You know my queer old protégé, Uncle Tiff, who lives in the woods here. For some time past I have been to his house every day, reading to him in the Testament, and it has had a very great effect on me. It affected me very much, in the first place, that he seemed so very earnest about religion, when I, who ought to know so much more, was so indifferent to it; and when the old creature, with tears in his eyes, actually insisted upon it that I should show his children the road to heaven, then I began to read to him the Testament, the life of Jesus. I didn’t know myself how beautiful it was — how suited to all our wants. It seemed to me I never saw so much beauty in anything before; and it seems as if it had waked a new life in me. Everything is changed; and it is the beauty of Christ that has changed it. You know I always loved beauty above all things, in music, in nature, and in flowers; but it seems to me that I see something now in Jesus more beautiful than all. It seems as if all these had been shadows of beauty, but He is the substance. It is strange, but I have a sense of him, his living and presence, that sometimes almost overpowers me. It seems as if he had been following me always, but I had not seen him. He has been a good shepherd, seeking the thoughtless lamb. He has, all my life, been calling me child; but till lately my heart has never answered, Father! Is this religion? Is this what people mean by conversion? I tried to tell Aunt Nesbit how I felt, because now I feel kinder to everybody; and really my heart smote me to think how much fun I had made of her, and now I begin to love her very much. She was so anxious I should talk with Mr. Titmarsh, because he is a minister. Well, you know I didn’t want to do it, but I thought I ought to, because poor aunty really seemed to feel anxious I should. I suppose, if I were as perfect as I ought to be, a good man’s stiff ways wouldn’t trouble me so. But stiff people, you know, are my particular temptation.
He came and made a pastoral call, the other day, and talked to me. I don’t think he understood me very well, and I’m sure I didn’t understand him. He told me how many kinds of faith there were, and how many kinds of love. I believe there were three kinds of faith, and two kinds of love; and he thought it was important to know whether I had got the right kind. He said we ought not to love God because he loves us, but because he is holy. He wanted to know whether I had any just views of sin, as an infinite evil; and I told him I hadn’t the least idea of what infinite was; and that I hadn’t any views of anything, but the beauty of Christ; that I didn’t understand anything about the different sorts of faith, but that I felt perfectly sure that Jesus is so good that he would make me feel right, and give me right views, and do everything for me that I need.
He wanted to know if I loved him because he magnified the law, and made it honorable; and I told him I didn’t understand what that meant.
I don’t think, on the whole, that the talk did me much good. It only confused me, and made me very uncomfortable. But I went out to Old Tiff’s in the evening, and read how Jesus received the little children. You never saw anybody so delighted as Old Tiff was. He got me to read it to him three or four times over; and now he gets me to read it every time I go there, and he says he likes it better than any other part of the Testament. Tiff and I get along very well together. He doesn’t know any more about faith than I do, and hasn’t any better views than I have. Aunt Nesbit is troubled about me, because I’m so happy. She says she’s afraid I haven’t any sense of sin. Don’t you remember my telling you how happy I felt the first time I heard real music? I thought, before that, that I could sing pretty well; but in one hour all my music became trash in my eyes. And yet, I would not have missed it for the world. So it is now. That beautiful life of Jesus — so sweet, so calm, so pure, so unselfish, so perfectly natural, and yet so far beyond nature — has shown me what a poor, sinful, low creature I am; and yet I rejoice. I feel, sometimes, as I did when I first heard a full orchestra play some of Mozart’s divine harmonies. I forgot that I was alive; I lost all thought of myself entirely; and I was perfectly happy. So it is now. This loveliness and beauty that I see makes me happy without any thought of myself. It seems to me, sometimes, that while I see it I never can suffer.
There is another thing that is strange to me; and that is, that the Bible has grown so beautiful to me. It seems to me that it has been all my life like the transparent picture, without any light behind it; and now it is all illuminated, and its words are full of meaning to me. I am light hearted and happy — happier than ever I was. Do you remember, the first day you came to Canema, that I told you it seemed so sad that we must die? That feeling is all gone, now. I feel that Jesus is everywhere, and that there is no such thing as dying; it is only going out of one room into another.
Everybody wonders to see how light hearted I am; and poor aunty says, “she trembles for me.” I couldn’t help thinking of that, the other morning I was reading to Tiff, — what Jesus said when they asked him why his disciples did not fast: “Can the children of the bride-chamber mourn while the bridegroom is with them!”
Now, my dear friend, you must tell me what you think of all this, because, you know, I always tell you everything. I have written to Livy about it, because I know it will make her so happy. Milly seems to understand it all, and what she says to me really helps me very much. I always used to think that Milly had some strange, beautiful kind of inward life, that I knew nothing of, because she would speak with so much certainty of God’s love, and act as if it was so real to her; and she would tell me so earnestly, “Chile, he loves you!” Now I see into it — that mystery of his love to us, and how he overcomes and subdues all things by love; and I understand how “perfect love casteth out fear.”
To this letter Nina soon received an answer, from which also we give an extract: —
If I was so happy, my dearest one, as to be able to awaken that deeper and higher nature which I always knew was in you, I thank God. But if I ever was in any respect your teacher, you have passed beyond my teachings now. Your childlike simplicity of nature makes you a better scholar than I in that school where the first step is to forget all our worldly wisdom and become a little child. We men have much more to contend with, in the pride of our nature, in our habits of worldly reasoning. It takes us long to learn the lesson that faith is the highest wisdom. Don’t trouble your head, dear Nina, with Aunt Nesbit or Mr. Titmarsh. What you feel is faith. They define it, and you feel it. And there’s all the difference between the definition and the feeling that there is between the husk and the corn.
As for me, I am less happy than you. Religion seems to me to have two parts to it. One part is the aspiration of man’s nature, and the other is God’s answer to those aspirations. I have, as yet, only the first; perhaps, because I am less simple and less true; perhaps, because I am not yet become a little child. So you must be my guide, instead of I yours; for I believe it is written of the faithful, that a little child shall lead them.
I am a good deal tried now, my dear, because I am coming to a crisis in my life. I am going to take a step that will deprive me of many friends, of popularity, and that will, perhaps, alter all my course for the future. But if I should lose friends and popularity, you would love me still, would you not? It is wronging you to ask such a question; but yet I should like to have you answer it. It will make me stronger for what I have to do. On Thursday of this week my case will come on again. I am very busy just now; but the thought of you mingles with every thought.
CHAPTER XXXIII
THE LEGAL DECISION
THE time for the session of the Supreme Court had now arrived, and Clayton’s cause was to be reconsidered. Judge Clayton felt exceedingly chagrined as the time drew near. Being himself the leading judge of the Supreme Court, the declaration of the bench would necessarily be made known through him.
“It is extremely painful to me,” he said to Mrs. Clayton, “to have this case referred to me; for I shall be obliged to reverse the decision.”
“Well,” said Mrs. Clayton, “Edward must have fortitude to encounter the usual reverses of his profession. He made a gallant de
fense, and received a great deal of admiration, which will not be at all lessened by this.”
“You do not understand me,” said Judge Clayton. “It is not the coming out in opposition to Edward which principally annoys me. It is the nature of the decision that I am obliged to make — the doctrine that I feel myself forced to announce.”
“And must you, then?” said Mrs. Clayton.
“Yes, I must,” said Judge Clayton. “A judge can only perceive and declare. What I see, I must speak, though it go against all my feelings and all my sense of right.”
“I don’t see, for my part,” said Mrs. Clayton, “how that decision can possibly be reversed, without allowing the most monstrous injustice.”
“Such is the case,” said Judge Clayton; “but I sit in my seat, not to make laws, nor to alter them, hut simply to declare what they are. However had the principle declared, it is not so had as the proclamation of a falsehood would be. I have sworn truly to declare the laws, and I must keep my oath.”
“And have you talked with Edward about it?”
“Not particularly. He understands, in general, the manner in which the thing lies in my mind.”
This conversation took place just before it was time for Judge Clayton to go to his official duties.
The court - room, on this occasion, was somewhat crowded. Barker, being an active, resolute, and popular man, with a certain class, had talked up a considerable excitement with regard to his case. Clayton’s friends were interested in it on his account; lawyers were, for the sake of the principle; so that, upon the whole, there was a good deal of attention drawn towards this decision.
Among the spectators, on the morning of the court, Clayton remarked Harry. For reasons which our readers may appreciate, Harry’s presence there was a matter of interest to Clayton. He made his way towards him.
“Harry,” he said, “how came you here?”
“The ladies,” said Harry, “thought they would like to know how the thing went, and so I got on to my horse and came over.”
As he spoke he placed in Clayton’s hand a note, and as the paper touched his hand, a close spectator might have seen the color rise in his cheek. He made his way back to his place, and opened a law-book, which he held up before his face. Inside the law-book, however, was a little sheet of gilt-edged paper, on which were written a few words in pencil, more interesting than all the law in the world. Shall we commit the treason of reading over his shoulder? It was as follows: —
You say you may to-day be called to do something which you think right, but which will lose you many friends; which will destroy your popularity, which may alter all your prospects in life; and you ask if I can love you yet. I say, in answer, that it was not your friends that I loved, nor your popularity, nor your prospects, but you. I can love and honor a man who is not afraid nor ashamed to do what he thinks to be right; and therefore I hope ever to remain yours,
NINA.
P. S. I only got your letter this morning, and have but just time to scribble this and send by Harry. We are all well, and shall be glad to see you as soon as the case is over.
“Clayton, my boy, you are very busy with your authorities,” said Frank Russel, behind him. Clayton hastily hid the paper in his hand.
“It’s charming!” said Russel, “to have little manuscript annotations on law. It lights it up, like the illuminations in old missals. But say, Clayton, you live at the fountain-head: how is the case going?”
“Against me!” said Clayton.
“Well, it’s no great odds, after all. You have had your triumph. These after-thoughts cannot take away that.... But hush! There’s your father going to speak!”
Every eye in the court-room was turned upon Judge Clayton, who was standing with his usual self-poised composure of manner. In a clear, deliberate voice, he spoke as follows: —
“A judge cannot but lament when such cases as the present are brought into judgment. It is impossible that the reasons on which they go can be appreciated but where institutions similar to our own exist and are thoroughly understood. The struggle, too, in the judge’s own breast, between the feelings of the man and the duty of the magistrate, is a severe one, presenting strong temptation to put aside such questions, if it be possible. It is useless, however, to complain of things inherent in our political state. And it is criminal in a court to avoid any responsibility which the laws impose. With whatever reluctance, therefore, it is done, the court is compelled to express an opinion upon the extent of the dominion of the master over the slave in North Carolina. The indictment” charges a battery on Milly, a slave of Louisa Nesbit....
“The inquiry here is, whether a cruel and unreasonable battery on a slave by the hirer is indictable. The judge below instructed the jury that it is. He seems to have put it on the ground, that the defendant had but a special property. Our laws uniformly treat the master, or other person having the possession and command of the slave, as entitled to the same extent of authority. The object is the same, the service of the slave; and the same powers must be confided. In a criminal proceeding, and, indeed, in reference to all other persons but the general owner, the hirer and possessor of the slave, in relation to both rights and duties, is, for the time being, the owner.... But upon the general question, whether the owner is answerable, criminaliter, for a battery upon his own slave, or other exercise of authority or force, not forbidden by statute, the court entertains but little doubt. That he is so liable has never been decided, nor, as far as is known, been hitherto contended. There has been no prosecution of the sort. The established habits and uniform practice of the country, in this respect, is the best evidence of the portion of power deemed by the whole community requisite to the preservation of the master’s dominion. If we thought differently, we could not set our notions in array against the judgment of everybody else, and say that this or that authority may be safely lopped off.
“This has indeed been assimilated at the bar to the other domestic relations: and arguments drawn from the well-established principles, which confer and restrain the authority of the parent over the child, the tutor over the pupil, the master over the apprentice, have been pressed on us.
“The court does not recognize their application. There is no likeness between the cases. They are in opposition to each other, and there is an impassable gulf between them. The difference is that which exists between freedom and slavery; and a greater cannot be imagined. In the one, the end in view is the happiness of the youth born to equal rights with that governor on whom the duty devolves of training the young to usefulness, in a station which he is afterwards to assume among free men. To such an end, and with such a subject, moral and intellectual instruction seem the natural means; and, for the most part, they are found to suffice. Moderate force is superadded only to make the others effectual. If that fail, it is better to leave the party to his own headstrong passions, and the ultimate correction of the law, than to allow it to be immoderately inflicted by a private person. With slavery it is far otherwise. The end is the profit of the master, his security, and the public safety; the subject, one doomed, in his own person and his posterity, to live without knowledge, and without the capacity to make anything his own, and to toil that another may reap the fruits. What moral considerations shall be addressed to such a being, to convince him what it is impossible but that the most stupid must feel and know can never be true, — that he is thus to labor upon a principle of natural duty, or for the sake of his own personal happiness? Such services can only be expected from one who has no will of his own; who surrenders his will in implicit obedience to that of another. Such obedience is the consequence only of uncontrolled authority over the body. There is nothing else which can operate to produce the effect. The power of the master must be absolute, to render the submission of the slave perfect. I most freely confess my sense of the harshness of this proposition. I feel it as deeply as any man can. And as a principle of moral right, every person in his retirement must repudiate it. But, in the actual condi
tion of things, it must be so. There is no remedy. This discipline belongs to the state of slavery. They cannot be disunited without abrogating at once the rights of the master, and absolving the slave from his subjection. It constitutes the curse of slavery to both the bond and the free portions of our population. But it is inherent in the relation of master and slave. That there may be particular instances of cruelty and deliberate barbarity, where in conscience the law might properly interfere, is most probable. The difficulty is to determine where a court may properly begin. Merely in the abstract, it may well be asked which power of the master accords with right. The answer will probably sweep away all of them. But we cannot look at the matter in that light. The truth is that we are forbidden to enter upon a train of general reasoning on the subject. We cannot allow the right of the master to be brought into discussion in the courts of justice. The slave, to remain a slave, must be made sensible that there is no appeal from his master; that his power is, in no instance, usurped, but is conferred by the laws of man, at least, if not by the law of God. The danger would be great, indeed, if the tribunals of justice should be called on to graduate the punishment appropriate to every temper and every dereliction of menial duty.
“No man can anticipate the many and aggravated provocations of the master which the slave would be constantly stimulated by his own passions, or the instigation of others, to give; or the consequent wrath of the master, prompting him to bloody vengeance upon the turbulent traitor; a vengeance generally practiced with impunity, by reason of its privacy. The court, therefore, disclaims the power of changing the relation in which these parts of our people stand to each other.
“I repeat, that I would gladly have avoided this ungrateful question. But being brought to it, the court is compelled to declare that while slavery exists amongst us in its present state, or until it shall seem fit to the legislature to interpose express enactments to the contrary, it will be the imperative duty of the judges to recognize the full dominion of the owner over the slave, except where the exercise of it is forbidden by statute.
Complete Works of Harriet Beecher Stowe Page 103