CHAPTER IX
She begins private practice—Mrs. Schmidt and many physicians plan to establish a Maternity Hospital for her—Her father renews his insistence that she should marry—Recollections of a report of the Female Medical College of Pennsylvania, located in Philadelphia, and of Dr. Schmidt’s comment on it, turn her thoughts to America, and she decides to emigrate—She receives official acknowledgment of her work at the Hospital, together with a gift of money—Accompanied by a younger sister, she arrives in New York. (Twenty-four years of age: 1852-1853.)
I made my preparations to leave the hospital on the 15th of November, 1852. What was I to do? I was not made to practice quietly, as is commonly done; my education and aspirations demanded more than this. For the time, I could do nothing more than inform my patients that I intended to practice independently.
My father again wished that I should marry, and I began to ask myself whether marriage is an institution to relieve parents from embarrassment. When troubled about the future of a son, parents are ready to give him to the army; when in fears of the destiny of a daughter, they induce her to become the slave of the marriage bond. I never doubted that it was more unendurable and unworthy to be a wife without love than a soldier without a special calling for that profession, and I never could think of marriage as the means to procure a shelter and bread. I had so many schemes in my head that I would not listen to his words. Among these was especially the wish to emigrate to America.
The Pennsylvania Female Medical College had sent its first report to Dr. Schmidt, who had informed me as well as his colleagues of it and had advocated the justice of such a reform. It was in March, 1852, that he spoke of this, saying to those present, “In America, women will now become physicians, like the men; this shows that only in a republic can it be proved that science has no sex.”
This fact recurred to my memory, and I decided to go to America to join in a work open to womanhood on a larger scale; and for the next two months, I did nothing but speculate how to carry out my design of emigration.
I had lived rather expensively and lavishly, without thinking of laying up any money; and my whole fortune, when I left the Charité, consisted of sixty dollars.
One thing happened in connection with my leaving the hospital which I must relate here. Director Horn was required to justify his conduct to the minister to whom the change had to be reported, and a committee was appointed to hear the accusation and to pass judgment upon the affair. As this was done in secrecy and not before a jury, and as the accuser was a man of high rank, I knew nothing of it until Christmas Eve when I received a document stating that, “as a gratification for my services for the benefit of the city of Berlin” in instructing the class of midwives, a compensation was decreed me of fifty dollars.
This was a large sum for Berlin, such as was given only on rare occasions. I was also informed that Director Horn was instructed to give me, should I ever demand it, a first-class certificate of what my position had been in the hospital, with the title of Chief attached.
For whatever I had suffered from the injustice of my enemies, I was now fully recompensed. I inquired who had taken my part so earnestly against Director Horn as to gain this action, and found that it was Dr. Müller the pathologist, backed by several other physicians. Director Horn, it was said, was greatly humiliated by the decision of Minister von Raumer, who could not see the least justice in his conduct in this matter, and had I not left the hospital so readily, I should never have stood so firmly as after this secret trial.
It was done, however, and I confidently told my mother of my design to emigrate. Between my mother and myself there existed not merely the strongest relation of maternal and filial love, but also a professional sympathy and peculiar friendship, which was the result of two similar minds and hearts, and which made me stand even nearer to her than as a child I possibly could have done. She consented with heart and soul, encouraged me in all my plans and expectations, and asked me at once at what time I would leave.
I next told my father and the rest of the family of my plan. My third sister (Anna), a beautiful, joyous young girl, exclaimed, “And I will go with you!” My father, who would not listen to my going alone, at once consented to our going together. But I thought differently. In going alone, I risked only my own happiness; in going with her, I risked hers too, while I should be constantly restricted in my adventurous undertakings by having her, who knew nothing of the world save the happiness of a tranquil family life, with me.
The next day I told them that I had changed my mind and should not go away, but should establish myself in Berlin. Of course, I received a torrent of gibes on my fickleness, for they did not understand my feelings in respect to the responsibility that I feared to take for my younger sister.
I began to establish myself in practice. Mrs. Schmidt, who was anxious to assist me in my new career, suggested to those physicians who were my friends the establishment of a private hospital which should be under my care. She found them strongly in favor of the plan, and had I not been constantly speculating about leaving for America, this scheme would have been realized.
But Dr. Schmidt’s words after reading the first report of the Philadelphia Female Medical College recurred to me again and again. I had resolved to emigrate, and I took my measures accordingly. I went secretly to Drs. Müller and Ebert and procured certificates attesting my position in respect to them in the hospital. I then obtained the certificate from Director Horn, and I carried them all to the American Chargé d’Affaires (Theodore S. Fay) to have them legalized in English, so that they would be of service to me in America.[2]
When I told Drs. Ebert and Müller and Mrs. Schmidt of my intention to emigrate, they pronounced me insane. They thought that I had the best field of activity open in Berlin and could not comprehend why I should seek greater freedom of person and of action.
Little really is known in Berlin about America, and to go there is considered as great an undertaking as to seek the river Styx in order to go to Hades. The remark that I heard from almost every quarter was, “What! you wish to go to the land of barbarism, where they have negro slavery and where they do not know how to appreciate talent and genius?”
But this could not prevent me from realizing my plans. I had idealized the freedom of America and especially the reform of the position of women, to such an extent that I would not listen to their arguments. After having been several years in America, very probably I would think twice before undertaking again to emigrate, for even the idealized freedom has lost a great deal of its charm when I consider how much better it could be.
Having put everything in order, I told my father of my conclusion to leave. He was surprised to hear of it the second time, but I showed him my papers in readiness for the journey and declared that I should go as soon as the ship was ready to sail, having a hundred dollars, just money enough to pay my passage.
He would not give his consent unless my sister Anna accompanied me, thinking her, I suppose, a counterpoise to any rash undertakings in which I might engage in a foreign land. If I wished to go, therefore, I was forced to have her company, of which I should have been very glad had I not feared the moral care and responsibility.
We decided to go in a fortnight. My father paid her passage and gave her a hundred dollars in cash, just enough to enable us to spend a short time in New York, after which he expected either to send us more money or that we would return; and, in case we did this, an agreement was made with the shipping merchant that payment should be made on our arrival in Hamburg.
On the 13th of March, 1853, we left the paternal roof, to which we should never return. My mother bade us adieu with tears in her eyes, saying, “Au revoir in America!” She was determined to follow us.
Here ends my Berlin and European life, and I can assure you that this was the hardest moment I ever knew. Upon my memory is forever imprinted the street, the house, the window behind which my mother stood waving her handkerchief. Not a tear did I suffer to mount to my eyes in order to make her believe that the departure was an easy one, but a heart beating convulsively within punished me for the restraint.
My father and brothers accompanied us to the depot, where the cars received us for Hamburg. On our arrival there, we found that the ice had not left the Elbe and that the ship could not sail until the river was entirely free. So we were forced to remain three weeks in Hamburg.
We had taken staterooms in the clipper ship Deutschland. Besides ourselves, there were sixteen passengers in the first cabin, people good enough in their way, but not sufficiently attractive to induce us to make their acquaintance. We observed a dead silence as to who we were, where we were going, or what was the motive of our emigrating to America. The only person that we ever spoke to was a Mr. R. from Hamburg, a youth of nineteen, who like ourselves had left a happy home in order to try his strength in a strange land.
The voyage was of forty-seven days’ duration, excessively stormy but otherwise very dull, like all voyages of this kind, and had it not been for the expectations that filled our hearts, we should have died of ennui. As it was, the days passed slowly, made worse by the inevitable seasickness of our fellow-passengers, and we longed for the hour that should bring us in sight of the shores of the New World.
And now commences my life in America.