The young black African opened the door and says he, “Josiah Allen’s wife, and Betsey Bobbet, mom.” He had asked us our names jest before he opened it.

Miss Woodhull was a standin’ pretty near the door, a talkin’ with 3 wimmin as we went in. But she come forward immediatly and put out her hand. I took it in mine, and shook it a very little, mebby 3 or 4 times back and forth. But she must have felt by that cool, cautious shake, that I differed from her in her views, and had come to give her a real talkin’ to.

One of the wimmen she was a talkin’ to, had jest about as noble a lookin’ face as I ever see, with short white curls a fallin’ all round it. The beholder could see by the first glance onto that face, that she hadn’t spent all the immortal energies of her soul in makin’ clover leaf tattin’, or in cuttin’ calico up into little pieces, jest to sew ’em togather agin into blazin’ stars and sunflower bedquilts. It was the face of an earnest noble woman, who had asked God what He wanted her to do, and then hadn’t shirked out of doin’ it. Who had gripped holt of life’s plough, and hadn’t looked back because the furrows turned over pretty hard, and the stumps was thick.

She knew by experience that there was never any greensward so hard to break up, as old prejudices and customs; and no stumps so hard to get round as the ridicule and misconceptions of the world. What made her face look so calm then, when she was doin’ all this hard work? Because she knew she was makin’ a clearin’ right through the wilderness that in the future was goin’ to blossom like a rose. She was givin’ her life for others, and nobody ever did this since the days of Jesus, but what somethin’ of his peace is wrote doun on thier forwards. That is the way Elizabeth Cady Stanton looked to me, as Miss Woodhull introduced me and Betsey to her, and to the two other ladies with her.

One of the other wimmen I fell in love with at first sight, and I suppose I should have been jest so partial to her if she had been as humbly as one of the Hotentots in my old Olney’s Geography, and I’ll tell you why, because she was the sister of H. W. Beecher. As a general thing I don’t believe in settin’ folks up, because they happen to have smart relations. In the words of one of our sweetest and noblest writers, “Because a man is born in a stable it don’t make him a horse.” Not as a general thing, it don’t.

But not once in 100 years does Nature turn out such a man as H. W. B. It takes her longer than that to get her ingregiences and materials togather to make such a pure sweet nature, such a broad charity, and such a intellect as his’en. Why, if the question had been put to me before I was born, whether I would be born his sister, or the twin sister of the queen of England, I’d never give a second thought to Miss Victoria Albert, not but what I respect the Widder Albert deeply, I think she is a real nice woman. But I had ruther be his sister than to be the sister of 21 or 22 other kings. For he is a king not make by the layin’ on of earthly hands, he is God’s own annointed, and that is a royalty that can’t be upsot. So as I remarked I s’pose Isabella Beecher Hooker would have looked pretty good to me any way.

The other lady was smart and sensible lookin’, but she was some like me, she won’t never be hung for her beauty. This was Susan B. Anthony. Betsey Bobbet sot down on a chair pretty nigh the door, but I had considerable talk with Susan. The other two was awful long discussin’ some question with Miss Woodhull.

Susan said in the course of her remarks that “she had made the ‘Cause of Wimmen’s Rights,’ her husband, and was going to cleave to it till she died.”

I told her I was deeply interested in it, but I couldn’t marry myself to it, because before gettin’ acquainted with it, I had united myself to Josiah.

We had considerable reasonable and agreeable talk, such as would be expected from two such minds as mine and hern, and then the three ladies departed. And Miss Woodhull came up to me agin kinder friendly, and says she,

“I am glad to meet you Josiah Allen’s wife,” and then she invited me to set down. As I turned round to get a chair I see through a door into another room where sot several other wimmen—some up to a table, and all dreadful busy readin’ papers and writin’ letters. They looked so business-like and earnest at thier work, that I knew they could not have time to back-bite thier neighbors, and I was glad to see it. As I took my seat I see a awful handsome gentleman settin’ on a sofa—with long hair put back behind his ears,—that I hadn’t ketched sight of before. It was Theodore Tilton, and Miss Woodhull introduced him to Betsey and me. He bowed to Betsey, but he came forward and took my hand in his’en. I couldn’t refuse to take it, but I looked up in his handsome face with a look about two thirds admiration, and one of sorrow. If the handsomest and best feathered out angel, had fell right over the walls of heaven into our dooryard at Jonesville, I couldn’t have give it a more piercin’, and sort of pitiful look than I did him. I then turned and silently put my umberell in the corner and sot down. As I did so, Miss Woodhull remarked to Mr. Tilton,

“She is a Strong Wimmen’s Righter, she is one of us.”

[318]
[319]

“No, Victory; I haint one of you, I am Josiah Allen’s wife.” Then I sithed. And says I, “Victory you are in the right on it, and you are in the wrong on it,” and says I, “I come clear from Jonesville to try to set you right where you are wrong.” Says I, almost overcome with emotion. “You are younger than I Victory, and I want to talk with you jest as friendly as if I was your mother in law.”

Says she, “Where do you think I am in the right, and where do you think I am in the wrong?”

Says I, “You are right in thinkin’ what a solemn thing it is to bring up children as they ought to be. What an awful thing it is to bring the little creeters into the world without their votin’ on the subject at all, and then neglect ’em, and abuse ’em, and make their poor little days awful long in the world, and then expect them to honor you for it. You are right in your views of health, and wimmin’s votin’ and etcetery—but you are wrong Victory, and I don’t want you to get mad at me, for I say it with as friendly feelin’s as if I was your mother in law,—you are wrong in this free love business, you are wrong in keepin’ house with two husbands at the same time.”

“Two husbands! it is false; I was divorced from him, and my husband and I found him perishing in the streets, and we took him home and took care of him ’till he died. Which would the Lord have done Josiah Allen’s wife, passed by on the other side, or took pity on him?”

“I don’t know what the Lord would have done Victory, but I believe I should have sent him to a good horsepittle or tarven, and hired him took care of. I never could stand it to have another husband in the same house with me and Josiah. It would seem so kind o’ curious, somethin’ in the circus way. I never could stand it never.”

“There have been a good many things Josiah Allen’s wife that you have not been required to stand, God and man united you to a good husband whom you love. But in your happiness you shouldn’t forget that some other woman has been less fortunate. In your perfect happiness, and harmony—”

“Oh!” says I candidly, “I don’t say but what Josiah and me have had our little spats Victory. Josiah will go in his stockin’ feet considerable and—”

But she interrupted of me with her eyes a flashin’,

“What would you say to livin’ with a man that forgot every day of his life that he was a man, and sunk himself into a brute. Leaving his young wife of a week for the society of the abandoned? What would you say to abuse, that resulted in the birth of a idiot child? Would you endure such a life? Would you live with the animal that he had made himself? I married a man, I never promised God nor man that I would love, honor and obey the wild beast he changed into. I was free from him in the sight of a pure God, long enough before the law freed me.”

I let her have her say out, for Josiah Allen’s wife is one to let every man or mouse tell thier principles if they have got any. And if I was conversin’ with the overseer of the bottomless pit, (I don’t want to speak his name right out, bein’ a Methodist), I would give him a chance to get up and relate his experience. But as she stopped with her voice kinder choked up, I laid my brown cotton glove gently onto her shoulder, and says I,

“Hush up Victory,” says I “wimmen must submit to some things, they can pray, and they can try to let thier sorrows lift ’em nearer to heaven, makin’ angels of ’em.”

Here Mr. Tilton spoke up and says he, “I don’t believe in the angels exclusively, I don’t see why there shouldn’t be he angels, as well as she ones.”

I was tickled, and I looked at him approvin’ly, and says I,

“Theodore you are the first man with one exception that I ever see that felt that way, and I respect you for it.” Says I, “men as a general thing think that wimmen have got to do up all the angel business there is done. Men seem to get the idee that they can do as they are a mind to and the Lord will wink at ’em. And there are lots of things that the world thinks would be awful coarse in a woman, but is all right in a man. But I don’t believe a man’s cigar smoke smells any sweeter to the Lord than a woman’s would. And I don’t believe a coarse low song, sounds any sweeter and purer in the ears of angels, because it is sung in a base voice instead of a sulfereno. I never could see why men couldn’t do somethin’ in the angel line themselves, as well as to put it all on to the wimmen, when they have got everything else under the sun to do. Not but what,” says I, “I am willen’ to do my part. I never was a shirk, and Josiah Allen will tell you so, I am willin’ to do my share of the angel business.” And says I, in a generous way, “I would do it all, if I only had time. But I love to see justice and reason. Nature feathers out geese and ganders equally, or if there is any difference the gander’s wings are the most foamin’ lookin’. Men’s shoulders are made jest the same way that wimmen’s are; feathers would look jest as well on ’em as on a woman, they can cultivate wings with jest as little trouble. What is the purest and whitest unseen feathers on a livin’ angel’s hidden wing, Theodore and Victory? They are purity, goodness, and patience, and men can grow these unbeknown feathers jest as easy as a woman can if they only set out.”

I had spoke real eloquent, and I knew it, but I felt that I had been carried away slightly by my emotions, from the mission I had come on—to try to convince Miss Woodhull where she was wrong. And so after a minutes silence, I broke out agin mildly, for I felt that if I give way to anger or impatience my mission was lost.

“Another thing you are wrong in Victory, is to think you can be lawfully married without any minister or justice of the peace. I knew that all you needed was to have it set before you plain by some female that wished you well; you are wrong in it Victory, and I tell you so plain, and to show you that I am your well wisher, I thought after I had convinced you that you was in the wrong, I would make you this offer. That if you and Col. Blood will go home with Betsey and me, Elder Wesley Minkley shall marry you right in my parlor, and it shan’t cost you a cent, for I will pay him myself in dried apples.”

Says she, “I don’t want any ceremony, I want the only tie to hold me to my husband to be love, the one sacred tie.”

“Love is a first rate tie,” says I, mildly, holdin’ on to my temper first rate, “upwards of 15 years ago, I give one of the most remarkable proofs of it, that has ever been seen in this country;” (and for a minute my mind wandered off onto that old revery, why did I love Josiah Allen?) But collectin’ my mind together I spoke onwards, with firm and cast iron principle. “Still, although I felt that sacred tie unitin’ Josiah and me in a double beau knot that couldn’t be untwisted, the first time we met, still, if Elder Wesley Minkley hadn’t united us at the alter—or mother’s parlor, I should have felt dreadful floatin’ round in my mind. It would have seemed too curious and onstiddy kinder, as if Josiah and me was liable to fall all to pieces at any time, and waver off in the air like two kites that had broke loose from thier strings.” Says I, firmly, “Thier would be a looseness to it, I couldn’t stand.”

She said I would get accustomed to it, and that custom made many things seem holy that were unholy, and many things sinful that were pure in the sight of God.

But still I murmured with a sad look, but firm as old Bunker Hill, “I couldn’t stand it, Victory, it would seem too much like a circus.

“And then agin, Victory, you are in the wrong of it about divorces. ‘What God has joined togather let no man put asunder.’”

Says she, “Josiah Allen’s wife, if divorces were free to-morrow, would you get one from Josiah?”

“Never!” says I, and my best dress most bust open at the breast, (them biases always was took up a little too snug) at the idee of partin’ from Josiah.

“Well, what is it that would hold you so fast to each other that nothin’ but death could separate you? was it the few words you said before the minister?”

“It was love, Victory! love, that wouldn’t let me eat a mite, nor sleep a wink, if I couldn’t put my hand onto Josiah Allen any time day or night.”

“Then,” says she, “why not give other good men and women credit for bein’ actuated by the same sentiments? Those that God has joined togather, no man can put asunder. Those who are really married heart and sole, would never separate, it would only correct abuses, and separate those that man, and not God, had joined togather.”

Says I, “Victory, is there any particular need of folks lettin’ man join ’em togather, when God hasn’t?” says I; “if folks was obleeged to marry, there would be some sense in such talk,” says I, “they haint no business to marry if they don’t love each other. All sin brings its punishment, and them that commit the crime aginst thier own sole, of marryin’ without love, ought to be punished by unhappiness in thier domestic relations, what else can they expect?” says I. “Marriage is like baptism, now some folks say it is a savin’ audnence, I say nobody haint any right to be baptised unless they are saved already. Nobody haint any business to put on the outward form of marriage, if they haint got the inward marriage of the spirit.”

“Some folks marry for a home,” says she.

“Wall, they haint no business to,” says I warmly. “I had ruther live out doors under a umberell, all my days.”

“Those are my sentiments exactly, Josiah Allen’s wife. But you can’t deny that people are liable to be decieved.”

“If they are such poor judges the first time, what would hender ’em from bein’ decieved the next time, and so on, ad infinitum, to the twentieth and thirtieth time?” says I firmly. “Instead of folks bein’ tied together looser, they ought to be tied as tight agin. If folks knew they couldn’t marry agin, how many divorces do you suppose there would be? No doubt there are individual cases, where there is great wrong, and great sufferin’. But we ought to look out for the greatest good to the greatest number. And do you realize, Victory, what a condition society would be in, if divorces was absolutely free? The recklessness with which new ties would be formed, the lovin’ wimmen’s hearts that would be broken by desertion, the children that would be homeless and uncared for. When a fickle man or woman gets thier eyes onto somebody they like better than they do thier own lawful pardners, it is awful easy to think that man, and not God, has jined ’em. But let folks once get the idee into thier heads, that marriage is a solemn thing, and lasts as long as thier lives do, and they can’t get away from each other, they will be ten times as careful to live peacible and happy with thier companions.” Says I, “When a man realizes that he can if he wants to, start up and marry a woman before breakfast, and get divorced before dinner, and have a new one before supper time, it has a tendency to make him onstiddy and worrysome.”

Says I, “Victory, men are dreadful tryin’ by spells, do you suppose I have lived with one for upwards of 15 years, and hain’t found it out? But suppose a mother deserts a child because he is wormy, and tears his breeches. She brought him into the world, and it is her duty to take care of him. Do you suppose a store keeper ought to take back a pink calico dress, after you have made it up, and washed it because the color washes out of it, you ought to have tried it before it was cut off. I married Josiah Allen with both eyes open, I didn’t wear spectacles then, I wasn’t starved to it nor thumbscrewed into it, and it is my duty to make the best of him.”

Says she, “When a woman finds that her soul is clogged and hampered, it is a duty she owes to her higher nature to find relief.”

Says I, “When a woman has such feelin’s, instead of leavin’ her lawful husband and goin’ round huntin’ up a affinitee, let her take a good thoroughwert puke. Says I, in 9 and ½ cases out of 10, it is folkes’es stomachs that are clogged up insted of their souls. Says I, there is nothin’ like keepin’ the stomach in good order to make the moral sentiments run good. Now our Tirzah Ann, Josiah’s girl by his first wife, I kinder mistrusted that she was fallin’ in love with—” I almost said it right out Shakespeare Bobbet, but I thought of Betsey, and turned it “with a little feller that hadn’t hardly got out of his roundabouts, she bein’ at the same time in pantalettes. Well I give her a good thoroughwert puke, and it cured her, and if his mother,” says I with a keen look onto Betsey, as I thought of my night of troubles, “If his mother had served him in the same way, it would have saved some folks a good deal of sufferin’.”

I see that agin I was wanderin’ off’en the subject, and I says in a deep solemn tone,

“I don’t believe in this divorcin’.”

Mr. Tilton spoke up for most the first time, and says he, “I think you are wrong in your views of divorce, Josiah Allen’s wife.”

I looked into his handsome face and my feelin’s rose up strong I couldn’t throw ’em, they broke loose and says I, in almost tremblin’ tones,

“It is you that are in the wrong on it, Theodore,” says I, “Theodore, I have read your poetry when it seemed as if I could ride right up to heaven on it, though I weigh 200 and 10 pounds by the steelyards. There is one piece by the name of “Life’s Victory.” I haint much of a hand for poetry, but I read it for the first time when I was sick, and it seemed as if it carried me so near to heaven, that I almost begun to feather out. And when I found out who the author was, he seemed as near to me as Thomas Jefferson, Josiah’s boy by his first wife. Theodore, I have kept sight of you ever sense, jest as proud of you, as if you was my own son-in-law, and when you went off into this free love belief I felt bad.” I took out my white 25 cent handkerchif, for a tear came within I should say half or three quarters of a inch from my eye-winkers. I held my handkerchif in my hand, the tear come nearer and nearer—he looked agitated—when up spoke Miss Woodhull.

“It is perfectly right; I believe in free divorce, free love, freedom in everything.”

I jest jammed my handkerchif back into my pocket, for that tear jest turned round and traveled back to where it come from. I thought I had used mildness long enough, and I says to her in stern tones,

“Victory, can you look me straight in the spectacles, and say that you think this abominable doctrine of free love is right?”

“Yes mom, I can, I believe in perfect freedom.”

Says I, “That is what burglers and incendiarys say,” says I, “that is the word murderers and Mormans utter,” says I “that is the language of pirates, Victory Woodhull.”

She pretty near quailed, and I proceeded on, “Victory, there haint but one true liberty, and that is the liberty of the Gospel, and it haint Gospel liberty to be surrounded by a dozen husbands’es and ex-husbands’es,” says I, “this marryin’ and partin’ every day or to, haint accordin’ to Skripter.”

Says she in a scornful tone, “What is skripter?” If I had been her mother I would have spanked her then and there. But I wasn’t, and I jest turned my back to her, and says I, “Mr. Tilton you believe the bible don’t you?”

“Yes mom, I do, but the bible justifies divorce.”

“Yes,” says I, “for one cause, and no other, and the Saviour says that whosoever marries a woman put away for any but the bible cause, commits adultery, and I don’t believe in adulteration, nor Josiah don’t either. But,” says I, convulsivly, “You know a man will part with a woman nowadays if the butter don’t come quick, and she will part with him if he don’t hang up the bootjack. Is that bible Theodore?” Says I, “don’t the bible say that except for that one reason, man and wife are married till death parts ’em.” Says I, “is a lawyer in a frock coat, with a lot of papers stickin’ out of his breast pocket, death?” Says I, “tell me Theodore is he death?”

He looked convinced, and says he, “No mom, he haint.”

“Well then, what business has that little snip of a livin’ lawyer to go round tryin’ to make out he is death? tell me?” says I almost wildly.

I see my emotions was almost carryin’ me off, and I ketched holt of my dignity, and continued in deep solemn tones, “True marriage is a sacred thing, and it is a solemn thing, it is as solemn as bein’ baptized. And if you are baptized once in the way you ought to be, it is enough. But the best way you can fix it, it is a solemn thing Victory. To give your whole life and soul into the keepin’ of somebody else. To place all your hopes, and all your happiness in another human bein’ as a woman will. A true woman if she loves truly, never gives half of her heart or three quarters, she gives it all. She never asks how much shall I get back in money and housen and finery? or whether she could do better in another direction. No; True Love is a river that runs onward askin’ no questions of anybody, sweepin’ right on with a full heart. And where does that river empty Theodore and Victory?”

They both looked as solemn as a protracted meetin’, almost, as I looked at ’em, first one, then the other, through my specs; but they didn’t reply. Says I, in a deep solemn tone, “the name of the place where that river emptys is Eternity.” Says I, “That river of True Love as it flows through the world gets riley sometimes, by the earthly mud on its banks. Sometimes it gets mad and precipitates itself over precipices, and sometimes it seemin’ly turns backward a spell. But in its heart it knows where it is bound for, it keeps on growin’ broader, and deeper, and quieter like, and as it jines the ocian it leaves all its mud on the banks, for God cleanses it, and makes it pure as the pure waters it flows into.”

I felt real eloquent as I said this, and it seemed to impress ’em as I wanted it to. They both of ’em have got good faces. Though I didn’t like their belief, I liked their looks. They looked sincere and honest.

Agin I repeated, “Marriage is a solemn thing.”

I heard a deep sithe behind me, and a sorrowful voice exclaimed,

“It is solemn then both ways, you say it is solemn to marry, and I know”—here was another deep sithe “I know it is solemn not to.” It was Betsey, she was a thinkin’ of the Editer of the Augur, and of Ebineezer, and of all the other dear gazelles, that lay cold and lifeless in her buryin’ ground. I felt that I could not comfort her, and I was silent. Miss Woodhull is a well bread woman, and so to kinder notice Betsey, and make talk with her, says she,

“I believe you are the author of these lines

“Yes,” says Betsey, tryin’ to put on the true modesty of jenieus look.

Miss Woodhull said “she had heard it sung to several free love conventions.”

“How true it is,” says Betsey glancin’ towards Mr. Tilton, “that deathless fame sometimes comes by reason of what you feel in your heart haint the best part of you. Now in this poem I speak hard of man, but I didn’t feel it Miss Woodhull, I didn’t feel it at the time, I wrote it jest for fame and to please Prof. Gusheh. I love men,” says she, glancin’ at Mr. Tilton’s handsome face, and hitchin’ her chair up closer to his’en.

“I almost worship ’em.”

Theodore began to look uneasy, for Betsey had sot down close by the side of him and says she,

“Did you ever read the soul stirrin’ lines that Miss Woodhull refers to, I will rehearse them to you, and also three others of 25 verses apiece which I have wrote since on the same subject.”

I see a cold sweat begin to break on his white and almost marble forward, and with a agitated move he ketched out his watch and says he,

“I have a engagement.”

Says Betsey, beseechin’ly layin’ her hand on his coat sleeve, “I can rehearse them in 26 or 27 minutes, and oh how sweet your sympathy would be to me, let me repeat them to you deah man.”

A haggard look crept into his handsome eyes, and says he, wildly turnin’ ’em away, “It is a case of life and death,” and he hurried to the door.

But Betsey started up and got ahead of him, she got between him and the door, and says she, “I will let you off about hearin’ the poetry—but oh! listen to my otheh prayer.”

“I won’t listen to your prayer,” says he, firmly.

“In the name of the female wimmen of America who worship you so, pause, and heah my prayer.”

He paused deeply agitated, and says he. “In their name I will hear you, what is your request Betsey Bobbet?”

She clasped her hands in a devotional way, and with as beseechin’ and almost heart meltin’ a look as a dog will give to a bone held above its head, she murmured,

“A lock of youh haih deah man, that I may look at it when the world looks hollow to me, a lock of youh haih to make my life path easier to me.”

I turned my spectacles on which principle sot enthroned, towards ’em, and listened in awful deep interest to see how it would end. Would he yield or not? He almost trembled. But finally he spoke.

“Never! Betsey Bobbet! never!” and he continued in low, agitated tones, “I have got jest enough to look well now.”

My heart throbbed proudly, to see him comin’ so nobly through the hot furnace of temptation, without bein’ scorched. To see him bein’ lifted up in the moral steelyards, and found full weight to a notch. But alas! Jest as small foxes will gnaw into a grape vine, jest so will dangerous and almost loose principles gnaw into a noble and upright nature unbeknown to them.

Agin Betsey says in harrowin’ tones, at the same time ketchin’ holt of his coat skirts wildly,

“If you can’t part with any more, give me one haih, to make my life path smootheh.”

Alas! that my spectacles was ever bought to witness the sad sight. For with a despairin’, agonized countenance such as Lucifer, son of Mr. Mornin’ might have wore as he fell doun, Theodore plucked a hair out of his foretop, threw it at Betsey’s feet, and rushed out doors. Betsey with a proud, haughty look, picked it up, kissed it a few times, and put it into her port-money.

But I sithed.

I hadn’t no heart to say anything more to Victory. I bid her farewell. But after we got out in the street, I kept a sithin’.