Confessions of a Woman Lecturer

THE tribulations of the woman lecturer are many; and the first is her pursuit. Why should she speak in public, if she dislikes the occupation ? asks the Sensible Reader. Sensible Reader, the answer would carry us far afield into psychological mysteries. Suffice it to say that even a woman may he so interested in the subjects of her love that she cannot refrain from telling other people about them. Moreover, so extraordinarily prevalent in this queer country of ours is the desire of being lectured to, that the many women beset by appeals to speak may almost say, in the immortal words of Lady Laura Etchingham, “It is expected of us.” Be these things as they may, one may shudder, yet accept; one may long for the Ingle and the Stocking, yet be fated to the Platform, the Glass of Water, the Floral Tribute, and the Attentive Throng.

Dim reports I have indeed heard from regions afar of “platform women” who gloried in their shame. There are other women, perhaps a number of them, who yearn toward platform and publicity as toward an unattained Paradise. One such I met once, — a large lady, of sonorous voice. “ I know,” she said to me, with resonant emphasis, “ that my proper sphere would be the Platform. Why else did the Lord give me such an organ ? I could fill a hall of ten thousand people with this organ. The only trouble with me is ” — she sighed with deep regret — “I think and I think, and I cannot seem to find anything in particular that I could say.” “ Would that all public speakers, men and women, were so dowered with self - knowledge ! ” I exclaimed inwardly; but I mused in sadness on the perversity of the little imps who withheld the longed - for joy from this deep-throated lady, while they forced my shrinking self before the footlights !

One, at least, of these feminine victims — or tyrants — of the public, — whichever you choose to consider them, — suffers unspeakable things when she lectures, from the constant presence of a certain Auditor. Whether she face a Woman’s Club or a College audience, a Charity Conference, or a University Extension meeting, this Auditor is there. He is a burly man, of not ungenial aspect, in brown coat of antiquated cut, and a snuffy, crooked wig. At one point or another of the address she catches sight of him; terribly often it is when an emotional climax has been reached, and the flushed lecturer, pausing in her flow of words, feels a little tingle return upon her from the hushed, vibrating audience. At such a sweet moment as this — for that the Woman Lecturer has her sweet moments I attempt not to deny — that Auditor rises ; his gruff if ghostly tones break in familiar words upon the silence : “ Sir,” — he always remarks, — though sometimes no Sirs are present, — “ Sir, a woman speaking in public is like a dog standing upon its hind legs ; the thing is very badly done, but the wonder is that it is done at all.” Shall I confess further ? I am tormented on the platform — doubtless from the hypnotic suggestion conveyed in these words — by the phantom presence of the little dog to whom my Auditor refers. He is always a black and tan, with one yellow ear. The inevitable desk and frequent floral decorations conceal him from the audience ; but I see him. He presses close to my skirts, he rears his tiny figure with mincing grace, he dances precariously about, accenting my periods, and occasionally when my eloquence flags I behold him with horror dropping crestfallen upon his hind feet. Worst of all, miserable and disconcerting fact, his little red jaws follow the motions of my own. Tell me, O my sister lecturers, are you similarly afflicted ? Tell me, O Sensible Reader, may not this be called a tribulation ?

In the presence of this ghostly accompaniment all minor inconveniences fade away. Yet they are many. Would you learn to know human nature, O ye who do not lecture, put yourselves as speakers at the disposal of a Cause. Not that the knowledge you acquire will be wholly unpleasant. Kindly arrangements will often be made for your comfort; you will even, I admit, gain as lecturer a hidden joy in a singularly happy sense of fellowship with your brother men. Yet, if I mistake not, you will have occasion greatly to marvel at the expectations of the public. Hold yourself ready to attend a Federation five hundred miles away, — expenses paid one way, no other perquisites, — for the privilege of occupying fifteen minutes in presenting your world-wide theme, — I have even known the limit to be ten. “ In order to secure variety,” says the note of invitation, “ the other addresses of the evening will be upon the Theory of Mental Healing, and the Best Novels of the Past Six Weeks.” — Or, it may be, you will be asked to betake yourself in midwinter to a distant village on the Northern seacoast, where a Woman’s Club has just been formed: “The Club is not able to offer any fees, but the ladies do so much want to hear you. They wonder if the offer of a week’s board at Mrs. Brown’s would not be acceptable to you ? That would be a very nice arrangement for them, as the lecture has sometimes to be deferred two or three days, since the Club does not try to meet in stormy weather.” I gave them to her. I do not remember what they were, but I recall that she went away in deep content, the dusty reports of fifteen reform movements clasped ardently, among other matter, to her capacious bosom. I have not heard from her since, and she sent me no copy of the paper, which, as I discovered, she was proposing to edit for the benefit of the women of her native state.

But why continue ? Many a tribulation turns into joy when one has a sense of humor. And then, there are the compensating Tributes ! Space forbids me to cull from my choice collection more than two : “ I don’t know how to thank you for your lecture,” said an effusive hearer to me once. “ It was simply the most eloquent mosaic I ever listened to.” Better than this, best and most heartening of all, was my experience with a Lady who lives forever in the family annals as my Disciple from Nebraska. She was portly and of majestic mien, and throughout my talk she fixed me with her eye. The lecture over, — I remember that it was a lecture on Shelley,—she made her impressive way through the circle of sympathetic people who always press up to the speaker with comment and question. The circle opened before her ; with large gesture she clasped my hand, and gazed on me in silence. A tear welled up in her eye. I returned her gaze, spellbound ; the others waited; would she never speak ? At last the words came, slow and loud: —

“In the name of your suffering sisters of Nebraska, I give you thanks,” she said.

I gasped. I know now that I might have said, “ Thank Shelley,” but at the time this did not occur to me. Beside, she was going on.

“ And now,” she continued with fervor, “still in the name of your sisters, I ask you a further favor. I ask you for data.”

The lecturer is accustomed to be asked for anything and everything in the way of intellectual wares : “ I shall be happy if I have any that can be of service,” I replied obligingly. “ Data on what ? ”

My Disciple paused, glancing at the listening group: —

“ Data on any subject which you can give will be a boon, indeed, to your sisters in Nebraska.”

I caught a twinkle in the eye of a friend, and was lost. Hastily composing my features, I gave the lady from Nebraska an appointment, — she wouldn’t go without one, — and escaped.

The next morning, when she was announced, I went down to find her standing, arms on hips, gravely scrutinizing an engraving of Mona Lisa. She turned to me, the light of appreciation in her eyes.

“ I call her plain,” she remarked, with cheery accent. “ Now, how about those data ? ”