Many things about the home life which habit had prevented Angelina from
remarking before, now, since her visit among Friends, struck her as sinful, and
inconsistent with a Christian profession. Only a few days after her
return, she thus writes in her diary:
“I am much tried at times at
the manner in which I am obliged to live here in so
much luxury and ease, and raised so far above the poor,
and spending so much on my board. I want to live
in plainness and simplicity and economy, for so should
every Christian do. I am at a loss how to act,
for if I live with mother, which seems the proper
place for me, I must live in this way in a great degree.
It is true I can always take the plainest food, and
this I do generally, believing that whether at home
or abroad I ought to eat nothing I think too sumptuous
for a servant of Jesus Christ. For this
reason, when I took tea at a minister’s house
a few evenings since, I did not touch the richest
cakes, nor the fruit and nuts handed, after tea; and
when paying a visit the other morning, I refused cake
and wine, although I felt fatigued, and would have
liked something plain to eat. But it is not only
the food I eat at mother’s, but the whole style
of living is a direct departure from the simplicity
that is in Christ. The Lord’s poor tell
me they do not like to come to such a fine house to
see me; and if they come, instead of being able to
read a lesson of frugality, and deadness to the world,
they must go away lamenting over the inconsistency
of a sister professor. One thing is very hard
to bear I feel obliged to pay five dollars
a week for board, though I disapprove of this extravagance,
and am actually accessory in maintaining this style
of living, when I know it is wrong, and am thereby
prevented from giving to the poor as liberally as
I would like.”
She and Sarah had for several years,
when at home, paid board regularly to their mother,
and this was probably one thing which irritated the
other members of the family, several of whom were living
in idleness on their mother, doing nothing and paying
nothing. The brothers at least could not but
feel the implied rebuke. As we have seen, she
was not at all backward in expressing her disapprobation,
when she found her silent testimony was disregarded
or misunderstood; and her language was generally rather
forcible. This, of course, was trying to those
who did not see the necessity of living according
to her standard, and very trying to Angelina, whose
convictions were clear, and whose interest in her
relatives was as tender as it was sincere. Scarcely
a day passed that something did not occur to wound
her feelings, shock her religious prejudices, or arouse
her righteous indignation. Slavery was always
the cause of the latter, and for the others ample
reason was to be found in what she styled the vain
lusts of the world, and in the coldness and irritability
of some members of the family. Unrestrained self-indulgence,
joined to high-strung and undisciplined tempers, made
of what should have been a united, bright, and charming
home circle, a place of constant discord, jealousy,
and unhappiness.
Sarah had borne this state of things
better than Angelina could, her extreme gentleness
and kindness disarming all unkind feelings in others.
But even she was forced to flee from it at last.
The record is a most painful one, and it gives another
evidence of Angelina’s sense of her own power,
and of her reliance on divine help, that she should
for one moment have contemplated effecting any change.
But the respite from those dissensions, and the rest
thus given to her spirit by her visit North, softened
the bitter feelings she had once entertained, and
when she returned home it was with sentiments of affection
for everyone, and especially for her mother, from
whom she had been grievously estranged. She prayed
that she might not do or say anything to alienate
them further from her; but when she fully realized,
as she had never yet done, the sad condition of things,
she could not keep silent. She felt it her duty
to speak, and she did so, kindly and affectionately,
but unsparingly. She relates many incidents proving
this, and showing also how badly her reproofs were
received. The mistake she made, and which in
after years she freely acknowledged, was in excess
of zeal. But Angelina was a born radical, and
if a thing was wrong, it was wrong, and she could
not see why it should not be righted at once.
Temporizing with a wrong, or compromising with it in
any way, were things outside of her reasoning, and
she never would admit that they were justifiable under
any circumstances. It was, of course, difficult
to apply this principle in the desired reform of her
mother’s inherited and life-long prejudices.
Hence the incessant chafing and irritation which daily
made Angelina feel more keenly her isolated position,
and caused her to turn with increasing longing to the
North, where her beloved sister and many dear friends
were in sympathy with her.
To illustrate what I have said, one
or two examples will be sufficient. She was much
troubled because her mother had the drawing-room repainted
and handsomely papered. Mrs. Grimke doubtless
selected a paper in harmony with the house and furniture,
and had no suspicion that she was thereby committing
a sin. But Angelina thought it entirely too fine,
and felt that she could never sit in the room.
When the work was at last finished, and some friends
were invited to tea, and afterwards repaired to the
newly-decorated apartment, Angelina did not accompany
them, but remained below, reading alone, much disturbed
during the evening by the talking and laughing up
stairs. Her mother did not notice her absence,
or ascribed it to some other cause; but Angelina explained
it to her some time afterwards, when, she says, a way
seemed to open for it.
“I spoke to her of how great
a trial it was to me to see her living in the luxury
she did, and explained to her that it was not, as she
seemed to think, because I did not wish to see brother
John and sister Sally that I was tried at their dining
here every week, but it was the parade and profusion
which was displayed when they came. I spoke also
of the drawing-room, and remarked it was as much my
feeling about that which had prevented my coming
into the room when M.A. and others drank tea here,
as my objection to fashionable company. She said
it was very hard that she could not give her children
what food she chose, or have a room papered, without
being found fault with; that, indeed, she was weary
of being continually blamed about everything she did,
and she wished she could be let alone, for she saw
no sin in these things. ’I trust,’
I said, ’that I do not speak to thee, mother,
in the spirit thou art now speaking to me; nothing
but my conviction that I am bound to bear my testimony
to the truth could induce me to find fault with thee.
In doing so, I am acting with eternity in view.
I am acting in reference to that awful hour when I
shall stand at thy death-bed, or thou by mine.’
Interrupting me, she said if I was so constantly
found fault with, I would not bear it either; for
her part, she was quite discouraged. ‘Oh,
mother,’ said I, ’there is something in
thee so alienated from the love of Christ that thou
canst not bear to be found fault with.’
‘Yes,’ she said, ’you and Sally always
say I speak in a wrong spirit, but both of
you in a right one.’ She then went on to
say how much I was changed, about slavery, for instance,
for when I was first serious I thought it was right,
and never condemned it. I replied that I acted
according to the light I had. ‘Well, then,’
she continued, ‘you are not to expect everyone
to think like Quakers.’ I remarked that
true believers had but one leader, who would, if they
followed Him, guide them into all truth, and teach
them the same things. She again spoke of my turning
Quaker, and said it was because I was a Quaker that
I disapproved of a great many things that nobody but
Quakers could see any harm in. I was much roused
at this, and said with a good deal of energy, ’Dear
mother, what but the power of God could ever
have made me change my sentiments?’ Some
very painful conversation followed about Kitty.
I did not hesitate to say that no one with Christian
feelings could have treated her as she was treated
before I took her; her condition was a disgrace to
the name of Christian. She reminded me that I
had advised the very method that had been adopted with
her. This stung me to the quick. ‘Not
after I professed Christianity,’ I eagerly replied,
’and that I should have done so before, only
proved the wretched manner of my education.’
But mother is perfectly blind as to the miserable
manner in which she brought us up. During the
latter part of the conversation I was greatly excited,
for so acute have been my sufferings on account of
slavery, and so strong my feelings of indignation
in looking upon its oppressions and degradations,
that I cannot command my feelings in speaking of what
my own eyes have seen, and thus, I believe, I lost
the satisfaction I should otherwise have felt for
speaking the truth.”
Though constantly disregarded, taunted,
and thwarted, Angelina faithfully persevered in her
efforts at reform, at the same time as faithfully
striving after more meekness and singleness of purpose
herself.
After a while, she obtained two concessions
from which she hoped much: one, that the servants
should come to her in the library every day for religious
instruction; the other, that her mother would sit with
her in silence every evening for half an hour before
tea.
The servants came as directed, and
Angelina made her instructions so interesting that
soon some of the neighbors’ servants asked to
be admitted, and then her mother and one or two of
her sisters joined the meetings; and though no very
marked fruit of her labors appeared for some time,
she persevered, with a firm faith that the seed she
was sowing would not all be scattered to the winds.
The proposal to her mother to sit in silence for a while with her every
evening was in accordance with the Quaker practices. She thought they
would both find it profitable, and that it would be the means of forming a bond
of union between them. The mothers assent to this was certainly an
amiable concession to her daughters views, enhanced by the regularity with
which she kept the appointment, although the dark, silent room must have been at
times a trifle wearisome. Angelina always sat on a low seat beside her,
with her head in her mothers lap, and very rarely was the silence broken.
The practice was kept up until the mosquitoes obliged them to discontinue it.
That it did not prove entirely satisfactory, we judge from several entries in
the diary like the following:
“I still sit in silence with
dear mother, but feel very sensibly that she takes
no interest at all in it; still, I do not like to relinquish
the habit, believing it may yet be blessed. Eliza
came this evening, as she has several times before.
It was a season of great deadness, and yet I am glad
to sit even thus, for where there is communion there
will be some union.”
Her position was certainly a difficult and a painful one; for, apart from
other troubles, her eyes were now fully open to all the iniquities of the slave
system, and she could neither stay in nor go out without having some of its
miserable features forced upon her notice. In the view of her after-work,
it is interesting to note the beginning of her strong feelings on the subject,
as well as her faithful crusades against it in her own family. In April,
1829, she writes as follows in her diary:
Whilst returning from meeting this morning, I saw before me a colored woman
who in much distress was vindicating herself to two white boys, one about
eighteen, the other fifteen, who walked on each side of her. The dreadful
apprehension that they were leading her to the workhouse crossed my mind, and I
would have avoided her if I could. As I approached, the younger said to
her, I will have you tied up. My knees smote together, and my heart sank
within me. As I passed them, she exclaimed, Missis! But I felt all I had
to do was to suffer the pain of seeing her. My lips were sealed, and my
soul earnestly craved a willingness to bear the exercise which was laid on me.
How long, O Lord, how long wilt thou suffer the foot of the oppressor to stand
on the neck of the slave! None but those who know from experience what it
is to live in a land of bondage can form any idea of what is endured by those
whose eyes are open to the enormities of slavery, and whose hearts are tender
enough to feel for these miserable creatures. For two or three months
after my return here it seemed to me that all the cruelty and unkindness which I
had from my infancy seen practised towards them came back to my mind as though
it was only yesterday. And as to the house of correction, it seemed as
though its doors were unbarred to me, and the wretched, lacerated inmates of its
cold, dark cells were presented to my view. Night and day they were before
me, and yet my hands were bound as with chains of iron. I could do nothing
but weep over the scenes of horror which passed in review before my mind.
Sometimes I felt as though I was willing to fly from Carolina, be the
consequences what they might. At others, it seemed as though the very
exercises I was suffering under were preparing me for future usefulness to them;
and this, hope, I can scarcely call
it, for my very soul trembled at the solemn thought
of such a work being placed in my feeble and unworthy
hands, this idea was the means of reconciling
me to suffer, and causing me to feel something of
a willingness to pass through any trials, if I could
only be the means of exposing the cruelty and injustice
which was practised in the institution of oppression,
and of bringing to light the hidden things of darkness,
of revealing the secrets of iniquity and abolishing
its present regulations, above all, of
exposing the awful sin of professors of religion sending
their slaves to such a place of cruelty, and having
them whipped so that when they come out they can scarcely
walk, or having them put upon the treadmill until
they are lamed for days afterwards. These are
not things I have heard; no, my own eyes have looked
upon them and wept over them. Such was the opinion
I formed of the workhouse that for many months whilst
I was a teacher in the Sunday-school, having a scholar
in my class who was the daughter of the master of
it, I had frequent occasion to go to it to mark her
lessons, and no one can imagine my feelings in walking
down that street. It seemed as though I was walking
on the very confines of hell; and this winter, being
obliged to pass it to pay a visit to a friend, I suffered
so much that I could not get over it for days, and
wondered how any real Christian could live near such
a place.”
It may appear to some who read this
biography that Angelina’s expressions of feeling
were over-strained. But it was not so. Her
nervous organization was exceedingly delicate, and
became more so after she began to give her best thoughts
to the cause of humanity. In her own realization,
at least, of the suffering of others there was no
exaggeration.
Not long after making the above record of her feelings on this subject, she
narrates the following incident:
“I have been suffering for the
last two days on account of Henry’s boy having
run away, because he was threatened with a whipping.
Oh, who can paint the horrors of slavery! And
yet, so hard is the natural heart that I am constantly
told that the situation of slaves is very good, much
better than that of their owners. How strange
that anyone should believe such an absurdity, or try
to make others believe it! No wonder poor John
ran away at the threat of a flogging, when he has told
me more than once that when H. last whipped him he
was in pain for a week afterwards. I don’t
know how the boy must have felt, but I know that that
night was one of agony to me; for it was not only dreadful
to hear the blows, but the oaths and curses H. uttered
went like daggers to my heart. And this was done,
too, in the house of one who is regarded as a light
in the church. O Jesus, where is thy meek and
merciful disposition to be found now? Are the
marks of discipleship changed, or who are thy true
disciples? Last night I lay awake weeping over
the condition of John, and it seemed as though that
was all I could do. But at last I was directed
to go to H. and tenderly remonstrate with him.
I sought strength, and was willing to do so, if the
impression continued. To-day, was somewhat released
from this exercise, though still suffering, and almost
thought it would not be required. But at dusk
it returned; and, having occasion to go into H.’s
room for something, I broached the subject as guardedly
and mildly as possible, first passing my arm around
him, and leaning my head on his shoulder. He very
openly acknowledged that he meant to give John such
a whipping as would cure him of ever doing the same
thing again, and that he deserved to be whipped until
he could not stand. I said that would be treating
him worse than he would treat his horse. He now
became excited, and replied that he considered his
horse no comparison better than John, and would not
treat it so. By this time my heart was
full, and I felt so much overcome as to be compelled
to seat myself, or rather to fall into a chair before
him, but I don’t think he observed this.
The conversation proceeded. I pleaded the cause
of humanity. He grew very angry, and said I had
no business to be meddling with him, that he never
did so with me. I said if I had ever done anything
to offend him I was very sorry for it, but I had tried
to do everything to please him. He said I had
come from the North expressly to be miserable myself
and make everyone in the house so, and that I had
much better go and live at the North. I told
him that I was not ignorant that both C. and himself
would be very glad if I did, and that as soon as I
felt released from Carolina I would go; but that I
had believed it my duty to return this winter, though
I knew I was coming back to suffer. He again accused
me of meddling with his private affairs, which he
said I had no right to do. I told him I could
not but lift up my voice against his manner of treating
John. He said rather than suffer the continual
condemnation of his conduct by me, he would leave
mother’s house. I appealed to the witness
in his own bosom as to the truth of what I urged.
To my surprise he readily acknowledged that he felt
something within him which fully met all I asserted,
and that I had harrowed his feelings and made him
wretched. Much more passed. I alluded to
his neglect of me, and testified that I had experienced
no feeling but that of love towards him and all the
family, and a desire to do all I could to oblige them;
and I left the room in tears. I retired to bless
my Saviour for the strength he had granted, and to
implore his continued support.”
“7th. Surely my heart ought
to be lifted to my blessed Master in emotions of gratitude
and praise. His boy came home last night a short
time after our conversation, and instead of punishing
him, as I am certain he intended to do, he merely
told him to go about his business. I was amazed
last night after all my sufferings were over, and I
was made willing to leave all things in my Father’s
hands, to see John in the house. This was a renewed
proof to me how necessary it is for us to watch for
the right time in which to do things. If
I had not spoken just when I did, I could not have
done so before John’s return. He has escaped
entirely.... Oh, how earnestly two nights ago
did I pray for a release from this land of slavery,
and how my heart still pants after it! And yet,
I think, I trust it is in submission to my Heavenly
Father’s will. I feel comfortable to-night;
my relief from suffering about John is so great that
other trials seem too light to name.”
“8th. My heart sings aloud
for joy. I feel the sweet testimony of a good
conscience, the reward of obedience in speaking to
H. Dear boy, he has good, tender feelings naturally,
but a false education has nearly destroyed them, and
his own perverted judgment as to what is manly and
what is necessary in the government of slaves has done
the rest. Lord, open thou his eyes.”
On the 13th of March she says:
“To-day, for the first time, I ironed my clothes,
and felt as though it was an acceptable sacrifice.
This seemed part of the preparation for my removal
to the North. I felt fearful lest this object
was a stronger incentive to me than the desire to
glorify my divine Master.”
There was doubtless some truth in the charge brought against her by her
brothers, that her face was a perpetual condemnation of them. Referring to
a call she received from some friends, she says:
“An emptiness and vapidness
pervaded all they said about religion. I was
silent most of the time, and fear what I did say sprang
from a feeling of too great indignation. Just
before they went away, I joined in a joke; much condemnation
was felt, for the language to me constantly is, ‘I
have called thee with a high and holy
calling,’ and it seems as though solemnity ought
always to pervade my mind too much to allow me ever
to joke, but my natural vivacity is hard to bridle
and subdue.”
The bond between Sarah and Angelina was growing stronger every day, their
separation in matters of religion from the other members of the family serving
more than anything else to draw them closely and lovingly together. Every
letter from Sarah was hailed as a messenger of peace and joy, and to her
Angelina turned for counsel and sympathy. It is very pleasant to read such
words as the following, and know that they expressed the inmost feelings of
Angelinas heart:
“Thou art, dearest, my best
beloved, and often does my heart expand with gratitude
to the Giver of all good for the gift of such a friend,
who has been the helper of my joy and the lifter up
of my hands when they were ready to hang down in hopeless
despair. Often do I look back to those days of
conflict and suffering through which I passed last
winter, when thou alone seemed to know of the deep
baptisms wherewith I was baptized, and to be qualified
to speak the words of encouragement and reproof which
I believe were blessed to my poor soul.
“I received another long letter
from thee this afternoon. I cannot tell thee
what a consolation thy letters are to her who feels
like an exile, a stranger in the place of her nativity,
’as unknown, and yet well known,’ and
one of the very least where she was once among the
greatest.”
In one of her letters, written soon after her return home, she thus speaks of
her Quaker dress:
“I thought I should find it
so trying to dress like a Quaker here; but it has
been made so easy that if it is a cross I do not feel
the weight of it.... It appears to me that at
present I am to be little and unknown, and that the
most that is required of me is that I bear a decided
testimony against dress. I am literally as a wonder
unto many, but though I am as a gazing-stock perhaps
a laughing-stock in the midst of them,
yet I scarcely feel it, so sensible am I of the presence
and approbation of Him for whose sake I count it a
high privilege to endure scorn and derision.
I begin to feel that it is a solemn thing even to
dress like a Quaker, as by so doing I profess a belief
in the purest principles of the Bible, and warrant
the expectation in others that my life will exhibit
to all around those principles drawn out in living
characters.”
There is a pride of conscience in all this, strongly contrasting with Sarahs
want of self-confidence when travelling the same path. If Angelina
suffered for her religion, no one suspected it, and for this very reason she was
enabled to exert a stronger influence upon those about her than Sarah ever could
have done. She herself saw the great points of difference between them,
and frequently alluded to them. On one page of her diary she writes:
“I have been reading dear sister’s
diary the last two days, and find she has suffered
great conflict of mind, particularly about her call
to the ministry, and I am led to look at the contrast
between our feelings on the subject. I clearly
saw winter before last that my having been appointed
to this work was the great reason why I was called
out of the Presbyterian Society, but I don’t
think my will has ever rebelled against it.
“So far from murmuring against
the appointment, I have felt exceedingly impatient
at not being permitted to enter upon my work at once;
and this is probably an evidence that I am not prepared
for it. But it is hard for me to be and
to do nothing. My restless, ambitious temper,
so different from dear sister’s, craves high
duties and high attainments, and I have at times thought
that this ambition was a motive to me to do my duty
and submit my will. The hope of attaining to
great eminence in the divine life has often prompted
me to give up in little things, to bend to existing
circumstances, to be willing for the time to be trampled
upon. These are my temptations. For a long
time it seemed to me I did everything from a hope
of applause. I could not even write in my diary
without a feeling that I was doing it in the hope
that it would one day meet the eye of the public.
Last winter I wrote more freely in it, and am still
permitted to do so. Very often, when thinking
of my useless state at present, something of disappointment
is felt that I am as nothing, and this language has
been presented with force, ‘Seekest thou great
things for thyself, seek them not.’”