finally every hall and room was closed against us by a police order. Attempting to speak in the streets or roads, our friends were stoned and assaulted, and silenced by noise. Freedom of public meeting and freedom of speech no longer exist in Geneva. You will see that stated in the Press which is favourable to us again and again. If we had had those liberties it is believed that we might have had a majority of votes. Working women told us that their husbands were good men, but meant to abstain from voting altogether, because they did not clearly understand the questions. Many hundreds abstained altogether. Then, thirdly, the Genevois had worked so hard, and others too (of the Government), to tell the people that we had deeply injured La Patrie, and troubled Geneva, and spoiled the prospects of the Exhibition—that foreigners had done this, i.e. Vaudois, Bernese, Germans, etc., and that all the agitators were paid by an English lady, who had been sent from London with hundreds of pounds in her pocket. The poor people were misled by this kind of stuff. When one considers all these traps and deceptions put before them, to say nothing of the drink, one almost wonders that there were found 4000 who voted for abolition.

To various friends.

April 7th, 1896.

We have been gaining true adherents every day since the 22nd, persons who have been moved by the force of circumstances and by their own conscience openly to join the Abolitionists. Among these are several professors of the university. I think I did not explain in my last that one cause of our having such a minority of votes is as follows: Party politics rule at Geneva. The appearance of a new party in the State, a party of Justice and Morality, displeased the Conservative, the Democratic, and the Radical parties alike. The Democratic especially, as they are the majority, and most of our abolitionist friends are Democrats. The “National party,” which is above mere petty party politics, was of course a stone of discord thrown among them, which disgusted them much; and several voted against us on the 22nd out of sheer anger and revenge. Yet the truth is working, and some are even now repenting of their vote, while several abstained at the last moment.

On Monday morning, after Sunday night’s horrible scenes, I walked along in the sweet sunshine to our office to see how things looked, and there I found a group already of distinguished men gathered round M. Minod’s large table, who had just come in one by one to relieve their hearts and consult together. We can recollect when we in England had the same experience in the midst of general or party politics. We were not agreeable to either side in Parliament. Troublesome “faddists” they called us, and an occasion of trouble and division among the different political parties. In two great elections at least we troubled the Government considerably by the confusion we brought into the Liberal camp. In fact we were obliged to make ourselves disagreeable in order to be listened to at all, and at last we prevailed. I told a good deal of this to our Geneva friends, who are much reproached for sounding a note in the political circles which is neither of one side nor the other, but altogether a new note. I recalled Christ’s words, “I am not come to bring peace on earth, but a sword.”

Another encouragement is the coming out of so many doctors. A few weeks ago we did but know of one who was favourable; but only four days before the election thirty-three doctors made up their minds, and even had their names printed as adherents to our principles, on large pink and blue placards, which were stuck all over the walls of Geneva. Then we were much encouraged by the bearing of the students of the university, and other young men. Those students had several meetings of their own, called with a serious purpose, and not prompted from the outside. One of them reported to me a final meeting they had among themselves for voting. Eighty-five per cent. of the students present declared themselves strongly in favour of Abolitionist principles. One young man was courageous enough to get up and protest that an early introduction to vice was a sign of manliness, adding that many of the virtuous students were weak fellows, etc.! The eighty-five went for him like a pack of young hounds after some noisome wild animal, with howling and fury. The misguided young man judged it best to get out of the room, which he did very rapidly indeed. Of course there is a certain youthfulness about these manifestations, but it rejoiced our hearts to see so many of the young population inspired with just and generous principles. The youths of the “Etoile” too, who are of a humbler class in society, were intelligently and ardently on our side. These poor fellows, with some of the university, formed themselves into a kind of body-guard to follow and quietly surround M. de Meuron, Bridel and others when they tried to hold meetings, and to stand between them and the showers of stones and dirt thrown at them. It was kind of them, poor boys! God will not forget it.

One of the things which made the most impression on me of all in Geneva was M. Favre’s prayer at a great gathering of the most earnest, recently-awakened people. Was it a prayer? Yes—partly, and yet at times it was like a confession made to us, to Switzerland, to the world. He spoke as a prophet, in broken sentences, and out of a heart bowed down under a sense of guilt and deep responsibility, with a great need pressing on him to “cry aloud” as Jeremiah used to do. And he did not beat about the bush as people too often do in their prayers and confessions. He said quite simply, in a voice shaken with emotion,“Oh, how heartless and cruel we have been, we Christians, all these years since 1875, when God sent His gentle messenger to us, of whom we heard with coldness and disapproval. How cruel we have been! O God! we have left this little handful of despised Abolitionists these twenty years, unhelped and unheeded; left them without a word of sympathy and without friends, a little band, as we thought, influenced by some fanciful motive. All these years we have passed them by. Forgive us, O servants of God, forgive us! We have spoken of the higher life and of consecration, and we have believed that we were serving God by dwelling on the heights, separated from the mass of sin and sinners below us; and now we see our error, and we mourn. Now we see who Thy faithful ones are, O God—these humble and just ones who have sown in tears these long years, and whom Thou wilt recognise when they shall be called home bearing their sheaves with them, while we—O brothers, let us fall down in the dust before Him.” And so he ended, as Daniel in his great prayer of intercession, “O God, we have sinned and our fathers have sinned. O God, forgive; O God, hear; O God, hearken and do.” I have not got the words exactly (it was in French), but this is the sense; and I listened almost in awe, as others did. It was the cry of distress, of a heart pent up with the bitterness of repentance; a noble utterance as of a true soul bowed in sackcloth and ashes. Therefore I am glad, glad, glad that all this has happened, for how can repentance and new life ever come to the careless, and to the most reckless sinners, unless it first comes to the “household of God?”

I must not omit to tell you of my visit to M. Favon. On the Saturday evening, the day before the voting, Madame Ruchonnet came from Cully to go with me to see him. He is, you recollect, our great opponent, editor of the Genevois. He received us with much courtesy, and even gentleness, as if grateful for our visit. We had a long conversation, for about an hour. One thing in our conversation opened my eyes a little more on the situation. He said: “But, dear lady, what an awful thing, what a tyranny beyond all other tyrannies it would be, should your party triumph, to have a renewal of the ancient sumptuary discipline, of the prying into the secrets of every household and of family life! It would be the most wicked of tyrannies.” I was astonished, and with difficulty persuaded him that such a thought was as detestable to us as to him; that we had historical evidence (in the Pilgrim Fathers) of the folly and futility, as well as shame, of attempting to reach private immorality by the law, which means necessarily by police and the most hateful espionage. I was thankful in my heart that since the beginning of our crusade I had been convinced in my conscience and understanding of the folly, and even wickedness, of all systems of outward repression of private immorality, for which men and women are accountable to God and their own souls; but not to the State.