5

POLEMICS

Introduction

 

The monologues in this section most fully address the issue of scale in performance. Whether or not they were actually spoken in public, all of them sound as if they are being delivered to a multitude, perhaps even generations into the future. Further, the women represented herein are not speaking, or writing, merely for themselves. Rather, each raises issues or represents principles that have a bearing on the lives of thousands or millions.

The reign of Egyptian Queen Hatshepsut is usually dated near the turn of the fifteenth century B.C., although controversial historian Immanuel Velikovsky has produced interesting evidence suggesting the possibility that she was the Queen of Sheba of King Solomon’s day. In any case, her time was one of unprecedented peace and prosperity, immortalized in the inscriptions on the four pink Assuan granite obelisks she had installed at the temple of the god Amun at Karnak. In these inscriptions, for the edification of her then and future subjects, she glorifies the god, sings the praises of her earthly father and herself—as woman and king, the legitimate heir to the throne, and describes the composition of the obelisks and the rich gilding she has had applied to them.

If many have dramatized Joan of Are’s life and actions, her own words, as transcribed from the 1431 trial that led to her being burned at the stake, seem to speak most clearly and simply for the dedication of her life to God and country. I have compiled these excerpts from several sources to be used as a single monologue. There is a disjointed quality to the text because much of it is in response to the inquisitor’ questions, so the actor has the useful option of imagining both interrogators and questions.

Anne Boleyn’s and Anne Askewe’s verses were also written near the time of their appointed executions. Boleyn, second wife of King Henry VIII and mother of Queen Elizabeth I, was charged with adultery and incest; she was beheaded in 1536. Whether the poem attributed to her was actually written by her is subject to question, but it does have an appealing directness. A less well known figure but unquestionably the author of the inspired vision Like as the Armed Knight, Anne Askewe, twenty-six, was found guilty of heresy and burnt at the stake ten years after Anne Boleyn’s execution. She was described by a contemporary writer, a Mr. Loud: “I must needs confess of Mrs. Askewe, now departed to the Lord, that the day afore her execution, and the same day also, she had an angel’s countenance and a smiling face; though when the hour of darkness came, she was so racked, that she could not stand, but was holden up between two serjeants.” On being fastened to the stake, she was asked to recant, the royal pardon being offered her if she would do so. Her reply was “I do not come here to deny my Lord and Master.”

Much as her father, King Henry VIII, had done, Elizabeth I fancied herself a poet. Oh Fortune!, a resentful indictment of her oppressors, was written before she became queen when, a victim of court politics, she was kept prisoner at Woodstock by her predecessor, Queen (“Bloody”) Mary.

Education, frequently a topic central to women’s concerns in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, informs the next three selections. First, Lady Montagu responds to her daughter’s request for advice as to how to bring up her rather numerous family. Her notions on this subject are full of the clear but cold common sense which was one of her most striking characteristics. Especially noteworthy is the stoical recommendation to repress maternal anxiety and tenderness and prepare for the inevitable disappointments of a large family. Then, in our second excerpt from the semi-autobiographical epic Aurora Leigh, Elizabeth Barrett Browning catalogues her heroine’s education, ending with a wry denunciation of the worth of women’s “work.” Miss Wentworth’s story tells how she was coaxed into becoming a teacher. This narrative, being the culmination of her little book, Life’s Lessons, was meant to provide a model of how to find a “high vocation” in this difficult and distracting world.

Partly because of her association with Dr. Johnson, who employed her as a reader and translator, Mary Wollstonecraft gained a position of some influence in English literary circles, and her A Vindication of the Rights of Women serves not merely as an outraged reply to the writings of French philosopher Jean-Jacques Rousseau, but also as a defense of the prerogative of every individual to flourish in his or her own right. The birth of her daughter Mary in 1797—she would become the second wife of the poet Shelley—proved fatal to her.

More recent advocates of women’s rights include Boston’s Maria W. Stewart, the first American-born woman to speak in public, and New York’s suffragette Susan B. Anthony. Stewart addresses a great many issues, including Black heritage and the role of women in religion and history with graciousness and sensitivity in her 1833 farewell speech, What If I Am a Woman? Anthony’s On Woman’s Right to Suffrage was delivered in 1873, in response to her arrest the previous year for casting a ballot in the presidential election. It is a model of logic imbued with passion.

Deceptively dispassionate is Merle Woo’s newsreel-style poem, Whenever You’re Cornered, the Only Way Out Is to Fight. Be advised that under the cool, objective format must crouch genuine rage.

Queen Hatshepsut Monument to Amun

I have built this monument with a loving heart for my father
Amun;
Initiated in his secret of creation,
Acquainted with his beneficent power,
I did not forget his laws.
My majesty knows his divinity,
I acted under his command;
It was he who led me,
I contrived nothing without him.
It was he who gave directions,
I did not sleep because of his temple,
I did not stray from his commands.
My heart was at his disposal,
I entered into the designs of his heart.
I did not turn my back to the city of the Almighty,
Rather did I turn my face to it.
I know that his is the land of light on earth,
The exalted hill of creation,
The Sacred Eye of the Almighty,
His favorite, the place that bears his beauty,
That calls his followers.

 

It is I, the King himself who speaks:
I declare before future multitudes,
Who shall see the monument I made for my father,
Who shall speak in discussion,
Who shall look to posterity—
It was as I sat in the palace,
And thought of my maker,
That my heart caused me to make for him
Two obelisks of silvered gold,
Whose peaks would touch the heavens.
Now my heart hesitates,
Thinking what will people say,
They who shall see my monument in later years,
And speak of my deeds.
I swear, as I am loved of Re,
As Amun, my father, favors me,
As I am refreshed with life and sovereignty,
As I wear the white crown,
As I display the red crown,
As I rule this land like the son of Isis,
As I am mighty like the son of Nut,
As Re takes his rest in the ship of night,
As he awakes in the ship of day,
As he joins his two mothers in the god’s ship,
As heaven endures, as his creation lasts,
As I shall be eternal like an undying star,
So these two great obelisks,
Without seam, without join,
Gilded with electrum by my majesty for my father Amun,
In order that my name may endure in this temple,
For everlasting eternity.
Say of this, “How like her it is,
She is devoted to her father!”
Lord Amun knows me well,
He made me ruler of Black Land and Red Land as reward,
No one rebels against me in all lands.
All foreign lands are my subjects,
He placed my border at the limits of heaven,
What Aten encircles labors for me.
He gave it to him who came from him,
Knowing I would rule it for him.
I am his daughter in very truth,
Who serves him, who knows his laws.
My reward from my father is my sovereignty,
On the Horus throne of all the living, eternally like Re.

Joan of Arc Statements

Among my own people, I was called Jehanette; since my coming into France, I am called Jehanne.

I was born in the village of Domremy. My father’s name is Jacques d’Arc, my mother’s Isabelle.

As long as I lived at home, I worked at common tasks about the house, going but seldom afield with our sheep and other cattle. I learned to sew and spin: I fear no woman in Rouen at sewing and spinning.

As to my schooling, I learned my faith, and I was rightly and duly taught to do as a good child should.

From my mother I learned “Our Father,” “Hail Mary,” and “I believe.” And my teaching in my faith I had from her and from no one else.

 

It is now seven years since the saints appeared to me for the first time. It was a summer day, around the hour of noon. I was scarcely thirteen years old, and I was in my father’s garden. I heard a voice on my right, from the direction of the church; and I saw at the same time an apparition framed in brightness. It had the appearance of a beautiful and virtuous man, winged, surrounded on all sides by great light and accompanied by heavenly angels. It was the archangel Michael. He seemed to me to have a powerful voice, and I, still a young child, was terrified of this vision, unsure that it was really an angel. It was only after hearing that voice three times that I recognized it to be his. He taught me and showed me so many things that I finally believed firmly that it was he. I saw him—him and the angels—with my own eyes, as clearly as I see you—you, my judges.

 

Concerning my father and mother and what I have done since I took the road to France I will willingly swear to tell the truth. But the revelations which have come to me from God I have never told or revealed to anyone, except to Charles, my King. Nor would I reveal them if I were to be beheaded. A week from today I shall have learned whether I may reveal them.

I will not say the “Our Father” for you unless you will hear me in confession.

I protest against being kept in chains and irons.

I do not accept your prohibition. And if I escape from prison, no one can accuse me of breaking my faith, for I have pledged it to no one.

It is true that I have wished, and that I still wish, what is permissible for any captive: to escape!

Queen Anne Boleyn Defiled Is My Name Full Sore

Defiled is my name full sore,
Through cruel spite and false report,
That I may say, for evermore,
Farewell, my joy! adieu, comfort!
For wrongfully ye judge of me,
Unto my fame a mortal wound;
Say what ye list, it will not be,
Ye seek for that cannot be found.

 

O Death! rock me on sleep!
Bring me a quiet rest:
Let pass my very guiltless ghost
Out of my careful breast:
Toll on the passing bell,
Ring out the doleful knell,
Let the sound my death tell,
For I must die,
There is no remedy,
For now I die.

 

Farewell my pleasures past,
Welcome my present pain;
I feel my torments so increase,
That life cannot remain.

Cease now the passing bell,
Rung is my doleful knell,
For the sound my death doth tell:
Death doth draw nigh,
Sound my end dolefully,
For now I die.

Anne Askewe Like as the Armed Knight

Like as the armed knight
Appointed to the field,
With this world will I fight,
And faith shall be my shield.

 

Thou say’st, Lord, whoso knock,
To them wilt thou attend;
Undo therefore the lock,
And thy strong power send.

 

I am not she that list
My anchor to let fall;
For every drizzling mist,
My ship substantial.

 

Not oft I use to write
In prose nor yet in rhyme,
Yet will I show one sight
That I saw in my time.

 

I saw a royal throne
Where Justice should have sit,
But in her stead was one
Of moody cruel wit.

 

Absorb’d was righteousness
As, of the raging flood:
Satan in his excess
Suck’d up the guiltless blood.

 

Then thought I, Jesus, Lord,
When thou shalt judge us all,

Hard is it to record
On these men what will fall.

 

Yet Lord, I thee desire,
For that they do to me,
Let them not taste the hire
Of their iniquity!

Queen Elizabeth I Oh Fortune!

Oh, Fortune! how thy restless wavering state
Hath fraught with cares my troubled wit!
Witness this present prison, whither fate

Could bear me, and the joys I quit:
Thou causedest the guilty to be loos’d
From bands, wherein are innocents inclos’d:

Causing the guiltless to be strait reserv’d,
And freeing those that death had well deserv’d.
But by her envy can be nothing wrought,
So God send to my foes all they have thought.

Lady Mary Wortley Montagu Thoughts on Education (Response to a request for advice from her daughter, Lady Bute)

My Dear Child:—People commonly educate their children as they build their houses, according to some plan they think beautiful, without considering whether it is suited to the purposes for which they are designed. Almost all girls of quality are educated as if they were to be great ladies, which is often as little to be expected, as an immoderate heat of the sun in the north of Scotland. You should teach yours to confine their desires to probabilities, to be as useful as is possible to themselves, and to think privacy (as it is) the happiest state of life. I do not doubt your giving them all the instructions necessary to form them to a virtuous life, but ’tis a fatal mistake to do this without proper restrictions. Vices are often hid under the name of virtues, and the practice of them followed by the worst of consequences. Sincerity, friendship, piety, disinterestedness, and generosity are all great virtues, but, pursued without discretion, become criminal. I have seen ladies indulge their own ill humour by being very rude and impertinent, and think they deserved approbation by saying, “I love to speak truth.” One of your acquaintance made a ball the next day after her mother died, to show she was sincere. I believe your own reflection will furnish you with but too many examples of the ill effects of the rest of the sentiments I have mentioned, when too warmly embraced. They are generally recommended to young people without limits or distinction, and this prejudice hurries them into great misfortunes, while they are applauding themselves in the noble practice (as they fancy) of very eminent virtues.

I cannot help adding (out of my real affection to you), I wish you would moderate that fondness you have for your children. I do not mean you should abate any part of your care, or not do your duty to them in its utmost extent; but I would have you early prepare yourself for disappointments, which are heavy in proportion to their being surprising. It is hardly possible, in such a number, that none should be unhappy; prepare yourself against misfortune of that kind. Strictly speaking, there is but one real evil—I mean, acute pain; all other complaints are so considerably diminished by time, that it is plain the grief is owing to our passion, since the sensation of it vanishes when that is over.

There is another mistake usual in mothers: If any of their daughters are beauties, they take great pains to persuade them that they are ugly, or at least that they think so, which the young woman never fails to believe springs from envy, and is, perhaps, not much in the wrong. I would, if possible, give them a just notion of their figure, and show them how far it is valuable. Every advantage has its price, and may be either over or undervalued. It is the common doctrine of (what are called) good books, to inspire a contempt of beauty, riches, greatness, etc., which has done as much mischief among the younger of our sex as an over-eager desire of them.

Elizabeth Barrett Browning An Englishwoman’s Education

I learnt the collects and the catechism,
The creeds, from Athanasius back to Nice,
The Articles, the Tracts against the times
(By no means Bonaventure’s “Prick of Love”),
And various popular synopses of
Inhuman doctrines never taught by John,
Because she liked instructed piety.
I learnt my complement of classic French
(Kept pure of Balzac and neologism)
And German also, since she liked a range
Of liberal education,—tongues, not books.
I learned a little algebra, a little
Of the mathematics,—brushed with extreme flounce
The circle of the sciences, because
She misliked women who are frivolous.
I learnt the royal genealogies
Of Oviedo, the internal laws
Of the Burmese empire,—by how many feet
Mount Chimborazo outsoars Teneriffe,
What navigable river joins itself
To Lara, and what census of the year five
Was taken at Ktagenfurt,—because she liked
A general insight into useful facts.
I learnt much music,—such as would have been
As quite impossible in Johnson’s day
As still it might be wished—fine sleights of hand
And unimagined fingering, shuffling off
The hearer’s soul through hurricanes of notes
To a noisy Tophet; and I drew... costumes
From French engravings, nereids neatly draped
(With smirks of simmering godship): I washed in
Landscapes from nature (rather say, washed out).
I danced the polka and Cellarius,
Spun glass, stuffed birds, and modelled flowers in wax,
Because she liked accomplishments in girls.
I read a score of books on womanhood
To prove, if women do not think at all,
They may teach thinking (to a maiden aunt
Or else the author),—books that boldly assert
Their right of comprehending husband’s talk
When not too deep, and even of answering
With pretty “may it please you,” or “so it is”—
Their rapid insight and fine aptitude,
Particular worth and general missionariness,
As long as they keep quiet by the fire
And never say “no” when the world says “ay,”
For that is fatal,—their angelic reach
Of virtue, chiefly used to sit and darn,
And fatten household sinners,—their, in brief,
Potential faculty in everything
Of abdicating power in it: she owned
She liked a woman to be womanly,
And English women, she thanked God and sighed
(Some people always sigh in thanking God),
Were models to the universe. And last
I learnt cross-stitch, because she did not like
To see me wear the night with empty hands
A-doing nothing. So, my shepherdess
Was something after all (the pastoral saints
Be praised for’t), leaning lovelorn with pink eyes
To match her shoes, when I mistook the silks;
Her head uncrushed by that round weight of hat
So strangely similar to the tortoise-shell
Which slew the tragic poet.
By the way,

The works of women are symbolical.
We sew, prick our fingers, dull our sight,
Producing what? A pair of slippers, sir,
To put on when you’re weary—or a stool
To stumble over and vex you... “curse that stool!”
Or else at best, a cushion, where you lean
And sleep, and dream of something we are not
But would be for your sake. Alas, alas!
This hurts most, this—that, after all, we are paid
The worth of our work, perhaps.

Miss Wentworth from Life’s Lessons

“How fortunate you are in having these little children about you,” said Miss Elliott to me one day; “children are always interesting.”

“Do you think so? I am not fond of children.”

“Oh, yes, pardon me, my dear Miss Wentworth, I am sure you are fond of children; you looked so pleased yesterday when little Fanny threw her arms around your neck, and kissed you for showing and explaining to her the pictures in your album. I am sure you are fond of children, though you may not know it yourself.”

And so I was; but the habit of repeating the contrary assertion had prevented my really perceiving the interest which had lately been awakened in me towards the children, and I envied Miss Elliott the power she possessed of transforming them into tractable and intelligent beings.

Half with the desire of imitating her, and half as an experiment upon my own power of winning their love, 1 made efforts to interest and amuse them, none of which went unnoticed or unencouraged. She would remark to me how delighted the children were with my music, and my little drawings for their scrap-books; and, above all, she endeavoured to raise me in the opinion of the children, by referring them to me for explanations of things that came within my province, so that my self-respect was raised, and I began to feel a before unknown pleasure in this application of attainments, which for so long had lain neglected and useless.

Gradually dawned upon my mind the perception of the high vocation which it was in my power to fill, in the education of these children. They were naturally intelligent and quick. There was nothing wrong in their dispositions but what resulted from bad management and over-indulgence. What a noble employment would then be the expanding of their intellects, the exercising of their faculties, and the gradual softening of their tempers and manners! Miss Elliott thought this, and she led me to perceive how much in so doing I should increase my own happiness, and how, the opportunity for such usefulness having once become manifest, and the power of performing it acknowledged, its fulfillment became a religious duty.

Mary Wollstonecraft fromA Vindication of the Rights of Woman

Women are, therefore, to be considered either as moral beings, or so weak that they must be entirely subjected to the superior faculties of men.

Let us examine this question. Rousseau declares, that a woman should never, for a moment feel herself independent, that she should be governed by fear to exercise her natural cunning, and made a coquettish slave in order to render her a more alluring object of desire, a sweeter companion to man, whenever he chooses to relax himself. He carries the arguments, which he pretends to draw from the indications of nature, still further, and insinuates that truth and fortitude the cornerstones of all human virtue, shall be cultivated with certain restrictions, because with respect to the female character, obedience is the grand lesson which ought to be impressed with unrelenting rigour.

What nonsense! When will a great man arise with sufficient strength of mind to puff away the fumes which pride and sensuality have thus spread over the subject! If women are by nature inferior to men, their virtues must be the same in quality, if not in degree, or virtue is a relative idea; consequently, their conduct should be founded on the same principles and have the same aim.

Connected with man as daughters, wives, and mothers, their moral character may be estimated by their manner of fulfilling those simple duties; but the end, the grand end of their exertions should be to unfold their own faculties, and acquire the dignity of conscious virtue. They may try to render their road pleasant; but ought never to forget, in common with man, that life yields not the felicity which can satisfy an immortal soul. I do not mean to insinuate, that either sex should be so lost, in abstract reflections or distant views, as to forget the affections and duties that lie before them, and are in truth, the means appointed to produce the fruit of life; on the contrary, I would warmly recommend them, even while I assert, that they afford most satisfaction when they are considered in their true subordinate light.

Maria W. Stewart from What If I Am a Woman?

What if I am a woman; is not the God of ancient times the God of these modern days? Did he not raise up Deborah to be a mother and a judge in Israel? Did not Queen Esther save the lives of the Jews? And Mary Magdalene first declare the resurrection of Christ from the dead? Come, said the woman of Samaria, and see a man that hath told me all things that ever I did; is not this the Christ? St. Paul declared that it was a shame for a woman to speak in public, yet our great High Priest and Advocate did not condemn the woman for a more notorious offense than this; neither will he condemn this worthless worm... Did St. Paul but know of our wrongs and deprivations, I presume he would make no objection to our pleading in public for our rights...

Among the Greeks, women delivered the oracles. The respect the Romans paid to the Sybils is well known. The Jews had their prophetesses. The prediction of the Egyptian women obtained much credit at Rome, even unto the emperors. And in most barbarous nations all things that have the appearance of being supernatural, the mysteries of religion, the secrets of physic, and the rites of magic, were in the possession of women.

If such women as are here described have once existed, be no longer astonished, then, my brethren and friends, that God at this eventful period should raise up your own females to strive by their example, both in public and private, to assist those who are endeavoring to stop the strong current of prejudice that flows so profusely against us at present. No longer ridicule their efforts, it will be counted for sin. For God makes use of feeble means sometimes to bring about his most exalted purposes.

In the fifteenth century, the general spirit of this period is worthy of observation. We might then have seen women preaching and mixing themselves in controversies. Women occupying the chairs of Philosophy and Justice; women haranguing in Latin before the Pope; women writing in Greek and studying in Hebrew; nuns were poetesses and women of quality divines; and young girls who had studied eloquence would, with the sweetest countenances and the most plaintiff voices, pathetically exhort the Pope and the Christian princes to declare war against the Turks. Women in those days devoted their leisure hours to contemplation and study. The religious spirit which has animated women in all ages showed itself at this time. It has made them, by turns, martyrs, apostles, warriors, and concluded in making them divines and scholars....

What if such women as are here described should rise among our sable race? And it is not impossible; for it is not the color of the skin that makes the man or the woman, but the principle formed in the soul. Brilliant wit will shine, come from whence it will; and genius and talent will not hide the brightness of its lustre....

Men of eminence have mostly risen from obscurity; nor will I, although a female of a darker hue, and far more obscure than they, bend my head or hang my harp upon willows; for though poor, I will virtuous prove. And if it is the will of my Heavenly Father to reduce me to penury and want, I am ready to say: Amen, even so be it.

Susan B. Anthony On Woman’s Right to Suffrage

Friends and fellow citizens:—I stand before you to-night under indictment for the alleged crime of having voted at the last presidential election, without having a lawful right to vote. It shall be my work this evening to prove to you that in thus voting, I not only committed no crime, but, instead, simply exercised my citizen’s rights, guaranteed to me and all United States citizens by the National Constitution, beyond the power of any State to deny.

The preamble of the Federal Constitution says:

“We, the people of the United States, in order to form a more perfect union, establish justice, insure domestic tranquillity, provide for the common defense, promote the general welfare, and secure the blessings of liberty to ourselves and our posterity, do ordain and establish this Constitution for the United States of America.”

It was we, the people; not we, the white male citizens; nor yet we, the male citizens; but we, the whole people, who formed the Union. And we formed it, not to give the blessings of liberty, but to secure them; not to the half of ourselves and the half of our posterity, but to the whole people—women as well as men. And it is a downright mockery to talk to women of their enjoyment of the blessings of liberty while they are denied the use of the only means of securing them provided by this democratic-republican government—the ballot.

For any State to make sex a qualification that must ever result in the disenfranchisement of one entire half of the people is to pass a bill of attainder, or an ex post facto law, and is therefore a violation of the supreme law of the land. By it the blessings of liberty are for ever withheld from women and their female posterity. To them this government has no just powers derived from the consent of the governed. To them this government is not a democracy. It is not a republic. It is an odious aristocracy; a hateful oligarchy of sex; the most hateful aristocracy ever established on the face of the globe; an oligarchy of wealth, where the rich govern the poor. An oligarchy of learning, where the educated govern the ignorant, or even an oligarchy of race, where the Saxon rules the African, might be endured; but this oligarchy of sex, which makes father, brothers, husband, sons, the oligarchs over the mother and sisters, the wife and daughters of every household—which ordains all men sovereigns, all women subjects, carries dissension, discord and rebellion into every home of the nation.

Webster, Worcester and Bouvier all define a citizen to be a person in the United States, entitled to vote and hold office.

The only question left to be settled now is: Are women persons? And I hardly believe any of our opponents will have the hardihood to say they are not. Being persons, then, women are citizens; and no State has a right to make any law, or to enforce any old law, that shall abridge their privileges or immunities. Hence, every discrimination against women in the constitutions and laws of the several States is to-day null and void, precisely as is every one against negroes

Merle Woo Whenever You’re Cornered, the Only Way Out Is to Fight

Karen, comrade and sister poet, sends me this news
article
about a woman warrior.

She includes a note that says:

“We’ve got her philosophy and her strength, too.

“We’ll get them all by the ears and let them have it.”

 

The article is one I’ve been wanting to slip into speeches, talks, poems, conversations. The images we get from reality—Those fighting-back images in the face of great adversity.

 

I saw another news article of the Voting Rights marchers. Their banner, red, black and green—for Black liberation, carried by Carrie Graves of Richmond, VA—mother of five teenagers.

Carrie says:

“My arms are tired, my feet have blisters, but I’m fired up!”

 

So, what is this article? The reporter must have loved writing it, the way it came out:

Beijing

 

A crippled grandmother caught a leopard by the ears, dragged it to the ground and then helped kill it with her bare hands, official reports said Tuesday

Qi Deying, who can barely walk because her feet were bound from birth, was gathering herbs with her niece and grandchildren on a mountain in North China’s Shaanxi Province when the six-foot leopard attacked her and sank his teeth into her arm.

 

But the animal soon realized he had bitten off more than he could chew.

 

The 77-year-old Qi grabbed the leopard by the ears, wedged its jaw shut with her right shoulder and forced it to the ground, the Shaanxi Daily said.

 

Their bodies locked in combat, the grandmother and the leopard rolled more than 120 feet down the mountainside, bouncing off rocks before coming to rest in a wheatfield.

 

Qi called out to her grandchildren, who were hiding behind a boulder, to come to her aid. They tore branches off a tree and helped her beat the animal to death.

 

Qi, only bruised, told the paper: “Whenever you’re cornered, the only way out is to fight.”