The Woman Who Dared

by Epes Sargent

"In me, my zealous mother
Found metal not so malleable quite.
One of my teachers at the boarding-school,
A little woman who got scanty pay
For teaching us in French and German, fed
Her lonely heart with dreams of what, some day,
Shall lift her sex to nobler life. She took
A journal called 'The Good Time Coming,' filled
With pleadings for reform of many kinds,—
In education, physical and mental,
Marriage, the rights of women, modes of living.
Weekly I had the reading of it all;
Some of it crude enough, some apt and just,
Forcibly put, and charged with vital facts.
At last these had for me a fascination
That quite eclipsed the novels of the day.

"I learnt, that, bound up in the moral law,
Are laws of health and physical control,
Unheeded in the family and school;
How fashion, stupid pride, and love of show,
The greed of gain, or the pursuit of pleasure,
Empty and frivolous, make men and women
False to their natures, cruel to each other
And to the unborn offspring they devote
To misery through ill-assorted unions,
Or habits reckless of maternal dues;
How marriage, sacredest of mortal steps,
Is entered on from motives all unworthy;
Social ambition, mercenary aims,
The dread of poverty, of singleness,—
The object of uniting families,—
And momentary passion fatuous.
So I resolved, God helping, to be true
To my own self, and that way true to all.

"The fête that signalized my coming out
Was, so my mother said, the costliest yet.
Whole greenhouses were emptied to adorn
Our rooms with flowers; a band played in the hall;
The supper-table flashed with plate and silver
And Dresden ware and bright Bohemian glass;
The wines and viands were profuse and rare;
And everybody said, 'twas a grand ball.

"But what of her, for whom it was the flourish
Of trumpets blown to celebrate her entrance
Into society? Let others speak!
These the remarks I had to overhear:
'She's rather pretty.'—'Pretty is the word.'
'But not so dashing as the elder sisters.'
'Cleverer though, perhaps,'—'She takes it coolly.
Her heart's not in the ball; that's evident.'
'Where is it? Is she bookish?'—'So I've heard.'
'Unlike the rest, then.'—'That straw-colored silk
Should have had flounces.'—'Is that hair her own?'
'I think so?'—'She's no dancer.'—'Apathetic
As any duchess.'—'The young men seem shy;
She doesn't put them at their ease, 'tis plain.'
'See, the old woman chides her; she deserves it;
She'll not pick up admirers if she plays
My Lady Cool so grandly. Watch mamma.
The hook is nicely baited; where are all
The gudgeons it should lure? I marvel not
Mamma is in a fluster; tap, tap, tap,
See her fan go! No strategy, no effort,
No dandy-killing shot from languid eyes,
On that girl's part! And all this fuss for her!'

"The gossips, in these random whisperings,
Made some good shots, that failed not of the mark.
The lights, the roses, the voluptuous music,
The shining robes, the jewels, the bright faces
Engrossed me not so much as one pale face,
Youthful but pinched, which I had seen a moment,
An hour before, reflected in the mirror
At which I stood while nimble dressing-maids
Helped to array me. A poor girl had brought
The bodice of my silken robe, on which
She had been working closely; and my mother
Chided her for delay; but no reply
Was made, save only what the pleading eyes
Could not withhold. Then tendering a scrap
Of paper, record of her paltry charge,
She meekly stood. 'Pooh! bring it here next week,'
My mother said. 'No!' turning round, I cried;
'Let her be paid at once; there must be money
In the house somewhere; it may be a loss,
An inconvenience, for her to come back
Just for a trifling sum.'—'Impertinent!'
My mother kindling, cried. 'Do you rule here?'
'I can return,' timidly said the girl.
Then a gold thimble from my drawer I took,
And offered it, remarking, 'Keep or sell it,
To hold you good for all your wasted time.'
'My time,—what is it worth?' replied the girl,
Motioning her refusal, but with smiles
Of speechless gratitude, and then escaping
Before I could prevent her.

"'Novel-reading,
Has brought you to this insipidity,'
My mother said: 'such sentimental pap,
You never got from me. Come, hurry down;
Put off that sullen look. The carriages
Begin to roll; the guests are on the stairs.
Learn to command your smiles, my dear. Now go.'

"So down I went, but in no conquering mood.
I did not scrutinize the festive dresses;
Of the sad hearts I thought, the poor thin hands
That put of life somewhat in every stitch
For a grudged pittance. All disguises fell;
Voices betrayed the speakers in their tones,
Despite of flattering words; and smiles revealed
The weariness or hatred they would hide.
And so, preoccupied and grave, I looked
On all the gayety; and reigning belles
Took heart to find in me no coming rival.

"Lent now was near; the time of all diversion
And visiting was over; and my mother
Summed up her griefs in this one lamentation:
'The season gone, and not one offer yet!
You, Mary, are the first one of my daughters
Whose coming-out so flat a failure proved.
Think of your sister Julia; her first winter
Brought Hammersley to her feet. A splendid match!
First cousin to a lord! How envious
Were all the dowagers at my success!
If I've not done all that a mother could,
Tell me wherein I've failed. Yet one year more
I shall allow you for your trial. Then,
If you have made no step in the direction
Of matrimony, why, you must go off
To Ireland, to America, or France,
And leave the field for your next younger
For Susan.'—'She is welcome to it now,'
I said, with something like disdain, I fear,
In my cold smile.—'My plans are laid, you know,'
Replied my mother; 'find your duty in
A simple acquiescence; I know best.'

"'Tis said the woman always is to blame
If a man ventures to commit himself
In a proposal unacceptable.
The rule has its exceptions; for I gave
No word, no inkling of encouragement
To Captain Dudley; yet I had an offer
From Captain Dudley. Young, and elegant,
Though of a stock somewhat attenuate;
Rich, though a younger son; a gentleman,
A scholar,—what good reason could I give
For saying Nay to such an applicant?
'Explain!' my mother cried, with brow severe;
'Is not his character without a flaw?'
'So far as known to me.'—'Is he a fool?'
'Far from it; culture and good sense are his.'
'Could you not love him?'—'Very tenderly,
Perhaps, with time to aid.'—'Has any one
Preoccupied your heart?'—'My heart is free,
And has been always free.'—'Indeed? Then why
Refuse to be the wife of this young man?'
'Simply because he's not the man I'd choose
To be the father of a child of mine.'

"If I had put a pistol at her head,
My lady mother would not so have started.
'What! a mere girl—and you can entertain
Such thoughts! so selfish, gross, unmaidenly!'
'If,' I replied, 'I'm old enough to dream
Of marriage, as you bid me, then 'tis time
For me to think of all the risk I run.
Selfish, you call it; gross, unmaidenly;
Is it unmaidenly to hesitate
In the surrender of my maiden state?
Your epithets belong to those who fail
To think at all, or only think of this:
What's the man's income? Will he let me have
A house in the right quarter? Keep a carriage?
And is he in society? Such women
Plant nightshade, and affect to wonder why
The growth is not of lilies and carnations!'