American History Tellers - Revolution | The Independent Woman | 4

Episode Date: July 18, 2018

In 1788, the hot gossip in posh British circles was all about France and America. For their friends across the channel, the popular uprising against King Louis XVI seems to be heading toward Revolution. And for their unruly cousins across the Atlantic, the fledgling country seems already headed for ruin. But this is a country their people believed in - and not just white men. A new generation of American women, inspired by the Enlightenment, were calling for greater freedoms.Support us by supporting our sponsors!See Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.

Wondery Plus subscribers can binge new seasons of American History Tellers early and ad-free right now. Join Wondery Plus in the Wondery app or on Apple Podcasts. Imagine you're a guest at a Royal Ball in London. The year is 1788. Amid the chamber music and powdered wigs, the bows and curtsies, everyone is gossiping about two things. What will happen in France, where a popular uprising against the king seems to be building towards outright revolution? And what will happen in America?

The revolution there ended five years ago. But ever since, people here in England have been speculating that their former colonists will fail at running their own country. The American system of government, the Articles of Confederation, gives so little power to the central government that it can barely function. The financial system is in chaos, with each state using a different currency. And it's obvious to everyone in this room that the 13 separate states can't possibly conduct a single foreign policy.

Besides, the Americans are proposing to do something quite unheard of, to create a system without a king, in which the people will rule, whatever that means. You join a knot of people just as a man in silk stockings starts speaking. You recognize him as a former member of parliament. The Americans have tossed out their system of government. They now have a constitution, which will give them a stronger federal government. It will be empowered to raise taxes, maintain an army, and undertake diplomacy. Another gentleman jumps in. My dear sir, it will make no difference. The Americans will continue to fumble about as they are not suited to independence. They are simple-minded farmers, a people who needs to be ruled.

Another voice suddenly barks out a reply to this. What absolute rot! You instantly recognize the rounded, well-known figure of Charles James Fox. He's one of the most famous and opinionated Whig politicians in the country. He thunders his reply. The Americans, not inclined to independence, nothing could be more improbable. They voted for it. They fought for it. They won it. And now they have a constitution which, I might add, was excellently constructed. For they took ours as a model and adapted it to their own purposes. You summon the courage to speak up. And who will lead this new government? There is no other possibility than General Washington. will now install an illegitimate one. Washington will become another King George. At this, another voice, a woman's voice, pipes up forcefully. No, I assure you he will not. Everyone turns to find a

woman with luxurious black hair, milky skin, and eyes as black as coals. She is dressed extravagantly. You think at first she must be the wife of one of these leaders, and yet on second thought she seems a bit too done up. Suddenly, you realize who she is, an American who has lived much of her life in London and has made a bit of a name for herself. She is a mistress, one of the many professional escorts who attach themselves to men of power. Her name is Margaret Coughlin. You decide to challenge her. And how are you so sure that Washington will not become king, madam? Everyone seems to gather close to hear the response. Because I know the man.

He will not wear a crown. He would consider it beneath him. This causes gasps. You're incredulous. Being a king would be beneath him. But Margaret Coughlin holds her ground. Apparently she doesn't mind that she's caused a stir. If anything, she seems to be enjoying it.

The Americans, under General Washington, fought a war supported by the most powerful of virtues, love of liberty and of country. At this, Charles James Fox comes to her side and answers you. What I believe the lady means, sir, is that Washington would not now trespass on those values and oppose upon his people that which they fought against. They didn't just throw off a monarch, they threw off monarchy. Margaret Coughlin and Mr. Fox, the famed orator and the infamous mistress, exchange glances. And suddenly, you remember that several years earlier they were lovers. They appeared at society balls together. Now both have moved on, but there is shared history in that glance. You press the lady further. Madam, is it simply because you are an American yourself

that you claim to have such insight into General Washington's nature? Margaret Coughlin smiled. No, I've met him. You might say I did battle with him once, and I fancy I got the better of him. Have you ever wondered who created that bottle of sriracha that's living in your fridge? Or why nearly every house in America has at least one game of Monopoly? Introducing The Best Idea Yet, a brand new podcast about the surprising origin stories of the products you're obsessed with.

Listen to The Best Idea Yet on the Wondery app or wherever you get your podcasts. I'm Saatchi Cole. And I'm Sarah Hagee. And we're the hosts of Scamfluencers, a weekly podcast from Wondery that takes you along the twists and turns of the most infamous scams of all time, the impact on victims, and what's left once the facade falls away. Follow Scamfluencers on the Wondery app or'm Lindsey Graham, and this is American History Tellers. Our history, your story. We are in episode four of our six-part series on the American Revolution. This series was written by best-selling author Russell Shorto, following the lives of the six people featured in his award-winning book, Revolution Song. So far, we've looked at some of the key figures involved in the fight for American independence.

The Virginia planter-turned-soldier George Washington, and the British leader, Lord George Germain, whose misjudgment ultimately cost Britain the American colonies. In the last episode, we visited a third society that was caught up in the struggle for American freedom, the Native Americans. We focused on the remarkable Iroquois diplomat, Corn Planter, who tried to forge a place for his people in the aftermath of war. Now we consider the Revolutionary Period from a woman's perspective. Because it wasn't just white men pushing for a better future across the colonies. A new generation of American women, inspired by the Enlightenment,

were starting to call for greater freedoms. This is Episode 4, The Independent Woman. In colonial America, the ideal woman had two necessary qualities. She was virtuous, and she was submissive to men. When Benjamin Franklin began his career as a writer, the pseudonym he used for his female persona, Silence Duguid, said it all. A common adage of the day was, The man is superior to the woman, and the woman inferior to the man. Another advised girls, seek to be good, but aim not to be

great, because greatness was reserved for men. Education was important for girls, but it focused on virtue and family. Pregnancy, childbirth, and child rearing were critical topics for young women in colonial America. There was good reason for that. More than half of a woman's adult life was spent in pregnancy. That's because infant mortality was extraordinarily high. About a quarter of babies born died in infancy, thanks particularly to the spread of infectious disease. Just to keep up the population, mothers were expected to do their part by churning out as many babies as possible. And when it came time to deliver them, they often turned to other women for help.

Imagine you're living in backcountry New England in the late 1700s. Your life is typical of women of the era. You divide your time between rearing children, tending crops, caring for your husband, mending, cleaning, and a thousand other thankless tasks. But even with all that, you aren't a stay-at-home mother. You found out long ago that you have a talent for delivering babies. So you've become a midwife to the community. You've delivered hundreds of babies over the years, and you're in constant demand. You are devoted to the work, and it also brings in some extra income.

Just now, you're in the midst of a delivery. It has been a difficult one. The woman, who is unmarried, is screaming in pain, and you're doing your best to guide her through it. You're almost there. Just a little further. Push. Finally, a healthy child is born. It's over, Susan. Congratulations. You have a beautiful baby girl. God be praised. Thank you, Martha. You sponge off the baby, wrap her in a blanket, and lay her on her mother's chest. Now that the birthing is over, there's something else to do, something equally difficult. Now, I have to ask you, Susan, to tell me the name of the father.

The woman pauses. She's nervous. She looks down at her daughter, stroking the baby's tiny hands and fiddling with the edge of the blanket. You're nervous too, because this being a close community, you feel pretty sure you know what her answer will be. Martha, I don't... It's best, Susan. It's your son, Jonathan. It's as you expected. You nod and dutifully record the information.

It will be used to encourage your son to do the honorable thing. It's as you expected. You nod and dutifully record the information. It will be used to encourage your son to do the honorable thing. And eventually, Jonathan will marry Susan. This story, which comes from the life of a real woman named Martha Ballard, is typical of its era. Women in 18th century America didn't just wait on their husbands and children. They were tied to their communities. Most weren't in business for themselves, but even when they were, it was far from glamorous. But increasingly, young women were starting to question assumptions about what their lives should look like. Endless toil and service to their families and communities, and sometimes to a husband they did not choose. The American Revolution had sparked new ideas about freedom. All over the colonies in the 1770s, people were

demanding freedom from England. They made it their rallying cries. They struggled against taxation without representation. But where did the concept of women's freedom fit into this picture? When a woman married, everything she owned legally became the property of her husband. Her very identity became subordinate to his. But slowly, that was changing. The American Revolution, and the French one after that, were part of a freedom movement that had its origins a century and a half earlier. That was when various Europeans began peering into telescopes and microscopes and realized that things weren't quite as they seemed to the naked eye.

What they found sometimes contradicted the received wisdom from the church and state. microscopes and realized that things weren't quite as they seemed to the naked eye. What they found sometimes contradicted the received wisdom from the church and state. While the church said that the heavens were fixed and perfect, astronomers saw instead a veritable rush hour of meteors, moons, and planets rocketing this way and that. Amid the confusion and cries of blasphemy, there arose the rough outlines of a new philosophy, a new basis for human knowledge. Its founder is generally believed to be the French philosopher René Descartes. He held that the root of knowledge was not the church, not the king, but rather the individual human mind. Every person, Descartes said, had within himself or herself the key to unlocking the universe. It was called reason. And since everyone had this ability, another thought wasn't far behind. If we could all reason, we also must be, in some

basic yet profound way, equal. No sooner did philosophers start proclaiming this belief than people began applying it, or trying to. There were efforts in the 1600s to launch utopian communities based on democratic principles of government. These efforts went nowhere, but they showed some people the way forward. As early as the 1640s, people in Europe began to argue that if everyone had the same capacity to reason, then girls should be entitled to the same kind of education as boys. Outside of the obvious biological differences, men and women were the same. Some people responded to this insight with exuberance. In cities like Paris, Barcelona,

and Naples, women began to attend literary salons where they exchanged the latest ideas about science and government with men. The female philosopher Giuseppe Eleonora Barbapicola translated Descartes into Italian. She hoped to convince Italian women to stop wasting their time on frivolous topics like fashion, and instead to join men in exploring the new worlds of thought that were opening up. But these ideas of gender equality were too much for most people. The idea that women should put themselves on the same level as men sounded ridiculous. Many men, and women too, feared that if women participated in intellectual debates alongside men, the whole social order would collapse.

Society was built around male dominance. Women were mothers and caretakers. Nature had made them subordinate. Tinkering with that would surely bring chaos. In colonial America, virtuous women were expected to humbly and submissively take up the role society had prescribed for them. If you were a girl who wasn't eager to become a wife and a mother, well, what were you? If you weren't a virtuous woman, it stood to reason that you must be a vicious woman. They came in all shapes and sizes, but they all seemed to have one thing in common. Vicious women expressed themselves sexually in ways that scared society. Fears among Americans

about women overstepping their traditional bounds deepened as notions from European intellectuals and philosophers permeated society. They argued that the new ideas of individual freedom also meant that women should be entitled to think of themselves as sexual beings, to explore their own gratification. Much of this new wave of thinking about women and sexuality came from France. One French novel, Thérèse Philosophe, or Thérèse the Philosopher, described a young woman's simultaneous intellectual and sexual awakenings. After a priest opens her eyes with special teaching that blends the spiritual and carnal, Therese becomes confused and enters a convent. It turns out to be a den of sexual pleasure.

Later, a prostitute gives her frank sexual advice, and Therese ends up as the erotically fulfilled lover of an aristocrat. A happy ending. The book was a huge hit in the mid-1700s. Of course, it was written by a man, but it signaled, as much as anything else, that a change was underway, a change in the concept of individual freedom that was just as radical and far-reaching as the American Revolution.

And it would eventually sweep up one young woman who would never look back. in your fridge. Did you know that the Air Jordans were initially banned by the NBA? We'll explore all that and more in The Best Idea Yet, a brand new podcast from Wondery and T-Boy. This is Nick. This is Jack. And we've covered over a thousand episodes of pop business news stories on our daily podcast. We've identified the most viral products of all time. And they're wild origin stories that you had no idea about. From the Levi's 501 jeans to Legos. Come for the products you're obsessed with. Stay for the business insights that are going to blow up your group chat. Jack, Nintendo, Super Mario Brothers, best-selling video game of all time. How'd they do it?

Nintendo never fires anyone, ever. Follow The Best Idea Yet on the Wondery app or wherever you get your podcasts. You can listen to The Best Idea Yet early and ad-free right now by joining Wondery Plus. This is the emergency broadcast system. A ballistic missile threat has been detected inbound to your area. Your phone buzzes and you look down to find this alert. What do you do next? Maybe you're at the grocery store.

Or maybe you're with your secret lover. Or maybe you're robbing a bank. Based on the real-life false alarm that terrified Hawaii in 2018, Incoming, a brand-new fiction podcast exclusively on Wondery Plus, follows the journey of a variety of characters as they confront the unimaginable. The missiles are coming. What am I supposed to do? Featuring incredible performances from Tracy Letts, Mary Lou Henner, Mary Elizabeth Ellis, Paul Edelstein, and many, many more, Incoming is a Thank you. Margaret Coughlin, the woman we met earlier at a London ball, was born in 1762 in Halifax, Nova Scotia. Her maiden name was Moncrief. Her father, Thomas Moncrief, an officer with the British Army, was stationed in Canada at the time.

While Margaret was still an infant, her mother died. Her father eventually remarried and moved the family to New York. Her father's new wife was cold and distant towards her stepdaughter, but she too died, and her father promptly remarried again. This time, Margaret warmed to her stepmother. She was sweet and kind, an ideal role model for a girl. But then she died as well while giving birth. It was a common fate for women at the time, but for young Margaret, it was a cruel shock. She was still a girl, and already she had lost three mother figures. In 1774, her father was away with the army, trying to quell unrest in Boston in the wake of the Boston Tea Party. Margaret was left alone in a period of

suddenly mounting chaos. Americans were protesting the latest attempts by England to impose taxes. Taxation without representation was a defiant battle cry in the streets. Margaret's father sent word. At 13 years old, she was sent off to stay with family friends in New Jersey. Life there was bewildering and irritating. Her host family sided with the Patriots, while the teenage Margaret followed her father's loyalist principles. She felt surrounded. She later wrote, I found myself in the midst of Republicans in a war against the crown of Great Britain, persecuted on every side because my father was fighting for the cause of a king.

After April 1775, things began to happen fast. News of the battles of Lexington and Concord in Massachusetts sent boys and men all over the region signing up for military service. Raucous parties of them came marching through town, singing and laughing and playing fife and drums on their way to New York. British ships had been sighted sailing into New York Harbor. The British military was building up forces on Staten Island with the objective of invading Manhattan. They believed that taking New York would end the rebellion before it began. The Americans thought so too. They knew that if New York fell, it would likely end the

independence effort. So their ragtag army was gathering on Manhattan, preparing to defend it. Margaret Moncrief was an impetuous and incredibly strong-willed girl. Finally, she could no longer stand the patriotic fervor of her host family. To her, their ideas of self-governance seemed not just treasonous, but downright idiotic. Not knowing her father's whereabouts, she wrote to a military friend of his, General Israel Putnam. She knew he had sided with the American patriots, but she hoped his affection for her family would cause him to take pity on her.

Not long after, to her surprise and delight, a young American officer showed up at the home of the family who had been putting her up. General Putnam had sent him to collect her. The officer took her on a short horseback ride to the Hudson River, where a boat took her across to the southern tip of Manhattan Island. A stately building at the foot of Broadway had been taken over by American forces as their military headquarters. It was here she met General Putnam. He was round, rough, and elderly-looking, a backwoods type with a homespun way of talking, referring to his military rank as general. He assured her that her father's decision to stay loyal to England did not affect his personal feelings.

He said, As an officer, he is my enemy, but any political difference alters him not to me in a private capacity. Putnam swore to help Margaret get to her father. He was now only a few miles away with the rest of the British army across the river on Staten Island. For the time being, however, Margaret was behind enemy lines as far as she was concerned. The American officers, all of whom had known her father, treated her as a family member, but they didn't seem to appreciate how much she shared her father's loyalist feelings. She felt ready to explode.

Imagine you're a junior officer in the American Army. You've been invited to a dinner with your commanding officers. It's a special occasion. The leader of the American forces, George Washington, is due to arrive any minute along with his wife, Martha. There's some chatter about the imminent military engagement. Everybody is wondering where the British will choose to land and when. But when General Washington enters the room, there's a hush. You've heard about him, but never seen him in person before. Like everyone else, you're impressed by his height, his grave bearing, his sense of dignity.

He nods to his left and his right. He waits for his wife to take her seat, then sits at his place. The dinner goes smoothly enough. Afterward, it's time for toasts. One of your fellow officers raises a glass. Ladies and gentlemen, to the American Congress! Every single person in the room holds up his or her glass. Ladies and gentlemen, to the American Congress. Every single person in the room holds up his or her glass, all except one. Suddenly, General Washington turns to Margaret

Moncrief, who has remained motionless, a frown fixed on her face. Miss Moncrief, you don't drink your wine. There's a hush. The girl's face blushes. She sits unmoving for a time. Then suddenly she picks up her glass and raises it. General Howe is the toast. There's an audible gasp from the assembly, and you feel a flush of anger spread across your face. General Sir William Howe is the leader of the British forces, now gathering across the water. Everyone here knows he's intent on destroying the American army

and any hope of American independence. Washington gathers himself to respond to this. He has a dark scowl on his face. He begins to berate the impertinent girl. But then General Putnam interrupts him. General Washington, I apologize on behalf of the girl. She's under my care. She's here as a result of my efforts. I assure you she did not mean to offend, and besides, everything said or done by a child ought to amuse rather than offend. Everyone holds their breath as they wait for Washington's response.

Finally, his face softens. Well, miss, I will overlook your indiscretion on condition that you drink my health or General Putnam's the first time you dine at Sir William Howe's table on the other side of the water. There's some light laughter, and you feel your own anger dissipate as well. Washington has found a witty solution to the problem the girl created. As for Margaret Moncrief herself, she looks a little embarrassed and relieved, but still defiant.

Eventually, after considerable negotiation, the American and British forces agreed to reunite Margaret with her father. Before that happened, however, she had crossed paths with yet another legendary figure from the Revolution. To keep her out of trouble, General Putnam sent her away from the military headquarters to a fort in the Bronx, just beyond the northern tip of Manhattan Island. No sooner did she get there than she met a young officer, dashingly handsome, sophisticated, and charming, who swept her off her feet. She fell in love almost at first sight. His name was Aaron Burr. Burr would later become vice president under Thomas Jefferson

and would go down in infamy as the man who shot and killed Alexander Hamilton in a duel. But at this point, he was one of the most highly regarded young officers in the Continental Army. Later, Margaret wrote that Burr was her first lover. To him, I plighted my virgin vow, was how she put it. But a war was on. It was no time for happily ever after. Eventually, General Washington ordered her to be rowed out into the river, where she was transferred to a British vessel. From there, British sailors took her to Staten Island, where her father was stationed with the rest of the British army.

She never saw Burr again. She stayed behind when, some weeks later, the British decamped and sailed across Gravesend Bay to Brooklyn. It was a force of 22,000 men, the largest force ever assembled in North America. Soon they began what became known as the Battle of Long Island. The British Army was far larger

and more experienced than the American forces. Washington and his men had the impossible task of trying to defend the New York area's miles of coastline. After a clever escape from Brooklyn across the East River to Manhattan and a valiant standoff at the Harlem Heights, the American army was forced to flee, giving up New York. For most of America, the battle was a disaster. But for Margaret, it meant a happy homecoming. She was able to move back into her house. And while most of New York City was

devastated by the fighting, the British officers created a little zone of safety for themselves and their families. There were nice shops selling French fashions and fancy balls, and there was a theater. Imagine you're a young woman attending a night of the theater. Your family are British loyalists, and your father is friends with one of the commanders of the British Army based in New York City. He's invited you all here for a special evening to celebrate their recent victory over the Continental Army. This theater used to be called the John Street Theater, but it closed down. The British have reopened it with a new name, the Theater Royale. Your mother didn't approve of you coming tonight.

She doesn't think it's suitable entertainment for a young lady. But you begged her, and eventually she relented. You've never seen a play. You feel a thrill in the pit of your stomach as the curtain rises. The lights come up on a young girl, about your age. She's reclining on a chaise, enthusiastically reading aloud to herself from a novel. Sir George, touched at her confusion, gently seized her hand, softly pressing it to his bosom where the pulses of his heart beat quick, throbbing with tumultuous passion. In a plaintive tone, a voice he breathed out, Will you not answer me, Amelia?

As if in a swoon, the girl presses the book to her bosom. Just then, on stage, the girl's nurse bursts into the room. The girl drops the book and bounds over to the older woman. Oh, nurse, tell me this instant. Did you see him? Did you give Mr. Scribble my letter? Yes, Polly, he took the letter and kissed it a thousand times. Polly twirls with glee before plopping back onto the chaise. After thinking a moment, she holds up the novel she's been reading.

Dear nurse, I really think I love Mr. Scribble as well as Amelia did Sir George. Ah, dearie, the worst for you. Here are your papa and mommy fully resolved to marry you to young, rich Mr. Ledger, and all the while your head runs upon nothing but Mr. Scribble. A fiddlestick's end for Mr. Ledger. I'll marry Mr. Scribble and not marry Mr. Ledger, whether papa and mama choose it or no. And how do you think I'll contrive it?

How? It's the commonest thing in the world. I intend to elope. You and the others in the audience gasp at this. The nurse doesn't know what the word means, but Polly explains that it means to run away. All the characters and novels are doing it these days, she says. This is nearly scandalous.

You fan yourself with the program. Later, Polly's father summons her. Mr. Ledger is with him. And the suitor informs Polly that he and her father have agreed. She will become his wife. He announces that he loves her and pushes her to state her feelings. Finally, she does. For my part, then, I must declare, however unwillingly,

Out with it, miss. That the passion I entertain for you is equally strong. And that I do with equal or more sincerity. Thank you, miss. Thank you. Hate and detest? How? How?

Loathe and abhor you? What? What? Your sight is shocking to me. Your conversation odious and your passion contemptible. At her refusal of Mr. Ledger, you can't help it. You burst into applause. Your mother frowns disapprovingly and you're almost shamed into restraining yourself. But looking around the theater, you see you're not alone. Ignoring the appalled stares of their elders, other young people are clapping too. Polly Honeycomb, as this play was called, was selling a popular theme in the 1770s. It dealt with one of the arenas in which women were just then asserting themselves, love and marriage. While political freedom was very much

in the air, there still wasn't yet a true movement for women's freedom. Even so, Polly Honeycomb was one of many signs that the push for rights begun in the previous century was making itself felt among women. Young audience members identified with the heroine's travails. When Polly announces to her father that she won't wed someone she detests and that she wants to be with someone else, he locks her in her room. The play has a happy ending. Polly and her beloved Mr. Scribble are eventually able to marry. Margaret Moncrief almost certainly saw this play. She, too, would soon find herself engaged to a man she did not love. Real life, however, would prove more complicated than the stage. When she was 15

years old, Margaret's father told her he had chosen a match for her, a young officer named John Coughlin. She knew the man. He was attractive and young and from a good family, but he was infamous among the girls in New York as a brute and a womanizer. She hated him, and just like Polly, she told her father she would not marry him. Just like the father in the play, her father locked her up in her room. Polly Honeycomb wasn't the only one telling Margaret to listen to her heart. Newspapers printed articles on the same subject. Older women advised younger ones to marry for love. The freedom movement was beginning to change women's lives. Margaret Moncrief believed in it wholeheartedly.

She wanted love. She wanted independence. But life didn't work out as neatly as it did in the play. Margaret tried to resist, but her father confined her to her room and refused to communicate with her until she relented. Against all her instincts, she married John Coughlin at Trinity Church in Lower Manhattan. As soon as she became Mrs. Coughlin,

her husband began realizing all her worst fears. He dragged her through the seedy parts of town to low clubs where he introduced her to prostitutes and other unsavory characters he knew. He bullied her, and when she rebelled, he became violent. Shortly after they were married, he decided to quit the army and go to England. She objected, but as his wife, she had no choice. They fought so violently on the ship that the captain had to reprimand her husband. By the time the ship landed, Margaret was so filled with hatred for the man she had been forced to marry

that at the first available opportunity, she left him. They were at an inn in Wales. She simply walked out the back door and into the mountains and never saw her husband again. Women of her generation were the first to hear that they were entitled to some measure of independence. Margaret Moncrief Coughlin believed it. She decided she would be independent or die trying. For more than two centuries, the White House has been the stage for some of the most dramatic scenes in American history. Inspired by the hit podcast American History Tellers, Wondery and William Morrow present the new book, The Hidden History of the White House. Each chapter will bring you inside the fierce power struggles, the world-altering decisions,

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you to do something, it wasn't a request. It was an order. I'm your host, Brandon James Jenkins. Follow Criminal Attorney on the Wondery app or wherever you get your podcasts. You can listen to Criminal Attorney early and ad-free right now by joining Wondery Plus in the Wondery app or on Apple Podcasts. Margaret Coughlin soon found out how difficult it was to be an independent woman in the late 18th century. Her father wrote to her, telling her that her behavior had disgraced the family.

As a result, he disowned her. Cut off from both of the men who had controlled her, and still determined to live an independent life, she eventually decided that she had two options. One was to become an actress. It was a semi-respectable profession, and well-known actresses often had far more freedom than wives. The other possible career path was to become a professional mistress, a consort. It wasn't the same as being a prostitute, not quite. Gentlemen in Europe, whether they were married or not, often sought the company of accomplished, beautiful women who appeared alongside them at society functions. They had to be witty, sophisticated, versed in current events. They exchanged conversation with the gentlemen and were available for

other types of involvement. Margaret tried option one first. She met with Richard Sheridan, the famous playwright, who offered to give her a part in an upcoming production. But it didn't work out. History doesn't tell us why, but the failure only left option two. With no other avenue open to her, Margaret Coughlin became a mistress. Over time, she would appear at the side of generals, aristocrats, and politicians. She treated her work like a job and became very good at it. To rise above the common level and be treated with respect, a mistress needed many things. So Margaret invested in her business, cultivating an image

of refinement. She kept a lavish apartment, a fine coach and horses, a driver, a maid, and of course, an elegant wardrobe, which she took care to maintain with the latest fashions. As the years passed, she also stayed up to date on events in her home country. The Revolutionary War ended, and the Americans established their own nation. Margaret subsequently experienced a turnaround in her feelings. Where she had once followed her father's lead and sided with the British, she now considered herself a proud expatriate American. When she became a companion to the Whig politician Charles James Fox, she learned a great deal from him about the Enlightenment principles underlying the American

cause. Fox was an authority on the English Enlightenment. In the previous century, the English writer John Locke had developed the notion that all human beings are equal and thus have equal right to freedom. This idea became the basis of a new theory of government, based at least in part on people having a say in their leaders. Ever since the glorious revolution of 1688, England had been working on its own path towards realizing such a system of government. But the Americans, with a revolution against the injustice of taxation without representation, had jumped ahead.

They were establishing a new kind of government, one with no monarchy at all. Such ideals were now thrilling to Margaret. She was no longer the stubborn, loyalist teenager who had arrogantly refused to toast America's rebel government. As she moved about London society, she did so as a proud American, a lover of freedom. Eventually, her relationship with Charles James Fox ended, and things began to turn sour for Margaret. As she moved from one wealthy patron to another, she lost track of her finances. As her debts mounted and creditors came after her, she fled to Paris. There, another revolution was in the offing. Once again, she found a position for herself in high society. She befriended the Comte de Troyes, brother to King Louis XVI. At the same time, she privately shared the fervor of these two revolutions, the one in

her home country and the other here in Paris. France was about to throw off its ancient monarchy. Margaret was vividly aware now that she was living in, as she put it, an era that threatens destruction to long-established systems. She optimistically hoped a new order of things be destined to succeed, in which nations will be linked in one fraternal bond. Eventually, Louis XVI was executed, and the very revolution she had secretly longed for forced her out of France. Fleeing the violence, she returned to England, and when she did, her creditors pounced. She was thrown into debtor's prison. The next years were tumultuous. Margaret would be freed from prison, briefly enjoy the good life, then fall back into debt and return once again to jail.

When she got out in the year of 1794, she was weak and exhausted. But she hit on a new idea. She would write a book, a memoir. Its main purpose was to earn money, so she made it as titillating as she could. But she wanted her book to do something else. She wanted to warn young women about the dangers of following the life of independence the new era promised them. May I be permitted to hold forth myself as an example to the giddy, dissipated fair ones of my sex. Now, perhaps in the full enjoyment of the smiles and adulation of men,

beware. While they pay homage to your beauty, make them provide also for your interest. Lay up stores against a rainy day. She hadn't given up. She wasn't suggesting that young women should avoid her fate by following a traditional lifestyle and marrying. No, she encouraged them to be independent, but she warned that to do that, they had to be smart. They had to be ruthless. The book, The Memoirs of Mrs. Coughlin, was published in 1794. It detailed her youthful standoff with General George Washington and the ups and downs of her time in society. It was a remarkably frank tell-all story, in which she named her lovers and cast blame, including on herself. The book went into multiple editions, in England and in America. People saw her story as a strong argument against forced marriage.

Some even commiserated with her plight. But their sympathy didn't help her. In 1805, she wrote a desperate plea to the King of England, begging him to lift her out of her downward spiral. He did not. After that, she vanished from the historical record. Margaret Coughlin wasn't an early feminist. At least, she didn't think of herself as one. The term didn't yet exist, and she wasn't a crusader. She was just a passionate woman caught up in the ideals of her day, who, because she believed in them, ultimately proved to be ahead of her time. By the end of

her life, America, her native land, was being called the land of freedom. But she knew that for a woman, true freedom was still an illusion. Imagine it's 1792 in London. You're headed to a friend's home. You and some other women have an informal monthly London. You're headed to a friend's home. You and some other women have an informal monthly gathering. You like to read the latest books, exchange ideas. This month, all you can think about is a slim volume by a woman named Mary Wollstonecraft. I'm telling you, this should be our next selection. She says society makes women believe the only way they can rise in the world is by marriage.

Isn't that obvious, though? I don't know any of us here would argue any different, much as we might disagree. And she says treating women as though they're only good for motherhood turns them into animals. Now that's insulting. I don't think she means it to me. She says our ability to reason makes us better than animals and makes women equal to men. Well, hear, hear. Maybe it's time we all read this book. I wish you would. I've never come across anything like it. And it's true. Lying in bed that night, your mind won't stop buzzing with the author's powerful words. Truth must be common to all, she had written. Women must be educated. You whisper it to yourself in the dark. You can feel it. This is the beginning of something new.

A vindication of the rights of women appeared in England about the same time as Margaret Coughlin's memoir was published. It almost seemed to provide a philosophical companion to Margaret Coughlin's life story. Wollstonecraft's book was the first sustained call for women's freedom. In many people's eyes, it would come to mark the birth of the women's movement. But the call for female rights arrived too late for Margaret Coughlin. It would take centuries for Mary Wollstonecraft's ideas to become accepted by society. But Margaret's own turbulent, willful life captured the spirit of America's revolutionary times, the spirit of

freedom into which she had been born and pointed toward the future. On the next episode of American History Tellers, a contradiction gripped the heart of the American pursuit of freedom. The enslavement of Africans ripped from their homelands. One remarkable man among them would manage to deliver himself from captivity and fight to free his family. on Amazon Music. And before you go, tell us about yourself by filling out a short survey at wondery.com slash survey. I hope you enjoyed this episode of American History Tellers. American History Tellers is hosted, sound designed,

and edited by me, Lindsey Graham, for Airship. Additional production assistance by Derek Behrens. This episode is written by Russell Shorto, edited and produced by Jenny Lauer, produced by George Lavender. Our executive producer is Marshall Louis, created by Hernán López for Wondery.

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