Editors Missouri Democrat:
I have read the long list of lady petitioners in favor of female suffrage, and as a husband and a father I want to protest against the whole business. It will never do to allow women to vote. It will never do to allow them to hold office. You know, and I know, that if they were granted these privileges there would be no more peace on earth. They would swamp the country with debt. They like to hold office too well. They like to be Mrs. President Smith of the Dorcas society, or Mrs. Secretary Jones of the Hindoo aid association, or Mrs. Treasurer of something or other. They are fond of the distinction of the thing, you know; they revel in the sweet jingle of the title. They are always setting up sanctified confederations of all kinds, and then running for president of them. They are even so fond of office that they are willing to serve without pay. But you allow them to vote and to go to the Legislature once, and then see how it will be. They will go to work and start a thousand more societies, and cram them full of salaried offices. You will see a state of things then that will stir your feelings to the bottom of your pockets. The first fee bill would exasperate you some. Instead of the usual schedule for judges, State printer, Supreme court clerks, &c., the list would read something like this:
|
OFFICES AND SALARIES. |
|
|
President Dorcas society |
$4,000 |
|
Subordinate officers of same, each |
2,000 |
|
President Ladies’ Union prayer meeting |
3,000 |
|
President Pawnee Educational society |
4,000 |
|
President of Ladies’ society for Dissemination of Belles Lettres among the Shoshones |
5,000 |
|
State Crinoline Directress |
10,000 |
|
State Superintendent of waterfalls |
10,000 |
|
State Hair Oil inspectress |
10,000 |
|
State milliner |
50,000 |
You know what a state of anarchy and social chaos that fee bill would create. Every woman in the commonwealth of Missouri would let go everything and run for State Milliner. And instead of ventilating each other’s political antecedents, as men do, they would go straight after each other’s private moral character. (I know them—they are all like my wife.) Before the canvass was three days old it would be an established proposition that every woman in the State was “no better than she ought to be.” Only think how it would lacerate me to have an opposition candidate say that about my wife. That is the idea, you know—having other people say these hard things. Now, I know that my wife isn’t any better than she ought to be, poor devil—in fact, in matters of orthodox doctrine, she is particularly shaky—but still I would not like these things aired in a political contest. I don’t really suppose that that woman will stand any more show hereafter than—however, she may improve—she may even become a beacon light for the saving of others—but if she does, she will burn rather dim, and she will flicker a good deal, too. But, as I was saying, a female political canvass would be an outrageous thing.
Think of the torch-light processions that would distress our eyes. Think of the curious legends on the transparencies:
“Robbins forever! Vote for Sallie Robbins, the only virtuous candidate in the field!”
And this:
“Chastity, modesty, patriotism! Let the great people stand by Maria Sanders, the champion of morality and progress, and the only candidate with a stainless reputation!”
And this: “Vote for Judy McGinniss, the incorruptible! Nine children—one at the breast!”
In that day a man shall say to his servant, “What is the matter with the baby?” And the servant shall reply, “It has been sick for hours.” “And where is its mother?” “She is out electioneering for Sallie Robbins.” And such conversations as these shall transpire between ladies and servants applying for situations: “Can you cook?” “Yes.” “Wash?” “Yes.” “Do general housework?” “Yes.” “All right; who is your choice for State milliner?” “Judy McGinniss.” “Well, you can tramp.” And women shall talk politics instead of discussing the fashions; and they shall neglect the duties of the household to go out and take a drink with candidates; and men shall nurse the baby while their wives travel to the polls to vote. And also in that day the man who hath beautiful whiskers shall beat the homely man of wisdom for Governor, and the youth who waltzes with exquisite grace shall be Chief of Police, in preference to the man of practiced sagacity and determined energy.
* * * * * * * * * *
Every man, I take it, has a selfish end in view when he pours out eloquence in behalf of the public good in the newspapers, and such is the case with me. I do not want the privileges of women extended, because my wife already holds office in nineteen different infernal female associations and I have to do all her clerking. If you give the women full sweep with the men in political affairs, she will proceed to run for every confounded office under the new dispensation. That will finish me. It is bound to finish me. She would not have time to do anything at all then, and the one solitary thing I have shirked up to the present time would fall on me and my family would go to destruction; for I am not qualified for a wet nurse.
MARK TWAIN
Editors Missouri Democrat:
I should think you would be ashamed of yourselves. I would, anyway—to publish the vile, witless drivelings of that poor creature who degrades me with his name. I say you ought to be ashamed of yourselves. Two hundred noble, Spartan women cast themselves into the breach to free their sex from bondage, and instead of standing with bowed heads before the majesty of such a spectacle, you permit this flippant ass, my husband, to print a weak satire upon it. The wretch! I combed him with a piano stool for it. And I mean to comb every newspaper villain I can lay my hands on. They are nothing but villains anyhow. They published our names when nobody asked them to, and therefore they are low, mean and depraved, and fit for any crime however black and infamous.
Mr. Editor, I have not been appointed the champion of my sex in this matter; still, if I could know that any argument of mine in favor of female suffrage which has been presented in the above communication will win over any enemy to our cause, it would soften and soothe my dying hour; ah, yes, it would soothe it as never another soother could soothe it.
MRS. MARK TWAIN,
President Affghanistan Aid Association, Secretary of the Society for introducing the Gospel into New Jersey, etc., etc., etc.
[The old woman states a case well, dont she? She states a case mighty well, for a woman of her years? She even soars into moving eloquence in that place where she says: “two hundred noble Spartan women cast themselves into the breeches,” etc. And those “arguments” of her’s afford her a prodigious satisfaction, don’t they? She may possibly die easy on account of them, but she won’t if I am around to stir her up in her last moments. That woman has made my life a burthen to me, and I mean to have a hand in soothing her myself when her time is up.—MARK TWAIN]
Editors Missouri Democrat:
I have read the article in your paper on female suffrage, by the atrocious scoundrel Mark Twain. But do not imagine that such a thing as that will deter us from demanding and enforcing our rights. Sir, we will have our rights, though the heavens fall. And as for this wretch, he had better find something else to do than meddling with matters he is incapable of understanding. I suppose he votes—such is law!—such is justice!—he is allowed to vote, but women a thousand times his superiors in intelligence are ruled out!—he!—a creature who don’t know enough to follow the wires and find the telegraph office. Comment is unnecessary. If I get my hands on that whelp I will snatch hair out of his head till he is as bald as a phrenological bust.
Mr. Editor, I may not have done as much good for my species as I ought, in my time, but if any of the arguments I have presented in this article in favor of female suffrage shall aid in extending the privileges of women, I shall die happy and content.
MRS. ZEB. LEAVENWORTH,
Originator and President of the Association for the Establishment of a Female College in Kamschatka.
[I perceive that I have drawn the fire of another heavy gun. I feel as anxious as any man could to answer this old Kamschatkan, but I do not know where to take hold. Her “arguments” are too subtle for me. If she can die happy and content on that mild sort of gruel, though, let her slide.—MARK TWAIN]
Editors Missouri Democrat:
The depths of my heart of hearts are stirred. Gentle chiding from those that love me has ever fallen upon my wounded spirit like soothing moonlight upon a troubled sea, but harsh words from wretches is more than I can bear. I am not formed like others of my sex. All with me is ideal—is romance. I live in a world of my own that is peopled with the fairy creatures of fancy. When that is rudely invaded, my ethereal soul recoils in horror. For long years I have collected buttons, and door-plates and dictionaries, and all such things as I thought would make the poor savages of the South seas contented with their lot and lift them out of their ignorance and degradation—and no longer than a month ago I sent them Horace Greeley’s speeches and some other cheerful literature, and the pure delight I felt was only marred by the reflection that the poor creatures could not read them—and yet I may not vote! Our petition for our rights is humanly attacked by one who has no heart, no soul, no gentle emotions, no poesy! In tuneful numbers I will bid this cold world adieu, and perchance when I am gone, Legislatures will drop a tear over one whose budding life they blighted, and be torn with vain regrets when it is all too late:
In sorrow I sorrow, O sorrowful day!
In grief-stricken tears O joy speed away!
I weep and I wail, and I waft broken sighs,
And I cry in my anguish, O Woman arise!
But I shout it in vain! for Demons have come,
Who drown my appeal with foul blasphemous tongue;
Yea, in sorrow I fade, and flicker and die!
Lo! a martyr to Suffrage in the tomb let me lie!
If I dared to hope that any argument I have here presented may be the means of securing justice to my down-trodden sex, I could lay me down and pass away as peacefully as the sighing of a breeze in summer forests.
MISS AUGUSTA JOSEPHINE MAITLAND,
Secretary of the Society for the Dissemination of Poetry among the Pawnees.
Now, this old maid is a little spooney, of course, but she does not abuse me as much as the others, and it really touches me to know that she is going to fade, and flicker out. Her “arguments” are a little vague, but that is of no consequence. I havn’t anything in the world against her, except that inspired atrocity of inflicting Horace Greeley’s speeches on the poor heathen of the South Seas. What harm have they ever done her, that she should want to * * * * * ?
You must excuse me. I see a procession of ladies filing in at my street door with tar-buckets and feather-beds, and other arrangements. I do not wish to crowd them. I will go out the back way. But I will singe that pestilent old wild-cat, my wife, for leading them.
MARK TWAIN.
DEAR COUSIN JENNIE: I did not know I had a cousin named Jennie, but I am proud to claim such a relationship with you. I have no idea who you are, but you talk well—you talk exceedingly well. You seem inclined to treat the question of female suffrage seriously, and for once I will drop foolishness, and speak with the gravity the occasion demands. You fully understand the difference between justice and expediency? I am satisfied you do. You know very well that it would have been a just and righteous act if we had rescued struggling Poland four or five years ago, but you know also that it would not have been good policy to do it. No one will say that it is not just and right that women should vote; no one will say that an educated American woman would not vote with fifty times the judgment and independence exercised by stupid, illiterate newcomers from foreign lands; I will even go so far myself as to say that in my experience only third-rate intelligence is sent to Legislatures to make laws, because the first-rate article will not leave important private interests go unwatched to go and serve the public for a beggarly four or five dollars a day, and a miserably trivial distinction, while it is possible that a talented matron, unincumbered with children, might go with no great detriment to the affairs of her household. We know also that between constable and United States Senator, the one thousand offices of mere honor (though burdened with high responsibilities) are held by third rate ability because first-rate ability can only afford to hold offices of great emolument—and we know that first-rate female talent could afford to hold those offices of mere honor without making business sacrifices. You see I have made a very strong argument for your side; and I repeat that no one will deny the truth of any of the above propositions; but behold that matter of expediency comes in here—policy!
Now, you think I am going to string out a long argument on my own side, but I am not. I only say this: The ignorant foreign women would vote with the ignorant foreign men—the bad women would vote with the bad men—the good women would vote with the good men. The same candidate who would be elected now would be elected then, the only difference being that there might be twice as many votes polled then as now. Then in what respect is the condition of things improved? I cannot see.
So, I conceive that if nothing is to be gained by it, it is inexpedient to extend the suffrage to women. That must be a benefit beyond the power of figures to estimate, which can make us consent to take the High Priestess we reverence at the sacred fireside and send her forth to electioneer for votes among a mangy mob who are unworthy to touch the hem of her garment. A lady of my acquaintance came very near putting my feeling in this matter into words the other day, Jennie, when she said she was opposed to female suffrage, because she was not willing to see her sex reduced to a level with negroes and men!
Female suffrage would do harm, my dear—it would actually do harm. A very large proportion of our best and wisest women would still cling to the holy ground of the home circle, and refuse to either vote or hold office—but every grand rascal among your sex would work, bribe and vote with all her might; and, behold, mediocrity and dishonesty would be appointed to conduct the affairs of government more surely than ever before. You see the policy of the thing is bad, very bad. It would augment the strength of the bad vote. I consider it a very strong point on our side of the question.
I think I could write a pretty strong argument in favor of female suffrage, but I do not want to do it. I never want to see women voting, and gabbling about politics, and electioneering. There is something revolting in the thought. It would shock me inexpressibly for an angel to come down from above and ask me to take a drink with him (though I should doubtless consent); but it would shock me still more to see one of our blessed earthly angels peddling election tickets among a mob of shabby scoundrels she never saw before.
There is one insuperable obstacle in the way of female suffrage, Jennie; I approach the subject with fear and trembling, but it must out: A woman would never vote, because she would have to tell her age at the polls. And even if she did dare to vote once or twice when she was just of age, you know what dire results would flow from “putting this and that together” in after times. For instance, in an unguarded moment, Miss A. says she voted for Mr. Smith. Her auditor, who knows it has been seven years since Smith ran for anything, easily ciphers out that she is at least seven years over age, instead of the tender young pullet she has been making herself out to be. No, Jennie, this new fashion of registering the name, age, residence and occupation of every voter, is a fatal bar to female suffrage.
Women will never be permitted to vote or hold office, Jennie, and it is a lucky thing for me, and for many other men, that such is the decree of fate. Because, you see, there are some few measures they would all unite on—there are one or two measures that would bring out their entire voting strength, in spite of their antipathy to making themselves conspicuous; and there being vastly more women than men in this State, they would trot those measures through the Legislature with a velocity that would be appalling. For instance, they would enact:
1. That all men should be at home by ten P. M., without fail.
2. That married men should bestow considerable attention on their own wives.
3. That it should be a hanging offense to sell whisky in saloons, and that fine and disfranchisement should follow the drinking of it in such places.
4. That the smoking of cigars to excess should be forbidden, and the smoking of pipes utterly abolished.
5. That the wife should have a little of her own property when she married a man who hadn’t any.
Jennie, such tyranny as this, we could never stand. Our free souls could never endure such degrading thraldom. Women, go your ways! Seek not to beguile us of our imperial privileges. Content yourself with your little feminine trifles—your babies, your benevolent societies and your knitting—and let your natural bosses do the voting. Stand back—you will be wanting to go to war next. We will let you teach school as much as you want to, and we will pay you half wages for it, too, but beware! we don’t want you to crowd us too much.
If I get time, Cousin Jennie, I will furnish you a picture of a female legislature that will distress you—I know it will, because you cannot disguise from me the fact that you are no more in favor of female suffrage, really, than I am.
In conclusion, honesty compels me to tell you that I have been highly complimented a dozen times on my articles signed “Cousin Jennie” and “A. L.” The same honesty, though, compelled me to confess that I did not write either of those articles.
MARK TWAIN.
P. S. That tiresome old goose, my wife, is prancing around like a lunatic, up stairs, rehearsing a speech in favor of female suffrage which she is going to deliver before a mass meeting of seditious old maids in my back parlor to-night. (She is a vigorous speaker, but you can smell her eloquence further than you can hear it; it is on account of gin, I think.) It is a pity those old skeletons have chosen my back parlor, because I have concluded to touch off a keg of powder under there to-night, and I am afraid the noise may disturb their deliberations some.
M. T.
March 12, 13, and 15, 1867