Haymarket (42 page)

And remember, too, that not everything you read in the newspapers—no, not even in the labor press—is true. Surely you, if anyone, knows that! How many times have you seen yourself misquoted, a particular sentence highlighted in a way that distorts your meaning? Sometimes when I read
an account of a speech I gave the night before, I can barely recognize the sentiments as my own, to say nothing of the complete absence of feeling and gesture that accompanied and gave sense to the words.

Let me caution you in one other regard. As you and I agreed before I left, the country’s enormous interest in the trial and verdict presents an opportunity that must be seized. Whenever a speech of mine is announced, whether to an
IWPA
local or to the privileged young men at Yale, the turnout is almost always tremendous. Some of my audiences are ignorant about labor conditions, and even at trade union meetings I find astounding misconceptions about the meaning of anarchism—they think we’re nihilists and dynamiters, and they know nothing of our vision for a more humane society.
They desperately need education
, and I’m giving it to them. I continue to be told that I’m a striking presence on the platform and a forceful orator, and that I’ve begun the job of leading the
masses
toward anarchism.

And do you know what, Albert? I enjoy hearing the compliments. I admit it. I enjoy the attention and admiration. I try not to blame myself for the personal gratification the tour is bringing me, though I hear whisperings that I “love notoriety” and have become “bombastic with self-importance.” Well, let them whisper! I have nothing to apologize for, certainly not for being forceful and effective, however widely those qualities are disapproved of in a woman. You always said I was ambitious and—thank you!—did not think it a fault. None of us is free of ego, though many pretend to be. The egoism, however, must be kept subservient to the cause.

I want to confess something else to you: I’m relishing the opportunity to speak my own mind. I say “confess” because I realize that some of what I say won’t meet with your approval, especially when I insist that any and all means are justified in destroying a social system that is itself based on the constant employment of violence. I know you have far graver doubts on this point than I, and I know, too, that emphasizing such a point at this critical moment runs the risk of heightening public sentiment against you. I’m trying my best to strike a proper balance between the need truthfully to proclaim what I stand for, and the need to declare your innocence of advocating force for any purpose other than self-defense. I wrestle with this dilemma constantly, and believe that I’m successfully fulfilling both missions.

Please tell me that you believe in me and what I am doing on your behalf … I could not go on if I thought otherwise …

Ever your devoted Lucy

Cook County Jail, Chicago
October 25, 1886

My Dearest Lucy,

You and I are no strangers to misunderstandings and disagreements. That we’ve not had many more in our married life puts us apart from most couples. Given the nervous strain under which we live, it’s remarkable that we don’t strike out at each other more often. Your letter said all that need be said. I do not doubt your love. We know our hearts beat in unison.

I have considerable news for you, much of it, alas, unsettling. Sam Fielden has had word of his beloved father’s death in Lancashire; he is low in spirit. Neebe, too, is under great strain. His wife, Meta, has fallen seriously ill and her recovery is in doubt. You remember what a timid soul she is, how reliant on Neebe for all practical decisions. Indeed, she’s so afraid of getting on a streetcar by herself that her visits to the jail have been infrequent. As the weeks have led into months, Neebe’s absence from home has driven her into a kind of emotional paralysis. The doctors talk vaguely of a “nervous collapse,” since they’ve been unable to pinpoint any physical disorder. She seems to weaken by the day; let’s hope her decline can yet be arrested.

Also, Hortensia Black has come under attack. It seems Judge Gary’s verdict stunned and infuriated her—I suppose the good Captain, in his optimistic way, had been leading her to expect a quite different outcome. In her anger, Hortensia sent off a letter to the
Chicago Daily News
defending us in the most outspoken way. In case you’ve not seen it, I’ll quote part of what she wrote: “I have never known an anarchist, did not know what the term meant, until my husband became counsel for the defense. When I learned the facts, I became assured in my own mind that the wrong men had been arrested … During all of that long trial a kind of soul crucifixion was imposed upon me. Often I would recall reverently those words of my Divine Master: ‘For which of my good works do you
stone me?’ … Anarchy is simply a human effort to bring about the millennium. Why do we want to hang men for that, when every pulpit has thundered that the time is near at hand?”

The press is heaping scorn and outrage on her. As you can imagine, the reference to Jesus, which parallels Captain Black’s during his summation in court, has generated the most indignation. She’s been called everything from a blasphemer to a “moral degenerate.” It’s been very hard on her, but I’ve selfishly taken comfort in learning that so noble-hearted a woman believes in our goodness and innocence.

When is your next visit to the children? Much too much time has passed since they’ve seen either of us.

All my love,
Albert

Bridgeport, Connecticut
November 5, 1886

Dearest Husband,

I had intended to write before this, but I’ve been utterly consumed with a nonstop series of speeches, dinners, rallies, and the like. Even now, I must be brief, since a committee is due any minute to cart me off to address the local
IWPA
.

In terms of political importance, the biggest event has been the Knights of Labor convention. I’ll save all details for when I see you—only three more weeks!—but (this much you may already know) the sympathetic resolution that passed did so over Powderly’s furious opposition. He said the defendants are owed not sympathy but “a debt of hatred” for managing to turn the public mind against “decent, law-abiding workers and their legitimate demands.” He’s not alone among trade-unionists in endorsing the court verdict. They’re terrified of being identified with “extremists.” Yet more and more people are realizing how biased and unfair the trial was, and the tide of opinion among the working class is turning in our favor. Powderly’s threat to expel any affiliate of the Knights that expresses support for us is being increasingly defied by the local assemblies.

Powderly told the editor of the
Labor Enquirer
, Burnette Haskell, who told me, that he’s long had proof—some of it, he claims, provided by your brother!—that all eight of you
are
assassins. “If you have proof, sir, than why have you withheld it?” Haskell asked. “Because I’m not a detective and it’s none of my business,” Powderly dared to reply—he who has made it his business to defame us over and over again. His latest sally is to insist that I’m not your proper wife, that we live together but are not married. He also asserts that I am a woman of “bad reputation” and adds, in his sly way, that no woman, “white or negro, who tramps around the country,” can be thought of as respectable.

Can you believe it?! I suppose if
he
were under sentence of death he’d counsel his wife to spend her time in church, or maybe in sewing samplers of the Virgin Mary to hang in their living room! The contemptible man is doing everything he can to undermine my credibility, but Haskell has taken up the challenge for me. He angrily informed Powderly that you and I are “regularly married,” and that as for the attribution to William, your brother has publicly defended you throughout, and is currently hard at work on a book about the corruption and bias of the trial. None of which, Haskell told me, seemed to make a dent on Powderly. So be it. The leader of the labor movement in America is now our declared enemy. But the average worker is not. Johann Most has written a reply to Powderly in
Die Freiheit
, referring to him as “the Grand Master Rat”! Most may not be your favorite person, but he does get some things right.

Please try not to concern yourself overly about the children. I got to see them briefly last week—and will again by midmonth. They’re being cared for devotedly by the Hoan family and other friends. Albert Jr. is reading well enough to follow some of the newspaper stories (though the more hostile sections are concealed from him) and he’s constantly plying everyone with questions about when you will be released, when he will see you again, etc. “Soon,” everyone reassures him, “very soon.” He seems to understand that you’re being held unjustly, and is very angry at the bad men who are hurting his father. Lulu was briefly ill; there was some fear of a glandular disorder, but though there’s still no diagnosis, the fever and sore throat have abated and she seems very nearly her old self.

I know how eager you are to hold the children in your arms, but we must put their welfare first. When I return at the end of the month, I’ll have to permanently close down the dress shop. Even if I had enough customers left, I
wouldn’t have the time to fill their orders. That means we’ll no longer be able to afford the apartment. I’ll have to find a third-floor walkup somewhere, doubtless with minimal amenities; that, in my opinion, would be too difficult an adjustment for the children after the open spaces and beauty of Waukesha. They are better left where they are. Possibly I could ask the Defense Committee to supplement our rent and we could stay put. But I think we agree that the receipts from my lecturing should be spent entirely on legal costs. We can talk more about all this once I’m back in Chicago …

As you know, I’ll only be able to stay for a few short days because once the stay is issued, as I’m certain it will be, the Defense Committee wants me to undertake a western tour. The more I lecture, the more militant I become, though I try hard not to go too far, lest it jeopardize our appeal. Did I tell you that in Orange, New Jersey, when an armed guard tried to prevent me from entering the hall, I kicked in the door? No one laid a hand on me after that, and I did get to deliver my speech.

I forget, have we shared our reactions to the unveiling of the Statue of Liberty in New York Harbor? Mine was simple: why did no one think to plant a bomb?

They’ve come for me … I must close—we are late.

Ever,
Your Lucy

Cook County Jail, Chicago
November 12, 1886

Dearest Wife (despite what Powderly says!),

Your exuberance comes bounding through your letters. How I envy you, out among people,
breathing the air!
Sitting here in this stone cell, forced day after day to perform the same mechanical routines, I remember well the thrill of standing up before a crowd, their appreciative cheers filling me with a sense of purpose. I say this not to elicit pity, but to encourage you to enjoy the acclaim and the sense of purpose it gives. Don’t enjoy it so much, of course, that you decide not to come back. Just think, dearest, in less than two weeks we’ll again be together, or as together as we can be with iron mesh separating us and armed guards breathing on us.