Voices in Time

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But neither the advice to go to Paris nor the suggestion of disguise tempted me for a moment. It was to my mind a moral crusade on which I had entered, a course of justice and common sense, and it must be pursued in the light of day, and with public sanction, in order to accomplish its end.

The following letter to Mrs. Willard of Troy, the well-known educationalist, describes the difficulties through which the young student had to walk warily:

Philadelphia, May 24.
I cannot refrain from expressing my obligations to you for directing me to the excellent Dr. Warrington. He has allowed me to visit his patients, attend his lectures, and make use of his library, and has spoken to more than one medical friend concerning my wishes; but with deep regret I am obliged to say that all the information hitherto obtained serves to show me the impossibility of accomplishing my purpose in America. I find myself rigidly excluded from the regular college routine, and there is no thorough course of lectures that can supply its place. The general sentiment of the physicians is strongly opposed to a woman’s intruding herself into the profession; consequently, it would be perhaps impossible to obtain private instruction, but if that were possible, the enormous expense would render it impracticable, and where the feelings of the profession are strongly enlisted against such a scheme, the museums, libraries, hospitals, and all similar aids would be closed against me. In view of these and numerous other difficulties, Dr. Warrington is discouraged and joins with his medical brethren in advising me to give up the scheme. But a strong idea, long-cherished till it has taken deep root in the soul and become an all-absorbing duty, cannot thus be laid aside. I must accomplish my end. I consider it the noblest and most useful path that I can tread, and, if one country rejects me, I will go to another.

Through Dr. Warrington and other sources, I am informed that my plan can be carried out in Paris, though the free government lectures delivered by the faculty are confined to men, and a diploma is strictly denied to a woman—even when (as in one instance, it is said) she has gone through the course in male attire. Yet every year, thorough courses of lectures are delivered by able physicians on every branch of medical knowledge, to which I should be admitted without hesitation and treated with becoming respect. The true place for study, then, seems open to me; but here again some friendly physicians raise stronger objections than ever. “You, a young, unmarried lady,” they say, “go to Paris, that city of fearful immorality, where every feeling will be outraged and insult attend you at every step—where vice is the natural atmosphere, and no young man can breathe it without being contaminated! Impossible. You are lost if you go!”

After a short, refreshing trip with my family to the seaside, the search was again renewed in Philadelphia. But applications made for admission to the medical schools both of Philadelphia and of New York were met with similarly unsuccessful results.

I therefore obtained a complete list of all the smaller schools of the northern states, “country schools,” as they were called. I examined their prospectuses and quite at a venture sent in applications for admission to twelve of the most promising institutions, where full courses of instruction were given under able professors. The result was awaited with much anxiety, as the time for the commencement of the winter sessions was rapidly approaching. No answer came for some time. At last, to my immense relief (though not surprise, for failure never seemed possible), I received the following letter from the medical department of a small university town in the western part of the state of New York:

Geneva, October 20.

To Elizabeth Blackwell,

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