: Elizabeth Cady Stanton
: Eighty Years and More, Reminiscences 1815-1897
: Krill Press
: 9781518313622
: 1
: CHF 1.10
:
: Geschichte
: English
: 533
: DRM
: PC/MAC/eReader/Tablet
: ePUB
'The moment we begin to fear the opinions of others and hesitate to tell the truth that is in us, and from motives of policy are silent when we should speak, the divine floods of light and life no longer flow into our souls.' - Elizabeth Cady Stanton 



Elizabeth Cady Stanton is something of an unsung hero in the history of the feminist movement. Though she is still primarily known as an advocate of women's suffrage and is closely linked to the better known Susan B. Anthony, Stanton was shunned by many of her fellow suffragists because her ideas seem too radical and because many were disturbed by her barely Deist view of religion. Over a century after her death, modern feminists tend to overlook Stanton in favor of Anthony, while remembering that Stanton enjoyed taking on the traditional 19th century gender roles of being the mother of a large family and remaining devoted to her husband throughout her life. And while Anthony's comments about abortion are still fiercely debated by pro-life and pro-choice crowds, Stanton held conservative views toward abortion. It's clear that Elizabeth Cady Stanton was very much her own woman, certainly a fitting description that she would not have wanted any other way. 



Though she is not as well known or fondly remembered as her closest counterpart, Stanton preceded Anthony as an advocate of women's rights. It was Stanton who issued the Declaration of Sentiments at the first women's rights convention in Seneca Falls, New York in 1848, touching off the organized movement that worked toward suffrage and equality. At the same time, Stanton was an ardent abolitionist, and she focused on progressive issues like custody rights, divorce, women's property rights, employment issues, and even birth control. 

CHAPTER II. SCHOOL DAYS.


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WHEN I WAS ELEVEN YEARS old, two events occurred which changed considerably the current of my life. My only brother, who had just graduated from Union College, came home to die. A young man of great talent and promise, he was the pride of my father’s heart. We early felt that this son filled a larger place in our father’s affections and future plans than the five daughters together. Well do I remember how tenderly he watched my brother in his last illness, the sighs and tears he gave vent to as he slowly walked up and down the hall, and, when the last sad moment came, and we were all assembled to say farewell in the silent chamber of death, how broken were his utterances as he knelt and prayed for comfort and support. I still recall, too, going into the large darkened parlor to see my brother, and finding the casket, mirrors, and pictures all draped in white, and my father seated by his side, pale and immovable. As he took no notice of me, after standing a long while, I climbed upon his knee, when he mechanically put his arm about me and, with my head resting against his beating heart, we both sat in silence, he thinking of the wreck of all his hopes in the loss of a dear son, and I wondering what could be said or done to fill the void in his breast. At length he heaved a deep sigh and said: “Oh, my daughter, I wish you were a boy!” Throwing my arms about his neck, I replied: “I will try to be all my brother was.”

Then and there I resolved that I would not give so much time as heretofore to play, but would study and strive to be at the head of all my classes and thus delight my father’s heart. All that day and far into the night I pondered the problem of boyhood. I thought that the chief thing to be done in order to equal boys was to be learned and courageous. So I decided to study Greek and learn to manage a horse. Having formed this conclusion I fell asleep. My resolutions, unlike many such made at night, did not vanish with the coming light. I arose early and hastened to put them into execution. They were resolutions never to be forgotten–destined to mold my character anew. As soon as I was dressed I hastened to our good pastor, Rev. Simon Hosack, who was always early at work in his garden.

“Doctor,” said I, “which do you like best, boys or girls?”

“Why, girls, to be sure; I would not give you for all the boys in Christendom.”

“My father,” I replied, “prefers boys; he wishes I was one, and I intend to be as near like one as possible. I am going to ride on horseback and study Greek. Will you give me a Greek lesson now, doctor? I want to begin at once.”

“Yes, child,” said he, throwing down his hoe, “come into my library and we will begin without delay.”

He entered fully into the feeling of suffering and sorrow which took possession of me when I discovered that a girl weighed less in the scale of being than a boy, and he praised my determination to prove the contrary. The old grammar which he had studied in the University of Glasgow was soon in my hands, and the Greek article was learned before breakfast.

Then came the sad pageantry of death, the weeping of friends, the dark rooms, the ghostly stillness, the exhortation to the living to prepare for death, the solemn prayer, the mournful chant, the funeral cortège, the solemn, tolling bell, the burial.