1. When I received the first letter, I said to myself:
  2. There are always two sides to every story.
  3. I cannot act at all if I keep this letter secret, as I am requested to do.
  4. If there is an accusation, I must have the excuse unless I want to ignore the whole concern and burn the letter.
  5. I will not talk, so as not to run the risk of losing my temper.
  1. I investigated the other side.
  2. I tried to put things to rights.
  3. I gave a chance for explanations.
  4. I could not become impatient, because both parties are always more careful when things are put on paper.

Again, one of the doctors was evidently suffering from a wounded amour propre, feeling that she had not been treated with sufficient consideration. She had apparently expressed her grievance to Dr. Zakrzewska, and then being dissatisfied with the result of her interview, had tried to express herself more definitely in a letter. Dr. Zakrzewska replies:

My dear Dr. ——:

I will answer the last paragraph of your letter first, because this is the straw which shows how the wind blows, and it also confirms my impression concerning the cause of your manner. I have nothing to forgive in your manner because, personally, you have never offended me. I therefore have nothing to forget either.

But forgetting that we are colleagues and professional women interested in the same work and in the same great cause where harmony is so desirable, you seem to think, or rather you assert, that I should remember your years and your condition of health, which is to account for your speaking without thinking....

Now about your age, I never have thought of you as young even when you were young. At the time we met, I recognized in the instant the genuine talent and fervor of purpose of which you were possessed, and I accepted you not as an inferior but as an equal.

Do you think that I could now make an attempt to throw the mature woman from a past and from a place in my estimation which I let her occupy when she was really a young girl of no experience? Would not this be silly and mean? Do you admit that I am either, or both?

I always saw your weaknesses and faults as clearly as I see them now, and I often spoke plainly of them to you, but I never, never thought of putting you lower on account of them, because weaknesses we all have, and I am glad to bear and forbear with these in people who have something of worth to counterbalance, or else to place these faults entirely in the background.

You say you wish to preserve an opinion of your own on all Hospital matters. Who has ever wished more than I have that you would do this? How often have I said to you when you wished to make changes and have told me that you put these on me and my orders, that my shoulders were broad enough to carry all, but that I thought you should do things on your own authority as this seemed simply right. How often have I referred to you as being a more efficient authority on those points regarding which I thought you were.

And even when you did not agree with my propositions, when did you ever hear that I complained? On the contrary, have I not the more readily yielded and tried to investigate honestly which way would be best? “Do as you please,” “suit yourself,” “work in your own way”—are not these standing phrases which I have used to every physician?

I am ready to give up the Hospital work at any moment that you all think you can do without me. I have no ambition to work in it; I had only the ambition to help women into the position where they could work. And this I have accomplished.

In New York I did well, and I am remembered in an honorable and friendly way. And here in Boston I have certainly done my best. And if there are now a hundred women who differ from me and a thousand who know better than I do, I have nothing to say against it. On the contrary, I am glad and happy about it because this is just the condition which I strove for. My teachings have always been—you must all do better, far better, than I have done, because you have far better opportunities than I had. I helped to make those opportunities and shame upon you if you do not come out better than your present teacher.

No, no, my dear Doctor, it is not at all anything of this that is in your manner. In some way you have got it into your head and heart that you must play the first fiddle, or still better, be the conductor and show your importance in every way, small and big. You want the incense of having everybody look up to you as the most important person in the concern; you like to patronize, and so on.

And I, to tell the truth, am very willing that you should have all this pleasure because I do not care at all for these things. To me, the answer to one of the great questions of the time is to assist women into their right position whether or not they know me or my name (which, luckily, is so hard that they won’t even take the trouble to learn it).

Now, this will be the last time that I shall write on this subject. There is no use in trying to make artificially a harmony which does not any more come spontaneously. I am very willing, yes, even too willing, to allow myself to be overruled, because I do not care at all for the particular minutæ.

You know that I carried on the Hospital quite differently from Dr. —— or Dr. ——, yes, even from what you did, but I never tried, nor wanted to try, to interfere, because it is far better that each individual should do her work in her individual way. Otherwise, it must fail to be done well. Imitations are always inferior to the genuine article. But agreeing to a thing is not always liking it.

As for my having wounded your feelings, this is possible—but I daresay it was only in hospital matters when forced out by your hostile manner. I hope I never was rude in my social relations, and if I have been let me assure you that if you will tell me when and where I was so, I will certainly beg your pardon.

CHAPTER XXXIX

Dr. Zakrzewska’s private life—Her home—Her friends—Her keeping in touch with the Hospital doctors, students and internes—Her “boys”—Her ethics—Her reading—Men physicians who served as consultants at the New England Hospital.

Concurrently with the public manifestations of Dr. Zakrzewska’s life, as recorded in the preceding pages, proceeded her more intimate life of home, family and friends. Allusions to these happy possessions have been made from time to time, but a particular word should be given to one feature which she brought with her from the old world to the new—a feature which enriches life over there, and which would add so much to our American life could we adopt it as generally and as simply.

Reference is here made to the custom of European people of all grades of circumstance in incorporating the outdoors into the daily life of the household, especially for the hour or moment of social relaxation.

Poor indeed the family that has not at least a tiny arbor, or shelter, or shaded spot, where the glass of sirup or other beverage of the country, or the cup of coffee or tea, or the incense of the friendly pipe or the more exclusive cigar, draws the curtain upon the workaday world and releases the spirit for a few moments’ dream of content.

“Rock Garden” was the name of her most blessed retreat—a large garden with terraces and with the rocks for which Roxbury is famous. There were trees and shrubs, fruits and flowers, tables and seats, and the air was filled with memories of happy hours, hospitable days and friendly meetings. And many groups of Hospital directors, doctors and internes, as well as other friends, gathered there at various times, carefree and festive.