Samantha on the Woman Question by Marietta Holley (love letters to the dead TXT) 📕

free safe place for ’em to soar in. You ort to keep the angels from bein’ tormented and bruised and killed, etc.”

“Ahem,” sez he, “as it were, ahem.”

But I kep’ right on, for I begun to feel noble and by the side of myself:

“This talk about wimmen bein’ outside and above all participation in the laws of her country, is jest as pretty as anything I ever hearn, and jest as simple. Why, you might jest as well throw a lot of snowflakes into the street, and say, ‘Some of ’em are female flakes and mustn’t be trompled on.’ The great march of life tromples on ’em all alike; they fall from one common sky, and are trodden down into one common ground.

“Men and wimmen are made with divine impulses and desires, and human needs and weaknesses, needin’ the same heavenly light, and the same human aids and helps. The law should mete out to them the same rewards and punishments.

“Serepta sez you call wimmen angels, and you don’t give ’em the rights of the lowest beasts that crawl on the earth. And Serepta told me to tell you that she didn’t ask the rights of a angel; she would be perfectly contented and proud, if you would give her the rights of a dog—the assured political rights of a yeller dog.’ She said yeller and I’m bound on doin’ her ’errent jest as she wanted it done, word for word.

“A dog, Serepta sez, don’t have to be hung if it breaks the laws it is not allowed any hand in making; a dog don’t have to pay taxes on its bone to a Govermunt that withholds every right of citizenship from it; a dog hain’t called undogly if it is industrious and hunts quietly round for its bone to the best of its ability, and tries to git its share of the crumbs that falls from that table bills are laid on.

“A dog hain’t preached to about its duty to keep home sweet and sacred, and then see that home turned into a place of danger and torment under laws that these very preachers have made legal and respectable. A dog don’t have to see its property taxed to advance laws it believes ruinous, and that breaks its own heart and the heart of other dear dogs. A dog don’t have to listen to soul-sickening speeches from them that deny it freedom and justice, about its bein’ a damask rose and a seraph, when it knows it hain’t; it knows, if it knows anything, that it is jest a plain dog.

“You see Serepta has been embittered by the trials that politics, corrupt legislation have brought right onto her. She didn’t want nothin’ to do with ’em, but they come onto her onexpected and onbeknown, and she feels that she must do everything she can to alter matters. She wants to help make the laws that have such a overpowerin’ influence over her. She believes they can’t be much worse than they are now, and may be a little better.”

“Ah,” interrupted the Senator, “if Serepta wishes to change political affairs, let her influence her children, her boys, and they will carry her benign and noble influence forward into the centuries.”

“But the law took her boy, her little boy and girl, away from her. Through the influence of the Whiskey Ring, of which her husband wuz a shinin’ member, he got possession of her boy. And so the law has made it perfectly impossible for her to mould it indirectly through him, what Serepta duz she must do herself.”

“Ah! my dear woman. A sad thing for Serepta; I trust you have no grievance of this kind, I trust that your estimable husband is, as it were, estimable.”

“Yes, Josiah Allen is a good man, as good as men can be. You know men or wimmen can’t be only jest about so good anyway. But he’s my choice, and he don’t drink a drop.”

“Pardon me, madam, but if you are happy in your married relations, and your husband is a temperate good man, why do you feel so upon this subject?”

“Why, good land! if you understood the nature of a woman you would know my love for him, my happiness, the content and safety I feel about him and our boy, makes me realize the sufferin’s of Serepta in havin’ her husband and boy lost to her; makes me realize the depth of a wife’s and mother’s agony when she sees the one she loves goin’ down, down so low she can’t reach him; makes me feel how she must yearn to help him in some safe sure way.

“High trees cast long shadows. The happier and more blessed a woman’s life is, the more duz she feel for them that are less blessed than she. Highest love goes lowest, like that love that left Heaven and descended to earth, and into it that He might lift up the lowly. The pityin’ words of Him who went about pleasin’ not Himself, hants me and inspires me; I’m sorry for Serepta, sorry for the hull wimmen race of the nation, and for the men too. Lots of ’em are good creeters, better than wimmen, some on ’em. They want to do right, but don’t exactly see the way to do it. In the old slavery times some of the masters wuz more to be pitied than the slaves. They could see the injustice, feel the wrong they wuz doin’, but old chains of Custom bound ’em, social customs and idees had hardened into habits of thought.

“They realized the size and heft of the evil, but didn’t know how to grapple with it, and throw it. So now, many men see the evils of this time, want to help, but don’t know the best way to lay holt of ’em. Life is a curious conundrum anyway, and hard to guess. But we can try to git the right answer to it as fur as we can. Serepta feels that one of the answers to the conundrum is in gittin’ her rights. I myself have got all the rights I need or want, as fur as my own happiness is concerned. My home is my castle (a story and a half wooden one, but dear). My towers elevate me, the companionship of my friends give social happiness, our children are prosperous and happy. We have property enough for all the comforts of life. And above all other things my Josiah is my love and my theme.”

“Ah, yes!” sez he, “love is a woman’s empire, and in that she should find her full content—her entire happiness and thought. A womanly woman will not look outside that lovely and safe and beautious empire.”

Sez I firmly, “If she hain’t a idiot she can’t help it. Love is the most beautiful thing on earth, the most holy and satisfyin’. But I do not ask you as a politician, but as a human bein’, which would you like best, the love of a strong, earnest tender nature, for in man or woman ‘the strongest are the tenderest, the loving are the daring,’ which would you like best, the love and respect of such a nature full of wit, of tenderness, of infinite variety, or the love of a fool?

“A fool’s love is wearin’, it is insipid at best, and it turns to vinegar. Why, sweetened water must turn to vinegar, it is its nater. And if a woman is bright and true-hearted, she can’t help seein’ through an injustice. She may be happy in her own home. Domestic affection, social enjoyments, the delights of a cultured home and society, and the companionship of the man she loves and who loves her, will, if she is a true woman, satisfy her own personal needs and desires, and she would far ruther for her own selfish happiness rest quietly in that love, that most blessed home.

“But the bright quick intellect that delights you can’t help seein’ an injustice, can’t help seein’ through shams of all kinds, sham sentiment, sham compliments, sham justice. The tender lovin’ nature that blesses your life can’t help feelin’ pity for them less blessed than herself. She looks down through the love-guarded lattice of her home from which your care would fain bar out all sights of woe and squaler, she looks down and sees the weary toilers below, the hopeless, the wretched. She sees the steep hills they have to climb, carryin’ their crosses, she sees ’em go down into the mire, dragged there by the love that should lift ’em up. She would not be the woman you love if she could restrain her hand from liftin’ up the fallen, wipin’ tears from weepin’ eyes, speakin’ brave words for them that can’t speak for themselves. The very strength of her affection that would hold you up if you were in trouble or disgrace yearns to help all sorrowin’ hearts.

“Down in your heart you can’t help admirin’ her for this, we can’t help respectin’ the one that advocates the right, the true, even if they are our conquerors. Wimmen hain’t angels; now to be candid, you know they hain’t. They hain’t any better than men. Men are considerable likely; and it seems curious to me that they should act so in this one thing. For men ort to be more honest and open than wimmen. They hain’t had to cajole and wheedle and use little trickeries and deceits and indirect ways as wimmen have. Why, cramp a tree limb and see if it will grow as straight and vigorous as it would in full freedom and sunshine.

“Men ort to be nobler than women, sincerer, braver. And they ort to be ashamed of this one trick of theirn, for they know they hain’t honest in it, they hain’t generous. Give wimmen two or three generations of moral and legal freedom and see if men will laugh at ’em for their little deceits and affectations. No, men will be gentler, and wimmen nobler, and they will both come nearer bein’ angels, though most probable they won’t be any too good then, I hain’t a mite afraid of it.”