It was at Barn Elms I met for the first time Mrs. Fannie Hertz, to whom I was indebted for many pleasant acquaintances afterwards. She is said to know more distinguished literary people than any other woman in London. I saw her, too, several times in her own cozy home, meeting at her Sunday-afternoon receptions many persons I was desirous to know. On one occasion I found George Jacob Holyoake there, surrounded by a bevy of young ladies, all stoutly defending the Nihilists in Russia, and their right to plot their way to freedom; they counted a dynasty of Czars as nothing in the balance with the liberties of a whole people. As I joined the circle Mr. Holyoake called my attention to the fact that he was the only one in favor of peaceful measures among all those ladies. "Now," said he, "I have often heard it said on your platform, that the feminine element in politics would bring about perpetual peace in government, and here all these ladies are advocating the worst forms of violence in the name of liberty." "Ah," said I, "lay on their shoulders the responsibility of governing, and they would soon become as mild and conservative as you seem to be." He then gave us his views on coöperation, the only remedy for many existing evils, which he thought would be the next step toward a higher civilization.
There, too, I met some Positivists, who, though quite reasonable on religious questions, were very narrow on the sphere of woman. The difference in sex, which is the very reason why men and women should be associated in all spheres of activity, they make the strongest reason why they should be separated. Mrs. Hertz belongs to the Harrison school of Positivists. I went with her to one of Mrs. Orr's receptions, where we met Robert Browning, a fine looking gentleman of seventy years, with white hair and mustache. He is frank, easy, playful, and a good talker. Mrs. Orr seemed to be taking a very pessimistic view of our present sphere of action, which Mr. Browning, with poetic coloring, was trying to paint more hopeful.
The next day I dined with Mrs. Margaret Bright Lucas, in company with Mr. John P. Thomasson, member of parliament, and his wife, and afterwards we went to the House of Commons and had the good fortune to hear Gladstone, Parnell, and Sir Charles Dilke. Seeing Bradlaugh seated outside the charmed circle, I sent my card to him, and in the corridor we had a few moments' conversation. I asked him if he thought he would eventually get his seat; he replied, "Most assuredly I will. I shall open the next campaign with such an agitation as will rouse our politicians to some consideration of the changes gradually coming over the face of things in this country."
The place assigned ladies in the House of Commons is really a disgrace to a country ruled by an Empress. This dark perch is the highest gallery immediately over the speaker's desk and government seats, behind a fine wire-work, so that it is quite impossible to see or hear anything. The sixteen persons who can crowd in the front seat, by standing with their noses partly through some open work, can have the satisfaction of seeing the cranial arch of their rulers, and hearing an occasional pean to liberty, or an Irish growl at the lack of it. I was told this net work was to prevent the members on the floor from being disturbed by the beauty of the women. On hearing this I remarked that I was devoutly thankful that our American men were not so easily disturbed, and that the beauty of our women was not of so dangerous a character.
I could but contrast our spacious galleries in that magnificent capitol at Washington, as well as in our grand State capitols, where hundreds of women can sit to see and hear their rulers at their ease, with these dark, dingy buildings, and such inadequate accommodations for the people. My son, who had a seat on the floor just opposite the ladies' gallery, said he could compare our appearance to nothing better than birds in a cage. He could not distinguish an outline of anybody. All he could see was the moving of feathers and furs, or some bright ribbon or flower.
In the libraries, the courts, and the House of Lords, I found many suggestive subjects of thought. Our American inventions seem to furnish them cases for litigation. A suit in regard to Singer's sewing machine was just then occupying the attention of the Lord Chancellor. Not feeling much interest in the matter, I withdrew and joined my friends, to examine some frescoes in the ante-room. It was interesting to find so many historical scenes in which women had taken a prominent part. Among others, there is Jane Lane assisting Charles II. to escape, and Alice Lisle concealing the fugitives after the battle of Sedgemoor. Six wives of Henry VIII. stand forth a solemn pageant when one recalls their sad fate. Alas! whether for good or ill, woman must ever fill a large space in the tragedies of the world.
I passed a few pleasant hours in the house where Macaulay spent his last years. The once spacious library and the large bay window looking out on a beautiful lawn, where he sat from day to day writing his flowing periods, possessed a peculiar charm for me, as the surroundings of genius always do. I thought as I stood there how often he had unconsciously gazed on each object in sight in searching for words rich enough to gild his ideas. The house is now owned and occupied by Mr. and Mrs. Stephen Winckworth. It was at one of their sociable Sunday teas that many pleasant memories of the great historian were revived.
We went with Mrs. Lucas to a meeting of the Salvation army, in Exeter Hall, which holds 5,000 people. It was literally packed—not an inch of standing-room even, seemed to be unoccupied. This remarkable movement was then at its height of enthusiasm in England, and its leaders proposed to carry it round the world, but it has never been so successful in any other latitude. They not only hold meetings, but they march through the streets, men and women, singing and playing on tambourines. The exercises on this occasion consisted of prayers, hymns, and exhortations by Mr. and Mrs. Booth. When this immense audience all joined in the chorus of their stirring songs, it was indeed very impressive. The whole effect was like that of an old-fashioned Methodist revival meeting. I purchased their paper, The War Cry, and pasted it in my journal to show the wild vagaries to which the human mind is subject. There is nothing too ridiculous or monstrous to be done under the influence of religious enthusiasm. In spite, however, of the ridicule attached to this movement, it is at least an aspiration for that ignorant, impoverished multitude. The first thing they were urged to do was to give up intoxicating drinks, and their vicious affiliations. If some other organization could take hold of them at that point, to educate them in the rudiments of learning and right living, and supplement their emotions with a modicum of reason and common sense in the practical affairs of life, much greater good might result from this initiative step in the right direction.
One of the most remarkable and genial women we met was Miss Frances Power Cobbe. She called one evening at 10 Duchess street, and sipped with us the five o'clock cup of tea, a uniform practice in England. She is of medium height, stout, rosy, and vigorous looking, with a large, well-shaped head, a strong, happy face, and gifted with rare powers of conversation. I felt very strongly attracted to her. She is frank and cordial and pronounced in all her opinions. She gave us an account of her efforts to rescue unhappy cats and dogs from the hands of the vivisectionists. We saw her, too, in her own cozy home and in her office in Victoria Row. The perfect order in which her books and papers were all arranged, and the exquisite neatness of the apartments were refreshing to behold.
My daughter, having decided opinions of her own, was soon at loggerheads with Miss Cobbe on the question of vivisection. After showing us several German and French books with illustrations of the horrible cruelty inflicted on cats and dogs, enlarging on the hypocrisy and wickedness of these scientists, she turned to my daughter and said, "Would you shake hands with one of these vivisectionists?" "Yes," said Harriot, "I should be proud to shake hands with Virchow, the great German scientist, for his kindness to a young American girl. She applied to several professors to be admitted to their classes, but all refused except Virchow; he readily assented, and requested his students to treat her with becoming courtesy. 'If any of you behave otherwise,' said he, 'I shall feel myself personally insulted.' She entered his classes and pursued her studies unmolested and with great success. "Now," said she, "would you refuse to shake hands with any of your statesmen, scientists, clergymen, lawyers or physicians, who treat women with constant indignities and insults?" "Oh, no"; said Miss Cobbe. "Then," said Mrs. Blatch, "you estimate the physical suffering of cats and dogs as of more consequence than the humiliation of human beings. The man who tortures a cat for a scientific purpose is not as low in the scale of being, in my judgment, as one who sacrifices his own daughter to some cruel custom." Though Miss Cobbe weighs over two hundred pounds, she is as light on foot as a deer and is said to be a great walker. After seeing her I read again some of her books. Her theology now and then evidently cramps her, yet her style is vigorous, earnest, sarcastic, though at times playful and pathetic. In regard to her theology, she says she is too liberal to please her orthodox friends and too orthodox to please the liberals, hence in religion she stands quite solitary.