FALSE REPORTS CORRECTED.
I find in circulation various false reports and misrepresentations, so slanderous in their bearing upon my character and reputation, and that of my family relatives, that I think they demand a passing notice from me, in summing up this brief record of events.
First Report.
“Mrs. Packard’s mother was an insane woman, and several of her relatives have been insane; and, therefore, Mrs. Packard’s insanity is hereditary, consequently, she is hopelessly insane.”
This base and most cruel slander originated from Mr. Packard’s own heart; was echoed before the eyes of the public, by Dr. McFarland, Superintendent of the Insane Asylum, through the Chicago Tribune, in a letter which he wrote to the Tribune in self-defence, after my trial. The verdict of the jury virtually impeached Dr. McFarland as an accomplice in this foul drama, and as one who had prostituted his high public trust, in a most notorious manner. This presentation of him and his institution before the public, seemed to provoke this letter, as a vindication of his course. And the most prominent part of this defence seemed to depend upon his making the people believe that the opinion of the jury was not correct, in pronouncing me sane. And he used this slander as the backbone of his argument, to prove that I was hopelessly insane, there having been no change either for the better or worse, while under his care, and that I left the institution just as I entered it, incurably insane.
I think I cannot answer this slander more summarily and concisely, than by quoting, verbatim, Mr. Stephen R. Moore’s, my attorney, reply to this letter, as it was published at the time in the public papers.
MR. MOORE’S REPLY TO DR. MCFARLAND’S SLANDER.
“Your letter starts out with a statement of an error, which I believe, to be wholly unintentional, and results from placing too much confidence in the statements of your friend, Rev. Theophilus Packard. You say, “Mrs. P., as one of the results of a strongly inherited predisposition, (her mother having been for a long period of her life insane,) had an attack of insanity previous to her marriage.” Such are not the facts. Neither the mother, nor any blood relations of Mrs. Packard, were ever suspected or charged with being insane. And it is a slander of one of the best and most pious mothers of New England, and her ancestry, to charge her and them with insanity; and could have emanated only from the heart of the pious ——, who would incarcerate the companion of his bosom for three years, with gibbering idiots and raving maniacs.
“Nor had Mrs. Packard an attack of insanity before her marriage. The pious Packard has fabricated this story to order, from the circumstance, that when a young lady, Mrs. Packard had a severe attack of brain fever, and under which fever she was for a time delirious, and no further, has this a semblance of truth.”
This is the simple truth, which all my relatives are ready, and many of them very anxious to certify to; but the limits of this pamphlet will not admit any more space in answer to this slander.
Second Report.
“Mrs. Packard is very adroit in concealing her insanity.”
This report originated from the same source, and I will answer it in the words of the same writer, as found in his printed reply: “You say, ‘Mrs. Packard is very adroit in concealing her insanity.’ She has indeed been most adroit in this concealment, when her family physician of seven year’s acquaintance, and all her friends and neighbors, with whom she visited daily, and her children, and the domestics, and lastly, the court and jury had not, and could not, discover any traces of insanity; and the only persons who say they find her insane, were Dr. McFarland, your pious friend Rev. Packard, his sister, and her husband, one deacon of the church, and a fascinating young convert—all members of his church—and a doctor. These witnesses each and every one swore upon the stand, “That it was evidence of insanity in Mrs. Packard, because she wished to leave the Presbyterian church, and join the Methodist.” I quote the reasons given by these “Lambs of the Church,” that you may know what weight their opinions are entitled to. The physician, upon whose certificate you say you held Mrs. Packard, swore upon the trial, that three-fourths of the religious community were just as insane as Mrs. Packard.”
“All her family friends, almost without exception, sustain Mr. Packard in his course.”
Not one of my family friends ever intelligently sustained Mr. Packard in his course. But they did sustain him ignorantly and undesignedly, for a time, while his tissue of lies held them back from investigating the merits of the case for themselves. But as soon as they did know, they became my firm friends and defenders, and Mr. Packard’s private foes and public adversaries. I do not mean by this, that they manifest any revengeful feelings towards him, but simply a God-like resentment of his inhuman course towards me. All my relatives, without exception, who have heard my own statement from my own lips, now unite in this one opinion, that Mr. Packard has had no right nor occasion for putting me into an insane asylum.
But fidelity to the truth requires me to say in this connection, that among my family relatives, are three families of Congregational ministers—that each of these families have refused me any hearing, so that they are still in league with, and defenders of, Mr. Packard. All I have to say for them is, “May the Lord forgive them, for they know not what they do.”
But it may be urged that the published certificates of her friends contradict this statement. This is not the case. Those certificates which have appeared in print since my return to my friends, all bear date to the time they were given previous to my return.
And in this connection I feel conscientiously bound, in defence of my kindred, to say, that some of these certificates are mere forgeries in its strict sense; that is, they were drafted by Mr. Packard, himself, and most adroitly urged upon the individual whose signature he desired to obtain, and thus his logic, being based in a falsehood, which was used as a truth, and received as such, they are thus made to certify to what was not the real truth. My minor children’s certificates are the mere echoes of their father’s will and dictation. He has tried to buy the signatures of my two oldest sons, now of age, in Chicago, by offering them some of his abundant surplus clothing, from his missionary boxes, if they would only certify that their mother was insane. But these noble sons have too much moral rectitude to sell their consciences for clothes or gold. Instead of being abettors in their father’s crimes, they have, and do still, maintain a most firm stand in defence of me. And for this manly act of filial piety towards me, their father has disinherited both of them, as he has me, from our family rights.
Another thing, it is no new business for Mr. Packard to practice forgery. This assertion I can prove by his own confession. Not long before I was exiled from my home, he said to me one day, “I have just signed a note, which, if brought against me in law, would place me in a penitentiary; but I think I am safe, as I have fixed it.” Again, Mr. Packard sent a great many forged letters to the Superintendent of the Asylum, while I was there, professing to come from a different source, wherein the writer urged, very strongly, the necessity of keeping me in an asylum, and begging him, most pathetically, to keep me there, not only for Mr. Packard’s sake, but also for his children’s sake, and community’s sake, and, lastly, for the cause of Christ’s sake! Dr. McFarland used to come to me for an explanation of this singular phenomenon. I would promptly tell him the letters are a forgery—the very face of them so speaks—for who would think of a minister in Ohio writing, self-moved, to a Superintendent in Illinois, begging of him to keep another man’s wife in his Asylum! Either these letters were exact copies of Mr. Packard’s, with the exception of the signature, or, they were entirely drafted from Mr. Packard’s statement, and made so as to be an echo of Mr. Packard’s wishes, but seeming to be a self-moved act of the writer’s own mind and wishes.
O, how fruitful is a depraved heart in devising lies, and masking them with the semblance of truth! and how many lies it takes to defend one! The lie he was thus trying to defend was, that I was insane, when I was not, and all this gigantic frame work of certificates and testimony became necessary as props to sustain it.
I now give the testimony of my lawyer, who, after witnessing the revelations of the court room, thus alludes to this subject in his reply to Dr. McFarland’s letter. “The certificates produced, fully attesting her insanity, before she was admitted, I suspect were forgeries of the pious Packard, altered to suit the occasion, and your too generous disposition to rely upon the statements made to you, was taken advantage of again, and they were imposed upon you, without the critical examination their importance demanded.”
“Mrs. Packard is alienated from her kindred, and even her own father and husband.”
I will confess I am alienated from such manifestations of love as they showed me while in the Asylum; that is, from none at all. Not one, except my adopted sister, and my two sons at Chicago, ever made an attempt to visit me, or even wrote me scarcely one line. I do say, this was rather cold sympathy for one passing through such scenes as I was called to pass through. This fact was not only an enigma to myself, but it was so to all my Asylum friends, and even to the Doctor himself, if I can believe his own words. He would often say to me, “Mrs. Packard, who are your friends? have you any in the wide world? If so, why do they not look after you?”
I used at first to say, I have many friends, and no enemies, except Mr. Packard, that I know of in the whole world. All my relatives love me tenderly. But after watching in vain for three years of prison life for them to show me some proof of it, I changed my song, and owned up, I had no friends worth the name; for my adversity had tried or tested their love, and it had all been found wanting—entirely wanting. So it looked to me from that stand point. And I still insist upon it, this was a sane conclusion. For what is that love worth, that can’t defend its friend in adversity? I say it is not worth the name of love.
But it must be remembered, I saw then only one side of the picture. The other side I could not see until I saw my friends, and looked from their standpoint. Then I found that the many letters I had written had never reached them; for Mr. Packard had instructed Dr. McFarland, and had insisted upon it, that not a single letter should be sent to any of my friends, not even my father, or sons, without reading it himself, and then sending it to him to read, before sending it; and so he must do with all the letters sent to me; and the result was, scarcely none were delivered to me, nor were mine sent to my friends. But instead of this, a brisk correspondence was kept up between Dr. McFarland and Mr. Packard, who both agreed in representing me as very insane; so much so, that my good demanded that I be kept entirely aloof from their sympathy. I have seen and read these letters, and now, instead of blaming my friends for regarding me as insane, I don’t see how they could have come to any other conclusion. From their standpoint, they acted judiciously, and kindly.
They were anxious to aid the afflicted minister to the extent they could, in restoring reason to his poor afflicted, maniac wife, and they thought the Superintendent understood his business, and with him, and her kind husband to superintend, they considered I must be well cared for.
And again, how could they imagine, that a man would wish to have the reputation of having an insane wife, when he had not? And could the good and kind Mr. Packard neglect even his poor afflicted wife? No, she must be in good hands, under the best of care, and it is her husband on whom we must lavish our warmest, tenderest, sympathies! Yes, so it was; Mr. Packard managed so as to get all the sympathy, and his wife none at all. He got all the money, and she not a cent. He got abundant tokens of regard, and she none at all. In short, he had buried me in a living tomb, with his own hands, and he meant there should be no resurrection. And the statement that I was alienated from my friends when I was entered, is utterly false. No one ever loved their kindred or friends with a warmer or a purer love than I ever loved mine.
Neither was I alienated even from Mr. Packard, when he entered me. As proof of this, I will describe my feelings as indicated by my conduct, at the time he forced me from my dear ones at home. After the physicians had examined me as described in my Introduction, and Mr. Packard had ordered me to dress for a ride to the Asylum, I asked the privilege of having my room vacated, so that I might bathe myself, as usual, before dressing; intending myself to then secure about my person, secretly, my Bible-class documents, as all that I had said in defence of my opinions was in writing, never having trusted myself to an extemporaneous discussion of my new ideas, lest I be misrepresented. And I then felt that these documents, alone, were my only defence, being denied all and every form of justice, by any trial. I therefore resorted to this innocent stratagem, as it seemed to me, to secure them; that is, I did not tell Mr. Packard that I had any other reason for being left alone in my room than the one I gave him.
But he refused me this request, giving as his only reason, that he did not think it best to leave me alone. He doubtless had the same documents in view, intending thus to keep me from getting them, for he ordered Miss Rumsey to be my lady’s maid, as a spy upon my actions. I dared not attempt to get them with her eye upon me, lest she take them from me, or report me to Mr. Packard, as directed by him so to do, as I believed. I resolved upon one more stratagem as my last and only hope, and this was, to ask to be left alone long enough to pray in my own room once more, before being forced from it into my prison. When, therefore, I was all dressed, ready to be kidnapped, I asked to see my dear little ones, to bestow upon them my parting kiss. But was denied this favor also!
“Then,” said I, “can I bear such trials as these without God’s help? And is not this help given us in answer to our own prayers? May I not be allowed, husband, to ask this favor of God alone in my room, before being thus exiled from it?”
“No,” said he, “I don’t think it is best to let you be alone in your room.”
“O, husband,” said I, “you have allowed me no chance for my secret devotions this morning, can’t I be allowed this one last request?”
“No; I think it is not best; but you may pray with your door open.”
I then kneeled down in my room, with my bonnet and shawl on, and in the presence and hearing of the sheriff, and the conspiracy I offered up my petition, in an audible voice, wherein I laid my burdens frankly, fully, before my sympathizing Saviour, as I would have done in secret. And this Miss Rumsey reports, that the burden of this prayer was for Mr. Packard’s forgiveness. She says, I first told God what a great crime Mr. Packard was committing in treating his wife as he was doing, and what great guilt he was thus treasuring up to himself, by this cruel and unjust treatment of the woman he had sworn before God to protect; and what an awful doom he must surely meet with, under the government of a just God, for these his great sins against me, and so forth; and then added, that if it was possible for God to allow me to bear his punishment for him, that he would allow me so to do, if in that way, his soul might be redeemed from the curse which must now rest upon it. In short, the burden of my prayer was, that I might be his redeemer, if my sufferings could in any possible way atone for his sins. Such a petition was, of course looked upon by this conspiracy, as evidence of my insanity, and has been used by them, as such. But I cannot but feel that in God’s sight, it was regarded as an echo of Christ’s dying prayer for his murderers, prompted by the same spirit of gospel forgiveness of enemies. In fact, if I know anything of my own heart, I do know that it then cherished not a single feeling of resentment towards him. But my soul was burdened by a sense of his great guilt, and only desired his pardon and forgiveness.
As another proof of this assertion, I will describe our parting interview at the Asylum. He had stayed two nights at the Asylum, occupying the stately guest chamber and bed alone, while I was being locked up in my narrow cell, on my narrow single bed, with the howling maniacs around for my serenaders. He sat at the sumptuous table of the Superintendent, sharing in all its costly viands and dainties, and entertained by its refined guests, for his company and companions. While I, his companion, ever accustomed to the most polished and best society, was sitting at our long table, furnished with nothing but bread and meat; and my companions, some of them, gibbering maniacs, whose presence and society must be purchased only at the risk of life or physical injury. He could walk about the city at his pleasure, or be escorted in the sumptuous carriage, while I could only circumambulate the Asylum yard, under the vigilant eye of my keeper. O, it did seem, these two days and nights, as though my affectionate heart would break with my over much sorrow. No sweet darling babe to hug to my heart’s embrace—no child arms to encircle my neck and bestow on my cheek its hearty “good night” kiss. No—nothing, nothing, in my surroundings, to cheer and soothe my tempest tossed soul.
In this sorrowful state of mind Mr. Packard found me in my cell, and asked me if I should not like an interview with him, in the parlor, as he was about to leave me soon.
“Yes,” said I, “I should be very glad of one,” and taking his arm, I walked out of the hall. As I passed on, one of the attendants remarked: “See, she is not alienated from her husband, see how kindly she takes his arm!” When we reached the parlor, I seated myself by his side, on the sofa, and gave full vent to my long pent up emotions and feelings.
“O, husband!” said I, “how can you leave me in such a place? It seems as though I cannot bear it. And my darling babe! O, what will become of him! How can he live without his mother! And how can I live without my babe, and my children! O, do, do, I beg of you, take me home. You know I have always been a true and loving wife to you, and how can you treat me so?” My entreaties and prayers were accompanied with my tears, which is a very uncommon manifestation with me; and while I talked, I arose from my seat and walked the room, with my handkerchief to my eyes; for it seemed as if my heart would break. Getting no response whatever from him, I took down my hand to see why he did not speak to me when—what did I see! my husband sound asleep, nodding his head!
“O, husband!” said I, “can you sleep while your wife is in such agony?”
Said he, “I can’t keep awake; I have been broke of my rest.”
“I see,” said I, “there is no use in trying to move your feelings, we may as well say our ‘good bye’ now as ever.” And as I bestowed upon him the parting kiss, I said, “May our next meeting be in the spirit land! And if there you find yourself in a sphere of lower development than myself; and you have any desire to rise to a higher plane, remember, there is one spirit in the universe, who will leave any height of enjoyment, and descend to any depth of misery, to raise you to a higher plane of happiness, if it is possible so to do. And that spirit is the spirit of your Elizabeth. Farewell! husband, forever!!”
This is the exact picture. Now see what use he makes of it. In his letter to my father, he says: “She did not like to be left. I pitied her.” (Pitied her! How was his sympathy manifested?) “It was an affecting scene. But she was very mad at me, and tried to wound my feelings every way. She would send no word to the children, and would not pleasantly bid me good bye.” Pleasantly was underlined, to make it appear, that, because I did not pleasantly bid him good bye, under these circumstances, I felt hard towards him, and this was a proof of my alienation, and is as strong a one as it is possible for him to bring in support of his charge.
Let the tender hearted mother draw her own inferences—man cannot know what I then suffered. And may a kind God grant, that no other mother may ever know what I then felt, in her own sad experience!
The truth is, I never was alienated from my husband, until he gave me just cause for this alienation, and not until he put me into the Asylum, and then it took four long months more, of the most intense spiritual torture, to develop in my loving, forgiving heart, one feeling of hate towards him. As proof of this, I will here insert two letters I wrote him several weeks after my incarceration.
Jacksonville, July 14th, 1860, Sabbath, P. M.
My Dear Children and Husband:
Your letter of July eleventh arrived yesterday. It was the third I have received from home, and, indeed, is all I have received from any source since I came to the Asylum. And the one you received from me is all I have sent from here. I thank you for writing so often. I shall be happy to answer all letters from you, if you desire it, as I see you do, by your last. I like anything to relieve the monotony of my daily routine. * * *
Dr. McFarland told me, after I had been here one week, “I do not think you will remain but a few days longer.” I suspect he found me an unfit subject, upon a personal acquaintance with me. Still, unfit as I consider myself, to be numbered amongst the insane, I am so numbered at my husband’s request. And for his sake, I must, until my death, carry about with me, “This thorn in the flesh—this messenger of Satan to buffet me,” and probably, to keep me humble, and in my proper place. God grant it may be a sanctified affliction to me! I do try to bear it, uncomplainingly, and submissively. But, O! ’tis hard—’tis very hard. O, may you never know what it is to be numbered with the insane, within the walls of an insane asylum, not knowing as your friends will ever regard you as a fit companion or associate for them again, outside its walls.
O, the bitter, bitter cup, I have been called to drink, even to its very dregs, just because I choose to obey God rather than man! But, as my Saviour said, “the cup which my Father hath given me, shall I not drink it?” O, yes, for thy sake, kind Saviour, I rejoice, that I am counted worthy to suffer the loss of all things, for thy sake. And thou hast made me worthy, by thine own free and sovereign grace. Yes, dear Jesus, I believe that I have learned the lesson thou hast thus taught me, that “in whatsoever state I am, therewith to be content.”
Yes, content, to sit at a table with twenty-four maniacs, three times a day, and eat my bread and meat, and drink my milk and water, while I remember, almost each time, how many vegetables and berries are upon my own dear table at home, and I not allowed to taste, because my husband counts me unworthy, or unfit, or unsafe, to be an inmate at his fireside and table. I eat, and retire, and pray God to keep me from complaining. My fare does not agree with my health, and so I have begged of our kind attendants, to furnish me some poor, shriveled wheat, to keep in my room, to eat raw, to keep my bowels open. This morning, after asking a blessing at the table, I retired to my own room, to eat my raw, hard wheat alone, with my pine-apple to soften it, or rather to moisten it going down. Yes, the berries I toiled so very hard to get for our health and comfort, I only must be deprived of them at my husband’s appointment. The past, O, the sad past! together with the present, and the unknown future. O, let oblivion cover the past—let no record of my wrongs be ever made, for posterity to see, for your sake, my own lawful husband.
O, my dear precious children! how I pity you! My heart aches for you. But I can do nothing for you. I am your father’s victim, and cannot escape from my prison to help you, even you—my own flesh and blood—my heart’s treasures, my jewels, my honor and rejoicing.
For I do believe you remain true to the mother who loves you so tenderly, that she would die to save you from the disgrace she has brought upon your fair names, by being stigmatised as the children of an insane mother, whom your father said he regarded as unsafe, as an inmate of your own quiet home, and, therefore, has confined me within these awful enclosures.
O, may you never know what it is to go to sleep within the hearing of such unearthly sounds, as can be heard here almost at any hour of the night! I can sleep in the hearing of it, for “so he giveth his beloved sleep.” O, children dear, do not be discouraged at my sad fate, for well doing. But be assured that, although you may suffer in this world for it, you may be sure your reward will come in the next. “For, if we suffer with him, we shall also reign with him.”
O, do commit your souls to him in well-doing for my sake, if you dare not for your own sake, for I do entreat you to let me be with you in heaven, if your father prevents it on earth.
I may not have much longer to suffer here on earth. Several in our ward are now sick in bed, and I give them more of my fruit than I eat myself, hoping that, when my turn comes to be sick, some one may thus serve me. But if not, I can bear it, perhaps better than they can, to be without any solace or comfort in sickness here, such as a friend needs. I have nothing to live for now, but to serve you, as I know of. But you can get along without me, can’t you? Pa will take care of you. Do be kind to him, and make him as happy as possible. Yes, honor your father, if he has brought such dishonor upon your name and reputation.
I will devote my energies to these distressed objects around me, instead of attending to your wants, as a mother should be allowed to do, at least, so long as she could do so, as well as I could, and did, when I was taken from you. I know I could not, for lack of physical strength, do as much for you as I once could, still I was willing, and did do all I could for you. Indeed, I find I am almost worn out by my sufferings. I am very weak and feeble. Still, I make no complaints, for I am so much better off than many others here.
Do bring my poor lifeless body home when my spirit, which troubled your father so much, has fled to Jesus’ arms for protection, and lay me by my asparagus bed, so you can visit my grave, and weep over my sad fate in this world. I do not wish to be buried in Shelburne, but let me rise where I suffered so much for Christ’s sake.
O, do not, do not, be weary in well doing, for, did I not hope to meet you in heaven, it seems as though my heart would break!
I am useful here, I hope. Some of our patients say, it is a paradise here now, compared with what it was before I came. The authorities assure me, that I am doing a great work here, for the institution.
When I had the prospect of returning home in a few days, as I told you, I begged with tears not to send me, as my husband would have the same reason for sending me back as he had for bringing me here. For the will of God is still my law and guide, so I cannot do wrong, and until I become insane, I can take no other guide for my conduct. Here I can exercise my rights of conscience, without offending any one.
Yes, I am getting friends, from high and low, rich and poor. I am loved, and respected here by all that know me. I am their confident, their counsellor, their bosom friend. O, how I love this new circle of friends! There are several patients here, who are no more insane than I am; but are put here, like me, to get rid of them. But here we can work for God, and here die for him.
Love to all my children, and yourself also. I thank you for the fruit, and mirror. It came safe. I had bought one before.
I am at rest—and my mind enjoys that peace the world cannot give or take away. When I am gone to rest, rejoice for me. Weep not for me. I am, and must be forever happy in God’s love.
The questions are often asked me, “Why were you sent here? you are not insane. Did you injure any one? Did you give up, and neglect your duties? Did you tear your clothes, and destroy your things? What did you do that made your friends treat such a good woman so?” Let silence be my only reply, for your sake, my husband. Now, my husband, do repent, and secure forgiveness from God, and me, before it is too late. Indeed, I pity you; my soul weeps on your account. But God is merciful, and his mercies are great above the heavens. Therefore, do not despair; by speedy repentance secure gospel peace to your tempest-tossed soul. So prays your loving wife,
Elizabeth.
Extract from another Letter.
My Dear Husband.
I thank you kindly for writing me, and thus relieving my burdened heart, by assuring me that my dear children are alive and well. I have been sadly burdened at the thought of what they are called to suffer on their mother’s account. Yes, the mother’s heart has wept for them every moment: yet my heart has rejoiced in God my Savior, for to suffer as well as to do His holy will, is my highest delight, my chief joy. Yes, my dear husband, I can say in all sincerity and honesty, “The will of the Lord be done.” I can still by his abundant grace utter the true emotions of my full heart, in the words of my favorite verse, which you all know has been my solace in times of doubt, perplexity and trial. It is this:
“With cheerful feet the path of duty run,
God nothing does, nor suffers to be done,
But what thou wouldst thyself, couldst thou but see,
Through all events of things as well as He.”
O, the consolation the tempest tossed spirit feels in the thought that our Father is at the helm, and that no real harm can befall us with such a pilot to direct our course. And let me assure you all for your encouragement, that my own experience bears honest, practical testimony that great peace they have who make God their shield, their trust, their refuge; and I can even add that this Insane Asylum has been to me the gate to Heaven. * * *
By Dr. McFarland’s leave, I have established family worship in our hall; and we never have less than twelve, and sometimes eighteen or more, quite quiet and orderly, while I read and explain a chapter—then join in singing a hymn—then kneeling down, I offer a prayer, as long as I usually do at our own family altar. I also implore the blessing of God at the table at every meal, while twenty-nine maniacs, as we are called, silently join with me. Our conversation, for the most part, is intelligent, and to me most instructive. At first, quite a spirit of discord seemed to pervade our circle. But now it is quiet and even cheerful. I find that we as individuals hold the happiness of others to a great degree in our own keeping, and that “A merry heart doeth good like medicine.” * * *
If God so permit, I should rejoice to join the dear circle at home, and serve them to the best of my ability. “Nevertheless, not as I will, but as Thou wilt.” I thank you, husband, for your kindness, both past and prospective. Do forgive me, wherein I have wronged you, or needlessly injured your feelings, and believe me yours,
Elizabeth.
P. S. Tell the dear children to trust God, by doing right.
I now do frankly own, I am fully alienated from him, in his present detestable character, as developed towards me, his lawful wife. And I claim that it is not consistent with the laws of God’s moral government, for a fully sane being to feel otherwise.
But it is not so with my kindred, and other friends. I am not alienated from them, for I have had no just and adequate cause for alienation. They erred ignorantly, not willfully. They were willing to know the truth; they were convicted, and are now converted to the truth. They have confessed their sin against me in thus neglecting me, and have asked my forgiveness. I have most freely forgiven them, and such penitents are fully restored to my full fellowship and confidence. To prove they are penitent, one confession will serve as a fair representation of the whole. I give it in the writer’s own words, verbatim, from the letter now before me. “We are all glad you have been to visit us, and we regret we have not tried to do more for you, in times past. I am grieved that you have been left to suffer so much alone—had we known, I think something would have been done for you. Forgive us, won’t you, for our cruel neglect?” Yes, I do rejoice to forgive them, for Christ allows me to forgive the penitent transgressor. But he does not allow me to do better than he does—to forgive the impenitent transgressor. And I do not; but as I have before said, I stand ready with my forgiveness in my heart to extend it to him, most freely, on this gospel condition of repentance—practical repentance.
“Dr. McFarland, the Superintendent of the Asylum, says she is insane; and he ought to know.”
Yes, he ought to know. But, in my opinion, Dr. McFarland, does not know a sane from an insane person; or else, why does he keep so many in that Asylum, as sane as himself? And mine is not the first case a court and jury differed from him in opinion on this subject. He has been so long conversant with the insane, that he has become a perfect monomaniac on insanity and in his treatment of the insane. I never saw such inhumanity, and cruelty, and barbarity, practiced towards the innocent and helpless as he sanctions and allows in that Asylum. I could write a large volume in confirmation of this assertion, made up of scenes I myself witnessed, during my three years’ incarceration in that terrible place. The material is all on hand for such a book, since I kept a secret journal of daily events, just as they occurred, so that my memory is not my only laboratory of such truths. And in arranging this matter for a book, I intend to turn Jacksonville Asylum inside out. That is, I shall report that Asylum from the standpoint of a patient, and if this book don’t prove my assertion that Dr. McFarland is a monomaniac, I am sure it will prove him to be something worse. But I claim to defend his heart from the charge of villainy, and his intellect from imbecility, for I have often said of him, “Dr. McFarland is the greatest man I ever saw, and he would be the best if he wasn’t so bad!”
But this is not the place to make a defence for Dr. McFarland. Let him stand where his own actions put him, for that is the only proper place for either superintendent or patient to stand upon. But I will own, God made him fit for one of his great resplendent luminaries; but Satan has marred this noble orb, so that now it has some very dark spots on its disk, such as his patients can behold without the aid of a telescope! Yes, as a general thing, his patients are not allowed to behold anything else but these dark spots, while the public are allowed to see nothing except the splendors of this luminary. And when my telescopic book is in print, the public may look, or not look, at the scenes behind the curtain, just as they please. The exact scenes are now fully daguerreotyped on my brain and heart both, as well as on my manuscript journal. In this volume I am only allowed to report what relates to myself alone. Therefore I have but little to say; for as it respects his treatment of me, individually, I regard him as a practical penitent, and on this basis, I have really forgiven him. And God only knows what a multitude of sins this man’s repentance has covered! And my Christianity forbids my exposing the sins of a practical penitent, after having practically forgiven him.
As proof of his penitence, I bring this fact, that it was under his superintendence, and by his consent alone, that I was permitted to spend the last nine months of my prison life in writing “The Great Drama.” This book was commenced as an act of self-defence from the charge of insanity, and this man was the first person in America that ever before allowed me any right of self-defence. And this act of practical manliness on his part, awakened, as its response, my full and hearty forgiveness of all the wrongs he had hitherto heaped upon me; and these wrongs had not been “like angels visits, few and far between.” But I had, in reality, much to forgive. At least, so thought my personal friends at the Asylum, if their words echoed their real feelings. Their feelings on this subject were not unfrequently uttered in very strong language like the following: “If Mrs. Packard can forgive Dr. McFarland all the wrongs and abuses he has heaped upon her she must be more than human.” And I now have before me a letter from one who had been for several years an officer in that institution, from which I will make an extract, as it corroborates this point. She says, “How the mind wanders back to those dark hours. O, that hated letter! once presented you by a ——, who delighted to torture those he could not subdue. Our hearts did pity you, Mrs. Packard. Mrs. Tenny, (now the wife of the then assistant physician, but my attendant at the time referred to,) and myself often said, everything was done that could be, to annihilate and dethrone your reason. Poor child! They had all fled—none to watch one hour! All I have to say is, if there can be found man or woman who could endure what you did in that three years, and not become a raving maniac, they should be canonized.”
Yes, God, God alone, saved me from the awful vortex Mr. Packard and Dr. McFarland had prepared for me—the vortex of oblivion—God has delivered me from them who were stronger than I, and to his cause, the cause of oppressed humanity, for which I there suffered so much in its defence, I do now consecrate my spared intellect, and reason, and moral power.
This “Great Drama,” written there, is my great battery, which, in God’s providence, I hope sometime to get rich enough to publish; and it is to the magnanimity of Dr. McFarland alone, under God, that my thanks are due, for letting me write this book. He dictated none of it. He allowed me perfect spiritual liberty, in penning this voluminous literary production of seven hundred pages; and if ever there was a book written wholly untrammelled by human dictation, this is the book. But as I said, his magnanimity, even at the eleventh hour, has, so far as I am concerned, secured my forgiveness.
But he has been, and I fear still is, a great sinner against others, also; for, as I have often said, it is my candid opinion, that there were fifty in that house, as patients, who have no more right to be there than the Doctor himself. Judging them from their own actions and words, there is no more evidence of insanity in them, than in Dr. McFarland’s words and actions. He certainly has no scruples about keeping perfectly sane persons as patients. At first, this was to me an enigma I could not possible solve. But now I can on the supposition that he don’t know a sane from an insane person, because he has become a monomaniac on this subject, just as Mr. Packard has on the woman question. The Doctor’s insane dogmas are, first: all people are insane on some points; second: insane persons have no rights that others are bound to respect.
He has never refused any one’s application on the ground of their not being insane, to my knowledge, but he has admitted many whom he admitted were not near as insane as the friends who brought them were. He can see insanity in any one where it will be for his interest to see it. And let him put any one through the insane treatment he subjects his patients to, and they are almost certain to manifest some resentment, before the process is complete. And this natural resentment which his process evokes, is what he calls their insanity, or rather evidence of it. I saw the operation of his nefarious system before I had been there long, and I determined to stand proof against it, by restraining all manifestations of my resentful feelings, which his insults to me were designed to develop. And this is his grand failure in my case. He has no capital to make out his charge upon, so far as my own actions are concerned. No one ever saw me exhibit the least angry, resentful feelings. I say that to God’s grace alone is this result due. I maintain, his treatment of his patients is barbarous and criminal in many cases; therefore he shows insanity in his conduct towards them.
Again, he does not always tell the truth about his patients, nor to his patients. And this is another evidence of his insanity. I do say, lying is insanity; and if I can ever be proved to be a liar, by my own words or actions, I do insist upon it I merit the charge put upon me of monomania, or insanity. But, speaking the truth, and nothing but the truth, is not lying, even if people do not believe my assertions. For the truth will stand without testimony, and in spite of all contradiction. And when one has once been proved to have lied, they have no claims on us to be believed, when they do speak the truth. Were I called to prove my assertion that the Doctor misrepresents, I could do so, by his own letters to my husband, and my father, now in my possession, and by letters Mr. Field had from him while I was in the Asylum. For example, why did he write to Mr. Field that I “was a dangerous patient, not safe to live in any private family,” and then refuse to answer direct questions calling for evidence in proof on this point, and give as his reason, that he did not deem it his duty to answer impertinent questions about his patients? Simply because the assertion was a lie, and had nothing to support or defend it, in facts, as they existed. These letters abound in misrepresentations and falsehoods respecting me, and it is no wonder my friends regarded me as insane, on these representations from the Superintendent of a State Asylum.
I have every reason to think Dr. McFarland believes, in his heart, that I am entirely sane; but policy and self-interest has prompted him to deny it in words, hoping thus to destroy the influence of the sad truths I utter respecting the character of that institution. A very intelligent employee in that institution, and one who had, by her position, peculiar advantages for knowing the real state of feeling towards me in that institution, once said to me, “Mrs. Packard, I can assure you, that there is not a single individual in this house who believes you are an insane person; and as for Dr. McFarland he knows you are not, whatever he may choose to say upon the subject.”
One thing is certain, his actions contradict his words, in this matter. Would an insane person be employed by him to carry his patients to ride, and drive the team with a whole load of crazy women, with no one to help take care of them and the team but herself? And yet Dr. McFarland employed me to do this very thing fourteen times; and I always came back safely with them, and never abused my liberty, by dropping a letter into the post-office, or any thing of the kind, and never abused the confidence reposed in me in any manner.
Would he give a crazy woman money to go to the city, and make purchases for herself? And yet he did so by me. Would a crazy woman be employed to make purchases for the house, and use as a reason for employing her, that her judgment was superior to any in the house? And yet this is true of me. Would a crazy woman be employed to cut, fit and make his wife’s and daughter’s best dresses, instead of a dressmaker, because she could do them better, in their opinion, than any dressmaker they could employ? And yet I was thus employed for several weeks, and for this reason. And would his wife have had her tailoress consult my judgment, before cutting her boy’s clothes, and give as her reason, that she preferred my judgment and planning before her own, if I was an insane person? And yet she did.
Would the officials send their employees to me for help, in executing orders which exceeded the capacity of their own judgment to perform, if they considered my reason and judgment as impaired by insanity? And yet this was often the case. Would the remark be often made by the employees in that institution, that “Mrs. Packard was better fitted to be the matron of the institution than any one under that roof,” if I had been treated and regarded as an insane person by the officials? And yet this remark was common there.
No. Dr. McFarland did not treat me as an insane person, until I had been there four months, when he suddenly changed his programme entirely, by treating me like an insane person, and ordering the employees to do so to, which order he could never enforce, except in one single instance, and this attendant soon after became a lunatic and a tenant of the poor house. My attendants said they should not treat me as they did the other patients, if the Doctor did order it.
The reason for this change in the Doctor’s treatment, was not because of any change in my conduct or deportment in any respect, but because I offended him, by a reproof I gave him for his abuse of his patients, accompanied by the threat to expose him unless he repented. I gave this reproof in writing, and retained a copy myself, by hiding it behind my mirror, between it and the board-back. Several thousand copies of which are now in circulation. After this event, I was closeted among the maniacs, and did not step my foot upon the ground again, until I was discharged, two years and eight months afterwards. When he transferred me from the best ward to the worst ward, he ordered my attendants to treat me just as they did their other patients, except to not let me go out of the ward; although all the others could go to ride and walk, except myself. Had I not known how to practice the laws of health, this close confinement would doubtless have been fatal to my good health and strong nerves. But as it was, both are still retained in full vigor.
My correspondence was henceforth put under the strictest censorship, and but few of my letters ever went farther than the Doctor’s office, and most of the letters sent to me never came nearer me than his office. When I became satisfied of this, I stopped writing at all to any one, until I got an “Under Ground Express” established, through which my mail passed out, but not in.
One incident I will here mention to show how strictly and vigilantly my correspondence with the world was watched. There was a patient in my ward to be discharged ere long, to go to her home near Manteno, and she offered to take anything to my children, if I chose to send anything by her. Confident I could not get a letter out through her, without being detected, I made my daughter some under waists, and embroidered them, for a present to her from her mother. On the inside of these bleached cotton double waists, I pencilled a note to her, for her and my own solace and comfort. I then gave these into the hands of this patient, and she took them and put them into her bosom saying, “The Doctor shall never see these.” But just as she was leaving the house, the Doctor asked her, if she had any letter from Mrs. Packard to her children with her? She said she had not.
He then asked be “Have you had anything from Mrs. Packard with you?”
She said, “I have two embroidered waists, which Mrs. Packard wished me to carry to her daughter, as a present from her mother; but nothing else.”
“Let me see those waists,” said he.
She took them from her bosom and handed them to him. He saw the penciling. He read it, and ordered the waists to the laundry to be washed before sending them, so that no heart communications from the mother to the child, could go with them. I believe he sent them afterwards by Dr. Eddy.
In regard to Dr. McFarland’s individual guilt in relation to his treatment of me, justice to myself requires me to add, that I cherish no feelings of resentment towards him, and the worst wish my heart dictates towards him is, that he may repent, and become the “Model Man” his nobly developed capacities have fitted him to become; for he is, as I have said, the greatest man I ever saw, and he would be the best if he wasn’t so bad!
And the despotic treatment his patients receive under his government, is only the natural result of one of the fundamental laws of human nature, in its present undeveloped state; which is, that the history of our race for six thousand years demonstrates the fact, that absolute, unlimited power always tends towards despotism—or an usurpation and abuse of other’s rights. Dr. McFarland has, in a practical sense, a sovereignty delegated to him, by the insane laws, almost as absolute as the marital power, which the law delegates to the husband. All of the inalienable rights of his patients are as completely subject to his single will, in the practical operation of these laws, as are the rights of a married woman to the will of her husband. And these despotic superintendents and husbands in the exercise of this power, are no more guilty, in my opinion, than that power is which licenses this deleterious element. No Republican government ought to permit an absolute monarchy to be established under its jurisdiction. And when it is found to exist, it ought to be destroyed, forthwith. And where this licensed power is known to have culminated into a despotism, which is crushing humanity, really and practically, that government is guilty in this matter, so long as it tolerates this usurpation.
Therefore, while the superintendents are guilty in abusing their power, I say that government which sustains oppression by its laws, is the first transgressor. Undoubtedly our insane asylums were originally designed and established, as humane institutions, and for a very humane and benevolent purpose; but, on their present basis, they really cover and shield many wrongs, which ought to be exposed and redressed. It is the evils which cluster about these institutions, and these alone, which I am intent on bringing into public view, for the purpose of having them destroyed. All the good which inheres in these institutions and officers is just as precious as if not mixed with the alloy; therefore, in destroying the alloy, great care should be used not to tarnish or destroy the fine gold with it. As my case demonstrates, they are now sometimes used for inquisitional purposes, which certainly is a great perversion of their original intent.
“Mrs. Packard’s statements are incredible. And she uses such strong language in giving them expression, as demonstrates her still to be an insane woman.”
I acknowledge the fact, that truth is stranger than fiction; and I also assert, that it is my candid opinion, that strong language is the only appropriate drapery some truths can be clothed in. For example, the only appropriate drapery to clothe a lie in, is the strong language of lie or liar, not misrepresentation, a mistake, a slip of the tongue, a deception, an unintentional error, and so forth. And for unreasonable, and inhuman, and criminal acts, the appropriate drapery is, insane acts; and an usurpation of human rights and an abuse of power over the defenceless, is appropriately clothed by the term, Despotism. And one who defends his creed or party by improper and abusive means, is a Bigot. One who is impatient and unwilling to endure, and will not hear the utterance of opinions in conflict with his own, without persecution of his opponent, is Intolerant towards him; and this is an appropriate word to use in describing such manifestations.
And here I will add, I do not write books merely to tickle the fancy, and lull the guilty conscience into a treacherous sleep, whose waking is death. Nor do I write to secure notoriety or popularity. But I do write to defend the cause of human rights; and these rights can never be vindicated, without these usurpations be exposed to public view, so that an appeal can be made to the public conscience, on the firm basis of unchangeable truth—the truth of facts as they do actually exist. I know there is a class, but I fondly hope they are the minority, who will resist this solid basis even—who would not believe the truth should Christ himself be its medium of utterance and defence. But shall I on this account withhold the truth, lest such cavilers reject it, and trample it under foot, and then turn and rend me with the stigma of insanity, because I told them the simple truth? By no means. For truth is not insanity; and though it may for a time be crushed to the earth, it shall rise again with renovated strength and power. Neither is strong and appropriate language insanity. But on the contrary, I maintain that strong language is the only suitable and appropriate drapery for a reformer to clothe his thoughts in, notwithstanding the very unsuitable and inappropriate stigma of Insanity which has always been the reformer’s lot to bear for so doing in all past ages, as well as the present age.
Even Christ himself bore this badge of a Reformer, simply because he uttered truths which conflicted with the established religion of the church of his day. And shall I repine because I am called insane for the same reason? It was the spirit of bigotry which led the intolerant Jews to stigmatize Christ as a madman, because he expressed opinions differing from their own. And it is this same spirit of bigotry which has been thus intolerant towards me. And it is my opinion that bigotry is the most implacable, unreasonable, unmerciful feeling that can possess the human soul. And it is my fervent prayer that the eyes of this government may be opened to see, that the laws do not now protect or shield any married woman from this same extreme manifestation of it, such as it has been my sad lot to endure, as the result of this legalized persecution.