these things than for the opera, with Grisi
, and Lablache
: she might even have written some funny verses about the windmill-tilting of her Don Quixote
Now, she stood in the place that failing health forbade him to fill, with a depth of interest, an earnestness of purpose, equal to his own. She, too, now heard the sorrowful sighing of the prisoners.
At one of the meetings of this congress, a jailer of the old school spoke in defence of the system of flogging refractory prisoners, and described in brutal fashion a brutal incident.
Her blood was on fire: she asked leave to speak.
“It is related,” she said, “of the famous Beau Brummel
that a gentleman who called upon him one morning met a valet carrying away a tray of neckcloths, more or less disordered.
‘What are these?’
asked the visitor; and the servant replied, ‘These are our failures!’
When I see the dark coach which in our country carries the criminal to his place of detention, I say, ‘Society, here are your failures.’
Her words were loudly applauded, and the punishment was voted down.
The Journal gives her further speech on this occasion: “Spoke of justice to women.
They had talked of fallen women.
I prayed them to leave that hopeless phrase.
Every fallen woman represents a man as guilty as herself, who escapes human detection, but whose soul lies open before God.
Speak of vicious, dissolute women, but don't speak of fallen women unless you recognize the fall of man, the old doctrine.”
Two days before this she had preached her last sermon