The day before Alec’s letter arrived at Brattle Street, Gertrude Hubbard had invited him to listen to the speeches and watch the fireworks with her and her daughters at Harvard University’s Graduation Day festivities. Alec would be arriving any minute, anxious to hear Gertrude’s reaction to his declaration of love and to see Mabel before her departure. “It is my desire,” his letter had continued, “to let her know now how dear she has become to me, and to ascertain from her own lips what her feeling towards me may be. Of course I cannot tell what favour I may meet with in her eyes. But this I do know, that if devotion on my part can make her life any the happier, I am ready and willing to give my whole heart to her.”
“‘I am ready and willing to give my whole heart to her.’”
Alec ended his letter of entreaty to Gertrude Hubbard, “I am willing to be guided entirely by your advice, for I know that a mother’s love will surely decide for the best interest of her child.” But Gertrude was too astute a woman to believe that someone as highstrung as Alec would always do as he was advised. Much as she liked this impulsive young Scotsman and admired his talents, she deplored his tendency to work himself into terrible states over his experiments and teaching, and, now, over Mabel. He was so gauche. In New England, gentlemen didn’t behave like that.
Gardiner Hubbard had been in New York when Alec had declared his feelings about Mabel to Gertrude. When Mabel’s father came home two days later and heard what was going on, he was much less sympathetic towards his protégé than his wife had been. Alec noted tersely, in a diary, that Hubbard “thought Mabel much too young. Did not want thoughts of love and marriage put into her head. If Mrs. Hubbard had not said one year, he would have said two…Did not think she was ready to be engaged. No objections personally.”
The Hubbards were far from hostile to Alec. Gardiner Hubbard knew he could not afford to alienate his daughter’s suitor. Alec represented his best hope of beating Orton to a viable multiple telegraph, and thus repairing his own fortunes. Mabel’s father was torn between his view of his daughter’s best interest and his support for Alec’s scientific endeavors. “He said he had felt quite an affection for me from the very first time he saw me,” Alec told his parents. “That this had led him to offer his assistance in regard to the ‘Telegraph’—that he believed I had great talents—and that his object in aiding me in the Telegraphic Scheme was not alone a speculation on his part, but in the hope of encouraging me to devote myself to science.”
“How could this impoverished young man, who had no family money or status, support Mabel?”
According to Alec’s diary for this anguished period, Mabel’s deafness was never mentioned in the many intense conversations between Alec and her parents. Instead, like his wife, Hubbard wondered about Alec’s emotional stability. And despite his ostentatious belief in the principle of meritocracy, he knew that the Bell family was, by Boston standards, rather shabby. How could this impoverished young man, who had no family money or status, support Mabel? A little caution was the least that Gardiner Hubbard asked.
Mr. Hubbard’s haughty remarks dampening Alec’s hopes were delivered in the Brattle Street parlor. To soften the blow, Hubbard suggested Alec join the ladies in the garden. Alec stepped out of the French windows into the warm evening air and saw Mrs. Hubbard’s canna lilies glowing in the dusk. There he found Mabel and suggested they take a quiet stroll down one of the gravel walks. He meant to keep silent, as the twilight was too dim for Mabel to see his lips clearly, but with Mabel’s hand resting on his arm he could not prevent a few awkward words escaping.
“The flower she selected for Alec came out, to her delight, as ‘Love.’”
Then Mabel’s sister Roberta and cousin Mary Blatchford appeared. Under Cousin Mary’s caustic gaze, mischievous Roberta began to play “He loves me, he loves me not” with some of Mrs. Hubbard’s asters. The flower she selected for Alec came out, to her delight, as “Love.” In his private diary, Alec recorded how Mabel innocently asked him of whom he was thinking. Alec stared helplessly at her, unable to speak. Berta and Mary burst out laughing and said they knew who was in their guest’s thoughts. Alec was left suffused with embarrassment, and wondering who would spring to Mabel’s mind in similar circumstances. They all retreated to the brightly lit verandah, and he heard himself blurt out, “If you could choose a husband, what would you wish him to be like?” Mabel turned her large gray eyes on him in confusion: her teacher’s inquiry seemed indelicate and impertinent. She feared he was mocking her. Alec winced at his own faux pas. In his diary, he wrote, “Betrayed my feelings—fear Mabel may be laughed at on account of my foolish proceedings.”
Acknowledgements
PAULINE Johnson has intrigued me ever since I read Betty Keller’s biography of her twenty years ago. When I began exploring the social history of Canada for my previous biographies, I kept coming across references from the late-nineteenth and early-twentieth centuries to the “Mohawk poet.” She appeared to have captivated hearts everywhere during her lifetime, and her appeal resonated across the years. So when Phyllis Bruce suggested to me that there was room for another book about Pauline, I leapt at the idea. Coming to grips with this complex, talented woman has been a joy for me, enhanced by Phyllis’s consistent support, encouragement and editorial suggestions.
The generosity of Pauline’s previous biographers was impressive. At a long lunch in Vancouver two years ago, Carole Gerson and Veronica Strong-Boag shared insights and research, and pushed me to examine my own preconceptions. Carole provided me with material that I would not have found on my own. Sheila Johnston allowed me to use photographs that she had collected for her book, was always ready to discuss my project and communicated her own passion for “PJ” to me. Betty Keller explained to me how she had tracked Pauline’s travels across Canada. This book would have been a much weaker biography without the graceful help I received from my predecessors.
I also owe a particular debt to two friends. The first is Dr. Sandy Campbell at the University of Ottawa, who knows far more about Canadian literature than I do and who gave me thoughtful feedback on every chapter. The second is Judith Moses, who not only read the manuscript but also ensured me a warm welcome at the Six Nations on the Grand River Reserve. Leona Moses, who knows Iroquois history intimately, and her husband, Bob, invited me to their home on the reserve and made sure I got my facts right about Pauline’s Indian background. The help of the Moses family was invaluable.
Paula Whitlow at Chiefswood and Tom Hill, director of the Woodland Cultural Centre Museum, supported my project and provided useful suggestions and material. Chief Dan Maracle of the Tyendena’ga Reserve took time to show my husband and me round the Mohawk Church there. Dr. Olive Dickason, author of Canada’s First Nations: A History of Founding Peoples from Earliest Times, gave me one of the best pieces of advice I heard: “Don’t trust anything written more than twenty years ago about Canada’s First Nations.” Dr. Dickason also supplied suggestions and support throughout this project.
When I first arrived at the William Ready Division of Archives and Research Collections at McMaster University, archivist Carl Spadoni greeted me with a smile: “We’ve been waiting for you!” He and his staff went out of their way to ensure I had enough time to see all the Johnson and McRaye material. I am also grateful to the staff of museums, archives and libraries across Canada, particularly Elizabeth Hunter and Stacey McKellar at the Brant County Museum, Joan Seidl at the Vancouver City Museum, Bernadine Dodge at Trent University Library, George Henderson at Queen’s University Library, Mrs. Dorrie Smith and Mrs. Doreen Nowak of the Rosseau Historical Society and Arlene Gehmacher at the Royal Ontario Museum.
In BC, I would like to thank Wendy Higashi at the Greenwood Museum, Sonya Strudwick at the Grand Forks Museum, Kelsey Hatlevik at the Rossland Museum, Babs Bourchier at the Rossland Miners Union Hall, Veronika Pellowski in Sandon and Elizabeth Scarlett at the Kaslo Historical Society Archives. Hillary Haggan kindly researched the Cope and Henshaw families f
or me, and Dr. Hamar Foster of the University of Victoria helped me on BC native bands.
In London, I was assisted by staff at the London Theatre Museum in Covent Garden and at the Kensington Public Library, where Caroline Starren was particularly helpful. My London research would not have been nearly so much fun without the companionship of my cousin Colin Senior, who also slogged through electoral rolls for me to find out more about Portland Road and St. James’s Square.
Living in Ottawa, I am lucky enough to be able to do much of my research in our two great repositories of national memory: the National Archives of Canada and the National Library of Canada. National Archivist Ian Wilson and National Librarian Roch Carrier make every visitor to their institutions welcome, and their staffs are a pleasure to work with. At the Parliamentary Library, librarians tracked down obscure titles for me with unfailing courtesy.
I would also like to thank the Office of Cultural Affairs at the City of Ottawa for its financial assistance, and for its continued support for local writers.
My telephone rang one hot July day in 2000, and a gruff voice asked, “Are you writing a book about Pauline Johnson?” The caller was Hugh MacMillan, a former archivist who had heard of a collection of letters written by Pauline to his distant relative Archibald Kains. Through Hugh’s good offices, I was able to look at the letters, which were then owned by Kains’s grandniece Joan Ritchie of New Jersey and in the possession of Susan MacMillan Kains. Since then, the letters have been donated to the National Archives, but Hugh and Susan allowed me to see copies of the letters at the point in my research when I was eager for new material. I cannot thank them enough.
Many other friends, acquaintances and strangers contributed to this biography, among them Harry and Isabel Stevinson, Marion McKenzie and Helen Elaine Woolley Diebel (who provided photographs of the 1903 camping trip), Joyce Lewis, Senator Landon Pearson, Mrs. Sara Sutcliffe, Harry Brumpton, Scott Calbeck, John and Deborah Bowen, Debbie Culbertson, Julia Hickey Sporka and Peter Unwin, Dr. Bill Williams for information about Pauline’s illnesses, Dr. Norman Hillmer for historical background, Dr. Michael Peterman for Pauline’s literary context, Dr. Clara Thomas for leads on the J. E. Wetherell correspondence, and Dr. Susan Bellingham at the University of Waterloo. Dr. Melanie Stevenson at McMaster University shared her research on the Johnson–McRaye performances at the Chautauquas. In Peterborough, Quentin Brown told me about Smily’s chess set and Kathy Hooke explained the Mackenzie family to me. When I tried to assess Pauline’s legacy as a poet, I turned to Dr. Gordon Johnson at Trent University and Elizabeth Waterston, professor emeritus at the University of Guelph; their professional judgement helped me refine my own thinking.
At HarperCollins Publishers, I have enjoyed the help of a wondeful team of professionals. It was a real pleasure to work with not only Phyllis herself, but also associate editor Karen Hanson, typesetter Roy Nicol, copy editor and indexer Stephanie Fysh, jacket designer Scott Christie and publicist Shona Cook. Once again, freelance map-maker Jeanne Simpson knew exactly what I meant when I asked for “maps that tell a story,” and went to extraordinary lengths to get details of trains and paddle-steamers correct.
As usual, my friends have lived this biography with me, with regular enquiries about Pauline’s progress and intelligent questions that made me explore new angles. Sheila Williams, Sally McLean, Wendy Bryans, Maureen Boyd, Cathy Beehan, Kyle McRobie, Carol Bishop, Paddye Mann and Barbara Uteck reassured me once again that there is considerable public interest in how women in any century lived their lives. Wayne McAlear, Monic Charlebois, Precie da Silva, Violeta Hollmann-Bonales, Jillian Brant, Trinh Phan and Katie Plaunt provided the kind of practical help that allowed me to work without interruption. Ernest Hillen continued to be a source of wise editorial advice.
My parents, Robert and Elizabeth Gray, supported my research expeditions in England. My three sons allowed Pauline to preoccupy me and dominate dinner table conversation. My deepest gratitude goes to my husband, George Anderson, whose unfailing support included not only reading each chapter at least twice, but also driving up and down every lake in the Kootenays and listening to me recite “West wind blow from your prairie nest, / Blow from the mountains, blow from the west…” ad nauseam. Thank you.
A final word about language: what is acceptable in one time or place is offensive in another. Pauline and her contemporaries used terms such as “the red race,” “palefaces,” “savages,” “half-breeds” and “pagan” which strike us today as racist and troubling. I have used such phrases only in direct quotations from the period; otherwise I have tried to find neutral and respectful words such as “Indians,” “Métis” and “European settlers.” I have avoided terms such as “Euro-Canadians,” “Amerindians” and “First Nations” that would have been foreign to Pauline herself. But there are no hard-and-fast rules, and it is a lexicographic challenge to find a word for non-natives who were born in Canada. I hope readers will accept that I have striven for inclusive, impartial terminology. As Daniel Francis pointed out in his excellent The Imaginary Indian, it is part of our conflicted attitudes towards native peoples that “we lack a vocabulary with which to speak about these issues clearly.”
About the Author
CHARLOTTE GRAY’S Flint & Feather won the 2002 University of British Columbia Medal for Canadian Biography and was a Globe and Mail Notable Book of the Year. She is also the author of Sisters in the Wilderness, which won a CBA Libris Award and the Floyd S. Chalmers Award in Ontario History. A number one national bestseller, it was chosen as one of the top books of 1999 in The Globe and Mail and Quill & Quire. Her first biography, Mrs. King, won the Edna Staebler Award for Creative Non-Fiction, the CAA Birks Family Foundation Award for Biography and a Heritage Toronto Commendation. As well, it was short-listed for a Governor General’s Award and the Ottawa Book Prize. Most recently, Charlotte Gray was the recipient of the 2003 Pierre Berton Award, in recognition of her contribution to Canadian history. A graduate of Oxford University and former Ottawa editor of Saturday Night magazine, she lives in Ottawa with her family.
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Praise for Flint & Feather
“Gray illuminates, masterfully, social history in the cradle of Canada during the years surrounding Confederation…This is a remarkable book.”
National Post
“Gray’s evocation of time and place is deft…[She is] a graceful, careful writer…[An] outstanding biography that has all the insight, colour, drama and interest of good, entertaining fiction.”
The Globe and Mail
“Gray brings a fresh, 21st-century perspective to the life of a pioneering woman.”
Maclean’s
“[A] superb biography…Irresistible.”
Quill & Quire
“Poignant…lively and engaging. Flint & Feather is probably as comprehensive a volume that is possible about the life and times of a woman who was at once ahead of her time and a vulnerable, deeply feeling person.”
Edmonton Journal
“Charlotte Gray does an outstanding job of blending the history of the age with Johnson’s personal history. This is how all history should be written.”
The Lethbridge Herald
“Gray is a great talent, a dogged researcher and storyteller who manages a vivid reconstruction of Johnson’s life and her tumultuous era.”
The Georgia Straight
“While a proud defender of her native culture, [Johnson] also toured the capitals of Europe with her performance pieces; she asserted the equality of both Indian spirituality and Christianity; she was an unmarried woman who supported herself at great personal cost…Charlotte Gray has done a splendid job of capturing these many threads…Perhaps this biographer’s greatest skill is her ability to create a richly textured historical and social background, with a wealth of fascinating details.”
Toronto Star
“Charlotte Gray has a knack for making Canadian his
tory as enticing as good fiction.”
Winnipeg Free Press
“A compelling, detailed portrait of one of CanLit’s most fascinating characters. There’s drama enough to fuel a mini-series.”
The Gazette (Montreal)
“An engrossing book, vividly written and with the seamlessness that marks a good biography. Gray’s tale [is] absorbing, richly detailed, full of narrative power and, in its final scenes, superbly moving. Gray’s sharp eye and wry intelligence have made Flint & Feather a must read; a remarkable book about a colourful and remarkable woman.”
The London Free Press
“One of this country’s most eminent biographers.”
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