Splendid was the character of this woman who had been fondled and kissed in her babyhood by such men as Alexander H. Stephens, Judah P. Benjamin, Stephen R. Mallory, and the immortal Robert E. Lee. The hopes they expressed for her future usefulness as they stood around her cradle were fulfilled in rich measure. She always remained a child in her simplicity and in her exquisite purity of soul; she was a woman in dignity and in her ideas of justice before leaving the nurse's arms. Even when she was a mere baby she resented any reflection upon her truthfulness or sincerity; once when somebody reproved her for a supposed fault and threatened to tell her mother, she replied, "Do tell her, she always understands me; I am not afraid of my mother." After she had become known as one of the most cultured women of her time,—up to the very hour of her death, in fact,—she did not give up her tender, baby ways with her mother, to whom she would say simply, "I try to be a good girl, do you think, dear, I am?" She was unaffected, charitable, honest, and loyal. Her love for little children was very marked; to the sick and afflicted she was a ministering angel; she was almost worshiped by the poor people and the children about Beauvoir. It is said that she never allowed tramps to be turned away hungry even though she saw them impose upon her repeatedly. She was a model listener and would sit with her blue eyes shining with sympathy. Too modest to lead the conversation, she did so only when her interest in the subject and her knowledge of it made her forget herself and inspired her to speak. She was chary of expressing her opinions, which were honest and well-considered, and especially disliked pronunciamentos.
Charles Dudley Warner, who knew her and loved her for many years, pays a high tribute in an article as yet unpublished to her sterling character and ingenuous face, her sweet disposition, and power of great affection. He emphasizes her sympathetic nature, her simplicity of manner, her open-eyed candor, her transparent sincerity, and her unworldliness,—her disposition to place spiritual things above material things. He was especially struck with the fact that she was free from prejudice and bitterness with regard to the war between the States. He had reason to know that she rather shrank from the demonstrations of the Confederate veterans towards her, as she was a little timid in such matters, and had a very humble opinion of herself and her merits and womanly reluctance to such publicity. Yet she met the trying situation admirably, her tact and delicacy preventing her from making any mistakes. She seemed to the veterans the embodiment of those principles for which they had fought, and she always remained true to the traditions of her family and of her beloved Southland.
The first thing Miss Davis published was a little poem in blank verse which appeared in 'The Times-Democrat;' it was an address to a group of giant pines at Beauvoir and was signed 'The Colonel.' She was a member of a little literary club in New Orleans called the 'Pangnostics,' at which each girl read a paper at an appointed time. 'The Daughter's of the Confederacy' chose for her subject Robert Emmet, in whom she felt a strong interest because Mrs. Davis' grandfather, Colonel James Kempe, of Natchez, had been one of Emmet's men before he was sixteen. Besides questioning her mother closely as to the stories which her great-grandfather had told about the ill-fated struggle for freedom in the home of his youth, she read at least twenty books on Irish history or subjects related to it, in order to prepare herself for writing, 'An Irish Knight of the Nineteenth Century,'[15] as the piece was called, contains a vivid portrayal of the oppression of Ireland from the earliest times and a sympathetic sketch of the young patriot, whose life was a romantic tragedy. The author shows as great enthusiasm for freedom as does Schiller in his 'Robbers.' Charles Dudley Warner, who was present when the paper was read to the club, was much pleased with it, and Mr. and Mrs. Davis were so proud of it that they decided to have it published, expecting only to distribute copies gratuitously among their friends. However, it went through three editions, and although she had only a small percentage on the books, which sold for twenty-five cents, it brought the young girl $300. Mr. Ridpath once told Mrs. Davis that it had gone through many Irish societies and awakened much enthusiasm.
The next publication, entitled 'Serpent Myths,' appeared in 'The North American Review.'[16] It shows wide reading and offers an interesting and ingenious theory to explain the origin of these myths. After this came some short descriptions of German life written for various papers and some clever bits of versification which were never published. Two or three years after her father's death she wrote for 'The Ladies' Home Journal' a very strong article against foreign education for American girls, on the ground that such education gives the pupil a different point of view from her own people and puts her out of harmony with her surroundings. This piece attracted wide attention in the North as well as in the South. She wrote for 'Belford's Magazine'[17] a clever criticism of Colonel William Preston Johnston's theory that Hamlet was intended as a characterization of James I, of England.
Miss Davis next resolved to write a book, and chose for her subject a story her mother had told her about a veiled doctor that had once attended a member of Mrs. Davis' family in Pennsylvania. It shows the delicacy of her nature that she feared she might wound the feelings of his family and accordingly laid the scene of her story at Wickford, Rhode Island, in an old house which she had seen there. The main incidents of this novel[18] are true. As it is her most ambitious work, I will speak of it in detail.[19]
Doctor Gordon Wickford, the heir of the leading family in a provincial town, has married a city belle. She is a beautiful blonde, whose "glory lies in her hair," which she treasures above all other earthly possessions, including her husband. "He had prostrated himself spiritually before her beauty, and demanded nothing but the acceptance of his adulation." Too late he finds out that blind infatuation has caused him to marry a woman who is so vain, shallow, and frivolous as to be utterly unworthy of him. The uncongenial surroundings among which she finds herself serve to accent her lack of loveliness of character, and to widen the chasm between them. This becomes impassable, as far as he is concerned, when he catches her in a downright lie. Then he turns upon her for the first time, and tells her that, while she may remain in his house, she shall henceforth be his wife only in name. The spirit and determination he shows reveal to her a force of character she had never suspected in one who had been accustomed to yield to her in everything, and she begins to respect him thoroughly. Only after she has lost his love does she realize the value of it, and then she strives to win it back, while a genuine love for him begins to grow up within her own bosom.
As time goes on Wickford recognizes the fact that he is doomed to die of cancer, that dread disease to which other members of his family had already fallen victim. On returning from the city, where his worst fears with regard to his condition have been confirmed, he is thinking of seeking a reconciliation with Isabel, his wife, in order that she may comfort him in the trying hours that are to come. He hesitates because he has heard her make so many unfeeling remarks about the afflicted and infirm, and knows she cannot bear to come into contact with suffering. While he is still in doubt what to do, a scene of which he is an unseen witness convinces him of his wife's infidelity, and in a moment of delirium he cuts off her beautiful hair and throws it into the fire. After this he is ill of brain-fever for a long time.
As he has completely ignored his wife ever since he discovered that she had been lying, he is not aware of the change in her feeling toward him. He persistently refuses to listen when his old aunt attempts to plead the cause of Isabel.