In July, 1865, there died at Corfu a Dr. Barry, attached to the Medical Staff of the British Army. He was remarkable for skill, firmness, decision, and great rapidity in difficult operations. He had entered the army in 1813, and had served in all quarters of the globe with such distinction, as to insure promotion without interest. He was clever and agreeable, but excessively plain, weak in stature, and with a squeaking voice which provoked ridicule. He had an irritable temper, and answered some jesting on this topic by calling out the offender and shooting him through the lungs. In 1840 he was made Medical Inspector, and transferred from the Cape to Malta. He went from Malta to Corfu, and when the English Government ceded the Ionian Islands to Greece, resigned his position in the army and remained at Corfu. There he died last summer, forbidding, with his latest breath, any interference with his remains. The women who attended him regarded this request with the shameless indifference now so common, and unable to believe that an officer who had been forty-five years in the British service, had received a diploma, fought a duel, and been celebrated as a brilliant operator, was not only a woman, but at some period in her life a mother; they called in a medical commission to establish these facts. A sad, sad picture which those of us, who inquire into the fortunes of women, can readily understand.
Last November deprived us of Lady Theresa Lewes and Mrs. Gaskell. Mrs. Gaskell has perhaps done more than any woman of this century, not confessedly devoted to our cause, to elevate the condition of her sex, and disseminate liberal ideas as to their needs and culture. The first part of her career was one of those brilliant successes which startle us into surprise and admiration. It was checked midway by the publication of her life of Charlotte Bronte, the best and noblest of her works. Checked, because condemned, in that instance, without a hearing. She could never afterward feel the elastic pleasure, which was natural to her, in composing and printing, and for three long years afterward never touched her pen. I would not allude to this subject if every notice of her since her death had not done so, repeating the old censure, as a matter of course. Here in America we may exculpate her. The public was wrong in the first place, inasmuch as it has come to demand biography before biography is possible. The publisher was wrong in the second, for he ought to have known, and could easily have ascertained, how plain a statement the English law would permit. The public was still further wrong when it attributed misapprehension and carelessness to a woman whom it very well knew to be incapable of either. I, for one, shall never forgive nor forget the officious censure of the Westminster Review—censure given by one who must have known that the legal apology tendered in Mrs. Gaskell's absence to protect her pecuniary interests, had the unfortunate effect to put her in a position where explanation and self-defence were alike impossible. Mrs. Gaskell had deserved the steady confidence of the public.
In Paris, recently, died Mrs. Severn Newton. She was the daughter of the artist Severn, the friend of Keats, and now British Consul at Rome. About five years since she married Charles Newton, Superintendent of Greek Antiquities at the British Museum. She was a person in whom power and delicacy were singularly blended. Ary Schæffer was accustomed to hold up her work as a model for his pupils. Her renderings of classic sculpture were so true that they were termed translations, and she had recently devoted herself to oil painting with great success. She died of brain fever at the early age of thirty-three, the most honored of female English artists.
I have kept till the last the name of Fredrika Bremer, whose good fortune it was to secure lasting benefits to her sex. God sent to her early years dark trials and privations. Her father's tyrannical hand crushed all power and loveliness out of her life. At first she rebelled against her sufferings, but when he died in her girlhood she was able to see that they lent strength to her efforts for her sex. It was the rumor of what we were doing in this country for women that first drew her hither. It is not the fashion for Miss Bremer's friends fully to recognize her position in this respect. I owe my own convictions on the subject of suffrage to the reflections she awakened. When I told her that my mind was undecided on this point, she showed her disappointment so plainly, that I was forced to reconsider the whole subject. Miss Bremer did not hurry her work. She had a serene confidence that she should be permitted to finish what she had begun. She secured popularity by her cheerful humor, her genuine feeling, her true appreciation of men, and her insight into the conditions of family happiness, before she made any direct appeal against existing laws. Those who will read her novels thoughtfully, however, will see that she was from the first intent upon making such an effort possible. From the beginning she pleaded for the social independence of wives; asked for them a separate purse; showed that woman could not even give her love freely, until she was independent of him to whom she owed it. To a just state of society, to noble family relations, entire freedom is essential.
Under her influence females had been admitted to the Musical Academy. The Directors of the Industrial School at Stockholm had attempted to form a class, and Professor Quarnstromm had opened his classes at the Academy of Fine Arts to women. Cheered by her sympathy, a female surgeon had sustained herself in Stockholm, and Bishop Argardh indorsed the darkest picture she had ever drawn, when he pleaded with the state to establish a girls' school. It was at this juncture that Miss Bremer published Hertha. This book was a direct blow aimed at the laws of Sweden concerning women. By this time she had herself become in Sweden what we might fitly call a "crowned head." She was everywhere treated with distinction, and her sudden appearance in any place was greeted with the enthusiasm usually shown by such nations only to their princes. She said of her new book: "I have poured into it more of my heart and life than into anything which I have ever written," and, verily, she had her reward. She was at Rome, two years after, in 1858, when the glad news reached her that King Oscar, at the opening of the Diet, had proposed a bill entitling women to hold independent property at the age of twenty-five. All Sweden had read the book which moved the heart of the King, and the assembled representatives rent the air with their acclamations.
In the following spring the old University town of Upsala, where her friend Bergfalk occupies a chair, granted the right of suffrage to fifty women owning real estate, and to thirty-one doing business on their own account. The representative their votes went to elect was to sit in the House of Burgesses. Miss Bremer was not ashamed to shed happy tears when this news reached her. If she had ever reproached Providence with the bitter sorrow of her early years, she was penitent and grateful now. Then was fulfilled the prophecy which she had uttered, as she left our shores: "The nation which was first among Scandinavians to liberate its slaves shall also be the first to emancipate its women!"
Caroline H. Dall.
Boston, April 26, 1866.
P. S.—To add one word to this deeply interesting and able report may seem presumptuous, but it is fitting that something be said of those women in our own country in whom we feel a proper pride. In literature, Harriet Beecher Stowe and Lydia Maria Child are unsurpassed by any writers of our day. The former is remarkable for her descriptive powers, intuition of character, and rare common sense; the latter for patient research, sound reason, and high moral tone. No country has produced a woman of such oratorical powers as our peerless Anna Dickinson. Young, beautiful, and always on the right side of every question, her influence on the politics of this country for the last four years has been as powerful as beneficent. She has more invitations to speak before the first-class lyceums of the country, at two hundred dollars an evening, than she can accept, and draws crowded houses wherever she goes.