The robust growth of cities transformed the face of the United States in the decades following the Civil War. The inpouring of the New Immigration from southern and eastern Europe, beginning conspicuously in the 1880s, raised vexing social questions. It aggravated already festering slum conditions, stimulated agitation to halt cheap foreign labor, and revived anti-Catholic outcries. Protestant denominations, already disturbed by the numerical primacy of the Roman Catholic church in the United States, were alarmed by its hundreds of thousands of new communicants. At the same time, Protestantism was profoundly shaken by the impact of Darwinism. One manifestation was a heated debate between the rock-ribbed Fundamentalists and the more adaptable Modernists, who came to see in evolution a more glorious revelation of a wonder-working God. White reformers now largely left the recently freed blacks to their own devices. The temperance crusade intensified, as did the still-frustrated campaign for women's suffrage. Meanwhile, new work patterns in the booming cities provided new opportunities and challenges for women, which in turn sparked fresh debate on women's role, marital relations, and sexual morality.

Frederick Law Olmsted Applauds the City's Attractions (1871)
In the late nineteenth century rural Americans flocked to the burgeoning cities, where they were joined by multitudes of immigrants from overseas. Some traditionalists decried the alleged evils of city life, but other commentators found in the urban environment a new frontier of excitement and opportunity, especially for women. Frederick Law Olmsted (1822-1903), one of the United States' greatest landscape architects, recognized the irresistible allure of the big cities and strove to humanize the cityscape with parks and open spaces. His words included New York City's Central Park; the grounds of the national Capitol in Washington, D.C.; the municipal park systems of Boston and Louisville; and the campuses of Stanford University and the University of California at Berkeley. In the following passage, what does he identify as the city's principal attractions? What does he find particularly appealing to women?

The last "Overland Monthly" tells us that in California "only an inferior class of people can be induced to live out of towns. There is something in the country which repels men. In the city alone can they nourish the juices of life."

This newly built and but half-equipped cities, where the people are never quite free from dread of earthquakes, and of a country in which the productions of agriculture and horticulture are more varied, and the rewards of rural enterprise larger, than in any other under civilized government! With a hundred million acres of arable and grazing land, with thousands of outcropping gold veins, with the finest forests in the world, fully half the white people live in towns, a quarter of all in one town, and this quarter pays more than half the taxes of all. "Over the mountains the miners," says Mr. Bowles, "talk of going to San Francisco as to Paradise," and the rural members of the legislature declare that "San Francisco sucks the life out of the country."

At the same time all our great interior towns are reputed to be growing rapidly; their newspapers complain that wheat and gold fall much faster than house-rents, and especially that builders fail to meet the demand for such dwellings as are mostly sought by new-comers, who are mainly men of small means and young families, anxious to make a lodgment in the city on any terms which will give them a chance of earning a right to remain. In Chicago alone, it is said, that there are twenty thousand people seeking employment.

To this I can add, from personal observation, that if we stand, any day before noon, at the railway stations of these cities, we may notice women and girls arriving by the score, who, it will be apparent, have just run in to do a little shopping, intending to return by supper time to farms perhaps a few hundred miles away.

It used to be a matter of pride with the better sort of our country people that they could raise on their own land or manufacture within their own households almost everything needed for domestic consumption. But if now you leave the rail, at whatever remote station, the very advertisements on its walls will manifest how greatly this is changed. Push out over the prairie and make your way to the house of any long-settled and prosperous farmer, and the intimacy of his family with the town will constantly appear, in dress, furniture, viands, and in all the conversation. If there is a piano, they will be expecting a man from town to tune it. If the baby has outgrown its shoes, the measure is to be sent to town. If a tooth is troublesome, an appointment is to be arranged by telegraph with the dentist. The railway time-table hangs with the almanac. The housewife complains of her servants. There is no difficulty in getting them from the intelligence offices in town, such as they are; but only the poorest, who cannot find employment in the city, will come to the country, and these as soon as they have got a few dollars ahead, are crazy to get back to town. It is much the same with the men, the farmer will add; he has to run up in the morning and get some one to take "Wolf's" place. You will find, too, that one of his sons is in a lawyer's office, another at a commercial college, and his oldest daughter at an "institute," all in town. I know several girls who travel eighty miles a day to attend school in Chicago. . . .

We all recognize that the tastes and dispositions of women are more and more potent in shaping the course of civilized progress, and we may see that women are even more susceptible to this townward drift than men. Ofttimes the husband and father gives up his country occupations, taking others less attractive to him in town, out of consideration for his wife and daughters. Not long since I conveyed to a very sensible and provident man that I thought to be an offer of great preferment. I was surprised that he hesitated to accept it, until the question was referred to his wife, a bright, tidy American-born woman, who promptly said: "If I were offered a deed of the best farm that I ever saw, on condition of going back to the country to live, I would not take it. I would rather face starvation in town." She had been brought up and lived the greater part of her life in one of the most convenient and agreeable farming countries in the United States.

Is it astonishing? Compare advantages in respect simply to schools, libraries, music, and the fine arts. People of the greatest wealth can hardly command as much of these in the country as the poorest work-girl is offered here in Boston at the mere cost of a walk for a short distance over a good firm, clean pathway, lighted at night and made interesting to her by shop fronts and the variety of people passing.

It is true the poorer work-girls make little use of these special advantages, but this simply because they are not yet educated up to them. When, however, they come from the country to town, are they not moving in the way of this education? In all probability, as is indicated by the report (in the "New York Tribune") of a recent skillful examination of the condition and habits of the poor sewing women of that city, a frantic desire to escape from the dull lives which they have seen before them in the country, a craving for recreation, especially for more companionship in yielding to playful girlish impulses, innocent in themselves, drives more young women to the town than anything else. Dr. Holmes may exaggerate the clumsiness and dreariness of New England village social parties; but go further back into the country among the outlying farms, and if you have ever had part in the working up of some of the rare occasions in which what stands for festivity is attempted, you will hardly think that the ardent desire of a young woman to escape to the town is wholly unreasonable.

Frederick Law Olmsted, "Public Parks and the Enlargement of Towns," Journal of Social Science 3 (1871): 1-3, 5-6.

Sister Carrie Is Bedazzled by Chicago (1900)
In his novel Sister Carrie, Theodore Dreiser painted a classic portrait of a young woman from the countryside who seeks her fate in the big city--in this case, Chicago. Among the features of urban life that the novel's heroine, Carrie Meeber, finds most alluring are the huge department stores. Dreiser considered department stores such a distinctive innovation that he paused in his narrative to describe them at length. What effect do they have on Carrie Meeber? In what ways do they symbolize the new cultural realities of urban life?

At that time the department store was in its earliest form of successful operation, and there were not many. The first three in the United States, established about 1884, were in Chicago. Carrie was familiar with the names of several through the advertisements in the Daily News, and now proceeded to seek them. The words of Mr. McManus [a store manager who had interviewed Carrie for a job] had somehow managed to restore her courage, which had fallen low, and she dared to hope that this new line would offer her something. Some time she spent in wandering up and down, thinking to encounter the buildings by chance, so readily is the mind, bent upon prosecuting a hard but needful errand, eased by that self-deception which the semblance of search, without the reality, gives. At last she inquired of a police officer, and was directed to proceed "two blocks up," where she would find The Fair.

The nature of these vast retail combinations, should they ever permanently disappear, will form an interesting chapter in the commercial history of our nation. Such a flowering out of a modest trade principle the world had never witnessed up to that time. They were along the line of the most effective retail organization, with hundreds of stores co-ordinated into one and laid out upon the most imposing and economic basis. They were handsome, bustling, successful affairs, with a host of clerks and a swarm of patrons. Carrie passed along the busy aisles, much affected by the remarkable displays of trinkets, dress goods, stationery, and jewelry. Each separate counter was a showplace of dazzling interest and attraction. She could not help feeling the claim of each trinket and valuable upon her personally, and yet she did not stop. There was nothing there which she could not have used--nothing which she did not long to own. The dainty slippers and stockings, the delicately frilled skirts and petticoats, the laces, ribbons, hair combs, purses, all touched her with individual desire, and she felt keenly the fact that not any of these things were in the range of her purchase. She was a work seeker, an outcast without employment, one whom the average employee could tell at a glance was poor and in need of a situation.

It must not be thought that anyone could have mistaken her for a nervous, sensitive, high-strung nature, cast unduly upon a cold, calculating, and unpoetic world. Such certainly she was not. But women are peculiarly sensitive to their adornment.

Not only did Carrie feel the drag of desire for all which was new and pleasing in apparel for women, but she noticed too, with a touch at the heart, the fine ladies who elbowed and ignored her, brushing past in utter disregard of her presence, themselves eagerly enlisted in the materials which the store contained. Carrie was not familiar with the appearance of her more fortunate sisters of the city. Neither had she before known the nature and appearance of the shop girls with whom she now compared poorly. They were pretty in the main, some even handsome, with an air of independence and indifference which added, in the case of the more favored, a certain piquancy. Their clothes were neat, in many instances fine, and wherever she encountered the eye of one it was only to recognize in it a keen analysis of her own position--her individual shortcomings of dress and that shadow of manner which she thought must hang about her and make clear to all who and what she was. A flame of envy lighted in her heart. She realized in a dim way how much the city held--wealth, fashion, ease--every adornment for women, and she longed for dress and beauty with a whole heart. . . .

Theodore Dreiser, Sister Carrie (New York: New American Library, 1961; first published 1900), pp. 25-27.

Cleaning Up New York (1897)
The cities grew so fast that municipal governments were hard pressed to provide adequate sanitation facilities and other essential urban services. New York City commissioner George F. Waring, Jr., here describes the situation in late-nineteenth-century New York before a concerted effort was made to clean up the city. What features of urban life were the worst contributors to unsanitary conditions? Which city dwellers suffered the most from those conditions?

Before 1895 the streets were almost universally in a filthy state. In wet weather they were covered with slime, and in dry weather their air was filled with dust. Artificial sprinkling in summer converted the dust into mud, and the drying winds changed the mud to powder. Rubbish of all kinds, garbage, and ashes lay neglected in the streets, and in the hot weather the city stank with the emanations of putrefying organic matter. It was not always possible to see the pavement, because of the dirt that covered it. One expert, a former contractor of street-cleaning, told me that West Broadway could not be cleaned, because it was so coated with grease from wagon-axles; it was really coated with slimy mud. The sewer inlets were clogged with refuse. Dirty paper was prevalent everywhere, and black rottenness was seen and smelled on every hand.

The practice of standing unharnessed trucks and wagons in the public streets was well-nigh universal in all except the main thoroughfares and the better residence districts. The Board of Health made an enumeration of vehicles so standing on Sunday, counting twenty-five thousand on a portion of one side of the city; they reached the conclusion that there were in all more than sixty thousand. These trucks not only restricted traffic and made complete street-cleaning practically impossible, but they were harbors of vice and crime. Thieves and highwaymen made them their dens, toughs caroused in them, both sexes resorted to them, and they were used for the vilest purposes, until they became, both figuratively and literally, a stench in the nostrils of the people. In the crowded districts they were a veritable nocturnal hell. Against all this the poor people were powerless to get relief. The highest city officials, after feeble attempts at removal, declared that New York was so peculiarly constructed (having no alleys through which the rear of the lots could be reached) that its commerce could not be carried on unless this privilege were given to its truckmen; in short, the removal of the trucks was "an impossibility. . . ."

The condition of the streets, of the force, and of the stock was the fault of no man and of no set of men. It was the fault of the system. The department was throttled by partisan control--so throttled it could neither do good work, command its own respect and that of the public, nor maintain its material in good order. It was run as an adjunct of a political organization. In that capacity it was a marked success. It paid fat tribute; it fed thousands of voters, and it gave power and influence to hundreds of political leaders. It had this appointed function, and it performed it well. . . .

New York is now thoroughly clean in every part, the empty vehicles are gone. . . . "Clean streets" means much more than the casual observer is apt to think. It has justly been said that "cleanliness is catching," and clean streets are leading to clean hallways, and staircases and cleaner living-rooms. A recent writer says:

It is not merely justification of a theory to say that the improvement noticed in the past two and a half years in the streets of New York has led to an improvement in the interior of its tenement-houses. A sense of personal pride has been awakened in the women and children, the results of which have been noticeable to every one engaged in philanthropic work among the tenement dwellers. When, early in the present administration, a woman in the Five Points district was heard to say to another, "Well, I don't care; my street is cleaner than yours is, anyhow," it was felt that the battle was won.

Few realize the many minor ways in which the work of the department has benefited the people at large. For example, there is far less injury from dust to clothing, to furniture, and to goods in shops; mud is not tracked from the streets on to the sidewalks, and thence into the houses; boots require far less cleaning; the wearing of overshoes has been largely abandoned; wet feet and bedraggled skirts are mainly things of the past; and children now make free use as a playground of streets which were formerly impossible to them. "Scratches," a skin disease of horses due to mud and slush, used to entail very serious cost on truck men and liverymen. It is now almost unknown. Horses used to "pick up a nail" with alarming frequency, and this caused great loss of service, and, like scratches, made the bill of the veterinary surgeon a serious matter. There are practically no nails now to be found in the streets.

The great, the almost inestimable, beneficial effect of the work of the department is shown in the large reduction of the death-rate and in the less keenly realized but still more important reduction in the sick-rate. As compared with the average death-rate of 26.78 of 1882-94, that of 1895 was 23.10, that of 1896 was 21.52, and that of the first half of 1897 was 19.63. If this latter figure is maintained throughout the year, there will have been fifteen thousand fewer deaths than there would have been had the average rate of the thirteen previous years prevailed. The report of the Board of Health for 1896, basing its calculations on diarrheal diseases in July, August, and September, in the filthiest wards, in the most crowded wards, and in the remainder of the city, shows a very marked reduction in all, and the largest reduction in the first two classes.

George E. Waring, Jr., Street-Cleaning (New York: Doubleday and McClure, 1897), pp. 13-21.

Jacob Riis Goes Slumming (1890)
Police reporter Jacob A. Riis, a Danish-born immigrant who had known rat-infested tenements in Denmark, aimed his talented pen at the scandalous slums of New York. He was shocked by the absence of privacy, sanitation, and playgrounds, and by the presence of dirt, stench, and vermin. One tenement area in New York was known as the "Lung Block" because of the prevalence of tuberculosis. Despite the opposition of heartless landlords, who worked hand-in-glove with corrupt politicians, Riis helped to eliminate some of these foul firetraps, especially the dark "rear tenements." What does he regard as the chief obstacles to good health and good morals in these slums?

Suppose we look into one? No.--Cherry Street. Be a little careful, please! The hall is dark and you might stumble over the children pitching pennies back there. Not that it would hurt them; kicks and cuffs are their daily diet. They have little else.

Here where the hall turns and dives into utter darkness is a step, and another, another. A flight of stairs. You can feel your way, if you cannot see it. Close? Yes! What would you have? All the fresh air that ever enters these stairs comes from the hall-door that is forever slamming, and from the windows of dark bedrooms that in turn receive from the stairs their sole supply of elements God meant to be free, but man deals out with such niggardly hand.

That was a woman filling her pail by the hydrant you just bumped against. The sinks are in the hallway, that all the tenants may have access--and all to be poisoned alike by their summer stenches.

Hear the pump squeak! It is the lullaby of tenement-house babes. In summer, when a thousand thirsty throats pant for a cooling drink in this block, it is worked in vain. But the saloon, whose open door you passed in the hall, is always there. The smell of it has followed you up.

Here is a door. Listen! That short hacking cough, that tiny, helpless wail--what do they mean? They mean that the soiled bow of white you saw on the door downstairs will have another story to tell--oh! a sadly familiar story--before the day is at an end. The child is dying with measles. With half a chance it might have lived; but it had none. The dark bedroom killed it.

"It was took all of a suddint," says the mother, smoothing the throbbing little body with trembling hands. There is no unkindness in the rough voice of the man in the jumper, who sits by the window grimly smoking a clay pipe, with the little life ebbing out in his sight, bitter as his words sound: "Hush, Mary! if we cannot keep the baby, need we complain--such as we?"

Such as we! What if the words ring in your ears as we grope our way up the stairs and down from floor to floor, listening to the sounds behind the closed doors--some of quarreling, some of coarse songs, more of profanity. They are true. When the summer heats come with their suffering, they have meaning more terrible than words can tell.

Come over here. Step carefully over this baby--it is a baby, spite of its rags and dirt--under these iron bridges called fire-escapes, but loaded down, despite the incessant watchfulness of the firemen, with broken household goods, with washtubs and barrels, over which no man could climb from a fire.

This gap between dingy brick walls is the yard. The strip of smoke-colored sky up there is the heaven of these people. Do you wonder the name does not attract them to churches?

That baby's parents live in the rear tenement here. She is at least as clean as the steps we are now climbing. There are plenty of houses with half a hundred such in. The tenement is much like the one in front we just left, only fouler, closer, darker--we will not say more cheerless. The word is a mockery. A hundred thousand people lived in rear tenements in New York last year.

J. A. Riis, How the Other Half Lives (New York: Charles Scribner's Sons, 1890), pp. 43-44.

Mary Antin Praises America (1894)
The bomb-assassination of Czar Alexander II in 1881 touched off an outburst of anti-Semitism in Russia that resulted in countless riots, burnings, pillagings, rapes, and murders. Tens of thousands of Jewish refugees fled to America then and later. Mary Antin, a thirteen-year-old Polish Jew, joined her father in Boston in 1894. She later distinguished herself as an author and a welfare worker. In her autobiographical account, excerpted here, what did these Jewish immigrants find most gratifying in America?

In our flat we did not think of such a thing as storing the coal in the bathtub. There was no bathtub. So in the evening of the first day my father conducted us to the public baths. As we moved along in a little procession, I was delighted with the illumination of the streets. So many lamps, and they burned until morning, my father said, and so people did not need to carry lanterns.

In America, then, everything was free, as we had heard in Russia; the streets were as bright as a synagogue on a holy day. Music was free; we had been serenaded, to our gaping delight, by a brass band of many pieces, soon after our installation on Union Place.

Education was free. That subject my father had written about repeatedly, as comprising his chief hope for us children, the essence of American opportunity, the treasure that no thief could touch, nor even misfortune or poverty. It was the one thing that he was able to promise us when he sent for us; surer, safer, than bread or shelter.

On our second day I was thrilled with the realization of what this freedom of education meant. A little girl from across the alley came and offered to conduct us to school. My father was out, but we five between us had a few words of English by this time. We knew the word school. We understood. This child, who had never seen us till yesterday, who could not pronounce our names, who was not much better dressed than we, was able to offer us the freedom of the schools of Boston! No application made, no questions asked, no examinations, rulings, exclusions; no machinations, no fees. The doors stood open for every one of us. The smallest child could show us the way.

The incident impressed me more than anything I had heard in advance of the freedom of education in America. It was a concrete proof--almost the thing itself. One had to experience it to understand it.

[Distressingly common was the experience of Anzia Yezierska, whose impoverished family came from Russia to New York City in 1901. Buoyed up by the hope of finding green fields and open places, she found herself in a smelly, crowded slum. God's blue sky was not visible; the landscape was the brick wall of the next building; and there was no place for the pasty-faced children to play. One of her despairing companions said, "In Russia, you could hope to run away from your troubles in America. But from America where can you go?"]

From The Promised Land by Mary Antin. Copyright 1912 by Houghton Mifflin Company.

The APA Hates Catholics (1893)
The flood of cheap southern European labor in the 1880s, predominantly Roman Catholic, rearoused nativist bigots. The most powerful group, the secretive American Protective Association (APA), claimed a million members by 1896. Among its various activities, it circulated forged documents revealing alleged papal orders to "exterminate" non-Catholics. In Toledo, Ohio, the local branch gathered Winchester rifles for defense. The APA was especially alarmed by the Irish-Catholic political machines, which in cities like New York and Chicago had secured a semi monopoly of public offices, including the fire department and the police department. In the following secret oath of the APA, are the economic or the political prohibitions more damaging?

I do most solemnly promise and swear that I will always, to the utmost of my ability, labor, plead, and wage a continuous warfare against ignorance and fanaticism; that I will use my utmost power to strike the shackles and chains of blind obedience to the Roman Catholic Church from the hampered and bound consciences of a priest-ridden and church-oppressed people; that I will never allow anyone, a member of the Roman Catholic Church, to become a member of this order, I knowing him to be such; and I will use my influence to promote the interest of all Protestants everywhere in the world that I may be; that I will not employ a Roman Catholic in any capacity, if I can procure the services of a Protestant.

I furthermore promise and swear that I will not aid in building or maintaining, by my resources, any Roman Catholic church or institution of their sect or creed whatsoever, but will do all in my power to retard and break down the power of the Pope, in this country or any other; that I will not enter into any controversy with a Roman Catholic upon the subject of this order, nor will I enter into any agreement with a Roman Catholic to strike or create a disturbance whereby the Catholic employees may undermine and substitute their Protestant co-workers; that in all grievances I will seek only Protestants, and counsel with them to the exclusion of all Roman Catholics, and will not make known to them anything of any nature matured at such conferences.

I furthermore promise and swear that I will not countenance the nomination, in any caucus or convention, of a Roman Catholic for any office in the gift of the American people, and that I will not vote for, or counsel others to vote for, any Roman Catholic, but will vote only for a Protestant, so far as may lie in my power (should there be two Roman Catholics in opposite tickets, I will erase the name on the ticket I vote); that I will at times endeavor to place the political positions of this government in the hands of Protestants, to the entire exclusion of the Roman Catholic Church, of the members thereof, and the mandate of the Pope.

To all of which I do most solemnly promise and swear, so help me God. Amen.

 Documents of American Catholic History, pp. 500-501. 

Henry Cabot Lodge Urges a Literacy Test (1896)
The continued influx of hordes of impoverished and illiterate southern Europeans during the depression of the 1890s intensified outcries for their exclusion. Organized labor objected to their low wages; religious bigots, to their Catholicism; city planners, to their slum residence; believers in racial purity, to their "degenerate" stock. Senator Henry Cabot Lodge, a Massachusetts blue blood and later the arch-foe of Woodrow Wilson, here argues for a bill that would establish a literacy test. Which group was he trying to exclude? Would the best interests of the nation have been served by his proposal?

It is found, in the first place, that the illiteracy test will bear most heavily upon the Italians, Russians, Poles, Hungarians, Greeks, and Asiatics, and very lightly, or not at all, upon English-speaking emigrants or Germans, Scandinavians, and French.

In other words, the races most affected by the illiteracy test are those whose emigration to this country has begun within the last twenty years and swelled rapidly to enormous proportions, races with which the English-speaking people have never hitherto assimilated, and who are most alien to the great body of the people of the United States.

On the other hand, emigrants from the United Kingdom and of those races which are most closely related to the English-speaking people, and who with the English-speaking people themselves founded the American colonies and built up the United States, are affected but little by the proposed test. These races would not be prevented by this law from coming to this country in practically undiminished numbers.

These kindred races also are those who alone go to the Western and Southern states, where immigrants are desired, and take up our unoccupied lands. The races which would suffer most seriously by exclusion under the proposed bill furnish the immigrants who do not go to the West or South, where immigration is needed, but who remain on the Atlantic seaboard, where immigration is not needed and where their presence is most injurious and undesirable.

The statistics prepared by the committee show further that the immigrants excluded by the illiteracy test are those who remain for the most part in congested masses in our great cities. They furnish, as other tables show, a large proportion of the population of the slums. The committee's report proves that illiteracy runs parallel with the slum population, with criminals, paupers, and juvenile delinquents of foreign birth, or parentage, whose percentage is out of all proportion to their share of the total population when compared with the percentage of the same classes among the native-born.

It also appears from investigations which have been made that the immigrants who would be shut out by the illiteracy test are those who bring least money to the country, and come most quickly upon private or public charity for support.

Congressional Record, 54th Cong., 1st sess. (March 16, 1896), p. 2817.

President Cleveland Vetoes a Literacy Test (1897)
In 1897 Congress finally passed a bill excluding all prospective immigrants who could not read or write twenty-five words of the Constitution of the United States in some language. One of the several goals of the exclusionists was to bar anarchists and other radical labor agitators. Cleveland, ever ruggedly independent, vetoed the bill. What is his most effective argument against it?

It is not claimed, I believe, that the time has come for the further restriction of immigration on the ground that an excess of population overcrowds our land.

It is said, however, that the quality of recent immigration is undesirable. The time is quite within recent memory when the same thing was said of immigrants who, with their descendants, are now numbered among our best citizens.

It is said that too many immigrants settle in our cities, thus dangerously increasing their idle and vicious population. This is certainly a disadvantage. It cannot be shown, however, that it affects all our cities, nor that it is permanent; nor does it appear that this condition, where it exists, demands as its remedy the reversal of our present immigration policy.

The claim is also made that the influx of foreign laborers deprives of the opportunity to work those who are better entitled than they to the privilege of earning their livelihood by daily toil. An unfortunate condition is certainly presented when any who are willing to labor are unemployed, but so far as this condition now exists among our people, it must be conceded to be a result of phenomenal business depression and the stagnation of all enterprises in which labor is a factor. With the advent of settled and wholesome financial and economic governmental policies, and consequent encouragement to the activity of capital, the misfortunes of unemployed labor should, to a great extent at least, be remedied. If it continues, its natural consequences must be to check the further immigration to our cities of foreign laborers and to deplete the ranks of those already there. In the meantime those most willing and best entitled ought to be able to secure the advantages of such work as there is to do. . . .

The best reason that could be given for this radical restriction of immigration is the necessity of protecting our population against degeneration and saving our national peace and quiet from imported turbulence and disorder.

I cannot believe that we would be protected against these evils by limiting immigration to those who can read and write in any language twenty-five words of our Constitution. In my opinion, it is infinitely more safe to admit a hundred thousand immigrants who, though unable to read and write, seek among us only a home and opportunity to work than to admit one of those unruly agitators and enemies of governmental control who can not only read and write, but delight in arousing by inflammatory speech the illiterate and peacefully inclined to discontent and tumult.

Violence and disorder do not originate with illiterate laborers. They are, rather, the victims of the educated agitator. The ability to read and write, as required in this bill, in and of itself affords, in my opinion, a misleading test of contented industry and supplies unsatisfactory evidence of desirable citizenship or a proper apprehension of the benefits of our institutions.

If any particular element of our illiterate immigration is to be feared for other causes than illiteracy, these causes should be dealt with directly, instead of making illiteracy the pretext for exclusion, to the detriment of other illiterate immigrants against whom the real cause of complaint cannot be alleged.

[President Taft, following Cleveland's example in 1897, successfully vetoed a literacy test in 1913, as did President Wilson in 1915. Finally, in 1917, such a restriction was passed over Wilson's veto. Wilson had declared that the prohibition was "not a test of character, of quality, or of personal fitness." In fact, a literacy test denied further opportunity to those who had already been denied opportunity.]

J. D. Richardson, ed., Messages and Papers of the Presidents (New York: Bureau of National Literature, 1897), vol. 9, pp. 758-759.

The Shock of Darwinism (1896)
The theory of evolution, popularized by Charles Darwin's On the Origin of Species (1859), directly challenged the biblical story of creation. (In 1654 a distinguished English scholar had declared the date of creation to be "the 26th of October, 4004 B.C. at 9 o'clock in the morning.") Orthodox religionists flooded the New York publishers of Darwin's volume with letters demanding its suppression. Andrew D. White, a prominent U.S. educator, scholar, and diplomat, here describes in a famous book some of the reactions in the United States. How might one explain the violence of these comments?

Darwin's Origin of Species had come into the theological world like a plough into an anthill. Everywhere those thus rudely awakened from their old comfort and repose had swarmed forth angry and confused. Reviews, sermons, books light and heavy, came flying at the new thinker from all sides. . . .

Echoes came from America. One review, the organ of the most widespread of American religious sects, declared that Darwin was "attempting to befog and to pettifog the whole question"; another denounced Darwin's views as "infidelity"; another, representing the American branch of the Anglican Church, poured contempt over Darwin as "sophistical and illogical," and then plunged into an exceedingly dangerous line of argument in the following words: "If this hypothesis be true, then is the Bible an unbearable fiction; . . . then have Christians for nearly two thousand years been duped by a monstrous lie. . . . Darwin requires us to disbelieve the authoritative word of the Creator."

A leading journal representing the same church took pains to show the evolution theory to be as contrary to the explicit declarations of the New Testament as to those of the Old, and said: "If we have all, men and monkeys, oysters and eagles, developed from an original germ, then is St. Paul's grand deliverance--'All flesh is not the same flesh; there is one kind of flesh of men, another of beasts, another of fishes, and another of birds'--untrue." . . .

But a far more determined opponent was the Rev. Dr. Hodge, of Princeton. His anger toward the evolution doctrine was bitter: he denounced it as thoroughly "atheistic"; he insisted that Christians "have a right to protest against the arraying of probabilities against the clear evidence of the Scriptures"; he even censured so orthodox a writer as the Duke of Argyll, and declared that the Darwinian theory of natural selection is "utterly inconsistent with the Scriptures," and that "an absent God, who does nothing, is to us no God"; that "to ignore the design as manifested in God's creation is to dethrone God"; that "a denial of design in Nature is virtually a denial of God"; and that "no teleologist can be a Darwinian."

Even more uncompromising was another of the leading authorities at the same university--the Rev. Dr. Duffield. He declared war not only against Darwin but even against men like Asa Gray, Le Conte, and others, who attempted to reconcile the new theory with the Bible. He insisted that "evolutionism and the Scriptural account of the origin of men are irreconcilable"--that the Darwinian theory is "in direct conflict with the teaching of the apostle, 'All Scripture is given by inspiration of God.' " He pointed out, in his opposition to Darwin's Descent of Man and Lyell's Antiquity of Man, that in the Bible "the genealogical links which connect the Israelites in Egypt with Adam and Eve and Eden are explicitly given."

These utterances of Prof. Duffield culminated in a declaration which deserves to be cited as showing that a Presbyterian minister can "deal damnation round the land" ex cathedra in a fashion quite equal to that of popes and bishops. It is as follows: "If the development theory of the origin of man," wrote Dr. Duffield in the Princeton Review, "shall in a little while take its place--as doubtless it will--with other exploded scientific speculations, then they who accept it with its proper logical consequences will in the life to come have their portion with those who in this life 'know not God and obey not the gospel of His Son.' "

A. D. White, A History of the Warfare of Science with Theology in Christendom (New York: D. Appleton and Company, 1896), vol. 1, pp. 70, 71-72, 79-80.

Henry Ward Beecher Accepts Evolution (1886)
The Reverend Henry Ward Beecher, a famed Congregational minister, was the most popular and influential preacher of his day. Like his sister, Harriet Beecher Stowe, he crusaded against slavery and, in a mock auction in his Brooklyn church, raised money to redeem a black girl from slavery. Although besmirched by a notorious adultery trial, which ended in a hung jury, he continued to preach religion and discuss public issues with eloquence and boldness. His disbelief in a literal hell, combined with his belief in evolution, generated friction with orthodox members of the clergy and led to his withdrawal from the Association of Congregational Ministers. He customarily preached to twenty-five hundred people; after he died, forty thousand viewed his body. Why does he accept Darwin's views, and why does he believe that evolution will help true religion?

As thus set forth, it may be said that Evolution is accepted as the method of creation by the whole scientific world, and that the period of controversy is passed and closed. A few venerable men yet live with many doubts; but it may be said that 99 percent--as has been declared by an eminent physicist--99 percent of scientific men and working scientists of the world are using this theory without any doubt of its validity. . . .

This science of Evolution is taught in all advanced academies, in all colleges and universities, in all medical and surgical schools, and our children are receiving it as they are the elements of astronomy or botany or chemistry. That in another generation Evolution will be regarded as uncontradictable as the Copernican system of astronomy, or the Newtonian doctrine of gravitation, can scarcely be doubted. Each of these passed through the same contradiction by theologians. They were charged by the Church, as is Evolution now, with fostering materialism, infidelity, and atheism.

We know what befell Galileo for telling the truth of God's primitive revelation. We know, or do not know, at least, how Newton stood charged with infidelity and with atheism when he announced the doctrine of gravitation.

Who doubts the heliocentric theory [of Copernicus] today? Who doubts whether it is the sun which is moving round the earth or the earth round the sun? Who doubts that the law of attraction, as developed by Newton, is God's material law universally? The time is coming when the doctrine of Evolution, or the method of God in the creation of the world, will be just as universally accepted as either of these great physical doctrines. The whole Church fought them; yet they stand, conquerors. . . .

Evolution is substantially held by men of profound Christian faith: by the now venerable and universally honored scientific teacher, Professor Dana of Yale College, a devout Christian and communicant of a Congregational Church; by Professor Le Conte of the University of California, an elder in the Presbyterian Church; by President McCosh of Princeton College, a Presbyterian of the Presbyterians, and a Scotch Presbyterian at that; by Professor Asa Gray of Harvard University, a communicant of the Christian Church; by increasing numbers of Christian preachers in America; by Catholics like Mivart, in England. . . .

To the fearful and the timid let me say that while Evolution is certain to oblige theology to reconstruct its system, it will take nothing away from the grounds of true religion. It will strip off Saul's unmanageable armor from David, to give him greater power over the giant. Simple religion is the unfolding of the best nature of man towards God, and man has been hindered and embittered by the outrageous complexity of unbearable systems of theology that have existed. If you can change theology, you will emancipate religion; yet men are continually confounding the two terms, religion and theology. . . .

Evolution, applied to religion, will influence it only as the hidden temples are restored, by removing the sands which have drifted in from the arid deserts of scholastic and medieval theologies. It will change theology, but only to bring out the simple temple of God in clearer and more beautiful lines and proportions. . . .

In every view, then, it is the duty of the friends and simple and unadulterated Christianity to hail the rising light and to uncover every element of religious teaching to its wholesome beams. Old men may be charitably permitted to die in peace, but young men and men in their prime are by God's providence laid under the most solemn obligations to thus discern the signs of the times, and to make themselves acquainted with the knowledge which science is laying before them. And above all, those zealots of the pulpit who make faces at a science which they do not understand, and who reason from prejudice to ignorance; who not only will not lead their people, but hold up to scorn those who strive to take off the burden of ignorance from their shoulders--these men are found to open their eyes and see God's sun shining in the heavens.

H. W. Beecher, Evolution and Religion (Chicago: The Pilgrim Press, 1885), pp. 50-54.

Samuel Gompers Defends the Saloon (c. 1886)
The Knights of Labor, joining the foes of the saloon, refused to admit liquor sellers to their membership. Their leader, Terence V. Powderly, even accused certain employers of encouraging drink so that the employees would become more content with their underpaid lot. (This argument assumes that docility is preferable to efficiency.) But Samuel Gompers of the American Federation of Labor had a good word to say for the attractively lighted "poor man's club," even though it drained away the family's grocery money. Did the advantages offset the disadvantages?

The saloon was the only club the workingmen had then. For a few cents we could buy a glass of beer and hours of congenial society. Talk in these meeting places had a peculiar freedom from formality that engendered good-fellowship and exchange of genuine intimacies.

The saloon rendered a variety of industrial services. Frequently, wages were paid there--in checks which the saloonkeeper cashed. Of course, it was embarrassing to accept that service without spending money with him.

All too frequently the saloonkeeper also served as an employment agent. But on the other hand the saloonkeeper was often a friend in time of strikes and the free lunch [salty foods to stimulate thirst] he served was a boon to many a hungry striker.

Nearly every saloon had a room or a hall back of it or over it that could be rented for a nominal sum. Of course, the saloon was counting on increased receipts due to gatherings held in the hall. These rooms were practically the only meeting places available to unions, which were poor and small in numbers.

[The continued callousness of "booze barons" resulted in the launching of the Anti-Saloon League in 1893. It supplemented the efforts of the Prohibition party, organized in 1869, and the Woman's Christian Temperance Union, organized in 1874. With mounting zeal the reformers harped on the following arguments: (1) Alcohol was a debauching force in U.S. politics. (2) The rapid mechanization of industry required sobriety for safety and efficiency. (3) The liquor sellers were saddling the taxpayers with the occupants of prisons and poorhouses. But prohibition in the localities and the states was slow in coming. By 1905 only four states had entered the "dry" column: Kansas, Maine, Nebraska, and North Dakota. Success was slowest in the large urban areas, where huge colonies of immigrants had brought with them Old World drinking habits.]

From Seventy Years of Life and Labor by Samuel Gompers, pp. 176, 244-245, 284. Copyright 1925 by Samuel Gompers, renewed (c) 1953 by Gertrude Gleaves Gompers. Used by permission of the publisher, Dutton, an imprint of New American Library, a division of Penguin Books USA, Inc.

Victoria Woodhull Advocates Free Love (1871)
Victoria Woodhull, a brilliant, beautiful, and erratic woman, arrived in New York in 1868 with her sister, Tennessee Celeste Claflin. They quickly emerged as outspoken champions of women's suffrage and of a new egalitarian standard of sexual morality. Woodhull gained wide support from leaders of the suffrage movement when she persuaded the House Judiciary Committee in 1871 to hold hearings on a suffrage amendment. But many of her fellow feminists began to wonder about Woodhull's usefulness to their cause when she accused Horace Greeley, who favored women's suffrage but opposed "free love," of ruining his wife's health and causing the deaths of five of his seven children. She also denounced Catharine Beecher (see Chapter 17, The Beecher Sisters Defend the Home, 1869) as among those "who now clog the wheels of progress, and stand forth as the enemies of their sex . . . doing their utmost to cement the chains of their degradation, giving to man the same power over them as he possesses over his horses and dogs. . . ." Finally, in 1872, Woodhull accused Henry Ward Beecher, probably the most famous American preacher of his day and another friend of women's suffrage, of carrying on an adulterous relationship--an accusation that resulted in a sensational trial that ended in a "jury disagreement." In the article excerpted here, what are Woodhull's views of marriage? How do they differ from those of Catharine Beecher and other traditional women of the day? What might have been the relationship between these views and Woodhull's advocacy of women's suffrage?

Many are the tales of horror and brutal violence that have been related of negro slavery, where the lash of the driver was depicted until their hearers almost felt its stings in their own flesh, and almost the red streams flowing down their own backs, and these appealed to the souls of men and women until they were ready to do whatever was needed to destroy a monster that could cause such suffering to a single human being. But I am fully convinced that all the suffering of all the negro slaves combined, is as nothing in comparison to that which women, as a whole, suffer. There were several millions of negro slaves. There are twenty millions of women slaves. The negroes were dependent upon their masters for all the comforts of life they enjoyed; but it was to the interest of their masters to give them all of these that health demanded. Women are as much dependent upon men for their sustenance as were the negroes upon their masters, lacking the interest that they had in the negroes as personal property.

It is an unpleasant thing to say that women, in many senses, are as much slaves as were the negroes, but if it be true, ought it not to be said? I say, a thousand times, yes! And when the slavery to which they are subjected is compared to that which the negro endured, the demand for its consideration increases again, still a thousand times more.

Perhaps it may be denied that women are slaves, sexually, sold and delivered to man. But I tell you, as a class, that they are, and the conclusion cannot be escaped. Let me convince all doubters of this. Stand before me, all ye married women, and tell me how many of you would remain mistresses of your husbands' homes if you should refuse to cohabit sexually with them? Answer ye this, and then tell me that ye are free, if ye can! I tell ye that you are the sexual slaves of your husbands, bound by as terrible bonds to serve them sexually as ever a negro was bound to serve his owner, physically; and if you don't quite believe it, go home and endeavor to assert your freedom, and see to what it will lead! You may not be made to feel the inevitable lash that followed rebellion on the part of the negro, but even this is not certain; yet lashes of some sort will surely be dealt. Refuse to yield to the sexual demands of your legal master, and ten to one he will turn you into the street, or in lieu of this, perhaps, give you personal violence, even to compelling you to submit by force. Tell me that wives are not slaves! As well might you have done the same of the negroes, who, as the women do not, did not realize their condition!

I offer it as a well-grounded conclusion that I have come to, after years of inquiry and observation, that nine of every ten wives, at some time during their marriage, are compelled, according to the injunction of St. Paul, to submit themselves to their husbands, when every sentiment of their souls revolts to the act; and I feel an answering response coming up to me from many sick souls among you, that shrink in horror from the contemplation of the terrible scenes to which they have been compelled.

Remember, I do not say this is universally true; I do not say that all wives, at all times, are thus situated. Neither were all negro slaves at all times subjected to the lash or to other brutal treatment. The large majority of negroes were well treated and comparatively happy; but they were slaves, nevertheless. The cases of extreme cruelty were really rarer than is generally believed, but they were enough to condemn the system and to cause its terrible washing out by the blood of hundreds of thousands of the brightest souls of the country. So, also, are the cases of extreme cruelty on the part of the husbands not exceedingly common, but they are sufficiently so to condemn the whole system, and to demand, if need be, that it, too, be washed out by the blood, if necessary, of millions of human beings.

For my part I would rather be the labor slave of a master, with his whip cracking continually about my ears, my whole life, than the forced sexual slave of any man a single hour; and I know that every woman who has freedom born in her soul will shout in deepest and earnest response to this--Amen! I know what it is to be both these. I have traveled the city pavements of New York in mid-winter, seeking employment, with nothing on my feet except an old pair of india-rubber shoes, and a common calico dress only to cover my body, while the man who called me wife and who made me his sexual slave, spent his money upon other women. I am not speaking whereof I know not. My case may be thought an extreme one, but I know of thousands even worse. Then tell me I shall not have the right to denounce this damned system! Tell me I shall be sent to Sing Sing [a prison in New York] if I dare expose these things! Open your Sing Sings a thousand times, but none of their terrors shall stop a single word. I will tell the world, so long as I have a tongue and the strength to move it, of all the infernal misery hidden behind this horrible thing called marriage, though the Young Men's Christian Association sentence me to prison a year for every word. I have seen horrors beside which stone walls and iron bars are heaven, and I will not hold my peace so long as a system, that can produce such damnation and by which, as its author, heaven is blasphemed, exists.

Would to Heaven I could thunder these facts forth until women should be moved by a comprehension of the low degradation to which they have fallen, to open rebellion; until they should rise en masse and declare themselves free, resisting all sexual subjection, and utterly refusing to yield their bodies up to man, until they shall grant them perfect freedom. It was not the slaves themselves who obtained their own freedom. It was their noble white brothers of the North, who, seeing their condition, and realizing that though they were black, still that they were brothers, sacrificed themselves for the time to emancipate them. So it will not be the most suffering slaves of this horrible slavery who will accomplish its abolition; but it must be those who know and appreciate the terrible condition, who must, for the time, sacrifice ourselves, that their sisters may come to themselves and to own themselves.

Go preach this doctrine, then, ye who have the strength and the moral courage: No more sexual intercourse for men who do not fully consent that all women shall be free, and who do not besides this, also join the standard of the rebellion. It matters not if you be wife or not, raise your voice for your suffering sex, let the consequences to yourself be what they may. They say I have come to break up the family; I say amen to that with all my heart. I hope I may break up every family in the world that exists by virtue of sexual slavery, and I feel that the smiles of angels, the smiles of those who have gone on before, who suffered here what I have suffered and what thousands are suffering, will give me strength to brave all opposition, and to stand even upon the scaffold, if need be, that my sisters all over the world may be emancipated, may rise from slavery to the full dignity of womanhood.

Victoria C. Woodhull, The Scarecrows of Sexual Slavery (1874), pp. 19-22.

The Life of a Working Girl (1905)
Dorothy Richardson, a fairly well educated, obviously middle-class young woman, was compelled by necessity to seek employment in a New York sweatshop around the turn of the century. She recorded her experiences in a remarkable book, The Long Day, excerpted here. What is her attitude toward the immigrant working-class girls who became her companions and work-mates? Why did these young women work? How were their working conditions different from those of today? Elsewhere in her book, Richardson quoted one of her fellow workers who spoke of "long ago, when they used to treat the girls so bad. Things is ever so much better now." How might the conditions here described have been worse in an earlier day?

Bessie met Eunice and me at the lower right-hand corner of Broadway and Grand Street, and together we applied for work in the R------ Underwear Company, which had advertised that morning for twenty operators.

"Ever run a power Singer?" queried the foreman.

"No, but we can learn. We're all quick," answered Bessie, who had volunteered to act as spokesman.

"Yes, I guess you can learn all right, but you won't make very much at first. All come together? . . . So! Well, then, I guess you'll want to work in the same room," and with that he ushered us into a very inferno of sound, a great, yawning chaos of terrific noise. The girls, who sat in long rows up and down the length of the great room, did not raise their eyes to the newcomers, as is the rule in less strenuous workrooms. Every pair of eyes seemed to be held in fascination upon the flying and endless strip of white that raced through a pair of hands to feed itself into the insatiable maw of the electric sewing-machine. Every face, tense and stony, bespoke a superb effort to concentrate mind and body, and soul itself, literally upon the point of a needle. Every form was crouched in the effort to guide the seam through the presser-foot. And piled between the opposing phalanxes of set faces were billows upon billows of foamy white muslin and lace--the finished garments wrought by the so-many dozen per hour, for the so-many cents per day,--and wrought, too, in this terrific, nerve-racking noise.

The foreman led us into the middle of the room, which was lighted by gas-jets that hung directly over the girls' heads, although the ends of the shop had bright sunshine from the windows. He seemed a good-natured, respectable sort of man, of about forty, and was a Jew. Bessie and me he placed at machines side by side, and Eunice a little farther down the line. Then my first lesson began. He showed me how to thread bobbin and needle, how to operate ruffler and tucker, and also how to turn off and on the electric current which operated the machinery. My first attempt to do the latter was productive of a shock to the nerves that could not have been greater if, instead of pressing the harmless little lever under the machine with my knee, I had accidentally exploded a bomb. The foreman laughed good-naturedly at my fright.

"You'll get used to it by and by," he shouted above the noise; "but like as not for a while you won't sleep very good nights--kind of nervous; but you'll get over that in a week or so," and he ducked his head under the machine to adjust the belt. . . .

I leaned over the machine and practiced at running a straight seam. Ah, the skill of these women and girls, and of the strange creature opposite, who can make a living at this torturing labor! How many different, how infinitely harder it is, as compared with running an ordinary sewing-machine. The goods that my nervous fingers tried to guide ran every wrong way. I had no control whatever over the fearful velocity with which the needle danced along the seam. In utter discouragement, I stopped trying for a moment, and watched the girl at my right. She was a swarthy, thick-lipped Jewess, of the type most common in such places, but I looked at her with awe and admiration. In Rachel Goldberg's case the making of muslin, lace-trimmed corset-covers was an art rather than a craft. She was a remarkable operator even among scores of experts at the R------. Under her stubby, ill-kept hands ruffles and tucks and insertion bands and lace frills were wrought with a beauty and softness of finish, and a speed and precision of workmanship, that made her the wonder and envy of the shop. . . .

Result of my first hour's work: I had spoiled a dozen garments. Try as I would, I invariably lost all control of my materials, and the needle plunged right and left--everywhere, in fact, except along the straight and narrow way laid out for it. . . .

As I spoiled each garment I thrust it into the bottom of a green pasteboard box under the table, which held my allotment of work, and from the top of the box grabbed up a fresh piece. I glanced over my shoulder and saw that Bessie was doing the same thing, although what we were going to do with them, or how account for such wholesale devastation of goods, we were too perturbed to consider. At last, however, after repeated trials, and by guiding the seam with laborious care, I succeeded in completing one garment without disaster; and I had just started another, when--crash!--flying shuttles and spinning bobbins and swirling wheels came to a standstill. My sewing-machine was silent, as were all the others in the great workroom. Something had happened to the dynamo.

There was a howl of disappointment. . . .

Rachel Goldberg had finished four dozen of extra fine garments, which meant seventy-five cents, and it was not yet eleven o'clock. She would make at least one dollar and sixty cents before the day was over, provided we did not have any serious breakdowns. She watched the clock impatiently--every minute she was idle meant a certain fraction of a penny lost,--and crouched sullenly over her machine for the signal. . . .

In half an hour we had resumed work, and at half-past twelve we stopped for another half-hour and ate luncheon--Bessie, Eunice, and I in a corner by ourselves.

We held a conference, and compared notes of the morning's progress, which had been even more discouraging to poor Eunice than to us; for to her it had brought the added misfortune of a row of stitches in her right forefinger. We counted up our profits for the morning, and the aggregate earnings of the three of us did not amount to ten cents. Of course we would learn to do better, but it would take a long, long time, Bessie was firmly convinced, before we could even make enough to buy our lunches. It was decided that one of us should resign the job that night, and the other two keep at it until the delegate found something better for us all and had tested the new job to her satisfaction. Bessie was of course appointed, and the next morning Eunice and I went alone, with plausible excuses for the absent Bessie, for we had a certain delicacy about telling the real facts to so kind a foreman as "Abe."

The second day we had no better luck, and the pain between the shoulderblades was unceasing. All night long I had tossed on my narrow cot, with aching back and nerves wrought up to such a tension that the moment I began to doze off I was wakened by a spasmodic jerk of the right arm as it reached forward to grasp a visionary strip of lace. That evening, as we filed out at six o'clock, Bessie was waiting for us, her gentle face full of radiance and good news. Even the miserable Eunice was affected by her hopefulness.

"Oh, girls, I've got something that's really good--three dollars a week while you're learning, and an awful nice shop; and just think, girls!--the hours--I never had anything like it before, and I've knocked around at eighteen different jobs--half-past eight to five, and--" she paused for breath to announce the glorious fact--"Girls, just think of it!--Saturday afternoons off, all the year round."

From Dorothy Richardson, The Long Day: The Story of the New York Working Girl as Told by Herself (Century Company, 1905), as it appears in William L. O'Neill, Women at Work (Quadrangle, 1972), pp. 203-214.

An Italian Immigrant Woman Faces Life Alone in the Big City (c. 1896)
Rosa Cavalleri came from her native Lombardy, in Italy, to Chicago in 1884. Although she never knew her exact birth date, she was probably about eighteen years old when she arrived in the United States. In later years she recounted her life story to Marie Hall Ets, who was a social worker at the Chicago Commons, a settlement house founded in 1894 by Dr. Graham Taylor, an associate of the pioneering urban reformer Jane Addams. What might have been Rosa Cavalleri's response to Victoria Woodhull's call for free love? What were the most important concerns in Cavalleri's life? Who helped her? What evidence does this account provide of the existence of an immigrant "community"? What was the role of the municipal government in Rosa Cavalleri's life?

The year my Leo was born I was home alone and struggled along with my children. My husband went away because he was sick--he went by a doctor in St. Louis to get cured. The doctor said he must stay away from his home one year and gave him a job to do all the janitor work around his house for five dollars a month and his board. So me, I used to go all around to find the clothes to wash and the scrubbing. The city hall was helping me again in that time--they gave me a little coal and sometimes the basket of food. Bob, the sign painter downstairs, he helped me the most. He was such a good young man. He used to bring a big chunk of coal and chop it up right in my kitchen and fix the stove.

I was to the end of my nine months, but the baby never came. So I went by one woman, Miss' Thomas, and I got part of the clothes washed. Then I said, "Oh Miss' Thomas, I've got to go. I've got the terrible pains!"

She said, "You can go when you finish. You've got to finish first."

"No, I go. Otherwise I'll have to stay in your bed." When I said that she got scared I would have the baby there, so she let me go.

I went by the midwife, Miss' Marino, and told her to come; then I went home. When I saw it was my time, I told Domenico something and sent him with all the children to the wife of Tomaso. I told those people before, when they see the children come they must keep them all night--it's my time. It was really, really my time, and I had such a scare that I would be alone a second time. So when I heard a lady come in the building--she lived downstairs--I called to her. She said, "I have no time." And she didn't come up.

I was on my bed all alone by myself and then I prayed Saint' Antoni with all my heart. I don't know why I prayed Saint' Antoni--the Madonna put it in my mind. And then, just when the baby was born, I saw Saint' Antoni right there! He appeared in the room by me! I don't think it was really Saint' Antoni there, but in my imagination I saw him--all light like the sun. I saw Saint' Antoni there by my bed, and right then the door opened and the midwife came in to take care of the baby! It was February seventh and six below zero. There I had him born all alone, but Miss' Marino came when I prayed Saint' Antoni. She washed the baby and put him by me, but then she ran away. She didn't light the fire or nothing.

Oh, that night it was so cold! And me in my little wooden house in the alley with the walls all frosting--thick white frosting. I was crying and praying, "How am I going to live?" I said. "Oh, Saint' Antoni, I'll never live till tomorrow morning! I'll never live till the morning!"

And just as I prayed my door opened and a lady came in. She had a black shawl twice around her neck and head and that shawl came down to her nose. All I could see was half the nose and the mouth. She came in and lighted both the stoves. Then she came and looked at me, but I couldn't see her face. I said, "God bless you!"

She just nodded her head up and down and all the time said not one word, only "Sh, sh."

Then she went down in the basement herself, nobody telling her nothing, and she got the coal and fixed the fire. Pretty soon she found that little package of camomile tea I had there on the dresser and she made a little tea with the hot water. And that woman stayed by me almost till daylight. But all the time she put her finger to her mouth to tell me to keep still when I tried to thank her. And I never knew where that lady came from! I don't know yet! Maybe she was the spirit of that kind girl, Annina, in Canaletto? I don't know. I really don't know! I was so sick and I didn't hear her voice or see her face. All the time she put her finger on her mouth and said, "Sh, sh." And when the daylight came she was gone.

About seven o'clock morning my children came home. And Miss' Marino, that midwife, she came at eight o'clock and said, "It's so cold I thought I'd find you dead!"

Then here came the city hall, or somebody, with a wagon. They wanted to take me and my new baby to the hospital. But how could I leave all my children? I started to cry--I didn't want to go. And my children cried too--they didn't want me to leave them. So then they didn't make me. They pulled my bed away from the frosting on the wall and put it in the front room by the stove. And my baby, I had him wrapped up in a pad I made from the underskirt like we do in Italia. But that baby froze when he was born; he couldn't cry like other babies--he was crying weak, weak.

My Visella was bringing up the wood and the coal and trying to make that room warm. But she was only a little girl, she didn't know, and she filled that stove so full that all the pipes on the ceiling caught fire. I had to jump up from the bed and throw the pails of water so the house wouldn't burn down. Then God sent me help again. He sent that Miss Mildred from the settlement house. She didn't know about me and my Leo born; she was looking for some other lady and she came to my door and saw me. She said, "Oh, I have the wrong place."

"I said, "No, lady, you find the right place."

So she came in and found out all. Then she ran away and brought back all those little things the babies in America have. She felt sorry to see my baby banded up like I had him. She didn't know then, Miss Mildred, that the women in Italia always band their babies that way. And she brought me something to eat too--for me and for my children. That night another young lady from the Commons, Miss May, she came and slept in my house to take care of the fire. She was afraid for the children--maybe they would burn themselves and the house. Oh, that Miss Mildred and Miss May, they were angels to come and help me like that! Four nights Miss May stayed there and kept the fire going. They were high-up educated girls--they were used to sleeping in the warm house with the plumbing--and there they came and slept in my wooden house in the alley, and for a toilet they had to go down to that shed under the sidewalk. They were really, really friends! That time I had my Leo nobody knew I was going to have the baby--I looked kind of fat, that's all. These women in the settlement house were so surprised. They said, "Why you didn't tell us before, Miss' Cavalleri, so we can help you?"

You know that Miss' Thomas--I was washing her clothes when the baby started to come--she wanted a boy and she got a baby girl right after my baby was born. When I went there the next week to do the washing I had to carry my baby with me. When she saw him she said, "Well better I have a girl than I have a boy that looks like your baby! He looks for sure like a monkey!"

In the first beginning he did look like a monkey, but in a few weeks he got pretty. He got so pretty all the people from the settlement house came to see him. After two or three months there was no baby in Chicago prettier than that baby.

When the year was over for him, my husband came home from St. Louis. He didn't sent me the money when he was there--just two times the five dollars--so he brought twenty-five dollars when he came back. Oh, he was so happy when he saw that baby with exactly, exactly his face and everything--the same dark gold hair and everything--and so beautiful. But he saw that baby was so thin and pale and couldn't cry like the other babies. "Better I go by a good doctor and see," he said. "I've got twenty-five dollars--I'm going to get a good doctor." So he did.

But the doctor said, "That baby can't live. He was touched in the lungs with the cold. Both lungs got froze when he was born."

And sure enough he was all the time sick and when it was nine months he died. My first Leo and my second Leo I lose them both. Oh, I was brokenhearted to lose such a beautiful baby! . . .

Marie Hall Ets, Rosa: The Life of an Italian Immigrant (1970), pp. 228-231. University of Minnesota Press, Minneapolis. 

Jane Addams Demands the Vote for Women (1910)
Jane Addams (1860-1935) was a multitalented reformer who battled for women's rights, urban reform, and international peace (she was awarded the Nobel Peace Prize in 1931). In 1889 she helped to found Chicago's Hull House, one of the earliest settlement houses that worked to improve living conditions in the slums. A keen observer of the conditions that shaped people's lives in the new environment of the cities, she soon found in the movement toward urbanization a powerful set of arguments on behalf of granting the vote to women. In the following selection, what points are most effective in her demand for the suffrage? Does she view the suffrage as an extension of women's traditional role or as a means for transforming that role?

This paper is an attempt to show that many women today are failing to discharge their duties to their own households properly simply because they do not perceive that as society grows more complicated it is necessary that woman shall extend her sense of responsibility to many things outside of her own home if she would continue to preserve the home in its entirety. One could illustrate in many ways. A woman's simplest duty, one would say, is to keep her house clean and wholesome and to feed her children properly. Yet if she lives in a tenement house, as so many of my neighbors do, she cannot fulfill these simple obligations by her own efforts because she is utterly dependent upon the city administration for the conditions which render decent living possible. Her basement will not be dry, her stairways will not be fireproof, her house will not be provided with sufficient windows to give light and air, nor will it be equipped with sanitary plumbing, unless the Public Works Department sends inspectors who constantly insist that these elementary decencies be provided. Women who live in the country sweep their own dooryards and may either feed the refuse of the table to a flock of chickens or allow it innocently to decay in the open air and sunshine. In a crowded city quarter, however, if the street is not cleaned by the city authorities no amount of private sweeping will keep the tenement free from grime; if the garbage is not properly collected and destroyed a tenement-house mother may see her children sicken and die of diseases from which she alone is powerless to shield them, although her tenderness and devotion are unbounded. She cannot even secure untainted meat for her household, she cannot provide fresh fruit, unless the meat has been inspected by city officials and [unless] the decayed fruit, which is so often placed upon sale in the tenement districts, has been destroyed in the interests of public health. In short, if woman would keep on with her old business of caring for her house and rearing her children she will have to have some conscience in regard to public affairs lying quite outside of her immediate household. The individual conscience and devotion are no longer effective. . . .

. . . [There] are certain primary duties which belong to even the most conservative women. . . . The first of these . . . is woman's responsibility for the members of her own household that they may be properly fed and clothed and surrounded by hygienic conditions. The second is a responsibility for the education of children: (a) that they may be provided with good schools; (b) that they may be kept free from vicious influences on the street; (c) that when working they may be protected by adequate child-labor legislation.

(a) The duty of a woman toward the schools which her children attend is so obvious that it is not necessary to dwell upon it. But even this simple obligation cannot be effectively carried out without some form of social organization as the mothers' school clubs and mothers' congresses testify, and to which the most conservative women belong because they feel the need for wider reading and discussion concerning the many problems of childhood. It is, therefore, perhaps natural that the public should have been more willing to accord a vote to women in school matters than in any other, and yet women have never been members of a Board of Education in sufficient numbers to influence largely actual school curriculi. If they had been kindergartens, domestic science courses and school playgrounds would be far more numerous than they are. More than once woman has been convinced of the need of the ballot by the futility of her efforts in persuading a business man that young children need nurture in something besides the three r's. Perhaps, too, only women realize the influence which the school might exert upon the home if a proper adaptation to actual needs were considered. An Italian girl who has had lessons in cooking at the public school will help her mother to connect the entire family with American food and household habits. . . .

(b) But women are also beginning to realize that children need attention outside of school hours; that much of the petty vice in cities is merely the love of pleasure gone wrong, the over restrained boy or girl seeking improper recreation and excitement. It is obvious that a little study of the needs of children, a sympathetic understanding of the conditions under which they go astray, might save hundreds of them. Women traditionally have had an opportunity to observe the plays of children and the needs of youth, and yet in Chicago, at least they had done singularly little in this vexed problem of juvenile delinquency until they helped to inaugurate the Juvenile Court movement a dozen years ago. . . .

. . . (c) As the education of her children has been more and more transferred to the school, so that even children four years old go to the kindergarten, the woman has been left in a household of constantly-narrowing interests, not only because the children are away, but also because one industry after another is slipping from the household into the factory. Ever since steam power has been applied to the process of weaving and spinning woman's traditional work has been carried on largely outside of the home. The clothing and household linen are not only spun and woven, but also usually sewed, by machinery; the preparation of many foods has also passed into the factory and necessarily a certain number of women have been obliged to follow their work there, although it is doubtful, in spite of the large number of factory girls, whether women now are doing as large a portion of the world's work as they used to do. Because many thousands of those working in factories and shops are girls between the ages of fourteen and twenty-two there is a necessity that older women should be interested in the conditions of industry. The very fact that these girls are not going to remain in industry permanently makes it more important that some one should see to it that they shall not be incapacitated for their future family life because they work for exhausting hours and under unsanitary conditions.

If woman's sense of obligation had enlarged as the industrial conditions changed she might naturally and almost imperceptibly have inaugurated the movements for social amelioration in the line of factory legislation and shop sanitation. That she has not done so is doubtless due to the fact that her conscience is slow to recognize any obligation outside of her own family circle, and because she was so absorbed in her own household that she failed to see what the conditions outside actually were. It would be interesting to know how far the consciousness that she had no vote and could not change matters operated in this direction. After all, we see only those things to which our attention has been drawn, we feel responsibility for those things which are brought to us as matters of responsibility. If conscientious women were convinced that it was a civic duty to be informed in regard to these grave industrial affairs, and then to express the conclusions which they had reached by depositing a piece of paper in a ballot-box, one cannot imagine that they would shirk simply because the action ran counter to old traditions. . . .

In a complex community like the modern city all points of view need to be represented; the resultants of diverse experiences need to be pooled if the community would make for sane and balanced progress. If it would meet fairly each problem as it arises, whether it be connected with a freight tunnel having to do largely with business men, or with the increasing death rate among children under five years of age, a problem in which women are vitally concerned, or with the question of more adequate street-car transfers, in which both men and women might be said to be equally interested, it must not ignore the judgments of its entire adult population.

To turn the administration of our civic affairs wholly over to men may mean that the American city will continue to push forward in its commercial and industrial development, and continue to lag behind in those things which make a city healthful and beautiful. After all, woman's traditional function has been to make her dwelling-place both clean and fair. Is that dreariness in city life, that lack of domesticity which the humblest farm dwelling presents, due to a withdrawal of one of the naturally coöperating forces? If women have in any sense been responsible for the gentler side of life which softens and blurs some of its harsher conditions, may they not have a duty to perform in our American cities?

In closing, may I recapitulate that if woman would fulfill her traditional responsibility to her own children; if she would educate and protect from danger factory children who must find their recreation on the street; if she would bring the cultural forces to bear upon our materialistic civilization; and if she would do it all with the dignity and directness fitting one who carries on her immemorial duties, then she must bring herself to the use of the ballot--that latest implement for self-government.

May we not fairly say that American women need this implement in order to preserve the home?

Jane Addams, "Why Women Should Vote," Ladies' Home Journal 27 (January 1910): 21-22.