Part 9 (2/2)
My daughter had known Mr. Cable in his early literary ventures. He sometimes brought chapters of his ma.n.u.script to read to her. The South realized at once that a new literary artist had arisen out of its sea of ruin. That he wounded the feelings of some of his people is largely attributable to the fact that he spoke inopportunely; his work was cast upon the tolerance of public opinion when every nerve was bleeding and every heart hypersensitive to suggestion or criticism. It was too early an expression, and fell upon bristling points of indignant protest. But that he deeply loved his own city and people the most prejudiced can scarcely doubt, now that the perspective of three decades has softened the asperities of judgment. Only a soul that had made it his own could picture as he has done the silence, the weirdness, the majesty of the moss-draped swamps of lower Louisiana, the crimson and purple of the sunsets mirrored upon the glistening surface of her black, shallow bayous,--the spa.r.s.e and flitting presence of man and beast and bird across this still-life making it but the more desolate. Cable was the first to see the rich types afforded to literature in the character, condition and history of the Creoles, and he has transformed them into immortals. Only love can create ”pictures of life so exquisitely clear, delicately tender or tragically sorrowful” as he has made of the Latin-Americans. The South has already forgiven his historical frankness in its pride in the artist who has preserved for the future the romance, and color, and beauty of a race that, like so much else lovable and poetic and inspiring in our early history, by the end of another century will be blended indistinguishably with the less picturesque but all-prevailing type that is determining an American people.
I had been so impressed by his genius that I could not withhold from him my word of appreciation, and received in 1879 the following reply to my note: ”I want to say to you that you are the first Southerner who has expressed grat.i.tude to the author of 'Old Creole Days' for telling the truth. That has been my ambition, and to be recognized as having done it a little more faithfully than most Southern writers is a source of as hearty satisfaction as I have ever enjoyed. How full our South is of the richest material for the story writer!
”G. W. Cable.”
About this time Clara and the author of ”Innocents Abroad” were guests together in the same home in Buffalo, New York, from which place she wrote me: ”He is a wonderfully liberal yet clever talker. I think I shall be able to d-r-a-w-l like him by two o'clock to-morrow, when he leaves. He has written in my Emerson birthday book. When he found the selection for November 30th to be that high and severely n.o.ble type of an ideal gentleman, he laughed at its inappropriateness, and said: 'With my antecedents and a.s.sociations it is impossible that I can be a gentleman, as I often tell my wife--to her furious indignation;'--so he signs himself 'S. L. Clemens, nee Mark Twain,' in allusion to his early career as a pilot, and the name by which the world first knew him. I like him immensely, and shall doubtless weary you some morning with a reproduction of his numerous unfoldings.”
I also met Mr. Clemens socially at Mr. Cable's house. Many years before, I had seen Charlotte Cushman in the White Mountains. We were one day together in the same stage. An opportunity offering, with much delight Miss Cushman mounted to the top. She made her first appearance as Lady Macbeth in New Orleans. She looked the ”Meg Merrilies” she had re-created for the world,--a vigorous woman in mind, body and character, and a gifted talker; n.o.body else was listened to when she was present. She bore in her face the earnestness of her spirit, the tragedy of her struggles, the intensity of her sympathy and the calm strength of her success.
Not long before her death I met Mrs. Eliza Leslie in Philadelphia. I was exceedingly glad of this opportunity, for she was one of the few premature women who had a message to give, and who did give it, notwithstanding in doing so she had to bear the disgrace of being a ”blue-stocking.” She was a very quiet and dignified woman. I saw that she was quite bored by the loud talking of some small literary pretenders who were endeavoring to astonish her by their remarks on French drama. One offered to read to her an original poem, and the others a.s.sured her that she alone of American women was capable of rendering the true spirit of a French play. She talked with me about the South. She said she was glad to know that she had Southern readers and friends, and that if ever she visited the South it would be without prejudices. I thought of her sweet dishes, and I longed to ask her about the size of that ”piece of b.u.t.ter as big as a hickory-nut” which, along with a gill of rosewater, her cook-book constantly recommended, to my as constant perplexity and amus.e.m.e.nt.
(Query--What sized hickory-nut?)
The next year in February, 1882, I dined at Mrs. Guthrie's with Edwin Booth and his daughter Edwina. He was then at his best, and forty-nine years of age. I saw him at that time as Hamlet. He was a very modest man and dreaded after-dinner speeches, saying they gave him a stage-fright, and that he always tried to sit by a guest who would promise to take his place when he could not say anything. He was shown a rare edition of Shakespere, and a disputed point being introduced, he read several pages aloud with remarkable effect, though reading in private was contrary to his habit. The day was Sunday, and he mentioned how delightful it was to him to be in a quiet Christian home during the sacred hours. Booth acquired no mannerisms with age. His art so mastered him--or he mastered it--that his simplicity of style increased with years, which implies that his character grew with his fame.
Without being a habitue of the theater, I have enjoyed it from time to time all along my life-road. There is undoubtedly much to object to in the modern stage. Its personnel, methods of presentation and the character of many of the plays should call down just and strong censure. But it seems to me no more wrong to act a drama than to write one. Faith in humanity and in the ultimate triumph of good leads me to the conclusion that if the better people directed patient, believing effort to the purification of the stage, the time would come when histrionic genius would be recognized and cherished to its full value; and the best people would control the theater, and would crowd from it those debasing dramas which, as never before in our day, are having the encouragement of the leading social cla.s.ses. It is time something were done--and the right thing--to make it at least ”bad form” that young men and women should witness together the broadly immoral plays that have of late so much shocked all right-minded people. If one generation tolerates the breaking down of moral barriers in public thought, the next generation may witness in equal degree the destruction of personal morality. The stage is but the expression of an instinctive human pa.s.sion to impersonate. Masquerading is the favorite game of every nursery. It has been well said that ”a great human activity sustained through many decades always has some deep and vital impulse behind it; misuse and abuse of every kind cannot hide that fact and ought not to hide it.” An instinct cannot be destroyed, but it may be directed--and nature is never immoral. Will the church ever be able to discriminate between that which is intrinsically wrong and that which is wrong by use and misdirection, and will it set itself to study without prejudice the whole question of public amus.e.m.e.nts as a human necessity, bringing the divine law to their regeneration rather than to their condemnation? The existence of any evil presupposes its remedy.
CHAPTER XIII.
FRANCES WILLARD.
In June, 1881, I spoke by invitation before the Alumnae a.s.sociation of Whitworth College, at Brookhaven, Mississippi,--a venerable inst.i.tution under the care of the Methodist Episcopal Church South. I did not give those young women strong doctrine, but I set before them the duty to
”Learn the mystery of progression truly:-- Nor dare to blame G.o.d's gifts for incompleteness.”
Bishop Keener, the well-known opponent of women's public work, sat beside me on the platform. When the addresses were concluded, he p.r.o.nounced them ”very good.” ”For women?” I asked. ”No,” he returned, ”for _anybody_!” I treated the gentlemen to some of the extemporaneous ”sugar plums” which for a half century they have been accustomed to shower from the rostrum upon women--”just to let them see how it sounded.” Though it was against the rules, they applauded as if they were delighted.
I said: ”Lest they should feel overlooked and slighted, I will say a word to the men--G.o.d bless them. Our hearts warm toward the manly angels--our rulers, guides, and protectors, to whom we confide all our troubles and on whom we lay all our burdens. Oh! what a n.o.ble being is an honest, upright, fearless, generous, manly man! How such men endear our firesides, and adorn and bless our homes. How sweet is their encouragement of our timid efforts in every good word and work, and how grateful we are to be loved by these n.o.ble comforters, and how utterly wretched and sad this world would be, deprived of their honored and gracious presence. Again, I say G.o.d bless the men.”
This occasion was of moment to me, because it led to one of the chief events of my life--my friends.h.i.+p and work with Frances E. Willard. She had seen in the New Orleans _Times_ the address I made at Brookhaven, and was moved to ask me if I could get her an audience in my city, which she had already visited without results. I had been invited to join the little band enlisted by Mrs. Annie Wittenmeyer, the first president of the National Woman's Christian Temperance Union; but I had declined, saying that this temperance work was the most unpopular and hardest reform ever attempted. However, I looked up the remnant of the first society, and went with their good president, Mrs. Frances A. Lyons, to call on every minister in town, requesting each to announce the date of Miss Willard's address, and to urge upon their congregations that they should hear her speak. We were uncommonly successful, even that princely Christian, Rev.
B. F. Palmer, D. D., departing from the usual Presbyterian conservatism.
The result was a large audience in Carondelet Methodist Church, of which Rev. Felix R. Hill was the brave pastor;--for it required no little moral courage at that time to introduce a woman to speak, and to do it in a church, and on a subject upon which the public conscience was not only asleep, but which affronted even many Christians' sense of personal liberty.
I remember that I remonstrated when Miss Willard removed her bonnet and stood with uncovered head. But I could find no fault with the n.o.ble expression of serene sadness on her clear-cut features and with the gentle humility and sweetness which emanated from her entire personality.
Heavenly sentiments dropped in fitly chosen sentences with perfect utterance, as she argued for the necessity of a clear brain and pure habits in order to establish the Master's kingdom on earth. The hearts of the people went out to her in spontaneous sympathy and admiration; and the brethren were ready to bid her G.o.d-speed, for they felt that this public appearance was due to an impelling conviction that would not let her be silent. Thus the New Orleans Methodist Church, that indomitable pioneer of reform, proclaimed ”All hail! to Frances Willard and the glorious cause.”
Some effort had been made to attain this success. With Miss Willard's telegram in hand, I had despatched a message to my son, Edwin T. Merrick, jr., and to the W. C. T. U., but the train arriving ahead of time, a carriage brought the expected guest and her companion, Miss Anna Gordon, to my door, where I alone received and welcomed them. After weary travels over thousands of miles and stoppages in as many towns, they were glad to rest a week in my home. I had sent out hundreds of cards for a reception.
My house was thronged. Distinguished members of the bench, the bar, the pulpit, the press and the literary world were present, and a large number of young women and men. Frances Willard came to most of these as a revelation--this una.s.suming, delicate, progressive woman, with her sweet, intellectual face, her ready gaiety and her extraordinarily enlarged sympathies, which seemed to put her spirit at once in touch with every one who spoke to her. She wore, I remember, a black brocaded silk and point lace fichu. She ever had the right word in the right place as she greeted each one who was presented.
She particularly desired to see Geo. W. Cable, who was present with his wife. ”This is our literary lion to-night,” I said. ”Oh, no!” he replied, ”I come nearer being your house cat!” at which sally Miss Willard laughed.
This visit was in March, 1882.
I did not attend all of Miss Willard's meetings, and was greatly surprised when on returning from one of them she informed me that I was the president of the W. C. T. U. of New Orleans. I protested, and let her know I did not even have a members.h.i.+p in that body of women, she herself being for me the only object of interest in it. Finding that the source of power in my family resided ultimately in the head of the house, she wisely directed her persuasions in his direction. It was not long before I was advised by Mr. Merrick to come to terms and do whatever Miss Willard requested. This was the beginning of my work in the Woman's Christian Temperance Union and of a friends.h.i.+p which lasted until G.o.d called this lovely and gifted being to come up into a larger life.
Mrs. Hannah Whitehall Smith aptly styled Frances Willard ”one of G.o.d's best gifts to the American womanhood of this century,” having done more to enlarge their sympathies, widen their outlook and develop their mental aspirations, than any other individual of our time. She inspired purpose and courage in every heart. She said: ”Sisters, we have no more need to be afraid of the step ahead of us than of the one we have just taken.” Women have been ridiculed for their confidence in this glorious leader. It has been said that if Frances Willard had pushed a thin plank over a precipice, and had stepped out on it and said: ”Come!” the White Ribbon host would have followed her to destruction. Yes, they certainly would have gone after her, for they had unwavering faith that her planks were safely lodged on solid foundations, plain to her clear sight, even when invisible to the rest of the world. I once told her that she had the fatal power attributed to the maelstrom which swallowed up s.h.i.+ps caught in the circle of its attractions; that the women whom she wished to enlist in her work were equally powerless to resist her compelling force. She had a genius for friends.h.i.+ps.
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