SPEECHES & WRITINGS FILE
"Mrs. Marshall's Will"

MRS. MARSHALL'S WILL.
Those who were best acquainted with the lady in question freely 
admitted that they would take desperate chances on a buzz saw, or beard 
a lion in his den, but they begged to be excused from running counter to 
Mrs. Marshall's will. People who had known her from childhood declared 
that she had more will to the square inch that anybody with whom they 
had ever come in contact.
It was even said that she married her husband, because she willed 
to marry him for reasons best known to her self, while she loved another 
man desperately. Nobody could take an affidavit on that however. 
If you talked with the old citizens of the place about Mrs. Marshall, 
they could cite one instance after another to prove that nobody had ever 
been known to oppose that lady's will with impunity. Those who had attempted 
to do so had invariably come to grief. Every body was speechless with 
surprise and apprehension, therefore, when Robert Marshall, her son, had 
dared to marry a beautiful young woman, to whom he had been engaged for 
years, but upon whom his mother had absolutely refused to set her seal 
of approval.
According to report, there had been a stormy scene between 
mother and son, but the son, being a chip of the old block, had insisted 
upon marrying the girl he loved. About a year after Robert Marshall's 
marriage, it was the consensus of  opinion that his mother was a changed 
woman. Some people expressed the metamorphosis by saying that she 
had "tamed down", though there were always a few who shook their heads 
and quoted the scripture about the leopard changing his spots, and the 
African his skin. "She seems more like a woman now, and less like a 
vengeance bent upon pouring out the vials of her wrath upon any luckless 


2
mortal who has had the temerity to oppose her will and wish." was the 
way one woman expressed her opinion of Mrs. Marshall at an afternoon tea, 
at which that interesting personality was introduced as a subject of discussion. 
"For the first time since I've known her, I think of her as 
really having a heart." Quite a different opinion was expressed by a 
member of the Booklovers Club., however. This was an organization of 
earnest women who met once a month to discuss the profoundest problems 
and the most serious questions of the day. They rarely descended long 
enough from their dizzy heights to consider the sordid thing about which 
the average individual talks, but this conversation was an exception to 
the rule.  Moreover Mrs. Marshell was an uncommonly interesting subject, 
and a comment upon her might easily be justified as a study [of] in psychology. 
"So far as Mrs. Marshall is concerned" said a keen witted, sharp tongued, 
little booklover" All I've got to say is... things are seldom what they seem. 
If I were her daughter-in-law, I should certainly wear a charm which would make 
me immune from the ills and dangers that could be brought upon me by an 
evil eye. He laughs best who laughs last, say I, when Mrs. Marshall has 
a grudge against you."
The majority of this erudite club said the cynical member was 
a little too hard, and they looked at her with eyes. A 
grandson came and then even those who had hitherto reposed but little 
confidence in the metamorphosis of Mrs. Marshall declared that she was 
completely reconciled to her daughter-in-law by the child, to whom she 
appeared to be devoted.
Here and there a few doubting Thomases shook there heads, however, 
and claimed to detect a sinister gleam in the grandmother's eye, 
whenever she looked at little Richard. He had never been cuddled and 
fondled by her as children usually are, they said, and those keen observers

3
ers also declared that the child was shy of her. "I ike my Bamma Mawy" 
(the maternal grandmother) the little fellow said one day," cause she 
hugs me up to her, and never 'ooks at me funny ike Bamma Wachel." But 
people are rarely influenced one way or the other by the speech of a three 
year old. A month or two after little Richard had passed his fourth 
year, his mother aroused his father hastily one night and told him the 
child seemed to be very ill. For several days he had been complaining 
of a soreness in his throat, and the simple remedies which had been given 
had failed to alleviate the pain. A physician was called in immediately 
and he pronounced the case diphtheria. The next morning Grandma Marshall came over, and asked as a special favor that she be allowed to attend the child through his illness.

The reasons she assigned for making the request were good ones 
and she was duly installed as nurse in the sick room. She told the 
doctor that her nerves were much stronger than those of her son's wife, 
whose mother, she said, was also inclined to be excitable at times. There 
was every reason, therefore, why Grandma Marshall's wish to nurse the child 
should be gratified. To the attending physician's surprise and dismay, 
however, the medicine which he prescribed seemed to have no effect upon 
the child at all, and after several days of suffering the little fellow 
died. According to the opinion of a few keen observers, Mrs. Marshall's 
face did not appear to be clouded with grief on account of the loss she 
had sustained. Some went so far as to declare that a smile of triumph 
played about her cold thin lips, whenever her little grandson's death was 
mentioned. "I cannot bear to go near her", said a little woman, who 
rarely spoke evil of any one "Whenever she comes close to me and I think 
of little Richard's death, I shudder involuntarily." "What in the world 
do you mean"? replied the friend addressed. "Surely you do not intend to 
insinuate that Mrs. Marshall was responsible for her little grandson's


4

death. The physician says it was a peculiar case of diphtheria, which
nothing seemed able to reach. Even the Devil should have his due.
Mrs. Marshall has been noted for an insane desire to make everything and
everybody go her way, or know the reason why, but I cannot think of her
as a criminal, particularly as it is evident the child died a natural
death." But the little woman who shuddered at the near approach of 
Mrs. Marshall did not appear to be converted at all.
     Six months after the death of her grandson Mrs. Rachel Hollis
Marshall herself passed away. In looking over her personal effects,
her son came across a small iron pox with a combination lock. The
secret of its mechanism was inclosed in a note which lay beside it
and which was evidently written, while the woman who penned it was very
much agitated. When this box was opened, a letter was discovered. On
the envelop were inscribed the words -- To be Opened After My Death.
The seal had scarcely been  broken, when a cry of horror escaped Robert
Marshall's lips. With his eyes fastened upon the paper before him he
stood like a man paralyzed by an electric shock. "I am tortured day
and night by a guilty conscience" ran the letter", and I am driven to make
a confession of my guilt. I alone am responsible for the death of my
little grandson, Robert Marshall. I loved my child, I am sure, at least
I tried to -- but his father, my son, and my son's wife, the child's
mother, had triumphed over me and I was driven by a force, which I was too
weak to resist, to make them pay the penalty of my defeat. From my earliest
recollection, no one who has succeeded in thwarting my purposes and
plans has ever escaped my vengeance. My terrible will has been an
incurrable disease, rather than a blemish of character, for which I should
be held responsible. I hope God will forgive me for the sin which it
made me commit. My son married against my will. I tried with all the

5
strength I could command to forget his disobedience, I owed again and
again that I would not avenge myself upon him and his wife, and certainly
not upon an innocent child, but the demon of vengeance pursued me day 
and night, so that I could not rest.  God only knows how I struggled to
conquer it.  I thought I had succeeded in forever instilling the tempter's
voice, when I discovered my mistake.  One day my little grandson came to
see me and we went to the garret, because he seemed to enjoy  himself
there best.  I was particularly anxious to amuse him, for I wanted to 
make him love me, and come to see me more often than he was in the habit
of doing.  As he turned suddenly to ask me a question, there was something 
in the profile which reminded me of my own little Harold, who had
been dead thirty years.  He had died of diphtheria.  The demon whispered 
to me-- "Now is your chance".  I understood the meaning of the prompting 
of the Evil One too well.  For, there,  nearby stood an old trunk.  
It held the clothes in which my baby died, and from which I had never been
able to part.  Unable to control the diabolical impulse, I seized the
key which I carried about with me always, and unlocked the trunk.  There
before me lay Harold's little clothes.  The voice whispered 'the child
will be better off and you will be avenged at the same time'.  Quick as
a flash I seized a shawl in which Harold was wrapped, when he died, and
wound it around Richard's shoulders.  Then I dressed the little fellow
in the other infected garments, playing with him all the while.  I never did
anything more deliberately in my life, nor was I ever more deenly alive
to the awful consequences of my act.  After I had taken the first step
toward revenge, I was not longer mistress of myself.  When little Richard 
was stricken with diphtheria, I was more determined than ever to
make the parents suffer for their disobedience.


6
I asked to be his nurse, so that nothing might be done to
frustrate my plans.  I would not give him the medicine prescribed by the
physician.  God only knows what a wretched woman I am.  The child's
face haunts me day and night, and I pray constantly to die.  In another
world, I can not be more unhappy than I am here, no matter how terrible
the punishment may be.  What an awful relentless power is a strong will.
Is the mortal who is cursed with this relentless, propelling force sane
or not?  Why did an all-wise God plant the desire to rule in the human
heart?  Nothing makes a man more diabolical than the determination to
become the master of others.  This craving to hold dominion over one's
fellows has caused more bloodshed and wrecked more lives than any other
attribute common to man.  With an iron will impelling son to bend and
subdue others a woman is a fiend and a man is a beast.  May God forgive
me for the sin which my tyrant will forced me to commit and deliver all
poor mortals from the curse of such thralldom."

Mary Church Terrell,
326 T St. N. W.
Washington, D. C

Mrs. Marshall's Will.
Those who were best acquainted with the lady in question freely admitted that 
they would take desperate chances on a buzz saw, or beard a lion in his den 
but they begged to be excused from running counter to Mrs. Marshall's will. 
People who had known her from childhood declared that she had more will to the 
square inch than anybody with whom they had ever come in contact.
It was even said that she married her husband, because she willed to marry him 
for reasons best known to herself, while she loved another man desperately. 
Nobody could take an affidavit on that, however. If you talked with the old 
citizens of the place about Mrs. Marshall, they could cite on instance after 
another to prove that nobody had ever been known to oppose the lady's will 
with impunity. Those who had attempted to do so had invariably come to 
grief. Every body was speechless with surprise and apprehension, therefore, 
where Robert Marshall, her son, had dared to marry a beautiful young 
woman, to whom he had been engaged for years, but upon whom his mother had absolutely refused to set her seal of approval.
According to report, there had been a stormy scene between mother and son, 
but the son, being a chip of the old block, had insisted upon marrying the 
girl her loved. About a year after [the] marriage [of] Robert Marshall['s] [and
his bride] it was the consensus of opinion that his mother was a changed 
woman. Some people expressed the metamorphosis by saying that she 
had "tamed down," though there were always a few who shook their heads and 
quoted the scripture [which asks "can] about the leopard changing  his spots, [or] and the African his skin." [One day when Mrs Marshall happened to be the subject 
of discussion at an afternoon tea, one of the guests expressed her opinion 
as follows.] "She seems more like a woman now, [than] and less like a vengeance [bent] bent upon 
pouring out the vials of her wrath upon any luckless mortal who has had the temerity 


2
to oppose her will and wish" was the way one woman expressed her opinion of Mrs Marshall.  For the first time since I've known her, I 
think of her as really having a heart." Quite a different opinion was expressed 
by a member of the Booklovers Club, however. This was an organization of 
earnest women who met once a month to discuss the profoundest problems and 
most serious questions of the day. They rarely descended long enough 
from their dizzy heights to consider the sordid things about which the average 
individual talked, but this conversation was an exception to the rule. 
Moreover Mrs. Marshall was an uncommonly interesting subject, and a comment 
upon her might easily be justified as a study in psychology. So far as 
Mrs. Marshall is concerned" said a keen witted, sharp tongued little booklover 
"All I've got to say is - things are seldom what they seem. If I were her 
daughterinlaw, I should certainly wear a charm which would make me immune me from the 
ills and dangers that could be brought upon me by an evil eye. He laughs best 
who laughs last, say I, when Mrs. Marshall has a grudge against you."
The majority of this eruidite club thought the cynical member was a little too 
hard, and they [decided to be optimistic on the subject] looked at her with reproachful eyes. A grandson came, 
and then even those who had hitherto reposed but little confidence in the metamorphosis Mrs. Marshall's 
[resignation to her fate] [change metamorph] a [?parent] declared that she was completely reconciled to her daughter-in-law, by the child, to whom she appeared to be devoted.
Here and there a few doubting Thomases shook their heads, however, and 
claimed to detect a sinister gleam in the grandmother's eye, whenever she 
looked at little Richard. He had never been cuddled and fondled by her as 
children usually are, they said, and those keen observers also declared that 
the child was shy of her. "I like my Bamma Mawy", (the maternal grandmother) 
the little fellow said one day, "cause she hugs me up to her, and 
nebber 'ooks funny 'ike Bamma Gwant" But [very few] people are rarely [were so] influenced 
by the speech of [this] three year old one way or the other. [that they believed Mrs. Marshall either]

3
[disliked the child or would injure him, if she could.]
A month or two after little Richard had passed his fourth year, his mother aroused the father hastily one night and told him that the child semmed to be very ill. For several days he had been complaining of a soreness in his throat, and the simple remedies which had been given had failed to alleviate the pain. 
A physician was called immediately and he pronounced the case diphtheria. The next morning Grandma Grant came over, and asked as a special favor that that she be allowed to attend the child through his illness. 
The reasons she assigned for making the request were good ones, and she was duly installed as nurse in the sick room. She told the doctor that her nerves were much stronger than those of her son's wife [?] mother [she?] inclined to be quite excitable at times. There was [every?] reason [therefor?] why Grandma Grant's wish to nurse the child should be gratified.
To the attending physician's surprise and dismay, however the medicine which prescribed seemed to have no effect upon the child at all, and after several days of suffering [little fellow died?] he died.
According to the opinion of a few keen observers, Mrs. Marshall's face did not appear to be clouded with grief on account of the loss she had sustained. [after the child had passed away] Some even went soft far as to declare that a smile of triumph played about her cold thin lips whenever her little grandsons death was mentioned. "I cannot bear to go near her, said a little woman, who rarely spoke evil of anyone. "Whenever she comes close to me, I think of [the death ?] little Richard's death[?], I shudder [?] involuntarily." What in the world do you mean"? repied the friend addressed. "Surely you do not intend to insinuate that Mrs. Marshall was responsible for her little grandson's death. The physician says it was a peculiar case of diphtheria, which nothing seemed able to reach.  Even the Devil should have his due. Mrs. Marshall has been noted for an insane desire
4
 to make everything and every body go her way, or know the reason why, but I cannot think of her as a criminal, particularly as it is evident the child died a natural death." But the little woman who shuddered at the near approach of Mrs. Marshall did not appear to be converted at all.
Six months after the death of her grandson, Mrs. Rachel Hollie Marshall herself passed away. In looking over her personal effects, her son came across a small iron box with a combination lock. The secret of its mechanism was inclosed in a note which lay beside it and which was evidently written, while the woman whopenned it was very much agitated. When the box was opened, a letter was discovered. On the envelop were inscribed the words- To Be Opened After My Death.[...the seal was quickly...?] When Robert Marshall broke the seal and read [hastily? hardly?] a few lines, a cry of horror escaped Robert Marshall's lips lips,[when he had read that a?] [*by the shock*] and he stood like a man who a sudden shock has paralyzed. [?] [The contents of the letter were as follows:] "I am tortured day and night by a guilty conscience" ran the letter, " and I am driven to make a confession of my guilt. I alone am responsible for the death of my little grandson, Robert Grant. I loved the child, I am sure, at least I tried to- but his father, my son, and my son's wife, the child's mother, had triumphed over me and I was driven by a force, which I was too weak to resist, to make them pay the penalty of my defeat. From my earliest recollection, no one who has succeeded in thwarting my purposes and plans has ever escaped my vengeance. My terrible will has been an incurable disease, rather than a blemish of character, for which I should be held responsible. I hope God will forgive me for the sin which it made me commit. My son married against my will. I tried with all the strength I could command to forget his disobedience. I vowed again and again that would not avenge myself upon him and his wife, and certainly not upon an innocent child, but the demon of vengeance pursued me day and night, so that I could

[*the seal had scarcely been broken when a cry of horror escaped Robert Marshall's lips with his eyes fastened upon the paper [?] for him [?] he stood like a man paralyzed by an electric shock.*]
5
not rest. God only knows how I struggled to conquer it. I thought I had succeeded in forever stilling the tempter's voice, when I discovered my mistake. One day my little grandson came to see me and we went to the garret, because he seemed to enjoy himself there best. I was particularly anxious to amuse him, for I wanted to make him love me, and come to see me more often than he was in the habit of doing. As he turned suddenly to ask me a question, there was something in his profile which reminded me of my own little Harold, who had been dead thirty years. He had died of diphtheria [.?] The demon whispered to me- "Now is your chance". I understood the meaning of that prompting of the Evil One too well.For, there, nearby stood an old trunk. It held the clothes in which my baby died, and from which I had never been able to part. Unable to control the diabolical impulse, I seized the key which I carried about with me always, and unlocked the trunk. There before me lay Harold's little clothes. Then a voice whispered "the child will be better off and you will be avenged at the same time. Quick as a flash I seized a shawl in which Harold was wrapped, when he died, and wound it around Richard's shoulders.
Then I dressed the little fellow in the other infected garments, playing with him all the while. I never did anything more deliberately in my life, nor was I ever more keenly alive to the awful consequences of my act. After I had taken the first step toward revenge, I was no longer mistress of myself. When little Richard was stricken with diphtheria, I was more determined than ever to make his parents suffer for their disobedience.
I asked to be his nurse, so that nothing might be done to frustrate my plans. I would not give him the medicine prescribed by the physician. God only knows what a wretched woman I am. The child's face haunts me day and night, and I pray constantly to die. In another world, I can not be more unhappy than I am here, no matter how terrible the punishment

may be. What an awful, relentless power is a strong will. Is the mortal who is cursed with this relentless, propelling force sane or not? Why did an all-wise God plant the desire to rule in the human heart? Nothing makes a man more diabolical than the determination to become the master of others. This craving to hold dominion over one,s fellows has caused more bloodshed and wrecked more lives than any other attribute common to man. With an iron will impelling one to bend and subdue to others a woman is a fiend and a man is a beast. May God forgive me for [my] the sin [?] and deliver all poor mortals from the curse of such thralldom."
Mary Church Terrell
326 T St. [?]
Washington, D.C.

Transcribed and reviewed by contributors participating in the By The People project at crowd.loc.gov.