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Title: The Life of Sophia Jex-Blake
Author: Todd, Margaret Georgina
Language: English
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THE LIFE OF SOPHIA JEX-BLAKE
_By the same Author_
------------------------------------
MONA MACLEAN
FELLOW TRAVELLERS
WINDYHAUGH
THE WAY OF ESCAPE
GROWTH
------------------------------------------------------------------------
[Illustration:
_Samuel Laurence pinx._ _Emery Walker ph. sc._
_Sophia Jex-Blake_
_at the age of 25_
]
------------------------------------------------------------------------
THE LIFE OF
SOPHIA JEX-BLAKE
BY
MARGARET TODD, M.D.
(GRAHAM TRAVERS)
MACMILLAN AND CO., LIMITED
ST. MARTIN’S STREET, LONDON
1918
_COPYRIGHT_
GLASGOW: PRINTED AT THE UNIVERSITY PRESS
BY ROBERT MACLEHOSE AND CO. LTD.
TO ALL THOSE
MENTIONED IN THE FOLLOWING PAGES
OR PASSED OVER
FROM IGNORANCE OR WANT OF SPACE,
WHO LENT A HELPING HAND
TO A BRAVE AND UNSELFISH FIGHTER,
THIS BOOK IS
GRATEFULLY DEDICATED
PREFACE
There are several reasons why it has seemed worth while to write the
life of Sophia Jex-Blake at some length.
1. She was one of the people who really do live. In the present day a
woman is fitted into her profession almost as a man is. Sixty years ago
a highly dowered girl was faced by a great venture, a great quest. The
life before her was an uncharted sea. She had to find her self, to find
her way, to find her work. In many respects youth was incomparably the
most interesting period of a life history.
2. S. J.-B. has left behind her (as probably no woman of equal power has
done) the record of this quest. She was a born chronicler: almost in her
babyhood she struggled laboriously to get on to paper her doings and
dreams; and she was truthful to a fault. We have here the kind of thing
that is constantly “idealised” in present day fiction,—have it in actual
contemporary record,—with the added interest that here the story begins
in an old-world conservative medium, and passes through the life of the
modern educated working girl into the history of a great movement, of
which the chronicler was indeed _magna pars_. The reader will see how
more and more as the years went on S. J.-B.’s motto became “Not me, but
us,” till one is tempted to say that she _was_ the movement, that she
stood, as it were, for women.
3. That, so to speak, was her “job”; but she never grew one-sided; never
forgot the man’s point of view. No woman ever took a saner and wider
view of human affairs.
4. In spite of the heavy strain thrown by conflicting outlook and ideals
on the relation between parents and child, the reader will see in the
following pages how that relationship was preserved. This is perhaps the
most remarkable thing in the whole history, and it is full of
significance and helpful suggestion for us all in these critical days.
5. And lastly, it proved impossible to write the life in any other way.
When S. J.-B. was a young woman, Samuel Laurence was asked by her
parents to make a crayon drawing of her. After some hours’ work, he
threw down his pencil. “I must get you in oils or not at all,” he said.
Those words have often been in the mind of the author of this book.
CONTENTS
_PART I_
CHAPTER I
PAGE
CHILDHOOD 1
Birth, parentage and descent—Early influences—
“Sweet Sackermena.”
CHAPTER II
SCHOOL LIFE 11
A “terrible pickle”—Home letters—Holidays—“Poems”—
A confession.
CHAPTER III
SCHOOL LIFE—_Continued_ 24
Indifferent health—Various educational
experiments—S. J.-B.’s character as seen by her
schoolfellows.
CHAPTER IV
SCHOOL LIFE—_Concluded_ 35
Leaves school abruptly—Fresh start—Illness of her
mother and sister—Letter from her father—
Confirmation.
CHAPTER V
LIFE AT HOME 50
Friendship with her mother—Dreams of authorship—
Self-centred life—Makes acquaintance of Norfolk
cousins.
CHAPTER VI
LIFE AT QUEEN’S COLLEGE 62
Comes into touch with Feminist movement—Goes to
Queen’s College—Friction—Hunt for lodgings—Is
appointed mathematical tutor—Correspondence with
her father as to accepting payment for her work—
Certificate won “with great credit.”
CHAPTER VII
FRIENDSHIP 78
All-round development—Capacity for friendship and
service—Friendship with Miss Octavia Hill.
CHAPTER VIII
A STEP BEYOND 95
Confidence in her mother—Fresh dedication of her
life.
CHAPTER IX
FIRST EXPERIENCE OF EDINBURGH 103
The problem of realizing the vision—Goes to study
educational methods in Edinburgh—Chequered
experiences—Church-going and religious
difficulties—Consults Rev. Dr. Pulsford—Letters
from her mother—An “increasing purpose.”
CHAPTER X
GERMANY 117
Miss Garrett’s efforts to obtain medical
education—Comes to prospect in Edinburgh—She and
S. J.-B. go canvassing together—Disappointment—
S. J.-B.’s desire to study educational methods
farther afield—Germany—Göttingen—Mannheim—
Appointed English teacher at Grand-ducal
Institute.
CHAPTER XI
LIFE AS A TEACHER AT MANNHEIM 129
Letters to her mother—Success of her work—
Transient wave of unpopularity—Letter to her
mother on Biblical criticism.
CHAPTER XII
VARIOUS PROJECTS AND VENTURES 147
Return home delayed by scarlet fever—Death of a
college friend—Mr. Plumptre recommends S. J.-B.
as founder and Lady Principal of modern Girls’
School at Manchester.
CHAPTER XIII
A VISIT TO SOME AMERICAN SCHOOLS AND COLLEGES 159
Opposition of parents—Goes to Boston—Makes
acquaintance of Dr. Lucy Sewall—R. W. Emerson—
Dinner at the Emersons—Visits Niagara—Inspects
various colleges (Oberlin, Hillsdale, St. Louis,
Antioch) and schools—Correspondence with her
brother—Views on American education.
CHAPTER XIV
QUESTIONINGS 172
Gets to know women doctors in Boston—Assists with
dispensing in New England Hospital for Women—
Gradual initiation into hospital work—Heart-
searchings as to her own future—Law?—The
Ministry?—Religious difficulties—Medicine?
CHAPTER XV
PIONEER WORK IN AMERICA 188
Writes “A Visit”—Published by Macmillan—Good
reviews—Begins study of medicine—Application to
Harvard—Letters from Dr. Oliver Wendell Holmes
and Dr. Brown-Séquard—Obtains clinical teaching
in Massachusetts General Hospital—Goes to New
York—Obtains private teaching in anatomy—Summing
up of three years in America.
CHAPTER XVI
GOING HOME 202
Visit of Dr. Sewall to England—Rapprochement
between S. J.-B. and her father—Dr. Elizabeth
and Dr. Emily Blackwell found Medical College
for Women in New York—S. J.-B. starts house-
keeping and medical study there—Illness of her
father—Return to England.
_PART II_
CHAPTER I
DRIFTING 213
Life at Brighton—Perplexities as to future
education.
CHAPTER II
AT THE GATES OF THE CITADEL 218
Correspondence with Mrs. Butler, Professor
Sidgwick and others as to possibility of
University training—Goes to Edinburgh—Canvasses
professors.
CHAPTER III
SUCCESS? 232
Support of _Scotsman_—Formal application to Dean
of Medical Faculty—Consent (_a_) of Medical
Faculty, (_b_) of Senatus, to receive S. J.-B.
as a student.
CHAPTER IV
A CHECK 242
S. J.-B.’s run of popularity—Difficulties of
situation—Decision of Senatus vetoed by
University Court.
CHAPTER V
OPENING OF EDINBURGH UNIVERSITY TO WOMEN 253
S. J.-B. reinforced by Mrs. Thorne and Miss
Pechey—Dr. King Chambers tries—and fails—to get
women admitted to St. Mary’s Hospital—Edinburgh
University Court agrees to admit women to
separate classes.
CHAPTER VI
THE HOPE SCHOLARSHIP 262
More lady students—_Cives Academiae Edinensis_—
Difficulty of getting teachers—Miss Pechey
deprived of Hope Scholarship—Newspaper support
and opposition—Differences among professors.
CHAPTER VII
PRACTICAL DIFFICULTIES 276
Science classes—Efforts to get anatomical
teaching—Correspondence in the _Lancet_.
CHAPTER VIII
THE RIOT AT SURGEONS’ HALL 285
Women begin study of anatomy—Apply for admission
to Royal Infirmary—Opposition and support—The
riot—Defence of women students by “Irish
Brigade” and other friendly students—Great
newspaper controversy—Annual Meeting of Royal
Infirmary—Crowded audience—Removal to St. Giles’
Church—S. J.-B. speaks—The first woman since
Jenny Geddes to speak in that place—Professor
Christison’s protest and S. J.-B.’s retort—
Hubbub—“Fighting with beasts at Ephesus”—
Formation of “National Association.”
CHAPTER IX
THE ACTION FOR LIBEL 306
Dr. Christison’s assistant brings action for libel
against S. J.-B.—Her brother’s support—She
speaks at suffrage meeting in London—Makes
acquaintance of Rt. Hon. James Stansfeld—The
action for libel—Damages one farthing, but heavy
costs—Criticisms of the verdict.
CHAPTER X
SOME FRIENDSHIPS AND HOLIDAYS 320
£1000 raised by public subscription to defray
costs of action—S. J.-B. takes holiday in Paris—
Commune—Visit of Dr. Lucy Sewall to England.
CHAPTER XI
THE QUESTION OF PROFESSIONAL EXAMINATION 330
Continued practical difficulty in getting teaching
and as to professional examination—Counsel’s
opinion taken by both sides—Friendly professors
and others—Women refused entrance to first
professional examination, but in response to
lawyer’s letter are admitted and pass—Move and
countermove.
CHAPTER XII
THE ROYAL INFIRMARY 340
Marriage of several of the lady students—
Continuance of struggle in Edinburgh together
with enquiries as to chances elsewhere—Sympathy
of Professor Sidgwick and Mr. James Stuart—Rev.
Dr. Guthrie—Infirmary Annual Meeting again—
Success of the Women’s party—“Ring out the
old!”—Question of legality of votes of firms—
Litigation—Success—S. J.-B. a public character.
CHAPTER XIII
THE ACTION AGAINST THE SENATUS 352
_Impasse_—Friends and well-wishers advise appeal
to Court of Law—University Court suggests that
lady matriculated students should give up right
to graduation and be content with certificates
of proficiency—S. J.-B. and others bring Action
of Declarator against Senatus to define
position—Much searching of archives for
evidence—Senatus decides to defend action, but
six professors dissent.
CHAPTER XIV
THE LORD ORDINARY’S JUDGMENT 362
S. J.-B. lectures in London on the whole
situation—Lord Shaftesbury in chair—Difference
with Mrs. Butler—S. J.-B. publishes _Medical
Women_—Lord Ordinary decides substantially in
favour of women students—Widespread
congratulations.
CHAPTER XV
PAYING THE PRICE 377
Many claims, medical, legal, journalistic, etc.,
on S. J.-B.—Gift of £1000 from Mr. Walter
Thomson—S. J.-B. is rejected in first
professional examination—Newspaper interest and
enquiries—Sympathy.
CHAPTER XVI
END OF THE BATTLE IN EDINBURGH 388
Interest of Rt. Hon. James Stansfeld—Introduces S.
J.-B. to some of his colleagues in the Cabinet—
S. J.-B. works hard and successfully for first
election of women on Edinburgh School Board—
University appeals against Lord Ordinary’s
decision—Persevering efforts of all the women
students to get on with their education somehow
and somewhere—St. Andrews—Durham—Ireland—
Edinburgh Court of Session (thirteen judges)
decides by narrow majority in favour of
University—The judgment of the Lord Justice
Clerk.
CHAPTER XVII
THE QUESTION IN PARLIAMENT 398
Increasing public and newspaper interest and
criticism—Mrs. Anderson writes to _Times_,
strongly advising women to study abroad and
practise without registration—S. J.-B. replies—
University censured in press—Apologia of
Principal and S. J.-B.’s reply—Sir David
Wedderburn’s notice of Bill to reduce vote to
Scottish Universities by amount of salaries of
Edinburgh professors withdrawn on hearing of
Lord Ordinary’s judgment—S. J.-B. again
interviews Home Secretary and members of
Cabinet—Things looking well when Gladstone
dissolves Parliament and appeals to country!—S.
J.-B. interviews Mr. Russell Gurney and others—
At Mr. Cowper Temple’s request she and her
solicitor draft “A Bill to remove doubts as to
the power of Scottish Universities”—She is
summoned to London to discuss matter—Bill
introduced and sixty-five petitions at once
presented in its favour—Fails to get through—In
debate on motion the two members for Edinburgh
(Town and Gown) join issue.
CHAPTER XVIII
THE LONDON SCHOOL OF MEDICINE FOR WOMEN 415
Discussion in Parliament calls all latent
opposition into play—S. J.-B.’s failure to pass
examination used as weapon against the women—She
questions justice of rejection—A great mistake—
Reproaches—By advice of Dr. Anstie and Mr.
Norton she founds the London School of Medicine
for Women—Miss Irby’s visit to it.
CHAPTER XIX
THE RUSSELL GURNEY ENABLING ACT 423
Difference between S. J.-B. and Mrs. Anderson, who
nevertheless joins Council of School—Mr. Cowper
Temple brings forward his Bill again, and, after
defeat, brings forward a “Foreign Degrees Bill,”
which is also defeated—Lord Sandon on behalf of
Government admits importance of question—Mr.
Simon suggests that women should qualify by
means of examination in Midwifery only, as was
then possible—This agreed to after legal
enquiries, and the women students send in their
names, but examiners resign—S. J.-B.’s longing
to break away and do rough hospital work in
Bosnia—Deputation to President of Privy Council—
“Foreign Degrees Bill” again defeated, but
Government intimate to Mr. Russell Gurney that
he should bring in an “Enabling Bill”—Though
late in session this passes and becomes law—Miss
Pechey and Miss Shove induce Irish College to
avail itself of ability conferred by new Act—
_The Woman Hater_.
CHAPTER XX
AT LAST 436
S. J.-B. and Miss Pechey study and graduate at
Berne, and obtain Licence of Irish College.
CHAPTER XXI
THE ROYAL FREE HOSPITAL 441
Hospital training still refused to the women
coming on—Mr. Stansfeld introduces S. J.-B. to
Chairman of Royal Free Hospital, whom he has
already interested in the matter—R.F.H. opened
to women—Opening of London University to women—
In organisation of London School for Women, S.
J.-B. is set aside—Mrs. Thorne becomes Hon.
Secretary—_persona grata_—Retrospect.
_PART III_
CHAPTER I
EARLY DAYS IN PRACTICE 455
Special difficulties of women doctors in general
and of S. J.-B. in particular—Opens Dispensary—
Assistance of distinguished Edinburgh doctors—
Early success—Letters to colleagues and friends—
Views on Suffrage and on life in general.
CHAPTER II
LAST ILLNESS OF MRS. JEX-BLAKE 470
S. J.-B. called south for last time—Unavailing
efforts—Death of Mrs. Jex-Blake.
CHAPTER III
PATIENTS AND FRIENDS 476
S. J.-B. removes to Bruntsfield Lodge—Letters to
old friends—Interest in education of girls—Views
on problems and mysteries of life—Paying and
non-paying guests—Beginnings of Edinburgh
Hospital for Women and Children—Her love of
poetry—Her books.
CHAPTER IV
PUBLIC LIFE 490
Interest in all public questions relating to
women—Too masterful and uncompromising in
working with others—Publishes _The Care of
Infants_—Her coöperation much in demand in
parliamentary business—Assists Edinburgh
lecturers in their efforts to obtain charter—
Efforts fail, but examinations of Conjoint
Colleges thrown open to women—Re-publication of
_Medical Women_—_The Englishwoman’s Year Book_—
Health Lecture to Women—Founding of Edinburgh
School of Medicine for Women—Its difficulties—
Opposition.
CHAPTER V
RE-OPENING OF EDINBURGH UNIVERSITY TO WOMEN 502
S. J.-B. writes article for _Nineteenth Century_—
Views on marriage, etc.—Her Hindu students—
Appointed a lecturer on Midwifery in the Extra-
Mural School—Death of Dr. Lucy Sewall—S. J.-B.’s
renewed efforts to gain admission for women to
St. Andrews—Final appeal to her own Alma Mater
“to decide a question which has been under
consideration for twenty-five years”—Success—
Congratulations from members of “National
Association”—S. J.-B.’s characteristics as
doctor and as citizen.
CHAPTER VI
DRIVING TOURS. ANIMAL FRIENDS 513
CHAPTER VII
THE SABBATICAL YEAR 523
Search for a suitable house—Send-off from friends
in Edinburgh—Windydene—Life in retirement—Fruit-
growing—Dairy—Friends—Books—Winters abroad—
Interest in public affairs—Distrust of Germany—
Suffrage—Death of Professor Masson—S. J.-B.’s
religious attitude—Health—Last illness.
APPENDICES
A. Pedigree of the Jex-Blake family. Origin of 543
compound surname
B. “Words for the Way.”—No. 2. Rest 544
C. Conclusions from “A Visit to American Schools and 548
Colleges”
D. The Edinburgh Extra-Mural School 551
E. Letter to the _Times_ in reply to Mrs. Garrett 552
Anderson
F. Letter to the _Times_ in reply to the Principal of 555
Edinburgh University
G. Permanent Memorials of S. J.-B. 563
INDEX 565
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
SOPHIA JEX-BLAKE _Frontispiece_
From a painting by Samuel Laurence
THOMAS JEX-BLAKE _To face p._ 70
From a drawing in chalks by Henry T.
Wells, R.A.
MARIA EMILY JEX-BLAKE ” 384
From a drawing in chalks by Henry T.
Wells, R.A.
SOPHIA JEX-BLAKE ” 484
_PART I_
Our great interest in biography is due to the desire to see that the
“child is father to the man”; in other words, to see how, from boyhood
to manhood and from manhood to old age, through all change of
circumstances and all widening of intellectual and practical
interests, we can detect the same unique, individual nature, and link
each new expression of it in speech and action with that which
preceded it.
EDWARD CAIRD.
CHAPTER I
CHILDHOOD
Sophia Jex-Blake was born on the 21st January, 1840. “How happy I was
with my Baby this time two and twenty years ago!” writes Mrs. Jex-Blake
on the 21st January, 1862, and, if she had greater cause than some
mothers for the plaintive note that one seems to hear through the words,
she was the first to rejoice in her great compensations.
Certainly no baby ever had a warmer welcome into the world. At the time
of her birth, her father, Mr. Thomas Jex-Blake, a proctor of Doctors’
Commons, was living the life of a retired gentleman with his wife at 3
Croft Place, Hastings. Both parents, though no longer young, and in some
ways older than their years, were devotedly fond of children, and a
number of disappointments had shadowed their married life. In January,
1840, their son, Thomas William, was eight years of age, and their
daughter, Caroline, a staid little maiden of six. The home was crying
out for a real baby, and all were prepared to treat the newcomer as a
little queen.
And most royally did the little queen step into the position lying at
her feet. There was no doubt at all that _she_ meant to live. She was
vital to the finger-tips, a thoroughly wholesome little animal, with a
pair of great luminous eyes, too mature for a baby, though they retained
the child look for three score years and ten.
The Baby came of an excellent stock.[1] On both sides she was descended
from well-known Norfolk families, whose lineage will be found in Burke’s
_Landed Gentry_. Her father was the son of William Jex-Blake of Swanton
Abbots, and her mother the daughter of Thomas Cubitt of Honing Hall. It
sounds old-world and picturesque, like Trollope’s novels or a landscape
by Constable.
Footnote 1:
Appendix A.
On the other hand, the Baby—as in later years she never tired of saying—
“came in with the penny post.” New ideas were surging up on every side.
When one thinks of her parentage, her heredity, and the tendencies of
the world outside, one can scarcely imagine a more varied lot of
elements from which to build up a life. Of the fairies who came to her
christening, some brought great gifts, and some great opportunities,
and, when the cradle was full, one can almost hear them say,—“What now,
little girl, will you make of that?”
Of all the gifts we know well which she considered the greatest. “No
child ever had better parents than I!” “How I wish you had known my
Mother!” Such words were constantly on her lips. Throughout life, when
she was making holiday, she loved to go back to old Hastings, to point
out to some intimate friend the house where she was born, the church—St.
Clement’s—where she was baptised; to wander about the old castle, and
note the very rocks which had afforded the most delightful scrambling-
ground when she was a child. There was a special point in some country
walk associated with the picture of her Father bending his tall figure
to hold her hand, while he talked to her of “the terrible things people
were doing in France.”
“No one ever had a happier childhood than I.”
In many ways she was extraordinarily fortunate in her parents. One
cannot go through the long series of carefully preserved letters written
to their youngest child without feeling tempted to say that better
people never lived. Absolutely upright in all their dealings, devoted
and unselfish in their affection, single-heartedly religious, regarding
themselves strictly as stewards of the wealth Providence had bestowed on
them, they really were the fine flower of old Evangelical Anglicanism.
One seldom sees a husband and wife so entirely of one mind as to what
are the things that matter. And if the Mother—Maria Emily Cubitt—was the
one to bring to the union the keen wit, the happy humour, which her
children inherited and loved to recall, her husband was the first to
acknowledge and rejoice in her gifts. He was her proud lover to the day
of his death. Family tradition made it a matter of course that they
should have a luxurious home, and that all the appointments of their
life should be good, but the note of self-denial was always telling
resolutely and unobtrusively. It was her younger daughter’s boast in
later years that Mrs. Jex-Blake “would have made a splendid poor man’s
wife;” and the vulgar criticism was significant of their whole attitude
towards life, that “the Jex-Blake’s carriage was as fine as any in the
place, but _there was always a poor person in it_”.
What made this attitude all the finer was the fact that neither husband
nor wife was ever tempted to undervalue social distinctions. It was
_noblesse oblige_ always,—the _noblesse_ of family as much as the
_noblesse_ of Christ.
Surely better people never lived, and yet, as human standards go, the
world which they built around them was scarcely a spacious world. “I
have learnt far more from my children than they ever learned from me,”
Mrs. Jex-Blake used to say with characteristic generosity in her old
age, and hers was one of the minds that grow and develop up to the last:
but in some ways the Evangelicalism of her middle life—even with the
advantage of her most gracious representation of its tenets—was a
cramping thing. While Caroline and Sophia were still in the nursery,
their parents had resolved, from the best of motives, to deny them the
social advantages which their mother had enjoyed before them. Dancing
and theatre-going were wrong; novels were mainly trash; _Punch_ was
“vulgar”. “Christ’s kingdom” was the one thing worth considering—
Christ’s kingdom as represented by the popular preachers of the day.
“The mission field” was the great object of enthusiasm. After reading
much contemporary correspondence one is tempted to say that the making
of pen-wipers and book-markers for missionary bazaars was the work fitly
to be expected of a Christian gentleman’s daughter.
From her cradle the elder sister seems to have accepted this view of
life. Her fine and massive intellect bowed to the limitations imposed
upon it. Her strong character asserted itself in many ways, but never so
as to give her parents the proverbial “hour’s anxiety”.
And, for better or worse, into this atmosphere Sophia Jex-Blake was
born. One can scarcely wonder that she came as a little queen. “Brother”
was already at school, his foot on the first step of a brilliant career;
“Sweet Carrie” was all that loving parents expected her to be; the new
thing came as a complete surprise. The freshness, the wilfulness, the
naughtiness of her were as the wine of life to these staid, law-abiding
people. It took their breath away sometimes, but it was all on so small
a scale, and were not all the forces of religion in reserve to check any
undue waywardness as soon as she was old enough to understand?
The earliest samples of her handwriting are two letters addressed to her
brother,—undated, but written laboriously in “half-text” between double
lines. The quotation and punctuation marks are added by another hand.
“DEAR BROTHER,
Your note was much ‘amiss,’
But as you sent sixpence,
I pardon the offence,
And kindly send you this.
S. L. J. B.”
and again:
“DEAR BROTHER,
I must say I think you very impertinent, however I condescend to
write to you. If you write a word more nonsense your head shall be
off. I am your humble servant grand mogul.”
“_Entirely_ her own composition” is the postscript added in her father’s
handwriting.
No doubt they spoilt her, and she must still have been very young when
her audacity and wilfulness began to cause her parents real anxiety. In
January, 1847, her Mother writes:
“DEAR SOPHY,
I am very pleased with your marker, I think it nicely done for
you. I wish you many happy returns of your birthday—now you are seven
years old I hope you will pray for the Holy Spirit to keep you from
sin, from disobedience, and from violence of temper. I send you as a
text for your birthday 16 Proverbs 32, and I trust you will try hard
to act upon it.... I hope you take all the care you can of dear Papa—
he says you are very good. Brother sends love.
I am your affectionate Mother,
MARIA EMILY JEX-BLAKE.”
A day or two later she writes again:
“I am very glad to hear you had such a happy birthday—how kind in Mary
to give you that nice tea-pot. I hope you remember to thank God for
giving you so many kind friends. Be sure to take all the care you can
of dear Papa, and if he takes you for a walk do not let him talk.
I miss Papa’s nice explaining God’s word every morning at prayers, you
must tell me what it has been about.
We like Brighton and I think I am stronger, but we shall be very glad
to be home again. I hope Mary takes care about the poor people’s broth
and the puddings for the sick children. I long to see all my poor
friends again, but I trust some one visits them and that they do not
miss me. Papa must go and read with Mrs. P. when he is able and with
Mrs. C.... Ask Mr. Macleane to bring you back with him in his pocket,
when he returns on Monday. Show him how quiet you can be.”
It is clear the teaching of religion had already begun, if indeed there
was ever a time when it had not,—the teaching of such genuine heartfelt
religion!—under symbols that never were suited to the mind of a
sensitive child. So it is not surprising that she was not always the
Grand Mogul, poor little soul! The next papers that survive are in a
totally different vein. They are written when she was seven or eight
years old, and the handwriting, though far from beautiful, is much
better formed.
“DEAR MRS. BLAKE,
I wish you would be so kind as to come and see me every night in
Bed-ford-shire at least tonight on Sunday Monday Tuesday Wednesday
Thursday Friday Saturday and next Sunday after tomorrow. I require an
answer to this note (letter) even if you do come tonight. There are
now so many railroads that you can get to Bedfordshire in one minute.
Please send ‘Madam Mary’ with this and then come up.
GRANDAFLORER.”
The true inwardness of this request appears in a private paper probably
of an earlier date, folded up and labelled on the outside, “A Prayer to
be Said After an unhappy Night.”
“Oh Lord I beseech Thee take away my fears of a night, for Thou alone
knowest what miseries I this night have suffered. O Lord, I beseech
Thee this day enable me to behave as I ought. O Lord, I beseech Thee
to make me a Christain child ... take away my doubts and fears....”
In the next letter—endorsed by her Mother, “7th May, 1848”—she says,
“I whant to tell you that I feel so much less fear of a night....
“I will never say again (as I fear I often have) that God does not
hear my prayer or that I do not derive comfort from it.... Please (for
you say please wins everything) do not show this to anybody not even
to dear Papa.
S. L. B.”[2]
Footnote 2:
The paragraphs and brackets are the writer’s own.
Clearly the child at this time was learning to read and write. Of any
formal teaching no record has been kept, but, if anything of the kind
existed, it can have made no great demand on her brain power, which
began at this time to find expression in a somewhat unusual way.
In common with most children, she dreamed dreams, but her dreams were
not the random visions of an hour. They were singularly coherent and
consecutive, aiming at nothing less than the construction of an ideal
state ruled by a “despotic emperor” in some wonderful islands lying in
an unknown sea. She was unable to throw the creations of her brain into
anything like literary form, but numberless papers have been preserved,
varying from large official-looking blue foolscap sheets giving the
“constitution” of the state, down to tiny scraps about the minutest
detail connected with it.
There are many maps of the islands, of which the largest, Sackermena,
gave its name to the group; and these are supplemented by numberless
poems in which she strove to give expression to the feelings her Utopia
aroused in her mind. Poetry never came easy to her, dearly as she loved
it.
She begins gallantly many times: (We all know the experience.)
“See how pretily the sunbeams dance
Upon the fair waves of Speed-the-lance
See the Waters of Gold!”
and again,
“See Lord Grandaflora brave
Fighting his country and life to save....”
and again,
“See how gently Mordisca rules
O’er Sackermena and her pooles....”
or is it “fooles”?—The writing is very bad.
On the whole the most delightful stanza is the one that was probably the
first,
“Sweet Sackermena and her isles
See how many yards and miles
It takes to go round Sackermena!”
No, poetry never came easy to her.
When she tackles the constitution of the state, however, her work is on
a totally different level. She gives us the officers, “Military, Civil,
and Judicial,” the standing army, standing navy, Men of War _and_
frigates, and vessels “in rest, ready to be raised.” From this we go on
to Prisons, Castles, Laws, Parliament, Guards, etc. The population
varies greatly in different schemes. In one, by a stroke of genius, all
innocent of that terrible Woman Question in which she was to play so
prominent a part, she says:—Men, 7,000,000; Women, 5,000,000. Truly an
ideal state!
There are many codes of laws, drawn up to meet one contingency after
another. The following are picked out almost at random:
“The Despotic Emperor has authority that none may dispute and none may
appear in his presence without his gracious permission save his sons
and Lord Field Marshall, also the chief general the high Admiral the
high Treasurer, high Chancellor, Secretary of state and the Chief
Justice.”
“Succession to the Crown. It is at the option of the Reigning Despotic
Emperor to name his successor but if he dies without making any choice
it descends to the eldest son but if he has no son the crown is placed
on the head of the eldest daughter unless 12 _strong_ reasons can be
urged to the contrary and accepted by Parliament. If he has no
offspring it does not descend to the next relation but it is in the
power of the parliament to give it to whoever it pleases.”
“Robery shall always be punished by the culprits restoring fourfold or
if utterly unable to pay this as many days imprisonment as there are
shillings in the forfeit.”
“Intentional murder and personal injury shall be punished by injuries
precisely similar.”
“If any man conceals the persons mentioned in the preceding laws he is
punished half as much as the offender.”
“That every English or Scotchman that is travelling with a passport
shall be supplied with provisions cost free. And every Frenchman shall
have things for half and every Dutchman quarter price. Any one
infringing this law is liable to be forced into the army with the
possibility of advancement or to be imprisoned for two years.”
“No judge shall ever condemn a man to death without the knowledge of
Lord Trican. An infringement of this law shall be visited by
confiscation of all his estates except (if he have it) 250 to his wife
and 300 to each of his children; besides his being degraded from
office and receiving 30 stripes in the public square of St. Anhola.”
“All disobedience to officers shall be punished by flogging. 1st
offence 20 strokes, 2nd. 34, 3rd. 40, 4th. imprisonment 4 months, 5th.
14 months, 6th. Death.”
“If any sentinel be found asleep in the camp he shall be shot with
blank cartridges and imprised 15 months. The second offence he shall
be shot really.”
“Spirits or strong drink not being allowed in either army or navy any
person having any shall be shot with blank cartridges and the second
offence he shall receive 20 strokes and 1 months imprisonment, 3rd. 32
strokes and 4 months imprisonment. 4th. Death.”
“In time of war when the standing army is not sufficient to resist the
enemy’s forces 350 soldiers and 4 captains and 10 lieutenants shall be
sent to raise the ready militia to the amount required; if this is not
enough every man above 20 and under 80 compose the Possiblees which is
raised in great danger, but 2,500,000 must be left (all able bodied
men) to take care of the kingdom.”
In many respects this state was a primitive one. When certain
announcements were to be made, “a large bell is rung which is heard to
the distance of 23 miles,” or “an enormous bonfire is made in the palace
gardens of Mt. Gilbow [!] which is perhaps seen to a greater distance.”
This is fine:
“The Despotic Emperor is the grand Law-giver General Judge Sage
Physician and in short the Father of his vast dominions.”
In spite of the mass of prosaic detail as to dress, provisions, etc.,
there is sometimes a hint of the supernatural about the whole thing. The
dotted lines between the islands in one of the maps indicate “invisible
bridges”, and in a request to “VICTORIA and PRINCE ALBERT” that a
governor may be sent from England to “controll the foreigners who
wilfully destroy the peace and comfort of this happy and well-governed
realm,” we are told that “if this wish is complied with, the Most
Gracious Despotic Emperor, PHRAMPTON OMAIL GRANDIFLORA,[3] will stand
the friend of your kingdoms on earth and admit 20 of your subjects to
his unearthly Kingdom.”
Footnote 3:
Note the similarity of the name to her signature on p. 5. Many a
little girl has loved to imagine herself a fairy princess. It would be
interesting to know whether any other ever dreamed of being a
“Despotic Emperor.”
A great impetus to the whole conception may possibly have been given by
a tour which the child was fortunate enough to make with her parents and
sister to Warwickshire and thence to Scotland in June, 1850, a tour of
which further particulars will be found in the next chapter. In the
course of her very conscientiously kept diary, she says, “We read the
Lady of the Lake aloud,” and she herself is reading “Ivanhoe, one of the
Waverley novels.”
There is no proof, however, that any part of her Utopia was sketched
after this tour, and a great part of it was certainly written before.
On the whole, perhaps, the most remarkable thing in connection with
“Sackermena and her Isles” is the staying power shown by the writer in
developing her idea, and her determination to get everything down on
paper. In this more than in anything else the child was father of the
man.
S. J.-B. was a born chronicler.
As regards Sackermena, the idea certainly afforded no lack of scope and
variety. What with drawing maps, writing poetry, framing laws, adding up
the totals of her army and reserves, devising for the soldiery “A dark
red long coat with silver falcons, and thick leather buskins studden
with iron,” and many another guise equally picturesque,—she certainly
did not suffer from monotony in her self-chosen occupation. And the
above examples by no means exhaust its possibilities. On a stray slip of
paper we come upon a formal complaint from a “justice,” who, “passing in
disguise through Pe,” was supplied with a loaf deficient in weight; and
a tiny booklet (laboriously stitched together by the writer’s hot little
hands) has the following title page:
THE SACKERMENEE’S
POCKET BOOK
----------
_Containing many Little Accounts
of their Customs_
----------
PUBLISHED BY S. L. BLAKE & CO.
Hastings 1848
_Jan. 1850_
The two dates seem to indicate that _Sackermena_ flourished for perhaps
two years; but the Pocket Book itself was not a hardy plant. The big
foolscap sheets were clearly more stimulating to the imagination.
The thing is child’s work throughout. From first to last it bears no
trace of grown-up criticism; nor is there then or afterwards any note by
her parents, teachers or friends, referring in even the most distant way
to the faerie region in which the little girl must have spent so much of
her time.
Another thing strikes one incidentally—considering the atmosphere in
which the child was brought up—as rather curious. There is no mention of
clergy at Sackermena, nor of any form of church. We are not even told
that nothing of the kind existed.
Note again that the Despotic Emperor was the grand Lawgiver, General,
Judge, Sage, Physician, and, in short, the Father, of his vast
dominions.
CHAPTER II
SCHOOL LIFE
“You often say how happy you were as a child,” an intimate friend
remarked once to Dr. Jex-Blake, “but you never talk of your school life.
I expect you were a terrible pickle?”
“Specs so,” was the laconic response, and the subject dropped.
There is no getting round the fact that she _was_ a terrible pickle. If
we bear in mind what the state of girls’ education was in those days we
shall see that it could scarcely have been otherwise. If she could have
gone to a boys’ school and enjoyed its boisterous give and take, the
little “despotic emperor” would soon have found her level. One loves to
think how happy she would have been in the modern Girls’ High School: if
she had but found the education of women in the condition in which she
left it, the difference in her whole future would have been very great,
but women of the present day would not owe her the debt they owe her
now. “The breaker is gone up before them.”
As things were, she had, in a sense, got the upper hand of her parents
before she went to school at all. She was simply overflowing with energy
and vitality, and they found themselves, while she was little more than
a child, confronted with a personality which ran right athwart their
preconceived notions and theories of life. They had not the right
weapons with which to meet the outbursts of her volcanic temperament,
and it must always be borne in mind that “when she was good, she was
very very good,” immeasurably more attractive than the average child.
The one effort of her teachers, of course, was to repress her, to induce
her to be “ladylike,” and, most unfortunately of all, to make every
childish act of disobedience, every outburst of passion, the text for a
homily on the necessity of “coming to Jesus.” One cannot read the long
series of letters referred to above without wondering how it came about
that the germ of religion in the child’s heart was not worn away
altogether; and indeed its survival only becomes comprehensible when one
bears in mind the genuine goodness of many of those who watched over
her, and also the “unknown quantity,”—that elusive unsearchable factor
that is present in every human equation.
The earliest references to her education are two letters from her first
governess, Miss B., to Mrs. Jex-Blake, of which the first is dated
November 24th, 1848:
“Sophy is a dear child, shewing daily advancement in her studies, and
often delighting me by a rectitude of principle emanating, I trust
‘from the Father of lights’. A little native wildness (and that
gradually softening down) together with the want of promptitude in
setting about her duties, are the chief obstacles that could be picked
out from a much longer list of things most prized by an earnest
teacher. I have often thought of your wish that she should learn the
Latin grammar, and quite agree with your view of its probable
advantage; but I am afraid of breaking down in the long and short
syllables.... For the next few months it appears to me nothing will be
lost by our present system, in which I find parsing to be generally a
subject of interest.
I trust the time is not very distant when your little girl will
successfully strive to be both a help and comfort to her parents.”
The second letter is nearly two months later:
“Your kind letter with its agreeable suggestion reached me too late
for a reply by return of post. It would have given me a feeling deeper
than pleasure to continue the instruction of your very promising
child, but I have already engaged with one daily pupil and have a half
prospect of another, in addition to which God’s high dispensation
seems to allot to my keeping, as soon as He graciously gives me the
means, the eldest of four children belonging to my Brother.... With
our best love to Sophy, I am, dear Mrs. Blake,
Yours in the Lord,
MARY B.”
The first arrangement having fallen through, Sophy was sent with her
sister to Belmont, a school kept by Mrs. and Miss Teed. The following
letter seems to have been written on the day they set out:
“29th January [1849].
DEAR LITTLE SO,
I hope you had a comfortable journey; I fear the cold wind must
have increased your cold. Now, dearest child, you must be always going
to Jesus for grace to overcome self-will and the desire to be
conspicuous. Strive to be a gentle child, in reality esteeming others
better than yourself. You cannot learn anything to any purpose till
you are obedient and have some self-command. Try to be a comfort to
dearest Carry, she has her trials, depend upon it,—do you be obedient
to her and thoughtful of her comfort, without making a fuss about it.
Carry likes kindness quietly done. Do not give needless trouble to
Miss Towers or anyone. Try to deserve Dearest Mrs. Teed’s good
opinion. Jesus will be sure to help you whenever you ask Him. I
forward a note that arrived from Aunt Taylor. Papa sends best love.
I am your affectionate Mother,
MARIA EMILY JEX-BLAKE.”
Mrs. Jex-Blake’s health never was robust, and at this time it was
causing her husband and intimate friends some uneasiness.
“Do you know, darling Sophy,” she writes on March 27th, “it is
sometimes quite a trial to me to write _one_ letter to each of you,
and I should hardly do it, did I not know how ‘nice it is’ (as you
say) to hear from home at school. I so much like you to send me the
heads of Mr. Parker’s and of Mr. Taylor’s sermons. The one on 23 Jer.
29 must have been very beautiful.... Papa has just come in and says
thank dear little _So_ for her letter and tell her I am _particularly_
pleased with the clear way in which she sent me the heads of the
sermon.... I send you a few of our violets.”
And again,
“Be much in prayer, my sweet one, for grace to be obedient and gentle.
Hope whispers great things for our next meeting if God grants us one.
I am comforting myself with the hope that you are waging constant war
against _self-will_ and _disobedience_. You can hardly believe how
happy you will be when through God’s help upon your earnest
endeavours, you can obey _at once_ and give up your own way. I send my
darling child a text which I wish her to learn and pray for grace to
live up to. It is 1 Peter v. 5. I wish you to learn it perfectly and
make it part of your _daily_ prayers. Tell me when you write that you
have done so. Bear it in mind all day long, and try hard, very hard,
to live up to it. I often fancy you all at morning prayers and wish I
could be there.[4] God gives you great privileges, dear child, that
you may live to Him.”
Footnote 4:
She would probably not have elected to be there on the morning when
some imp induced Sophy to tip over a bench on to the row of girls
kneeling in front of her.
All the letters are in this vein, and all were read by the recipient
many times and carefully preserved.
In June, 1849, she went with her parents, brother and sister to spend a
long holiday in the Lake District, and one is glad to think of her as
being much in the open air, collecting plants and stones, “shooting a
good deal with bow and arrows,” riding on the coach, and being allowed
to drive for a few minutes herself.[5]
Footnote 5:
She used to say that her intimate familiarity with the details of
harnessing and all stable matters was due to the fact that when they
were spending a holiday in the country her father allowed them to have
a pony and trap on condition that, with the exception of actual
grooming, the children managed it entirely themselves.
Her holiday diary is as well written and as dull as that of the average
adult, and one is almost startled when one comes upon such entries as
“Played at horses and pretended I was driving the mail”; and again, “A
very wet day. I had a very nice game with Papa and Carry, and another
with Carry in the afternoon and afterwards another alone with Papa very
nice indeed and I enjoyed it _very_ much.”
On the other hand there was no lack of church-going, and the texts are
always carefully noted down:
“July 29th Sunday. Went to Keswick church in the morning and the text
was James 4. 8. Brother went to church at Thornthwaite. Papa, Brother
and Carry walked off to the Vale of St. John’s, but there was no
sermon—only prayers. Went to Keswick church in the afternoon and the
clergyman took his text from Ps. 119, 96.”
“Aug. 5th. Mama was very ill and I stopped at home both in the morning
and afternoon with her. Papa, Brother and Carry went to Brougham-hall
to church but there was no service. They went again in the afternoon
to Brougham-hall—no sermon. I went in the evening to Penrith church
and the text was Luke 16. 8.”
_She_ never seems to have drawn a blank, poor little soul!
A previous entry is even more characteristic of the world she lived in:
“July 23rd.... Had a walk with Papa and Carry in the afternoon, and
afterwards bought tracts (for 6d.) with Carry.”
“24th. A rather wet morning. Went out with Papa and gave away some
tracts.”
Yet her Father was an excellent playfellow and at this time her most
indulgent critic. In the spring of 1850 he writes—“It is a real pleasure
to me to hear from you, and I hear such pleasing accounts of you from
others that I am very glad”; but it must be admitted that this note of
congratulation is rare.
There is an amusing little joint note from her parents, probably of an
earlier date:
“DEAR SOPHY,
I send you the 1s. and I hope the yellow paper. I do not know
what you want of paste-board, therefore I fear I cannot send it. I
send the gingerbreads, and hope to do so on the 11th again. Your
affectionate Mother.”
Then follows in pencil:
“Dear child, I have got _all_ the things for you and leave them with 2
pounds of gingerbread. I think you want more than one shilling for
your purpose so I enclose 2s. for you.
Your affect. Papa,
T. J.-B.”
But it must not be supposed that her parents were ever otherwise than of
one mind concerning her. Like all well-constituted husbands, Mr. Jex-
Blake was quite prepared on occasion to demolish the child who made his
wife uncomfortable. And it must be confessed that little Sophy had
rather a knack of making people “uncomfortable.” She was so keen about
everything: she staked her equanimity so often on things which it might
have been wiser to regard as trifles, that those about her learned to
live in a state of some anxiety, never knowing when the eruption might
come.
The remedy for it all is painfully obvious as we read. More scope, more
physical exercise, more fresh air; but, as already pointed out, the
girls’ schools of those days provided none of these things; and, when
the child came to her dearly loved home, the Mother’s excessive
fragility made it necessary that her daughter should live the life of a
grown up person.[6] The most devoted mutual love could not devise a
_régime_ suited to both. The lovely ailing Mother could not stand noise
and excitement. Sophy was often riotous, excitable, “rough” yet always
very loving with it all. On one occasion when walking demurely along the
pavement in a _queue_ of well-behaved girls, she caught sight of her
father, and, without a moment’s hesitation, deserted the ranks, and took
a flying leap on to his back!
Footnote 6:
“I must tell you my experience,” writes Mrs. Jex-Blake to Dr. Lucy
Sewall a quarter of a century later, “_not_ my own practice, it was
not the fashion of my day (and having lost my three eldest I was very
anxious and fidgetty):—Where children are trusted and have a good deal
of independence, and their tempers not fretted about _little_ things,
they grow up more open, confiding and trustworthy.”
No wonder that a contemporary friend of the family describes him as
saying very often, “My dear Sophy! My dear child!” in tones of absolute
bewilderment.
In the summer of 1850 Sophy made the tour referred to in the preceding
chapter, and a liberal education it must have been. In April Mrs. Jex-
Blake had written,
“I hardly allow myself to look forward to the treat of going to
Scotland; it seems almost too much pleasure,—and we shall be sure to
find people who love Jesus and love the Bible there and that will add
so very greatly to our pleasure.... Papa thanks you for your letter,
he is surprised and pleased to learn that you are in Reduction.... Use
daily as a prayer the substance of 1 Peter v. 5.”
“18th June. Left Belmont at 20 minutes to 10 with Miss Teed, and met
Papa and Mama at the Euston, and went to Rugby to pick up Brother.” So
Sophy’s own diary begins, and an excellent conscientious piece of work
it is. They visited Leamington, Warwick, Kenilworth: thence to
Edinburgh, Stirling, Glasgow and the Lochs, Callander and the Trossachs,
stopping at York on the way south.
A pretty piece of doggerel shows the happy relations between Father and
daughter at this period. It is scribbled in pencil on the back of a
hotel-keeper’s note. The Father begins in his scholarly handwriting:
“My little child, You’re very wild,
Could you be still, And yet not ill,
Then, little So, This I do know,
You’d be a blessing, Worth possessing.”
Whereupon Sophy comes hobbling on:
“My dear Father, I had rather
You’d believe me, And relieve me,
When I say, As I may,
That I’ll be good, As I should.”
Of course it is she who recommences the game:
“My dear Papa, Aha, Aha,
Send me a letter, Then you can better
Tell when we go, Off to Tarbet Oh!
And all your wishes, With many kisses.”
And the scholarly handwriting closes the page:
“I kiss you! Why if I do
I kiss a wild, And teasing child.
But this short note, Papa has wrote
To say at ten, We start again.
Henceforth you should Be very good.”
In autumn the two sisters returned to Mrs. Teed’s school, and things
resumed their chequered course. I am told by a schoolfellow of Sophy’s,
who had an excellent influence over her at that time, that Mrs. Teed
managed the little girl extremely well: and in any case she remained at
Belmont for two years, when Mrs. Jex-Blake removed her—evidently to the
child’s regret—on the curious ground that she was being “extinguished.”
The truth is that the younger pupils were rationed according to age,
and, as Sophy was physically as well as mentally in advance of her
contemporaries, she was reduced to eating raw acorns to appease her
hunger. But Mrs. Jex-Blake was not aware of that detail till long after.
In the meantime, the former teacher, Miss B., had settled at Ramsgate
with the pupils already referred to, and Sophy was sent back to her. A
more devoted and conscientious teacher one can scarcely imagine, but the
arrangement was in some ways a very unfortunate one. At home—and
probably also to some extent at Mrs. Teed’s—the religious atmosphere was
tempered by a sense of humour as regards the ordinary affairs of life;
but of this quality worthy Miss B. seems to have possessed no trace.
Henceforth the child lived in a religious forcing house. One hopes that
at times she escaped to Sweet Sackermena and her Isles, but the moral
atmosphere at Ramsgate was not conducive to such pagan wanderings. Her
brain was pronounced excitable, and she was to have but little head
employment, but she was taken to church several times a week, and
encouraged—or instructed—to write out the sermons to send home to her
parents. Here is an example of her work: (Miss B.’s trifling corrections
are omitted.)
“Mr. Dunbrain. John iii. 3.* April 2. 1851.
We live in days of deep interest,—the common topics of men are thrown
aside and everyone seems to be utterly absorbed in religious
controversies. The torpor which had overspread the church has entirely
dissolved, and now all around we hear nothing but the perpetual strife
jar and clamour of religious disputes. It is a storm and a strong one
too, but many think it precedes the blessed peace and quiet of the
Millennium. Like every storm it did not come all at once, but it has
been long in gathering; it began with what men call trifles and rose
gradually, gathering strength as it rose, etc., etc.
Those marked * are Wednesday evening lectures.”
We are left to guess whether she wrote out the lecture after supper the
night it was delivered, or lay awake “remembering it” till next morning.
Memory altogether was a faculty assiduously cultivated. It was the
custom for the family to gather round the fire on Sunday evenings, and
for one after the other to repeat a sacred poem. When they had been
separated for a time, special interest attached to the items each had
added in the interval to his, or her, repertory. No doubt the custom
began with the learning of hymns, but they seem for the most part to
have been good hymns, and round this nucleus there gathered an
extraordinarily varied collection,—fine passages from Isaiah and the
Psalms, poems by Trench, Dean Alford, Longfellow, Wordsworth and many
more. It was said of the younger daughter in her later life that, if she
had been shipwrecked on a desert island with nothing but pens and paper
in addition to the actual means of livelihood, she could gradually have
provided a priceless library from memory alone.
A few of her letters at this time have been preserved.
[1851].
“DEAR DADDY,
A most extraordinary thing happened this morning; the crew of a
Portuguese ship put up in the masthead figures representing Pontius
Pilate and Judas and exactly as 10 struck on the pier clock they
thumped them down into the sea! Now was not this Popish trash? A
respectable English jolly tar told Miss B. all about it and added how
happy we were to be taught better; now I think that’s a right good
English spirit. The first grand steamer has just come in. I have a
very bad cold and have not been out. Miss B. brought me some licorice
for my cough and I am to have treacle posset tonight so I could not
possibly be taken more care of and no doubt it will be quite well
before 30th. You musn’t think Miss B. had _anything_ to do with my
talking about tractarianism, indeed afterwards she forbade it,—it was
all my fault. I’m writing a history of our family entitled ‘History of
the illustrious family of Blakes from 70 B.C. to 1080 A.D.’ Dear Daddy
how I _do_ love you, if I could ‘climb those knees and kiss that face’
I’d be happy enough, indeed I’m very happy here but home sweet home is
better than anything else. S. B.
Do send me a _large_ seal of your crest.”
Her Mother, however, is always her main confidant.
“I’m in a scrape just now Mama,” she writes on April 5th, 1851, “I
long to be at Home, home sweet home there’s no place like home, no
person like Mummy and no kiss like Mummy’s cuddle and no knees like
Papa’s and no player at Prisoner and Judge Selling or any other game
in the world like Papa, no one that can put me in a good humour like
Daddy and Mummy! Oh! nothing like what everything is at home
_anywhere_ else, in all Europe Asia Africa and America no place is
like home, sweet sweet home.... Love to dear Papa and yourself 3000000
kisses. I always kiss the envelope. Please write very soon. I am your
affectionate and I _hope_ dutiful Sophy.”
We know how fervently the Mother “_hoped_” the same!
The child seems to have spent the first weeks of May in her beloved
home, and the following letter from Miss B. gives us a graphic sketch of
her return to school:
“MY DEAR MRS. BLAKE,
Dearest Sophy has laid her letter before me, and such a burden
of grief I can scarcely bear to send—but you will look at my view of
the picture likewise. The tears shed in writing that were very nearly
all we have had; for soon after parting from her Papa the heavy clouds
passed away, and, when established in the fly I was glad to hear,
‘Well, I am not quite so sorry as I expected to be,’ and then ‘Mummy
says the air of Ramsgate will almost make amends for the parting.’ We
got home and found dinner ready, but dear Sophy could only take a
little rhubarb.... At tea she seemed surprised at being able to
express herself as ‘hungry,’ though the appetite was soon satisfied,
and she is now sitting reading in the garden, which she says is
‘delicious’. Dear Mrs. Blake do not think I will tax her head with
anything beyond beneficial employment. It will be my study to get rid
of that _thin look_ which I could scarcely have attributed to so short
a change (!). I ought to tell you that Sophy meant to say that she
felt better when she got into Ramsgate than for some time, but grief
swallowed up all other news.”
A week or two later her Father asks her in a rash moment if she can tell
him “Why it is wrong to oppose Papal Aggression?” adding, “If you can’t,
I will tell you.” The question was a mere conundrum, but she takes it
very seriously:
“DEAR FATHER,
I am _very very_ sorry to hear that dearest Mother is so unwell (or I
should say _ill_). I send her a marker as _I_ have not many flowers
that will press well.[7] Please tell her that she must not give it
away to anyone. I am quite enchanted at Boy’s getting _two_ poetry
prizes; it is charming.
Well, about the question, ‘Why it is _wrong_ to oppose the Papal
Aggression?’ I really don’t see how it _can_ be wrong and must think
it quite right. I can’t see how it can be wrong for any zealous
servant of God to oppose with _all_ his might that which dishonours
God and his word, which (when the Bible says ‘none _can_ come unto the
Father but by _Me_’) says that we _must_ come by the Virgin and the
saints etc. People might say ‘We must not oppose it for it is God’s
will’ they might also say that ‘temptation was put before the Jews and
_that_ was God’s will’ but they were told to put the accursed thing
far from them and destroy it utterly and _I_ think the Papal
Aggression is put in _our_ way to try us and see if we _will_ oppose
it unto death. But of course you know more about it than I, so please
tell me why it is wrong to oppose it.”
Footnote 7:
She had her own little garden at Ramsgate.
One can imagine that her Father was almost ashamed to confess that the
question was only a joke.
“Now for a word about the ‘bowing,’” he says in another letter. “It is
of _no_ importance in itself, and therefore I never tell my children
or servants either to bow or not to bow; but particular circumstances
may render it important, and if good and kind Miss B. thinks that at
Christ Church, you may honour God rather by doing as she and others
who are with her do, than by being singular on this point, I not only
wish you to obey her, but to do it with a willing and ready mind,
cheerfully, as a plain matter of duty. Which it is. It is for her to
judge, and for you to do, _gladly_, what she tells you.”
Miss B. had the greatest admiration for her pupil’s gifts, and in
particular she considered her a budding poetess. These are some of the
effusions of the period:
“Oh Mother! thou that broughtest me forth
My sins gainst thee none, none can tell
For these alone I ought in sooth
To be e’en now in lowest hell.
But oh! my God still spares me on
To be a comfort to thy years
God grant I may e’er the sun goes down
Seal thee this promise with my tears.
Ne’er ne’er again what [e’er] betide,
(In Jesu’s strength alone I trust)
I’ll vex my mother, who did guide
My years of infancy now past.”
Another time after expatiating on her Mother’s virtues and unmerited
affection, she goes on to inform her that there is One—
“Whose love surpasseth thine as far
As Sol excels the falling star.
My Mother ONE request I make
That thou wouldst pray for Jesu’s sake
That he would break this heart of stone
And mould it like my Saviour’s own.”
Was it all mere humbug and “patter”? The question can best be answered
by quoting the following letter to her Father. It is written impulsively
in pencil on scraps of paper,—the questions and answers being on
different slips. The wording of the questions has sometimes been altered
and corrected, so presumably she drafted them herself. The little sheaf
has been thrust “anyhow” into an envelope (addressed to _Mrs_. T. Jex-
Blake) which bears postmark “Ramsgate, Ap. 21. 1851,” and Mrs. Jex-Blake
has quaintly endorsed it “very nice.”
“MY DEAREST FATHER,
I fear you are very uneasy about me for I have indeed manifested
no visible proof of a new and clean heart, but I think much of my soul
too much for me to speak even to you of it. But I cannot _talk_ so
whenever anyone tries to talk to me of it I always turn it into jest
but I must write (I cannot speak) to you about it so I have written
some questions down and endeavoured to answer them as _before God_. So
do believe _each word_.
S. B.
1. If you died this instant what would become of you? And could you
face death unflinchingly?
I know not what would become of me but I fear I should go to eternal
torments. And do not think I could face death unflinchingly for this
reason.
2. What would be your first emotion when you found yourself in the
presence of the Judge of quick and dead?
Fear I think but yet I think that I should claim Jesus’ promises to
lost sinners.
3. If Christ came this night and asked you ‘Lovest thou me’ what would
be your answer?
Yes Lord although I am very wicked and cold and dull yet I could say
without hesitation I do love thee very much I often feel my heart
warm towards thee and something tells me that one day I shall love
thee far better than I do now.
4. Could you before God say truly ‘I strive to live as I hope to die’?
No I fear I could not although sometimes I do try to do things to
please Jesus.
5. Do you really in your heart know your religion to be a mere form or
do you really feel its life-giving influence on your heart?
I know I often say far more than I really believe, I even have been
tempted so far as to doubt in my heart the existence of a Diety but
yet I have had a few bright moments in which I could sincerely say
Yes I _know_ it I know that Christ is mine and I am his but a deep
gloom is generally over my spirit.
6. Do you in your heart believe yourself to be a new creature?
I know not but I fear not although at times I have been fully
convinced that I am God’s child.
7. Do you earnestly desire to be such?
Most earnestly whenever anything touches that chord in my heart and
sometimes I could weep bitterly but generally I feel awfully
indifferent as to my soul.
8. Do you think you have ever known what true prayer is?
Most certainly and have sometimes obtained very gracious answers.
9. Where will you be 200 years hence?
In heaven I humbly hope and trust for I think the Lord has _begun_ a
good work in me.”
Gallant honest heart!
Is there a single word in the whole confession that the most devoted
parent would have wished different?
CHAPTER III
SCHOOL LIFE—_Continued_
“I think the Lord has _begun_ a good work in me.” Is there in the words
a—very human and pardonable—suggestion of St. Augustine’s “_Timebam enim
ne me cito exaudires_”? In any case, though doubtless the good work went
on, it cannot be denied that the tares flourished abundantly with the
wheat.
It happened most unfortunately at this time that the child’s physical
health fell into a very unsatisfactory state: we hear of great digestive
trouble and functional weakness of the joints. Modern hygiene would
probably have made short work of both complaints. As things were, the
weakness was “tinkered at,” and the child was encouraged to live the
life of an invalid. We are startled to learn incidentally that she is
going out in a bath chair!
Good Miss B. took her up to town to see a consultant, and sent the
parents long detailed reports on the child’s health. We are not
surprised to come upon the following under date July, 1851:
“You must not suppose, dear Mrs. Blake, that I overlook the _self_
that you have rightly so much at heart. I see it too well, and it is
commented on to Sophy so frequently that I sometimes check myself, ...
but the punishment that I might inflict on another I hold back in
Sophy’s case, not only from my own knowledge of her character, but
because Mr. S. cautioned me if possible never to disturb the even
tenor of her brain.... Her case is peculiar and such must be the ends
to meet it: they will require patience and may be long in showing
fruit, but we will not despair.”
The next vacation seems to have been disastrous. The child had grown
more indolent and self-centred, and no doubt the parents were unable to
deny her the sweetmeats which she loved and which the supposed weakness
of her joints made it impossible for her to “work off” as healthy
children should. Moreover, few houses are large enough to contain two
chronic invalids.
“I received your letter,” writes Mrs. Jex-Blake when the child is
gone, “and very glad we were to hear of your safe arrival,—but, my own
child, I could have cried over your words. They were nice and
affectionate, _but the very opposite of your acts_.... Either my child
means what she writes or she does not. Your conduct completely
contradicts your assertions. More sad and foolish behaviour than yours
it is difficult to imagine. You behaved so ill that I doubt if I could
have borne it another day without being laid on a bed of sickness, and
I might never have recovered. Your ever being with us again for three
weeks at a time is _quite out of the question_ till you have the good
sense to understand (as other children of your age do) that to be
happy and comfortable and to enable me in my weak state to have you at
all, you must be _good_. When you seem really to feel how ill you have
behaved, we will some time hence have you home for a week, and if I
find you keep your word (which you do not now) we will have you home
very often; and Papa says that he shall then think that he can never
do enough to make you very very happy; but you now destroy your
happiness and my health, and the medical men will _not allow_ us to be
together. Think of your great folly and sin, my dear child. Pray to
God for grace, and He will give it to you for His dear Son’s sake....
When you have read this letter, I _wish_ you to tear it up.”
As ill luck would have it, this most unusually severe indictment found
the poor little culprit seriously ill in bed. Her penitent reply is not
forthcoming, but five days later, her Mother writes again:
“MY OWN DARLING CHILD,
I trust this will find you much better; if you want me to be
happy you must make all possible haste to get well, and write to tell
me you are well.... I quite believe, my darling, that you are sorry,
and will, in God’s strength, take pains that the same shall never
happen again. I do particularly wish you to tear up my last letter _at
once_.”
She didn’t tear it up: she never could tear up “Mummy’s letters.” She
tied the two together with a piece of red wool, and slipped in with them
a Sunday School “ticket” bearing the words, “Children, obey your parents
in the Lord; for this is right.”
By the same post as the second of these letters her Father writes:
“MY DARLING CHILD,
We have been so grieved to hear of your illness, and do hope that
before you receive this, you will be much better. It will please you
to know that dear Mummy _is_ much better for the quiet and Norfolk
air. Everybody is so kind and trying to get her quite strong, and they
all enquire so kindly after little Sophy, whom they call ‘little
Sophy’ still, everybody saying what a very sweet and darling child you
were six years ago; and I do trust that, when you see them next, they
will find you a more darling child, and more loveable than ever. God
grant it be so, dearest, for I want you to be _very_ happy.”
The next letter from Miss B. that has been preserved is dated September,
1851, and is addressed to Mr. Jex-Blake. “I ought not to express sorrow
at the sudden removal of your child, hoping and believing that it is
‘ordered by the Lord.’ She bears away with her my affectionate love and
prayerful interest.”
No record has been kept of the precise steps that led to the “sudden
removal.”
For the next two years the child went to a boarding-school in Brighton,
where her parents had now gone to reside, and there are, therefore,
practically no letters of the period. Two of her schoolfellows, however,
have been good enough to contribute their impressions of her. For better
and for worse, they call up a very vivid picture. Miss Lucy Portal
writes:
“Being the junior of Sophy, as we always called her, she and I were
not much in touch, though I never forgot her, for she had a strong
personality, and was so clever—in fact, far above our school-mistress
in natural intelligence, and she made a lasting impression on those
with whom she associated. Whenever I heard her name in after life the
vision of a young capable girl who asked questions that bewildered her
governess rose before me.
One day when we were walking on the ‘Downs’ with [an assistant
governess] in the rear, Sophy saw a large stone by the wayside and
seated herself on it. ‘What do you mean by this?’ said the governess.
‘I am tired and must rest,’ replied Sophy. ‘Get up at once,’ said Miss
——; ‘Do you suppose we are all going to wait your pleasure in this
way?’ ‘Impossible to do what is beyond one’s capacity,’ was the
rejoinder, and threats had no effect. At last Miss —— lost her temper
and said ‘Sophy, distinctly understand that if you do not get up, I
shall leave you here, and send a policeman to fetch you.’ ‘Ah,’ said
Sophy, ‘that is a kind thought. I am sure he would prove of great
assistance to me. But could you manage to procure _two_ policemen, for
I don’t believe one would be able to carry me, and two might do so.’ I
need not say that the battle of words was soon over after that.”
Knowing as one does how anomalous was the position of an assistant
teacher in those days, one can but admit that the child must often have
inflicted far greater suffering and anxiety than she had the least idea
of.
On the other hand, Mrs. Gover, widow of the late Canon Gover of
Worcester, writes:
“Sophie set us a good example at school, and I shall always think of
her as one of the most truthful girls I have ever known, the _only_
girl I ever knew who would not allow her drawings to be touched up by
her master. I had a very great respect for her high character.”
But nothing can show more clearly the futility of the educational
methods of that day than the following letter from the headmistress
herself:
“June, 1852.
DEAREST SOPHY,
I cannot tell you with what a feeling of anguish I heard the door
close after you on Saturday when you departed, and I had not _kissed_
or _blessed_ you.... I saw you afterwards in the street, tho’ I was
unseen by you, and I could not stop you, my dear child, lest the past
should be renewed. On my return I saw your present of fruit, it was
not as gratifying to me as the _scrap_ of paper, which contained my
Sophy’s acknowledgement of her fault.[8] Yet I thank you for the kind
thought, as I hope you know me too well to suppose that any little
gift _can bribe me_ to forgive;—without that scrap, my Sophy, I should
have turned away from _receiving_ your fruit. The same afternoon at a
friend’s house I read a portion of your favourite Scott, and could not
but think of you while I read the account of the ‘evil and good’
_trying_ for _Mastery_ in Harold the Dauntless’ heart, remember his
first act of _forbearance_ was noted as a step towards heaven. Beloved
child! do I beseech you remember the _duty_ of a child, be _gentle_
and _tender_ to your dear Parents, then the Lord will love you, and
some day the Lion will give place to the Lamb in your bosom. Dear Mary
Bayly’s has turned to whooping-cough. I hope yours is better. Until I
find where to send her, I cannot leave home. God’s will be done.”
Footnote 8:
Her brother had called at the school, immaculately dressed, and had
behaved to the schoolmistress so charmingly that poor Sophy felt
herself quite left out in the cold, and had doubtless responded with
positive rudeness. What sort of visit was this from a beloved brother?
For a year and a half Sophy remained under this lady’s care, and then
one or two equally unsuccessful experiments were made. Meanwhile Mrs.
Jex-Blake remained so ailing that it was not possible for her to have
the child at home for the long vacation, and a “dear kind” lady invites
the refractory young person to visit her for part of the time. Mr. Jex-
Blake writes to inform Sophy of the fact, and adds, “Now have we not in
this great cause of thankfulness to our kind God and Father who never
forgets us?” This was perhaps asking a little too much of the homesick
child.
The truth is that the parents at this time were not growing younger (as
many parents do), and certainly they were growing more staid and set in
their ways. It was becoming increasingly difficult to them to adapt
themselves to this riotous child. “Avoid excitement which is your great
enemy,” writes her Father, unaware perhaps that his own weakness was a
tendency to be rather too fussy and precise. With hearts full of love
they were demanding of her a standard of excellence which for her was
wholly artificial, and in the half-hearted, or at least intermittent,
effort to attain it, she fell in the breach. And parents and child were
not the only factors in the difficult problem of home life. So long as
Sophy could by any stretch of charity be reckoned a child, it was
comparatively easy for her brother and sister to put up with her
volcanic ways. But from a schoolgirl one expects some conformity to
recognized standards, and Sophy’s elder sister had been such a pattern
in this respect that the contrast was necessarily acute.
“I really don’t think you would enjoy [a visit from] Carry much at
school even if we could spare her,” Mrs. Jex-Blake writes in reply to an
eager request for this privilege. “You would be tempted to be odd and
excitable, and then Carry would be _vexed_ and all would be
uncomfortable” and no one who knew the elder sister can doubt that such
demonstrations of affection would probably have “vexed” her more than
most. On the other hand “Brother” was now a young man, and if his main
desire for the child was that she should grow up like the sisters of
other men, he only shared the attitude common at that time to the
overwhelming majority of his sex. One can see that his younger sister
must have tried him a good deal. The idea that she was plain and even
ugly had been firmly impressed upon her: the exhibition of vanity in
matters of dress had been discouraged on every ground: and it was
natural to her boyish temperament to be careless of such things. When,
in addition to these shortcomings, she added a propensity for making
people “uncomfortable,” one can quite understand that her brother did
not feel specially proud of her, and the strength of her character
probably made it difficult for him to influence her through the
passionate affection and admiration she had cherished for him all
through her childhood. In any case the relation between them became
somewhat strained, and it is not surprising if she sometimes attributed
the strictures of her parents to his influence and representations.
It is delightful to record that, in spite of countless differences of
opinion and much plain speaking on both sides, a fine loyal camaraderie
existed between the sisters throughout life.
I don’t know whether it ever occurred to the child to compare her
brother’s education with her own. If she had done so, the reflection
might well have made her bitter. In athletics as in the schools he was
bearing off laurels at every turn, while she was being curbed and
thwarted to meet the requirements of pious and half-educated
schoolmistresses. From the best of motives her parents refused for her
the outlet for the “excitability” they constantly deprecated; in other
words they simply sat on the safety valve. In the summer of 1854 she
begged—probably not for the first time—to be allowed to have riding
lessons. The father replied
“I like to do anything in reason to please my own child, but you are
so very excitable and have at present so lamentably little self-
command that I should fear riding for you very much. It would do you
no good and might be injurious to you in many ways. When will you
prove to me that my hopes and expectations of you are not in vain?...
You don’t know how the hearing you censured goes to my heart, and the
not being able to place the most unbounded confidence in you is very
trying to me and the dear Mother,—doubly so to her in her weak state.”
Of course it is easy now to see that he was wrong as regards the riding.
Apart altogether from the physical exercise involved, the discipline of
it would have been excellent. Big emergencies always braced her. She
never lost her temper with a horse, nor her presence of mind in an
accident.
Meanwhile the series of loving reproachful letters goes steadily on.
“Do you think, darling,” her Father writes, “that by divine grace you
are less self-willed day by day? How earnestly do I desire to see you
a loving happy child. Everybody seems to deprecate your presence as
that which will spread discomfort all around.... God bless you and
help you and give you His Holy Spirit to guide you continually.”
“Everybody” was an overstatement. At no time was the child without her
own little circle of admiring friends. A schoolfellow with whom she
remained on terms of intimate friendship throughout life says,—“At our
house she was always good and happy, and a very welcome guest. My father
thought very highly of her.”
A fortnight later Mrs. Jex-Blake writes:
“I rejoice at the nice accounts I have of you from school, and I hope
(against experience) that you will when we see you again, be a
pleasant child, the comfort you might so easily be to me.”
“Day and night,” her Father writes, “you are on my heart. You know how I
love you. Why will you thus be your own enemy?”
The faith and perseverance of the parents is astounding: not less so the
fact that at bottom the affection and filial piety of the child never
flagged.
One has to remind oneself constantly—what the daughter never forgot,
though small trace of it appears in the letters of this period—that Mrs.
Jex-Blake had a keen sense of humour. When she and Sophy were together,
they had many a good joke in common. It was when the mesmerism of the
child’s presence was removed that the sense of responsibility asserted
itself in full force. It is impossible to read the long series of
letters without being profoundly convinced,—1. That the parents were
devotedly attached to their youngest child (“Sophy was the favourite,”
was the elder sister’s deliberate comment some sixty years later). 2.
That their affection was returned with an intensity of which few
children are capable. 3. That the warning that she was injuring her
Mother’s health and must therefore be kept away from her dearly-loved
home did not provide a motive strong enough to make the child run in
harness like other people. The inference is that no motive would have
been strong enough.
Did she ever really make an honest effort? One comes upon many
impassioned scraps of prayer for grace to resist temptation. “Oh, that
when a word irritates me I may remember how often I have said more
unkind things and been forgiven.” “Oh, Lord, punish me, reduce me to
submission in any way Thou seest fit, but oh, let me not alone, abandon
me not despite my wickedness.” And, although these prayers are apt to
run into conventional exaggerated language, it is impossible to doubt
their sincerity. Her tiny booklets and papers were always kept with the
strictest secrecy, and it is all but certain that no eye but her own
ever saw them before her death.
Here is an isolated scrap of diary, recording probably a time of special
effort.
“Feb. 26th, 1854. Oh, keep Thou my foot when I go up into Thy house of
prayer. O how difficult it is to fix the mind for even that short
time! Miss X. will treat me unlike any other human being, but that is
no reason for transgressing the commandment of my God. She says she
does not like to hear me name the name of Christ for I do not depart
from iniquity, she thinks I had better not hold conversations on
sacred subjects.
A complaint having been made of rudeness from one of the girls, Miss
X. said it was just like one of Sophy’s tricks, heaven knows with what
ground. All these things have aggravated me, and I fear I have sadly
given way to temper and pride, not remembering Him who bare the
contradiction of sinners against Himself though He never offended in
word or deed. If sometimes unjustly spoken to, how often have I
escaped my desert and how few are the faults the strictest find
compared with an all-seeing God. Oh, for the charity that beareth all
things....
27th Monday. I must expect trials this day, humiliating to my pride
and trying to my temper....
Nothing special, though I gave way sadly at different times and again
sinned in sending a letter to Mama [? Maria].
28th. Again, more and more against light, got sweets. Miss X. in her
prayer speaks _at_ poor Agnes who is just come. She prays that all may
be kind to her, remembering the Fatherless and Widow are His special
care, etc. How could she harrow up poor Agnes’ feelings so! The poor
child was weeping under the infliction.... And in the prayer she
announced her intention of expelling anyone who would make the others
unhappy. O I could have knocked her down, and after prayers she really
spoke kindly to me about beginning March afresh and any other time I
could almost have promised to try. As it was I could not kiss her
even. Oh how much I think of that which might and probably did proceed
from a pure motive, and do not consider my unkindness often which I
know does not do so.
March 1. Whole holiday. Gave way to passion to A. and B. tho’ perhaps
they were provoking I should better have striven to retain my temper.
Alas from my feelings since it seems as if it were the letting in of
water. O preserve me from being so awfully passionate as I was.
Overbearing and ordering in the afternoon. Oh for the Charity which
‘is kind’ which ‘is not puffed up’ ‘seeketh not her own’ and above all
which ‘is not easily provoked’.”
She had no lack of self-control in other ways: why should she have
failed so conspicuously in this? When all due weight is given to the
reasons already assigned one is still forced to the conclusion that
there was something elemental in her nature over which she not only had
little control, but of which she was to a great extent unconscious. As a
mere child she expresses her thankfulness in a letter to her Mother that
she is less “irritable,” and at rare intervals all through life she
would speak to intimate friends of the intolerable way in which the
blood rushed to her head at times, making it all but impossible for her
to weigh her words. But from first to last she was far less conscious of
the moral aspect of the defect than one would have expected anyone of
her sane judgment and essential humility to be. The severe self-analysis
of the above extracts are on the whole exceptional. From childhood on,
the thought that she had failed those she loved or had caused them
anxiety and suffering, _in a way that she understood_, was a source of
almost intolerable pain and compunction; but she seems to have rarely
and inadequately realized the extent of the suffering she inflicted by
her wilful ways and passionate temper.
“And yet there was always something loveable with it all,” a childhood’s
friend reiterates. “She came bounding into a room, bringing with her an
atmosphere of gaiety and glee that is indescribable.”
Nor are we as regards the judgments of contemporaries confined to the
possibly idealized picture of later years. Fortunately for the accuracy
of the picture, Sophy seems about this time to have originated in the
school a practice of character-writing, in which the critics were
encouraged to be absolutely frank. This is what she brought upon
herself:
“Sophy is very affectionate and has more good in her than people
think, she is truthful and can be trusted. She has an immense amount
of self-conceit, self-sufficiency and pride. She will not be led by
anything but affection, or a desire to make much of herself, and make
herself well thought of. She has great talents and is very clever. She
wishes to be thought an out-of-the-way character and is so. She lacks
gentleness of feeling and manner.”
“Sophy is certainly excessively clever but unfortunately knows it, and
makes a point of showing it off upon every possible occasion. She is
truthfulness itself and can really be trusted. Very passionate but
very penitent afterwards. Affectionate.”
“Clever, passionate, affectionate. Many bad habits but tries (lately
at least) to get the better of them. Might be made a great deal of.
Rather too fond of her own opinion. I think true.”
It is rather staggering to find how much wiser the young folks were in
those days than were their elders!
Again Sophy propounds the question whether A. or E. is “the greater
pet.” The discussion goes on in writing, and finally the originator ends
it by saying:
“At any rate A. is the only friend I have got, and I don’t want to
lose her.”
To which D. responds:
“You are wise, but she is not the only friend you _might_ have.”
And Sophy all too proud:
“There are only one or two others I _could_ have as a friend.”
And finally M.:
“As to your friends, I quite agree with D. I think you might have had
many. I know you might have had me long ere this, had you tried.”
Of another schoolfellow under discussion Sophy explains that she finds
the young lady personally “aggravating,” and adds:
“But I think she is very ingenuous, and would own to a thing, even to
a little one, which is a great thing considering her pride.
That is what I do admire so ardently.
SOPHY.”
CHAPTER IV
SCHOOL LIFE—_Concluded_
It will surprise no one who has read the extracts from Sophy’s diary on
page 32 to learn that, at the end of the summer term, Miss X. announced
her inability to keep her any longer in the school. The culprit
evidently declined to manifest any proper sense of sin or even of
humiliation; and the distress of her parents may be imagined. They
recognized no other standard by which to judge her than the standard by
which poor Sophy had so egregiously failed.
In any case their kindness never faltered: they could not face having
the child at home, and for some months they did not even see her; but
some “kind ladies” were found to take charge of her until she could be
put temporarily in the care of her old schoolmistress, Mrs. Teed.
Very soon a reassuring report came to relieve the anxious parents. On
July 10th, 1854, Mrs. Jex-Blake writes:
“I delight to think that my dear child is availing herself of this
great opportunity of redeeming her character. The past is so sad, so
disappointing, and the thinking of it is so sure to make me ill, that
I endeavour with my utmost power to forget it. I will not dwell upon
it, but look forward to a bright future when my own dear child ...
will see that determination and self-willedness _can only_ cause
misery and discomfort to herself, and wellnigh shorten, certainly
embitter my old age.
I do feel greatly comforted by Mrs. Teed’s giving a favourable account
of you. She would like you to be less idle. Why do not you write out
some papers about your natural philosophy subjects and zoology?”
“Well, darling,” her Father writes (July 17th), “I was very glad to
get your letter, though I should like you to write more wisely. I
don’t at all mind your writing about ‘unkind lectures’ for I _know_ I
never am and cannot be unkind to my own child; but I do earnestly wish
that you saw (as others do) how exceedingly foolish your conduct has
been, and that by nothing but a complete change can you ever be
comfortable.”
Meanwhile arrangements were being made for the child to go to another
school, and one is thankful to record that it was at least a great
improvement on its predecessors. On July 21st, 1854, Mr. Jex-Blake
writes:
“We have had a letter from Mrs. H. this morning, and it is now settled
that G.W. you go to her the beginning of next month and Mrs. T. will
take you and kindly give you the benefit of her introduction. You will
go under the most advantageous circumstances possible, and it will be
solely and _entirely_ your own fault, my darling child, if everybody
about you does not love you.”
A month later he writes again:
“MY SWEET CHILD,
I have just read your letter to the dear Mother.... Your letter
gives me great pleasure, it is so sensible, and the tone throughout so
like that of a dear dear child, who will never knowingly again give a
minute’s pain to the very best of Mothers, that I felt I could not be
happy without writing to my darling at once to tell her how I look
forward to her being a real comfort to dearest Mummy, and a constant
‘sunbeam’ to me.... I believe the happy feeling of confidence she has
about you now is doing more for her than all the doctors in the
world.”
A fortnight later he paid the child a visit, to which she refers in the
following letter:
“11th Sept. 1854.
DARLING FATHER,
You know what immense pleasure I had on Friday. I often think of
it even now it is past, I feel so glad to have seen you; but Daddy I
am so sorry about the boat. I cannot forget it and I am very sorry,—
will you forgive me?
Do come down tomorrow just to say goodbye. You know you can come down
by the omnibus you took on Friday and just sit for an hour or so and
then go back. You can be back by luncheon time or nearly and it would
be such a pleasure. I cannot get an answer to this by letter but hope
to secure one by ocular demonstration. I saw Miss B. and gave your
message, but I fear unless you do as I hope you will that its
fulfilment will be rather distant. We could just go in the Crescent
Gardens or even sit still together in the drawing-room for one hour
(just one) and it would be so enjoyable. I have so many things yet to
say. You know we had so much walking and eating and shopping to get
through on Friday that I was not able to tell you half the things I
had to say.
If you have arranged for me to come home in 3 weeks time I will try to
reconcile myself to not seeing you if it is really impossible or
_very_ inconvenient in joyful hope, but in that case I shall hope for
a nice long letter (but even then I should not be sorry to see your
darling face for an hour or so) on Wednesday. If not (but I hope no
‘not’ will be in the question) I think you will yourself think that
considering that I have not seen you since about Jan. 26th, except for
3½ hours and should not see you till Christmas that really one hour
would not be lost on your youngest little one. I am hourly
experiencing the comfort of your last visit (I am now writing with
some of the paper and a pen of your gift) and your face was like a
sunbeam in the way. I want to feel your rough cheek once more, though
I hope your Missis won’t let you come so unshaven and unshorn as you
did last time. I did delight in your beautiful flowers which are even
now on the chimney-piece—one flower I prized above all the rest—I
could almost fancy Mother picked it—a little tiny bit of jasmine (I
don’t know if that’s spelt right). It is so nice. Will you remember to
bring some stamps tomorrow.
Darling Father I am so anxious to see you again. About 11½ I shall be
on the tiptoe of hope. You won’t disappoint Sody? You didn’t say it
was impossible to come, and if it is possible you will. Do bring a few
more flowers please. Those stones of Cousin Jane’s were lovely. Oh, I
was so delighted with them.
Hoping very very soon to see you, I need not write a very long letter
but please give my best love to my darling darling Mother.
I am just taxing my small brain to make up a story of a martyrdom in
Pagan Rome,—a sort of martyrdom at least; it is meant to be very
affecting, but I don’t know if it is. I will show it you tomorrow I
hope.
Best best love,
SOPHY.
If you have got leave for me to come home it will be _so_ much more if
you come by yourself to tell me, and if not, if not it will certainly
need all your presence to comfort me.”
Among other little gifts, on the occasion of this visit, her Father had
given her a tiny note book, which she utilises at once as a diary:
“Went to sleep with a sore throat ... and a bit of mignonette on my
bosom. Darling Mother, how I treasure her flowers.
15th. Knew all my lessons better to-day, and kept my place as 2nd....
Had a note from Carry. Hurrah, people don’t know how nice it is to get
a note at school. Done all my algebra for Mr. R. It strikes me we can
do those problems in Kavanagh by equations.”
The joy of this discovery! “Problems” became her passion: she begged
friends to send her some to solve, and took a mischievous pleasure in
sending them herself occasionally to those who had not been so fortunate
as to find the master-key of the “unknown quantity.” Sister Carry
writes:
“Many thanks for your letters and numerous sums; I think the latter
are rather overwhelming to me. I think I ought to have a little more
instruction when you come, so please don’t send me any more at
present.”
The diary continues:
“Did Cousin Jane’s equation and am very glad I have got such a
sensible cousin. Made one to send her, and then couldn’t answer it
myself.”
As cricket, tennis and hockey were unheard of in the girls’ school of
those days, and as the child was not allowed to ride or to dance, it is
scarcely surprising to learn that she was again troubled with weakness
of the joints. Mrs. H. took her to one “Professor Georgii” and the
school doctor met them at his house. The patient’s account of the
interview is interesting in view of later developments:
“Then he went into another room which was rather dark. Dr. L. said, ‘I
suppose I may come too. I am the physician,’ and G. said, ‘I suppose
so’!”
The two men examined her spine—the headmistress, of course, being
present—
“and after about ten minutes I was allowed to dress with the 2 men
staring at me. I think they might have let us retire....
The room for exercises is hung all round with prints of skeletons and
flayed human beings, tho’ for a mercy they were covered with sort of
curtains and only partially visible.”
She was condemned to an hour’s remedial exercises every day for six
weeks, and as it took double that time to make the pilgrimage to and
from the “Professor’s” house, three fatiguing hours were taken out of
her working day.
And all for want of a few games in due season.
The “sheer stuff of life” was proving educative enough at this time, for
Mrs. Jex-Blake and Sister Carry were both alarmingly ill, the latter
with some contagious fever, the nature of which is not specified. It is
touching to see the Father’s letters to his schoolgirl daughter: the
handwriting has all at once become shaky and feeble, like that of an old
man.
“I write in the dear Mother’s room,” he says in November, 1854, “in
which and in sweet Carry’s I pass the greater part of the day. They
have both been _very_ ill, but I think I may say that now both are
beginning to mend.... From the beginning of their illnesses they have
never been able to see each other.... Oh, my darling child, I must not
conceal from you the danger the best of Mothers has been in. God give
you to value her more than ever, and keep you from ever, by
disobedience of any kind, hurting her feelings and giving her pain.”
Two days later he writes again in answer to her eager enquiries,
“If, darling, I _can_ buy anything with your money that I think Mummy
or Carry will be pleased with, be sure I will.”
And again, three weeks later,
“My dear child,—Your letters give me great pleasure, but, great though
it be, I will most willingly give it up to dearest Mother and Sister
when they are well enough to read and write letters.”
On Dec. 5th, 1854, his mind is sufficiently at ease to write a truly
delightful letter, though the handwriting is still shaky:
“First and most substantially (if not principally) the “plum pudding”
plan. It is really a capital one—‘The Crimea Army Fund’ or some such
title it bears, and subscriptions are pouring in to it from high and
low—donations of hundreds of pounds down to sixpences. It does not in
_any way_ interfere with the sending out of what you rightly enough
consider are things of still greater importance; and which (much later
than it ought to have been) the government and the public are now
despatching to the poor sufferers. The intention is to send out vessel
after vessel as quickly as possible, not only with materials for plum
puddings and brown stout, but to help our poor soldiers, officers and
privates, to get through the great hardships and privations of their
severe winter campaign, as far as that can be managed. Warm extra
clothing, flannel shirts and waistcoats, stockings, gloves, leather of
various kinds, needles and thread, tea, tobacco, sugar, preserved and
potted meats, _raisins_, sugar, wine, _porter_ and a hundred other
things in large quantities—enormous quantities—for at least 40 or
50,000 men.
Noblemen are sending deer from their parks, and game to be potted and
preserved and sent over, and some have offered their yachts to convey
the good things; and tradespeople have come forward to give liberally
from the stocks in their shops and warehouses. So I shall enclose 1s.
and think you cannot do better than give it as your mite in the good
cause. There are as you say ‘such hosts of things to subscribe to,’
and I am very thankful for the privilege God gives me of being able to
help. It is one of the greatest luxuries we can enjoy, depend upon it,
my own darling.... There is no literally ‘war news,’ this week, but
there have been terrible disasters among the combined fleets in the
Black Sea. A most furious storm there the middle of last month has
sadly damaged many of the ships, and destroyed several—one went down
laden with the intended winter store (in many articles) for our whole
army,—forty thousand specially warm great coats, and numerous other
things in proportion, which cannot be replaced instanter, and it is
feared that very great suffering by thousands for some weeks must be
the consequence. The loss of that one vessel and cargo is estimated at
£1,000,000. But, worse than all the money loss, many hundred people
perished in that and other vessels. Your cousin Robert, whom I don’t
know that you ever saw even, embarks to-morrow for the Crimea. He is a
young lieutenant in the 18th foot.
I think if we keep of the same mind, we can manage a backgammon board
when you come home, cups and all; only, as I am an old hand at it—
having played, I should think almost half-a-century ago—you will
expect, please, to be soundly beaten if we engage together. I have
read ‘Patronage’—about the same period, perhaps, as when we played
that game of backgammon, but I do think novels in general are very so-
so things, and some so wondrous foolish that it is worse than waste of
time to read them....
There was a good deal at Worthing[9] that was very pleasant, my sweet
Sophy, and I can recollect it with satisfaction. If there was anything
otherwise, it never even crosses my mind, I assure you; and do you get
rid of all thoughts of it too. I have not the smallest doubt that, by
God’s blessing, you will be a great ‘comfort’ to me. I have said so a
thousand times, and you won’t prove Daddy a false prophet I know. I
have nothing to ‘forgive’ my own child—_nothing whatever_, darling.
You have had childish faults enough, I daresay, but they were ‘the
faults of a child’ certainly, and I _could_ not remember a single one
of them.
I won’t get a sore throat if I can help it, even for the sake of
Sody’s black-currant jam; but, if I do catch one, I know I may have a
whole jar if I want it, and I shall not perhaps like it the less that
you made it. Love from all. I will not forget to come for you on the
23rd., my precious child. God keep you and bless you very much.
Your affect. Father,
T. JEX-BLAKE.”
Footnote 9:
There is no other reference to the visit to Worthing.
At last, on December 13th, comes a letter from her Mother:
“DARLING SO,
I feel very thankful to be once more able to enjoy a letter
from, and to write to you. I look forward with _great_ pleasure to
Saturday week, but pray try to be _quiet_ in your joy when I meet you,
because I am still _weak_ and _soon upset_, and people will be very
vexed _with you_ if I am the worse. Above all I could wish that you
did not get into trouble, and say and do what you _should not_,
because it agitates me to hear of it. If you, my own darling child,
could but once realise how trying you are by your impetuosity and
restlessness, and (must I still say?) roughness, even when you are not
put out, you would try very hard to conquer any outbreaking into extra
roughness.
And, indeed, dear So, God has bestowed upon you much wherewith you
might be agreeable, and help others, if you would but avail yourself
of it.”
Meanwhile the scrap of a diary goes on:
“Dec. 16th.... Got a letter from my precious sister. She says she is
nearly well, but she is so careless of self I half mistrust her
account, especially as I am told by Mummy and Tom she is very thin and
pale. She speaks of a chance of her being shaved. I hope to goodness
she won’t, the darling....
Thinking of darling Dad’s birthday tomorrow. I hope I shall wake early
and be first to wish him joy.... His last day to be 64! In his 66th
year tomorrow. The darling. Sody hopes she’ll make him so happy yet.
This day week, heigh ho! I must try and persuade Daddy to let me stay
over Sunday. It will be but one lesson lost and two days gained and
one a Sunday....
17th. Dear Dad’s birthday. Woke up once I think, in the dark, and
again before it was light to wish him many happy returns.”
The wishing must have been volcanic in its intensity to judge by what
follows:
“While dressing, Kate, who had not got up, woke up to ask if it was
not his birthday, she had been dreaming it was, and that he in
consequence was playing a duet on the piano with her, but would play
the bass first, not together with her.... Mrs. H. ill, not up all day.
No Mangnall.... I must have walked 6 miles at least. Wonderful for me.
Had a dispute about extempore sermons, I saying it meant without
written help, Mlle and Sarah saying people might have notes and yet be
extempore. Mlle as politely and sapiently as usual called me nobody.
She has neither sense nor temper to dispute. It is foolish to entangle
myself with her. My dear Dad’s birthday nearly over.
18th.... [Mrs. H.] promised I should nurse her when I came back, and I
did, and after dinner played chess and backgammon with Mrs. H. and
Conny. Mrs. H. lent me Woodstock to read. Nice, but not equal to some
of Scott’s.
Turned out some of my letters from my pocket. Hope I have not turned
out any I want of Carry’s, but they are safe in my glazed box.
21st. At Georgii’s had a fuss with Conny in the dressing-room because
I was complaining of having only a week and asked her if she would
think a week enough with her Mother. She said no, but her Mother was
better than mine. I was silly enough to be offended, and gave her two
good slaps on her shoulders which were convenient, as I was doing her
frock, and then we had a regular squabble.... I said it was very
ungenerous. I should not have said it if she had been my guest far
away from her friends, and I don’t believe I should, though my
conscience smote me about Mary Bayley.”
This reference to Mary Bayley is interesting, as Sophy had been at no
less than three schools since the days of their companionship. The
persistent recollection of some trifling unkindness is a typical
instance of the compunction she suffered when she hurt anyone _in a way
she understood_.
“Got such a jolly letter from Mummy as if she had half got back her
mischief. Two bits of French, too, we are getting on. She certainly
deserves a ‘satisfaisant’.”
When the Christmas holidays came on, Sophy’s course of exercises from
the “Professor” was not nearly over, and a week’s interruption was the
utmost that could be allowed. The holidays were long enough, however, to
allow of another week at home towards the end of January. Her birthday
fell in this second week, and suggestion was made that the two sisters
should have a party and a “Christmas” tree. The correspondence about
this little event is interesting as showing something of the conditions
in which Sophy would be expected to settle down when her schooldays
finally came to an end. The preparations contrast curiously with what
young folk now-a-days, even in a much humbler walk of life, consider
necessary on these occasions.
“13 Sussex Square,
10th Jan.
DARLING SO,
I am so much better for the quiet I have had the last week that I
think I may authorize you to ask Mrs. H. to advance you 4, or, _if_
needful, 5 shillings to spend in little things for a Christmas tree. I
am _very_ anxious to have it if _possible_, and I think it entirely
depends on the self-command _you_ can exert over yourself; if you and
Carry will go about it _quietly_, and you yield at once if I say I do
not wish to add to our numbers, or if I object on any other point....
One thing I must tell you that I cannot have a _great_ many, neither
do I wish _unnecessary_ expense,[10] when the daily calls from
societies where funds are failing and souls perishing for want are so
numerous.”
Footnote 10:
From their earliest years the children were drilled in the virtue of
economy. The references to the altering and letting-down of frocks,
the calculation of pence for ribbon or frill, the careful computation
of the length of time a pair of boots might be expected to last,—all
these form instructive reading when one bears in mind the social
position of the family and the large sums of money which the parents
habitually gave away.
Sister Carry writes with characteristic calm and reasonableness:
“13 Sussex Square,
January 11th.
DEAR SOPHY,
I suppose probabilities are now in favour of the Christmas tree. I
don’t think it need do Mummy much harm, supposing affairs are
conducted with very unusual prudence and quietness. We shall defer
buying any ready-made-sweetmeat-ornaments (this is an 8-syllabled
compound word) until you come home, and then I think Mummy will quite
like that we should get them without her presence. I also think it
will be very desirable (if possible) that we should dress up the tree
without troubling her much; but I don’t know exactly how far we should
be up to it. However, I think the most important points of all are
that a certain friend of ours should endeavour to live in, and diffuse
around her, a certain atmosphere of peace and calmness; and that the
tree should be quite ready in very good time, so that there should be
no bustle or worry about it towards the last.... I mean to try to
provide (with pecuniary assistance from Mummy) some supply of purses,
penwipers and markers for the tree; I think a couple of cut markers
such as you gave Daddy the other day, on broad ribbon, would be very
good; of course I mean _them_ to be made by you. I suppose I shall
probably have a letter from you tomorrow or Saturday; I consider I
ought to have had one. With best love, I am, dear Sophy,
Your very affectionate sister,
C. A. JEX-BLAKE.”
Presumably the little festival took place in due course, but there is no
further reference to it among the papers. The strain of loving parental
homilies continues.
“Bear in mind that _all_ our powers and faculties are perverted by the
fall, but my child cannot be rid of her responsibility; if you say you
cannot pray,—that is at once a subject for prayer. Down on your knees
and tell God so.”
“I _exceedingly_ like a letter from you, and bustle down a little
earlier on Tuesday morning that I may have time to enjoy it before
breakfast.... Cousins Kate and Elinor Jex-Blake say they do not at all
delight in Mathematics, they are sorry to say.”
“We are very sorry to disappoint you, but indeed we cannot sanction
your going to see the ‘Wizard of the North.’ I do hope and believe you
will submit cheerfully to give up what it would make me very sleepless
and unhappy to have you go to. Now get a victory and believe the
disappointment all for the best.”
“Though I am most decidedly better, it arises, I think, from _perfect
quiet_, the least change or bustle brings on spasm or headache, or
both. Carry had Punch, and thought you sent it. I don’t like it, I
think it a vulgar paper, and don’t wish it sent. I don’t at all object
to the ‘Illustrated News’ occasionally.”
Apparently Sophy declined to sit down under this condemnation of her
beloved Punch, for a fortnight later Mrs. Jex-Blake writes: “I will
return both the Punches in the hamper. The last was capital.”
* * * * *
In May, 1855, a family holiday in Wales was proposed, and, as usual, the
question was raised whether Sophy could be allowed to be of the party.
There is no suggestion in all the correspondence that her Father ever
wished to be rid of her company _except_ on the ground of his wife’s
health. On May 23rd Mrs. Jex-Blake writes:
“Daddy and I have a strong wish that you should see Wales, and it is
truly painful to deny you such a pleasure and advantage but you see,
dear, I can’t help my health, and the being so easily upset and made
ill by worry. Indeed I am grieved to find you can fully understand
this, for you say your head aches if you get excited; but, darling,
strive to go on with your different duties and don’t get excited....
Now, sweetest, _assure_ me that you will try to be controlled by me,
and try to fall into our habits, not always restless and having some
grand scheme of your own that _must_ be carried out.... I do not ask
you to promise, but if next week you feel you can, looking to God,
_assure_ me you will to the utmost try to be a comfort and not break
out in these violent excitements, which not only upset me at the time
but haunt and disturb me at night,... we are wonderfully anxious to
give you the pleasure, but meanwhile don’t be excited at school about
it.
Shall we not be happy at Bettws-y-Coed if darling So is with us and we
_all_ consider each other’s comfort?”
The microscopic school diary had for five months been non-existent; the
imperious demand of this glorious anticipation called a fresh volume
into being.
“Thursday, May 24th [1855.] My answer was to come about Wales. When I
got my letter I prayed God to help me to bear it, for I was nearly
sure it would be a refusal, and I was quite prepared for it and
determined to keep my promise not to worry about it. I put my letter
in my pocket and ran away from them all. Then I burst it open and
read, ‘Daddy and I have such a strong wish you should see Wales, and
it is truly painful to deny you such a pleasure.’ There, thought I,
but I had expected it and didn’t feel so dreadfully disappointed. Then
I read on and oh, I found it _was not so_, that I should go. Oh, I got
so excited and half began to cry. Then came Mummy’s caution not to be
excited, but it was impossible. Dropped down there and thanked God.
Oh, then I trust He has granted my prayer. Glory to God in the
highest. Oh, I was so thankful.
25th.... Got a letter from Tom. How kind of him to write, it really
was, and he has got a first bachelor’s degree. G. told me he saw his
name in the paper.
Had a great shortness and pain in taking long breaths. G. said there
was some irregularity in the heart, I believe. Laurie came in
afternoon and said my heart was wrong again. Left me some medicine.
28th. Mrs. H. told me to lie down and sleep if I felt tired, but I am
much better.... K. seized on ‘Prince and Peasant’ and M. on ‘Anecdotes
of Animals’ the 2 books Miss Smith had left me. I was very cross, I
had nothing to do. I seized on Anecdotes after Prayers to take up. M.
was in high dudgeon, as if it was her right. But I carried it off. But
upstairs I thought it was not right. ‘In honour _preferring_ one
another.’ So I took it her. But it was a hard struggle.... I am glad I
got that little victory.
Miss C. came to G.‘s for the last time. I was so sorry and so were
most folks. She gave me a little parcel, or at least put it in my
pocket on condition I should not open it till I got home. I thought it
was some mischief but took it. It was such a lovely gold pencil case,
‘from a schoolgirl.’ Dear girl, it was very kind of her.
30th. Very difficult geometry problem. I doubt if I can do it.
Mortimer was home, and told us some very good stories of —— the nurse
of his ward. Mrs. H. said in the evening she would like to be nurse
there (!) She said how should I get on who so hate injustice, and I
said I thought such open acknowledged injustice was not the hardest to
bear. This brought down an awful storm of wonder, reasoning, etc.,
till at length I got off to bed _so_ tired.
June 1st. A little fracas with Mlle at G.’s. Little Henriquez is here.
It is strange to be with a Jew and a R. Catholic so closely. Con
rather worrying, and I not _rather_ cross. Oh, dear, ‘Charity never
faileth.’ ‘The ornament of a meek and quiet spirit, which is in the
sight of God of great price.’
Laurie came and left me some more medicine.
4th. Miss Teed’s birthday. Many happy returns to her. Wonder if Carry
remembers.... I want so to know Minnie’s exact birthday.
know it is near....
Went in the gardens. K. and S. persecuted me with grass and I can’t
run after them. When I caught S. and when we were indoors I gave it
her rather roughly. She was very cross and would not have any of [my]
jam at tea, she never will when she is cross with me. Got a sore
throat.
5th. Throat very fairly bad, and very ‘cheval’ as M. would say.
Apropos it’s her birthday....
Just before prayers I was in the cupboard and someone shut the door
nearly on me. I threw it open again and half upset the great slate. We
had been rather uproarious all afternoon as M’s sisters had been here
and said holidays did begin on 18th. When I came out of the cupboard I
managed to tread on M’s toes, and Mlle packed me off to bed. I said
‘All right,’ shook hands with her, kissed S. and went off. Mlle wasn’t
very angry nor I very sorry and so we were all very _comfable_. Seized
on K. for a kiss as she came up and she seemed forbidden to speak to
me. However we had a nice hug and she wasn’t very horrified.
6th. Found a handbill on my dressing-table from Mrs. H. ‘for Sophy’
called Telling Jesus.”
This entry closes the school diary.
* * * * *
She seems to have remained at the Notting Hill school till Easter, 1856,
and to have carried away with her the warm good will and genuine—if
sorely tried—respect of her headmistress, Mrs. H., with whom she kept up
a correspondence for some time. For another year and a half she seems to
have attended some school at Brighton within reach of her home, but
study here was discouraged, and she became the patient of another
doctor—or quack?—who prescribed a course of rubbing.
“Under the new regulation of no study,” writes Mrs. H., “I suppose you
have plenty and to spare of the dolce far niente. I smiled at the ‘few
lessons,’ and wondered in what occupation you might possibly spend
your 24 hours.... Be assured, dear Sophy, that so much trifling and
frivolity is culpable in the sight of Heaven. It is an unworthy waste
of God’s gifts, and you are capable of something so much better!”
That life, even now, was not all “trifling and frivolity” is obvious
from the following letter, which was written a few weeks later:
“Monday, Sept. 8th. 1856.
MY OWN DARLING MOTHER,
This subject of confirmation has come up again, and I really
must say I am positively shocked at the way it is settled and talked
about. It is ‘How old are you?’ ‘Does your Papa wish you to be
confirmed?’ and never, ‘Are you fit to be?’ or ‘Do you really wish
it?’ It is just as if it were a history lecture to be attended. I
really think it is wicked. Miss H. took it for granted that I should
be and stuck down my name. I said, ‘No thank you, Miss H.,’ to her
great indignation. I assured her you wished me to do exactly as I
liked on such a subject, which she did not choose to believe at all.
But I really do wish it, Mother. I think it would help me, and I long
to take the Lord’s Supper with you. Will you let me be confirmed from
home?—that is, spend the actual day of confirmation at home, so that I
may think of something besides how I am dressed and how good or bad an
examination I passed, on the day I take those solemn promises on
myself. Mother, dear, I seem less able to speak to you than anyone,
but I do feel very much about it. It is just,—‘I have gone astray like
a lost sheep, seek Thy servant, for I do not forget Thy commandments,’
I do hope. No, I _can’t_ write what I mean or anything else. Just
write me one line by return of post. Mr. E. is certainly not the
minister I should have chosen, nor Miss H.’s the place I should have
preferred, but I don’t think that ought to stand in the way, for it is
not in respect to them I stand.
I think I should have preferred waiting another year, but I don’t
think I can quite expect God’s blessing on His child while I defer
owning myself such.
Oh, Mother, Mother, how I wish you were here, but it seems as if He
had expressly left me to myself each time confirmation has been spoken
of. I do not think you will refuse either the permission I ask, or
your blessing on the step I take,—unless it would be too great an
excitement for you,—though it need not be, for you need not go with
me....
Well, darling, just tell me what you mean and think. But pray, pray,
don’t show any of this to anyone....
God bless and keep my darling Mother.
Farewell, precious.
Your own child,
SOPHY.”
“I like the idea of your being confirmed very much,” her Father had
written some months before. “God’s blessing be with you. Look to Him and
be happy.”
Sophy’s first schoolmistress, Mrs. Teed, took a different view of the
matter:
“10th Oct. 1856.
DEAREST SOPHY,
Your dear Mother tells me you are soon to be _confirmed_. When I
read her letter I thought to myself,—Confirmed!—in what?—in following
your own foolish ways? There needs no confirmation in that....
You told me in a letter written to me on my last birthday that you
hoped you were one of Christ’s little ones. O dear Sophy, you know
better.... I do not say do not deceive yourself, but I say never seek
to deceive others,” and so on.
Those who have read with some sympathy the preceding pages may well be
inclined to doubt whether Sophy was “seeking to deceive others,” or
rather, perhaps, whether deception with her did not more readily take
the form of concealing the depth and reality of her religious life.
Christ’s lambs have not all been precisely of the type good Mrs. Teed
had in mind. The real difficulty, however, is to fit the child into the
categories of the pious people among whom she lived, or indeed, into any
category at all. For better or for worse, she belonged to another plane
of being.
If one were compelled to adopt the system of classification current in
those days, one could but fall back with thankfulness on the remembrance
of that “hasty image” of the Good Shepherd in the Catacombs,
“And, on his shoulders, not a lamb, a kid.”
In any case the stormy chequered school career had now come to a close.
“I can’t fancy you, Sophy, with long frocks,” an old school-friend
writes, “taller than Hetty, a regular grown-up young lady. Are you
transformed yet? Do let me see you first like your own old dear self!”
“Your own old dear self!” One almost weeps to think of all the
_unnecessary_ friction and waste of energy in those school days. Those
of us who have been teachers know how often the troublesome pupil proves
to be the pick of the basket,—the keen student and the loyal co-worker:
and perhaps more than one headmistress who reads these pages will wish
that she had been privileged to have the training of Sophia Jex-Blake.
Many admirable women prayed and wept over her in those days, struggled
to make her all they thought she ought to be; and, if their perseverance
and devotion seemed to be inadequately rewarded, this was due to no
fault of theirs. They were what the Society of that day demanded, what
Society made them. They were wanting only in what just chanced to be
almost the one thing needful,—_the modern spirit_. Rather behind their
own day, their lot was to be the trainers of a girl, who—unconsciously
to herself—was far in advance of her own day,—a girl who would have
appreciated to the utmost the free boyish education of our High Schools
for girls, and who—had it been her good fortune to have lived under such
auspices—might have written a somewhat different page in the book of
life.
CHAPTER V
LIFE AT HOME
It is with a definite sense of relief that one takes up the thread of S.
J.-B.’s life after she leaves school. She is still, it is true, a
problem and a perplexity to many, and sometimes to those who loved her
best: but at least she appeals now to a wider tribunal: her qualities
get a chance to tell, even if they do not precisely conform to the
pattern laboriously cut out by an early Victorian schoolmistress.
Her health, unhappily, still left a good deal to be desired. The doctors
had much to say of the irritability of her brain. The stethoscope was
supposed, too, to reveal something wrong with her heart, but this must
have been functional, as no trace of it was discoverable in after life.
Riding, fortunately was now allowed, and she entered into the enjoyment
of it with characteristic intensity; but beyond this, in the early days
of her—comparative—freedom, she certainly took no pains to improve her
physique. The enterprising young women of those days had still so much
to learn! It seldom occurred to them to balance their physical
expenditure with their receipts.
Meanwhile it is not to be supposed that her parents had gained _greater_
control over her than when she was a child: they remained quite
uncompromising in the matter of dancing, theatre-going, and other
“worldly” amusements, but they were unsuccessful in making her conform
to the ordinary, wholesome, old-fashioned routine of English family
life. Naturally her self-will in this respect annoyed both parents very
much, and Mrs. Jex-Blake must often have been sorely put to it to
restrain her own impatience and to preserve any semblance of peace.
To her credit be it said that she rose to a difficult situation in a
manner that makes praise an impertinence. One is glad to gather from the
records that her physical health was now on a firmer basis than
formerly, but that was only one element in the case. Always a deeply
religious woman, she seems to have stepped now into the full freedom of
her faith,—faith, not only in God, but in the essential goodness and
uprightness of her wayward child. She seems to have realized fully for
the first time that the stormy ways which tried her so sorely were not a
mere matter of whim and wilfulness, but that they arose from a definite
strain in her daughter,—a strain that caused no small suffering to the
owner of that nature,—a strain possibly fundamental in character,
certainly far too deeply imbedded to be easily eradicated. And, having
realized this, the Mother set herself, not as before to criticise the
evil, but to foster and rejoice in the good, to make life as easy as
might be, to reduce friction to a minimum, and, above all, to surround
her daughter with a real glow and radiance of sympathy.
How sorely tried that sympathy must often have been, we can partly
understand when we compare the old-world fragrance of the Mother’s
personality with all that is suggested to us now by the name of Sophia
Jex-Blake. “When I was young,” the Mother used to say, “it was not a
question of _whether_ we should marry, but simply of _whom_ we should
marry.” And to her lot fell a daughter who rarely thought of marriage at
all, whose brain was teeming with all sorts of unfettered boyish
ambitions, who made it clear to everyone whom it might concern that she
meant to live her own life,—to “make good the faculties of herself” in
the way that pleased her best.
And yet there was something in all this audacious, spontaneous life that
found an answering chord in the Mother’s heart. She was not a phlegmatic
conventional person by nature herself. She too, perhaps, long before,
had beaten eager wings against the bars. In any case from this time on
the friendship between the two was a sacred thing, never flagging,
comparable with the most beautiful friendships in history.
Fortunately we have S. J.-B.’s own account of those first days at home:
“1857. Dec. 17th. Thursday. Came home for good. For good? Who can
tell? Oh, what would I give to look forward ten, aye five, short
years, and see what I shall be. Just 18; half my life at school. Then
28. Dr. Moore says,—and there seems a strange prophecy in his words,—
that I shall be something, something good if not great, but not in the
way I hope;[11] that ‘on a ruin of broken columns and shattered
Grecian capitols, shall be laid the foundation of a temple of God.’
There’s something comes home to my heart in those shattered columns,—
‘The dearest idol I have known,
Whate’er that idol be,
Help me to tear it from _Thy_ throne,
And worship only _Thee_.’
Oh, that I had the strength, the faith, to pray so honestly,—but God
help me! I have prayed little enough lately. I seem in such a torpor,
such a prostration of mind, body, and, I fear, soul. I hope there is
much physical in this.
That beautiful hymn,—‘What peaceful hours I once enjoyed!’ _Once_. So
it is, and _now_. Never mind; I think God must have some mercy, some
hope, to me when He has given and preserved to me my darling, my angel
Mother. She seems a pledge of hope.
Well, shall I be a great authoress as my day and night dreams prompt
me to hope?... Shall I ever be a happy wife and mother? Shall I ere
ten years, or half ten years have passed, be _dust_?... I sometimes
think so. (June 1st. 1869. At any rate never thought of being a
sawbones.)
Dec. 25th. How awfully sentimental my first entries do look!... Daddy
says he is sorry I have anything that ‘wants a lock.’ Hm, how very
well he understands me and my wants! Never mind; dear old man, he is
very loving and kind if not brilliant. Oh, Mother, Mother, what should
I do without you?... Just said how earnestly I hoped never to see one
dear to me die, that I may die first. ‘Oh, don’t think of self at all,
Sophy,’ she said, ‘Just see what good you can do.’ Right.
31st. Writing now in my own dear room, darling Mother, how every
article in it speaks of her love! They have gone to a New Year’s Eve
prayer meeting at St. Mark’s School,—uncommonly slow, I should think.
I do think however ‘good’ I became,—or rather I wonder whether I ever
could like such very slow spiritualities. Still there’s Bishop
Wilberforce and his ‘scaffolding.’ Don’t cry ‘spirit’ and take away
‘means,’—remove the scaffolding because its work is not accomplished.”
Footnote 11:
“Dec. 20th, 1859. Strange truth this: How already that hope has
changed!”
For some time she had been writing a story based on her own school life
at Mrs. Teed’s,—a story that was never finished. It is very well written
of course, but diffuse, and interesting chiefly for its autobiographical
touches. She is intensely loyal to both school and schoolmistress, and
one feels on reading her descriptions a fresh sense of regret that it
should have been necessary to take her away from an atmosphere that
seems in many ways to have suited her so well.
One episode is definitely autobiographical, and it is of more than
passing interest. The small schoolchildren in the story, playing at
“shop,” have helped themselves to a quantity of “jewels” in the shape of
scraps of coloured quartz, etc., from a grotto in the garden. The theft
being discovered, the heroine is called up first, and, in great fear and
trembling, owns to having taken one of the fragments. Questioned as to a
second, and fearing to add to her condemnation, she falters, “I don’t
know.” Due punishment follows (banishment to bed and enforced reading of
the chapter about Eli’s sons), then a public scene in hall and
forgiveness. Now comes the point of the episode:
“But still there was one leaden weight on me,—the story I had told
[Mrs. Teed] the day before. It seemed as though the forgiveness was
not thorough, nor of full value while part of the offence was
concealed. How easy it would have been I now saw to confess the whole
offence at once, how difficult now! Remembrance, however, of the
sorrow of the day before, and some innate love of truth, as I hope,
urged me on, and when, after prayers [Mrs. Teed] passed away through
the door at the extreme end of the schoolroom, I ran to meet her at
the foot of the great staircase which she must ascend to her private
rooms, and said hurriedly, ‘Mothy, I think I did not tell you quite
the truth yesterday. I said I did not know who picked out the bit of
yellow quartz. I think I _did_ know I did.’
‘Thank God, my child,’ she said gently but solemnly, ‘that you have
told me the truth now. It is better than a thousand pieces of
quartz.’...
Reward enough I certainly had at the time in my lightened heart from
that moment, but the effort I had made seemed hardly to merit such
rich recompense as it received some time after when I heard that Mothy
had said that she would believe everything told her by [S. J.-B.] as
if she had seen it herself.
Oh, how proud and happy was I at that moment, and the desire fully to
merit testimony so inexpressibly sweet to me had, I verily believe,
far more effect on the truthfulness of all my after life than any
suffering or punishment could have had; and it in great measure saved
me from sinking utterly in after time into that slough of deceit into
which almost all schoolgirls do fall at one time or another in more
difficult circumstances and in the midst of a lower tone than that of
Hertford House. And,—though many will deem, and perhaps rightly, the
distinction of little worth,—though often in those after days, under
less noble rule, guilty of equivocation, I do not think I ever from
that day told a lie.”
We return to the diary:
“1858. Jan. 7th.... I must begin to write again if I don’t mean to
lose the knack ... and so ought to go on with Hertford House or write
something.... I want partly to write for the money,—now why, I wonder?
Honestly, why? I have plenty of everything. In a handsome if not
luxurious home, 6 servants all much at my orders, lots of rides, a
most loving Mother, tender father, almost every wish gratified, £30 a
year clear, and lots of presents, almost at will,—why I should write
for money unless I am avaricious or spendthrift I don’t exactly know.
Partly for the _pride_ of earning it,—of knowing myself as well able
to earn my bread as my inferiors. Surely, though, I ought least of all
in my list of comforts—blessing, should I say?—to omit my most happy,
most snug nutshell of a room, with its handsome furniture, cosy fire,
and thoroughly comfortable arrangements. How truly loving my most
precious pearl of a Mother has been to me in this especially....
I have conceived a rather wild idea of writing to Miss M. for counsel
and sympathy.... But how get a letter to her? And, if I did, would she
think it a bore? I think not. Send the letter to her publishers?
_Sure_ not to be opened? Then what to say if I do write? What do I
want? Don’t exactly know.
Well, leave it.
Now for the more important at least more solemn part of todays
journal. And I must make this _some_ use. Just heard a sermon from Mr.
Vaughan on ‘Truth,’—Gehazi being the scape-goat of warning. He spoke
strongly of allowing ourselves to say more on religious subjects than
we feel, calling it a dangerous deception and leading to worse. But
does that include speaking a word—earnest and sincere at least—about
the souls of others, tho’ our own may not be safe? Often at school I
have felt driven to speak very solemnly to girls about their souls
when I feel I am not worthy to say a word, for mine is perhaps as lost
as theirs,—and often and often have risen in my throat,—‘Lest when I
have preached to others I myself become a castaway.’ Yet if I am,—oh,
fearful word, I can hardly write it,—if lost (oh, God, save me!) can
it, would it not console, if consolation were possible,—to know I had
warned others from the pit into which I fell. And I hope I may have
done some little good.... And how happy I have felt—and better in
myself too,—if I have even for a moment led some to think of Jesus
else forgotten....
Dearest Mrs. Teed is dead. ‘Blessed are the dead that die in the
Lord.’ ‘Let me die the death of the righteous, and let my last end be
like his!’...
Dear Carry! At a moment like this I can’t help thinking ‘The righteous
is more excellent than his neighbour.’ Oh, how far, _far_ more
excellent than I am and yet I have sometimes almost despised her
because perhaps she has less intellectual power, for I do believe God
has given me some genius,—surely there is no pride in saying so,
remembering His grace, who gave thee all.
Jan. 8th. Feel very much as if I had been sentimentalizing last night.
I wish I could keep in one frame of mind.
Jan. 10th. Sunday. Just been reading the ch. on ‘Happy and Unhappy
Women’ in ‘Woman’s Thoughts.’ The Authoress speaks strongly about a
sort of repining and melancholy, and about neglected health and almost
voluntary sickness,—i.e. voluntary in not taking proper remedies and
safe-guards,—and I cannot but feel much she says is not more than
truth.
She urges action, usefulness.
Now I cannot but consider whether it does not become me to attend to
her hints, or rather to her arguments. _Well_ I am not. Over mental
exertion may have had, and I believe has had, very bad effects, still
whether by my own fault directly or indirectly I don’t make matters
worse, is another question. And certainly my Father and Mother are
getting wretchedly anxious about me ... perhaps, unless I make an
effort, I may find life ebbing ere half its purposes are
accomplished....
At all events efforts are mine, though results are God’s. Yet tho’ I
try to draw brilliant pictures of the future, and to persuade myself
life is sweet, I can’t but feel that, if I were once assured of peace
with God, I could be well content, nay grateful, to escape the waves
of this troublesome world, and flee away and be at rest. Rest! Surely
it is hardly natural at my age to be longing for it so....[12] But
coward! take God’s benefits and flee His service, His battle? It
should be our’s ‘to _act_ and to suffer, to do and to pray.’ No, it
cannot be right to flee rather than to overcome.
Footnote 12:
This longing for rest was something deeper than the ordinary
sentimentality of adolescence. She always said that by nature she
was lazy, and the saying was not devoid of truth.
Well, to return. If I am, and ought, to preserve my health, how?
Suppose I make some kind of _plan_ for the day, not rigid but
suggestive.
Rise, breakfast with the rest of the world. 8½.
Have for walk till 11.
Then either some master or work for myself,—writing, painting, etc.,
till dinner. 1.
Afternoon will be sure to be taken up with driving. Come in about 4.
Then read till tea. After tea write, or read out downstairs. And go to
bed with the rest of the world.
That would be rather more rational than my present programme:
Rise and breakfast at 11 or later. Dawdle till dinner.
Drive. Read till tea. Read or write till 2 or 3 a.m. Well, that does
sound bad....
* * * * *
Mother and I were talking about my marrying,—the chances pro and con.
I said I did not fancy I should ever marry, for I thought I should
require too many qualities to meet in the man I could think of as my
husband, for it to be likely that I should ever meet such a paragon
who could be willing to marry me.
Let me see; the indispensables are I think:—A perfect gentleman, a
sincere Christian, a liberal-minded broad-churchman; a lofty intellect
to which it would be a pride to bow, a firm will which it would be a
pleasure to submit to and concur in; a nice-looking fellow,—for I
_could_ not be happy with one whose face I could not love and admire
in beauty of expression if not of form, and one whose means combined
with mine would lift us above genteel poverty at least....
* * * * *
Had another squabble with Carry because she told me my own Hertford
House, which I was looking over, was not fit for Sunday. She does
meddle awfully. Still, she’s a precious sight better than I am....
Bother her slow blood! She’ll drive me mad, she and Daddy between
them. Never mind, I have got my jewel of a Mother, bless her!
24th. Sunday. Talking in the evening about an old woman in Carry’s
district who came from the Barrack Ground, Hastings. And that put it
strong into my head how I wanted to go there. I had on Saturday
evening written a letter to Amelia about the treat, and then I thought
how nice it would be to go and give the treat myself.
30th. Saturday. Seven years today since I last saw old Hastings. Isn’t
it strange to return that day seven years! Pouring wet day. Rather
afraid of being disappointed in Hastings, I do love it so. But I
seemed so to have gone over and over every part in my dreams that I
could not be disappointed. I know it all so well.... After dinner went
to call on the Andrews. I thought I would go incog. and see if they
remembered me. Amelia opened the door. ‘I think the Miss Andrews live
here?’ ‘Yes, ma’am.’ ‘Are you not connected with the Infant School?’
‘Yes, ma’am.’ I asked if I might come and see the children. She
assented quite soberly. I couldn’t stand it, jumped at her, and pinned
her to the wall for a kiss. She knew me in a moment, seized my hands
and dragged me in in wild delight....
Then I went to No. 3 [Croft Place] and when Mrs. L. said she did not
know me, I said, ‘I wonder if the house does, for I was born in it.’
Then she knew me instantly.”
All this gives a vivid picture of the warm heart and riotous spirits
that endeared her to her friends, but there are not wanting indications
of the mysterious depression and forebodings—the dread of something
worse than death—that are part of the heritage of gifted youth.
“26th. Friday. I am afraid I don’t care near so much for—as I did,—am
I changeable or is she changed? or is my standard altered?... I read
once of a person whose physical condition was such that he _could_ not
love one person intensely for long,—not many years if thrown much
together.... I sometimes fear I am similarly constituted. For even
those nearest and dearest I have experienced those fluctuations.... It
is like a frightful trance to know that I _cannot_ keep a warm deep
love equal; and yet in a manner the real undercurrent of love flows on
even in these estrangements,—I cannot in _myself_ cease to love one
who has ever been the object of that wild adoring love, though in my
outer mind and heart this tormenting, fiendlike malady makes me hate
and shrink from them while its fearful influence reigns. God grant
there is no touch of insanity in it; no words can tell how I dread and
deprecate it. There is a loathsome horrible fear in my mind of its
coming ever and anon. My ..., my beautiful, whom I used to think
mysteriously close to my soul, it has come on her. Oh, God pity me! I
fear I shall go wild. Every action, every word of her’s seems to anger
me unreasonably,—I feel the fiend on me and yet the wild resistless
love will not quite be swept away, and comes back in floods of passing
tenderness for a moment. And I can’t tell her, make her understand,
and she will lose her love for me and—oh, dear I am very miserable.
God grant in pity it may never fall on my Mother! I have a horrible
dread of it. I could not live without her love,—my love for her. And I
feel such wild maddening love now, as if I knew it would soon be out
of my power to love her.”
This, of course, is morbid, and yet here again one is forced to say that
her depression is neither feigned nor wholly without reason. Many people
have experienced in some degree the elemental fitfulness which she
describes, and she probably understood it better than most. And yet how
many can testify to her fundamental and self-sacrificing constancy! But
there is no doubt that at this period she was living far too self-
absorbed a life,—dreaming too much, thinking too much of herself. It was
time for something to happen, and fortunately something did happen. Two
breezy wholesome girl cousins—half Irish, half Norfolk—came to Sussex
Square on a visit. They were the daughters of Ferrier Jex-Blake, S. J.-
B.’s uncle, but it chanced that she had never met them before. She was
out dining with friends when they arrived.
“When I did come home, I went to take off my things, then to the
drawing-room, kissed them coolly enough, said, ‘How d’ye do, cousins?’
and sat down to _rattle_. Tried hard to shock them with all sorts of
nonsense, and then carried them to see my room, and made them some
coffee. They, Elinor and Sarah, knew nothing of me, and did not much
admire me, I guess, that night.”
By degrees, however, a very warm friendship sprang up.
“Oh, dear, those two girls!” she writes a fortnight later. “What a
flood of happiness they have brought into the house. And made me
behave a little too. Sarah makes me attend to my hair. Oh, dear, home
is a different place since they have been here. I am _so_ happy. All
my gloom and troubles swept off like cobwebs.”
When they are gone, she writes pages of analysis of their characters,
and very able analysis it is. This is how it concludes:
“I feel as if I mean to love Ellie most, and Sarah forces me to love
her most. I love Ellie most in my mind, and Sarah most in my heart.
Sarah clings to me so, leans on me. Ellie walks upright beside me, a
companion, a guide, and gives me a hand. There certainly is something
of the angel about Ellie, with much of the woman. You don’t connect
the idea of angel with Sarah.
Sarah will do almost anything for me. I do not think she has refused
me one thing since she loved me. She rode with me when no one on earth
could get her to mount a horse; she went in a boat with me, though she
never will enter one. Oh, she is so good, so loving to me. I wish I
had her always.
And I am going to them at Dunham, my darlings.”
When it became known that she was going on a visit to Great Dunham, a
number of Norfolk relatives on both sides of the house asked her to
visit them also, and the result was that for the next two months she had
quite a gay time,—beginning with her Mother’s elder sister, Mrs. Taylor,
and going from her to the Ferrier Jex-Blakes, the Evans, the Blake
Humfreys, the Cubitts and others. As a rule—not without exceptions—she
captivated her girl cousins, proved very attractive to her uncles and
elderly male cousins, and contrived to rub along with her aunts. “I
never appreciated my old Daddy till now,” she writes on one occasion, “I
really believe, as Mummy says, he never said an _un-nice_ thing in his
life, or approached a coarse or ungentlemanly joke. He is certainly a
beau-ideal gentleman, ‘Chevalier sans reproche.’”
Of one family she says, “Not very quiet and not specially dutiful.
Rather reminds me of us, only they are more good-tempered over it.”
“Uncle Evans amused me exceedingly at lunch yesterday, giving his
opinion in quite energetic style, and as if he had studied the
subject, that not only I should marry, which I said I shouldn’t, but
very soon.... Heaven knows who it could be.... I never saw the man I
would have.”
At Wroxham she made the acquaintance of a cousin, Robert Blake-Humfrey,
who was deeply interested in questions of pedigree, heraldry, etc., and
he found in the creator of Sackermena an apt pupil.
“Hurrah! Going in for a good morning’s work at the pedigree. 9¼.
Near one! well, well! I certainly have had pedigree to my heart’s
content. Been hard at work for 3½ hours till my back aches and I am
properly tired. Never mind, I have learned a good deal and secured a
good deal. It is very kind of Robert to trust me with his valuable
pedigrees, so beautifully emblazoned.”
Mr. Blake-Humfrey was good enough to consider that he too derived
benefit from the lessons. “Your observant eyes,” he writes when she is
gone, “have done good service in sundry ways towards the correction of
errors, which may atone in some measure for the mischief they are well-
calculated to cause in other ways.”
On May 28th she visited her Mother’s old home, Honing Hall, and made the
acquaintance of an elderly uncle who was something of a character.
“He offered lunch, and then took us up to see the rooms. All shutters
up, and had to be re-opened and re-shut. In an upstairs sitting-room I
unluckily wanted to see a Family Bible, and said, ‘Is that the Family
Bible with the names, etc.?’ ‘Yes, it is. You leave it alone—unless
you want to see it.’ I persisted I did and he took it down. Then out
came Burke’s Gentry and _alia_.... I thought I should have been eaten
up the way he roared at me. I asked if he hadn’t a pedigree, and he
almost roared again, wanting to know what I could want better than
Burke. I might have told him there were no shields, no intermarriages,
etc., but I held my peace, he really frightened me. I got him to show
me my dear old Mother’s room as a girl, and kissed the bed and
furniture. Thought of her as a girl there, her fun and her troubles,
her courting-days perhaps and the letters and thought and hopes that
room had witnessed. My precious darling Mother!”
In July she returned to Brighton, “much better and better-tempered” as
she expresses it, for the outing. Richer, too, she was, in her whole
outlook on life, and particularly in the knowledge of her girl-cousins,
Elinor and Sarah Jex-Blake, and Mary Evans, with all of whom the
friendship was to prove a lasting one.
A month later, to Sophy’s great joy, Cousin Ellie accompanied the Sussex
Square party on a holiday visit to Wales.
Primary education at Bettws-y-Coed was at a low ebb in those days, the
village school being in the hands of a cobbler whose acquirements were
not great, and whose idea of discipline was primitive in the extreme.
Caroline and Sophy Jex-Blake became deeply interested in the children
and gradually fell into the habit of taking a class in reading,
arithmetic, geography, etc. It was an arrangement that gave great
satisfaction to all concerned, and one into which Sophy entered with
whole-hearted enthusiasm. One is not surprised to gather from the
letters of the period that she awakened a feeling deeper than interest
in one of the professional men with whom she was brought in contact, but
the diary makes no reference to the fact, and she may not even have been
aware of it.
“To me and to others as far as I can judge,” writes Cousin Ellie about
this date, “she is the warmest-hearted person ever I came across.”
And six months later, reviewing the events of an eventful year, S. J.-B.
writes:
“But among the events of the old year, first and chief, my becoming
friends with my darlings, my stars, and getting acquainted with the
Evans and all the Norfolk folks.”
CHAPTER VI
LIFE AT QUEEN’S COLLEGE
Meanwhile, in the world outside, the feminist movement was beginning to
make itself felt,—if one may describe by so inadequate a name an
uprising which is due perhaps as much to the men as to the women who
have taken part in it. As regards the whole movement S. J.-B. was living
as completely in a backwater as was possible to a girl of her position
and natural gifts; but sooner or later a current from the main river was
bound to come in even to her little creek.
In the spring of 1858 she had made the acquaintance of Miss Benson,
sister of the Archbishop. “Henry and Ada Benson came,” is the brief
record in her diary. “Pleasant, jolly girl, Ada.” The wanderings of that
pleasant summer hindered the development of the friendship for the
moment, but the thread was happily taken up again in the autumn.
“Yesterday went with Ada to the Swedish minstrels. Very strange and
beautiful.... After concert went for a drive in the pony-chaise. Just
beyond the battery a carriage and pair drove into us. Coachman got
down and was very civil. Everyone said it was no fault of mine; he was
trying to cut in between two. I was not the least frightened.
Speaking to Ada on Thursday night revived the idea of Queen’s College.
Her sister there. Wrote Friday for prospectus. Tried to speak to Daddy
last night. He very impracticable, I after a while very undutiful. At
last I went into hysterics[13] which frightened him dreadfully, poor
old man. I shall certainly go, I think. Michaelmas term begins 4th
prox. I should very much like a year’s or even less, good work, and a
few certificates.
Very good last night Ada Benson’s story of the Bishop of —— ‘Opposed
as I am to the Catholic faith, opposed, as I say I am to the Catholic
faith...’ on which a priest from the body of the meeting, —‘Which
faith except..., etc.’”
Footnote 13:
It was an interesting and typical stage in the development of women
when a girl found it necessary to “go into hysterics” in order to
convince her father of her right to an education.
How she always did delight in a good story! The most strenuous passages
of the diary are interspersed with pages of jokes, riddles, anagrams,
_bon-mots_, some very good, some as she herself admits on reflection,
very indifferent. She used to say that a sense of humour had been her
salvation,—that, but for that, she never could have got through the many
struggles of her life.
And one is glad to think how often that sense of humour must have come
to relieve the intensity of that first conscious struggle for freedom,
when she herself felt that in venturing forward she was renouncing a
good deal,—that the life before her was an uncharted sea.
“Worst thing about Queen’s College is—no Sarah till Christmas,” she
writes. “M. brought me an invite to write for the Sunday School
Quarterly. Sat up till 2 a.m. Friday to write story on 18th after
Trinity. I wonder if I shall succeed, and, if so, how compatible with
Queen’s?
Sept. 25th. All settled for Queen’s. Mrs. Williams writes very
kindly.... Having rather hard work with Redknap, five lessons a week.
Must try for 2nd class in Mathematics, and, if I can, for more.
Absurd panic at Dunham lest I should be a ‘governess’! Awful phantom!”
It is difficult for girl students of the present day to imagine all that
was meant by the opening of Queen’s College in 1858. The plan of
establishing a college for women had been much discussed by Alfred
Tennyson, Charles Kingsley, and others; and the work had been warmly
taken up by Frederick Denison Maurice, E. H. Plumptre (afterwards Dean
of Wells) and R. C. Trench (afterwards Archbishop of Dublin), all three
of whom were represented on the teaching staff.[14] We may imagine what
it meant for S. J.-B. to pass from the hands of the average
schoolmistress of that day to teachers such as these.
Footnote 14:
See Mrs. Alec Tweedie’s interesting record of “The First College for
Women.”
On the 5th October she settled down to work, and three days later she
writes:
“Very delicious it is to be here. ‘Oh, if there be an Elysium on
earth, it is this, it is this!’ I am inclined to say. I am as happy as
a queen. Work and independence! What can be more charming? Really
perfection. So delicious in the present, what will it be to look back
upon?”
She was “fay” that night, as they say in Scotland: it was scarcely lucky
to be so happy. She little guessed, poor child, “what it would be to
look back upon” her life at Queen’s. Much happiness she got from that
life, no doubt,—a rich harvest of education, contact with interesting
temperaments and able minds, friendships that were only broken by death.
But there are some people endowed for better or worse, with the gift of
taking what seem to be the side-issues of life far too intensely, of
living half-a-dozen lives in addition to the one they have definitely
chosen, of wringing out of an average human lot an amount of joy, of
experience and of suffering that to their companions would seem simply
incredible. And S. J.-B. was essentially one of these. Incidentally in
the course of the day’s work she would develop fresh interests, make
unusual friendships, perhaps even incur resentments that might well have
demanded her whole strength and energy; and all these threads had to be
carried on in addition to the recognized work of her life.
That the recognized work was in itself no sinecure may be gathered from
her report for the Michaelmas term. She has “good,” sometimes “very
good” reports in all her seven classes,—four of them being signed by F.
D. Maurice, E. H. Plumptre and R. C. Trench. The classes were
arithmetic, geometry and algebra, English language and composition,
French, history, natural philosophy and astronomy, theology, and church
history.
She was popular with her fellow-students, and particularly so with Miss
Agnes Wodehouse (afterwards Mrs. Williams) whom she greatly admired, and
of whom she made, incidentally, as profound a study as she did of her
Euclid and history. “How few ladies there are!” she concludes. “Agnes
Wodehouse is thorough. So is my Mother. Few else.” And again in this
connection, “I believe I love women too much ever to love a man. Yet who
can tell? Well, S. J.-B., don’t get sentimental, for patience’ sake.”
Unfortunately she was not so appreciative of one of the younger women
who was more or less in authority over her. The new student meant no
harm, but she took playful liberties, and no doubt, as formerly at
school, amused the other girls by her wit and audacity. After a good
deal of sparring and chaffing, things came to an _impasse_, and it was
judged better by all concerned that S. J.-B. should seek a home for
herself elsewhere. This was not an easy matter in those days when
hostels and homes of residence for women students were unknown; and so,
to the other work of her life, was added the toil of tramping about in
search of suitable quarters.
She made a number of unfortunate ventures, sampling experiences familiar
enough to the middle-class bachelor woman of the present day, though
somewhat staggering to the well-bred mid-Victorian girl. The bankrupt
householder, the drunken landlady, the undesirable male lodger, “and
other fauna,” formed part of the things that had to be taken—and were
taken most pluckily—in the day’s work. If S. J.-B. was instrumental in
bringing ill-fortune on herself—as was not infrequently the case—she
never sat down and howled,—she never even thought of giving in: she
simply put her shoulder to the wheel and went on with what she had been
doing. And so it was now, under very difficult conditions, for, once and
again, hopes were raised, hopes were dashed, and the weary struggle
began afresh,—with many bad headaches and occasional sore throats to
complicate matters.
“Quite an experience of troubles,” writes Mrs. Jex-Blake, “as much as if
you had lived many years. I think no one could have acted more wisely
than you have done”: and again, “I wish I were near, yet I don’t think I
could be a real help: it is not in my way.” And the same might have been
said by many other friends. Greater drawbacks were involved then than
now in leaving one’s own social groove.
“You have behaved very sensibly through the whole trial, which has not
been a light one,” says her Father.
In her diary she writes,—
“Mummy says it is (my boarding-house troubles, she means) quite an
experience of life. Truly not in these alone. Many, I believe, never
live as _much_, and _through as much_, as I have done already, in the
whole course of life.”
Fortunately there was one house at least where she could always take
refuge, and never failed to find herself a welcome guest,—the house of
Mr. Cordery at Hampstead. Her brother had married one of the daughters,
Miss Henrietta Cordery, in June 1857, but the friendship was of much
longer standing than that, and it would be difficult to exaggerate the
comfort and support she derived from it throughout life. With Mr. James
Cordery and his sisters Emma and Bertha (now Mrs. S. R. Gardiner) in
particular she remained in intimate association, and always managed—even
after years of separation—to take up the threads again without a break.
She was always at her best in that Hampstead home, full of gaiety and
_joie de vivre_—never afraid to be her real audacious young self.
Immediately after the extract from the diary given above, she goes on
light-heartedly:
“I am so _thoroughly_ happy in this way of life, hardly any other
could suit me as well. So independent, yet so busy, so comfortable,
yet not luxurious. Plenty, yet no superfluity. It is certainly _very_
kind of the dear ‘old folks’ to let me have it so, and very wise. I
should never, at least at present, have settled at home. I should have
been ever longing for independence and work, and now I have all I want
and may yet do good. Having, as Maurice would say, found my centre,
other things will, I trust, grow up around it. I trust most fervently
I may yet be a real comfort to my precious Mother and dear kind
Father. As last year I computed my ‘worldly estate,’ as quaint old
Pepys, whose diary I am reading, would say; I do it again. I have now
for dress and private money £40 per year. Henceforth I shall have
tutor’s money as well. From my Father I have, I think, as well as I
can calculate, about £50 a term for all expenses, besides all paid
when at home, as well as travelling expenses with them or anywhere
(except while at College) and riding, etc. So in actual money I have
about £200 a year and in money’s worth another £100. Therefore I
conclude about £300 a year to be about the happy medium of wealth for
a single woman. Dear generous old Father! Few would, I think, give so
much in so good a way to their children. I believe as regards
happiness and satisfaction never was money better, if never more
kindly, spent. I must try to pay back the ‘labour of love,’ and
‘requite my parents,’ dear, dear old things! Bless them both.
I really believe as regards money I am honestly _quite contented_. I
wish for no more. And as this is, they say, a somewhat remarkable
fact, I specially note it down. Yet it sounds ludicrously tempting to
reply to myself, Contented! Shame on you if you were not, I think. Yet
for actual pocket money, I am horribly pinched just now,—only 9s. 9d.
till next quarter,—nearly four weeks hence.”
The reference to “tutor’s money” is interesting. She had not been two
months at College when she was asked to take the post of mathematical
tutor. The suggestion gave her great pleasure, and she broached the
subject to her parents when she next went home. Though startled, they
were on the whole pleased at the honour done her, but things assumed a
different aspect when her father realized the conditions on which the
tutorship was to be held.
The correspondence seems well worth quoting _in extenso_:
“Jan. 28th.
DEAREST, I have only this moment heard that you contemplate being
_paid_ for the tutorship. It would be quite beneath you, darling, and
I _cannot consent_ to it. Take the post as one of honour and
usefulness, and I shall be glad, and _you will be no loser_, be quite
sure. But to be _paid_ for the work would be to alter the thing
_completely_, and would lower you sadly in the eyes of almost
everybody. Do not think about it, dearest, and you will rejoice
greatly by and bye with all who love you best.”
A few days later he writes again:
“MY DEAR SOPHY,—and you are very dear to me—you have been much in my
thoughts, and I have been grieved to know that you have had so much
real harass, and were so _tried_ before you settled down in your
present peaceful domicile. Now all is well, I trust, and you in peace
and comfort, so, remembering the Appellant from Philip drunk to Philip
sober, make the application, giving me the benefit of it, and bear
with me, my own child, whilst I briefly tell you what I think and
hope. I heartily admire your readiness to turn your talents to good
account, and employ them in a way so clearly beneficial to others, but
believe me that if you take money payment, you will make a sad
mistake, debase your standing, and place yourself in a position that
people in general, including many relations and friends, will never
_as long as you live_ understand otherwise than as greatly to your
discredit. You would be considered mean and illiberal,—tho’ I am sure
you are neither the one or the other—accepting wages that belong to a
class beneath you in social rank, and which (it would be said) you had
no right, under any circumstances, to appropriate to yourself....”
The reply to this came by return of post:
“Feb. 3rd ’59.
MY OWN DARLING DADDY,
I got your kind old letter this morning, for which, thanks....
Well, as to this Tutorship. I have thought about it, and about all the
accompanying circumstances. If you will listen, I will try to tell you
what I think. I believe I am particularly suited for teaching, my
taste, and I fancy my talent, lies that way. I generally succeed
pretty well in making my pupils understand what I understand myself
and so far I suppose that proves my capability. Well, there are so
many who make teaching their profession, who do _not_ love it, and are
not fond of it or fit for it, that I think anything that can be done
to raise the standard of teaching and teachers, must be good. Well,
this would be effectually done if everyone who loved the business (and
was therefore necessarily to a degree fit for it) undertook it, and no
others. I think this very College is doing much to raise the standard,
and I fancy they are particularly anxious—the authorities, I mean—to
get teachers of a somewhat superior rank in society (as generally
considered). Well, justly or not, I am, I believe, supposed to be of
rather higher class than the generality of teachers, and therefore
specially eligible. I suppose I certainly have considerable talent for
Mathematics, if for anything. It is the one thing I know best and love
best. Then—when the Mathematical Tutorship is vacant,—surely I am
right enough to be anxious to obtain it. I was thought capable, and
chosen.
Now remember, Father dear, I am not here taking the place from anyone
else, though if I were doing so, being myself the best fitted, I do
not think my conscience need be troubled,—but this Tutorship has stood
vacant for some months from sheer want of anyone capable to fill it.
Well, the terms of the agreement are—do this work, and receive this
payment,—the payment contingent entirely on the work. The conditions
are, if the Tutor has four pupils, forming a college class, she
receives 5s. an hour. It is right and natural I think, I certainly do
work equivalent to the payment, and have fairly earned it. Why should
I not take it? You as a man, did your work and received your payment,
and no one thought it any degradation, but a fair exchange. Why should
the difference of my sex alter the laws of right and honour? Tom is
doing on a large scale what I do on a small one,—I cannot recognize
any fundamental difference in the matter. I cannot say ‘I do not want
this money, I have no use for it,’ for in truth, tho’ having an ample
and generous allowance, I should have plenty of use for it. Then there
is the honest, and I believe, perfectly justifiable pride of
_earning_. Did you not feel this when you received your first salary?
Why should I be deprived of it? Then again you offer to give me the
money if I refuse to take it from the College. But this would be a
wholly false position, to get credit for generosity in refusing what I
yet receive. I could not do this. In that case I must say to the Dean,
not ‘I am willing to work without payment,’ but ‘My Father prefers
that I should receive payment from _him_, not from the College,’ and I
think the Dean would think us both ridiculous, or at least foolish.
If I wrote a book I should receive payment for that, and I presume
even you would not object: why then now?
For mental work done in the school the reward was a prize which cost
money, you thought this honourable,—why should the reward of labour at
College, being money, be dishonourable?
Hitherto I have had a class of only 3, and therefore I have not been
officially entitled to this salary. The Dean wished to make some
arrangement for my payment last term, but I said at once,—‘The money
is not of much consequence to me—I had rather, not having the official
number, teach them as a friend and ex-officially,’ and so I have done.
Here I think I was right, I could afford to teach them gratis, and I
did so. The Dean was gratified, the pupils obliged, and I was
satisfied. So it was last term. But if this term I get the official
number, I do not see any reason except pride for declining the
payment. My pupils would pay the College all the same, why should not
the College pay me? I really do not see that I am doing anything
either mean or dishonourable, and I hardly think you can think so
either. I am _sure_ the College authorities do not. I do not think the
Dean would think the better of me for declining the money, which I
should be glad to receive, on account of a scruple of pride. Do you
honestly, Father, think any lady lowered by the mere act of receiving
money? Did you think the less of Mrs. Teed because you paid her? Would
you have thought better of her for refusing payment? I am sure you
would not. You are too much of a gentleman to attach importance to
money.
Of course the question of right or wrong, honour or dishonour, is the
point. This once settled, people’s opinion is worth nothing. I should
be glad that my friends had the sense to see clearly and rightly in
the matter, if they have not, I regret it for their own sakes,—not for
mine.
Of course I am speaking of indifferent people,—not of you or my
Mother. I care very much that _you_ should think me right.
But even taking this lower view—of opinion—I do not believe that many
for whom I have any regard or esteem, would ultimately think the worse
of me for accepting well-earned wages. If I took the post, and, even
without accepting a salary, neglected my duty, or did it not to the
utmost of my power, I should be far more contemptible.
Mary Jane Evans, I know, for one, and she is one of the proudest
families of our relations, thinks me right. Miss Wodehouse, whose
family is older and better than mine, not only says I am right, but
showed she agreed with my opinion by her actions. She sees no meanness
in earning, but in those that think it mean. When accepting Maurice’s
school, she said to him, most nobly, I think, ‘If you think it better
that I should work as a paid mistress, I will take any salary you
please; if not, I am willing to do the work freely and for nothing.’ I
think this more noble-minded than any proud refusal of money could
have been.
Well, darling Father, I have written you a very long letter, but I
wished to tell you honestly all I thought, and I trust you don’t think
my epistle _too_ long....
Your loving child,
SOPHY.”
[Illustration:
_Emery Walker ph. sc._
_Thomas Jex-Blake_
_from a drawing in chalks by H. T. Wells, R.A. 1862_
]
“4th Feb. 1859.
DEAREST SOPHY,
Your letter has given me unmixed pleasure....
About the tutorship, you write very ably, but your logic and
illustrations are not sound, as I hope to show you. I am sure you are
fit for, as you are fond of, teaching, and the desire to raise the
standard both of teaching and teachers is good, but your receiving or
not receiving wages for the work, can neither help or hinder the
matter. I agree to _all_ you say in favour of working,—it is very
honourable, very right, and worthy of all praise, but what I object to
is your taking money for it. It is beneath you, and you will be far
happier to decline it, and let it flow into its proper channels, to
fructify widely and do real good.
The question is, as you say, one of right and wrong. In my deliberate
judgment it is _wrong_, in your position to receive pay for what you
do, to say nothing of the extent to which it would damage you. The
cases you cite, darling, are not to the point. I will take each of
them in the order you put them and then judge for yourself. I never
received a salary of any kind in my life. I was of a liberal
profession—a particularly honourable branch of it—and (chiefly) lived
by it. This was ‘right’ beyond all doubt. T. W. is doing the same sort
of thing. He feels bound as a _man_, with ability to do so, to support
his wife and family, and his position is a high one, which can only be
filled by a first-class man of character, and yielding him nearer two
than one thousand a year. The third case—Mrs. Teed’s—like the others
has no analogy whatever to my dear Sophy’s—Mrs. Teed had no _means_.
She went out in early life as a governess to earn an honourable
livelihood. She did earn it well and her talents, by God’s blessing,
led to her after success, enabling her to lay by something to support
herself and sister in their later years.
How entirely different is my darling’s case. You want for nothing, and
know that (humanly speaking) you will want for nothing. If you married
tomorrow to my liking—and I don’t believe you would ever marry
otherwise—I should give you a good fortune. What temptation is there
for your doing that which, at best, will be misunderstood to your
prejudice? I should say at all events wait a bit till you are a little
older, and can form a riper judgment. My feeling is strong that you
being a paid teacher would certainly _damage_ you, in what precise
degree nobody can say. Do the work—it is a good work and I rejoice in
it, but don’t put a penny into your purse for doing it. Let the gold
go in some other direction. This will give you a greater and more
lasting satisfaction than you could derive from any money payment.
Your loving Father,
T. JEX-BLAKE.”
“Feb. 5th ’59.
DEAR DADDY,
Thanks for your letter. I do not know whether all my reasoning
was logical,—probably not—but I do not think that your arguments
respecting the relative position of (at least) Tom and myself, are
much better than ‘distinctions without differences.’ Refine it away as
you may, Tom’s position and mine are considerably analogous, though
very unequal. As far as I can trace the foundation of your asserted
difference it is first his being a ‘man,’ which difference, as I said
before, I cannot recognize as radical,—secondly, that his position can
only be filled by ‘a first-class man,’—and I think, allowing, of
course, for very great disparity of knowledge, acquirements and
requirements, the comparison holds, for it is not easy, as has been
proved by the length of time the office has been vacant, to fill this
Tutorship properly. I should say it is the one the College finds
hardest to fill, and therefore it is (in its degree) as creditable a
thing to hold as the mastership.
Then I cannot think that you mean to urge the superior lucrativeness
of his post as any argument, for the principle must be identical in
receiving one penny or ‘nearer two than one thousand a year.’ Then I
cannot say that I want for nothing,—I do want the money, and am quite
satisfied to earn it, quite knowing that my allowance is enough. I do
not really _see_ that I am in any degree wrong, if I am it is
unconsciously and honestly.
Well, I don’t think it is of much use to argue any more—I have told
you honestly what I think.... Thank you anyhow for listening to me
patiently and answering me. I do not like to vex you after all this—
you have been and are very good to me. You ask me to wait a little
while and consider. I have considered well, and I do not believe any
further thought would alter my opinion. However I will promise you for
this term only (not ceding the principle) not to take any fees, but if
they come (which I do not yet know) to return them as a free gift to
the College. If at the end of this term I still hold my opinion, I
trust you not to oppose my determination again. Remember and
understand, Daddy, I do promise this simply and only because you wish
it, and not because in the least degree my mind is one whit altered on
the point. I trust you to meet me half way, and not be in any degree
grieved if I resume my intention next term.
Goodbye darling,
Ever your loving child,
SOPHY.”
“Saturday night. Feb. 5th 1859.
DEAREST,
... Tom’s being a _man_ makes _all_ the difference, he has just
taken the _plain path of duty_. I am very pleased with the spirit in
which you write, darling, but I must be sincere, which I should not be
if I told you that I had the shadow of a doubt that you ought not to
be a _paid_ teacher....
Ever, dearest,
Your affect. Father,
T. JEX-BLAKE.”
So closes this delightful correspondence. It was not to be supposed that
she should have no regrets. In her diary she says:
“Feb. 13th.... Like a fool I have consented to give up the fees for
this term only—though I am miserably poor. I am sorry. It was foolish.
It only defers the struggle.”
The Norfolk cousins were not a little impressed by the new life S. J.-B.
was making for herself, though it was not to be expected that they
should all take so enlightened a view of it as Miss Evans did.
“You seem,” writes Cousin Ellie, “to be spending rather a jolly time
of it, but still it seems to me rather queer that a lot of girls
should walk about London when and where they please. I don’t think you
would come to any harm, but I am sure there are many that would.”
And Sarah with whom “one does not connect the idea of angel,”
“What glorious fun a girl might have if inclined, but you are as
steady as a rock. No fear of my dear old man doing anything giddy. My
dearest treasure, Goodnight.”
We gather from subsequent correspondence that the frivolity of this
letter brought down a very severe reprimand from its recipient.
Elinor was the first to pay a visit to the unknown world, and she writes
a long account of it to the eager Sarah:
“When I first saw her that evening, I thought she did not look so
well, but since then I think the contrary—She is much thinner, but in
such good spirits, and so happy. I think she quite likes everyone to
know that she has been made mathematical tutor, for it is considered a
great honour.”
S. J.-B. would fain have seen more of these delightful cousins, but
their father held strict views as to the conditions under which well-
born girls might visit London.
“As to Ellie and Sarah,” writes Mrs. Jex-Blake in one of the severe
moods that had become so rare, “instead of being hurt they do not
accede to all you ask, you might well be proud of their _warm_ love.
You have taken yourself out of your natural position, and you cannot
understand the need for their conforming to the proprieties their
Father so naturally and properly expects. Good-looking girls do not
needlessly go about London without chaperons. Happily for them, their
Father’s wish is sufficient to guide them. There is a respect and duty
to the position, however weak and inferior you may judge a Parent to
be.[15] Well, darling, God bless and comfort you.”
Footnote 15:
The reference is not to S. J.-B.’s own parents.
Yet, judged by present-day standards, S. J.-B. would not have been
considered deficient in the spirit of compromise. Her letters to her
Father on the subject of tutor’s fees is evidence enough on that score,
and those letters are in no way at variance with her whole attitude.
“A triumph as to _life_!” she records in her diary. “Last Monday told
Mummy of my not going to the Opera without telling her, but proclaimed
my intention in the future. No interdiction. So I talked a little
about it to make all my ground sure, and coming back on Tuesday found
them going to Macbeth, Friday, and yesterday told Mummy as a matter of
course. She acquiesced if not consented, and was glad we had so nice a
party and hoped I shall not go _often_, so entirely removing all
interdiction....
Well, as to the Theatre! I believe I must confess myself disappointed.
Charles Kean as Macbeth did not satisfy me. Mrs. C. Kean very good (I
suppose) as Lady Macbeth. Yet not _real_, as Shakespeare surely should
be. After the murder of Duncan was perhaps the grandest, most awful,
most real.... The scene where Macduff learns his loss more _real_ than
most. The fighting at the end ludicrous.... I thought there would be
decent fencing.”
A few months later she went (with Miss Wodehouse) to a ritualistic
church, and was moved to hot indignation.
“How can this man wear a priestly robe in the Church, and subscribe to
her 6th and 20th most scriptural articles? Well, indeed, might we pray
for the state of the Church Militant, when within her walls are such
teachers.
Yet was I right in not staying the sacrament because this sermon so
stirred my indignation? ‘The unworthiness of ministers hinders not the
effect of the Sacrament.’ Perhaps I was wrong. Yet I could not have
stayed in a peaceful or holy mind.
To the law and to the testimony! How precious is such unanswerable
decree!—so final a court of appeal!”
A note is inserted in the margin,—(“This May 1859. Sic transit! Feb. 11,
1865!”).
Meanwhile her certificate examination was drawing near, and mathematics
absorbed most of her thoughts. On July 1st she writes:
“Certificate examination nearly 4 hours. Out of 23 problems did 20½.
So I trust I am pretty safe. I did get rather frightened as the time
drew on, but really have worked hard and I trust won. Sent a telegram,
‘Success’ to Mother, though the declaration is not yet made.
July 28th. My certificate won triumphantly and marked, ‘with great
credit’.”
Of course she was working too hard.
“I have a great deal of work in College,” she confesses some time
later. I take 8 classes,—English Literature, English History, Mental
and Moral Philosophy, Theology, Church History, Algebra, Geometry, and
German Conversation; and have 7 pupils. I am afraid it is too much
altogether.”
And what about the ordinary traditional preoccupations and vanities of a
young girl’s life in the midst of these manifold interests and claims?—
what about thoughts of dress, of personal appearance, of love and
marriage? Well, obviously there was little room left for any of these.
S. J.-B. was under the impression that she cared a good deal about
dress, and she would not have been flattered if anyone had expressed a
different opinion. As a matter of fact she never had time to give the
subject much more than a passing thought, and the poor little remnant of
an allowance that remained when more pressing claims and numerous little
charities had been met, was barely sufficient to pay for the work of an
ordinary seamstress. The adaptable coat and skirt, and the endless
variety of cheap ready-made dress had not then come to the aid of the
educated working-girl, and S. J.-B. did not realize the difficulty of
the problem she had to tackle.
“I should like to see your muslin at 3s. 6d. before I got one,” writes
honest Ellie. “You know you are the last person in the world I should
copy in dress, or who I would trust to get one for me, for it is the
only thing almost you _know nothing_ about, and you have very
peculiar, and, I think, generally bad taste.”
The letter may have been written in a moment of irritation about
something else, or indeed about this very subject of dress, for young
folks are sensitive as to the appearance of their valued friends; but it
certainly contained more than a germ of truth. Fortunately youth and a
radiant personality cover a multitude of shortcomings in this respect,
and contemporary correspondence often points to the extent to which the
Almighty had “favoured” S. J.-B. “in person as well as in mind.” In this
connection there is an interesting letter of this period from an old
schoolfellow, the daughter of a former schoolmistress. After a graphic
account of a lecture by Thackeray, at which the writer had the good
fortune to be present, she says:
“In face Thackeray is the image of—whom, do you think? Guess. Someone
you know,—of _yourself_. Yes, indeed, of you, Sophy Blake. Mama and I
were both struck, almost startled, by the resemblance.”
It happened by a curious coincidence some years later that Laurence was
taking S. J.-B.’s portrait not very long after he had taken Thackeray’s,
and he expressed himself as greatly struck by the similarity of the
lines in the two faces. S. J.-B.’s magnificent, speaking brown eyes,
however, were hers alone. “If they were taken out and laid on a plate,”
said a forcible young friend, “they would still be beautiful!”
As regards love and marriage, one can only say that, for a girl in the
middle of the last century she thought of them surprisingly little. She
speaks occasionally of her own marriage as if it were as much a matter
of course as her coming of age, and, after enjoying some pleasant boy-
and-girl intercourse with an unknown “H.” at the house of her cousins,
she describes him as “the sort of man I may probably marry in the end.”
Visiting a newly-married girl cousin, she frankly admits the charm of
the comradeship, for indeed, as a friend said of her (with more truth
than elegance of diction) a few years later than the point we have
reached: “You have taken on you a hard, hard vocation from your youngest
days,—and yet it is scarcely so hard for anyone in the world to stand
alone.”
In any case S. J.-B. went straight on her course, like many of the
finest girls of our own day, without giving any thought to cross
currents that might alter the course of her life. And indeed her daily
life was absorbing enough. It is scarcely surprising if, among her many
interests, her religious life was somewhat smothered for the time, or
that, at least she thought so.
“Mrs. Thornton called my doing what I had done ‘noble’. Yes, if for
_His_ sake, but, alas, much more—altogether—for my own. Yet my loving
the work is no disqualification for doing it for Him. I trust I do do
good a little. Surely honest intellectual help is something, if of
lower class.... I have thought—I cannot take more work, Sunday School,
etc., but what I do is _good_ in its degree; if done in His name,
surely He will accept it.”
More and more, as she looked back on her own school life from the
vantage-ground of a year at Queen’s College, she felt how much the
education of girls might be improved. On the last night of the year she
writes:
“In this year my idea of work in the cause of education has developed
itself into that of a resident College of the Holy Trinity. Heaven
knows if ever to be carried out. If good,—yes, doubtless,—if not, God
will raise up better. Little ‘religious’ as I fear I am, I do feel
this thoroughly....
‘And may the New Year cherish
All the hopes that now are bright.’
Such a happy loving Goodnight to and from Daddy and Mummy. Very happy
I am tonight.
‘And once more ere thou perish,
Old Year, Good night! Good night!’”
CHAPTER VII
FRIENDSHIP
The great remain children to the last, and in this respect S. J.-B. was
essentially one of the great. To the end of her life, for those who knew
her well, she could be a delightful child. But it was about the time we
are considering—the age of 20 to 21—that she may be said to have become
a woman, or, more truly, to have put on her manhood. She was too busy at
the time to describe or analyze in her diary the change that was taking
place—“Oh,” she says, “the little space of time and paper! The mighty
space of events ‘unheard’!”—she was in no way self-conscious about it;
but there are indications, like straws on the surface of the water, that
show in what direction the current was setting. One sees that she was
beginning to look at life freshly and at first hand, that the old
traditional dogmatism was falling away from her views of religion, of
social questions, of the relation between the sexes. To be sure this old
husk was being replaced by the even more acrid dogmatism of youth; but
in that very acridity one feels the promise of growth, of the ripe
wisdom of later years.
As far back as March 1859 one finds the following significant passage:
“Had a long argument with Miss Wodehouse today. Two points chiefly. 1.
Are evil deeds, though always pernicious to the doer, sometimes
beneficial to mankind? I affirming: she denying. 2. Is it our first
duty to seek our own salvation? She denying.
I cannot tell why I am so unable to argue with her. She seems to get
me into a maze. Yet I think she argues honestly. I sometimes shrink
from ‘sacred’ subjects with her, yet she considers all equally sacred.
‘What is truth’ indeed? Yet am I not somewhat like ‘jesting Pilate’
who ‘would not stay for an answer’?”
“What is truth?” one finds her asking again and again, and she at least
had one grand qualification for the search,—the habit of treating truth
with respect even in its humblest fragments.
Her Father, of course, was uneasy about her.
“_I should like to see you much_,” he writes, “but I feel that Sunday
would be a heavy day for you here (as I don’t frequent popish mass
houses or the like), so that if you could run down here on Monday
evening....”
And again:
“When I think of the (at best) half teaching you have, but that I
confide in our gracious covenant head, I should tremble for you when I
am gone. I have no doubt at all that Maurice is a most amiable man,
but I believe that to this hour he has never come clear out of
Unitarianism, and therefore does not see distinctly, nor, of course,
teach scripturally, any one of those fundamental Christian truths (all
connected together) original sin, Christ’s vicarious work atoning for
sin and fulfiling the law, justification by faith, and salvation by
grace. Read, darling, ...”
The following “passage of arms” with a Norfolk cousin, a man some years
older than herself, is interesting in this connection:
“Hastings, March 12/60.
MY DEAR SOPHY,
I left Brighton on Friday with something of a heavy heart. I saw
I had grieved you where I had really no intention of doing so: that
was painful to me and I must regret it. I express to you my strong
regrets. But oh! tenthousandfold deeper was the sad conviction _forced
upon me_, that the advance you have made,—shall I vex you if I say
honestly and openly,—_Romewards_, since I last saw you was very great.
I believe you are as yet unconscious of your own tendency. I told you
so at Lyng. But in honesty I must tell you, my dear Sophy, I tremble
for you. It is such _awfully slippery_ ground. It is such a _pleasant_
accommodation of religion to our fallen nature. It so feeds our
_impulsiveness_ and fortifies our _natural religionism_.
Will you forgive me if, with a cousin’s, I hope more than that,
anxious love I _beseech_ you to ‘consider your ways,’ and _bring your
soul before God in this matter_. Pray don’t _starve your soul on
gilded husks_ while bread lies at your feet in your Father’s house.
I know more than one amiable creature who began _as you have done_,
and has landed in Rome....
Dear Sophy, don’t trust your _head_, much less your heart, much less
any fallen man or imperfect church under the sun. Trust Jesus, Jesus
only, Jesus _wholly_, Jesus _exclusively_.
I trust this note will not make you wrath against me.... Be sure of
one thing, I banter no more, where feeling is evidently so deep.
Henceforth I will try and pray fervently for your poor soul’s
conversion to God.”
“March 14th./60.
MY DEAR ...
If I do not say that you have written me a most ridiculous
letter, it will be more from respect to its motive than its matter,—or
purport. I know people can work themselves up to any exaggerated view
of things, yet I can hardly believe that, if you have half the sense
people say you have, you can on sober reconsideration really believe
that there was the smallest ground for your tirade in my objection to
hear a Church—a house of God at least, spoken of and criticised as if
it were a right thing to visit it as you would a theatre, and remain a
looker-on while others were worshipping. ‘Seeking occasion against’
men was not the characteristic of the followers of the Jesus whose
name you reiterate so often. I believe this was the whole feeling with
which I spoke, exactly as I should have done if it had been a Baptist
Meeting-house you were commenting on,—as I believe you would _not_
have commented on a Baptist Meeting-house.
You may, if you please, take my word for it that I am _not_ going over
to Rome, among whose partisans, however, I must say that I have never—
no, nor I think from any other denomination under the sun—heard the
same virulent abuse of those who have at least ‘one Lord,’ if not ‘one
faith and one baptism,’—that I have from the Puritan portion of our
own Church: and I am sure no God and no Church was ever served by the
one or the other....
What I have written is probably ill conceived and worse expressed.
Excuse all such deficiencies. If I have myself fallen into the error I
protest against, I need more than excuse—forgiveness. I have not meant
to be violent or uncourteous, but where I have felt strongly, I doubt
not I have so spoken.
For your cousinly care and affection I thank you heartily, as I am
ever
Your affectionate cousin,
S. L. J.-B.”
And not only in matters of thought and principle was she developing; she
was beginning, too, to take her full share of responsibility as regards
her fellow-creatures, entering into the meaning of brotherhood and
citizenship. In addition to her work at Queen’s College, she undertook
to teach bookkeeping gratuitously in connection with the Society for the
Employment of Women, and had a class of children at Great Ormond Street.
“I don’t know how I should like _her_,” said a candid critic, “but it is
a pleasure to see anyone do anything so well as she does teach.”
Reference was made in a former chapter to her faculty for taking the
side-issues of life too intensely. It may not be right to look on
friendship as a side-issue—though many of the world’s workers are more
or less forced so to regard it: in any case it is scarcely too much to
say that—even when one takes into account the endless philanthropic
interests and activities of her later years—friendship constituted for
S. J.-B. the main work of life. If she had been paid for the sheer hard
work she did simply as a friend, she would have been a very rich woman.
She was always giving out, and from this time forward, she acted on the
maxim, “_Bis dat qui cito dat_.” If she arrived home, dead-tired, to
find a letter asking immediate advice or help, she would answer the
letter then and there and carry her answer to the post. If a friend was
passing through London, or coming to spend a few hours with her, she
would piece out a laborious journey by bus between her classes to meet
that friend at some far-off station and make things easy for her. If a
fellow-student or a teacher seemed on the point of breaking down, S. J.-
B. would write three or four letters and call on half-a-dozen people to
arrange for a holiday, and, if necessary, for a substitute. “Then home
very tired,” she writes to her Mother after such an experience, “but
very content to write this account to you.” (As not infrequently
happened, the invalid had found a refuge at 13 Sussex Square, and Mrs.
Jex-Blake’s kind heart was set on an extension of the holiday.)
“I do not think I ever did so good a Lord’s Day work in my life,—if,
that is, it is lawful to do good on the Sabbath Day,—to save life, not
to kill,—or let kill. I think I am very like a life-boat,—valueless in
itself, yet useful enough in saving better things alive. That, indeed,
its whole use and work.”
“I am sure all that driving and running about with me on Thursday made
your eye and headache much worse,” writes Cousin Sarah, “but you are
such a dear kind old pet,—would half kill yourself for anybody.”
A former school friend writes at the same date:
“I feel I ought not to trouble you, occupied as you are, but, whenever
I have asked you for anything, your kindness and sympathy have been so
readily given that I always think of you when I hear of _any wants_.”
“Mama sends her very best love,” writes Miss M. J. Evans, “and Papa
too. Oddly enough, both like you. How can they?—such a trumpery
_heartless_ girl!”
And one comes upon hundreds of tributes to the same effect.
Sometimes S. J.-B.’s willing assistance was of a kind that involved no
small labour and anxiety. If a friend was shy and gifted and poor,
capable of producing work not yet recognized as marketable, S. J.-B. was
always ready to be the middleman. She would write round to well-to-do
friends enlisting their interest, do up samples of the work for
inspection, and (most serious of all!) undertake the responsibility of
receiving the samples safe back again. “Put the responsibility on me,”
she used to say cheerily in after life, “my shoulders are broad enough”;
and there is no doubt she began to say this—if not in so many words—
before the age of 20. People got into the way of trusting her to _see a
thing through_, of assuming that it was her _métier_ to be competent and
to organize, of leaving to her the heavy end of the stick: and no doubt
she enjoyed it all and learned much from it, though, when taken in
addition to her regular work, it was terribly hard on her hasty temper
and “irritable brain.”
“You must be very thankful to be a medium of helping so many,” writes
her Mother,—“a great honour, I consider it, pleasure without alloy.” But
in the same letter she says, “Sad, sad weather for you to knock about
in. Darling, don’t risk your health.”
“I would not and could not speak” (after parting from you), writes
Ellie. “I wish I was not such a silly fool, but I could not help it
and never can, if I have to leave you.... I wonder if you have wished
for me, if it was only to scold and fight with; but what I wish most
of all is that you would give up fighting. I would do anything for you
if I could only make even a slight alteration.... I do with all my
heart wish that you would try to keep in that temper of yours.”
Noble Ellie!—“Walks upright beside me, a companion, a guide, and gives
me a hand.”
S. J.-B. rarely, if ever, expected her friends to do her the same kind
of service; but, if they became very dear, she did demand—more or less
unconsciously to herself—a definite _quid pro quo_. In her big masterful
way she would proceed to absorb their lives into her own; to establish a
subtle growing claim that was not easy to resist. She was splendidly
loyal herself, and the loyalty she exacted in return, though at first
glance an easier thing, involved more than she was in any degree aware
of. As life went on people found it increasingly difficult to disagree
with her: many simply ran away—_se sauvaient_, as the French say; and
yet it was only when in the last resort one resisted her to the face for
conscience sake in some matter very dear to her heart,—that one really
gauged the greatness of her nature.
All this is taking us somewhat ahead of the early friendships at
Queen’s, but the frank recognition of this aspect of her character is
essential to an adequate understanding of her life even in those days. A
Queen’s College friend who, in the most admirable and magnanimous spirit
had accepted what might be reckoned a heavy obligation to S. J.-B. and
her Father, writes as follows:
“I wish to tell you (I could not before, but think it right now) that
this ... will be more of a personal advantage and enjoyment to me than
anything else in the world....
With all my heart I rejoice to acknowledge an _immense_ obligation to
you for your love to me at all times and for this particular way of
showing it, but _not_ that sort of obligation which shall in any way
affect my words and doings with you for the future.”
If friendships are to be weighed, not counted, S. J.-B. was, even at
this period, fortunate in her possession of them. The Norfolk cousins,
the Cordery family, Miss Wodehouse, Miss Ada Benson, Miss Lucy Walker
(afterwards Mrs. Unwin) who was her junior at Queen’s, Miss Martha
Heaton (Mrs. Hilhouse) a fellow teacher,—are the names that occur to one
most readily. And at this time there came into her life a friendship
that was destined to make a deeper impression on her than any of these,—
the deepest impression, in fact, of any in the whole of her life.
This is how it began:
“Jan. 26th. 1860. Just had a lesson in book-keeping from Miss
[Octavia] Hill. Clever, pleasant girl,—much nicer than I thought.
Dined with me. What and how the deuce am I to pay her? £1 1s., I
suppose. Dear old Patty Heaton! How fond I am of her, and what
wonderfully good friends we are!”
“Jan. 27th. I am sure I am a good companion for her (Miss Heaton) if
only in amusing her. I think laughing does her a deal of good—hearty
fun. I rejoice in her exceedingly. And I hope for another sort of
friend, or ally at least, in Miss Hill who came and taught me book-
keeping yesterday evening. Nice, sensible, clever. Very good worker, I
expect.”
In the published _Life_ of Miss Octavia Hill, one cannot but observe how
good this dawning friendship was for her also, how beneficient was the
sunshine that it brought into her somewhat grey young life. On Feb. 5th,
1860, she writes to her sister:
“I am always thinking of you both, and longing to have you home again
that you may really know all our doings and lives. Mine lately you
would assuredly consider rather of the dissipated kind. I have been
giving some book-keeping lessons to Miss J.-B. She is a bright,
spirited, brave, generous young lady, living alone, in true bachelor
style. It took me three nights to teach her, and she begged me to come
to dinner each time. She has a friend who is killing herself by hard
work to support her younger sisters. I gather she would gladly give
her friend help, for she speaks most sadly of the ‘modern fallacy’
‘that the money must be earned.’ She thinks it might be given when
people are dear friends: she says they’ve given the most precious
thing and what difference can a little money make?”[16]
Footnote 16:
_Life of Octavia Hill._
Almost from the first Miss Hill’s letters to S. J.-B. took a serious
tone. On March 18th she writes:
“I wonder whether you will think me very impertinent if I say that I
wonder you don’t see that, in turning away from so many important
thoughts with a half joke, you are refusing God’s means of grace as
much as in staying away from ordained services. It is no good my
writing sermons, however.... I trust to live to see some one or some
sorrow do for you what I cannot, to see such a peace as ‘passeth all
understanding’ come over you, to see the thankful, perfect dedication
of all your powers to His service for His sake....
I too long for a nice quiet talk with you. I enjoy it so, and your
magnificent energy does me such good.”
The talks were not always quiet. There are those still living who
remember some animated discussions, for the two girls had stepped, as it
were, out of totally different worlds. Here is a typical passage:
S. J.-B. (hotly), “_I_ never heard the game laws attacked!”
O. H. (calmly), “_I_ never heard them defended!”
In the Easter holidays of that year both Miss Heaton and Miss Hill were
guests at 13 Sussex Square, and the friendship between the latter and S.
J.-B. was greatly deepened.
“My dear loving strong child,” writes S. J.-B. in her diary after this
visit. “I do love and reverence her.... Had a loving solemn letter
(not altogether pleasing to me) on my telling her we had had a ‘row’
[at home]. Told her by return ‘Hang you,’ and bade her remember she
was neither nurse nor parson.
Dear, dear child, though. Mother calls it beautiful letter.”
It was so characteristic of S. J.-B. to show that letter to her Mother!
On April 29th Miss Octavia Hill writes again to her sister:
“You dear old thing, I wish I had you here to give you a good rest and
rousing, and refreshing. I am as merry as a grig.... Miss J.-B. and I
are always doing things together—great companions I am with her. You
know she’s teaching me Euclid. We went to see Holman Hunt’s
picture,...”[17]
Footnote 17:
_Life of Octavia Hill._
And again we quote from S. J.-B.’s diary:
“May 17th, Whitsunday. A most delicious day at Hurst with Ruth[18] and
Octa. Went down together second-class by 6 train.... Told Octa about
Wales,—sitting in her room on the table, my heart beating like a
hammer. That Carry wanted to go to Wales and I too, and most
convenient about beginning of July, so ... ‘Put off my visit?’ said
Octa. ‘No, I was going to say (slowly) if you wish to see anything of
me, you must come too, I think, and not put off the mountains till
heaven.’ She sunk her head on my lap silently, raised it in tears, and
then such a kiss!”
Footnote 18:
Miss Heaton.
There is a happy letter about this Welsh tour:
“Bettws-Y-Coed,
July 26th/60.
DARLING MOTHER,
We have decided rather in a hurry as there are to be no prizes,
... to give a treat to all, which, however, Mr. Jones specially
stipulates is not to be a _school treat_.... It is just coming off
today. I ordered 60 lbs. of dough and etcs. from Catherine Owen,—
rather less rich than last year (that is, fewer eggs and less butter).
It makes 88 lbs. altogether. But it was only settled on Monday, and as
this is Thursday I am half afraid all may not know. But we have tried
hard to send scouts everywhere....
Please tell me as early as possible where you will be each day of the
week beginning Sunday, August the 12th. Now don’t let Tom just prevent
your remembering or caring[19] to meet your little one. I do long to
see you so....
Footnote 19:
By the charm of his personality, she means, of course; not by
design.
_Weymouth St. July 30th._ All over, darling, now, and such a happy
time without a single blot I never remember in my life. Every thing
has been better than any anticipation of it. We have done everything
we wanted to do. We have been everywhere and have had no mischance, no
annoyance of any kind. Octa looks five years younger, and as bright as
a sunbeam. And I am in so thoroughly happy a state of mind as hardly
to know myself. I really almost think I should be good-tempered now.
We came home by Llangollen on Saturday, 40 miles coach and 194 miles
rail. Not a bad journey for one day. We went up that morning to your
high mound. The view was glorious. I took poor old Ellen Jones some
squills for her cough, but she looks very ill indeed. She sent so very
much love to you, and wished she had something to send you.
The treat came off excellently on Thursday. It was grand fun to see
Octa playing with the children. At Hunt the Slipper once, she,
pretending she had the shoe, held up her boot toe, saying, ‘See, here
it is,’ or something like it. Grace Owen, who was seeking, seized hold
of it as quick as light, crying ‘Let me have it then,’ pulled away,
and capsized Octa entirely amid roars of laughing. Octa sprang up and
chased her round and round the field till she caught and tickled her.
It was quite one of the bits of fun of the evening.... The only
_contretemps_ was that poor little Hannah fell down and sprained her
arm. However, Miss Hill’s surgical powers came in grandly, and I do
not suppose Hannah is any the worse except for a few days inaction.
Well, how strange it is to find this all over, and probably never to
return. I cannot say I am glad our tour is over, for I do believe I
was never so happy for so long in my whole life, but neither can I say
I am sorry to see dear old London again,—I am sure I could come back
to no other place—as a place—with near so much pleasure....
Just fancy Octavia’s energy,—after that tremendous journey not
reaching home till 10.30, she was off to Lincoln’s Inn at 7 a.m. the
next morning for the early communion, and went again, and I with her
in the afternoon. Her Mother and sister were so delighted with her
account of all her doings, and a glorious one she gave certainly. I
had tea with them last night. Goodbye, my darling, for the present.
Not so very long now, I trust, before we meet.
Aug. 1st. Although this has been in a ‘Milan’ envelope all this time,
I suppose I must now send it to Chamounix, as I foolishly forgot to
post it yesterday.
Today quite forgotten to order any dinner, so just bought some cheese
and strawberries.
Tell Carry John Davis has sent her a letter to complain of me, which
was forwarded to me, and which I have answered. Goodbye darling.
Yours lovingly,
SOPH.”
In August, when S. J.-B. and Miss Heaton were abroad together, Miss Hill
writes:
“London feels strangely desolate, the lamps looked as they used to
look, pitiless and unending as I walked home last night, and knew I
could not go to you.... I don’t the least suppose you’ll go to
Florence or see my sisters, but, if you should, pray take off your
‘spikes’ and remember ... how much they love England, and everyone who
is a friend of ours. I look forward to bright long days in which I
shall learn always more about you, and watch with unending and
unfathomable love and sympathy your upward growth, and we may look
back together on our lives, as I do often on my own, and wonder how I
could know and see so little, and wonder more how, knowing so little,
I should be led continually to deeper truth.”
Here, one would have said, was the beginning of an ideal friendship, and
so it might have proved—allowing, of course, for the necessary rubs
between two such strong natures—had the two girls been alone in the
world. But each of the two belonged to a family that in different ways
exacted a great deal from each of its members, and particularly of the
member involved in the present friendship. It is doubtful whether even
the two girls could have made a success of _living_ together, for the
diary refers occasionally to “cataracts and breaks,” and on both sides
there are letters of penitence for hot temper or “coldness and pride.”
Moreover, Miss Hill loved peace more than do most, and, dearly as she
loved S. J.-B., she was almost bound in time to find her “more
stimulating than quotidian,” to quote a quaint phrase of Carlyle’s.
It is therefore with no small sinking of heart that one reads the
following entry in S. J.-B.’s diary:
“Sept. 9th. Sunday [1860]. A plan on foot of my taking part of a house
with the Hills and having Alice for a servant. That would be very
jolly. But rents high about here,—least £120.”
Certainly a similar sinking of heart took possession of Mr. and Mrs.
Jex-Blake, and when they learned that the finding of a tenant for the
drawing-room floor was an essential part of the scheme, it is not
surprising that—short of stopping their daughter’s allowance which had
been increased some time before—they did everything in their power to
discourage the arrangement. They were well aware that, here as
everywhere, the willing shoulders would take their full share of work
and responsibility. The reader will be prepared for Mr. Jex-Blake’s
point of view:
“DEAREST CHILD,
You cannot surely mean to take a house and let lodgings in
direct opposition to your dear Mother and me. It would be quite
disgraceful and we never can consent to it. I will not believe, my
dear child, with all our love for you, that you will so directly
disobey us, or that Miss Hill, knowing our feelings on the subject,
can be a party to it.
When you spoke of the other house, you said a lawyer was to look over
the lease, and take care of the Hills, and I firmly believed, till the
last few days, that you were to hire rooms. I had no more idea of your
becoming a lodging-house keeper than of your keeping a shop. You
cannot suppose that I would assist Miss Hill in such an exceedingly
blameable transaction. I would _with real pleasure_ assist her in all
possible ways ... but no Father or Mother who love their daughter, in
your position, could consent to her joining in it. I trust, dearest
child, you will give up all idea of such a thing, which, once done,
you would repent as long as you lived.”
The response to this protest has not been preserved. On October 18th
Miss Hill writes:
“MY DARLING CHILD,
Thanks for all the trouble that you are taking about the houses,
I am quite ashamed it should all fall to your share. Is Harley Street
house quite out of the question? I received a letter from Mama,
earnestly desiring that we should keep near the park; she would not at
all like Bentinck Street. Don’t weary yourself with searching. I
certainly will return on Thursday (probably much before) then we will
look together again.... If it would secure the Harley Street house by
all means let us pay all the taxes whatever they may be. I am writing
in the dark. Goodbye, my own darling treasure.
I am,
Yours affectionately,
OCTAVIA HILL.
Mama has an affection now for Harley Street.”
Finally, the house 14 Nottingham Place was taken, and rather more than
the customary number of difficulties had to be worked through in
connection with it. In addition to this, illness broke out in the house,
and there were several invalids to be nursed.
The most forgiving of mothers writes after a visit to her daughter:
“It is all your own choice and doubtless right, but it sometimes
grieves me to think how many discomforts you have, and how many
indulgences I have—only it is not my doing that you have them not. I
wish I did not think of you as worn and fagged. Do assure me that you
go to bed as early as you can and get good rest.”
Fortunately youth and friendship make all things easy, or at least
bearable. During S. J.-B.’s brief absence in December Miss Hill writes:
“Oh, child, your letters are such a delight, but I miss you so
dreadfully. I wander like a lost thing about the house and long for
you intensely. Every place seems so desolate. Every witness of your
thought and active care of and for me contrasted vividly with Z’s odd
procrastination till I almost felt unjust and unkind. And yet I ought
to glory in your kindness and goodness, and in all that mighty and
glorious energy that _will_ help so many people in this sad world, if
it is spared to us. Your room, the fire, the thought of all you had
told me to provide for myself, fills my eyes with tears. I mean to
spend a very quiet and happy Sunday.” And again, later,—“Do you know I
get on very much more easily with strangers than I used, all of which
I owe to you. It is a great satisfaction to me: it pleases one’s
friends to have their friends like one.”
Up to this point the friendship had been an almost unqualified gain,
but, little by little, Miss Hill began to feel the strain of dividing
herself—so to speak—between her family, her comrade and her work. In May
1861 she was called away by the illness of her friend, Miss Harris,[20]
and the change to an ideally peaceful life was just what she needed. Her
own health had begun to suffer and she remained on at the Lakes for some
months to gain strength. In her absence, S. J.-B. took on her own
shoulders in great measure the responsibilities of householder. Hitherto
her acquaintance with the other members of the Hill family had been
slight, but a warm friendship now sprang up between her and the sister,
Miranda, who often shared the meals made ready by the devoted Alice and
served by her in her young mistress’ room. Few young people in the first
glow of a new friendship have sufficient tact, self-control and
knowledge of life to avoid all risk of wounding their elders, and such
tact would scarcely be possible in a nature like S. J.-B.’s. Little rubs
and frictions increased, and no doubt Octavia was the confidante of all.
In July she writes:
Footnote 20:
_Life of Octavia Hill._
“I hold myself prepared to come when it seems right, sure to be given
strength to do my duty, but certainly not longing for anything that
will bring me again into a world of contention. I can’t bear to think
how pained you would be if you could know the strength of this
feeling, for I know you would feel it a failure of love. I tell you
all this because I am sure you will feel it in my letters, because I
am sure such a cloud hurts less when frankly confessed, because I am
sure such a friendship as yours and mine need not fear it, remaining
untouched and immoveable, based on what can neither change nor know
fear.... All my life long this dread and misery about even the
slightest contention or estrangement has taken the form of misery,
continually saying in itself, ‘I can_not_ bear it.’ Since physical
strength has left me so far this wretched dread has increased
tenfold....
How delightfully kind and good you are to everybody. I can fancy I see
you, brightly kind, good and energetic, going about among all the
people, entertaining monitors, inviting my sisters to tea, giving club
dinners, learning about examinations, arranging the play, talking to
Miss Boucherett, delighting to plan work and holiday for them all....
When I have thought, as I often have, that it is probable that I may
never have strength to work any more, you cannot think how I have
clung to the thought of your ever ready and powerful help and care.”
Through all this tide of affection, one wonders whether S. J.-B. in any
way realized the very genuine apprehension her friend felt about
returning to the atmosphere of contention. The probability is that she
did not realize it at all, or rather that she looked upon it as the
expression of a transient mood caused by physical weakness. No doubt she
made a generous resolve that “everything should be made easy for Octa”
when she returned; but she did not realize how great was the need for
resolve. She never saw her own personality from the outside; and of
course hers was not the only “temperament” in the house. No member of
the family could have been described as a mere cabbage.
We all know how friction increases when the machinery is out of gear:
differences of opinion grew: Mr. and Mrs. Jex-Blake protested against
the imprudence of accepting a banker’s reference only, in the case of a
foreigner who was in terms for the rooms, and for once their daughter
upheld their view with tenacity. Finally,—though this not till October—
the state of strain became so great that Octavia was summoned home.
One can sympathize profoundly with her in the difficult situation she
was called upon to face. She knew by this time what the faults were on
both sides, knew in particular that S. J.-B. was not a placid person;
began to guess perhaps that explosions of temper were as essential to
that generous nature as the thunderstorm is to a stretch of summer days.
Meanwhile everyone was counting on her to solve the difficulty with a
wave of her wand: and here was she, never very robust, weary with a long
journey, called away from a congenial holiday to the intimate
association with a thousand and one petty cares in addition to the
special crisis that had summoned her home.
The extracts given above are a mere gleaning from many unpublished
letters which bear witness to her devoted attachment to S. J.-B., but
although her sympathy with her own mother was perhaps less fervent at
this time than it afterwards became—she had a strong sense of filial
affection and duty. Moreover she had her work in the world to do—
invaluable work we know it proved—and she felt that she could only do it
in an atmosphere of peace and quiet.
Assuredly it was not an easy situation to face. Looking back upon the
whole story after more than half-a-century, one cannot but wish that she
had simply _compelled_ S. J.-B. to realize the truth,—that she found
herself unable to live and do her work unless she could have the peace
that her soul loved, that—much as she had profited up to a certain point
by the stimulating friendship of one so unlike herself—the time had come
when she found that friendship too stimulating under present conditions.
Surely—one fancies—some arrangement might have been arrived at by which
so mutually beneficial a friendship might have been continued.
Miss Hill, however, decided otherwise. In the watches of that first
night, after a long talk with her Mother (a talk that, in the nature of
the case, can scarcely have emphasized S. J.-B.’s point of view), before
she had even seen her friend, she resolved to forego even the semblance
of an attempt to reconcile these conflicting claims. Something must go,
and that something must not be the mother and sisters to whom she had
devoted most of her ardent young life, the mother and sisters who
depended on her wisdom and goodness more even than they knew.
It was one thing to make the great resolve: it was quite another to
explain it to the friend whose one conscious desire was to make Octa’s
life an easy one.
So she set her face like a flint, and, for the first time in the course
of their friendship, she refused to see S. J.-B.’s side of the question
at all. Peace must be secured at all costs, and, if peace was to be
secured, this delightful exacting friendship must end. S. J.-B. might
retain her rooms for the time as a matter of business—
But neither S. J.-B. nor her indignant Mother would listen to that.
Well, then, let it all go. The time for half measures—or so Miss Hill
thought—was over. All intercourse must cease. “The relentless knife must
cut sheer through.”
How much the effort cost her we gather from the extent to which she
overdid the part. She was at the end of her tether, so to speak, and
acting, doubtless, on an instinct of sheer self-preservation, she would
allow no discussion of any kind. She set her face so flintily that S.
J.-B. was driven in uttermost bewilderment to the conclusion that the
complete withdrawal was due to some extraordinary aberration on the part
of her friend—an aberration for which so noble a being could not be
responsible, and which might therefore come to an end as suddenly as it
had begun. A thousand times she had said to herself, “Everything will be
right when Octavia comes!” And now, behold, Octavia was here, and it was
no Octavia. It was a fairy changeling to whom the beautiful past was a
thing unknown. The rupture was so complete that it was no rupture. It
was a nightmare, an inexplicable darkness at noonday, something so
contrary to all known laws of nature that it could not last. This hope,
this attitude of expectancy, was encouraged by the extraordinarily
tender and appreciative letters which, at intervals for some years,
broke through Miss Hill’s reserve. In one of these letters, dated Nov.
5th, she writes:
“Oh, Sophy, how splendidly you and your Mother did act those last days
that now seem so far away.... When I see how deep your forethought
was, so loving as to have remembered the very slightest things that
might be the least trouble to us when you were no longer near to take
care of us, one feels as if an angel had (may I not say still is
taking) care of us.”
A generous letter indeed, but in the face of such letters was it any
wonder that S. J.-B. failed as of old to grasp the extent of the
difficulty,—that she refused to accept the situation as final,—that she
lived on in hope, and often all but intolerable suspense? “Did I want to
learn constancy?” she says.
If the lesson was needed, most assuredly it was learned. Till the close
of her life the friendship on her side remained unbroken, although she
ceased in time to speak of it even to her most intimate friends; in
repeated wills she left the whole of her little property to Miss
Hill,[21] and, although other friends came in time to fill the empty
place—although she even wrote playfully in her diary some twenty years
later of her “fanciful faithfulness”—until the eve of her last illness
she would not extinguish the hope that “even in this life” the
friendship might be renewed.
Footnote 21:
Until circumstances rendered Miss Hill independent of such aid.
One might say more than this. From the time of the rupture, Octavia Hill
became to S. J.-B. a pure ideal—something of what the subject of the _In
Memoriam_ was to the author of that wonderful threnody.
In any case the whole history of the friendship was destined to lie on
higher levels because Octavia Hill had felt bound to break it off.
CHAPTER VIII
A STEP BEYOND
It has never been customary among students of human nature to attach
great importance to the outpourings of a romantic friendship, save in
the rare cases where these have achieved consummate literary form. The
religion of the adolescent, too, is a thing that we are apt to take a
good deal for granted. In S. J.-B.’s case, however, the ideal—the
vision—to which this brief friendship gave rise throws a light on
potentialities of feeling and expression which we should otherwise never
have had. The fact that so apparently transient a gleam should have
given rise to a great and lasting inspiration lifts the passages that
follow quite out of the category of the great mass of similar
experiences.
The effect of one personality upon another is a thing we can never
predict and seldom explain. It is not a mere question of addition or
even of multiplication. The process is a vital one which can never be
mechanically reckoned out. We all see over and over again in life how
the receiver may contribute as much as the giver—the pupil no less than
the teacher. When the word of God went forth from Sinai, we are told,
_each man heard it in the tongue in which he was born_.
In any case that strange and new experience came with the force of a
ferment to S. J.-B. “She was never the same again,” says a lifelong
friend, looking back on the whole history after more than fifty years:
“it cut her life in two.” But the cutting in two—like the division of
the primordial cell—was the earnest, not of death, but of life on a
larger scale.
“My Mother’s full glorious sympathy! What could I do without that? God
bless her, my darling,—mine for ever.”
So writes S. J.-B. in the first days of her trial. If anyone knew the
meaning of the words, “as one whom his mother comforteth,” it was she.
And never did she need that comfort more than now. She left the house in
Nottingham Place at once, but she gallantly finished her term at Queen’s
College and then went home to Brighton. “I must _not_ get bitter and
cynical,” she says. “I don’t think I shall. And yet the crash has been
awful.”
As often before in lesser troubles she was thrown back on her own deep
religious faith.
“Bankrupt?” she asks herself. “No, by God’s grace, no! No personal
trouble, no trouble of any kind, _can_ wreck a life in His charge.
Still His,—that the strong, the enduring thought.
From this very threshold of pain, whatever be its present issue, shall
go forth an earnest patient life,—to continue Christ’s faithful
soldier and servant to my life’s end.
Yes, I,—Christ’s soldier! Yes, earnestly, heartily, entirely, though
speculatively this Christ I know not,—though my mind asks in all
uncertainty What and Who?...
Dogmas are one thing; life is another.
Doing is clear; ‘doing the will,’—‘knowing the doctrine’ shall come
later. Not _believing_ though. I mean _understanding_,—receiving with
reason and mind.”
So she prepared her altar, “and put no fire under,” but the flash came.
“Dec. 13th. Sunday. 11.45 p.m. Who could have believed what a happy
holy evening has succeeded to all the pain, storm and whirlwind of the
morning?
Dr. Smith’s death.[22] The loss of Octavia’s day,—her visit of one
hour; the utter stupor of misery. Then, with all the pain, the perfect
feeling of content and assurance of Rightness in things. Then this
happy evening, lifting me altogether out of myself and my pain into
the trials and struggles and efforts and interests of Lucy and Emily,—
and, thank God, the power of helping both. Now this calm perfect
peace, which sends me to bed ‘resting.’... Oh, God is most merciful,
most bountiful. ‘Like as a Father pitieth his children’.”
Footnote 22:
Dr. Southwood Smith, Miss Hill’s grandfather.
“12 p.m. Sunday night.
Don’t chide me for writing late, Mother. I must speak to you. If I
could give you an idea of the peaceful, happy evening I have had,—
sending me to bed with a heart full of love and joy and thankfulness.
No, nothing has changed in outer things. I have no other news. But
perfect peace has come. I can hardly tell you how happy I am, Mother.
I have had such a happy, holy evening with two or three of the
girls.... And God seemed to give me such wonderful power to help them,
and I believe He has helped them. And in all this—I know not how, but
I wake up at their departing ... to find that somehow God has rolled
away my burden utterly.
I had forgotten it and myself altogether, and now I can find neither.
I can hardly believe in the pain and misery of the morning, it seems a
dim, far-off memory.
Is it not wonderful, Mother? Goodnight, my own darling.
Yours very very lovingly,
SOPHY.
I do not know when I could so fully and entirely say, ‘I will lay me
down _in peace_ and sleep, for Thou, Lord, only makest me to dwell in
safety.’”
Follows an undated fragment, probably written to her Mother next
morning:
“—passed other quiet wayfarers, just as heavily weighted. How gentle
it ought to make one,—to see how utterly ignorant one may be of sorrow
at one’s elbow,—how one can only be _generally_ tender to people, if
one would escape striking down an already tottering neighbour because
one does not and cannot know his needs.
It is only God who sees _which_ is the bruised reed, and cherishes
that specially,—or can do so.
I am thinking how near 4 o’clock is coming. It may bring me a kiss and
a word from my darling. I am sure tonight’s post will at any rate.
Well, dear, I have you always and forever, and with you only I could
never be desolate. And I have her too,—though she doesn’t know it now.
Yours very very lovingly,
SOPH.”
“4.30 p.m. Thanks, many, darling, for your loving little note. You
will know before this that the cloud is not dispersing in the way you
mean,—that it has only more fully and certainly overspread the sky.
Yet there is—and will be more and more, please God,—a light in it
too.”
“Dec. 16th 1861. 8.30 p.m.
MY OWN DARLING MOTHER,
Thanks so many for the loving little scrap of letter which I
knew would come to comfort me.
The sympathy is always delicious, but the active need for it is
utterly gone. You will have got my last night’s letter, so Mother will
not go to bed with a sad heart for her baby.
Yesterday I was wondering how it should be possible that I should ever
live out the next three days till I got home to you. Now every sort of
trouble seems to have fled utterly away. I never knew before the
meaning of the words, ‘the peace that passeth understanding’....
I every now and then wake up with a kind of start of wonder to find
such a sunny smile of heart gladness all over my face. And people see
it too. It would be very odd if they didn’t when the whole world is
changed to me. It is the most wonderful separation of the inner from
the outer world that I ever knew. I suppose nothing is changed in the
physical world, but everything seems for me bright and golden,—as in
my Welsh tour with Octavia (I can speak of it and her now with perfect
quiet peace), as in those days at Hurst.
Last night I thought it most glorious, but too delicious to last; but
it seems now the atmosphere of life, as if nothing can touch or shake
it....
Mother, a grand solemn wonder comes with it all, whether it is that
when we have actually and literally given up every will and wish to
God,—have rested utterly and entirely on Him with perfect trust—
whether then pain loses its power, and only blessing, even now, _can_
come.
... if so, what a glorious future one sees for all the sorrowful
here,—for all the tried and suffering. ‘For _all_ the wanderers the
home is one’. The pain only till it has brought the bliss; the All-
loving Father that cannot wound but to heal.
Now my spirit is so perfectly at rest, all my strength seems to have
come back to me like Samson. I feel as if Edinbro’ or anything else
was nothing to me. ‘He hath set my heart at liberty’,—that is the very
truth. Mother, how naturally in every depth of sorrow or joy one turns
to those words about which _verbally_ we quarrel,—not really or
deeply, Mother.
Goodnight, my own Darling,
Yours very lovingly,
SOPH.”
From diary:
“Dec. 16th Monday. ‘For as soon as ever thou hast delivered thyself to
God with thy whole heart, and seekest not this or that for thine own
pleasure or will, but fixest thyself wholly upon Him, thou shalt find
thyself united and at peace.’
THOMAS A KEMPIS.”
“Dec. 22nd. Sunday, 11 p.m. The last thread actually broken,—the
parting over.
Left London on Thursday evening by the 8 p.m....
Well, it is all in hands that cannot err,—speculative sceptic as I may
be, practically my trust is as firm as the rock on which it rests. My
Father doth do all things well,—and even makes me feel it,—even now.
And surely, to take a lower ground, I have been an inapt pupil if the
lessons of the last few months have not taught me the utter
impossibility of calculating the possibilities of the future.
Should I have believed from man or angel on Tuesday the first the
events of Thursday the last of October?
But we don’t want low ground. He is the rock,—His work _is_ perfect.
And He will care for my child.”
Of course this mood of exaltation could not go on unbroken, except at
the cost of sanity itself. Hours of reaction had to come. “We might have
done _anything_ together, we two!”
“Dec. 29th Sunday. Tonight the bitterness seemed doubled in finding
‘my teachers removed out of my sight.’ I just feeling my way to
truth,—saved by her from so much doubt and possible infidelity. Well,
God will teach me, will He not, Himself,—so Mother said. I cannot (or
feel as if I could not: _cannot_ is not a word for ‘Christ’s soldier
and servant’, is it?) put it all away. I seem so physically weak and
_rotten_, so unable to exert will and force myself to be quiet.
But I have found something to do. I behave infamously to the dear old
man. Well! I mean to throw my whole being into being a good child at
home. I _won’t_ be rude and bad to him!
Now record this vow for a week,—don’t be superstitious, Jack; say ‘God
helping me’ and go on,—forget yourself. Just do this piece of work,—
and wait.
So be it.
What was the ‘chief evil’ to which the suffering must be directed to
be sufficient?
‘Selfishness,’ said I.
Truly, Jack. And what is it but intolerable selfishness,—this brooding
over a ‘bootless bene’,—this expecting sympathy and all sorts of
kindness and excuse from my Mother and the rest, and talking about
nerves and fiddle-de-dees,—instead of forgetting myself and seeing to
my work and to other people.
Well, God helping me, now for a new leaf—of strength and resolve
instead of whining self-pity.”
It was with this inspiration that she wrote to one of her pupils:
“Dec. 31st. 1861.
DEAR LUCY,
... My Modern History was all right, thank you,—I forgot you had
it. By the bye, your handwriting seems to me to have ‘suffered an
improvement’—I must congratulate you.
I am very glad you think I have helped you, dear child,—my life has
been a very pleasant one in London,—its memory will be pleasanter
still if it has been too not quite useless to some of the people who
have helped to make it so. I could not easily count the people who
have helped me,—some directly,—some merely ‘by living.’ It is a
glorious thing, is it not, to be a link in that chain of help which
encircles the world,—to pass on to another what one has given us,—
feeling how all our broken bits of help and gift are gathered up in
the perfection of the Great Giver and ‘Father of Lights.’
I do heartily hope that you will go back to Queen’s just to take and
hold your place in that chain. Only do quite resolutely take your part
for the highest and noblest,—remember ‘the soldier and servant’, and
remember how very far we are from helping when we acquiesce in any
wrong doing,—in any low standard of right and wrong, even by silence.
I do not think it would be easy to over-estimate the importance of a
high pure tone among the leading girls at such a place as Queen’s,—
perhaps such as you and L. hardly know what a power lies in your
hands, for the very life of the College,—and mayn’t we look higher
than that, and say for our Master’s work?
And after all that is the true and simple way of looking at it,—for
consequences we can’t calculate,—but we always can know right from
wrong, and the rest is not our affair.
Well, dear child, God bless and guide you,—that is the true help.”
And, finally, she writes in her diary:
“Dec. 31st. 1861. The last day of the year! Now to ‘take stock’. I
have just finished, and balanced exactly my money matters (within a
deficit of 2s. 8d. with which I left London). Now for the moral and
historical. See the last volume for the beginning of the year. _How_
well I remember the last day last year. Does she? How we did and
sorted accounts till the chimes,—and then leant together out of the
window in our new house fresh with plans and hopes, saying so
hopefully,
‘And may the New Year cherish
All the hopes that now are bright.’
And now truly almost,
‘For all my earthly hopes this (year) did kill.’
It is almost dreadful to look back and see how this book opens with a
jest. How full of joke and spirit all seems! The ‘deep waters’ have
come this year as never before. But it is a strange wild comfort to
find in myself so much _capacity_ for suffering. I had always despised
myself as a weak shallow nature, to leave others to suffer and escape
with a laugh....
(Wrote one last letter to Frid[23] tonight—for her birthday tomorrow.
Weak? I think not.)
Well, now to ‘take stock’:
The opening of the year, bright, clear, hopeful. Octavia’s visit to
the north, but that no real break. Our delight in our new house,—its
quiet and peace. Some disappointment is not letting, but that very
endurable. No bar to happiness....
Then the return of Frid and Florence. My unwilling acquaintance
ripening gradually into love for Frid, called forth perhaps first by
her great love for me.
Then our glorious Whitsuntide at Hurst,—Octa and I. The few days
(Thursday to Tuesday) pure unmixed heart sunshine. Purer and deeper if
possible than that of Wales.
Then the strange double summons on May 21st., she to Mary Harris, I to
the O’Briens. Coming like a thunderbolt on our week, but accepted by
both obediently and willingly. Together to London. Then my mission to
Tufnell Park. The hurried tea, the night mail, the parting hand
pressure as the train moved, ‘in the sure and certain hope’—is it
blasphemous so to use the words? I think not. There was a glorious
churchlike solemnity always on our love. Well!—then the five months’
parting,—hard it seemed then, but painless—heaven—to what came after.
Perhaps I am not yet meant to see the ‘why’ of all that followed....
We seemed so helpful heavenwards to each other. Never seemed our love
truer, deeper, purer,—I know though _now_ that mine _could_ be all
three.
Yet with all this wondering, I do and have felt most solemnly. Surely
it is best. ‘We shall see in Heaven why it could not be otherwise.’
At least, Octavia, you have never had (in me at least) so true and
deep and leal a friend as now,—and yet quieter and so stronger.
And for her—God have her in His holy keeping!
I feel some work has been done when I can say as deeply, truly as now
that no earthly blessing could seem to me (except relating to my
Mother) comparable to her restoration to me (for every feeling of hurt
or wound or injury seems merged in deep earnest love ‘beyond words’)
yet I am ready, and God helping me able to go through the world—
darkened and lightless as it seemed a few weeks ago—and feel it yet my
Father’s own world, ‘very good’ yet: ready in it manfully and
cheerfully to take up my burden, and again and forever as ‘Christ’s
faithful soldier and servant’ to fight manfully till my life’s end—so
help me God!”
Footnote 23:
Miss Miranda Hill.
CHAPTER IX
FIRST EXPERIENCE OF EDINBURGH
It is the great miracle of life—that first glow and uplifting of the
soul in touch with the Unseen. “The immediate consciousness of the
religious man,” said Hegel, “has in it an infinite worth, because an
infinite content.” For the moment it seems as if all the difficulties of
life were swept away, as if nothing temporal could matter any more. But
if the world at large is to be ennobled and spiritualised by these
individual experiences, the inspiration has got to be worked out in “the
commonplace clay with which the world provides us.”
And here comes in an all-important point, to which, on the whole, far
too little significance has been attached. To some of those who have the
vision, Fate gives a tractable, malleable lump of clay, limited in mass,
fine in texture, ready to respond to the lightest touch of the potter:
and so we get sweet and saintly characters whose lives will bear the
minutest inspection—such characters as Maurice and Eugénie de Guérin, or
the wonderful family described in _Le Récit d’une Soeur_. But there are
some to whose lot a very different problem falls. The big and rough jobs
of the world-spirit have to be tackled somehow. There are unwieldy
masses of clay, full of grit and impurities, masses that do not seem to
respond to the creative impulse at all. Rough handling, bold tunnelling
may be required; and if it be true,—as it is—that the first beauty of
the spiritual vision seems degraded in _any_ attempt at realization, how
much more is this the case when the seer is baffled and thwarted at
every turn by the sheer inertness and stupidity of the lump, so to
speak, when he is forced to resort to almost brutal methods in order to
get his idea expressed at all.
God gives man the vision and the lump of clay; and many a man who
escapes the censure of his fellows gives back the two separately to God,
like the talent wrapped in a napkin: some men are privileged to return a
piece of work that all eyes can value in a trice: and some, “with aching
hands and bleeding feet” have merely blocked out a great conception,
have half-unconsciously drafted the rough outline of one of the
Almighty’s big schemes, an outline on the details of which smaller souls
will be abundantly occupied for generations to come.
Before we judge of the finish of a man’s life, before we judge of its
correspondence with what he believes to be his inspiration, let us ask—
What was the extent of the problem it had to grapple with?—What was the
mass and what the condition of the clay?—What, in a word, was the man’s
_task_?
There must, of course, be some sort of affinity, some mesmeric
attraction,—even if this should seem to show itself in an actual
distaste—between the man and the task. So far as human stupidity makes
this possible, we must believe that God Almighty chooses His man, and
the work of the Almighty would be singularly limited in range if He
chose for His purpose only those whose natural endowments are such as to
make them an unqualified credit to any cause they may espouse.
All this must be specially borne in mind in judging the subsequent life
of S. J.-B. We are bound, of course, to ask how she worked out in life
this beautiful vision of her adolescence—bound to ask how she realized
in practice the “infinite (potential) worth and content” of that first
radiant consciousness; but before we attempt to answer the question, we
must take into full account the extent and the difficulty of the task
that fell to her share, and we must give full weight to the natural
attributes which were the tools placed at her disposal.
It is clear that there was about her a doggedness, a high-handedness, a
disregard of tradition, an actual—if superficial—roughness, which are
not common qualities among the highly-educated of either sex, and which
were never admired in her own. On the other hand, the reader of the
foregoing pages will no longer need to be told of her tenderness and
sensitiveness—of a capacity for loving and for suffering only
commensurate with her power of inspiring love, of incurring suffering.
In a sense she was a born fighter, but it is a very nice question how
far she enjoyed a fight. Thousands of times throughout life she might
truly have repeated the extract from her diary quoted on p. 46:
“This brought down an awful storm of wonder, reasoning, etc., till at
length I got off to bed _so_ tired.”
The diary continues after the extract quoted in the last chapter:
“And now to turn to the outer facts of life.
Here I am, my London College life over, with all its pleasures, all
its cares, all its responsibilities, all its glorious delight at
times.
Ten terms have I kept,—ten passed since the beginning of that second
volume of mine! How sorrowfully meagre seems the record. Yet ‘the
world could scarcely contain’ what _might_ have been written.
My rooms in Nottingham Place given up (first and second floors let to
Vs.). The world before me. Alice only bound to me. My life in Scotland
to begin whenever rested. Wants sufficient resolution to make that
‘when.’ Yet I expect very needful.
I suppose the shock to my whole being of the last three months could
not be easily reckoned. Two months today since I left N.P.!
Again the burden has been lightened since my resolve (how inadequately
worked out!) of Sunday night. Not only Watch, but _Work_ and wait!...
By-the-bye, Frid’s lovely Christmas gift,—Christ on the Cross. The
Child Christ and verses (her’s?)
‘The love that brings salvation
_Shall_ at last prevail!’
Amen.”
“My life in Scotland to begin whenever rested.”
It is not easy to say what induced S. J.-B. to seek farther education in
Scotland, except that she was anxious to extend her experience in every
possible way. A few years later, thanks to the efforts of Mrs.
Crudelius, Professor Masson, Miss Louisa Stevenson, and others, the
University Classes for Women at Shandwick Place were successfully
started, but in 1862 there is no reason to think women were better off
in Edinburgh than in any other town of the same size. A report seems to
have gone forth, however, of the superior advantages offered by some
institution, and S. J.-B. went north—accompanied by her faithful maid,
Alice—full of hope and ambition. On her last night at home, by an
interesting coincidence, she heard a sermon that impressed her on the
text: “They have no changes: therefore they fear not God.”
The link that bound her with the world on which she was entering was of
the slightest. Mrs. Burn Murdoch (_née_ Miss Dora Monck Mason) was an
old schoolfellow, a contemporary of Caroline Jex-Blake, and the
traveller carried with her an introduction to Miss Margaret Orr, sister
of Captain (now General) Orr who afterwards married one of the Norfolk
cousins, Miss Henrietta Cubitt. In these acquaintanceships—both of which
were to ripen into lifelong friendships—S. J.-B. was very fortunate; but
as far as the immediate object of the pilgrimage was concerned, she was
destined to bitter disappointment.
Here is her own account of her first lesson:
“Then went in to the Arithmetic class. Found the first division doing
Proportion! And, oh, such teaching! First question:—‘If cloth is
bought for 2s. a yard, at what price must it be sold to gain 25 per
cent?’ ... exhortation following in this style,—‘Now say and exameen
carefully’ (_broad_ Scotch) ‘I think ye’ll find it need consideration,
etc.’ ‘It’s not quite a deerect question, etc., etc.’ ‘Now what will
be the third terrm?’ ‘Stand up the ladies who can answer. What, Miss
McCreechie! I think ye’ll hardly tell me, but ye can try, etc., etc.’
And, sure enough, long took this abstruse question to solve.
And such a lesson! No explaining,—some scolding, some shouting,—a good
deal of cry and small wool. Then he came to me. ‘Can ye do
proportion?’ ‘Yes (!) I want to do Algebra.’ ‘Ay,—but that’ll be
Friday. But do ye know Fractions?’ I intimated an idea that I did. He
didn’t seem at all to believe it,—‘did I understand them?’ I felt
rather absurd and hypocritical, and again said I _did_ rather
decidedly. However not a bit would he believe me,—gave me (as a severe
test, I suppose) ¾ x ⅝ to do and explain. Well,—did it! ‘But why?’ I
am sure I shall always hereafter have pity on unfortunate examinees
pounced upon. The whole thing seemed so absurd,—I was so annoyed,—it
seemed so silly standing up by that imp of a Sandy with a slate,—that
I very nearly failed to give any rational explanation. However I did
somewhat, and he had rather grudgingly to grant, ‘Ay, I see ye know
it.’ Then, when I asked him about the Algebra, it seemed he had none
but quite beginners (don’t I pity them?) and ‘it wasn’t his subject’!
in fact, clearly enough he didn’t know as much as I did. Amazed at my
astounding erudition, ‘Where had I learned?’ ‘Oh, in England.’ ‘Ay?’
(very surprised) ‘the English gairls generally come very bad at
Arithmetic,—we’ve one just now doesn’t know her tables.’ I laughed
out. ‘Well, you mustn’t take her for a specimen.’ He seemed to think
that the national average! ‘Ay, but most we’ve had are very bad at
it,’ very resolutely. He must be a good judge by the specimen I saw.
Well, he kept hovering round me as a sort of strange animal, and told
me how the girls changed every year, and how he went through from the
First Rules to Decimals as the _ne plus ultra_.”
Clearly there was nothing to be gained here, so next morning she
“explained and apologised” to the Principal, and found him “very nice
and pleasant.” Her first impulse was to go straight back to London (in
fact arrangements were made for her to live with Miss Wodehouse and
study at Bedford College) but in the end wiser counsels prevailed. That
arithmetic class was not the high-water mark of Edinburgh achievement
even as regarded the education of its women. S. J.-B. made the
acquaintance of Miss Blyth, who introduced her to Mr. Begbie, Miss de
Dreux and others, so she settled down to a varied course of work, living
comfortably in lodgings with Alice to “do for her.” To Mr. Begbie she
expresses her gratitude over and over again.
“Mathematics not much with S. In answer to Miss de Dreux told the
truth. They so nice sensible and honest,—teachers born, ‘without
respect of persons’. Mr. Begbie glad to hear truth,—promises me a
better far tomorrow. Mr. Weisse a good teacher,—right good. German
less formidable than I expected.”
One gathers from the letters that she made an extraordinarily vivid
impression on her teachers: several of them refused to take fees, and
Mr. Begbie persisted in his refusal.
“Miss de Dreux said my coming and work had given her a fresh impetus and
help forward. Isn’t that nice?”
On the whole these first months in Edinburgh though she talks afterwards
of their “grey pain,” were perhaps the high-water mark of S. J.-B.’s
life as regards sheer balance and beauty of living. She was having, it
is true, no physical recreation, but, apart from that, her faculties
were all called equally into play. She was working steadily and hard,
chiefly at her beloved mathematics: her wider reading included _Jane
Eyre_, _Le Juif Errant_ and _Aids to Faith_: she was profoundly
interested in religious problems and conscientiously attended the
churches of the best-known Edinburgh ministers: she was happy in her
friendships, and still more in the passing beauty of her relation to her
Mother: above all, the flame of her religious life—in which was almost
merged at this time her devotion to Miss Octavia Hill—was burning with a
clearness that made it easy to ignore the little jars and frictions.
Even politics were not crowded out. “Daddy is here,” says Mrs. Jex-Blake
in one of her letters, “and says, ‘Tell dearest Sophy I would not have
the _Times_, which she makes such excellent use of, given up on any
account.’”
One cannot read the record of this period of her life without feeling
that it was mainly here and now that her character was made,—that it was
the resolute determination with which she took to work and stuck to it
as the remedy for intolerable heartache—that enabled her in later years
to bear the brunt of all she came through.
It is interesting to hear what she herself has to say about the various
elements in her life referred to above:
“There never was such a book as _Jane Eyre_—of its kind. Talk of
‘finding’—that finds me through and through continually. How people
_dare_ speak ill of such a book,—I suppose they simply can’t
understand it. Its grand steadfastness and earnestness and purity, is
something glorious. I read and re-read it as I never could another
novel, and how it helps one!”
Again:
“_Aids to Faith_ put into my trunk by that dear old Mother who in her
weaker moment entertains an uncomfortable kind of desire to
proselytize me,—and yet can’t be quite dissatisfied.
Immensely interested in _Aids to Faith_. Read Cook’s Ideology and
Subscription, Brown’s ‘Inspiration,’ and am reading Mansel’s
‘Miracles.’ The last gives me a glimpse of light and clearness I never
had before. As far as I have read (and remember _Essays and Reviews_,
which I must get) I think this side has it. As to Ideology I don’t
understand it and don’t like to take the whole account from the
adverse side (though there seems great fairness and scholarlike
equity). As to subscription, I think Cook has it,—I never could
heartily sympathize with the other position, though I know it is held
by quite good and honest men. I suppose one real question might
arise,—Who is to determine the real sense of the Church? For doubtless
very grave doubts are found among equally good men.
As to ‘Inspiration,’ though I like the Essay, I hold more with E. and
R. a good deal. Most of all with Coleridge as quoted in _Aids_,—‘what
finds me’ is its own witness, but why impose upon me what is not,
because bound in the same covers?”
One finds among her papers brief notes of sermons by Rainy, Candlish,
Guthrie and Pulsford, of whom the last appealed to her most.
“The prayers are what I can’t manage in the Scottish kirk. ‘Other
people’s’ need too much effort to approve or disapprove to leave your
spirit free to _pray_. I find more and more the value and _rest_ of
the Liturgy.... Saw Unitarian chapel. Shall I go? Don’t expect to be
in near such real sympathy as with Church of England. Octa always said
so. Bless her!”
For many reasons she was anxious to bring herself into line with the
orthodox; she accuses herself of being too ready for an argument with
her Calvinistic friends (what earnest spirit is not too ready for an
argument at her age?) and at this time she read the Gospels carefully
through “with a fresh mind,” taking notes that might have a bearing on
dogma. If it distressed her to arrive at an unorthodox conclusion, this
was mainly because such a conclusion seemed to separate her from those
she loved best.
In the meantime she had made the acquaintance of Mr. Pulsford, and had
called to have a talk with him about her difficulties.
“Much helpful sympathy and no horror of my questionings (how helpful
that is!) but not much direct word gain. I suppose it must be _lived_
out. He clearly does hold the Trinity, yet not, I think, as some do.
Certainly not the vicarious Atonement. He uses nearly Maurice’s
words,—‘To present humanity perfect to God.’ (I think they are
Maurice’s.) He believes Christ the man to have been God, but at first
in His manhood unconscious of His Godhead. This seems to me very
questionable and not clear. However, as I said—and he agreed
thoroughly—not being a question of spirit but of history, it is not
vital to me now, and living and desiring to know, we _shall_ know.
He again spoke strongly of not talking to people who _can’t_
understand.”
The contrast of the next paragraph in the diary is irresistible:
“A mouse caught at last. Odd, how it annoys me! ‘Shall I drown it,
ma’am?’ ‘Oh, let it eat its cheese first!’ How Octa’d laugh! Faugh!—
poor little thing, how it struggled for its life,—and how my heart
beat! It was some courage to resolve it shouldn’t suffer longer than
need be.”
About her friends she has much to say as usual. On March 31st she writes
to Cousin Ellie:
“Now for friends. I think I really may put that word to Dora Burn
Murdoch and Margaret Orr, short as the time seems in days since I have
known them; but then days sometimes go for weeks and they have both
been _so_ kind to me. ‘I was a stranger and they took me in.’ [Dora’s]
charity for others is something quite beautiful, her unconsciousness
of other people’s inferiority to her,—her width of thought, and power
of understanding those differing most widely from herself—most
admirable. You never hear her by any chance say a harsh thing, a
spiteful thing or a narrow thing,—neither do you ever hear a weak
one.”
She speaks many times in her diary of the rest and refreshment derived
from visits to Mrs. Burn Murdoch. But she was working too hard, and Mrs.
Jex-Blake’s letters at this time take on an even deeper note than usual
of love, appreciation and solicitude. Varieties of note-paper were not
great in those days, so S. J.-B. had possessed herself of a large
quantity of common brown envelopes (similar to those used for the
delivery of telegrams) in order that her Mother might see at a glance—
without putting on her spectacles!—whether the postman had brought the
all-important thing. Many are Mrs. Jex-Blake’s references to “the
precious brown envelope,” “the dear brown letters”; and well might she
prize them. Indeed one does not know which to admire more,—the
painstaking labour with which S. J.-B., at the end of a hard day’s work,
strove to keep her Mother informed of all she was thinking and doing and
trying to do—or the painstaking labour with which her Mother strove to
understand and sympathize. She writes at great length about _Jane Eyre_,
about the higher education of women, and she enters into her daughter’s
religious arguments with a largeness of soul that is simply uplifting:
“I expect,” she says, “I quoted in commas the very words _you_ wrote
about the Atonement. The rest was, of course, my able and learned
commentary. I _think_ I did take your words in your sense, though I
couldn’t help their _expanding_—you will perhaps say, narrowing,—in my
view. He will guide us both into all truth.”
The following extracts give some idea how these beautiful letters go on:
May 6th. “I don’t think I ever had a letter from you that I did not
enjoy and enter into sympathy with, because I never will open them
_till_ I can enjoy them. Sometimes one has come at dinner time with
others when Mr. O. has been here, and he has said,—‘Why don’t you open
the brown letter? I know it interests you.’ I answer, ‘Just because I
can’t fully enjoy it’.”
May 7th. “You have a glorious field of usefulness before you. No one
can guess to what extent you may be permitted to be useful to the
generations to come. Plod on; expect rough waves that seem ready to
overwhelm your best energies, and almost quench life; but One sitteth
above the water floods Who will always bear you through.”
May 8th. “My heart’s desire is that you should know _the truth of
God_, whether it be what I believe or not, and that I should know it
too.” (Previously she had written,—“I was thinking today how surely
God would guide you into all truth,—this text confirming the thought,—
‘If any man will do His will, he shall know of the doctrine whether it
be of God.’)
I think my cup of blessing would be fuller than I could bear did _we
two_ fully agree on that which must be all-absorbing and by far the
most interesting of subjects. Though C. and I essentially agree, we
cannot communicate with each other—our natures are so different. I
don’t think I do her justice or fully understand her.”
May 9th. “We do well to struggle against that weary powerless feeling,
because, given way to, it might overcome all power of energy, but I
quite believe it is sometimes part of appointed discipline, and it is
no use to quarrel with ourselves for it. Still I do incline to believe
in your present case it proceeds from exhaustion of the nervous
system, occasioned by a shock struggled against with all your power.
You will be better when Dora is back, and you get real interchange of
thought and loving sympathy. God bless her for giving it to my
darling. Try not to allow yourself to think on getting up,—‘How long
will it be before I lie down to rest again?’ Remember you desire to
give yourself to service, though not so active just now, for others.
Remember as a help how many bless you for having sped them on their
way. Your want just now is someone to be helped and braced for
usefulness.”
(“Never fail,” writes Mr. Jex-Blake, “to tell me of any case you know of
like that of the suffering governess; it is blessed to receive in such
cases, but doubly blessed to give.”)
May 10th. “Own darling, you write me such charming long letters, you
quite spoil me.... I suppose your work in Edinburgh has been very
intense while it lasted, and proportionately exhausting,—and then you
don’t, as a schoolboy does, get any reaction the other way. You have
no one to play with,—_no_ positive recreation. I always think the
games and perpetual ‘outings’ in public schools such a fine
arrangement; and then an Oxonian or Cantab. has his boat or his ride,
My darling has positively nothing. Don’t little one overwork herself:
such concentration of thought as you give in one hour is very
exhausting.”
May 11th. “I fear it is impossible for me fully to appreciate your
child, and, even had you done differently, I question whether she and
I ever would have got at each other, but I _quite_ believe in the
noble-heartedness you speak of. I would with avidity seize any opening
she offered, but I fear she will not make it. In the present
distortion of vision, she is more likely to suppose I am inclined to
alienate you from her. Had your’s been a common friendship, I should
have thought it possible that ‘Art might conceal too much,’ but she
knows you in spite of all your faults and independently of them,—and
surely the wine was a messenger of love. You _dared_ not have sent it
had you not been bound up in her.”
On a previous occasion Mrs. Jex-Blake had written on this subject:
“How very remarkable and interesting is Mr. Pulsford’s statement about
valued friends apparently lost for a time. I had no idea that your’s
was a case that ever occurred,—I mean of increased love—a stronger,
deeper, truer love: it is really very grand.” “I fancy I like ‘Sorrow’
better than ‘Fidelis,’[24] but the latter is wonderfully your picture.
_I_ can scarcely grasp it, though I wonder and admire.”
Footnote 24:
Poems by A. A. Procter.
May 13th. “I have nearly finished _Jane Eyre_, and like much of it
exceedingly. What I object to is the personal handling she allows ...
and, grand as her conduct is, she marries a man of very exceptionable
conduct, and who to the last had a relish for swearing.... I think she
makes St. John very unfairly disagreeable,—his icy coldness very
unnatural....”
May 15th. “Well, darling, you and I must wait to talk it out about
_Jane Eyre_. I shall never be able to write it out. It appears to me
you have built up a wall to knock down.[25] I don’t at all ask a
different code of morals for men and women. But I do wish a woman to
be refined and pure, not because I am conventional, but because I
think it essential to self-respect and dignity.... I don’t believe
high-toned governesses fall in love with their employers.... I think
it _very cruel_ upon the race of governesses to put it into people’s
heads they are to fall in love. I always, since I took a district in
1836 felt the tenderest, most motherly pity for any misguided girl....
I certainly never did or will read impure things in books or
newspapers. I consider familiarity with impurity rubs the bloom off
the plum, which never can be restored. Minds differ, some almost enjoy
to read queer things. Impurity does not seem to me to find any
response in you: you can come in contact and it runs off like
quicksilver—leaves no print. I don’t think that is common.”
Footnote 25:
The letter has not been preserved.
“A letter from Elinor. She talks of enjoying your letters so much....
I am very glad Plumptre has sent you a testimonial you like. I fully
expected he would send (if asked) a _very_ handsome one.
The world has many kind hearts, has it not?—none like my own child.”
And again, talking of a sermon she had heard:
“I thought of my precious child when he pictured a strong character
with exceeding depth of tenderness and gentleness.”
One understands more and more fully the fervour with which S. J.-B. was
wont to say in her later years,—“No one ever had such parents as mine!”
“How I _wish_ you had known my mother!”
* * * * *
One naturally treats S. J.-B.’s religious life at this time as something
apart from her questionings about dogma, for indeed the two belonged to
different categories of her being. The following is one of the few
letters of this period that have been preserved:
8 p.m. March 17th, 1862.
“DARLING MOTHER,—I know you care to hear all your child’s
thoughts and hopes and feelings,—I know you will not condemn for
conceit and egotism what might seem so to other people.
I want to talk to you,—I feel so sure you want to hear. I want to tell
you what a glorious Strength and Power has come out of all the sharp
pain,—how I feel that I am a better person, a stronger and more real
one, than I ever was before....
Some one says that it is ‘not pain undergone but pain accepted’ that
bears fruit an hundredfold. You know the acceptance has not been
easy,—you know sometimes the flints have cut my feet deep enough, but
thank God for two things—I never for any single moment lost the
absolute certainty of Infinite Love and Wisdom ‘brooding over the face
of the waters,’—the certainty of my Father’s arms around me,—and
secondly that no suffering or pain could shake the love that has never
been half so strong, so real, so ideal, so unselfish as now. I doubt
if I ever half knew what being a friend was before,—I think I have
earned the knowledge now—some of it.
And, Mother, about my work. I cannot tell you the strong exulting
feeling that seems to set God’s seal to my work, in that through all
the personal agony I have held firm to _that_: at no moment, I
believe, would I have purchased what I longed for most on earth at the
price of that,—that I have felt through all ‘The light may be taken
out of my life (and thank God how far that is from being so!) but the
object never can!’ Don’t you know how the lines that reminded us of
the oath upon our head, that bade us ‘never again our loins untie, or
let our torches waste or die’ was the strong helpful thing through it
all.
And though I did believe in myself—and _thou_ ever didst believe in
me, Mother!—yet so long as my work ‘walked in silken shoon’ and lay
side by side with the pleasantest life possible for me, there was a
certain thought about fair weather sailing,—a certain (not doubt, but)
diffidence in looking on to the time of breakers,—a feeling as of
David, ‘I have not _proved_ them.’ But now I feel that I have come to
the proof,—that my armour has not failed in the battle,—something the
sure happy confidence (farthest of all from presumption) ‘I can do all
things through Christ which strengtheneth me.’ You can’t think how it
‘heartened’ me (you know that nice old word?) to find that truly as
well as verbally my work does hold the first place....
I am beginning to have hope, Mother! If I only suffer enough—and I
don’t believe mine will ever be a smooth or easy life—I may yet be fit
to _be_ the head for which I am looking so earnestly....
But all seems centred in the one thought, ‘Lead Thou me on!’—or
rather, not ‘me’ but ‘us,’—all the wanderers.
Yours very lovingly,
SOPH.”
Not that S. J.-B. was ever conventional even in her religion. Here is a
characteristic extract from the diary of the same period:
“You never have the common honesty, Jack, in this most private journal
(they say hardly anyone _has_) to put down the thought if it crosses
your mind ‘Well, I think I am rather a fine fellow’ or its equivalent.
Because it never comes? Oh, dear your precious ‘humility’! I wish Miss
W. could look into you:—_do_ you? Not you, you humbug!
‘Well, but,’ (retorts S. J.-B. accused) ‘I _do_ work with a single
purpose,—I _have_ tried very hard, and, am sure, succeeded somewhat in
this hard battle of these months,—what is the good of pretending to
call myself names? Did not Job ‘maintain his integrity’?
You coward! You must skulk behind Job. Looks respectable, does it? Say
honestly ‘I do try harder than some people do,’ for in truth I believe
that is all your conceit does amount to.
I know from my heart I do recognize and reverence holiness and purity
as far above mine as Snowden to a mole-hill. And _is_ that conceit? I
don’t believe it is. No,—‘Not guilty, S. J.-B.’ Plead boldly, and
don’t give in for shamefacedness. And besides you have no right to
deny His triumph ‘Who giveth us the victory,’—by fighting modest on
the sham. You _have_ won some victories. Thank God quietly, and
pressing on to the things before. ‘I press towards the mark.’ God
knows—and _you_ know—there are enough to win. Oh, _how_ far away lies
doing even what is our ‘duty to do.’ But I don’t know that the realest
soundest life limits itself to calling itself ‘miserable sinner.’
Zacchaeus told Christ what he tried to do. He did not rebuke him as
man does and say, ‘No, believe yourself utterly vile (for the glory of
your Maker?)’
There,—go to bed, S. J.-B.”
A few days later she recurs—as often—to the broken friendship:
“... Well, I note markedly how, with all this light, all this growth,—
respecting the suffering—(and I think all this would have brought a
‘right judgement’ too) I do not swerve one iota from my judgement of
_facts_. I cannot conceive it one hairsbreadth more possible that any
but a mental cloud can have worked in the way it has,—that under any
possible circumstances my child, with her glorious nature and heart,
can have acted as her image has....[26]
But while I have at last manfully and honestly and cheerily faced the
possibility of never seeing her again on earth—while I believe my
loins are girded for the way quite irrespective of any future fate
regarding her and me—while, having put my hand to the plough, God
shall grant me grace never to look back even for her (who, God knows,
is far enough before me) never to linger irresolute with thoughts that
should and shall urge me to double speed,—yet it is curious how the
whole fashion of my life shapes itself with the _arrière-pensée_ of
being ready for her ‘at midnight or cock-crowing or in the morning,’—
saving with the thought of her as well as myself,—looking at every
path as it opens to see that it is wide enough to tread together if
she joins me ere its end,—making the most of the working time now that
a pause of rest may fall due whenever she comes to claim the ‘moon.’
And I think, could she see my thoughts, my plans, my work, my
resolves, she would not have them otherwise.”
Footnote 26:
More than a year later Miss Hill wrote: “I wonder if it would be any
comfort to you if you could know the infinite love the thought of you,
specially of any pain of yours, calls up ... how passionately do I
cling to a like trust in you that your pain may not be tenfold
increased ... by any sense of desertion in spirit.... And yet, Sophy,
this thought of me must fail you as time goes on, for you cannot see
why I act as I do.... My love will be ready for you when He who is
teaching us both shall bring us together again.”
CHAPTER X
GERMANY
It was perhaps well that an interesting new factor came into S. J.-B.’s
life at this moment. Miss Elizabeth Garrett (afterwards Mrs. Garrett
Anderson, M.D.) had made up her mind to be a doctor, and, in the teeth
of many difficulties and much opposition, was striving to obtain the
requisite education and prospect of examination. A great effort had been
made to get the examinations of London University opened to women, but
the resolution (brought forward by Mr. Grote) had been negatived by the
casting vote of the chairman—the vehement feeling shown by the
opposition being, in the opinion of the proposer, quite out of
proportion with the cogency of the arguments brought forward.
Miss Garrett had been in correspondence with S. J.-B. for some time as
to the nature of the prospects in Edinburgh, in case London University
should fail, and after talking the matter over with Mr. Begbie and other
friends, S. J.-B. urged her to “come and see.” Small prevision had
anyone concerned of all that they were to see in Edinburgh a few years
later.
“Miss Garrett and her strength!” writes S. J.-B. in her diary on May
19th, “making me break the 10th commandment. She doing Trigonometry,
Optics, etc. Running where I crawl!”
And on the 20th:
“Today Miss Garrett’s business. Wrote about ‘Commission.’ Twice to
[Royal] Circus with very sore feet. Mrs. Darts, friend of Lord
Ardmillan. Lady Monteith (Lord Advocate). Argyle. Hope she will come.
It will be everything to have her to help a little if I can.”
“May 29th. E. G. coming tomorrow,—sent her off a telegram this
afternoon in case she might stay another day for the report I
promised, and so lose tomorrow’s appointment with Balfour, whom I saw
today with that splendid man, Begbie, who went down last night and
this morning with me, and is to arrange with Newbiggin tonight for an
appointment for her. My sore foot quite lame and not helpful for this
bustle. However I believe I shall have done a bit of real work for
her, and, as I said to Begbie, if there _are_ such people, ready to
face such an ordeal let’s help them in God’s name. One great obstacle
the (sometimes) ‘faux air’ of consideration for ladies’ delicacy.
People don’t seem to see how that is _her_ affair. Besides she _has_
faced it: it’s a day too late.”
How familiar all this talk was to become some half dozen years later!
Miss Garrett remained in Edinburgh for a fortnight, and during that
period the canvassing went on. Mr. Burn Murdoch used to say that, when
the two young women went about, interviewing great ladies and important
citizens, considerable surprise was expressed that Miss Jex-Blake was
not the applicant. She was so tall and high-spirited, with great
flashing dark eyes, while the real heroine was small and almost pretty,
and fair.
Strangely enough, S. J.-B. was not at all fired at this time by Miss
Garrett’s example. She meant to be a teacher, and medicine as a
profession did not tempt her in the least. She had her doubts even about
the value to herself of a University degree in Arts (supposing it could
be had!) although Miss Garrett and Miss Emily Davies were both anxious
that she should be of their number. “Chiefly I want you to make up your
mind to obtain the University degree,” writes Miss Garrett. “You are one
of the few who could do so pretty soon, and it would take most women a
year and a half or two years to prepare for the Matriculation.”
In any case the opportunity did not arise. The following letter to Mrs.
Burn Murdoch explains the situation:
“June 21st, 1862.
DEAREST DORA,
I do not know whether we are to look upon the result of the
Physicians’ meeting most as a defeat or as a triumph,—the motion ‘to
consider the question of admitting Miss Garrett’ was negatived by 18
votes to 16,—very disappointing as regards immediate results, but very
much as a victory for the principle, just as at London University. You
see they have _not_ refused to admit,—only postponed the question
indefinitely, so that, when time and opinion have been brought to
bear, they can again entertain it without inconsistency.
In the meantime the expedition to St. Andrews was very successful,—Dr.
Day and Principal Tulloch were both warmly favourable, and it seems
quite probable that Miss Garrett would be admitted to the University
there,—only unfortunately you see there is no medical school there,
and so it would be but half a solution to the difficulties as she
couldn’t get ‘nice little subjects’[27] there....
I have only just come to anchor after some 36 hours’ incessant
trotting about, etc., so I daresay my intellects are ‘even weaker than
usual’ as C. A. would say.
I suppose I may now thank you again on paper for all your help, dear
Dora. You can’t cough me down so conveniently. You don’t know how much
you have helped me through.
Yours affectly,
S. L. J.-B.”
Footnote 27:
Talking of the difficulties in the way of Practical Anatomy, someone
had suggested that Miss Garrett should get ‘nice _little_ subjects.’
Previously to this decision, S. J.-B. had published sensible letters on
the subject in _The Scotsman_, _The Daily Review_ and other papers. She
also drafted an amusing letter in reply to her own, supposed to have
been written by one of the retrogressive “unco guid.”
“Well, it was grand fun,” she says in her diary, “and, if it had got
in, might have played very well; but the chief temptation was the
immense fun it would be. E. G. and I both thought we could command our
faces. Her sister opposed, but we agreed, ‘No harm. We don’t sign to
it,—and it’s what some might say; and, if the _Review_ puts it in,
it’s their look-out. It’s so weak, it can’t do harm that way.’ She
said, ‘Don’t let me know about it.’ I said she was very much like
‘Tom, steal the apple, and I’ll have half.’
Well, we agreed to send it and no harm done. I went to bed. I wasn’t
quite content, yet I didn’t see any exact wrong,—and it was _such_
fun!...
Then somehow those dear eyes fixed themselves on me and I felt their
sad grieved look. I can’t, I can’t,—they would grieve,—‘Oh, Sophy!’
For a minute I went back,—‘Nonsense, no harm,’—then—
‘Let all thy converse be sincere,
Thy conscience as the noonday clear,’
and those words ‘righteous altogether’ rang in my ears....
I went out to the sitting-room and sat down to write, and my first
words to E. G. were, ‘Oh, I’ve annihilated the Review paper; it’s not
righteous altogether.’ She said instantly, ‘No, I’ve been thinking in
the night. I was going to advise you not to send it.’
My darling would be glad. God _bless_ her!”
“‘Let all thy converse be sincere’: ‘and righteous altogether’.”
A real fighting life lay before S. J.-B.—a life in which she received
and gave hard blows, and lost sight sometimes in the dust and turmoil—as
a fighter must—of the right on the adversary’s side; but the words
quoted above were the rock on which she built her achievement. One sees
now that often when lawyers and other well-wishers thought her candid to
the point of stupidity, she was simply determined that her converse
should be sincere, simply striving to be righteous altogether.
* * * * *
Her great desire for years had been to fit herself for the work of a
teacher, to found—or assist at the founding of—a wonderful college and
(as the very height of her ambition) to be perhaps herself the
headmistress. As she had planned Sackermena of old, so now she drafted
detailed schemes of work, organization, finance. Such schemes, however,
have been so much more than realized by the work of others that it is
useless to quote them. She took a keen interest in the school at Bettws-
y-Coed, offered prizes, set delightful examination papers in general
knowledge, and wrote stimulating letters to some of the elder girls.
Long before this she had written in her diary:
“Read the account of the College in Ohio for both sexes. Well, ‘Be
thou but fit for the wall, and thou _shalt not_ be left in the way.’ I
do trust some day to graduate there or elsewhere. But still the great
thing is _to be able_; the actual fact matters little.”
The reader will recall, too, the letter to her Mother:
“I am beginning to have hope, Mother! If I only suffer enough,—and I
don’t believe mine will ever be a smooth or easy life,—I may yet some
day be fit to _be_ the head for which I am looking so earnestly.”
Any girl in the present day who was fired with such enthusiasm would
have countless advisers ready and anxious to give the necessary
guidance. How different things were in S. J.-B.’s girlhood may be
gathered from the facts of her pilgrimage to Edinburgh and search for
education there. She wanted now to go farther afield—to study the state
of women’s education in France and Germany, and—after some considerable
hesitation—her Mother supported her in this desire. To her father,
however, the feminist point of view remained a sealed book—“Truly to
him,” she says at this time, “my whole life is as the ‘sight of dancers
to him who heareth not the music,’”—and many objections on his part had
to be overcome. Germany was so far away, and France was peopled with
Roman Catholics on the look-out to pervert Protestant girls.
“While you are so young,” writes Mrs. Jex-Blake, “there will be a
fearful struggle to make Daddy bear your going abroad. We belong to a
Society for Governesses to protect them when they go for the
language,—young women have been sorely tried by _bad_ R.C.s to make
them perverts or corrupt them. And he has heard so much of this that
Germany would be less terrible to him than Paris.”
“Written to Mummy at length about Germany,” she says. “Oh, the weary
kind of languor that deprecates work and talk! It seems almost too
much to have to do what is so hard, and to have, too, to justify it to
others.”
The letter to her Mother has been preserved:
“May 1st 1862.
DARLING MOTHER,
... I had hoped that Germany was an accepted fact,—not only to
you, but to my Father, as at his (or your ?) wish I took that before
France, and at your’s before America.
I believe, my darling, that I am trying to look simply and earnestly
at my life simply as an instrument for my work,—and shaping the one to
serve the other.
I have long formed the conviction (which daily experience and the
opinion of others strengthens) that best of all now for my object will
be the devotion of years to the observation of other systems and the
endeavour to glean everywhere materials for my future edifice. I
believe that my work has come definitely before me as early as it did,
with the express intention that I should make this use of years which
later I could never recall.
It seems to me the simplest verbal expression of the presenting our
lives a holy sacrifice, as is our reasonable service, to say,—God has,
I believe, given me this work. I have certain qualifications and
facilities for it. I will give up my life first to perfect those
qualifications and then to use them as He shows me how. So now my
whole intention and bent is to go anywhere in the world where, as it
seems to me on sufficient grounds, I may expect to learn most for my
work,—to learn what will make me myself a better scholar and to learn
what will most help me to organize (if organization falls to my lot) a
better system here in England.
If I am myself to be the head, I will make myself as good a one, God
helping me, as He has put in my nature the material to make,—if I am
to be a servant I will certainly be as thorough and complete a one as
is in my utmost power. I do from the bottom of my heart pray God that
on no failure may be written, ‘Had I worked more earnestly, more
wisely, more diligently,—this had been avoided.’
You know, Mother, the purpose of my life,—you know the consecration,
as I trust, of every power to one aim,—you have helped me nobly,
gloriously to keep it in view,—you have told me that ‘manfully to
fight under His banner’ _is_ more blessed than ‘dreaming out life even
on Mother’s shoulder’....
Well, Mother, you know my object, you know my hope. Look for yourself
and tell me if you see for its fulfilment any course to be adopted
rather than the one which seems to me marked out. Look at the work and
that alone. Look at my life merely as the instrument,—see how it may
best be turned to account,—most solemnly it is my deepest desire to
arrive at a true answer.
What could I be doing that would as readily and as really forward my
aim? In what way could I as usefully devote my time and power?
I believe most earnestly that it is not to any one plan or scheme of
my own that I cling,—show me anything better for my work—show me
anything even that you yourself think as good for it (looking at it
only) and I am willing, renouncing every present thought, to take the
new into deep consideration, and trust to the guidance of the Light to
show me which is my appointed path.
But take the question by itself,—satisfy yourself whether you think I
have judged rightly, as at least I have striven to judge honestly,—
and, if you arrive at my own conclusion I think you will feel that
_that_ is the only important thing,—that if we are enabled to
‘perceive and know what things we ought to do’ we shall also surely be
given ‘power faithfully to fulfil the same.’
As I have said often before, if you and my Father ever need me at
home,—ever even desire my presence there,—I will relinquish for the
time everything to that which I am sure God would have me hold my
highest and dearest duty,—But I believe nothing else on earth must be
suffered to come between me and my work, and, please God, nothing
shall.
I see ‘my Father’s business’ clearly before me,—help me, Mother,
wholly to consecrate my life as I would wish, to it.
As to all questions of detail, I think, darling, you need not be
disturbed or anxious. Acting rightly, I am quite sure I shall be
always cared for far more than I deserve. I think you have, and may
have entire confidence in my practical common sense,—I think I have
already shown that I am not very likely to get into difficulties. You
have trusted me a great deal, Mother, have you had to repent it?
You may be sure that I shall strive my utmost to do wisely as well as
rightly—indeed the one cannot be without the other. I think, moreover,
you will be almost certainly satisfied with my plans and
arrangements,—I am sure I have ‘caution’ strongly developed. And,
though it may seem more new to you, I am very unlikely to find in my
new life as difficult circumstances as those in which I have already
had to act. I think that you may have confidence that I know you trust
me, and that I shall not fail your trust. I think you may believe that
I shall know and think of your wishes.
Then, as to any anxiety for myself. You have said much to me in the
trials of the last months which I would ask you to repeat to yourself.
You have told me to trust my darling in perfect faith to ‘Him who
keepeth Israel’ and whose love you tell me is deeper and truer than
mine. Can you not trust me to Him too?
I think there were some circumstances which there are not here, which
did not make it easier.
And in truth, Mother, what is there to fear? If God (as I believe)
needs my life to do a work for Him, He will surely keep it safely till
that work is accomplished. If He does not, wherefore should one live?
Could you regret for anyone you loved that they ‘in youth should find
their rest’? When one feels completely how each of us is a link in
God’s great chain,—how individual life and care sink out of sight, as
hardly worthy notice. How one feels the whole object and end of life
to be that God’s will should be done in us and by us in life and in
death.
And whether in one or the other matters _so_ little....
You see, Mother, I have had very much lately to realise all this;—that
time and distance,—that all severance—are things of time—and shall be
cast into the lake of fire. That now we have to do God’s work, ...
that here we are not even to look for the fruition....
I have to cling very very earnestly now to principles,—I cannot see
for myself,—my teachers are removed out of my sight,—I can only cling
to the belief which is above and beyond all that that very sight and
those very teachers were but instruments of the great Guide,—and that
now without them, as before with them, ‘the Lord alone doth lead him.’
As I said this morning, so it seems to me tonight the root and
fountain of everything ‘The Lord reigneth,—let the earth rejoice.’
Yours very lovingly,
SOPH.”
It is not to be supposed—nor desired—that all her letters to her Mother
were on such a plane. Doubtless the weary flesh and spirit found
expression often enough.
Of course that wonderful mother-heart never failed in sympathy, though
naturally the Mother’s mind did not know what the strain of a modern
woman’s life meant in those early days when circumstances were all
unadapted to meet the new demand. “Little darling shall have all the
rest I can help her to,” she writes about this time, “for greatly does
her troubled spirit need it.”
And for a few weeks S. J.-B. really settled down to a restful time at
home. “I am just now chiefly living in the garden and stable in my
waking life,” she writes to Miss Lucy Walker, “but there is a sufficient
portion _not_ included in that.”
* * * * *
Meanwhile Miss de Dreux had recommended a family at Göttingen, who would
be glad to have an English boarder, and S. J.-B. arranged to go to them.
To the last moment before leaving home she was occupied in trying to
persuade the mother of a sick friend to let the invalid accompany her,
in the hope that change of air and scene might check the course of a
mortal malady. One cannot be altogether sorry—nor surprised—that the
mother refused.
So S. J.-B. started alone on July 21st, and crossed from London to
Antwerp. “Delicious, cool and pleasant passage—smooth and comfortable.
Beds on deck in a kind of room knocked up under the ‘bridge.’ Quaint
night,—with crashing machinery, flashing lights, rough voices,—
altogether weird and quaint.”
The choice of adjectives is curious, as it was not till many years later
that “weird” and “quaint” became the stock adjectives in the vocabulary
of the young.
She spent the night at Cologne, and went on next day to Hanover and
thence to Göttingen. She was pleased with her quarters, her hostess, and
her reception. What the family thought of her is another question, to
which the records furnish no answer; for she was still feeling worn-out
in body and mind, and nature simply insisted on a rest cure. She seems
to have made little effort even to learn the language, much to the
amazement of the elder daughter, who had enjoyed the advantage of a
conscientious visit to England. So weary, indeed, was S. J.-B. that she
actually chronicles the “great blessing” of being freed from Sundays for
a while—of having rest all days, and “Calvinism, separation, none.”
“How peacefully came over me today ‘One sweetly solemn thought’ as
they sat talking (I knew but a word or two) of someone found dead. How
uncongenial A.P.’s remark, ‘I find these so sudden deaths awful.’ What
she thought I don’t know, but I could not but say, ‘Oh, no!—going
home?’
August 18th. Everybody going ‘zu reisen,’—Rhine, Harz, everywhere. Ah,
childie, if you would only come quickly, we could have such a tour!—
Alps,—Mont Blanc,—Geneva,—Venice, wherever you would; in a few weeks
it will be too late. Too late! For _that_. But truly all _is_ ‘in the
fulness of time,’ and could we see and know, even our restless
impatience would not hurry it....
As to money, well enough. I really expect to clear £20 of my allowance
this quarter. I have that and about £1. 15s. in hand for stamps,
washing and wine to the end of the quarter, besides £9 for rent. How
jealously I do watch it! Really between my tour, my E.E.U.,[28] and my
distant college, I must look out that I don’t turn into a miser in
earnest! I get such a trick of watching and scraping halfpence! And
yet I don’t believe I should grudge them either if need were.
And one must look to pence if one would do anything with pounds.
Still, I believe of the two I have really more to look out against
‘nearness’ than extravagance. I was right enough when I told Frid
(that poor little darling, I am sure her’s are ‘vicarious
sufferings’)[29] that she need never fear my spending 1/2d. I did not
see my way to.
I expect, with my work, this is perhaps a fitness for it,—a surety
against a great danger....
“Today Lina and I reading English. Frau brought a young man out, and
Lina shut up all books at once—for the benefit of his remarks, I
suppose. I, rather wrath, took up Rawlinson.”
Footnote 28:
Englishwoman’s Educational Union,—a society planned by S. J.-B., which
should form a meeting ground for really qualified teachers, and also a
means of registration.
Footnote 29:
Miss Miranda Hill’s loyalty and devotion to S. J.-B. never flagged.
During these weeks of comparative idleness, S. J.-B. was making
enquiries as to a place where she could profitably study the position of
the education of girls in Germany. Finally she applied for the post of
English teacher in the Grand Ducal Institute at Mannheim.
As the Institution had embarked on a policy of strict retrenchment and
economy, this was refused, but she had quite made up her mind to become
an inmate in some capacity (as an ordinary pupil if necessary) and
finally she set out without announcing her intention, in a fashion that
recalls an adventure in the life of Lucy Snow in _Villette_.[30] The
condensed account of this in her diary could scarcely be bettered:
“Sept. 13th. Saturday.[31] Left Göttingen at 5 a.m. with pleasant
gifts from the children, and the famous glass knife from Frau B.
The morning cold, dank and misty,—darker than mornings are here even
yet, I think. As we came south, perceptible increase of heat, till,
leaving a cold autumn at Göttingen, we found a hot summer at
Frankfurt. Went to Pfälzer Hof,—clean, cheap, and civil. Had a bedroom
opening on a balcony, and very good night considering,—though, as I
lay down, the venture rose strongly before me,—quite alone,—without
counsel,—having come 200 miles to a place which had already refused
me,—with the slender chance of personal representation prevailing,—
uncertain, even if accepted, whether I could do the work,—in fact
feeling strongly ‘not knowing whither I went’ yet trusting, like
Abraham, I ‘went forth’. So fell asleep, seeing all perplexities, yet
laying my head very softly on the pillow, ‘Oh, Lord, in Thee have I
trusted: let me never be confounded!’
Well, I slept long,—breakfasted deliciously in my room,—dressed in
black silk, etc., with no end of care, wrote a little note to Mother,
almost to the beating of my own heart all the time.
Frl. E. had promised to come at 11. I waited till 12,—then came Frl.
H. and Frl. M. Walked with them to the Institut,—was shown into the
‘parloir’ and left. They fetched me again,—walked round the square
garden with its high convent walls[32] (oh, how I remember those white
berries!) Then out came Frl. von Palaus with her fine port and clear
good eyes, and round hat. I told her how I wanted to study German
education, and wished so much to enter here.
She asked ‘mes conditions’. ‘Moi, je n’en ai pas, Mlle.’ She would
‘parler aux autres dames.’
Marie M. was to show me the house. Then in Miss von Palaus’ room:—
‘Would I come again at four?’ ‘Certainly’. Then a series of warnings
for my own comfort:—‘ Very simple here.’ ‘I most happy to hear it.’
‘Very plain little room.’ ‘I am no sybarite.’ ‘Mixed communions.’ ‘I
only ask toleration for myself, and am most willing to give it.’ ‘But
as to money!’ I leave it entirely to them,—any arrangement of theirs I
agree to. Enfin I said I was sure to be more than content. I had no
fears.
‘Would I stay and dine?’ ‘Very gladly.’ ‘Very plain food.’ I was no
epicure, and sure to be pleased. So the result was, in fine, that I
have never dined anywhere else since, and find my prophecy well
fulfilled.
After dinner talked to the governesses; they said how comfortable they
were. I thought, ‘I only wish I were in your shoes,’ for I had only
asked to come _anyhow_, as pupil or anything. Then Frl. von Gruben
came from Frl. von Palaus:—A teacher (a Frl. von Endert) was absent
from illness for 6 months (was it not wonderful?) would I take her
place?—but (as the Institution was only just struggling straight again
after its shocks) without salary? ‘Very gladly.’ How my heart leaped,
though I spoke very quietly. What a chance for saving, if not gaining,
money,—literally to earn my bread. Now I could hope for money for my
E.E.U., for the £50 for Christmas /63,—perhaps for Bettws school,—
perhaps for a tour!
Well, again I saw Frl. von Palaus,—her face had satisfied me from the
first. ‘Did I quite understand? Was I willing to have no salary and no
expense?’ ‘Very gladly.’
So off I went at 4 p.m., gay as a lark. Settled my bill, got a cab,
and by 5 p.m. (less than 24 hours from my arrival) was established in
my little cell at the G.D.I., Mannheim!—‘au comble de mes voeux.’
Thank God!
And now I have been here nearly a month,—already established as if for
years, in full sunshine of content.
At work again! And, thank God, with such strength for it! A new sap
and strength in all my veins,—my heart in songs of gladness.
The heavy burden seems to have rolled away,—the sting and bitterness
quite gone; strength and power returned to my hand,—colour and
brightness to my life. Again I understand ‘the thrill, the leap, the
gladness’—again the sunshine has broken over earth. Now I go up and
down the long corridors, catching with my hand at a great beam, in
‘superfluous energy’ again, (my darling!)—a smile over my whole face
as I think I will tell her of my life in this weird old monastery—
young bounding life all around—I myself no longer ‘going softly’.
‘Thank God! Thank God!’ I can say nothing else.”
Footnote 30:
Mrs. Jex-Blake writes about this time,—“I feel such a real sympathy
for the English teacher—Lucy Snow—it is quite a pity you haven’t it
with you—I think your Institut and the Park and Ducal Palace tally
very well with _Villette_. Fortunately you have no male tyrant like
Monsieur Paul,—do you remember Miss Lucie being locked into an attic,
with beetles, a rat, and possibly a ghost:—to learn in a few hours a
part in a play?”
Footnote 31:
The account is really written some weeks later, as there was great
delay in the arrival of the box in which she had packed her diary.
Footnote 32:
The building had originally been a monastery.
CHAPTER XI
LIFE AS A TEACHER AT MANNHEIM
To her Mother she writes:
“Sept. 15th, 1862.
MY OWN DARLING,
Though I must now be rather more economical of space (for I can
send but 1/4 instead of 1/2 oz) I cannot resist beginning a fresh
letter to you, having but just posted my last, with one also to Daddy.
I am afraid Mr. Bevan must be again disappointed to learn that there
is still no kind of prospect of starvation for me,—quite the contrary.
I will tell you our plans as far as I know them yet. We get up, as you
know, at 5.30 a.m., breakfast at 6.30, begin work at 7. At 10 we have
bread handed round, then at one we dine, very well, I think.... At 3
we teachers (!) have cups of coffee, and at 5 or 6 some grapes before
going out for a walk. At 6 tea (or perhaps at 7) and then at 8.30 a
regular meat supper. So you see we are not so _very_ badly off,—indeed
it seems to me to be something going all day almost!...
Mother, I can’t lie down without telling you of the very beautiful,
soothing influence one thing has (perhaps unexpectedly) over me. I
mean the perfect lovingness and charity in which we all of such
opposite faiths live together, and have just knelt and prayed
together. There seems to me something so inexpressibly touching and
happy in it,—everyone seems so loving to the rest, so far from
cavilling for ‘words and names’: each so absolutely free and all so
far from seeking to proselytize. At meals we stand round the table,—
‘Nous voulons prier, mesdemoiselles,’ and in silence everyone together
thanks God ‘in his own tongue’,—one marking only that some cross
themselves silently and some do not. Then at night we kneel together,—
we have a fine loving German hymn, and a text for us all,—words
lovingly pronounced by our Roman Catholic head that yet every
Presbyterian minister might say. There seems to me something so
inexpressibly soothing in this union,—so far stronger than all
differences. I can hardly tell you the rest and refreshment it is to
me now, worn and weary as my spirit is. It struck me very much in its
beauty tonight as Miss von Palaus pronounced,—‘There is but one name
given under heaven among men whereby we may be saved’, and we all
received it on our knees,—Protestants and Romanists, Unitarians and
Trinitarians,—each ‘in his own tongue.’ Was it not beautiful how just
that name bound us all together,—Christians,—seeking at least the
spirit of Christ who loved us all,—our Master,—that we might ‘love one
another’....
I am charmed to learn the Scotch girl, Janet McDonald, has learned
both Latin and Algebra,—both wonderful acquirements here,—and I look
forward to perhaps doing some work with her, if she gets on well
enough with other things.
2 p.m. Tuesday. The politeness of these girls is really quite
refreshing. Last night, going up to my room after dark, there were
several girls at the candle-stand, and, when I asked for a candle, one
of them lighted one, and, with a reverence and ‘Permettez-moi,
mademoiselle,’ carried it the whole way upstairs for me in spite of my
efforts to get hold of it,—it being quite out of her way.... 7 p.m.
Well, Mother darling, I wonder if you can sympathize in my intense
exaltation and delight at the—for the first time in my life—literally
_earning my bread_,—something like ‘My First Penny’, you know. I have
had my ‘surveillance de musique’, but am longing quite childishly for
the commencement of my special work,—I see teaching all around, and am
just wild to be at it. Can Mother understand and sympathize?
Thursday 18th. My letter at last. I have been several times to the
post in hopes of it.... Today I have had one lesson, and am just going
to give another,—delicious! It’s really like oats to a horse who has
been kept a year on hay. Miss Garrett was right enough when she said,
‘Get teaching!’ I quite laugh at myself to feel how radiant I am with
delight at being again in harness.”
To Miss Walker she writes:
“Sept. 22nd. 1862.
Mannheim.
DEAR LUCY,
You will, I think, already have heard from my Mother that I
_cannot_ now offer myself to accompany L. to Paris. I do not know if
you are aware that three weeks ago I wrote to Mrs. B., urging her, as
strongly as I knew how, to entrust L. to me for the winter, and
offering to take her to any part of Europe which was thought best. I
believe, at Mrs. Z.’s entreaty, Mrs. B. did consult some medical man
on the subject, but I am sorry to say they confirmed her resolution of
‘keeping her under her own eye’—of course not understanding, as you
and I think we do, all the circumstances.
I therefore got so decided a refusal that even I felt further entreaty
to be useless, and, giving up the point, I entered at once into a six
months’ engagement as English Teacher at the Grand Ducal Institution
at Mannheim, where I have now been just a week, and therefore, of
course, no further change is now in my power as regards my own
movements....
I am much pleased on the whole with the kind of tone I find between
teachers and pupils, and with the general principles, which, if not
the very highest, are yet greatly superior to what you find in most
English boarding schools.
By the bye, before I say Goodbye, I must tell you what horror my open
window at night (even now) occasions the natives! Having violent
headache some time back, an old servant assured me it was ‘the
window’, and since I have been here I have been entertained with the
account of a gentleman who went mad, as I understand, entirely from
sleeping with an open window! So now you see the fate before you as
well as me! Besides that, the doctor here (more shame for him) assures
me I shall get a fever!
Goodbye, dear Lucy. Remember me to the B.s when you write.
Yours very sincerely,
S. L. JEX-BLAKE.”
And again to her Mother:
“Sept. 30th. 1862.
MY OWN DARLING,
... It amuses me very much as a proof of how soon a habit is
acquired (and also, I think, an evidence that it suits me very well
indeed) to find that now, and indeed for a week past at least, I
always wake of myself just at 5.30 a.m.,—usually just 5 or 10 minutes
before I am called.[33] I wasn’t wrong about my power of adaptability,
was I, Mother? Indeed I thrive greatly on hours, fare and all other
circumstances; I have not been so strong for many months,—indeed now
it is just a year. What a strange, grey, weird year!...
You see idleness and listlessness is about the worst thing possible (I
was feeling that in Göttingen): now my days are full, not only
materially, but really, for it is the kind of employment that does
fill and satisfy me. And, I suppose, next to idleness, the worst thing
would be over mental fatigue.... It is, too, another advantage, which
anybody else can hardly appreciate, to have my day mapped out for me
with military exactness,—to find my work always ready before me, and
quite definite and imperative,—yet making no demand on my strength
almost—always pleasant and always changing.
It would have been impossible to have planned a life suiting me
personally more exactly to my finest need,—and the glory is that at
the same time it is part of my work, and serving it very really and
materially. I don’t suppose in that point of view either it would be
possible to put my time to better advantage....
You see, Mother, how you get my sunny day-dreams now, as you used to
get the weary ones. I don’t know if everyone has words running all day
long in their head as I have,—it makes a glorious song sometimes—
silently enough, but running like a golden thread through daily work
and labour, raising it all till ‘the parapets of heaven with angels
leaning’ come full in view.... Do you remember George Herbert’s
delicious poem—?
‘My Joy! my Life! my Crown! My heart was meaning all the day Something
it fain would say,— And yet it runneth muttering up and down With only
this,— My Joy! my Life! my Crown!’
It is to me so exquisitely significant of the joy and peace that
floods one’s whole being, but does not very readily find words, except
in those already familiar to it, like those Psalm utterances,—or like
sometimes fragments of our own dear Liturgy or hymns;—and I think that
is perhaps one of the greatest uses and values of such things. In the
deep struggle times, one of the things that helped me most of all was
always those glorious words of consecration that reminded me of the
cross on the brow ‘In token that thou shalt not be ashamed to confess
the faith of Christ crucified, and manfully to fight under His banner
against the world, the flesh, and the devil, and to continue Christ’s
faithful Soldier and servant unto thy life’s end!’ And again, the
Communion words about ‘ourselves, our souls and bodies’.
Oh, dear, how one does write on! But I think it pleases Mother, and
I’m sure it helps me....
I fancy my darling will be pleased to get a kiss from her little one
to welcome her in London, as she cannot see her knight at Shoreditch!—
_dear_ old lady,—would she could! But, Mother, you would let Daddy go
with you if you really _wished_ for anyone? I tell you, as I have told
you a hundred times before, how gladly your child will stay at home
altogether if ever Mother really wishes for and wants her there, or
will come from anywhere at any moment as rapidly as trains can bring
her, if only Mother wishes for her for any purpose or none.”
Footnote 33:
She did not always find this quite so easy. On October 17th she writes
in her diary: “Being all but late this morning, it is decreed that for
one week from this time S. J-B. rises every morning while the stroke
of the half hour and minute hand are ‘one and the same straight line.’
“Now, Resolution:”
It is scarcely necessary to say that Resolution responded to the
appeal.
It is very unlikely that she gave those about her the impression of
being _dévote_: that never was her way. The “spikes” Miss Octavia Hill
referred to were probably in full evidence. In her diary she writes,—
“A talk with Miss E. and Miss H. about the sacraments, and
‘preparation’. Miss Gruben instanced with horror,—‘In England a party
the night before.’ I said, ‘The theatre, with all my heart.’
Exclamations. ‘If I could not take the Communion half an hour after
leaving the theatre, I would never enter it.’ Then found myself in the
disagreeable position of apparent Pharasaism. ‘Wish I were so good,
etc!’ or hints like that. Yet surely, Octa? If there is a time when we
cannot kneel for the Communion, that time should be blotted out.
‘Living to God’,—how that blends and binds all life!
Today dear Mrs. Teed. God bless her! Yes, surely,—now she would not be
hard on ‘prayer for the dead’. Yet what a noble soul! Ah, if she had
lived,—if I could have justified myself to her whom I so respected.
But, as Dora says, she knows it all now! Perhaps her spirit sees and
sympathises with mine that looks with such love to her footsteps gone
before. In life she would have disapproved of some things,—now at
least she will see motives. ‘I believe in the communion of saints.’...
Just been reading C. Brontë. Moved me almost to tears. What honour and
blessing to have dried some of those tears,—filled some void in that
heart. And yet doubtless ‘He has fixed it well’. At least she and I
and a multitude that no man can number all form portions of the Hosts
of the Lord.... And it is the work—not our pleasure. The scattering is
part of the benefit.
Ah, the Land of the Leal! The banishment past,—the solitude,—the
tears,—the struggle. In hoc signo. ‘The Lord shall wipe away all tears
from off all faces’.”
At this time she was extraordinarily happy in her work.
“How _can_ people paint a teacher’s life as always such a suffering
one! My room now quite a little Paradise. Frl. von Palaus up about it
again this morning.... Now only some ivy and a tin pot wanted!
My Schematism [?] very light. Certainly they take a generously liberal
view of ‘earning my bread’. Well, at all events it shall be _well_
earned, if not largely. I’m half afraid of myself now that I have the
responsibility of 25 English pupils. I am really very anxious to get
them on so well and so rapidly as to convince the world of the wisdom
of having an English teacher!”
How thoroughly she succeeded in this aim may be gathered from the letter
of one of her pupils written a few months later,—
“We now have an English mistress. Miss Blake, and she gives us so many
things to do that I am already too fatigued to entertain me any longer
with you: she is an inhabitant of your land, and, if all people are so
diligent there, it is a wonder that you are not all philosophers.”
Her diary abounds with shrewd and genial criticisms of her fellow-
teachers. Of one whom she rather disliked, she says:
“Miss D. has greatly laughed herself into my good books,—such a cheery
simple merry laugh. I don’t think anything very bad could hide under
such a laugh at her age.”
And again,—
“That good Frl. von Palaus! Well might I today liken her to a sunbeam!
How she lights up the very house,—how bright burns her lamp,—yet how
simply!”
No wonder her letters were a joy to the Mother watching at home.
“Your letter has cheered me and done me good,” she writes on Christmas
day, “taking away the clouds in a great measure, that would hang over
a day that owed so much of its brightness to your dear presence; but
truly, as you say, we have a far truer unity and a sympathy which I
fear might never have come but through trial and separation.”
Life was not all spent on the mountain heights, of course. Even at this
time she had her ups and downs like other people. Here is one of the
“downs”:
“Who is sufficient for these things? seems my whole cry today. I don’t
know why especially, but I seem so oppressed with a sense of the
greatness, the weight of my work,—and of my own miserable
insufficiency for it. Oh, so weak and stupid and unfit! And it isn’t
humility,—it’s just truth.
I’m horribly showy,—always (voluntarily or not) deceiving people into
a belief into talents I haven’t. Then I’ve will enough and would work,
but no health or strength for it. That’s not your doing, S. J-B. ‘Hath
not the Potter—?’
Besides, you’ll never be called upon to do what you can’t. God will
give you power or send another in your stead.... And ‘who is
sufficient?’ ‘My Grace is sufficient’.
Yet I am thankful, too, for even this fit of despair or at least
downheartedness,—for I was fearing horribly, lest, my whole heart
being bent on one hope and plan, I might be too far identifying _my_
success with _it_, lest I might be seeking to win something for
myself,—not simply to see God’s will done by me or without me. And
from the bottom of my heart did go up, ‘Lord, put me aside utterly if
need be!—and here, perhaps, the answer.’”
She did not always take her reactions so seriously:
“Cold. Therefore rather cross and grumbling. Prowling about the
corridors with shoulders nearly up to my ears, mind do. And I fool and
sybarite enough to conjure up pictures of a certain dainty little room
with blazing fire.... ‘Shame on ye, Gallants, wha ride not
readily!’... Well, well, indeed it was not really a grumble,—only a
John Bull growl. You don’t think I really give in an inch for such
nonsense?
No. Well, there, that’ll do.
As well to grumble to my book as to poor small folk downstairs, who
want bracing not enervating.
Granted. But why either?
Oh, now you’re infringing the liberty of the press! I may write
anything that wells up.
There, there!—pax.”
This is one of the many dialogues between “The Infantine” and “The
Estimable,” as she called them. Greatly did her Mother appreciate the
titles.
A few weeks later, after some words of yearning for a “comprehending
ear,” a “sympathetic hand,” she breaks off abruptly with,—“Heigh ho!
Shut up Grumbles! ‘a cussin’ and a swearin’ like that,’ as long coz
would say.”
Greater troubles were in store than those constituted by cold dark
mornings. No mention is made in the prospectus given above of holidays,
and Mrs. Jex-Blake in her letters complains much of the “No holiday”
system. Apparently the boarders only went home for a few days at a time,
and for months together S. J.-B. does not seem to have slept away from
the Institut for a single night. It was no wonder if, under these
conditions, teachers and pupils “got on each other’s nerves,” and among
Frl. von Palaus’ many qualifications was not that of being a strict
disciplinarian. When the novelty wore off, the girls, after the fashion
of their kind, began to try how far they could go with the English
governess. As may be imagined from her previous history, S. J.-B.,
though an admirable teacher, did not show herself particularly strong in
the matter of keeping order. The pupils found out their power of
“tormenting” her, and the delicacy of their feeling may be gauged by the
fact that on one occasion they gaily charged her with having “weeped in
church” (“False, by the bye, in fact,” she says in her diary). With
delightful _naïveté_ they summed up the things she could not do. She
could not sing, nor play, nor dance, nor paint, nor embroider?—“What
_can_ you do, Miss Blake?”
Of course she would have thought it unworthy of her to mention the
things she had done and could do. Moreover, for reasons given above, she
was spending a minimum of money, and vulgar schoolgirls drew their own
conclusions. She sometimes admits with remorse that she was hasty and
unjust in little things,[34] and, although there is no indication that
she ever fell into the tempests of passion that characterized her
girlhood, she owns that she often assumed a stony indifference, which,
of course, though she did not know it, was a great deal worse. All the
time (so her diary shows) she was almost agonizing over these children,
longing really to get into touch and fire them with her own zeal; she
did not scruple to talk to them seriously and individually about the
great issues of life; but when the magnetic influence of the interview
was over, they felt a certain inconsistency in her, a hastiness, a
failure to conform to conventional standards of right and wrong, a want
of equity, or at least of equableness, of which she herself was almost
unaware. “But oh, where is the special flaw?” she cries in her diary.
“Lord help me! ‘Thou wilt not pity us the _less_’—that fault of my own
forms my cross.”
Footnote 34:
“I an’t _just_. There’s a fact. I’m sorry for it, but it’s true. As my
sky is bluer or greyer, as I see, or think I see, more or less into a
child’s character, the scale varies. Justice is blind no longer, but
gives a chuck to one side or the other.”
In any case her pupils felt the flaw. Her conscientiousness, her zeal,
her fine uprightness were more or less lost on them, or so it seemed. A
cheaper form of goodness would have appealed to them more.
She never spoke of her home life and circumstances, and probably even
Frl. von Palaus had very little idea that the English governess was a
woman of family and position.
“Oh, how weary I am after those hours of struggle internal and
external!” writes S. J.-B. in her diary. “Almost like being tied to a
stake,—so suffering, so helpless. And this I?—who used to fancy I had
power to rule! Two months more will see me well nigh home I trust.
Some faint foreshadowing of ‘Then are they glad because they are at
rest.’ The thoughts of my green nest, and of the ruddy firelight, and
the hymns at Mother’s knee very frequent in these days of struggle.”
She poured out the story of her failure to her Mother, and delightful
were the letters she got in reply:
“(Miss v. Palaus) will miss my darling and her unselfish love terribly
when she leaves.... Without any great vanity you must know that your
hearty ready help must be most refreshing to her, and your wide-awake
state must have a great influence over the Girls.”
“I cannot believe that your work has been done as indifferently as you
think. I believe you have always done what you could, and fought hard
against feelings and every form of indolence or selfishness. Surely
you could somehow raise some response to fun; only perhaps a good deal
arises from your being English and they not understanding.”
In spite of all, however, the trouble went deep, and she chronicles
sadly in her diary that “neither moon nor stars for many days appeared.”
Oddly enough, she never seems to have entertained the idea of simply
giving in her resignation and going home. She entirely meant to serve
her time,—nay more,—to hold the position until some suitable person was
found to carry on her work. Certainly it was not the acquisition of the
language that served as an inducement to remain, for, throughout her
stay, she learned almost incredibly little. The whole of her very
limited energy was thrown into her teaching.
“The hearty praise pouring in for the girls’ progress, ought to comfort
me there,” she says. “I suppose they almost certainly have got on more
rapidly than with 9 teachers out of 10.”
One is glad to learn that months before she left Mannheim, the tide of
popularity turned; and, although even she attributed the change in great
part to the fact of her having worn a “ravissant” gown at the School
Carnival Ball (a gown which she had worn as a bridesmaid in England) she
was glad to respond by expanding good spirits to the diminished
pressure. So the pretty frock served its turn. “There’s no doubt about
it that opinion altogether has veered round widely about me. I think I
am rather popular now,—I certainly _was_ thoroughly the contrary.”
She was, until the later years of her life, wanting in sympathy with the
more or less innocent and pardonable vanities of youth, and yet during
this period she did sometimes cry out for a more vivid life,—or rather
for days and hours of greater vividness to break the monotony of the
working life she had deliberately chosen. It was one of her ambitions to
be duly presented to Queen Victoria, for whom throughout life she had a
great admiration, but the ambition was never realized.
“Darling,” writes her Mother, in answer to a very human cry, “your young
bright days are nobly spent for the Lord. Shall we offer Him that which
costs us nothing?... There always has been (though probably not
necessarily) so much that is false, impure and hollow connected with
most of what are termed amusements that you would soon loathe them, and
feel work and even discipline more satisfying.” But never for one moment
from her twentieth year onwards did S. J.-B. ask for amusement and
vividness _in place of_ work and discipline.
She might have found recreation and stimulus in the music of Germany,
but her chief limitation was on the side of Art. Music did not appeal to
her, and, although one of her greatest gifts was the possession of a
beautiful speaking voice, with a perfect natural production, she could
not sing and had no ear for music at all. She argues with herself on the
subject,—“Surely singing, for instance, is a wholesome and good
amusement. Surely it is right that some should contribute it for others?
Yet, perhaps, mere amusement, even for others, is not a life-work for
anyone? At least unless _as a duty_. So few sing, as Fra Bartolomeo
painted, ‘on their knees’.”
This is estimable enough so far as it goes, but artistic perception is
wanting, and throughout life she never got much farther in this
direction, though she always loved to hear a simple congenial song sung
by one she loved. “Do you care for the ‘unlearned praise’?” she used to
say. When she quoted, as she sometimes did, “’Tis we musicians who
know,”—it was not of music she was thinking.
All through this period her main preoccupation was with religion. She
was reading, among other things, the _In Memoriam_ and Robertson’s
Sermons, and she continued to read them till the end of her life. Her
volumes of Robertson are falling to pieces with sheer honest careful
lifelong use, and many of the sermons are marked with a date and with
initials to remind her of the times when she shared her treasure with
some special friend. Assuredly, in the words of her loved quotation,
Robertson “found her.” Living, as she was at this time however, mainly
among Roman Catholics, she felt—as so many have felt—a real desire to
share their communion.
“I mean to study Romanism as thoroughly as I can,” she says. “Hitherto I
have not by any means found, as C. Brontë, my repugnance to Roman
Catholicism increased by close view.”
She was anxious to get a proper breviary or missal, and apparently
finding this difficult in Mannheim, she wrote to her Mother to send her
one. That wonderful old lady! She can’t have enjoyed the commission, but
she set about the fulfilment of it most loyally. And, oddly enough, she
too met with many difficulties. She declined to be put off with _The
Garden of the Soul_, and finally she writes:
“I despair of getting a satisfactory breviary, unless you can send me
definite orders for Treacher to procure one. Marvellous rubbish at the
_only_ R.C. shop. They were _very_ anxious to fetch the R.C. priest!—
to help me,—‘were sure he was within.’ Fancy if Daddy had come by,
with the carriage at the door and I inside in deep conversation with
said Priest!...”
No, there never was such a Mother! Her openness of mind shows itself in
a hundred extracts. “I do not fairly know Thomas à Kempis,” she says.
“The passage you quoted was very grand and beautiful.” “I wonder if you
will care for my extract from Pusey in the ‘Times’. I always think there
is such a chastened, disciplined spirit in what he writes,—no pepper,
nor vinegar.” “If I were obliged to have a great deal of company, I
should, I doubt not, feel ‘Lent’ a grand repose and comfort; as it is, I
am disposed to kick at it as artificial.”
And she is no longer afraid to express her loving appreciation.
“I don’t call you so much a ‘sweet-tempered’ as an ‘excellent-natured’
girl,—most unselfish, energetic, and at all times ready in the behalf
of others. A regular ‘_sweet_ temper’ is rarely found with very strong
deep feelings.... I don’t think there ever was such true love as
your’s—unless it be her’s under disguise. You would not now be able to
stand alone as you do had circumstances not separated you. God has two
great works,—one for her, one for you.”
“I am quite sure, by pouring out your heart to me, you help me on as
well as yourself. You bring before me such strengthening texts and
poetry, and our hearts get so very closely knit. It may seem selfish
to say so, but your sorrows have greatly enhanced my joys by bringing
us close, and, as it were, entwining us inseparably.”
In a fine sermon on _Old and Young_, the late Bishop of Oxford dwells on
the “tragedy going on in the life of many a home, ... as father and son
or mother and daughter grow conscious, sometimes with silent pain, and
sometimes with scarcely veiled resentment, of an ever-widening
severance, a perpetual and almost irrevocable ebbing of sympathy and
trust.” If any further proof were needed than has already been given of
the wholeheartedness with which this mother and daughter resisted that
tendency to severance and realized the sympathy and trust, it may be
found in the correspondence that follows:
“Jan. 23rd, 1863. Friday night.
and Jan. 24th.
MY OWN DARLING MOTHER,—I’m right sorry you didn’t get your baby’s
first morning greeting,—I went out on purpose to post the letter on
Friday that you might. It’s very tiresome too that the other little
messenger didn’t reach you,—however Mother knows it was sent, and it’s
useless to risk sending more the same way; you shall get it in
duplicate when I come home,—whenever that is.
Sometimes I think I ought to stay here till I have mastered my
difficulties and learned to rule,—then again I see that years and
years of my life will be but a learning of that lesson, and the great
thing is to see how to dispose of them most _wisely_, not in obstinacy
or in self-consenting even on a point like that. Besides month after
month of unbroken work _does_ come to tell on one, specially if one
starts not over strong; and I feel myself looking forward with
significant expectation to the coming rest (and still more,
_refreshment_ time) again,—to say nothing of seeing faces and hearing
voices that I fancy may too not be sorry to see and hear mine again. I
am watching the now really lengthening days almost like a
schoolchild,—indeed I am tremendously much of a child yet, Mother,—and
thinking how the days and weeks roll on and bring the homecoming
nearer. Even if I returned _here_, I must have a holiday and not a
very short one,—for I have got a good deal _used_ one way or another,—
though now I am again delightfully cheery and strong,—and able to work
twice as well among the children when a laughing word comes instead of
a weary one; and _they_ feel it too, I am sure.
I shall be very curious to read Colenso’s book,—will you send me its
name, please? It is so very easy a way to get up a laugh (which
somebody calls the Devil’s keenest sword) against opinions or people
you don’t agree with, by such a jest as that Colenso wants to turn
‘the Bible into Rule of Three sums’,—so much more easy than
justifiable or Christian. It’s just a word which, said of a great
Mathematician, is sure to ‘take’ whether there is any or no sense in
it. People like to laugh and repeat what sounds sharp, and prove their
own superiority (?) to such men as they can’t hope to get within 100
miles of in attainments.
Besides in a certain non-sneering sense, it may really be true without
inferring any blame. (I wonder if you like me to discuss the question
or not? If not, just tear up the next page or two unread, that’s all.)
The Rule of Three (as it is most absurdly called) is perhaps the
purest form of development of the principle of Cause and Effect,—the
principle that rules the world and lies at the root of all science and
all logic. You see an effect,—it _must_ have a corresponding cause.
You are aware of a cause,—you imply with certainty answering effect.
‘To look through Nature up to Nature’s God’—is strictly (if you choose
so to call it) a Rule of Three sum. Again,—‘These are Thy works,
Parent of Good,—Thyself how wondrous then!’—a pure syllogism,—or, if
you please, Rule of Three sum—thus:
I. The author must be greater than his
works.
II. God’s works are great beyond our
conception.
III. How infinite then their Maker!
Or, more beautiful and more sacred than all,—‘He that spared not His
own Son ... how shall He not with Him freely give us all things?’
The form of reasoning that St. Paul did not disdain to use need hardly
be a reproach to Colenso.
God Himself _does_ give us minds and does bid us use them,—_He_ is not
afraid of His truth standing in the sunlight, though some of His
people are. Robertson draws out very beautifully how the Christ never
sought blind credence,—superstitious belief even in His words because
they were _His_. He never said ‘I say so,—there’s an end,’ (as so many
of His followers like to put in His mouth). ‘If I say _the Truth_, why
do ye not believe me?’—again, more exquisite still in its loving
humility,—‘Though ye believe not me, believe the works’,—‘Search the
Scriptures’ etc. etc.,—always praying them to test Him by His works,
by the voice of their own conscience, by the testimony of their sacred
books,—continually protesting against the idea of His own assumption
of sovereign power, ‘I know nothing of Myself.’ But here I’m getting
on another subject, and I’ll stop.
But I always get greatly interested in a discussion about the Bible,—
people seem to me often so hopelessly superstitious and illogical
about it, and so to miss its truest, most blessed meaning.
It always seems to me that the question divides itself into two
perfectly distinct parts,—regarding, so to speak, the spiritual and
temporal part of the Bible. The first is entirely without the province
of the intellect or the reason,—‘Eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, ...
but God hath revealed them unto us by His spirit.’ As Colani says (I
think, indeed, it was him I quoted before) it is not a question of
logic or of evidence whether we believe ‘the sacrifices of God are a
broken spirit, a broken and a contrite heart, O God Thou wilt not
despise!’,—the _certainty_ of its truth is self-evident to us; we are
absolutely sure the moment we hear the words that the All-Good
rejoices in repentance and not in blood. It is the word of God from
without speaking to the Spirit of God within us ‘whose temples we
are.’ In Coleridge’s forcible words, ‘it _finds_ us’,—it pierces
through ear and brain irresistibly to the spirit of every man. Yes,
_every_ man; there is not one in the world however debased who _could_
doubt whether God preferred a broken heart or a costly gift. He may
not think about it, he may let the words pass by him, but, receiving
them at all into his mind, he _cannot_ doubt....
Feel,—suffer, and words like those bring their own proof; let them
once _enter_ and you need not ask whether their truth is received or
not. ‘Blessed are the pure in heart for they shall see God.’ We _know_
it is so; no one in the world could really doubt for one second
whether holiness or impurity brings the man to God,—to _see_ Him....
In all this the whole mass of ‘Evidence’ goes for absolutely nothing.
If the Bible had never been heard of to this moment, and I picked it
off a dunghill, _those_ words and truths would just as irresistibly
transfix and ‘find’ me as a two-edged sword.
But since, as Pulsford says, ‘Most people get their faith through
their heart, not through their head,’—there are thousands of God’s
children who, seeing and feeling the infinite beauty and pricelessness
of these words and truths,—but _not_ seeing fully their infinite
omnipotence, their absolute impregnability,—fancy that to preserve
from the slightest danger what is to them so infinitely precious, it
is necessary to claim for the whole casket the same authority and
value that the jewel claims for itself: and then, because this claim
does not and cannot maintain _itself_, they rush to arms for it and
brand as ‘rejectors of the Bible’ some who, like your child, find in
its words the very deepest blessings of existence....
I don’t know enough about it to have an opinion worth anything, but as
far as I can judge, it seems to me the result of open fair criticism
rather establishes than disturbs the veracity of all Jewish history as
given in the Bible since the time of Moses, while it does not seem to
me possible satisfactorily to defend the authenticity of the account
of the Creation and probably the first few centuries,—both from the
certainties of Geology and probabilities of history, and also from the
internal evidence.
But what _is_ the leading point to me is the folly of trying to arrest
honest investigation about anything,—and the especial mistake of
fancying that _any_ result arrived at could touch the real standing
and position of the Bible. For myself, I can say in all sincerity that
if not one fraction only but the whole biblical history were proved to
be utterly unreliable and mistaken, it would not make the difference
of a straw’s weight either to my life or my faith,—it is not as a
rival of Herodotus that I have valued the Bible,—the destruction of
the historical credit of the one would matter just as much to me as
that of the other. We might lose some grand illustrations of God’s
love and care, but the truths would remain, and the history of any
century, of any land, of any man, leaves Him not ‘without a
witness’....
Well, Mother, it has indeed been more than a page or two,—if it pains
or wearies you do but burn it; but I am glad from the bottom of my
heart to tell you honestly what and why I believe on a subject where I
fear Mother is a little afraid of me;—to put at least calmly and
clearly before you other thoughts and words than those you hear
oftenest,—not that you may accept, but that you may consider them. For
you as for me, Mother, God ‘shall lead us into all truth’.
Sunday. You asked me about Miss v. Palaus. She isn’t ill now, but I
think she suffers altogether from this terrible ‘no holiday’ system.
Think what it is to go on for 26 years!—with only a week’s break at a
time, and that perhaps once a year.
Dear, I broke off abruptly, it occurring to me to apply the principle
of how bad it was to go on without change and how one was bound to get
all one could; also that it was a bright day and that I was no use
where I was, so had better go to Heidelberg....
The sermon was about sorrow and bereavement, commonplace enough and
disagreeable sometimes, but chiming in in bits with some thoughts of
mine. For one thing he said it was a duty to rouse oneself after a
time and go back to one’s daily work. Now, Mother, you know better
than anyone how I have strained every sinew to take up my tool again
and work on, from the very first months even. But there is a certain
state of things which I can’t honestly conceal from myself which makes
the struggle in some ways a very terrible one.
I am sure ‘what is is best’, and I don’t say one word in the form even
of sorrow, only of perplexity. But, Mother, I haven’t the least the
mind I had,—I have waited and waited to see if they would not waken
but now for nearly 18 months my mental powers seem struck with stupor.
It’s no use urging them,—they don’t answer the call. The love and
power of mental work seem to have faded away. I just jog on from day
to day with sense enough for daily life perhaps,—but I don’t seem to
get any nearer any return of intellects. I won’t say it would have
been _better_—because if it would, it would have been so—but I don’t
doubt if I had had a crushing physical illness last Xmas, the agony
would have exhausted itself and I probably risen from a brain fever as
strong as ever,—but no physical relief coming in this form, the whole
weight seems to have fallen on my brain and paralyzed it. My whole
mind sometimes seems a blank,—the children ask me simple questions and
I know nothing. Sometimes it’s hard work to crush back the tears when
it is so.
You know those terrible (they did frighten me horribly) kinds of
delusions that showed me a white dog or a wheelbarrow just when I was
going to pull up when driving you.
Well, Mother, it’s no use to go on,—no use even to say ‘What am I to
do?’ One feels sure in truth that God ‘will find a way’ and show it to
me....
But the time goes on and on, very many months already, and yet no
streak of light comes from any quarter. One does not see the faintest
sign of change, and yet one cannot see how things are permanently
possible as they are.
You don’t think it is any want of will or effort in me, Mother? Surely
God ‘reaps not where He has not strawed’.
Oh, Mother, Mother, what it will be to rest the tired stupid old head
on your bosom again.
80 lessons a week is too much I’m afraid for Ruth, but I can’t pretend
to look after her when I’m in Germany,—and perhaps nobody gets on much
the worse for that fact. It’s a very forcible rebuke to one’s vanity
to find _how_ little anybody is missed from anywhere, (except in their
Mother’s hearts, darling) and one or two others perhaps. Yet that’s a
hasty way to speak. I believe I do have a great deal of love from more
people than I deserve....
Yours lovingly ever,
SOPH.
Please tell me by what post this arrives.”
An able letter surely, for one whose “intellects” were worn out. Of
course she fails to realize how different her whole outlook on life
would have been if she had found the Bible for the first time
accidentally in mature life, “on a dunghill” or elsewhere. The Mother’s
reply is surely at least as able:
“Thursday, Jany. 29th.
MY OWN DARLING,
Your letter did not reach me till first post this morning. I
quite believe Truth will in itself bear coming to the light, without
suffering. But I do fear there are many minds, heads and hearts
without one sentence of heavenly truth upon which to fall back for
comfort, which may be irreparably injured by the doubt and contempt
thrown upon historical parts; and thence deduce, ‘All is false, and
cannot do me good or help me in any way.’ I think I must send you the
last ‘Cornhill’ come in this afternoon. I imagine the critique in it
is from a man who would favour free enquiry,—a son of Dr. Arnold’s,—
Matthew Arnold. He says, ‘I censure Colenso’s book because, while it
impresses strongly on the reader that the Pentateuch is not to be read
as an authentic narrative; it so entirely fails to make him feel that
it is a narrative full of divine instruction in morals and religion,
etc., etc.’ I ought to have stated that all this comes in in a
critique upon Stanley’s ‘Lectures on the Jews’, which Arnold greatly
admires. Now that February is at hand, I find that the _January!_
Macmillan has an actual critique upon Colenso. Shall I send it to you?
I have not read it. I asked Hetty if she had. She considers it severe
on Colenso. I think I shall send it.
Your long dissertation did not annoy or weary me at all, indeed it
rejoiced mother’s heart. You seem to have all you want to _live_ and
die upon. What can you need more? Certainly I have individually
_great_ comfort and enjoyment from seeing Christ as my Substitute in a
manner that I apprehend you do not. If it be, as I suppose, needful, I
am sure your loving Father will give it you in His good time. As to
your mental powers, it is _very strange_. We can only wait patiently
and say, ‘It is the Lord. Let Him do what seemeth Him right’. I don’t
suppose the important precious discipline you are going through could
have been produced in time of full mental vigor. That will assuredly
return if for your real good. Meanwhile you may well trust Him who has
done such great things for you. I long as much as you to have you
resting on my bosom. Rest you _must_ have: refreshment of spirit I
pray you may have.... Nothing, as you say, invalidates the grand
truths responded to from within. At all times the Eternal God is thy
refuge and underneath are the everlasting arms.
Your loving Mother,
M. E. JEX-BLAKE.”
A fortnight later she writes:
“Only fancy, Daddy has been reading Colenso’s book!”
CHAPTER XII
VARIOUS PROJECTS AND VENTURES
“Rest you must have: refreshment of spirit I pray you may have.”
So wrote Mrs. Jex-Blake in the end of January; but even the physical
rest was destined to be long delayed. As explained in the previous
chapter, S. J.-B. did not at all draw to the idea of deserting her post
before a suitable person arrived to supply it, and that suitable person
was not easy to find. So the months went by, and it was not till April
was well advanced that all arrangements were made for her departure
within a fortnight. She was wild with delight at the prospect of getting
home, but the fates were unkind. On May 3rd she writes in her diary:
“Well, I do feel most uncommonly seedy,—no doubt about that,—having
just waded through my packing somehow, and ‘bitterly thought of the
morrow’, and how many leagues and hours lie between me and a snug bed,
clean sheets and beef tea. But, somehow or other I do mean to push
through and trust my luck for falling as usual on my feet, catlike.
Specially anxious, by the bye, not to be spied out here or it’ll all
go down to the baths”—she had been bathing in the Rhine before
breakfast—“as I daresay this heavy cold may, which reduces me to, or
below, the level of the inferior animals.
Well, three days hence! Who can’t hold out that time?”
She certainly did her best to “hold out,” dragged herself out of bed,
and went downstairs looking like “_une déterrée_,” so Frl. v. Palaus
said. She refused to see the school doctor, believing that he would
prevent her going home, and also that he would insist upon her keeping
her window shut. For some reason unknown Frl. v. Palaus resolutely
declined to have an English doctor sent for, and so things went on for a
day or two till the patient agreed that the German doctor should be
allowed to say whether her throat was “of importance.” Whether he was
allowed adequate means of arriving at a diagnosis we have no means of
knowing. In any case his answer was in the negative. Two days later the
patient was obviously suffering from a sharp and typical attack of
scarlet fever.
It really was a blow, poor child! She was so longing for her Mother, “My
year’s work just done _so_ painfully,—and now my cruse snatched from my
lips. It is hard, _hard_! I didn’t one moment doubt it was right,—only
very hard.” Then like an audible voice came the reminder of the inner
light, and all pain went.
It does not necessarily follow that she proved a very easy patient,
though she tried hard to be reasonable, and even to keep her window shut
at night, which was quite unreasonable. The whole situation was
sufficiently trying for Frl. v. Palaus; and S. J.-B., although she and
her nurse became attached to each other, got little of the petting which
throughout life she so greatly valued when just the right person
bestowed it. Her Mother’s letters as usual were an infinite comfort, and
her Father was with difficulty prevented from sending out a London
physician to look after her, and, in due time, bring her home.
She made a good recovery, and was allowed to start for England on the
27th, when an English lady was engaged to accompany her. “Very like
getting out of purgatory into heaven,” she says. “The dear old folks!”
Her Father was nervous about infection, and, fortunately for him, a
trifling driving accident some four or five days after her return forced
her to consult “Sam Scott.” “He couldn’t swear me free of fever, but
said, ‘If you meet my children on the cliff, you may kiss them.’”
* * * * *
So S. J.-B. settled down once more to the old life at home, not without
occasional “cataracts and breaks,” for her Father did not advance with
the times, and hers was not the only hasty temper in the family. But she
never doubted that a definite work was in store for her somewhere.
Her diary is sometimes amusing reading. To an acquaintance who—after
visiting at Sussex Square and hearing the intimate fireside names—wrote
to her as “My dear Jack,” she replies,
“DEAR MISS D.,
Firstly I don’t like being called names, and secondly I have
been overwhelmingly busy,—which two reasons must excuse my not having
earlier sent you the address.”
“I agree with Macdonald,” is her connotation. “The only argument some
people understand is being knocked down, and it’s cruel to withhold it
from them.
And a very mild knocking down this time.”
“July 8th. Annette’s Sunday School. ‘The outward and visible sign in
baptism?’
‘Please, ma’am, the baby, ma’am.’”
That her lamp was not burning dim one gathers from the letter that
follows. It relates to the young invalid college friend whom she had
wished to take with her to Germany:
“Nov. 15th. 1863.
DEAR LUCY,
Though I know you will have heard before this of dear L.’s going
home to her rest, I think you will like to have a few lines from me,
as I believe E. was not able to write to you herself.
You heard probably of her breaking a blood vessel last month soon
after her return to London, and it was very soon after that that I saw
her for the last time alive. She was very gentle and quiet then, and I
have since thought that she more entirely realised how near the end
was than I and others did,—for there was no immediate danger then as
far as anyone could know. When I told her again how much a duty I
thought it for her to take the utmost care of her life for His service
Who gave it, and added ‘Not that I want you or anyone to _fear_
death,—that is the last thought one should have of the Home-going’,—
she said,—‘Oh, yes,—I never did, and I never understood why people
do.’ I told her Mother of this afterwards, and it is a very pleasant
memory, among others.
Well, it was on Thursday, November 3rd. that this terrible spasmodic
asthma came on, and I am afraid the struggle was sore for just the
week,—but there was mercy in that too, for it made her Mother glad to
see her at rest after it. Just a week later she died, very
peacefully,—passing in sleep into the rest that remaineth. I heard of
it on Thursday and went up to London directly, and I never was more
heartily glad of having done anything in my life, for both Mrs. B. and
E. seemed _so_ glad to see me, and you can hardly believe the peaceful
happy few hours we had together,—indeed there came to me (and I think
to them too in some degree) such an intense realization of what the
joy and light was into which she had entered, that no room seemed left
for any pain even for oneself. I did love L. very much,—more perhaps
than any of you knew,—but when I stood looking down on that calm pale
face, the only words that would come into my mind were,—‘He was not,
for God took him’. It seemed quite impossible even for a moment to
identify _her_ with that chill silence,—one felt _she_ was already in
the everlasting arms. Dear child! She left altogether a very happy
memory,—of a bright clear life, and a calm peaceful death. We ‘thank
God for this our dear sister departed....’
The funeral is to be next Wednesday,—I know that you will not be
absent in spirit, though you cannot be there in presence as I hope to
be. Mr. Plumptre will read the service at Kensal Green.
I do not know if I helped dear L. in her life. I know that she has
helped me in her death almost beyond my conception. I ‘never feared’
death, and I always felt theoretically how it was the ‘going home’ and
that only, but I never felt it with the practical intensity of this
week. I never entered before into half its beauty and its holiness,—I
feel almost as if I could never associate sadness with the idea again.
Let it come in what form it may,—‘God giveth us the Victory’.
Just before she died, L. finished a story at which she had been
working to compete for some magazine prize,—if it does not win this,
we hope to get it published separately, as a memorial that will be
beloved of many,—and indeed I hope it may come out in this form. I
have offered to undertake the whole business. It is very pleasant to
me that she has left this,—is it not to you?
Goodbye, dear Lucy,—my letter is already enormous, but I don’t fear
your criticisms.
Yours affectionately,
S. L. JEX-BLAKE.”
The monotony of the life that followed was broken by one or two visits
to Paris and one to Germany, and she had a great scheme of going to
America to study the education of girls there. Here again, of course,
she was met by the strong opposition of her Father, and again she was
forced to put forward all the good and attractive points in her plan
while herself profoundly convinced of its vagueness and of her own
physical inadequacy. She saw a good deal at this time of Mrs. Ballantyne
(afterwards Lady Jenkinson) whom she met first in Edinburgh at the house
of her sister, Mrs. Burn Murdoch. This was the beginning of another
lifelong friendship, most refreshing to both,—a friendship characterized
almost equally by playful camaraderie and jesting, and by many long
talks about the things that lie deep.
“She _is_ just good and true and ‘clear’,” S. J.-B. had written in her
diary some months before. She records how they went together to an
evening Holy Communion, what they felt and said,—and goes on without a
break:
“Then, again she so delicious about my bonnet (_not_ calculated
‘To take upon it
The guilt of her wandering soul’.)
The first time. I saw you in it, nearly disliked you for it—only it
was past that.
Not your taste?—Then you oughtn’t to wear what isn’t,—nor to get 14s.
9d. bonnets!
Poke into omnibuses?—Poke away, but wear proper bonnets.
Tottenham Court Road?—No business to go there for bonnets.
No money?—Then you must manage very badly! [Badly!—poor generous
child,—counting every halfpenny that she might have the more to give
away!]
Your sister?—No, I have nothing to do with her, but I _have_ with you.
Buy proper bonnets,—then get them altered—
Whereon I vowed that if she didn’t come to London and choose one, I’d
buy the ugliest in Tottenham Court Road.
My compliments to Mrs. Heath, and she oughtn’t to compromise her taste
by letting you buy such bonnets, etc., etc.
So very very refreshingly, and with such bright arch eyes.”
It was certainly no lack of appreciation in the ordinary relationships
of life that urged S. J.-B. to find her vocation. There are many
indications of her popularity at this time among cousins and friends.
“DEAREST SOPHY,” writes the mistress of Honing Hall,—“It will be
_delightful_ to see you here. How often have I said to myself lately
(having no one else to address my remarks to,—your Uncle being
entirely taken up with his harvest, and more bothered than ever by
it). ‘I do wish Sophy would offer her company for a few days.’
So, well pleased was I to see your handwriting this morning. I can
meet you anywhere within reasonable distance. On Thursdays I have only
your old friend, Little Grey, and on Tuesday, 30th., some of the
Catfield people are coming over. Should you be here then, it would be
an additional pleasure to _all_.”
And here is a characteristic note:
“DEAR MISS BLAKE,
... Pray bring back from America a few more such good stories as
you told me yesterday. I say this _not_ ‘hoping I should see your face
no more’.
Yours very truly,
FRANCES P. COBBE.”
On November 11th S. J.-B. received a letter that pleased her much from
the Revd. T. D. C. Morse, rector of Stretford, Manchester:
“MADAM,
I have had some correspondence with Professor Plumptre of
Queen’s College about establishing a Ladies’ College in this locality,
and he has referred me to you as likely to help me in this good work.
Notwithstanding the fact that the movement for the improvement of
female education has now been for some time set on foot, this populous
neighbourhood is still very destitute in this respect. I have two
girls, 12 and 13 years of age, and after making enquiries in very
competent quarters, I have been told that there is only one Ladies’
School ‘worth a farthing’ in or near Manchester, and that is the
Ladies’ College on the north side of the city at Higher Broughton. We
are living on the south side and are surrounded by a large number of
wealthy people who must necessarily miss such educational facilities.
I wish therefore to _try_ whether a good Ladies’ College can be
founded on this side of Manchester, and I would be glad to know
whether you could introduce me to a lady qualified to act as Principal
of such an Institution. Mr. Plumptre was not quite sure whether you
might be disposed to undertake such a work yourself or not, but, if
you were so, I feel sure from what he has told me that the matter
could not be in better hands.... You will understand, of course, that
the matter at present is only in the phase of a project.”
“Plum, I owe thee one!” is S. J.-B.’s irreverent comment,—“good old
Plum!”
“Such a real ‘call’ it sounds—and what a field to learn in!... Now
America seems put in the background with a vengeance.”
She plunged at once into plans and arrangements, timetables, lists of
tutors, etc., and on November 17th she writes in her diary:
“On Tuesday and today received letters from Mr. Morse, telling me of
the Bishop’s support, and thus answering my question ... asking me for
‘any suggestions’. I feel little more is to be done without an
interview, but write somewhat on essential heads ‘with great
diffidence’:
I am sure that no one can give their really best work to any scheme
which does not stand on foundation principles with which they are in
sympathy, and, bearing in mind the proposition you hinted at in your
first letter, I am bound both for your sake and for my own to
ascertain as far as possible how far the harmony of our views would
allow me to be a really efficient worker in your cause. I have a great
belief in the superiority of rule by Law over that of individual will,
and should as Director of any such College be very anxious to have as
little as possible left to my own choice and judgment; but, having
once been able to acquiesce in the spirit of established regulations,
would deem it essential to have absolute authority to see them carried
out alike by teachers and pupils. I am sure that to have such
questions ill-defined at first is one of the most fruitful sources of
after disturbance and failure in a college....
I believe that really good women teachers are more able to measure the
power of a girl’s mind, and force her to do a certain amount of good
work than men, who are in my experience very apt to let _young_ pupils
slip between their fingers, as it were.
At the same time, after a thorough groundwork has been laid, I think
first-rate lecturers (almost useless till then) become quite
invaluable.
Meaning—I want an interview.
“Dec. 1st. 1864. Reached Manchester yesterday. Staying now with the
Morses.
Capital man he,—clear, energetic and practical; a little ‘trammelled’
by clerical bonds, but in the main wide and satisfactory.
Spite of the double assurance of Minnie and Ruth that I need not talk
of my Unitarianism,—I could not be quite silent, and so tonight,
naturally enough, and I think truthfully, gave in my half-declaration.
Mr. Morse said (in answer to my question whether we might not be
‘_too_ episcopal’) that, without wishing to exclude any, he wished to
have the College decidedly of Church origin, and should be sorry to
have other than Church main workers.
I said, ‘Then perhaps you had better not have me.’
‘But do you not belong to the Church?’
‘Well, I was baptized and confirmed in it.’
‘But you go there rather than Chapel?’
‘Well, I don’t know. I go there pretty often. I go where helps me
most.’
‘Where else?’
‘Oh, mainly Unitarian’, adding ‘I have not, however, any intention of
joining the Unitarians, but they have helped me’, and, in answer to a
farther remark ‘that I ought to make up my mind clearly black or
white’.
‘That I _can’t_ do.... However on the whole, though very unorthodox, I
believe I am on the whole most of a Churchwoman, and certainly non-
proselytizing, nor, I believe in the least likely to originate any
religious difficulty.’
Still he was evidently ‘stumped’, and I daresay I shall hear more of
it.
Yet, on the whole, feeling as I do, I cannot regret speaking.
‘Be true to every honest thought
And as thy thought thy speech.’[35]
Footnote 35:
Mr. Morse had unwittingly given her some encouragement previously by
telling the story of a candidate for Orders, who when asked “If any
man broached before you doubts of the divinity of our Lord (‘and I
needn’t tell you,’ said Mr. Morse to S. J.-B., ‘what a difficult
subject that is’) what answer would you make?”
“My Lord, I beg that you won’t suppose that I keep such company.”
“Well, but _if_——?”
“My Lord, I should take up my hat and walk out.”
“(Prudent too),” comments S. J.-B.
She visited the Principal of Owens’ College, however, and the Headmaster
of the Grammar School, drew up a tentative list of names for Council,
and had a long talk with Mrs. Gaskell, who promised to be a “Lady
Visitor” if the College was founded. (“I explaining it to mean ‘right to
visit’.”)
“As to my contumacy (it’s really that and not the heresy!), W. and G.
to be consulted. I said how I wished him to do only what he thought
right,—yet believing they would be wise to have me(!)
I think he surely _wishes_ it, and, as I should guess he would find
his consultees not otherwise inclined, a very small push would decide
him that way.
(Stories,—‘The fool hath said in his heart,’ etc. Old sexton loq. ‘I
can’t but think, sir, there is a God after all’).”
“Dec. 4th. Came to Rugby last night. The music in chapel again and
again bringing me well-nigh to tears,—so weak and thin is one worn.
(Yet should surely notice the good Miss Garrett’s medicine does me—
taken about a fortnight now.)...
And how the conviction came (when first this Manchester scheme) ‘Yes,—
“be thou but fit for the wall, and thou shalt not be left in the way.”
It _is_ true!...
Is Minnie far wrong in her ‘Men have the best of it’? Easiest,—yes!—
Fancy the pleasure of going through School,—College,—returning
hallmarked, for good happy well-paid work here.
Yet is the easiest ‘Best’?
Must there not be pioneers?—can their work be easy?
Yet is there not (in many tongues and roads) a ‘noble army of
martyrs’?
Shall we like Erasmus ‘not aspire to that honour’?
But, oh, dear, when the heart’s light and brain clear and life sunny,
it’s easy to ‘scorn delights’ (having plenty of the reallest) but when
the ‘laborious days’ fail and only weary and dim ones remain—when the
tunnel narrows and darkens, and nearly all the light and strength
seems to have leaked out—
Then—?
‘My Grace is sufficient for thee’. No other help,—‘none other fighteth
for us’—and what need?—‘Only _Thou_, O God.’”
How little her friends could guess the attitude of her mind may be
gathered from the entry that follows:
“Dec. 5th. M.’s and my mutual objection to family prayers evidenced by
staying out tonight. Justified?
I say, prayer continual and interjectional rather than formal and
obligatory.
But follow out logically? Public worship, etc.”
Meanwhile she was hard at work, drawing up schemes for the proposed
College, visiting schools and colleges for men, and striving to fit
herself for the new work. Mr. Morse must have felt that Mr. Plumptre had
recommended a worker of remarkable talents, fine sincerity and most
unusual enthusiasm, one whose knowledge of life and of the world was far
in advance of what might have been expected from her years. Such
qualities have to be paid for, of course. Nature has a rather staggering
way of throwing in counterbalancing asperities, and, when S. J.-B.
proposed to foster a religious spirit in the college without the
formality of daily prayers, he must have begun to realize the
inflexibility of the person he was dealing with. He would probably have
sympathized with the dictum of Cousin Ellie,—“I would do anything for
you if I could only make even a slight alteration”!
All we actually know is that he showed no indication of wishing to draw
back; and at least one public meeting in support of the scheme was duly
held and reported at length in the local papers. Public opinion,
however, on the subject, needed more fundamental education than Mr.
Morse had allowed for, and—although S. J.-B.’s budget was characterized
by the splendid economy that was one of her most striking talents—the
project failed for want of adequate financial support.
“Feb. 22nd. Manchester scheme obiit. R.I.P.! I must be really in a bad
way to be able to find so few mental tears for this! It does
practically close up my foreground again. Heu mihi! Why mayn’t useless
people be smothered out of the way if there’s no possibility of being
or doing or having?
‘Because you’ve got to _learn_’, as that good Miss Harry said last
night.”
In the midst of these varied personal interests, S. J.-B. did not lose
touch with her old girls at Queen’s College. Indeed, when one realizes
the intensity of her own experiences, it is rather refreshing to see how
whole-heartedly she could enter into those of others.
“Feb. 23rd. 1864.
Brighton.
MY DEAR LUCY,
I feel rather guilty in not having written to you before this,
but I do not think that you will attribute the omission to any want of
interest in one of my dear old ‘children’.... I have to send you my
hearty congratulations and good wishes for the life that seems opening
so happily before you. Happiness is a wonderfully solemn thing,—a
thing to go down on one’s knees and thank God for....
‘So pray they, bowed with sorrow down,—
While we whom love and gladness crown
Bend lower yet in prayer;
With hearts so full we need to pray,
“Oh, make us worthy, Lord, alway,
This weight of love to bear....”’
Don’t be too self-distrustful, dear child,—I don’t believe that you
are at all ‘unfit to be a help to anyone’.... Send me as long a letter
as your indolence will admit of, and tell me all about your prospects,
and whether your engagement is likely to be a short or long one.”
“Dec. 13th. 1864.
... Having heard from E. B. of your marriage last month, I was not
quite so bewildered as I might have been at receiving an epistle from
a certain mysterious ‘Lucy Unwin’—
... I am so glad to hear of your being so happy, dear child (dear me,
I suppose I ought to be more respectful to so venerable a matron!) I
daresay if I heard the other side of the question it would not be so
full of wailings over your incompetencies general and particular as
yours is.... I should like exceedingly to see you in your new sphere
... and please thank your husband very much for taking me so much on
trust as to want to see me,—though perhaps, after all, the real
compliment is to _you_! It will be a great pleasure for me to come to
you for a few days when I am next in the North.”
[Received May 10th, 1865.]
I had hoped to pay you a visit before this, and I am afraid you will
be disappointed as well as myself when I tell you it must now, I fear,
be indefinitely deferred, for circumstances have made me decide rather
hurriedly to pay a long-planned visit to America for the purpose of
learning something about the schools and colleges there.
I am to start from Liverpool on Saturday the 27th., and am going to
take with me a girl whom you will perhaps hardly remember at Qu:
College:—indeed I think she was after your time,—Isabel Bain.
“May 14th., 1865.
DEAR LUCY,
I should like exceedingly to see you if it were possible before
sailing for America, and your letter has made me wish more than ever
to do so.
If I found it just possible to come to you for one day and night,
would you think it worth while to have me? I do not know what the
possibilities are,—are you _in_ the town?—or would it be an
undertaking to get to you from the station? Would it upset you all
terribly if I came and went at unearthly hours as I might have to do?
I should like to see you exceedingly, and I should like _very_ much to
see your husband,—if my coming in such a rush and making such a fuss
wouldn’t make him hate me.
Thank you very much for your photograph. There are no decent ones of
me, but I will see if I can find you up one of the least bad.”
The visit was paid in due course, and proved successful in every way.
Mr. Unwin frankly shared his wife’s admiration for the character and
gifts of her old college friend, and this was by no means the last visit
she paid to their Yorkshire home.
* * * * *
In the meantime S. J.-B. had carried out another idea that had been
simmering in her mind for long. It may be remembered how in her
childhood she had “bought tracts (for 6d) with Carry,” and had even,
apparently, been encouraged by her Father to give them away. The
distribution of evangelical tracts was a great feature of the religious
world in which she had been brought up, and, with the hopefulness of
youth, she felt how much good might be done by circulating helpful
religious pamphlets of a non-doctrinal kind. As a first step towards the
realization of this scheme, she herself wrote three tracts,[36] and had
them printed at her own expense. The most remarkable thing about them—in
view of the writer’s youth—is their non-controversial spirit. A Father
of the Church could not have written more simply. With proper machinery
for distribution they might have met with some considerable success: as
it was the poor little booklets crept timidly into the world only to be
pronounced sadly wanting in essentials by most of those who read them.
Footnote 36:
Appendix B.
“Very harmless, but very useless,” said Mrs. Jex-Blake, and she at least
knew enough of tracts to be an authority on the subject. She had evaded
reading these as long as possible, and, of course it was not to the
dearly-loved writer of them that she made the crushing comment.
The _Guardian_, strangely enough, reviewed them rather favourably, and a
few total strangers wrote to say that this was the thing for which they
had long been looking; but on the whole appreciation was rare.
“Frankly, I call them Cobbe and water,” said Mr. Morse.
For the Kingdom of Heaven is a treasure hid in a field, and S. J.-B.
never realized how few can avail themselves of the treasure without
first buying the field.
CHAPTER XIII
A VISIT TO SOME AMERICAN SCHOOLS AND COLLEGES
“I have such a feeling that with the new world, a new life will open.”
So S. J.-B. had written in October 1864, and, seven months later, she
sailed for Boston. This crossing of the Atlantic was another
considerable venture for the young woman of those days; and, although S.
J.-B. took with her a number of introductions, she knew no one on the
other side. She was fortunate, however, in her travelling companion,
Miss Isabel Bain (now Mrs. James Brander, H.M. Inspectress of Schools
for Madras, retired), a young girl of exceptional charm and promise, in
whose education S. J.-B. and her parents had taken a deep and active
interest.
It is scarcely necessary to say that both Mr. and Mrs. Jex-Blake
regarded the new enterprise with profound misgiving: a few days before
the parting Mrs. Jex-Blake had written to Mrs. Ballantyne:
“I was so sadly selfish and engrossed about America the few hours you
were here, that I must write a line to tell you how grateful I feel
for all your kindness to Sophy, and how thankful I am that she has
such a friend to consult with in this hour of need. I hope you did not
suffer for the way in which you were plagued here: it really was very
hard: though I quite believe you don’t think so.
Tuesday. Sophy’s letter has just come, and I do indeed need your
prayers and sympathy. The wrench it is to me to have her go is
indescribable, but I hope and believe my view will be more reasonable
as time goes on. Any way, I know I shall have strength to bear. It is
quite a panic, and I feel as if I must run away from it. Yet I would
not prevent it if I could. I should have been very thankful for an
older companion....
I ought not to plague you, her good kind friend.
May God bless you and _all_ dear to you.
Yours affectionately,
M. E. J.-B.
I hope to write you a less selfish letter another time. I am hardly
myself now. Is it not curious,—I have such a prejudice against
Americans that I hardly ever will read a book describing American
manners. I _hate_ descriptions of low life.”
Surely the frequent twinkle was returning to her eye when she wrote the
closing words of the postscript? In any case there is no doubt about it
a short time later when a question arose about Miss Bain’s leaving S.
J.-B. and becoming a student in one of the colleges they had visited
together:
“I think Daddy has a terror of only your bleached bones(!) being
found, if you went about without a companion.”
The two girls left Liverpool on May 27th, and, after experiencing some
rough weather which confined them to their berths, they staggered
gallantly up on deck to enjoy the voyage and to make the acquaintance of
their fellow-passengers. “A very nice Scotch Independent, Dr. Raleigh of
Canonbury,” is specially noted.
The great excitement of the voyage is described in a letter to her
Mother:
“After I had done writing to you, we were summoned by a cry of
‘Icebergs!’ and up we ran to see a bright white light on the horizon,
just visible, right on our track. Soon another came in sight and it
was really grand the next hour. The evening hardly beginning to close
in, but the cold _intense_, yet so beautiful.... On went the ship,
tearing on to the icebergs, that grew whiter and larger every minute,—
great cliffs of white rearing themselves out of the waves that beat
into spray at their base,—looking so strong and grim and beautiful.”
On June 8th the _Africa_ reached Boston about midnight, and next morning
the two young women went on shore to begin the new life. The weather was
very warm and most of the people to whom they had introductions were out
of town. The travellers suffered a good deal from the heat and from
various minor inconveniences due mainly to the strangeness and
expensiveness of life in general; but S. J.-B. does not fail to put on
record how much they enjoyed the ice-cream!
Dr. Lucy Sewall was at her post, but Mrs. Peter Taylor, in providing
this introduction had given the wrong address, and it was a couple of
days before they succeeded in finding her. The meeting was destined to
be full of significance in determining S. J.-B.’s future career.
It was an interesting moment in which to visit the States. The war was
over, but feeling still ran high, and, although the travellers met with
much kindness and hospitality, they were not a little surprised to find
themselves in an atmosphere of deep resentment against England.
“Oh, dear, How they turned on the tap, and talked right on end when
they got near politics, only pausing to wonder at our ‘ignorance’ in
England (that being, of course, the only source of difference of
opinion with them). Finally, after listening with the utmost patience
indefinitely—only devoutly wishing to kick over the table—I got
mentally [sic] collared by Miss Peabody with an accusation of being
‘still incredulous’, to which I replied very frankly, that ‘certainly
till I heard both sides I could form no definite opinion.’
Emerson was refreshing after the rest, inasmuch as, after speaking, he
would allow you to answer.... A Miss Elizabeth Hoar told me she had
seen Carlyle in London in 1862, and that he had said to her,—‘So
you’re quarrelling out there? Why don’t you let the Southerners go to
the devil with their niggers if they like, and you go to Heaven with
your virtues if you can?’ Rather sensible, I thought,—from one point
of view at any rate.”
There is a pleasant little letter from Emerson, written after this
meeting:
“Concord. Monday 14th June. [1865.]
DEAR MISS BLAKE,
I am sorry to be so very slow in sending you the address of Mr.
Fields’ good farmer in the White Mountains region. It is Selden C.
Willey, Compton Village, 6 miles from Plymouth, New Hampshire. I
looked for it immediately on my return from Mrs. Mann’s, but could not
find it, and now today have stumbled on it in looking for something
else. Tis probable that you may have seen Mr. Fields himself before
this time. When I have found my right correspondent at Oberlin, I
shall hope to bring you my letter in person.
With great regard,
R. W. EMERSON.
Miss Blake.”
The diary continues:
“Everyone most wonderfully kind and helpful to us personally—lots of
offers of introductions, etc. That nice Dr. Sewall very anxious that I
should not tire myself out and ‘get sick’. By the bye one really can
converse with her, I think.”
There is a kind little note from Dr. Sewall also:
“MY DEAR MISS BLAKE,
As usual this evening I enjoyed your society so much that I
forgot to say half that I wanted to....
If you call on Mr. Emerson today, I think you had better call in the
afternoon, as he told me he was engaged Wednesday and Saturday
forenoons.
Don’t have any neuralgia when you come to the Hospital today, or I may
want to try my Electromagnetic machine on your face. I have not seen
Dr. Zakrzewska yet, but I want you to come early.
Yours sincerely,
LUCY C. SEWALL.”
Dr. Lucy Sewall was at this time a young woman of 28, a worthy
descendant of “a long line of truly noble ancestry.”[37] She held the
appointment of Resident Physician to the New England Hospital for Women
and Children (an institution which had been founded in great measure
through the exertions of her father, the Hon. Samuel Sewall), but there
was nothing about her to suggest that she had adopted what was at that
time an unusual line of life for a woman. Singularly girlish in
appearance, she was and remained throughout life so gentle and womanly
that, until one knew her well, her reserves of strength were a source of
repeated surprise. “So simple and humble and kindly,” writes S. J.-B. at
this time,—“said she ‘_could_ not succeed in learning to think enough
before she spoke about a case.’”
Footnote 37:
See _inter alia_ Whittier’s poem, “The Prophecy of Samuel Sewall,
1697.”
No wonder S. J.-B. was attracted. A warm friendship sprang up between
the two young women, a friendship by means of which S. J.-B. was
introduced primarily to the world of Medicine, and, secondarily, to the
wide question of Feminism. She had been living, of course, in a feminist
world at home, and a very choice world of its kind; but here the
movement had become more explicit, its aims were clearly defined and
partially realized. It had, no doubt, lost a certain amount of charm in
the process, but that is the fate of all movements the world over. They
too have to be worked out “in the commonplace clay with which the world
provides us.”
In any case S. J.-B. was profoundly influenced by the change of
atmosphere. Her conception of woman’s work and woman’s sphere began to
widen out. On June 22nd she writes to her Mother:
“We saw Miss Crocker the other day,—late Mathematical professor at
Antioch,—and she impressed me extremely with her quiet dignity and
wisdom, and her tremendous Mathematics,—I _should_ so like to study
under her some day. I felt like an uppish dwarf beside some strong
quiet giant.”
And a few days later:
“By the way that wonderful astronomer, Maria Mitchell, whom I told you
we were going to see, is a _very_ nice woman—grand and able and strong
and kindly.... She is to be a professor at Poughkeepsie, and, if we go
there, I shall certainly hope to learn of her,—though I did not know
that Astronomy would ever have come into my life. Any way it will be a
great pleasure to know such a woman.”
On the same day she records in her diary:
“Sat for a couple of hours in Dr. Sewall’s dispensary this morning.
Some 36 cases heard and helped more or less. Some coming with bright
faces,—‘So much better, Doctor,’—some in pain enough, poor souls. Dr.
Sewall with such a kindly ready sympathy, and such clear firm
treatment for them all. Certainly the right woman in the right place,
except in as far as she herself gets to look sadly fagged and tired
sometimes.”
The state of S. J.-B.’s own health continued very unsatisfactory. “What
is one to do,” she says, “when one has alternate days of ‘feeling like a
tallow candle,’ and days of feeling rather grand and energetic, like
yesterday, when my ‘book’ was begun with a bounce?” After watching her
for some weeks, Dr. Sewall pronounced her “worn out in mind and body,”
and advised a holiday among the hills until the excessive heat was over.
So she paid a delightful visit to Professor and Mrs. Rogers at
Lunenburg, and then went on to West Compton near the White Mountains.
“The railway (a single line) cut through delicious woods with no fence
or wall, just through the wildest glades full of ferns and pyrolas,—
vistas of sun on fir and maple boles,—then again by the side of one
lovely lake after another, a perfect prodigality of beauty.”
“Aug. 18th 1865.
West Compton.
DARLING MOTHER,—I don’t think I shall be able to write by the next
mail, as we are going for a few days’ excursion round the mountains,
so I must send you off now as long a letter as I can manage, telling
you what we have been doing just lately.
First and foremost, I have been coming in useful as ‘teamster’, in
Yankee parlance, having been chiefly employed in driving my neighbours
all about the country lately. You would have laughed, I think, had you
seen my ‘span’ (pair of horses) the other day,—one brown, pretty
high,—the other mouse coloured and some three inches lower, the most
delightful variety prevailing in the harnessing and general appearance
of the two. Behind these beauties came six of us in a big rough
country ‘wagon’, all of painted wood,—two big seats fixed in a sort of
open cart.
We went through _such_ a ford,—the Penningewassett River, and (when
the horses didn’t bite each other) we got on grandly....”
“You haven’t the least idea what that word ‘woods’ means,—in England
there are just a few acres of carefully preserved trees and ‘no
trespassers allowed’. Here you plunge into a vast forest, miles and
miles every way,—lucky if you can find a path at all, else guiding
yourself by sun and stream and taking hours and hours to get a mile or
two,—yet all through so grand, so green, and so delicious! If you
could just have been with us yesterday! Every few minutes we found
some great tree fallen across our path, or some black bog of decayed
cedar or pine,—oh, the scents of those!—perfectly delicious;—and then
round we had to go, creeping, jumping or gliding round the
obstruction. Then we would come to some little clearing, and catch
such views of the mountains we were shut in with,—then on again and
hardly see daylight through the dense trees. And such mosses, such
ferns, such berries!
Then over the river somehow from rock to rock, and such a scramble up
among the cascades which came leaping down like liquid silver in the
sunlight, and such pools we did so want to bathe in, and had to
[refrain] for lack of time and towels! They called the distance 2½ or
3 miles, but we took just 3 hours to get there,—and then coming back
pretty sharply in about half the time. The only grief to me was—what
perhaps you will hardly sympathize in—that we didn’t come across any
bear. There are a good many left in the woods and one hears every now
and then of their being met, but they are getting few, and they are
proportionately timid and modest, running off full speed if they see
you. Wouldn’t it have been fun to see one?...
I think hardly anything strikes an Englisher more than the no-value of
wood here. Over the water it’s half high treason to hurt a tree;—here,
if you want a napkin-ring, you strip the bark off the first birch you
come to and make a lot; or, if you take it into your head, set fire to
the woods anywhere and have a bonfire of a dozen trees, and no one
says a word. We have seen woods on fire over and over again, and no
one says more than,—‘Oh, somebody’s fired the wood’; and the odd thing
is it doesn’t seem to spread as one would expect.
One comes continually to clearings full of blackened stumps not yet
grubbed up,—the beginning of a garden or house place perhaps. I want
to see a great big forest fire some day,—and I only wish I might see a
prairie on fire too; only that is said to be horribly dangerous. It is
so funny to hear here, as when I was asking about a certain road (from
St. Louis to California), ‘Yes, it’s the shortest, but the Indians are
cross just now and have been scalping a lot of people there’!
Well, darling, we had such a drive home by starlight last night, and
all enjoyed our day hugely. When we got in I suppose I walked slightly
lame or something, for my greeting was,—‘I guess you’re tired, an’t
you? You’re kind o’ waggling’!”
One is quite sorry to see the Boston postmark again; but the high
spirits do not flag. “You don’t know,” she writes to her Mother, “what
an immense thing it is for us to have got free admission to the Woman’s
Hospital life here,—we are always doing something jolly together with
the students and doctors,—all women, by the way.
Dr. Sewall is resident Physician, and is always asking us to spend
jolly evenings there,—or to join them in going to theatres, etc.
Yesterday we made an expedition in the evening to a famous place for
ice-cream, 8 of us there were—4 M.D.s (one of whom is a splendid
surgeon,—the first female surgeon I have heard of) two students and we
two. After the ices we went back to the Hospital, and played a most
ridiculous game of cards called ‘Muggins’, keeping us in roars of
laughter half the time. Then Dr. Tyng (the surgeon) sang, and, among
other things gave us a specimen of the ‘Shaker’ singing—with its very
peculiar religious dance,—have you heard about the Shakers? I hope to
see them and then I will tell you.
But can’t you understand how refreshing it is to slip into the bright
life of all these working people—working hard all day, and then so
ready for fun when work’s over? It reminds me of the full colour and
life of the old London times when all we working women were together.”
So she utilised every opportunity of getting information likely to help
in her study of the conditions of Women’s education. She regretted in
after life that her dislike of ‘lion-hunting’ had prevented her from
making—or cultivating—the acquaintance of well-known people who did not
seem likely to be of direct help in her work. Not that she disdained the
opportunities when they actually came within reach. Here is an
interesting episode in the course of her wanderings:
“Sept. 9th. Went over to Concord, Mass. by 11 a.m. train. At the
station found Waldo Emerson just fetching his wife and friends. I
spoke to him and he very cordially asked us to ‘take our dinner’ with
him. We accepted, first paying a visit to Mrs. Horace Mann and Miss
Peabody. Mrs. Mann gave me a letter to Mr. Pennel (her nephew) at St.
Louis, whither I am advised to go after Oberlin and Antioch perhaps.
Poughkeepsie we must visit later, by wish of the President, Dr.
Raymond.
Went on to Emerson’s to dinner. Was received by one of the daughters,
Ellen,—simple and kindly, the ‘housekeeper’, I should think—and shown
into a room with several people.... About 3 p.m. dinner served, more
English-wise than most, though with a new Irish maid for waiter, who
looked anxiously to ‘Ellen’ for orders. Another daughter, Edith (about
to be married) and a son, Edward. They had sherry on the table, which
I have only seen at the Rogers’ besides,... Pears and grapes,—partly
the queer sage grapes with tarry flavour,—on a pretty basket, large
and shallow.
Mr. Emerson struck me as having one of the sweetest expressions I have
ever seen on a man’s mouth. He was very kind in offering help. We
talked besides a little about Swedenborg, for whom he seemed to have
some admiration. ‘To be read as one reads a poet’s ideas,—not
critically,’ he said, and spoke of the pre-inspiration works on
science, etc., as really valuable.
Mrs. Emerson talked a little about ‘women’s questions’, female
franchise, etc.—and spoke of the wonderful blinding power of habit,—as
in slavery question,—looking to Christianity in its advance to set all
to rights.
I remarked that few had done more harm to the cause than St. Paul by
some of his words. She replied very truly that the fault lay rather in
those who would rigidly apply such words and consider them binding out
of all connection of time and place.”
It was left to a later friend to point out that St. Paul showed himself
in this respect the John Stuart Mill of his day when he asserted that
‘in Jesus Christ is neither male nor female.’
“Speaking a little to an old schoolfellow of Emerson’s he told me it
was hard for anyone to say what Emerson’s opinions were. I said I had
heard of him as a pantheist; he said at any rate he was one of the
best of men and had been from boyhood up.”
A few days later she visited Niagara,—“the only ‘pleasure’ thing” she
tells her Mother, “I _resolved_ to do if possible. We hope to spend next
Sunday there,—not a bad church, will it be?” From Niagara she writes to
Mrs. Unwin:
“Sept. 17th. 1865.
Niagara.
MY DEAR LUCY,
I congratulate you with all my heart on the birth of your little
son! I think by this time you will have forgotten all doubts and
difficulties, and all but pleasant feelings of responsibility, in your
great content, have you not? God very seldom sends us either duties or
blessings without showing us how to fulfil and enjoy and use them, and
I do not doubt but you will have found in your own case all sorts of
new powers and instincts develop with the need of them, and will have
by this time a pretty definite idea ‘What to do with a baby’—Is it not
so?...
I wish there existed a visual telegraph (if such a phrase may be
coined) and that I could give you a glimpse of the scene I have in
front of me, and which is continually stealing my eyes from my paper.
No less than Niagara in its full glory!—and what that glory is I don’t
think any _but_ eyes can tell. I have seen a good deal of beauty and
grandeur in my life, in Great Britain, Italy, Switzerland, etc., but I
think never anything so wonderfully, bewitchingly, grandly beautifully
as this. People talk of being disappointed in Niagara, but I think it
can only be because, for the first moment, the enormous width of the
Falls (900 feet in one case, 2000 in the other,—separated by an
island) prevents their recognizing their height as well, or else they
have not got the right natures to admire with! (and I think that last
is oftener the case than people think).
It gives one most wonderfully the feeling of power and immensity,—the
sort of feeling that was [expressed] long ago, ‘When I consider the
work of Thy fingers, what is man that Thou are mindful of him?’—and
yet the feeling of infinite beauty and harmony too. Before leaving we
go under the Falls, and into the ‘Cave of the Winds’ behind a vast
curtain of water, and that I think must give one almost more strongly
still the impression of might and vastness. It is very little use to
talk about it any more, I wish you could see it!
Thank you very much for writing to my Mother about A. I hope she will
get away from her present uncomfortable place,—it would give me great
pleasure if she came to you. Only I warn you I shall claim her some
day!
Goodbye, dear child. With all good wishes for you and yours, I am ever
Yours very sincerely,
S. L. JEX-BLAKE.”
From Niagara she went via Cleveland to Oberlin, and so began the tour
which she afterwards described in _A Visit to some American Schools and
Colleges_ (published by Macmillan in 1867). She had been very kindly
advised by Dr. Hill, the President of Harvard, as to the Colleges best
worth visiting, and the experience proved both interesting and useful.
At Oberlin the two sexes were almost equally represented, and “coloured”
students formed about a third of the whole number. “In the year of my
visit,” she writes, “it so happened that the only woman who graduated
was a coloured girl, originally a slave, who had not even then paid her
full ransom to her former owners.” A considerable proportion of students
of both sexes supported themselves wholly or in part by doing the
domestic work of the establishment. Manners were rather rough even for
the America of those days, but the standard of behaviour was high, and
the religious atmosphere almost overwhelming.
From Oberlin she went on to Hillsdale, St. Louis, and Antioch (at Yellow
Springs in Ohio) spending a few days or weeks at each; and afterwards
she visited a number of schools. What impressed her perhaps more than
anything else was the success with which the joint education of men and
women was carried on, and this impression was destined to play its part
in the later struggles of her life.
“If anyone asks you again about my views of comparative English and
American teaching,” she writes to her Mother, “I suppose I may say that
I believe on the whole American girls _are_ more thoroughly, and
especially more universally, taught fundamental things. They learn
Mathematics more thoroughly, and Latin more invariably; their knowledge
of modern languages is decidedly inferior (very naturally, being so far
from France, Germany, etc.) and their English and their manners both
less polished. But I should think a decidedly smaller number of them are
able to manage to grow up _quite_ ignorant!” It annoyed her a good deal
that, in the matter of pronunciation, an American will always ask you
“what dictionary you go by,” and seems quite unable to understand the
unwritten law of language which in England reigns supreme, and from
which, if a dictionary differs, it simply condemns itself.
Her birthday inspired a breezy letter from her brother:
“13 Sussex Square, Brighton.
Jan. 21. 1866.
MY DEAR SOPHY,
Many happy returns of your 26th birthday, as they would say in
Ireland: and may they ache find you younger and fresher!
We have been enjoying three very fresh but windy weeks here; and are
now leaving tomorrow for Rugby. We leave Violet, Katharine and Netta
here, however, as they are only half through measles....
We have ridden a good deal, been with the hounds more than usual; and
not read much. Lecky on Rationalism is the best book I have read
lately, of the fairly solid sort; Swinburne’s Atalanta the best new
poem; Citoyenne Jacqueline the best new novel; Mr. ——’s the worst
stale sermons. Is there anything good out in American literature of
late? Artemus Ward is good in his line, but his line is audacious.
I should like six months in America immensely; locomotive, with
introductions, I don’t know the politics of the people you are with or
have been with; but I was always a Northerner.... I wonder how the
Mexican business will end: and cannot pretend to guess: but I hope
Louis Napoleon ... will soon withdraw his troops, and Maximilian will
collapse. We are on the eve of a noisy session, I expect; Home Office
stung by reform into a queer tarantula, and Colonial secretaries
badgered about Jamaica by both sides of the House. I cannot pretend to
judge till we get more evidence: but as yet none has turned up which
in my eyes justifies the execution of Gordon—who for all that was
probably deep.... Have I wearied you out with politics? or have you
not read so far?
With love from us all,
I am your affecte brother,
T. W. JEX-BLAKE.”
She answered the letter while the stimulus of it was fresh:
“DEAR TOM,
Many thanks for your birthday letter. Though they came rather
late, I got quite a budget at last.
I quite agree that you ought to come and see America,—both its people
and its scenery. It’s a queer study in all ways, one finds so much to
like and respect, and so much that one is inclined to laugh at. People
are certainly less tied and bound by the chain of ‘on dit’, on this
side the water, and that tells more for good than for evil, I think;
but on the other hand it lets people who are so inclined fall into
overgrown eccentricities, and set at nought to an alarming extent all
rules of grammar and etiquette when they don’t suit. In fact I have
not found more than three or four Americans altogether who talk what
we should consider cultivated English, or behave as if they had been
in what we call cultivated society. They’ll pick their teeth while
they talk to you (so will the shopmen—‘store clerks’, if you please,—
while they serve you) spit within an inch of you, eat things in the
streets while walking with you, perhaps whistle and sing ditto; talk
about what they ‘had ought to do’, say they should ‘admire to do so
and so for you’ or ask if they shall ‘turn out the tea,’ etc. And all
this from men who have been through College, and women who know more
Mathematics, Latin, Greek and Philosophy than I dare think about. In
fact there’s a very curious contrast in the much higher level of
learning and the much lower level of outward signs of refinement in
American as compared with English averages.
I’m afraid that while we may have some few hundreds better educated,—
more ‘elegant scholars’—than any in America, we must confess that
there is here a very much higher percentage of fairly well read and
well educated people than with us. I notice this specially among the
girls—as to the men I know less. But almost all girls here have
studied a good deal things few English girls go much into—specially
Mathematics and natural science.
Then I am sure no one ought to speak more highly than I of American
kindness and hospitality,—I am very much afraid few foreigners would
have found in England such a welcome as I met with here. People were
so cordially kind in helping me in all sorts of ways.... There seems
to me much less of the spirit of ‘pride of office,’ etc., much more
readiness to admit one everywhere to see everything, and to be ready
to help without standing too much on one’s dignity. I found this
specially in the case of Dr. Hill, President of Harvard University,
the first in America—and the same in the case of the presidents of the
colleges for both sexes, Oberlin, Hillsdale, and Antioch.
I don’t know whether you will care for all these results of my
observations, but your mention of America and wish to see it drew them
out.
As to politics, I knew very little about them before I came, and had a
faint sort of prejudice in favour of the South, believing the North to
be very insincere about slavery, etc. I now think that the Anti-
slavery cry _has_ been used most shamelessly for private and political
ends by some, but that there is at the heart of Yankeedom a strong
true heart beating earnestly in favour of liberty for negroes as well
as whites, and that there are and have been very many most sincerely
bent on very unselfish ends, and a great deal of real patriotism (on
both sides probably) evolved by the war.
I am chiefly with some of the very best of the Anti-slavery people.
The Sewalls used to shelter escaped negroes when to do so was a penal
offence.
I saw Lecky’s Rationalism (which ought rather to be called the History
of Reasonableness) before I left England, but only read part of it. I
first found it on Miss Cobbe’s table, and liked it very much. I don’t
know of any great American books lately,—they pirate almost everything
English.
I think the English here must be feeling pretty badly about Jamaican
affairs,—I am. They say the French troops are certainly to evacuate
Mexico now....
I hope Hetty got thanked for her note a little while ago,—this letter
is meant as much for her as for you, though I forgot to begin it so.
Love to the bairns. I suppose I shall scarcely know them when I get
back.
Your aff. sister,
S. L. J.-B.”
CHAPTER XIV
QUESTIONINGS
When S. J.-B. left England her plan had been to spend at least part of
the winter with an old school-friend, now married to the Revd. Addington
Venables—afterwards Bishop—of Nassau in the West Indies; but life in
Boston proved too attractive. She liked the women doctors and they liked
her; possibly they had designs on her; in any case Dr. Sewall was
anxious to get her health up to such a level as would make professional
life a possibility; and, for the furtherance of this end, it was
arranged that she should share the resident’s little house in connection
with the hospital. Miss Isabel Bain had gone to pursue her education in
one of the good girls’ schools. Already in October one had heard of S.
J.-B. “helping the doctor through oceans of figures in hospital
reports,” and one can well believe that she was an efficient member of
the little community. The very day after she took up her residence in
the hospital precincts the “student” who did the dispensing was summoned
away, and as—of course!—there was a run of arduous cases at the same
time, S. J.-B. cheerfully volunteered to do the dispensing,—“and was
very thankfully accepted” to fill the gap! Within a week she writes to
her Mother:
“It’s very amusing, dear, to learn to write and make up prescriptions
so easily,—I shall be up to the doctors in future you see! I have just
been making one up for myself under the doctor’s directions, to my
great amusement,— ... and precious nasty it is!
It’s a great comfort to be of some sort of use to these people who are
so frightfully overworked just now.... Besides being apothecary, I’m
general secretary,—write all the business letters (which the doctor
hates) and post up the hospital records of cases, etc.; and besides
this I requested to be and got appointed what I call ‘chaplain’ with
discretionary powers. The only people who visit in the hospital
(besides friends at visiting hours) are the Lady Managers, each of
whom has a month on duty, and besides that Mr. Barnard comes and holds
a short service and preaches every Sunday afternoon. So I thought that
the patients would like some reading, etc., sometimes, and Dr. Sewall
gave me leave to do all I liked.... You can’t think how pleased they
were all of them, and how heartily they asked me to come again, which
I shall do pretty often.”
A week later (Nov. 24th) she writes again:
“At present I am so exceedingly content in my quaint pleasant quarters
in the midst of so new a working world, that I hardly feel the need of
anything beyond; and I do greatly want quiet and rest to ‘recuperate’
as the new word goes. I can’t tell you when I have found so much
chance of rest of mind and quiet interest in things wholly unconnected
with the old pain,—not for years, I am sure, and I have ready to hand
just as much work as I feel able for, and yet no strain on me to do it
if I am not able. I can’t tell you the pleasure it gives one simply to
see Dr. Sewall in her hospital and especially among her poor patients.
She is such a true _Healer_;—so infinitely compassionate and
sympathetic, with blue eyes sometimes quite full of sorrow for the
people’s pain, yet such strong firm hand and will to remedy even
_through_ pain. I say a dozen times a day,—‘Were I not a teacher, I
would be a doctor’—if I could.
(Nov. 27th.) This hospital life is simply charming. So busy, so
simple, so quaint and so interesting! I am entering more and more
fully into it daily, and finding more and more nooks which I can fill
... sometimes giving mechanical aid in operations where they want an
extra hand, etc.
Darling, one very unexpected result is coming out of this new life
which I embraced simply for its rest and comfort,—I find myself
getting desperately in love with medicine as a science and as an art,
to an extent I could not have believed possible. I always associated
so much that is repulsive and nasty with it in my mind, but I find
that one really loses all sense of that in close contact,—that the
beauty of nature’s arrangements and of art’s contrivances absorb one’s
mind from everything less pleasant, and I find myself saying to myself
a dozen times a day that, did I not feel my life devoted to another
object, I would be a doctor straightway. As it is, I mean to use all
the time I have in gaining all I can, by observation (for which one so
rarely has such a chance) even more than by study, though I find
myself devouring all sorts of medical works too, and am quite amazed
to find how far even in this little time I am able to understand to a
certain extent all sorts of things going on around me, and how _very_
interesting they all become in the new light.... Of course one has
access to an enormous medical library here, and the junior doctors are
all as ready to help or show me all I want as possible. I in my turn
do all I can to take extra work which I can do off their hands. Today
the hospital note-book was handed over to me, and I went round with
the physicians taking down directions for food, medicines, etc., and
then making up the latter and taking them to the wards: all of which
was very little for me to do, and very interesting, but a great deal
saved for the over-worked junior doctor of the wards. I am really a
_great_ deal stronger and healthier than I have been for a long time.”
“Nov. 27th. We get up at 6.30 a.m.,—breakfast at 7, then go round the
wards with the doctors, then I make up the hospital medicines and see
what drugs need to be ordered into the dispensary. The Dispensary
opens at 9, or two days in the week at 10, and on Mondays and
Thursdays (Dr. Sewall’s days) I am there all the morning, making up
prescriptions as fast as she writes them (two of us generally have our
hands full, but sometimes I am alone), and very often we have not got
through our work when the dinner-bell rings at 1 p.m. Dr. Sewall
always has an enormous number of patients—from 60 to 70, and if I go
down into the Dispensary waiting-room I get seized on so eagerly,—‘Is
Dr. Sewall here herself?’ as she is occasionally obliged to be absent
part of the time.
I think anyone who passed a couple of mornings in this dispensary
would go away pretty well convinced of the enormous advantage of women
doctors; and one sees daily how the poor women feel it by the crowds
that come on the four days in the week when the lady physicians are in
charge, and the handful that comes on the two days when a man
presides.... They say that they have cases again and again of long-
standing diseases which the women have borne rather than go to a man
with their troubles,—and I don’t wonder at it.”
15th.I have just begun to have a little Sunday service in the wards
where there was none before. Dr. Sewall is very good in letting me
make such plans if I like, and comes herself to the service. Of course
we have a very mixed multitude, but I think we manage to worship our
‘Father in Heaven’ and look forward to the ‘One fold’ some day, when
neither ‘Jerusalem nor this mountain’ shall be the vital thing.”
“(Dec. 19th.) My chaplain’s work has rather fallen into abeyance now
from the crush of other things,—the only thing I do regularly being
the Sunday service, writing a weekly sermon for which, by the bye, is
not to be omitted in one’s list of work. It’s all but impossible to
find any printed ones one could read,—one needs to be so absolutely
non-doctrinal and non-combative; and besides the doctors and people
will come to hear mine when they’d think twice about anything else.
The young surgeon I told you about has a splendid voice, and last
Sunday she brought a sort of large accordion and played all our hymn
tunes, so we are getting quite grand. Wouldn’t you like, darling, to
peep in at us and see all our busy doings?—I _wish_ you could.”
To say that the young doctors who came to her services were frankly
critical of her and her beliefs is an understatement of the facts. Some
of their remarks have survived,—clever and flippant for the most part;
but the following letter from an intimate friend, whom she had persuaded
to accompany her to church, is worth quoting:
“Sunday evening, 11 o’clock.
My dear Baby, I cannot sleep for thinking of the rude speeches I made
to you this evening. I am so sorry that I said them, but at the same
time I could not help it,—the whole service and the going to church of
most all the people there was such a farce that it roused the devil in
my nature.
Besides all this, my Baby answered me so sweetly and truly that it did
me good to make her talk, and raised my faith in human goodness which
was getting almost extinguished by that man’s sermon. If I ever get
into such a disagreeable mood again, and say ugly things to tease you,
you must give me a good moral box on the ear so as to bring me to my
senses.
I do not believe that going to church is good for me.
Don’t think me foolish for writing this, and don’t let anything I said
today trouble you, but be as good to me as you have been.”
In the midst of all this busy life, S. J.-B. never forgot the family
festivals at home, the birthdays of parents and friends, the date when
such an one was to be married, or another to sail for India. This was a
striking gift, more of the heart than of the head, that she retained
throughout life. “I was thinking in bed this morning of the faithful few
who would remember my poor old birthday,” wrote her childhood’s
schoolmistress, Miss Teed, at this time, “And a little bird whispered,
‘You will get a letter from Sophy.’”
Not that she ever felt bound to say the thing that was expected of her.
“I suppose you don’t expect me to say much about Uncle’s death,
darling,” she writes to her Mother. “It cannot seem to me sad for anyone
concerned. I do not think he would have learned much more here;
doubtless he will hereafter.”
Three weeks before the anniversary of her parents’ wedding, she writes
to her sister:
“DEAR OLD CHARLIE,—Please keep the enclosed very secret till the
morning of May 12th.
Get a grand plant of some sort—full of blossom, geranium or fuchsia or
something,—any price up to 5s.—and put the letter in its leaves on
Mother’s plate at breakfast. _Mind_ you get a glorious plant....
Your aff. sis.,
S. L. J.-B.”
From a letter written to her Mother at Christmas 1865 one realizes what
a child she was still:
“Our rooms did get so prettily decorated,—Dr. Sewall is clever that
way,—and I took holly round to all the wards that everybody might have
some bits to look at. We had quite a rush of babies just then—four
born on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day.—When we were going round the
wards on Christmas Day Dr. Sewall ordered of course ‘light diet’ for
the new Mothers,—so I said laughingly to console them, ‘Well, I
guessed the babies were worth losing a dinner for, weren’t they?’
‘Humph!’ says one of the Mothers, ‘a good dinner’s worth more to poor
folks!’
To tell the truth I was too much taken aback to reflect what a
sensible woman she was!—What would _you_ have said, dear?
Darling, I come more and more to the conclusion that anyone who wishes
to preserve intact all romantic ideas about ‘Mother’s love,’ etc., had
better not live in a Lying-in Hospital. It’s a grand and blessed thing
when it does come, but that isn’t always. We had two of the babies
born here found deserted in the streets a few days ago,—the day after
their mothers were discharged.”
On March 4th, 1866, she writes to her Mother:
“I have given up my Sunday service, or at least have resigned it into
the hands of a minister who already had a service in the medical
wards. I found it very hard to find time to prepare properly for it,
and sometimes it tried my nerves very much, and besides it got to be a
great weight upon me in the way of responsibility and absolute honesty
in _what_ I said. Things seem so very un-clear to my own mind that it
rather weighs upon me and worries me to be trying to say much about
them to others. Perhaps this state may just pass away again, but in
the meantime I like best to ‘be true to every honest thought’ and,
till I’m sure, to be silent.
Much love to Daddy and Carry, and such a lot of kisses for my darling.
Yours lovingly,
SOPH.”
To understand the inner history of this change one must revert to the
diary,—the most intimate friend of all—and this takes us back for a
moment to the time of her arrival in America.
“June 18th. How thoughts and plans and possibilities rush upon me! The
opening of the bar to women here,—Mr. Sewall’s wish for a female
pupil. ‘Ah,’ as I said to L.E.S. last night, ‘if I had been an
American, I believe I should not have doubted to be a lawyer.’ She
thinks one _should_ be, if one has the powers and will.
Yes, but is the ‘dedication’ and vocation of years nothing? Have I
believed rightly or wrongly that God meant me to do something for
teaching,—and that in England,—to the almost certain exclusion of all
other life-work? Rightly, I think.
Then, again, the ministry. What seems to draw me so irresistibly that
way? Is it pride or wish of note, or is it vocation? Is it partly Dr.
Arnold’s belief that Headmaster ought also to be chaplain?...
One seems at crossways,—‘the tide’ perhaps. Well, _look_,—and surely
the kindly Light will lead.”
Anyone who had gone through all S.J.-B.’s papers up to this date with an
open mind would have said that the choice really lay between teaching
and preaching. All her life she had been more interested in religious
subjects than in any others, and her gifts of exposition and of public
speaking were far above the average in either sex. In later years, when
she was addressing thousands of people, she could make all hear without
seeming to raise her voice; it remained full, mellow, easy, perfectly
controlled, just as when she sat at the head of her own dinner-table.
She might have spent some considerable part of the day in “wishing
somebody would shoot her,” but no one would have guessed it when the
moment came. “My mind is perfectly at ease when _she_ rises to speak,”
said one of her patients in Edinburgh, many years later, “one feels then
that humanly speaking nothing can go wrong.” As a matter of fact it was
when she was addressing a large audience that she looked most radiantly
happy.
In many ways, then, she would have made a good minister; we know that
she wrote a number of sermons that were appreciated by her colleagues,
and she went so far as to preach at Weymouth (Mass.) for the Rev.
Olympia Brown. “On seeing Him who is invisible” was the subject she
chose, and, judged by ordinary standards, the sermon seems to have been
a success.
The main reason why she did not follow it up was (as indicated in the
last-quoted letter to her Mother) the change that took place in her
religious views after she had lived some time in America. In England she
had been considered an advanced thinker on religious subjects: in
America—the America in which her lot happened to be thrown—she was
amazingly orthodox and conservative. For the first time she found
herself among people who really _did not care_ about religion as she
understood it.
“July 2nd. Very nice these people are,” she writes in her diary, “and
very nice Mrs. Rogers’ deep clear interest about the poor and wicked,—
refuges, etc.
Yet is there not in them the sort of un-religiousness which half jars
on one in Unitarians? I wonder _why_. I _hope_ I shan’t get into it.
‘_More_ of reverence in us dwell.’ Yet so difficult in throwing off
old bonds of sentiment not to lose something of the real feeling,—and,
as Miss Cobbe says, if our religion is not a synthesis of _all_ the
good and beauty we know, we are less, not more, by rejecting errors.”
And again:
“A new psychical study in the shape of Mrs. F., who ‘can believe in
Providence but not in God,’ and who ‘means to say that there is
absolute right and wrong, but _not_ good and bad people. People were
born with certain notions and acted accordingly; they did the best
they could and could do no more.’
Mr. F. allowing and accepting the consequence that men differed no
more from brutes than by finer organization, no more than the elephant
from the fish! It is really good to contrast opposite extremes of
thought,—it gives one a certain sense of stability and reality to have
to defend one’s castle on _both_ sides, and so to feel sure that it is
one’s own at least....
Talking of struggle as the only root of good, I quoted ‘perfect
_through_ suffering,’ and spoke of my belief in Christ’s struggle in
those 30 years as the only possible root of his accordance of will
with God’s.
July 16th. Curious how the things most living to me are just simple
absurdities to another. Talking of tombstones, Mrs. H. doesn’t like
them, as preventing the dead rising—in idea. Mrs. F.—‘Well, you don’t
expect them to, do you?’ (as a sort of _reductio ad absurdum_).
‘Certainly I do: the Bible says so.’ ‘Oh—aw—ah!’ with such a face,—‘if
I thought so, I’d take to Banting at once.’”
Curious how none of them seem to have seen that the frivolous remark
involved a great principle!
There were many stories and jokes on biblical themes, and—though S. J.-
B. even at this time was a touchstone in the matter of jokes, never
allowing one to pass which was not funny enough or clever enough to
justify its breadth or its seeming irreverence—her sense of humour was
keen.
“Suggestion to read the prayer for fair weather,—‘Lor, sir,—not a bit
of good with the wind in this quarter.’”
But she was constantly reverting to the old religious intensity:
“How reading of any spiritual conflict—even such an ‘ébauche’ as in
Agnes of Sorrento—rouses one’s whole nature in a sort of enthusiasm of
longing and half prophecy!...
Sometimes I feel such intense sympathy and pity for Christ because of
his very deification. That after spending his whole life to learn and
tell men about his Father, he should find them, after his death,
trying to set him up himself to obscure that Father,—making God a foil
to Christ!”
With that extraordinary frankness that does such credit to both, she
writes to her Mother at this time,—“I was thinking the other day how
curious it was that I really never read one Unitarian book till I was
altogether Unitarian,[38]—never one but the Bible at least, if that
counts.”
Footnote 38:
It was only for a very brief period of her life that S. J.-B. would
have called herself by this name.
“It is strange,” says someone, “that, in all our talk of the evolution
of the individual, we fail to recognize the evolution of the medium.” S.
J.-B. seems to have thought—as so many earnest spirits thought in those
days—that she stood practically alone. “It has so been,” she says in the
same letter to her Mother, “(I can’t say _chanced_) that I have had next
to no human sympathy or help on my way. I do not remember that anyone
but Mrs. Ballantyne has given me much of either in this one strife, and
before I knew her the worst was over.”
One must bear this in mind in reading the passage that follows:
“To realize more and more that my life will be one—for years if not to
the end—of struggle and perhaps obloquy, certainly outcasting from the
synagogue,—struggle theological and social: and will it even succeed
at last? Yes, surely,—inasmuch as Robertson says how to fall in the
gap is success,—to be one of the conquering army, if not of the
conquerors.”
The next entry in the diary is the quotation of a flippant joke about
the Californians who “when they go to a certain warm abode have yet to
send back for their blankets.”
“July 30th. A very interesting talk with the Fs. ... trying hard to
show Mrs. F., who longs so to believe in a loving God, ‘Thou wouldst
not seek me, hadst thou not found me,’—and that to long is almost to
believe. Also to show her that Christ’s Christianity is a strong true
manly thing,—that what she deprecates is the letter not the spirit,
and that her willingness to live, and yet fear to die, without
Christianity is of the essence of Calvinism.
With him, still more interesting, (except that one pities and longs to
help her) about origin of evil, free will, etc. I arguing that God
_could_ not give men the possibility of virtue without the possibility
of evil,—he arguing a higher state where evil not possible. I say—then
you exclude the idea of goodness from God.
With some effort cleared ideas so far as to detect the ‘undistributed
middle term,’ to distinguish between the possibility of evil and the
wish _toward_ evil. Saying that the very truth we prized in
Unitarianism was that it said ‘Christ, if God, was no example’ and
that Christ’s very goodness consisted in that he had the possibility
of evil and no wish for evil.
Illustrating with May forbidden sugar, in a room with and without it.
In one case unable to disobey, in the other restrained from the wish
to disobey.
The two, confused in one, being absolute opposites.
Is this all part of my training ‘for the ministry’? Please God. One
does so gain a clearness never, one trusts, to be lost.
He asked me tonight if I did not find I had a clearness of thought and
language very rare; and she said I was the first person who had made
her feel the intense reality of the invisible and long after it.
Please God, a prophecy.
I said I had won through infinite struggle—almost ‘to blood’—a
certainty to which the visibility of the outer was nothing. And,
please God, it is deeply true.”
Ah me, Prometheus! The audacity of us small mortals all!
But the words that follow are indeed ‘a prophecy.’
“I have such a conviction of infinite struggle and contest in the
future,—yet please God, of earnest, on-pressing struggle, and in the
end, victory and Rest....
Oh, dear, the ‘religious’ people and their effects!—very nearly making
L. E. S. hate the name. So far from all good being ‘in the name of our
Lord Jesus Christ’ or rather in God’s, there is actually room for the
reverse to be said;—not wholly truly, I trust though. But she said,
‘If I want help for those poor things in or out of hospital, I never
go near the pious people. I have and I know them. Go to atheists, and
you are never refused.’
Oh, dear!”
Knowing the spiritual history of earnest souls in that generation, one
is not surprised to come a couple of months later upon the entry:
“I am wonderfully unsettled and uneasy somehow.... I do believe this
terrible sort of logical doubt of Theism that enters in—_not_ un-
faith, but a failure of the abiding surety—an entrance of the
admission how possibly _reasonable_ Atheism may be—hurts horribly.
And then isn’t the whole world void?
Oh for the ‘_I have prayed for thee that thy faith fail not_‘!—and
doubtless one has it,—both in ’_Neither pray I for these alone_,’ and
also in those who live and love one, Mother and Octa....
L.’s absence of sympathy weighs heavily. Hitherto all my friends have
met me here,—she does not. ‘All the help she ever got, she got from
herself and her will.’ Not from the Bible or hymns, etc. She calls
herself a theist, but it seems to me to run close to practical
atheism....”
“Oct. 29th. She _is_ so good! Told her something of today’s pain, she
so sympathizing and good! Believed that the struggle was part of the
sequence of early training and later reaction into ‘wider faith’—what
many had to go through one time or another. I spoke of herself,—asked
her what practical difference she would find if an atheist. ‘Not much
generally,’ she thought, but in trouble she did pray. She couldn’t
help it, and believed it was good, and when her friends died she was
happier. ‘When she thought of it, she felt very sure about God, but
very seldom did stop to think. She was sure her first duty was her
work, etc. and then she had small time and sense left.
I said lives not continually lived as seeing Him who is invisible
would be worth but little; she said Then her’s was so, and many
others. So I retracted hastily. ‘At least _mine_ would be.’
Perhaps her’s is actually higher and more childlike. ‘He will care for
my soul,’[39] as it were.”
“Nov. 13th. Looking at p. 253, ‘the Ministry?’, I ask whether the sort
of spiritual speechlessness—almost deadness—is not perhaps a merciful
answer to that question. Clearly I can’t preach now.”
“Nov. 24th. This temptation to medicine is pretty strong in some ways,
both as to present study and future life.... But ‘not each on all’
come the claims,—_this_ is surely already responded to, and will
surely grow without me.
I feel as if my work would not [how little she knew!] as if, at least,
it was given _me_ to do and needed most of all my labour.
So ’Traveller, hold thy cloak’!
While it was identical with life interests and labour am I to claim
‘vocation,’ and then when others open, forsake it?
‘Shalt not excel.’”
“Nov. 25th. I cannot but believe that if God enables me ... to do my
work as I have believed and planned it, it will do wider, deeper good
for England than the addition of one woman doctor can.[40]
And then if I say,—‘Ah, but see how my theology will impede me!—well,
would you have everyone give up working but those who hold the popular
views?—is it not just those whose views have changed who need to work
and justify them, and not hide light under a bushel at call of
indolence or cowardice? You know that you believe in the horrible harm
of leaving education to Calvinists, downtreading and hardening earth
round the root,—that you believe in children being taught ‘the two
commandments’ and no more,—and yet, because you would so teach them,
you half shrink from the battle through which you must do it.
L. E. S. says, ‘If you feel you can and wish to be a doctor, you
ought.’ Ah, but I _can_ do the other too. And if it is only selfish or
worldly considerations that sway you to medicine—if it is the interest
or the power or the success, mainly or wholly—if it is the
difficulties present or future that make you half yearn to turn from
the other—surely these are no reasons.
Surely, having presented ourselves, our souls and bodies, a reasonable
sacrifice, these things no longer enter in.”
Footnote 39:
The reference is probably to the reply of Wilberforce when asked
whether in his struggle for the emancipation of the slaves, he was not
neglecting his own soul,—“I had forgotten that I had a soul.”
Footnote 40:
“But thou wouldst not _alone_
Be saved, my father! _alone_
Conquer and come to thy goal,
Leaving the rest in the wild.
* * * * *
... to thee it was given
Many to save with thyself;
And, at the end of the day,
O faithful shepherd! to come,
Bringing thy sheep in thy hand.”
In view of all that was to follow, it is interesting that, in turning to
Medicine, she should suspect herself of ‘half shrinking from the
battle.’ Here is proof, if proof were needed, that while half of her
enjoyed the fray, the other half had to be dragged, an unwilling
captive, begging always to lie down and be at peace.
“The Medicine fascinates me.... If I resume teaching, it will be grand
to have an M.D. for head of College: if not, why Medicine is a ‘good
work,’ and if I am led up to it, it may be mine after all.
But won’t E.G. be cross?”
Here are two pleasant little sidelights on the situation—from letters to
her Mother:
“(Jan. 21st. 1866.) And, darling, do you know that the doctor has such
a splendid temper, and is so infinitely gentle, that I really believe
she is improving mine,—because I’m absolutely ashamed to be cross to
anybody so good. Suppose I come home angelic, dear?”
Her best friends would have said there was no great cause for anxiety on
that score.
“(Feb. 6th.) Yes, dear, I mean to be a thoroughly good nurse for you
at any rate, if ever you need me; as to ‘Doctor too,’ I can’t say. I
should like to be enough of one at least to know how to save you some
pain. I listen to and learn specially everything that I think can ever
help my darling,—it would be grand to be of some use and comfort to
her if she was ill.”
A few weeks later she wrote to Mrs. Unwin:
“13 Pleasant Street, Boston.
March 3rd. 1866.
MY DEAR LUCY,
I hope you are quite prepared to renew your invitation to me for
next summer, for I’m beginning to think seriously of my visit home,
and I want very much to see you! I say my ‘visit’ for I have been so
well and strong since I came to America, and have found so much to
interest me, that I think it very likely I may come back here after
seeing all my home folks....
I am so glad to hear that you have got Alice with you, and expect to
like her. She is a real friend of mine, and a very true and valuable
one.... I only hope you will let her take as good care of you as she
used to do of me....
Whenever you feel energetic enough to enjoy a chat by pen and paper, I
shall be very pleased to hear of your doings. Pray tell me all about
the Baby—of course the most wonderful of his kind—and be sure, dear
child, that I shall care very much to hear and know about everything
that concerns you.
Please give the enclosed lines to A. I shall enjoin her to feed you up
no end, and whenever we do meet, be sure I shall ask if you let
yourself be taken proper and sensible care of. I believe in food and
rest as just the best doctors in creation—with all my new medical
lights!
Goodbye, dear child. With every good wish for you in the New Year, I
am,
Yours affectionately,
S. L. J.-B.”
All through this time her happy letters had been giving no small
pleasure to the “old folks” at home.
“Brighton. 18th Dec. 1865.
DEAREST,
Your welcome letter arrived a day or two before the 17th., but
dear Mother kept it back till _the_ morning. Thanks for all your good
wishes. One thing you can always do,—pray for me,—and that, I trust,
you will do daily. I have constant faith in prayer simply offered up
to our heavenly Father through the one mediator between God and man. I
believe it never fails.
I am rejoiced you are so quiet at Boston, and have employment that
interests you, but even that work will hurt you, remember, if you have
too much of it. You want _rest_, dearest child, and only light
agreeable work on your hands. I wish I could see Dr. Sewall, to give
her a Father’s heartfelt thanks for all her loving kindness to you.
She is indeed an invaluable friend. If I am to see her, she must come
to Europe, for I shall never cross the Atlantic.... I am _very_ glad
you are so well, and your letters are so cheery that they are a great
pleasure.
We are all, thank God, fairly well, and are to have Tom and his wife,
and four (I think) of the children here after Christmas. On Thursday
last, at 2 a.m. their house was on fire, and till 2.30 a.m. he did not
expect to save the house; and had there been a high wind, nothing
could have saved it probably. Mercifully it was a still night and
everything went well. Two engines were on the spot rapidly, in perfect
order,—plenty of water close by, and the superintendent very active
and intelligent. No crowd, and the entrances kept clear by respectable
known men: and by three o’clock every spark was out.
The children were sent off rapidly to the school-house, and all _five_
(baby being put elsewhere) put in Miss Temple’s bed! Nobody has been
hurt,—a few colds and that seems all. Our God be praised. How
different it might have been!
Your affecte Father,
T. JEX-BLAKE.”
And the Mother writes:
“Jan. 29th. 1866.... You were very good and very right not to attempt
to enter yet as a student....
I had much rather _know_ you well and happy there than see you ill and
know you worried here. If they would only have the Cable, I think
Boston no distance. I should certainly like the Cable,—but I don’t
hear a word about it. Couldn’t you apply to Government?”
“Feb. 20th. I hope your medical education is progressing, and that you
don’t addle your brains. I shall expect you to make something on the
way home by your medical knowledge.”
“Mar. 5th. It is such a repose and joy to me to hear of your being
occupied so usefully and happily, and feeling comparatively well,
though I suspect sometimes my little one is a wee overdone.”
The medical study was more or less of a joke so far to her friends at
home, and many are the enquiries as to when she means to return and go
on with her life after this interesting digression.
“I am very glad you find things and people pleasant in America,”
writes Mrs. Unwin. “I hope they won’t be so nice that they will tempt
you to stay there very long, for I shall be very glad when I can think
of you again without that great sea between us. I do so want a long
talk with you about no end of things. I don’t think I ever wanted you
more than when I was ill.”
And Mr. Unwin expressed the view of many when he wrote:
“If I told you of the estimate in which I hold the purpose to which
you are devoting your life, you would suspect me of flattery, so I
abstain; but, barring all that, your friends in England are in great
need of you, and I think it is very horrid that you should leave them
all, to whom you would be of infinite service, on God knows what
outlandish errand. They all grudge you to Boston entirely, so pray be
quick and come back.”
Dr. Sewall, on the other hand, had become not a little dependent on her
competent helper, and, although this friendship too was not without the
“cataracts and breaks” to which S. J.-B. so often refers in her diary,
there is no doubt that the older and gentler woman found it not only a
pleasure but a great asset. “How I wish I had you here: I do so want
your _strength_! So few people are strong,” is a sentiment that recurs
in her letters many times from now to the end of her life.
So in June 1866, S. J.-B. returned to England to see her parents, and to
talk over the whole question of her future career with them and with
other friends.
“Most people are much more in favour of Medicine than I expected,” she
writes, “except Miss Garrett, who thinks me not specially suited, and
E. S. M., who thinks it indecent of unmarried women knowing all about
these things.”
“July 8th. Sunday. ‘Taller,’ say Laurence, Mother and self. ‘More
firmly knit,’ say do. ‘Muscles like iron, as if rowing all morning and
prize-fighting all afternoon,’ says Nigger.
Well done America and L. E. S.!—bless her.”
Almost at the same moment Dr. Sewall was writing:
“I really feel quite well satisfied with the increase in my practice,
and if it continues to increase for the next two years as well, we
shall be able to take a fine house and live in style. I cannot tell
you how much pleasure I get out of anticipating our house-keeping.
When I am too tired to do anything, I lay on the sofa and plan and
plan and think what a good time we are going to have, and am as happy
as a cricket.”
So America won the day, though not without many questionings.
“August 12th. Sunday. On Sunday last at Mrs. Hyde’s suggestion wrote
to Macmillan. On Tuesday heard from him, and had a ‘book—not too
short’ warmly accepted by him, at ‘no risks and half profits.’
So we gradually come to our wishes when we have ceased to look for
them. I accept it almost as I did the preaching,—because I _had_ so
longed for it.
This day three weeks on the Atlantic,—5 weeks, home to L. E. S., I
trust. Study Medicine? ... or push on in literary career now opening
apparently?
How about conflicting interests and powers hereafter? If my book—
_inter alia_—brings me to notice of Commission,[41] etc.,—cry off from
my chance because too busy as a doctor?
Ah, well,—long way off yet! Do the work ‘lies nearest thee’ and leave
the rest!”
Footnote 41:
The Schools Inquiry Commission, presumably.
CHAPTER XV
PIONEER WORK IN AMERICA
On September 1st, 1866, S. J.-B. sailed again for America. A warm
welcome awaited her, and she speedily fell back into her niche at the
Women’s Hospital. Her main interest for the first month or two was the
writing of her book on _A Visit to Some American Schools and Colleges_,
the manuscript of which was duly despatched to Macmillan in November.
Based though it avowedly was on somewhat limited observations, and
dealing with a transient stage of a great subject, the book was
extraordinarily fair and clear, and was greeted with genuine respect by
those who were qualified to form an opinion. What was equally important,
it made really excellent reading. At the close of a four column review
the _Athenaeum_ said:
“An English teacher, whose special avocations enabled her to gain
prompt attention from American instructors, and qualified her to
detect the true worth and significance of the facts brought under her
notice, Miss Jex-Blake has written a sensible and entertaining book
upon an important subject; and, while we thank her for some valuable
information, we venture to thank her also for the very agreeable
manner in which she imparts it.”
“Redolent with common sense and practical suggestions,” said _The
Stationer_.
How sane a view she took of the whole subject may be gathered from the
quotations given in the appendix.[42]
Footnote 42:
Appendix C.
Having happily despatched her book, she was free to give her whole mind
to the subject of Medicine, and she seems
now to have enrolled formally as a medical student. In any case we hear
of her dissecting—when material could be got—and finding, in the
stimulus this gave to her work, a new interest and fascination.
Excellent work was done at that Women’s Hospital in Boston, as a number
of our English women doctors have had reason to testify: sickness was
relieved, and—what is quite as much to the point—competent and able
doctors were turned out year by year. But of course the scholastic side
of the work was on a very different level. Even for those days, the
practical scientific education, and, above all, the sheer supply of
material, were inadequate in the extreme. Then as now, of course, it was
true that “la carrière ouverte aux talents,” and when women doctors were
so rare there was little doubt that a competent woman would make her
way. Certainly it was not the hallmark of a good University degree that
helped her, for good Universities existed for the male sex only.
Graduation in America to this day may mean a great deal or it may mean
just nothing at all. It was not the fault of the woman doctor of that
period if her “degree” was one that failed to inspire the enthusiasm of
those that understood.
Now S. J.-B.’s entry on any new sphere in life could seldom be fitly
described as the addition of a little more of the same stuff. For better
or worse, she was apt to come somewhat as the yeast comes to the dough,
and yet that metaphor, too, falls short, for the medium reacted upon her
as intensely perhaps as she acted on the medium. In the present case she
had drifted into medical work all uncritical and full of admiration[43];
but a visit to England brought her back as an outsider with her critical
faculty fully awake. She saw that the need of adequate Graduation—urgent
though it might be—was as nothing compared to the need of adequate
Education. It _was_ hard to make bricks without straw. In America women
doctors had proved, against heavy odds, that women doctors were wanted.
Why not give them a fair field? One heard on every side of the splendid
advantages laid, so to speak, at the feet of men students at Harvard.
Footnote 43:
As early as June, 1866, she had written to Dr. Sewall:—“I am glad you
are pleased with prospects as to the College; but, however good you
may get it to be, take notice (if I study at all) I don’t mean to
graduate at any Woman’s College,—on principle,—or else for vanity and
ambition sake,—which is it?” Whichever it was, there can be no doubt
as to the soundness of the decision, but she little guessed what that
decision was to cost.
Why should not women be admitted to Harvard?
Why not ask?
In April, 1867, the following correspondence was published in _The
Boston Daily Advertiser_:
“March 11th. 1867.
GENTLEMEN,
Finding it impossible to obtain elsewhere in New England a
thoroughly competent medical education, we hereby request permission
to enter the Harvard Medical School on the same terms and under the
same conditions as other students, there being, as we understand, no
university statute to the contrary.
On applying for tickets for the course, we were informed by the Dean
of the Medical Faculty that he and his coadjutors were unable to grant
them to us in consequence of some previous action taken by the
corporation, to whom now therefore we make request to remove any such
existing disability. In full faith in the words recently spoken with
reference to the University of Harvard,—‘American colleges are not
cloisters for the education of a few persons, but seats of learning
whose hospitable doors should be always open to every seeker after
knowledge’—we place our petition in your hands and subscribe
ourselves,
Your obedient servants,
SOPHIA JEX-BLAKE.
SUSAN DIMOCK.[44]
To the President and Fellows of the University of Harvard.”
Footnote 44:
Miss Susan Dimock was a student of great promise who afterwards
completed her education at Zurich. She was lost at sea in the wreck of
the steamer _Schiller_ in May 1875.
“Harvard University. April 8th. 1867.
MY DEAR MADAM,
After consultation with the faculty of the Medical College, the
corporation direct me to inform you and Miss Dimock that there is no
provision for the education of women in any department of this
university.
Neither the corporation nor the faculty wish to express any opinion as
to the right or expediency of the medical education of women, but
simply to state the fact that in our school no provision for that
purpose has been made, or is at present contemplated.
Very respectfully yours,
THOMAS HILL.
Miss S. Jex-Blake.”
A few days later the following paragraph appeared in _The Advocate_:
“_The Beginning of the End._ A correspondence between the President
and two lady applicants for admission to the Medical School was
published some days since in the ‘Boston Advertiser.’ We understand
that the friends of female education have no notion of resting
satisfied with their first rebuff; and that prominent Alumni of Boston
are already taking measures for the prolonged agitation of the
question.”
A month later S.J.-B. had obtained introductions to each of the
professors in the Medical Faculty at Harvard, and to each member of the
staff of the Massachusetts General Hospital and of the Eye and Ear
Infirmary: as well as to many people of standing connected with these
various institutions: and she now proceeded to canvass them
systematically. In addition to a number of influential friends, she was
ably supported by Miss Dimock.
On the whole their reception was encouraging. The individual letters,
indeed, are so favourable, that the hopes of the inexperienced young
applicants must have run high. The following from Dr. Oliver Wendell
Holmes is typical of some half dozen at least:
“I should not only be willing, but I should be much pleased, to
lecture to any number of ladies for whom we can find accommodation in
the anatomical lecture room, always provided that any special subject
which seemed not adapted for an audience of both sexes should be
delivered to the male students alone.”
Dr. Brown-Séquard is even more emphatic in a letter to Dr. Holmes:
“MY DEAR PROFESSOR,
Miss Blake, who will hand you this note, wishes me to say that I
am strongly in favour of the admission of persons of her sex at the
Medical College. As such is my decided opinion, I write very
willingly.
Very faithfully yours,
C. E. BROWN-SÉQUARD.”
The corporation of Harvard, however, exerted its power to veto any such
inclinations on the part of individual professors.
S. J.-B. quotes the above and a number of similar letters in the diary,
and adds the comment:
“All which ends in ... smoke!”
There were always flashes of humour to temper the various
disappointments.
“Those wise men of Gotham at the Eye and Ear think it ‘the kindest and
most gentlemanly thing’ to shut us out after all!”
“Dr. A. ‘not afraid of responsibility, of course’—only—he’d rather not
admit us till other people do”!
Here is the official letter from the wise men of Gotham:
“Massachusetts Charitable Eye and Ear Infirmary.
June 18th, 1867.
DEAR MADAM,
The surgeons of this Infirmary are, at the same time, members of
the Massachusetts Medical Society, and are bound to respect the
opinion of its Councillors. And in view of the recent action of that
Board, we are of opinion that we cannot continue to allow female
students to attend our cliniques. Ungracious as is the task, we
therefore feel compelled to ask you to suspend your visits.
We have no hesitation in adding that our intercourse with yourself and
companions has been throughout most pleasant to us personally.
Very truly yours,
HASKET DERBY,
for the Surgeons.
Miss Sophia Jex-Blake.”
A certain amount of clinical teaching in the Massachusetts General
Hospital the women did obtain, and for this they were duly grateful,
though it only made them feel more keenly the deficiencies of their
lecture-room and laboratory training. And, even in hospital, they walked
with a constant sense of insecurity, as one member of the staff was
keenly opposed to the presence of women, and was on the look-out for
causes of offence. Little by little S. J.-B. began to feel the wear and
tear.
“July 5th. Rest yesterday, but altogether weighed down yesterday and
today with the fear and horror of this irritability which seems so
fatally unconquerable,” she writes in her diary.
And one knows how terrible an enemy that irritability was.
Fortunately, a few weeks later, she and Dr. Sewall got away together for
a holiday; and this, apparently, was the first of the long series of
driving-tours which were to prove the great joy and recreation of an
arduous life.
“Tuesday. July 30th. Atlantic House,
‘Town of Wells,’ Maine.
DARLING MOTHER,
As I have a spare hour, I may as well use it to chat a little to
you about the oddities of our journey.
I wrote to you from Newbury where we stayed one night at the Merrimac
House,—having slept the previous night at the Agawam House, Ipswich
(!)—both Indian names, of course. Yesterday we drove (as I told you at
the end of my last letter) from Newbury port to Portsmouth, and were
uncertain when I wrote whether to stay or go farther. It had been a
hot day, but, after posting your letter, a violent rainstorm came up,
deluging the streets for about 20 minutes about 5½ p.m.
After it was over, everything looked so cool and clear that Dr. Sewall
was anxious to get on, though I was a little afraid of the heavy
roads. So we set out soon after six, and had a most delicious drive at
first. By-and-bye, however, we came to terribly wet clay roads and
could only go at a walk. Our horse got tired and it began to get dark,
and we found that the distance to go was even longer than we had been
told.
It’s hard for you to understand the sort of society in these country
places,—no gentry and no peasantry—almost all small farmers doing
their own work and owning house and land, with some education but no
polish. We stopped at two or three houses, scattered at wide
intervals,—and enquired for lodgings, but with no success till after
dark when we got to a house belonging to a widow woman who informed us
we could come in and have bed and food, but there was ‘no one in the
house but her,—no one for the horse.’ However, I was perfectly ready
to act groom, so in we drove to such a queer loose sort of yard, where
I unharnessed by very uncertain lantern light, and then the doctor and
I had a tremendous job getting our phaeton into a queer coach-house up
a sort of hillock!
Then the lantern led on to the ‘barn,’ which (here as usual) meant
also stable, and soon I found myself plunging in the dark through soft
masses which proved to be long wet grass, leading my horse by the
halter. Then up among big loose stones, and up a step more than 1½
foot high into a barn so low that my horse all but hit his head. Then
over some boards set edgewise to divide off stalls ... the good woman
being amazed at my venturing in ‘with the horse’!
Then a queer hunt in the half darkness for a pail for water and wooden
box for Indian meal (which, stirred with water, often replaces oats
here), and then to bed, tired enough!
This morning I groomed the horse, and, so doing, found a stone in his
foot, fed him, and we between us washed the carriage. You may tell
Daddy I had no idea what hard work it was before! We washed a long
while at it, and somehow it wouldn’t look _quite_ clean at last.
(N.B. Why _will_ water dry muddy on to a carriage?)
Then we drove on again some distance and found a place for dinner,—one
of the big boarding-houses like what I was in at Compton,—and then on
again. Dr. Sewall began to get tired when we were still 5 or 6 miles
from our next point, Kennebunk,—and seeing a notice on a bye-road,
‘Atlantic House 3/4 mile’—we drove down,—found a charming inn almost
on the sands, close to the Atlantic,—fresh and bright and airy, and
settled here for the night. If you only knew what my afflictions are
in American country inns,—I have hardly seen decent food in one since
I left Boston—you may imagine my satisfaction at getting here the best
supper I have had yet,—excellent fresh fish, lobsters, etc., and
currants, and nice bread, and milk. Altogether the best table we’ve
found yet.
It sounds natural, too, to hear the roar of the Atlantic as I write,—
only it seems sometimes to murmur, ‘Over the sea!’
But then it always makes me feel nearer home to see the actual water
which is the only thing between us,—of which you at Brighton see but
another part.
_Wednesday._... We have spent the day quietly here, and shall very
likely drive to Portland in one day tomorrow,—30 miles is not much for
a rested horse. He has not been out today, except for a short drive on
the broad smooth sands which stretch for miles here.
It is deliciously cool here by the ocean,—Dr. Sewall says ‘cold,’ and
borrows my old blue jacket.
It is very pleasant and restful after Boston. If Portland is hot, we
may return here for a few days on our way back.
Goodbye, darling. Yours lovingly,
SOPH.”
“Atlantic House,
August 9th. 1867.
DARLING MOTHER,
Here we are staying again on the very verge of the Atlantic,
having found Portland more gay than restful, and desiring some perfect
quiet before we get home again.
Your letter of July 25th has been forwarded to me with a long one from
Carry, and one from an old schoolfellow of mine who had seen and liked
my book, and so bethought herself to write to me and say so. She is a
governess now.
I should like to see that review in the Pall Mall,—perhaps some of you
will send it to me,—and _any_ others of which you hear....
“August 11th. Sunday evening. We have been spending the afternoon
‘camping out’ in the midst of some woods (Haywards Heath fashion)
letting our horse graze and enjoying the cool and quiet. We have one
more day here and then go on towards home, and expect to get there on
Friday. Soon after—in September probably—we shall make another
attempt, aided by Mr. Loring, and, I hope, by Prof. Rogers (have you
seen him?) to get into Harvard or to get some advantages out of them;
and I suppose on our success will depend a good deal what we do in the
winter....
The Doctor begs me to send her love. I do hope you may know her by
this time next year. Don’t you?
Love to all. Tell Carry I’ll write soon in answer to hers.
Yours lovingly, SOPH.”
“I think what you say is true about the difficulties of ‘Joint
Education’ in England,” she writes to her brother in answer to a
criticism of her book. “Myself, I care very little about it if both
sexes can somehow get all the education they want or wish for.”
There is little record of the winter’s work, though the following rough
draft—in S.J.-B.’s handwriting—of an appeal to Harvard has been
preserved:
“Jan. 1868.
GENTLEMEN,
Having during the past year been granted access to the clinical
advantages of the Massachusetts General Hospital, but finding it
impossible anywhere in New England to obtain adequate theoretical
instruction in Medicine, we now earnestly entreat you to reconsider
the subject of the admission of women to the lectures at Harvard
Medical School,—such admission being, as we understand, forbidden by
no past or present statute of the University.
We do not wish to enter on the vexed question of the capability or
non-capability of women for the practice of Medicine, as we believe
that time and experience only can furnish its true answer, but we now
present our urgent petition that some opportunity may be afforded us
for the thorough study of the medical science and art, that we may be
granted at least some of the advantages that are not denied to every
man, and allowed to show whether we are or are not worthy to make use
of them.
We are willing, Gentlemen, to submit to any required examination, to
qualify ourselves according to any given standard, to furnish any
personal references, and to abide by any restrictions and regulations
which may seem proper to the Corporation or to the Faculty.
Several of the Professors having expressed their personal willingness
to allow us to attend their lectures, we earnestly request that the
Corporation will authorize our admission to those classes into which
the respective Professors do not object to receive us, and that, in
any case where the Professors does so object, we may be allowed to
receive private instruction from some medical gentleman approved by
the Faculty, whose lectures shall in our case be held equivalent to
those given to the College classes in the same subject.”
“Fighting on for Harvard with a sort of dull persistency,” she records
in her diary in March 1868, “expecting another answer from the
Corporation on the 11th.
Well, having been in Mass. Hospital for 8 months is something. With
all my dull atheism, I do believe somehow the Best will be,—if not
this, another. ‘And so far have brought me—to put me to shame’?”
Many entries in the diary about this time prove that she was passing
through that veritable “dark night of the soul” that has lain in the
path of so many bright spirits of her generation.
“I suppose it isn’t till the whole world—and oneself—breaks away under
one that one does know what rubbish one is made of,—‘dust and
ashes.... And what fine things I started with! Sir Launfal[45] and
gilded armour, etc. To conquer all the giants and beam Christian
charity everywhere.
I believe old folks _do_ ‘know young folks to be fools.’
A nice result at near 28—Chaos!—with a possible sawbones in futuro!”
Footnote 45:
Some few intimate friends will recall the evenings, 30 or 40 years
later, round the study fire at Windydene, when the white-haired woman
would recite _Sir Launfal_ from beginning to end with a subdued
enthusiasm that was more expressive than pages of commentary.
“Jan. 21st. 1868. ‘Quid sum miser tunc dicturus’!
Eight and twenty!—‘and a sinner!’”
One must bear in mind always, of course, that a diary is apt to reflect
the graver side of a character, the side that associates, and even
friends, would scarcely guess at. Certainly the letters to “the dear old
folks” bear small witness to this stress and strain. They recount all
sorts of innocent adventures and happy doings which were quite as real—
one is glad to believe—as the strong crying and tears of the night
watches.
“13 Pleasant Street,
Boston, U.S.
Monday, Jan. 27th. 68.
DARLING MOTHER
Such a sleigh ride as we had yesterday I hope you’ll never
have,—and indeed I don’t care about repeating the dose myself! I drove
the doctor eight or nine miles in a pelting snow-storm, partly across
open country, long bridges and marshes, etc., the thermometer
somewhere about 10° or 15°, a good deal of wind, which always makes it
feel much colder, and the sharp crystals of snow cutting into our
faces and eyes like so many pin points and causing actual pain.
Towards the end I found it rather hard to see,—some white things
seemed to get in front of my eyes;—what do you think they were? Solid
icicles hanging from all my eye-lashes on the side exposed to the
wind,—frozen together into three or four solid little balls as big as
small peas, and partly freezing the lids together! When I got in I
called Eliza to see them,—you should have heard her ‘Gracious
goodness!’
Even sealskin gloves fail one in such stormy cold,—one’s hands freeze
and have to be thawed out as regards sensation several times in a
drive! So we carry hot bottles to do it with, and Dr. Sewall laughed
at the figure I cut yesterday, driving with one hand, the other
grasping a big two-quart bottle upright on my lap, and my head bent on
one side like a lapwing’s to see out of the one eye that wasn’t frozen
up!
She herself offered to drive again and again, but speed was my object,
and I always make the horse go half as fast again as she does. He did
gallantly yesterday,—the roads and streets were clear, and we spun
over the white frozen surface at eight or ten miles an hour.
When it is not actually snowing, sleighing is very exhilarating,—the
horse has a light load and is generally in good spirits,—sleigh-bells
jangling merrily, etc.”
“March 6th.
... A few days ago one of the women who had been confined here was
fetched home by her husband, and with him came a rather big dog of the
setter or lurcher kind, I think, or rather a cross on one of them. The
folks went away, and so did the dog, but in half an hour he was back
again, scratching at the Hospital door. He was fetched again by the
man and again ran back, no one having, so far as I know, petted or
enticed him at all. Then he was refused admission or turned out on the
street, and when his master came again for him I believe he found him
on the street; but in the evening there came a scratching at _our_
hall door—not the Hospital,—and in walked the same dog again! I knew
nothing of the previous story, but remembered having seen him with the
man who came to our house to see Dr. Sewall, so I took him in. From
that moment he attached himself to me, so that he follows every step I
take, and whines at any door I enter without him. As the man didn’t
come again for him, I drove to his house this morning,—the dog
following close to the sleigh all the way (some two miles), and when
he got there the dog greeted his master certainly, but directly I rose
to go, up he jumped after me. So, as _his_ choice seemed to be made, I
offered the man $5 (15s. 6d.) for him, and now am undisputed owner of
my loyal friend!
It is rather queer, for I had been wishing for a dog of my own, and,
though he is not a great beauty, he has a nice face, is very obedient,
clean, and, I think, intelligent,—though Dr. Sewall professes to
disdain him for being ‘so big’!—and then one can’t help liking even a
dog who so plainly declares ‘elective affinity.’”[46]
Footnote 46:
The dog was named Turk, and became a devoted friend.
In the midst of all these new interests she had not forgotten the
question of education at Bettws-y-Coed, and she was deeply interested in
the maturing plans for a new school there. She writes to her Mother:
“I am glad to understand that you have bought, not the first bit of
ground, but another near it. I hope Carry will soon send me some idea
of her plans, though, of course, we can’t build for some months. I
enclose a very rough sketch of what would be my own idea of a
schoolroom with gallery at one end and with classroom at the other,—
and besides the class room a sort of lobby with second entrance and
with stairs leading to the rooms above for Anne. The porch to have
places to hang hats, etc., as also under the gallery (as at Hastings).
I can’t remember about dimensions, though I have a sort of idea that,
when we spoke of building before, we planned our schoolroom at 18 ft.
by 28, and 10 ft. or 11 ft. high, the class room to be perhaps 11 ft.
by 8.
Ask Carry to see how that agrees with the standard space for 100
children.”
The school was actually built in 1869, everything being done in a
fashion characteristic of the Jex-Blake family. They gave what was
needed, but not in such a spirit as to discourage the generosity of
others. The landlord gave the site—for a purely nominal rent,—together
with permission to take what stone was needed from a neighbouring
quarry. Farmers and others did the carting for love. For years the Jex-
Blakes had been educating a competent girl—a former pupil—as mistress.
Local sympathy and appreciation, combined with the persevering interest
of the founders, were the very life-blood of the school. How much finer
this than the building of an ornamental edifice that should hand down
the name of the donor to future generations.
* * * * *
In March 1868 S. J.-B. gave up Boston in despair for the moment, and
went to New York, where she had the support of Dr. Elizabeth Blackwell
and her sister Emily, both of whom had plans for the more adequate
medical education of women, and were organizing special classes. S. J.-
B. also persuaded the Head Demonstrator of Anatomy at Bellevue to give
her and another woman student a course of private lessons in Dissecting
and Practical Anatomy.
“March 28th. Saturday. Began dissecting with Dr. Moseley ... oh, dear,
isn’t it good to have some real teaching at last!
By-the-bye, the Blackwells think they could get us into Bellevue if
Harvard refuses. New York for 3 winters? Shall I bring Alice or what?
They want English ladies to come and make a class, and offer to
receive them into the Infirmary. (But English ladies are not given to
dine in kitchens on poor kitchen fare, etc.)
Is my old idea ever to work out by O. H. studying medicine? _Wouldn’t_
she be a good doctor!
By-the-bye, challenged by the Blackwells as ‘to whose management (in
re English Female University) would inspire me with £1000 confidence,’
I say, O. H., Miss M., etc.”
She wrote delightful long letters to Dr. Sewall about the _minutiae_ of
her work, and was somewhat concerned as to how the little Boston world
was getting on without her.
“I am glad that you find out (as I told you you would) that I did do
one or two little things while you wondered how I spent my time. I
wish, however, that you had someone to do them now,—I am afraid you
will get so tired. I shall ask Eliza if you eat properly. Tell her
that I mean to write to her next time.
The little book of your bills is on my shelf in my secretary,—a small
account book. Don’t muddle the things in looking for it. Be sure and
put down in it all the bills you send out. Can’t you get Miss Call to
write them for you? She really can _write_ (unusual in the N.E.H.)....
Tell me if Eliza does nicely,—tell her I asked after her and her
housekeeping and Robert.
I am glad that my son Turk behaves better as he grows older. Give him
an extra bone with my blessing.”
To her Mother she writes a long account of her difficulty in finding
rooms at a reasonable price.
“So living in New York is neither easy nor cheap, you see, ... I
hardly know how I shall manage if I go to a medical college this
winter, and have to pay all lecture expenses, etc., besides living,—
for women have to incur extra expense in all sorts of ways, because
they can’t share the arrangements of some sorts made for men....
... while studying, Miss Garrett had, I know, to spend lots of money,—
paying £50 for a single course of lectures which the men got (in
class) for £5 each.
When there was an idea of my taking the Manchester College, Daddy was
willing to advance me £1000 or £2000 for the start, instead of part of
the income he allowed me;—do you think he would be willing to do some
such thing now? I suppose it is hard for you at home who don’t realize
exactly the hard battle we are fighting (especially to get into the
good medical colleges) to see how very important it is not to be
stopped from seizing every bit of advantage obtainable for want of
money. And it unfortunately happens that most of the women who are
studying Medicine really _cannot_ get money even when most necessary.
When I began I had no idea of going into any of this,—but somehow one
gets talking to Mother of what is uppermost in one’s mind sometimes.
And I know Mother wants to hear all my bothers and perplexities.
Much love, darling, to Daddy and Carry.
Yours lovingly,
SOPH.”
“April 12th. Notwithstanding all the discomforts in the way of board,
I have been gaining greatly by my stay here. I have had a better
opportunity for dissecting, etc., than ever before, and besides have
learnt a good deal at the daily medical lessons which take place at
Dr. Blackwell’s every afternoon. If I am to be a doctor at all, I mean
to be a thoroughly good one, and now that I have gone so far in
medical study, I mean to go right through, unless some very unforeseen
obstacle comes. And then the future may decide what use my knowledge
may come to. I sometimes think that a woman doctor could find very
useful work in teaching Anatomy and Physiology,—or at least something
of them—to women and girls, who are apt to be so terribly ignorant of
them.
Lately I have been spending an hour or so of an evening (for rest) in
hearing a nice ‘daughter of the house’ read French to me, she having
very few chances of help, poor child.”
On the eve of sailing for England, she sums up the situation in her
diary with her usual relentless truthfulness:
“April 11th.... Within three weeks of leaving for home,—what balance
sheet?
Nearly three years in America.
In that time complete health regained,—probably better than ever
before,—real strength and power of study. A profession opening calmly
and clearly before me,—its sciences already ‘as trees walking,’
becoming clearer daily. The edge of pain all gone. But with it vivid
faith and life in many directions—belief in all invisible and much
reaching after the heroic. A sort of passive ‘quo fata vocant,’—a sort
of ceasing to demand the very good or very true, perhaps,—a sort of
coldbloodedness that is not peace,—a nil admirari that only ‘will do
for it.’ My vocation given up or laid aside, and I quietly learning
knowledge chiefly because it is power,—hardly yet shaping out any end;
but what does come, selfish enough. Professor of Anatomy? Surgeon?
Doctor-Teacher?
Sometimes a sharp pain rushes across,—‘Ah, if Mother shouldn’t live to
_see_ me succeed!’—She does seem woven in with the heartstrings,—my
old darling who _cannot_ forget.
All this health and new life—more than ever hoped for—comes mediately
from L.E.S.”
If this estimate of herself is just, one can only say that the lulling
for the time of her higher emotional nature was probably a blessing in
disguise. It helped her to make her foundation of knowledge sure. She
had in her measure to learn—what every true scientist must learn—that
“the natural is the rational and the divine,” that “there is no real
break between the natural and the supernatural.”
“A man that looks on glass,
On it may stay his eye—”
and if his eye be single his whole body may yet be full of light.
In any case the closing words of S. J.-B.’s ‘balance sheet’ are
significant enough,—
“Comes—_mediately_—from L.E.S.”!
CHAPTER XVI
GOING HOME
It was in the course of this summer of 1868 that S. J.-B. realized her
earnest wish to welcome her friend Dr. Lucy Sewall in England. She had
raised great expectations among her friends, but, notwithstanding this,
the visitor’s sweetness and grace won all hearts. “That woman is fit to
be the apostle of a great movement,” Dr. T. W. Jex-Blake had said when
he first saw her photograph, “with a face at once so strong and so
tender.” And a closer acquaintance only served to confirm this judgment.
It is impossible to exaggerate the pride with which S. J.-B. took “the
Doctor” everywhere, in a world that knew not the “sweet girl graduate”
of the present day, and showed her off—for choice in a pretty pale-blue
frock—with secret triumph to the friends who were expecting something
very masculine and aggressive. Quite a number of sick people—Mrs. Unwin
among the number—were eagerly waiting to consult her: and many were the
requests that she would come and settle in England.
What Mr. Jex-Blake thought of her may be gathered from the following
most characteristic note written a month or two later to his daughter:
“13 Sussex Square,
Brighton.
2nd August 1868.
DEAREST,
It is so much in my head and heart, and in the dear Mother’s, to
have the privilege of presenting your most valued friend with some
memento of her visit, that I beg you to use all your influence, and
entreat Dr. Lucy Sewall to accept a carriage, or any other thing that
she would value, as a remembrance of your dear Mother and myself, when
she has returned home. She can little imagine how much she would
please us both by doing so.
Your affectionate Father,
T. JEX-BLAKE.”
Two other happenings specially marked the holiday,—a visit from Mrs.
Jenkinson (Mrs. Ballantyne), and a delightful _rapprochement_ between S.
J.-B. and her Father.
Of Mrs. Jenkinson she writes in her diary:
“So good, so fascinating and dainty! I haven’t had so much wide and
deep talk with anyone for three years at least....
The proposal of her driving them to church ending in my doing so.
Somehow the service moved me greatly. ‘Gethsemane, can I forget,’
etc....
‘What is truth?’—no jesting Pilate,—yet _do_ I stay for an answer? Oh,
dear, the certainties of p. [181], etc., and now! Yet I think the
wheel is beginning to sway upwards again. Please God! Yes, surely the
Ephesians stretched wise earnest hands (or may have done) to the
Unknown God. ‘Strenuous souls ... to stand in the dark on the lowest
stair.’”
“May 31st. Wonderful how content everyone is with my medical
prospects. Daddy decides our residence (!) for Mount Street, Grosvenor
Square. I say now pretty definitely,—in 4 more years England, three
years study, and one of practice.
Meanwhile a _quiet_ satisfactory holiday _must_ have. No one can tell
how many more with the old folks, and this _must_ be what will be good
to remember.”
“June 20th. Maurice’s lecture. ‘Miss Jex-Blake’s investigations in
America might help much to the solution of the problem’ [of mixed
education, presumably]. And after the lecture he _thanked_ me for my
book. _I_’m cock a hoop now!”
“June 24th. On the whole my resolve well kept till now,—one month’s
success in no (or few and light) ‘cataracts and breaks.’ Somehow I
have a solemn sort of feeling about it this year, as if it would be
the last with one or other.”
“Ah, darling,” she writes to her Mother on the voyage, “it was _such_
hard work to say Goodbye last week! Do you know for one little minute
I wondered whether after all the price wasn’t _too_ hard to pay, and
whether after all I shouldn’t give up doctor, hospital, M.D. and all
and just stay with the old Mother.”
“Sept. 29th. Boston. I am sorry to say that Harvard has refused me
again, so I must go to New York!—Ah, well,—‘all things are less
dreadful than they seem’!”
In that autumn of 1868 the Blackwells carried out their project of
starting a medical school for women in New York.
Two class-tickets are extant admitting Miss S. L. Jex-Blake to the
classes of Practical Anatomy and of the Principles and Practice of
Medicine at the Women’s Medical College of the New York Infirmary; and
there is also a letter from Dr. Elizabeth Blackwell giving advice about
rooms:
“With regard to your winter’s work, we will discuss it when you come.
We shall be glad to meet your views in any way we can.
There are other matters connected with the school itself we shall be
glad to talk over with you, one in particular, which I think would
interest you, and in which, from your exceptional position in the
class, I think you could help us in our organisation; but I shall
leave its discussion till you come.
I hope you will allow time to get thoroughly settled and through with
the trouble of it before November.”
“Oct. 23rd. Friday. Came to New York.... Went 137 Avenue for a week to
hunt for rooms,—oh, dear!... At length decided on 222 East Tenth
[Street]—two back parlours and two above,—gas and all $55. Alice
arrived on Monday 26th.”
“222 East 10th Street,
New York. Nov. 1st. 68.
DARLING MOTHER,
The term begins tomorrow, and I am glad to say that Alice and I
have just succeeded in getting things into some sort of order in time.
Besides laying down carpets, buying a stove and kitchen pots and pans,
a bedstead and chairs, etc., I have been providing winter stores in
American fashion, and yesterday bought two barrels of potatoes, 30
lbs. of butter, etc. etc., to say nothing of flour and wine. My money
is running terribly low,—I have only about £20 left when this month’s
rent is paid; but then most of my things are bought now, and besides I
can borrow from Dr. Sewall if needful. Besides the Hospital owes me
about £10 or £11 for duties paid, so I can probably get on till my
next quarter comes....
I know Mother will be thinking of me on my own hook in New York. This
last week _has_ been a pretty hard time, but now things are falling
into shape. Alice has been invaluable. I know that having her, with
the proper food, will just make all the difference to me of being able
to work on all winter without breaking down. The Blackwells are very
pleasant, and, though I have no special friends here, I shall be so
busy and cosy that I expect to get on capitally.
I am afraid the poor little Doctor gets the worst of it,—she will
really miss my help in many ways, besides mutual loss of company,—and
I am sadly afraid she won’t take due care of herself. I can’t tell you
and Daddy how thankful I am that he has given her that charming little
carriage,—it is such a relief to my mind to know that she will not be
forced to drive herself when weary and half frozen: and I believe it
will make a real difference in her health.
Her Father was very pleased with it, though I believe he made very
careful enquiries as to whether the Doctor was sure Daddy ‘could
afford to give her such a splendid present.’ Of course he didn’t ask
me that, but I took an opportunity of telling him that I knew you both
felt that the carriage represented only a small part of your feeling
of real gratitude to her for all the good she has done me medically
and otherwise. Wasn’t I right?...”
“DARLING MOTHER,—I wrote the two other sheets on purpose that you may
pass them on to Daddy, and I mean to try to do so as much as I can,
and put anything private on a separate bit for you, for I think the
dear old man really likes to see my letters, and I am sure I want to
give him all the pleasure I can.
His Goodbye was so very kind and loving,—I often think of it.”
“Nov. 3rd.
Yesterday was the opening of our College, at which Dr. Elizabeth
Blackwell made a speech which I was asked to report for the chief
medical paper here. I have done so, and will send you the paragraph
when it appears....
My rooms are not far from the College and other places where I have to
go daily, and altogether I may consider myself well off. I have
managed to buy as little furniture as possible, having brought carpets
from Boston, and having hired two tables, a bed and a stove, from the
landlady here. I have not yet bought more than £12 worth, and I mean
to try to get on with as little more as possible.
I am very glad to hear of Miss Garrett’s good news. I shall send her
note on to the Doctor. I know it will please her so much.”
“222 East 10th Street.
New York. Nov. 8th. 68.
DARLING MOTHER,
I enclose two letters which you can read and forward
respectively to ‘Mr. H. 69 Jermyn Street, S.W.’ and to ‘Sam. Laurence,
Esq. 6 Wells Street, W.’ Don’t transpose them!
I have now got fairly settled in my new abode, and am really very
comfortable in it,—thanks to Alice. Our rooms are so situated that we
can keep quite to ourselves,—having even a back staircase almost of
our own,—and we get on famously. My daily routine is pretty regular
throughout the week. I go to the dissecting room at 9 a.m. and work
till about 11.15. At 11.30 comes a lecture on Anatomy and Physiology
on alternate days,—and I get home to lunch a little before one. Alice
always has things ready and nice for me, and I rest for about half an
hour after lunch, before going to the afternoon lectures which begin
at 2 p.m. and continue (except on Saturday) till 5,—three lectures of
an hour each. I have just put in a petition to Dr. Emily Blackwell
(who manages everything and is very nice) for five minutes space
between each two lectures, for opening windows and a walk up and down
the corridors,—to which she instantly assented as desirable.
Pleasant as it was to live with the Doctor, and extremely grateful as
I feel for the very great good she has done me, I confess now to
rather enjoying a completely independent nest once more,—for a while
at least. You see it was inevitable that at Boston everything had to
be shaped to suit Hospital work, and that was sometimes a nuisance.
I can study and write and read in a much more thoroughly undisturbed
way here than I could there,—in fact it would have been simply
impossible while living there to work as I am doing now,—there were so
very many inevitable interruptions.
And yet, but for my two years there, I never could have been strong
enough for my work here,—I believe that I never was so strong in my
life before—isn’t that grand?”
“222 East 10th Street,
Nov. 13th. 1868.
DARLING MOTHER,
Yesterday your letter (containing the one from the Times agent)
was brought to me in the dissecting-room, and wasn’t I pleased to get
it!... It is quaint sometimes to think of the different scenes in
which letters are written and read! I am really very much grieved to
hear of Daddy’s having been so ill,—I did not understand fully before
how serious his attack had been. I comfort myself, however, with
hoping that while the news is coming here, he is really getting better
daily. Give him much love from me and a big kiss on each cheek.... I
hope my old lady takes care of herself. _Do_ for my sake.
Darling, I ought sooner to have answered your enquiries about the
Colleges, etc. Harvard (Boston) is a University for _men_, and we
couldn’t get in there, because they wouldn’t have any women. I was
anxious to go there because the degree is considered a valuable one.
Here in New York the College I am at is just opened by Dr. Elizabeth
Blackwell for women only,—or at least only women attend it, though I
believe men would be admitted.
The teachers are 9 in number,—7 men and 2 women professors, as you
will see by the circular. In the actual classes we are all women
students; in going to hospitals, dispensaries, etc., we mix with the
men. The teaching is really very good and I am getting on capitally.
Capitally in every way indeed....
I see it is now a little past nine, and I shall soon be off to bed and
sleep like a top till about 6 a.m.
I have never worked so hard in my life (for a continuance), and I have
never been in such good health. I am absolutely _well_, (and what a
blessing that is after all these years!) I eat and walk and sleep
perfectly, have no pains and aches, and the sweetest of tempers!
I only wish Mother could peep in and see me in my little den!—dog and
Alice and all.
With very much love, darling, to Daddy and Carry,
Yours lovingly,
SOPH.”
“Saturday. Nov. 14th. [Diary.] In sober fact I get on grandly. Better
and stronger than I have ever been.”
“Monday, Nov. 16th. Oh, why, _why_ didn’t they telegraph at any rate?
If people only _would_ do _as_ they are asked! Carry’s note just come
after Chemistry. ‘I believe if you could start from New York today,
you would have no prospect whatever of seeing him alive’.”
“Sunday, Nov. 29th. Brighton. Reached home about 10.30 a.m. yesterday
(after a rush through Dublin, Cork, etc.) to find that he had died ten
days even before that letter arrived. Nov. 6th. 9.50 a.m.”
It seems a pity for her own sake that S. J.-B. could not have been with
her Father during those last days of his life, for his was certainly one
of the cases in which
“The soul’s dark cottage, battered and decayed,
Lets in new light through chinks that Time has made.”
It is no very uncommon experience to see people go through their last
illness without a word of complaint, but Mr. Jex-Blake rose to a higher
level than that. He had felt the end approaching for some months, and
had set his house in perfect order, even to the refinement of writing
farewell letters—beautiful letters they are—to be delivered to those
nearest him after he had left them. There was nothing now to be done
save to gather himself together for the great ordination of death. “I
suppose this is about as bad as can be,” he said to the surgeon who
attended him. “Nothing more can be done, I take it.”
One complaint he did make in the early days of his illness,—that he
“could not collect his thoughts to pray,”—he whose “whole life,” in the
words of his son, “had been a prayer and thanksgiving.” It was a great
joy and comfort to have that son at hand. “I am very happy, very
comfortable,” he said. “You cannot tell how happy I am.... God is so
good to me.”
When the end drew near, he wanted to be lifted out of bed, but they
dared not move him, except as to pillows. About 11.30 Mr. H. [the
surgeon] moved him a little in bed, and he said, “Beautiful, beautiful,”
and never spoke again.
* * * * *
One can imagine the feelings with which his ardent wayward “youngest
little one” arrived in England to hear all this, and to hear it through
the transfiguring medium of bereaved affection. With passionate
intensity she recalls every detail of the parting which had so lingered
in her mind, and which had proved to be the last:
“He had not risen. I went and lay on the bed by him and kissed him,
and he told me how they had enjoyed having me,—‘never had so pleasant
a summer together,’ etc.
I said I had tried hard and yet I hadn’t fully succeeded. I was sorry
I had been cross sometimes. ‘No, no,’ he said, stopping me, ‘I hadn’t
failed,—there was nothing to forgive.’ And then I told him I would try
and do them credit in my profession, and then he took my hands in his
and prayed for me. And then I kissed him again and got off the bed,—
but he (very unlike him) sprang out after me and embraced me again and
again,—and so we parted very lovingly,—I telling him, I think, that
‘next time’ it should be _all_ right. And so, please God, it shall,—if
there is a God and a ‘next time’!”
In the darkest hour she admitted that it might have been worse: it might
have been her Mother who was taken. One could almost have foretold how
she would act. Cancelling the golden prospects in America with a stroke
of her pen,—cheerfully sacrificing the very considerable financial
outlay,—the class fees, the “snug little nest,” and “two barrels of
potatoes,”—she resolved that never again should the Atlantic divide her
from the life that was most dear.
It was not easy for Dr. Sewall to let her go thus finally, and her first
letters are not a little pathetic, but—born friend of heroes as she was—
she helped to fasten the armour on.
“If you don’t come back to America,” she said, “you won’t give up the
work. You will open the profession to women in England.”
And so it came about that Sophia Jex-Blake sought a medical education in
her native land.
_PART II_
It is as hard a thing to maintain a sound understanding, a tender
conscience, a lively, gracious, heavenly frame of spirit, and an
upright life, amid contention, as it is to keep your candle lighted in
the greatest storms.
RICHARD BAXTER.
Individuals, feeling strongly, while on the one hand they are
incidentally faulty in mode or language, are still peculiarly
_effective_. No great work was done by a system; whereas systems rise
out of individual exertions. Luther was an individual. The very faults
of an individual excite attention; he loses, but his cause (if good,
and he powerful-minded) gains. This is the way of things; we promote
truth by a self-sacrifice.
JOHN HENRY NEWMAN.
CHAPTER I
DRIFTING
S.J.-B. landed at Queenstown on November 27th, 1868, and “came rushing
through Cork, Dublin and Holyhead on that weary 24 hours’ journey” back
to the home in Brighton, to find that she had arrived too late. Her
Father had died some three weeks before, and outwardly the household had
already settled down to the old life—as households do—in a way that to
her ardent nature must at first have seemed passing strange. There was
the joy and pain of meeting her Mother again,—the joy and pain of
finding that that Mother was too fine a Christian to be broken-hearted
at the prospect of so brief a parting,—and then, little by little, there
came for S.J.-B. the realization of all she had left behind.
On board the _Java_ she had written to Dr. Sewall:
“The first thing of all I want to do is to write and tell you what I
said so very imperfectly in my hurry and worry when you left,—how much
your kind thought for me in arranging even the little things of my
cabin has touched me.... Even now when I am going home—and going under
such circumstances—the thought of all you have done for me and of all
I owe you, comes uppermost....
Mrs. Browning says,—
‘God gives what he gives—be content,
He resumes nothing given, be sure,’
and your love and help have been given to me, and I _know_ it is not
all over now....
I am going home now to try and be a child once more,—simply to love
and serve my Mother, as God will help me (for I do believe in Him in
my pain and my love in my heart of hearts) and I believe that by being
a child I shall learn to grow a better woman.”
Such was her resolve, and for months she struggled hard to carry it out,
with no small success when one considers the complexity of the elements
involved. She had come from a busy bustling beneficent life, with an
outlook that appealed keenly to her energetic and ambitious nature, and
she found herself in the quiet, smoothly-ordered home of her childhood,
where she was only “Miss Sophy,” where her medical books and microscope
slides were roughly classified as “nasty,” and where she was expected to
conform to a rule of life which had never given scope to her
possibilities, and was little likely to do so now that all its music was
set in a minor key. The free life in America had developed her
capabilities; quite possibly it had also rubbed off some few of those
superficial elegancies that were regarded as a primary essential in the
Englishwoman of her class.
There was another side to the question too. Glad as Mrs. Jex-Blake
always was to see her “youngest little one” again, one can imagine that
in the circumstances so electrical a presence in the house was not an
unmixed boon. “I had much rather _know_ you well and happy there [in
Boston] than see you ill and know you worried here,” the Mother had
written years before, and there is no reason to think that her feeling
in the matter had changed. Nothing could alter the deep undercurrent of
love and understanding between this Mother and child, but neither of
them had a naturally equable temperament, and one gathers that on the
surface things were not always smooth.
“Poor little woman,” S.J.-B. writes to Dr. Sewall, on receipt of the
first letter from Boston, “I do feel so sorry for you all alone and
dreary, but don’t you think I am even worse off than you are? You can
fancy what this house is now,—so silent and mourning,—and so much cut
off even from outside, and at any rate no people or work or occupation
of any interest outside ourselves.
M. and C. have their regular ways and plans, I suppose, but it is so
long since I have been at home except for a visit, that it’s hard for
me to fit in anywhere, and of course everybody’s feeling more or less
sad and pained doesn’t make matters smoother. Just at present I am
getting my books and drawers, etc., to rights, and after that is done
I mean to try and read some Medicine at least,—perhaps if we stay here
all winter I may apply to visit at the Hospital, etc.—only it would be
rather disagreeable all alone.
Oh, Lucy dear, I do think it’s too bad to be expected to go on with
Medicine, and not have you to help and interest me in it. If I didn’t
believe you would after all come and start me in practice when I do
get through, I don’t think I should have any heart to go on at all.
But we _will_ be together again some day, old lady, won’t we? Oh,
dear, I am getting so tired of living and fighting and hoping! As soon
as one hopes one has got a little foothold it is all knocked away from
under one!”
The letter then plunges into the question of money and accounts, which
were not Dr. Sewall’s strong point.
“Poor little girl!—she has so many accounts, and I am dreadfully
afraid she will get into a dreadful mess with them all! Do tell me if
you got your accounts anything like straight after New York.”
Dr. Sewall was overwhelmed with work, but her letters came as fast and
frequently as mails could bring them. “I do hope you do not miss me as
much as I miss you,” she wrote, and again:
“I do hope this New Year that begins so sadly may not be a very hard
one for you, though I fear you will have to fight hard before you can
settle down at home. Do try to get some visiting at the Hospital or
some medical work as soon as you can. It will do you good and your
Mother too.”
But she too, when it comes to a question of “business,” relapses
delightfully into the child. “Do say you are contented with me, and that
I have done well.”
* * * * *
For three weeks S.J.-B. drifted, uncertain of her course, and then she
set her sail.
“Today—after three weeks of doubt, indecision and rather negation—I
was suddenly inspired to get up out of the dining-room arm-chair, walk
to the Hospital, and ask Mr. Salzmann to read Medicine with me,—so
Thursday and seq.—Histology!
It’s quite odd how pleased I am at the prospect of ‘shop’!”
On the last night of the year, as was her wont, she made her summing-up:
“Within a few hours of eight years ago,—the window,—and
‘May the New Year cherish—’
I don’t think there are any ‘hopes that now are bright.’ I believe I
have been growing downwards in some ways. The simply quiet and
comfortable, with no bother of any kind, seems to be about my ideal
now.”
And this on the eve of the ‘Edinburgh Fight’!
The truth is S. J.-B. was in one of those backwaters of life which may
at any moment give place to the swift rush of the current. She was
living a great deal, of course, in the life she had left behind. On
January 4th she writes to Dr. Sewall:
“When I find time I mean to write to your cousin.... I am sorry for
W., he is a very nice boy. But, dear me, they do seem such a pair of
children.
I don’t think she will get a _nicer_ man, but of course that is
nothing if she doesn’t love him. I quite agree with you, ‘Never marry
if you can help it’!”
And, in the depths of her mind she was constantly pondering the problems
and mysteries of our being.
“Jan. 21st. [Diary] 29!—‘et praeterea nihil’!”
“Jan. 25th.... Yesterday Martineau’s fine definition of atheism,—the
mind that venerates nothing, aspires to nothing.”
“Jan. 31st. Came tonight across old Trench’s line,—‘When God afflicts
thee think He hews a rugged stone, which must be shaped or else aside
as useless thrown.’
And then those true sad pale lines of Martineau’s (‘Child’s Thought’)
about youth’s eagerness for truth, sometimes productive of dark
agonies of doubt and loneliness drearier than death,—leaving the soul
exposed upon the field of conflict without a God to strive for or a
weapon for the fight.
Yesterday his ‘Immortality’ helped me again to seize that idea,—
apprehend, ‘hang on to’ (Trench). That the negative testimony was
stronger for than against—far harder to realize soul extinct than
immortal,—that instinct for immortality grows stronger in sorrow,
bereavements and on confines of death,—more likely teachers than the
dust and glare of Vanity Fair. That the strange ‘caprice of death’ in
selection, etc., inexplicable except in belief of future to which this
is the ante-chamber. ‘Simply migrations of mind.’”
Of course the outward stagnation of life, the want of a definite object
and purpose, renewed the old regrets for the friendship by means of
which “we might have done anything together, we two.”
“Feb. 3rd. 4 p.m.
‘Are not the letters coming?
The sun has almost set.’
I seem to have two such abiding ideas (presentiments?—hopes?) 1st.
That somehow, somewhen the old door must be reopened,—light in the
eventide,... 2nd. That some medical way will open—perhaps in
Scotland,—and at length some one take pity on me and really teach me
and push me.
Oh, dear, how I wish I had anyone with whom I could really take
counsel and make common cause.
Well, I believe I am learning silence and patience at least somewhat,
but how ‘bleak and bare’! Everything so grey and so dim.
Feb. 4th. In the night I woke and found M.’s head was ‘dreadful.’ So I
laid one hand on her forehead and one on her hand and willed and
willed the pain away,—till she slept quietly.
Curious how weary and achy that arm was even next morning,—how ‘washed
out’ I was!
She says,—‘How do you explain it?’
‘Nohow.’”
CHAPTER II
AT THE GATES OF THE CITADEL
In any case S. J.-B. was not to wait long for those “with whom she could
take counsel.” In the autumn of 1867 Mr. Alexander Macmillan appears to
have discussed with her the projected publication of a volume of essays
on questions relating to modern women, and in January 1869 he writes in
answer to an enquiry from her:
“DEAR MADAM,
Mrs. Butler, 280 South Hill Park Road, Liverpool, is the
address. There has been nothing done about the proposed volume yet.
But I have by no means abandoned the hope of having it done, and shall
not be sorry if you allude to it in writing to Mrs. Butler.
My own notion was that the volume should be wholly written by ladies,
and that some diversity of judgement should be allowed on minor points
at least, provided that a consensus were assured on the large ground
of higher culture for women. I confess myself that the question of the
Suffrage is a doubtful one.... I confess myself to think that politics
in the sense of mere government is by no means of the highest
importance to nations and to humanity, and that what is done in homes
is incalculably deeper and more powerful [in its influence] on human
character and destiny.
All these points are open to discussion, and I think a volume claiming
the very highest and widest culture for women might at the same time
discuss with advantage whether the field in which it is to be
exercised need be co-ordinate with men’s.
Yours very truly,
ALEX. MACMILLAN.”
Apparently S. J.-B. approached Mrs. Butler without delay, and a few
weeks later she writes to Dr. Sewall from Bonchurch, where they were
staying for the benefit of Mrs. Jex-Blake’s health:
“Did I tell you that I have been making friends with Mrs. Butler, the
head of the non-Davies party among the women? She approves of the new
Cambridge exams, which Miss Davies ... refuses because not identical
with those of the men. Mrs. Butler and I say ‘Take all you can get and
then ask for more,’ don’t you?
I expect to be here with my Mother for about three weeks longer, then
she will probably go to Cheltenham to see my brother, and I may go to
Cambridge, Edinburgh, St. Andrews, etc., to see if I can poke in
anywhere.
And yet, even if I got admitted, I don’t feel sure that I should feel
ready to leave my Mother next winter. Unless she changes very much for
the better, I cannot but think very badly of her. I think she has aged
five years since you saw her....
She said to me yesterday, ‘Don’t you wish Dr. Lucy were here?’ I said,
‘No, she’s doing better work,’ but I _do_ sometimes ‘weary for you’
all the same.”
Mrs. Butler was deeply interested in the new ally, and very anxious that
she should carry out her dream of obtaining a proper medical education
in her own country. Dr. T. W. Jex-Blake was also sympathetic, and so it
came about that enquiries were made among University professors who
might be supposed to have an open mind on the subject. Some interesting
letters were the result:
“Wimborne,
Jan. 14th.
DEAR MISS JEX-BLAKE,
I have not been able to obtain quite as accurate information
about London University as I should like, but there is no use in my
delaying any longer to answer your letter. As regards Cambridge, I do
not think that the most sanguine reformer would advise you to look for
any relaxation of barriers that would be of service to you, for some
years. I am among the most sanguine, and I do not think that we shall
be giving degrees to women until after ten years at least. We do not
as yet examine men unless resident in colleges. The University of
London, which is an open examining board, ought to be much more
hopeful. Unfortunately this university (by an arrangement which ought
not to have been borrowed from its older sisters) is governed in the
last resort by Convocation, an assembly got together by agitation
among all graduates of a certain standard, and in which the influence
of the London doctors is practically preponderant. This assembly
rejected last year a proposal by which women would have been admitted
to medical degrees.
The proposal will, I believe, be renewed, but I cannot say what reason
there is to anticipate a different result. My information is only at
second hand, and you may easily get more accurate in London. As soon
as I hear more precisely what is going to be done, I will let you
know. I cannot, from what I have heard advise you to expect a very
speedy change.
At the same time there is a general movement, of which it is hard to
estimate the force, against the exclusion of women from the higher
education. You say that you do not wish your plans to be talked of. I
am rather sorry, for if you would suffer yourself to be made a
grievance, it might help ‘the cause’ in London.
Believe me,
Yours very truly,
HENRY SIDGWICK.”
“Trin. Coll. Cambridge.
Feb. 4th.
DEAR MISS JEX-BLAKE,
I have now been here nearly a week, and hoped to write to you
before, but I wished before doing so to see Markby, Bonney, and one or
two of the Medical Board, and, being overwhelmed with work, have only
just managed to do so. I find that neither Markby nor Bonney estimate
any higher than I do the chance of your request being granted.
Professor Liveing, one of the members of the Board, is favourable, but
shakes his head as to his colleagues. Doctors preponderate on it, and
one, Dr. Humphrey, professor of Anatomy, whom I expected to find
somewhat more liberal, is averse to women practising medicine, ‘mainly
on their own account, because’—but you are familiar with the reasons.
I have not canvassed the others as you had a certain wish for secrecy.
If you think it worth while, I will ask Liveing to broach the question
at the Board, without mentioning your name, in order to sound opinion:
or I will in other ways ascertain privately the views of the members.
I do not however feel that this would be decisive, as they may not
have considered the question and might yield to argument. However I
feel almost sure that your appeal would be rejected without much
discussion. _Markby_ is of opinion that even supposing the Board
consented to propose the change to the Senate, that body would
certainly reject it. And he (M.) is inclined to think that it would
injure the cause of female education here in general, to stir up
hostility in the Senate on this particular matter. (I do not myself
feel sure of this.) But he does not think application to the Board
would do any harm. Bonney also thinks this course hopeless but
harmless.
Even after consent of the Board and the Senate, you would have to be
admitted as member of some college; but in the case supposed, that
would not cause much difficulty....
I do not know whether you will think any thing more of us after this.
If you do come to look for yourself at the ‘terrain,’ you will at any
rate find a minority of sympathizers who will give you any aid in
their power, among them
Yours sincerely,
HENRY SIDGWICK.
P.S. You will see that, on reflection, I am somewhat doubtful of the
advantage of making the application. On the whole, however, I still
think it would be a good thing.”
Meanwhile Professor Masson of Edinburgh University had written a letter
to Mrs. Butler, from which S. J.-B. quotes the following extract in her
diary:
“It will give me much pleasure to see Miss Jex-Blake (whose name is
well known to me); Sir James Simpson will be very glad to see her
also.... I fear however that at present the chance of the throwing
open of professional education and degrees are not so great with us as
Miss Blake seems to imagine” (!)—The exclamation point is S. J.-B.’s.—
“But who knows what may happen or how soon?”
On February 15th, S. J.-B. writes to Dr. Sewall:
“I think I may probably go to Cambridge and see whether there is the
least chance of anything medical there. I have almost no hope, but it
is thought well to apply at least to the Medical Board just for the
principle of the thing. Then I may probably go to Edinburgh, St.
Andrews, Glasgow, etc. I understand that Glasgow was expressly founded
on the model of Bologna;—now Bologna admitted women!
Did I tell you that there is to be a volume of Essays published in the
summer about all sorts of Women’s questions, and I have been asked to
write about the Medical question. If I do, I rather think I shall send
you my essay to criticise first, shall I?... I wish very much that I
could find some English lady to go in for Medicine with me,—it would
be such a comfort in thundering at the Colleges, and in working
afterwards. There is one very capable woman of about 30,—a _thorough_
lady,—who is staying with us now, who would like extremely to study
for many reasons, but is withheld by the great prejudice and very bad
health of her mother.”
It was indeed a loss to the whole woman movement that Miss Ursula Du Pre
was prevented from taking a more articulate part in it, for one tries in
vain to think of one of her contemporaries who was more generously
gifted by nature and circumstances. She had mental powers that would
have fitted her to shine in almost any of the professions strictly
preserved for the benefit of men, great common sense, a finely balanced
judgment, and—what appealed to S. J.-B. perhaps more than anything else—
a keen and unfailing sense of humour. Tact too she had, and the singular
charm of the “great lady” who is at the same time one of the simple-
hearted. Deeply religious throughout life, she was absolutely devoid of
false humility and of the ultra-sensitiveness that would have rendered
her gifts of small avail beyond her own circle. The accident of her sex
set her free from the cares and responsibilities of the landowner; and
one cannot wonder that S. J.-B. bitterly resented the unalterable
decision of some members of her family that a medical career was out of
the question.
Nothing, however, can really rob the world of the usufruct of gifts like
these. The influence of a man or woman can never be measured by the
number of those who experience it at first hand. Who shall say whether
it is better to have a thousand disciples, or twelve, or one?
Mrs. Jex-Blake and Mrs. Du Pre had long been acquainted, but it was in
this month of January 1869 that the two daughters first met and found
each other. S. J.-B. brought much to the friendship, as the reader of
the previous volume is aware; her gifts were great, her knowledge of
life astonishingly wide for a young woman of her day; but she found no
less than she brought. Never again could she complain of the lack of a
friend “with whom she could take counsel.” All through the troublous
times that were to follow so closely on the inception of their
friendship, Miss Du Pre was her admiring critic, her confidante and
counsellor, following every move in the complicated game, disapproving,
perhaps, sometimes, but sympathising always. She was the friend too of
S. J.-B.’s friends and comrades, and in the long days of hope deferred
there were those who must surely have fallen in the breach but for Miss
Du Pre’s material and spiritual aid.
* * * * *
Meanwhile S. J.-B. wrote the Essay on “Medicine as a Profession for
Women,” which was published a few months later in the volume entitled
_Women’s Work and Women’s Culture_. “Fairish, not quite satisfactory,”
is her own verdict on the first draft, which was doubtless considerably
improved by the suggestions of friendly critics. As the Essay appeared
later in her book on _Medical Women_, it could scarcely be bettered, and
indeed it has proved a storehouse of research and argument for all
subsequent writers and speakers on the subject.
Professor Newman, to whom Mrs. Butler sent the first draft, wrote an
admirable letter:
“I have no learning in the history of female physicians, but I know
that in my boyhood I read in a magazine an urgent remonstrance with
ladies for their prejudice against man-midwives, of whom the writer
speaks as a beneficent innovation. I think I have read that they were
first used in the Court circle of Louis XIV.... To prove negatives is
always hard, but I should not fear to write that the exclusion of
women from acting as physicians to women is quite a modern usurpation
by the male sex, and limited to the nations which cultivate modern
science. The topic reminds me of the address of the nurse to Queen
Phoedra in Euripides’ Hippolytus, when she observes her mistress to be
wild and out of health,—‘If thy complaint be anything of a more secret
kind, _here are women_ at hand to compose the disease. But, if thy
distress be such as may be told to males, tell it in order that it may
be communicated to the physicians.’
This is almost as if _in no case_ would the male physician do more
than give advice when the facts were reported to him through the
women.
It is nearly so in Turkey to this day. A Pasha wanted advice for his
wife from a friend of mine without his seeing her.”
“_Do_ quote Euripides in your Essay,” writes Mrs. Butler. “Never mind
if we look a little more learned than we are. Let us spoil the
Egyptians.”
And again,—
“I am sure Mr. Newman _intended_ you to use anything in his letter
which you could make available. He is so generously helpful.”
On February 24th, S. J.-B. writes to Dr. Sewall:
“I have written the Essay I spoke of about Medical Women, and I shall
send it to you to see in a week or two, as soon as I can get it
copied. There are several points on which I want your authority and
opinion;—tell me whenever you think I overstate facts or make
mistakes—or tell me if you think I might put things _more_ strongly
with advantage. Tell me how many instances have occurred of men
doctors putting their womankind under _your_ treatment, or that of
other women you know,—Dr. B., Dr. C., and J. W.?—any more?
Also anything else that occurs to you generally.
I had a witty letter from Miss Putnam this morning, in which she says
how very indifferent it is to her if Mrs. D. chooses to ‘invent
Arabian Nights’ tales’ about her. I do hope that you have published
her letter,—don’t simply disregard me because I’m across the Atlantic
and can’t pinch you! She made me dreadfully envious by saying that she
is going in for some months’ work at Operative Surgery, and that it
will be ‘very jolly.’ I believe, however that for the summer at any
rate I _ought_ to stay with my Mother and try to make her very jolly
(poor old darling!) If I can get into any of the Colleges for the
winter, that may be another matter, though I am not sure.”
Meanwhile Professor Sidgwick was pursuing his kind and public-spirited
enquiries:
“Trin. Coll. Cam.
Mar. 1.
MY DEAR MISS JEX-BLAKE,
I should have written to you before, but I have found it
difficult to make up my mind. I now, however, after some hesitation,
am inclined to dissuade you from making the attempt. I have not
visited any of the Medical Board (as I thought it best, if you did
come, that you should find them unprepared), but I have discussed the
matter with about ten discreet persons varying in age and position.
Not one of us thinks that there is the smallest chance of your request
being granted. The feeling of the [? Board] is certain to be decidedly
against you: and there are minor obstacles interposed by existing
regulations, which might be easily set aside if there was a desire to
do so, but which will furnish excuses for rejection to any who may
require such.
The question then comes, Will the raising of the matter _now_ advance
or retard our _ultimate_ success? On this point we vary in opinion,
but no one very decidedly thinks it will be a gain, while some are
very strongly of opinion that it will do more harm than good. After
much hesitation, I have come myself to this latter view, not on
general grounds, for in general I like (as Lincoln said) to keep
pegging away: but because we have hitherto done what we have done for
women’s education by great quietness and moderation, and so far it
seems best to go on in the same way: if our present scheme for
examining women succeeds, it will be easier to take a further step:
moreover I expect that we shall soon open our examinations more
unrestrictedly to men, and that will make it easier to open them to
women. Your application _now_ would thus be a ‘breach of continuity,’
and would appear extravagant to many undecided people who after a few
years may be brought to look upon a similar application as quite
natural.
Against this is to be set the advantage of raising the question, and
getting people to exercise their minds on it, especially with so good
a case (and I have no doubt advocacy) as yours.
In short, we should gain, I believe, by argument, but should very
likely lose more by hardening a mass of fluid prejudice, that may
otherwise evaporate in the natural course of events.
So that, on the whole, I am slightly[47] opposed to your making the
attempt, on public grounds only: and even if the balance between
probable gain and loss is about even, I should hardly like to advise
you to incur so much trouble that could not possibly benefit yourself.
If you do come, I need not say that I will do anything I can to assist
you, and generally to make your stay in Cambridge as pleasant as
possible.
My _instinct_ is to tell you to come, but that is because I like a
fight: my soberer judgment is the other way.
Believe me,
Yours very truly,
HENRY SIDGWICK.”
Footnote 47:
“Slightly” is interpolated in the original letter.
“Trin. Coll.
Mar. 8.
MY DEAR MISS JEX-BLAKE,
I am sorry that we shall not have the pleasure of seeing you:
but, as regards the application, I am quite convinced that your
decision is right. Just at present the reformers here do not want
stimulating, and I think the neutral people want management. As
regards the Scotch Universities, I am afraid I cannot help you
personally....
I have taken counsel with a friend here—J. Stuart—who is now examiner
at St. Andrews. He has promised to write to you and to send
introductions to two or three people there whom you may like to visit.
I imagine that either Edinburgh or St. Andrews will be more likely to
serve your purpose than Glasgow or Aberdeen. If I can find any means
of aiding you at Edinburgh, I will write again. I may have friends who
know some of the Professors. Masson is the only one of whom I know
anything,—he having once been an editor of mine. I should think he is
very likely to help you, Shairp, I should fear, not; but I may be
wrong.
Of Ireland I know nothing: but from what I have heard I should think
our Conservatism here is nothing to the Conservatism of Dublin—
particularly when Gladstone is Disestablishing.
With best wishes for your success, I am,
Yours very sincerely,
H. SIDGWICK.”
On the following day came a letter from Mr. Stuart, offering all the
help in his power:
“I hope you will excuse my unceremoniousness in thus writing to you by
the belief that I have your success much at heart.”
“My husband and I both think that it would be better not to try
Cambridge in the face of Mr. Sidgwick’s opinion,” writes Mrs. Butler.
“No one is better able to test the feeling of the University than he.
I hope before long England will be ashamed of herself in this matter.
We must do all we can by working quietly and extensively on the hearts
and consciences of men. I find no man of ordinary candour who is not
easily convinced, but the M.D.s will be the obstacle. They hang
together so.
Shall you try Edinburgh? If not, do you think of taking a foreign
degree? I wish you were an M.D. You would have plenty of patients at
once.—myself among the number.”
Thus it came about that when Mrs. Jex-Blake went to visit her son at
Cheltenham, S.J.-B. “screwed her courage to the sticking-point,” and
went to Edinburgh. The entry in her diary is characteristic:
“Monday, March 15th. To Edinbro. How I dreaded the journey and
sequence! On waking,—‘If Thou go not with me, carry me not up hence’!”
* * * * *
Meanwhile the University of Edinburgh stood foursquare, and the
professors sat in their comfortable chairs, little dreaming that their
Day of Judgment was at hand. Even at a cursory glance they were an
imposing body of men. Some few of them were great in character, or in
intellect, or in both: taken as a whole they were probably well above
the average. In any case they were men of like passions with ourselves,
well-disposed, kindly, just a little blunted by success, desirous of
smooth things. As they acted, so would most similarly constituted bodies
of men have acted at that day. The only difference between them and
other men lay in the fact that it was to them the challenge of the
future came.
And who was to tell them that this was the challenge of the future? It
was so trifling an episode in outward seeming,—only the visit of a
gifted young woman, with a clear strong head, but assuredly with no
immunity from an average human being’s liability to error and mistake.
If the professors had been canvassed on the subject of her request
beforehand the result would have been an almost unanimous No: they had
no more idea of admitting women to the University than they had of
founding a Chair of Millinery. But the applicant was among them before
they were aware; she knew what she wanted and she knew how to state her
wants effectively. Her arguments were all at her finger-ends; and,
although she made no sex appeal, she was possessed of fine dark eyes and
a singularly musical voice.
In those days men had not learnt to be on their guard against an
apparently guileless young woman. To many she stood for little more than
a precocious child, who must be humoured, and, if necessary silenced
later by sheer _force majeure_.
But S. J.-B. took them a step farther on than this. She was obviously no
mere child: she was a woman who had seen a good deal of life, who
realized something of the meaning of sex as a factor in human affairs,
and who was prepared calmly to assert that it ought not to stand in the
way of the privilege she asked. When she faced the pundits with those
candid earnest eyes, there must have been some who were literally
mesmerised for the moment into sharing her belief.
Yes, the Day of Judgment was at hand. I do not mean, of course, that the
“sheep” were those who forwarded the applicant’s claims, and the “goats”
those who put difficulties in her way. In those days there might well be
room for two opinions on an experiment that had scarcely been tried. The
Day of Judgment is apt to be a subtler, more searching thing than that.
What I mean is that one cannot go through the vast mass of letters and
documents relating to the whole matter without seeing the stuff of which
those men were made,—the “worth” on the one hand, the “leather and
prunella” on the other,—and oh, such imposing leather and prunella! One
realizes afresh that when a big emergency takes everyone by surprise,
only those who are guided in life by great principles can hope to act
rightly. They may not all act alike: they may or may not make mistakes;
but at least they act with essential dignity: they ring true; when they
lie in their graves their greatness shines out from the musty old papers
which have chanced for a few short years to embody an imperishable
record.
And there is no one whose greatness shines out more clearly than does
that of David Masson, Professor of Rhetoric and English Literature, to
whom S. J.-B. went first. From first to last one’s admiration for him
never swerves: one does not know which to admire in him most, the clear
insight, the high courage, the fine discretion, or the sheer unfailing
brotherly sympathy.
This is the first impression he made upon S. J.-B.:
“Quiet, rather reserved, kindly. Promised introduction to most of
professors. Seems rather hopeful,—‘tide setting in.’”
One wonders what were the words in which he summed her up. He must have
rejoiced in the clear brain, the quick wit, the cultured voice, the easy
flow of sane and logical speech. Did he guess at the impulsive nature
that was bound to make mistakes?—at the great warm heart that was bound
to suffer more than most?
In any case he gave her the following letter to the Dean of the Faculty
of Medicine:
“MY DEAR BALFOUR,
Miss Jex-Blake, an English lady known as the author of a work on
American Schools, is now in Edinburgh for a few days, chiefly with a
view to ascertaining what chance there may be that Edinburgh
University may (now that Paris and other continental cities have set
the example) see its way to conferring a medical degree, after due
study and qualification, on a lady candidate. It is but right that
having come to Edinburgh for this purpose she should see you as the
Dean of the Medical Faculty, in order to receive the best information
and advice on the subject: and I shall be obliged by your courtesy in
this matter.
Yours very truly,
DAVID MASSON.”
There was a similar note to Dr. Christison, in which the writer said:
“The question, I believe, has been already before you; but it has
seemed to Miss Blake possible that, now that Paris and other
Universities abroad have set the example, there may be some chance of
a modification of the previous conclusion of Edinburgh University on
the subject. As she will receive the best information and advice on
the whole subject from members of the Medical Faculty, I take the
liberty of giving her this note to you, with a request that you will
kindly explain to her the state of things as they are, and of
possibilities in the direction she has in view.
Yours very truly,
DAVID MASSON.”
And so, quite alone—she who was as dependent on a comrade, on a
“helpmeet,” as some of our greatest men have been—with strange lodgings
for a “base,”—she began the great work of canvassing the Edinburgh
professors and the distinguished citizens who, for one reason or
another, might be supposed to have a voice in the matter. She stood
absolutely alone. She might belong to a good old family: her brother
might be Headmaster of an English public school: but on the other side
of the Tweed only a few of the enlightened knew anything of that. She
was merely a clever young woman, with a rather outlandish name, who had
conceived the extraordinary desire of obtaining a medical education by
hook or by crook under the auspices of the Edinburgh University. If only
Dr. Sewall could have been with her—or Mrs. Jenkinson, or Miss Du Pre,—
what a stay she would have been! Fortunately Mr. Begbie was “kind and
helpful as ever”; the old friendship with Miss Orr and with Mrs. Burn
Murdoch was a great resource still; and Mr. Burn Murdoch was ready and
willing to help to the utmost of his power. Miss Orr, it is true, was
rather uncertain about the whole quest, wanted to know whether her old
friend “went to church and read the Bible”; and, however relevant the
question may have been,—S. J.-B. rightly felt that there was no time to
go into it at this stage.
Undoubtedly her two great supports through the time of stress—if we set
aside for the moment all that was involved in her “_If Thou go not with
me,—!_” were the deep interest taken by Miss Du Pre in every detail of
the story; and the possession of Sadie’s poems, which had just been
published. In these latter she found fitting expression for the
fightings and fears of her own inner life, and for her hard-won
“twilight” consolation. It is an interesting fact that these two
elements should have come into her life just at this moment, for one
scarcely sees how she could have “won through” without them. Sadie’s
poems remained dear to her throughout life: she knew many of them by
heart and repeated them almost on her deathbed; and her copy is worn
even more “threadbare” than are her volumes of Robertson’s Sermons. One
can imagine the feelings with which, after a keen exciting day’s work,
she went home to her lonely lodgings, with no “Alice” looking out for
her, to write her report to Dr. Sewall or Miss Du Pre, and to copy in
her diary—as she did—the lines:
“Up the way that is narrow, the path that is steep,
With no guide for my footsteps, no help for my fear:
Only this—that He knoweth the way that I tread,
And His banner of crimson is over my head.
With the loneliness awful pressed into my soul,
With no voice for companion, no grasp of a hand—”
Yes, one cannot help wishing that an intimate friend had been at hand.
One wonders whether she was even becomingly dressed: we know she would
have wished to be; but she so seldom made the most of her
appearance.[48]
Footnote 48:
“By the way your accounts of your dress are just a shade
contradictory,” writes Miss Du Pre somewhat later. “One day you tell
me you look disreputable and plunge me into depths of anxiety! and the
next you say you are ‘very tidy.’ Isn’t this more than average
inconsistency?”
In any case what happened is perfectly clear. The Professors for the
most part had a deeply rooted dislike to having women students in the
University: in fact, the idea of such a thing was unthinkable; but when
a gifted young woman actually sat in their sanctums urging her plea,
they could not bear to say No. Strictly speaking, they should have
refused to see her, but did any man yet ever refuse to see a woman whose
name was before the public?
One wonders as one reads the papers how many of them knew what their
“powers,”—what the legal powers of the University—really were?—how many
of them really wished to know? There was a comfortable conviction in the
back of their minds that insuperable difficulties lay shrouded in those
unprobed depths. In the meantime why not show a little kindness to a
gallant girl who was as modest as anyone could be in formulating so
outrageous a demand, and whose pleading—so it has been said—would have
“wiled the bird from the bough”? It was after she was gone that the real
horror of the situation came home to them, and that they fell back again
with relief on the thought of those unprobed depths,—the legal powers of
the University.
It would all be very ordinary, and sometimes rather depressing, reading,
were it not that Professor Masson and some of the others, when they gave
her their provisional support, really meant exactly what they would have
meant in giving their support to a man—no more and no less. Their own
principle, their own righteousness was involved; they were quite
prepared to see women students—if so it was to be—in the University
quadrangle and class-rooms; and they meant to do what in them lay to
give this woman a fighting chance.
CHAPTER III
SUCCESS?
Meanwhile Miss Elizabeth Garrett was providing in her own career the
very example that was needed to clinch the argument. After much arduous
work and lavish expenditure of money on special classes, she had
obtained the “L.S.A.,” a licence to practise from the Society of
Apothecaries,[49] and good use she had made of the platform thus gained.
Henceforth no one could deny that an Englishwoman had the physique and
the wit to study, “qualify,” and practise Medicine,—yes, even to get her
full share of patients. It was scarcely to be expected that Miss Garrett
would rest content without a University degree, but she considered that
the time was not ripe for the agitation of the question in England, and
she had little sympathy with S. J.-B.’s efforts in Edinburgh. None the
less her successful career was a more valuable argument than her support
would have been,—even if, at the moment, she had not been too fully
occupied elsewhere to enter into the question at all.
Footnote 49:
After Miss Garrett had obtained her diploma, the Society of
Apothecaries passed a resolution forbidding students henceforth to
receive any part of their education privately, thus making it
impossible even for a woman of means to follow in her steps.
On March 21st, S. J.-B. wrote to Dr. Sewall:
“I have two nice little bits of news about Miss Garrett. One is that
the Princess Louise went to see her, and, after enquiring about the
medical prospects of women, expressed strong hopes of their complete
success. This is really worth a great deal, and I hope you will have
too much sense to sneer at it.
Secondly, I see in the _British Medical Journal_ (which I shall try to
send you) a notice that Miss Garrett had ‘by special order of the
minister’ been admitted to the first examination for M.D. [in Paris]
and had passed it in the presence of a crowded audience with very
great _éclat_. That woman certainly has great power of study and work,
hasn’t she?
By the bye, you would have been interested at the scene in which I
noticed this paragraph. I was sitting yesterday morning at Sir James
Simpson’s breakfast table, between him and his wife, and he passed the
paper to me....
He was, of course, quite favourable to my application, and I am to
breakfast with him again tomorrow and hear what he will do about
it.[50] He is going off to Rome for a trip this week, but I am very
anxious that he should vote in my favour first. He is so unreliable
that I do not know how to make sure of his doing it though,—very
likely he’ll be at the other end of Edinburgh when the meeting is
held. I told him that you remembered him and always spoke of his
kindness to you. I am not quite sure whether he recalled it. He spoke
highly of Dr. Emily Blackwell.”
Footnote 50:
To the irreparable loss of the women students, Sir James Simpson died
in the spring of the following year.
A few days previous to this an unobtrusive little note of no small
import appears in the diary:
“8.30 p.m. at Begbie’s met Campbell Smith, who walked home with me.
Older and more quiet than I had expected. Kindly.”
The favourable impression was mutual, if one may judge from the letter
that follows:
“30 Royal Circus,
21st March, 1869.
DEAR MISS BLAKE,
I left your MS. yesterday with Mr. Findlay of the _Scotsman_. I
think he will give you some help. If nothing be in the _Scotsman_
tomorrow, and whether or not, you may call for him at the office. He
will be happy to see you. He said so, and said further that you needed
no note of introduction.
The review of your book appeared on 18th Nov., 1867, and you will see
that also in the pile when you call.
Faithfully yours,
J. C. SMITH.”
Thus began that support from the _Scotsman_, which, in the able hands of
Mr. Alexander Russel, was destined to be of such incalculable value to
the whole Feminist movement. The _Scotsman_ was just approaching the
height of its reputation, and its advocacy was the more valuable because
it was not supposed to have a specially weak side for new movements and
forlorn hopes. It used to be said in those days that, when the North
Pole was discovered, a Scotsman would be found sitting on it, and it
might have been added that the Scotsman would prove to be engrossed in
the newspaper that bore his name. In any case, from this moment on, all
that publicity could do for the cause was done. For better and for
worse, the doings of S. J.-B. were about to be writ large for the whole
world to read. They were the text round which the whole question was
threshed out by countless firesides,—the text on which the life and
character of every other woman provided a running commentary.
Small notion had S. J.-B. of the great flame that small spark was to
kindle. In her diary she speaks quite casually of “my” leader, “highly
approved by Masson.”
Meanwhile the canvassing was proceeding steadily, and S. J.-B.’s “thumb-
nail” notes and sketches of character often make interesting reading,—
none the less so because her gifts in this direction were necessarily
immature.
“Thursday, 18th.... A long 1½ hours’ talk with Allman,—-going
earnestly over every inch of ground, he very nice; at last, he ‘should
be delighted to see me in his class,’ and he thought no legal
objection against admission to classes, however about degrees. I am
sure he will be a firm strong true friend.”
“Friday, March 19th. Today for the first time the astounding idea
dawned upon me that it was perhaps just possible that I really might
succeed after all!
_If I did!_—to enter first a British University!—(‘first’?—Yes, rather
mean, I know, but instinctive!—)
11 a.m. [after three hours’ work and visiting]—Fraser. Friendly, but
rather non-committal,—speaking of it as a ‘matter for the medical
faculty,’ etc.
12. Balfour. At first rather wavering and weak. Didn’t see how a woman
_could_ dissect, etc., till I told him ‘I’d done it for some months,’
etc.... Ultimately a very valuable suggestion that he and A. should
admit me to their summer courses, of Botany and Natural History, and
then, if all went well I matriculate in October, and go to the rest.
Proposes to call a Medical Faculty meeting next week if possible
before Simpson goes.
1.30, Lunch at the Grants. Very friendly and kind,—he with real
English Oxford manner and courtesy,—she very kindly.
He thought ‘all would agree as to end,—only difficulty as to means,’—
agreed with Balfour’s idea of wisdom of deferring degree question. Was
‘very much interested’ in it all, and thought my going to see each of
the Faculty would make a great difference.
Told me that in a recent speech here, Jowett ‘hoped the Universities
would open to women’ and was cheered greatly.
Gave me (sealed) introduction to Christison (the ogre)—and authorized
me to tell him ‘he should make no difficulty,’ etc.
3 p.m. Henderson,—feared women ‘would get the cream of practice, if
any’ (noble fear!)—would ‘think over it,’—-after a futile ‘non
possumus’.”
On the following day S. J.-B. sent in her formal application to the Dean
of the Medical Faculty:
“SIR,
As I understand that the statutes of the University of Edinburgh
do not in any way prohibit the admission of women, and as the
Universities of Paris and Zurich have already been thrown open to
them, I venture earnestly to request from you and the other gentlemen
of the Medical Faculty permission to attend the lectures in your
Medical School during the ensuing session.
I beg to signify my willingness to accede to any such conditions, or
agree to any such reservations as may seem desirable to you, and
indeed to withdraw my application altogether if, after due and
sufficient trial, it should be found impracticable to grant me a
continuance of the favour which I now request. You, Sir, must be well
aware of the almost insuperable difficulty of pursuing the study of
Medicine under any conditions but those which can be commanded by
large colleges only; and, in view of the increasing demand for the
medical service of women among their own sex, I am sure that you will
concede the great importance of providing for the adequate instruction
of such as desire thoroughly to qualify themselves to fulfil the
duties of the medical profession.
Earnestly commending my request to the favourable consideration of
yourself and your colleagues.
I am, Sir,
Yours obediently,
SOPHIA JEX-BLAKE.”
This letter is copied in her diary, and followed by the note:
“Taken to him, and meeting called to oblige me at 1 p.m. Tuesday. Oh,
dear, how these folks gain by comparison with Harvard!
9.30 a.m. Turner. Quiet, thoughtful, realizing difficulty strongly,
and referring to Christison as ‘our Nestor.’ Still listening heedfully
and promising my words should ‘have due weight.’
10.30. Christison. ‘The matter _has_ been decided.’ Not rude but quite
uncompromising. He should use no influence, but vote against me.
... 2 p.m. Dr. Bennett, who declared himself tired of fighting Syme
and Christison, but will, I think, do it. He railed at them most of
the time. Did not see the need of women as doctors, but acknowledged
their possible value as assistant physiologists....[51] Will admit me,
if possible, to his non-obligatory histology class in summer....
10 p.m. Was awfully cross at having to go to dine at ... and to tea at
..., but at the latter ‘met the gods,’—a _very_ nice woman of 33 or 34
with curiously white hair,—Mrs. Evans, I think. She and I held
together on almost all subjects. She would like to study Medicine (and
I am sure has the power) but for an ‘old aunt.’ Oh, dear, the ‘might
have beens’!—And yet here was I ten minutes ago defending ‘absolute
right’ as the only rule.
Curious though how one’s instinct leaps forward at the smallest
chance.—‘Couldn’t we take a “flat” together?’”
Footnote 51:
As Physiology was Dr. Bennett’s speciality, the admission was worth
having.
“Monday, March 22nd. A cup of tea and then to Simpson’s to breakfast.
He said he should probably be here tomorrow and would go to the
meeting if at all possible....
Then ... to Laycock ... who was ‘frank’(!)—and told me ‘as a public
man,’ etc., he must oppose,—informed me women ‘didn’t understand their
position,’ that they did their own work in the world badly, that they
had not sufficient strength for medical practice,—‘if women are fit
for war, I will allow them fit for medicine.’ And, when I instanced
the Amazons, thought that had nothing to do with it! Was sure women
preferred men to do everything for them, even in shops;—and informed
me no decent woman knew what young men are, or if she did, it was
reprehensible, etc.
After lunch to Syme,—he more favourable than I had expected. Did think
women ought to supersede ‘that man in ... Street,’—and thought if it
was clearly understood that they only meant to practise in Midwifery
and uterine diseases, there ‘would be no opposition.’ Not to be
present tomorrow any way.
Spence,—rather doubtful-minded. Not strongly opposed,—might turn
either way, but is, I think, rather kindly and not irrational.
Then called on kind Lady Grant; then home to rest.”
“Tuesday, 23rd. 10.30 a.m. Now, having done all that lies in one
woman’s power—except, perhaps, an article in the _Daily Review_,—
having left a book, as a reminder, on Bennett, hunted up Sir J. Y. S.
and crammed him [with] Mlle Unpronounceable at St. Petersburg,—I have
to do what is hardest of all,—wait.
Four distinct votes in my favour, I believe, if all go and all keep
faith with me. Allman ... Bennett, Balfour, Simpson.
Against me distinctly,—Christison, Laycock, and probably Henderson.
Doubtful,—Turner, Spence, and, perhaps, Syme.
Besides Maclagan (ill), and Playfair (probably absent).[52]
Footnote 52:
It must be borne in mind that at this time the question was before
the Professors of the Medical Faculty only.
To lunch with Simpson at 2 p.m., and hear results.
1.45 p.m. Waiting for the verdict? How will it be? Somehow the
probability seems rather for me this time,—but there,—the Fates are so
habitually adverse! I can’t help hoping and yet I _don’t_ expect
success. I hope they won’t ‘give an uncertain sound’ and put it off
indefinitely!
8 p.m.—Gloria tibi Domine!...
At 2 p.m. went to Sir J. Y. S.,—found him out, but met him in the
street. ‘Yes, ye’re to be let in to the classes if the Senatus allow
ye,—‘ of course with all provisos as to ‘tentative,’ etc. But the
great fact is granted,—the thin end of the wedge in, and, though
nothing is secure till after the Senatus on Saturday, yet it is an
enormous triumph!
Three more days’ of calling and entreating and arguing,—then ‘after
all these voices ... peace.’
After all, my aspiration to L. E. S. was not so ill-founded,—‘If I can
be the first woman to open a British University’—then surely I, like
Charlotte Brontë ‘shall have served, my heart and I’—even if I die
straightway.
For May, June and July, the Botany, Natural History, and Histology,
with preparation for the Matriculation exam.
Oh, dear, I do feel so exultant.... In one sense I do see all the
life-preamble to have been needed. The experience in the United States
gave me much more chance of success now,—the life there gave me health
really to use the chance when it comes.
I hardly fear the future at all;—not the students, nor the work.
I am sorry not to be with Mother, but on the whole this must be best,
I think.
Four years of College! All alone? Surely not literally all the time—
spiritually, who knows?
What a pity, as I said to U.D. that they will use up gold for
toasting-forks!
Well, I am sure the hind-wheels may run by faith for a long time now.
Perhaps the tangle is beginning to unravel after all these years,—and
I shall have to cry, ‘Oh, why didn’t I bear on better then!’ I suppose
that is always the feeling when the cloud begins to lift. But _till_
it lifts,—
‘Still it is hard. No darkness will be light
Though we should call it light from night till morn.’
And surely the Father pitieth His children.”
The numberless quotations in the course of her diary,—however
fundamentally optimistic—are almost always in a minor key; but the minor
key proves inadequate in the face of this great joy. One can see the
dark eyes flash as she goes on,—
“‘Fair are the Marcian kalends,
The proud ides, when the squadron rides,
Shall be Rome’s whitest day.’
Surely I shall have to institute a festival for March 23rd. I wonder
who’s the saint. It will be very odd if any other day in my life will
be (if all goes well) as vital an epoch as today....
I feel as if everybody was my peer today, for I want everybody to
shake hands with me. I am so glad. Dear old Mother!—why are you not
here to kiss me?... O.H.?... L.E.S.?... Ursula?... Perhaps _your_
thought is nearest me tonight, because you more than any perhaps
realize the day of crisis....”
“Wednesday, March 24th. How very nice it is to wake with a sense of
something very good in the wind!”
Indeed it is small wonder that she was elated. Everyone had assured her
that the opposition of the doctors was the thing to be feared, and now
the Medical Faculty had recorded its vote in her favour. True, the
permission only applied, in the first instance, to the Summer Term, and
some of the professors may well have thought that the Summer Term would
be more than enough to quench the ardour of the solitary woman student.
But there is really no need to enquire into the manifold motives that
may have swayed them. They had done what she asked, and it was scarcely
to be supposed that the professors of the other faculties would prove
more obdurate. One thinks with satisfaction of some of the men with whom
she now had to deal,—Professor Masson was not the only rock among them.
One has but to recall the names of Professor Calderwood, Professor
Lorimer, Professor Wilson, and others too, in order to realise that, so
far as they were concerned, her feet were on sure ground.
The diary of March 24th continues:
“Then to Masson’s, where I got 5 introductions. He very hopeful, I
think. Seems not to think the University Court have the right to
interfere.
Then to Tytler’s. He very quiet and legal. ‘Should go to the Senatus
quite unprejudiced,’—which was hardly all I wanted!...
... In afternoon went with Mr. Begbie to see ... Calderwood,—at home
and quite favourable. Should support me on Saturday. ‘Fine speaker,’
says Begbie.
Then Tait,—quite favourable.
Fleeming Jenkin,—rather so,—indeed I think he almost promised to vote
for me, but feared some legal difficulties as to Matriculation, etc.
After Begbie went home, I saw Kelland,—he mildly favourable,—but saw
‘difficulties.’ Still will vote, I think.
In the evening at Blackies’. He with clear pure face, white hair and
straw hat! Half mad looking, certainly. But showed me favourable
passages in his Notes on the Iliad, etc.—XI. 740—, and ‘unless he
hears strong things to the contrary’ will support me. Mrs. Blackie
also nice, I think,—not commonplace.”
“Thursday, 25th. Congratulations from Mother and U.D.... Left Iliad
notes at Blackie’s. Then saw Lorimer. Very kind and friendly. ‘Very
glad to see me.’ Introduced me to Mrs. Lorimer, was ‘sure women could
do work men couldn’t’, etc., and were needed. Introduced me to
M‘Pherson, saying he ‘sufficiently expressed his opinion by saying he
intended to vote for me.’
Which McPherson _doesn’t_. Not disagreeable however, though less
earnestminded than most.
Cosmo Innes. Painfully deaf, but very friendly. Much interested about
my written communications about Bologna. Will support me. I’m to send
him facts from British Museum.
Muirhead—I had been taught to fear as surely opposed. So he was at
first, but candid and earnest and kind, and said at last, ‘You have
disposed of many of my objections.’ Much interested as to University
statistics,—Bologna, etc. Suggested Balfour should write for
information to Paris and Zurich.
Then bought stockings and basket, and called on Miss Blyth, and came
home pretty well done up. Now to start again soon.
(I hear Mr. M., downstairs, is interested to hear they have ‘that
lady’ here!)
3 p.m. Professor Playfair has been here,—very kindly,—very much in
earnest,—laying stress on Bologna degrees, etc. Introduction to Piazzi
Smith,—‘I am strongly in favour of granting her desire to attend the
classes, with the view of taking the degree in Medicine. She is
thoroughly in earnest and desires no favour. Do give her an
opportunity of stating her case to you.’
Then with D. B. M. to Stevenson ... who thinks it ‘haigh taime’ to
have female practitioners, and means to vote for me, I think.
Then D. B. M. home, and with Mr. Begbie to Dr. C. who seems to have
been at a Tory clack with Christison and Co. in the morning and won’t
help me. He most naïvely let out ‘what Christison meant to do,’—i.e.
argue that the Senate could not act without more legal advice,—delay,—
and if possible refer to Chancellor Inglis. Whereon I wrote to Tait,
Innes and Playfair to put on guard.
6 p.m. Dinner at 22 Manor Place....
By the bye, how queerly much impressed Muirhead was with the ‘trouble
I had taken’ at British Museum, etc.”
“Friday 26th. This morning at 10.30, to Piazzi Smith,—deaf and very
hard to get at. Declared nothing but Astronomy to be his business,—and
particularly no science used for money-getting!—Then he rambled off to
‘supply before demand’—Meteorological Society and Mr. Lowe, etc., and
Registrar of Deaths, etc. Then—had a ladies’ meeting been called to
declare they would employ women, etc.... However I might be sure he
‘would not vote against me,’ and advised me not to be discouraged!...
Oh, dear, what a strain it is on one to have to sit out that sort of
thing!
2 p.m. came Professor Wilson,—very kind and friendly,—though, having
inadvertently shown him my list, he instantly pounced down on his own
name and asked my authority. So I gave up Playfair instantly!... A
grave good thoughtful man,—a very sound champion.
Then to see Lorimer who encourages me finely.”
“Saturday March 27th. Went with Mr. Begbie to see Oakeley (at school
with Tom) Oxfordish (i.e. non enthusiastic), but civil enough. Said he
should support.
11 a.m. Fraser. The Medical Faculty having agreed, he was ready to do
so too. I specially pleaded against “shelving” the question.
Indeed I hope with all my writing and speaking and warning (including
my rather ill-advised raid on Balfour at College this morning) I have
put a spoke in Christison’s wheel. Just about voting on it, I
suppose,—3.30 p.m.
It is to be hoped Wilson will be prophetic,—‘We’ll have a great fight,
but we’ll beat them!’
10 p.m. Success,—and _such_ a success,—14 to 4!—‘Nunc dimittis’?—No,
surely,—fresh zeal and energy for lifelong work.
Isn’t it _good_ after such a fortnight of rush and battle and strain
to go to bed, saying,—‘The work is done!’
‘Of all the gifts of God...!’”
It is interesting to note that the speakers in S. J.-B.’s favour at the
Meeting of Senatus were:—Professors Balfour, Tait, Lorimer, Fleeming
Jenkin, Masson, Blackie, Bennett, and Sir Alexander Grant. Against her
were Professors Christison, Turner, Laycock and Craufurd. To her great
surprise Professor Muirhead gave notice of an appeal to the University
Court. Professor Playfair was out of town, but the following letter has
been preserved:
“University Club,
Edinburgh.
26 March, 69.
MY DEAR MASSON,
I have to express my regret that, in ignorance of there being a
Senatus Meeting tomorrow, I had made an important engagement in
Fifeshire.
I cordially concur in the recommendation of the Medical Faculty, that
Miss Blake should be allowed to attend the Summer classes. If no
inconvenience be found in practice, there are many precedents for
female graduation, and for female professors. Pope Joan herself is an
instance, although she professed and graduated in male attire. But
lesser people than a pope may be adduced as precedents, in Salamanca,
Bologna and Padua, especially from the thirteenth century onwards. Sir
Roundell Palmer would not object on the ground of the legality of the
prospect of female graduation, though if he were a member of Senatus
he might doubt the expediency.
For my part, I have faith that the students will act like gentlemen,
and will prove that the tentative session has not been lost by
discourtesy on their part.
Yours sincerely,
LYON PLAYFAIR.”
CHAPTER IV
A CHECK
On the day following that memorable meeting of Senatus, S. J.-B. had a
curious conversation with the wife of one of the professors:
“Mrs. A. tells me Christison actually threatened to resign if women
are admitted!—and to the Medical Faculty this is a formidable threat.
She thinks also ‘the professors haven’t treated me fairly’ (which I
deny) in not letting me know how much they dislike the whole thing.
Doubtless A. does,—and the babble of her bourne is magnified to her.
Still I know all is not yet gained. Yet surely very much _is_. And can
‘He so far have brought me’—? Not that that is a real argument,
because if it fails we must suppose failure is right in one sense.
Amusing how much personal power Mrs. A. attributes to me, ‘You’ve just
turned them round your thumb,—I don’t believe there’s another woman
could have done it,—_you_ are wholly exceptional, etc.’ I say ‘very
complimentary, but I think not quite true.’ She thinks I’ve been
‘wonderfully clever,’ and when I object to the phrase, ‘have really
shown wonderful _power_ and tact.’
I’m afraid one can’t help being a little pleased to think one’s own
effort has done something,—and yet the other feeling lies deeper:
‘If Thou didst will, a mighty sword
Out of my stem should grow.’
By the bye U. D. thinks my poem[53] the saddest in the book, ‘Poor
child’ [she says] ‘_how_ sorry I am for you! Oh, if the atmosphere of
Easter joy which is bright round me were only your’s too, ... Such an
“only this,”—it would be better to be in the blackest night with the
hope of stumbling into broad daylight some time or other. It is the
sort of hopelessness of any more light to come that makes the poem so
sad to me.’
I don’t agree. I think the ‘only this’ is just everything,—enough to
live on and die on, though not enough (what is?) to prevent life being
very hard and stony. It seems to me just the essence of the—
‘... strenuous souls for belief and prayer—
Who stand in the dark on the lowest stair
Affirming of God,—He is certainly there.’
And did even Christ keep that much always?—
I believe Miss Cobbe is right,—in every Calvary there must be
‘darkness over the face of all the land’ for awhile.
Well, indeed, if we can always keep a firm grip of—
‘Only this, that He knoweth the way that I tread,
And His banner of crimson is over my head.’
And again,—
‘This only for solace,—God knoweth indeed
Where the poverty galls,—of what things we have need.’
At 1.30 came Mrs. Evans with her clear good eyes and face. Much
disposed at least to Botany. _How_ I hope she will!”
Footnote 53:
“Walking in Darkness.”
Meanwhile S. J.-B. was undoubtedly the woman of the moment, and she had
the satisfaction—by no means an unbroken one as life went on—of feeling
herself a thoroughly popular person. She lunched with this dignitary and
dined with that; some of the wives of the Professors offered to
accompany her to the lectures if no other women came forward to join
her; and some students whom she met at dinner told her they thought the
students would be delighted that she should join the class.
Apparently this sanguine view was a mistaken one, for an agitation was
raised among some of the men—at whose instigation we have no means of
knowing—which resulted in another appeal to the University Court against
the decision of the Senatus.
Very characteristically, but with Professor Masson’s approval, S. J.-B.
had called on Professor Muirhead to ask him the grounds of his appeal.
He told her he had appealed because he did not think the question had
been fully considered, and he thought the vote of the Senatus had
settled the question too finally for _all_ women. He pointed out that,
as things stood, she _must_ matriculate even to go to the lectures, but
held out hopes that the University Court could give tentative
permission. He was “not at all unfriendly,” and showed her cases of
mediaeval women doctors to add to the strength of her armoury.
Meanwhile Lord Advocate Moncrieff had proved “kindly and favourable,”
and the Lord Provost, “very lordly in his big chair, but rather
gracious” had promised to give the question “his best consideration.”
Sir Alexander Grant thought the thing was won with the Professors, and
had “hardly a doubt” of the University Court.
* * * * *
When, on March 31st of that eventful year, S. J.-B. returned to
Brighton, she fully believed that her cause was so far gained, and there
is not the smallest doubt that a number of the professors shared her
belief. One cannot read the diary and the letters of the periods without
feeling how much cause there was for confident anticipation; but we have
only to turn to dry-as-dust facts, to the constitution of Edinburgh
University, in order to realize how precarious the situation was.
There were no less than four bodies whose business it was to consider
the question at stake, and who—in addition to the Chancellor—had to be
consulted before any important change could be made:
1. The Medical Faculty, consisting of Medical Professors only.
This hurdle, as the reader is aware, had been somewhat unexpectedly
passed.
2. The Senatus, comprising all the Professors of every Faculty.
This obstacle, too had been passed.
3. The University Court, composed of the Rector, the Principal, the
Lord Provost of Edinburgh,—with five others appointed respectively by
the Chancellor, the Rector, the Senatus, the Town Council of
Edinburgh, and the General Council of the University.
4. The General Council, comprising all those graduates who register
their names as members.
Mr. Sidgwick’s remarks about Convocation naturally occur to one at this
stage; but what mainly strikes one on facing these particulars is the
extraordinary constitution of No. 3 as a body authorized to reconsider
the decisions of No. 2. The Rector was some distinguished man who might
never have been in Edinburgh in his life; the Lord Provost may be fairly
supposed to have his hands pretty full without taking upon him the
consideration of highly technical questions that lay outside his sphere.
As for some of the other members,—one can only say that the manner of
their election calls up possibilities concerning them too varied for the
human mind to grasp.
No doubt there were occasions on which this “lay control” had its
advantages; but, when one considers how much must depend on the point of
view from which the case was laid before the Court, one cannot but feel
that it lay in the power of so singularly-constituted a body to defeat
the very end for which it was created.
From S. J.-B.’s point of view then, as we have seen, two hurdles had
been successfully passed; but the dangers of the third may be estimated
from the fact—the importance of which she as an outsider could not
possibly gauge—that her avowed and implacable opponent, “our Nestor,”
Dr. Robert Christison, was the only Professor and the only medical man
who had a seat on the University Court. He had in fact the unique
distinction of belonging to every body by which the interests of the
women had to be decided, viz. the Medical Faculty, the Senatus, the
University Court, the University Council, and the Infirmary Board.
Add to all this that he was a respected and representative citizen, one
who made a strong appeal to the religious and church-going public. “No
man,” said Professor Masson about this time, “walks the streets of
Edinburgh whom I more respect; ... but this is not the first time, and I
suppose it will not be the last, when grave and wise men will be found
defending a dying tyranny.”
Professor Masson’s feeling for the great man was destined to be sorely
tried.
It will surprise no one, then, to learn that on April 19th, the
following resolution was passed at a meeting of the University Court
held, as was the custom, in strict privacy:
“That the Court, considering the difficulties at present standing in
the way of carrying out the resolution of the Senatus, as a temporary
arrangement in the interest of one lady, and not being prepared to
adjudicate finally on the question whether women should be educated in
the medical classes of the University, sustains the appeals and
recalls the resolution of the Senatus.”
“As a temporary arrangement in the interests of one lady.”
Supposing that the decision of the University Court was really to be
taken at its face value, so to speak, it was one of which nobody could
fairly complain. Was it not simply another way of saying,—“If this
counsel or this work be of men it will come to nought”? For, although it
be true that “God and one man make a majority,” the fighter who has God
on his side does not indefinitely remain alone, even so far as his
fellow men are concerned.
The mere fact of the adverse decision is recorded in the diary almost
without comment. One is glad to think that when S. J.-B. received the
news she was among her friends in the south, and no longer so dependent
on the lonely solace of an unwritten page. On April 26th she wrote to
Dr. Sewall:
“You will have seen my bad news in the papers I sent you on Saturday,—
I can no longer urge you to come and settle in Edinburgh, for all my
plans there have been overturned again. The University Court has
actually vetoed the permission given by the Medical Faculty and
confirmed by the whole Senatus (or conjoined faculties).
This is very unusual and seems _very_ hard.
I expect to go to Scotland in a week or two still, to see whether
nothing can be done about it. If I had any legal standpoint I would
take the matter into the Courts.[54] If I _can’t_ get in at Edinburgh,
then I shall try Glasgow, etc., but I should very much prefer
Edinburgh....
You see it is very well that I asked you not to talk about Edinburgh
to other folks. When I really succeed, you may ‘boast’ as much as you
please! I am sure that anything I ever do in Medicine will be all
yours.
I am so glad that you are prospering so well, and getting patients
sent you by the men. Thank you for all the papers you send me,—when
you send whole papers, do _mark_ the paragraph....
I am glad you like my Essay. It will be a good deal better when it is
rewritten, for I have a good deal of new evidence to bring in. It
_may_ be out in July, or it may wait till October.
I have had terrible wear and tear to go through the last two months.
Edinburgh was _very very_ tiring work,—to repeat endless arguments to
an endless succession of people took so very much out of one,—and then
too there was really a great deal to _do_, and tho’ I took cabs
recklessly I could not but get very tired....
I am sure you are right about women being fitter to understand women.
I will put in some more about that. Do you know whenever it comes home
to me personally I am more and more amazed how women _can_ go to men
for uterine treatment. I think that, sooner than go to any, I would
come across the Atlantic again to you. I wish you would let me know
how often doctors have sent you their own relations. I wish Dr. Cabot
or some leading doctor would publish a pamphlet or something
expressing his strong belief in the ‘_need_ of women doctors for young
girls.’ This is the point that hits the public hardest, I think. If he
could write me a short note that I could quote in my Essay, with or
without his name, I would do so....
There is such a nice girl here,—Ursula Du Pre (a sort of connection of
Mrs. Jenkinson’s) who would like very much to study medicine, but her
Mother objects strongly and she is too ill to be worried, she thinks.
It is a thousand pities, for she would make a splendid doctor;[55]
and, being extremely ‘well-born,’ it would have an excellent effect
for her to study. She is very anxious to see you,—she has fallen in
love with your picture. I tell everybody that neither that nor
anything else can tell them _how_ good and sweet you are, my dear
child.
Your very aff.
S. L. J.-B.”
Footnote 54:
This suggestion had been made to her by one of the legal professors.
Footnote 55:
“Tell me everything that happens,” writes Miss Du Pre about this time,
“so that I may not lose the thread of your history. I think I know
most of the people’s names now, and should not require much
explanation. You need not tell me in _every_ letter that Sir A. Grant
is the Principal. I’ll try to remember that fact.”
Meanwhile she was not left without sympathy from those whose sympathy
was a distinction in itself. On April 5th Professor Masson had written:
“DEAR MISS JEX-BLAKE,
Here is the latest news. The case was to come up today before
the University Court—with these two new elements,—of which I heard
only on Saturday: viz. (i) That Professor Turner has appealed
independently to the Court, and (2) That there is a petition against
you to the Court by a large number of students—not gainsaying the
propriety of women studying or practising Medicine, but laying stress
on the difficulty and the injury to male students, should a lady
student be admitted to open lectures on certain medical subjects, so
that a Professor should be forced to abstain from exhaustive treatment
of those subjects.
It was known at a Senatus meeting on Saturday, that the appeal, with
these new conditions, might come before the University Court today;
and, in view of this, Professor Balfour and myself were deputed to
appear before the Court and defend the vote of the Senatus,—
representing the reasons of the majority of the Senatus for the vote
and replying to any new objections.
We were at our post for the purpose today; but the University Court—
whether from an excess of business, or because of a desire for delay
in this particular question,—postponed the consideration of your case
till the 19th of this month. So nothing was done today.
On the whole I am of opinion that delay will do no harm. Prof.
Muirhead appeals (as far as I can understand him) not as an enemy, but
in order that there may be farther discussion. Professor Turner’s
appeal is grounded, I believe, on his own difficulty as regards
Anatomy. And then there will be time for outside influences, and the
considerations they may induce....
Had I known in time that I should be deputed to defend the case, I
would have written to you to request suggestions. As it is, there is
plenty of time now, and what occurs to me immediately is that any
facts showing the prevalence of right opinion in British Society (both
Whig and Tory) might be converted into argument. Please write to me
anything that you can collect on this head, i.e. facts and names to
prove that the tendency to open the profession to women is approved by
eminent and representative personages, of different political
opinions, throughout the country.
I will write again. Meanwhile, with doubled zeal for all that has
happened, I am,
resolutely Yours,
DAVID MASSON.
P.S. Prof. Balfour received this morning a letter from the Medical
Dean at Zurich of very satisfactory tenor.”
“3, Rosebery Crescent,
April 20th, 1869.
DEAR MISS JEX-BLAKE,
I regret to have to tell you that it went against you at the
University Court yesterday. After the three appellants (Profs.
Muirhead, Turner and Laycock) had been heard on the one side, and
Prof. Balfour and I on the other, we left the Court to their private
deliberations. These were long, and resulted, I understand, in an
agreement to something like this effect—that considering the extreme
inconvenience that would attend any present arrangement for the end in
view, especially when that is demanded for only one lady, the Court,
without pronouncing on the general question whether ladies ought to be
educated in the medical classes at the University, do not consider it
expedient, etc. I tried to get the exact terms of the resolution, but,
not having seen the Secretary, report the substance as it was told me
by Principal Sir A. Grant, and Mr. Nicolson. The _Scotsman_ of
tomorrow will probably have the communicated report: if so, I will
send it to you.
Only five of the Court were present,—the Principal, Mr. Gordon, Dr.
Christison, Mr. Phin and Mr. Nicolson. I believe the petition of the
180 students against you was really the determining argument,—the
Court foreseeing the chance of a disturbance, and not being prepared
to run the risk. Except two, I rather gathered that those present
favoured the notion of the medical education of women, if
circumstances would permit, and, on the whole, what has occurred to
me, since I learnt the decision, is, that, if a new attempt were to be
made, on the University of Edinburgh (and I hope there will), and if
it were to come in the form of a joint and simultaneous application
from a few ladies (say from half a dozen to a dozen), then our
authorities would be obliged to yield and to betake themselves to the
consideration of the means whereby such a class could be best
conducted—how far along with the men, how far apart.
Much chagrined at the result, but with the firm conviction that your
application and visit have done great good, and led to an advance in
the right direction beyond what could have been anticipated.
I am,
dear Miss Jex-Blake,
Yours very truly,
DAVID MASSON.”
“Aberdour, Fife, April 20th.
DEAR MISS JEX-BLAKE,
Your letter has followed me to this place, which must be my
apology for not replying to it at once. I was indeed annoyed at the
reversal of our judgment in your case at the University Court,—the
more so considering how the Court,—at all times a most absurd body to
review the decisions of the Senate—was constituted on that particular
occasion. I have not a copy of the Universities Act with me, and I
cannot therefore express any opinion as to whether this decision falls
under the category of those which are reversible by the Queen in
Council. If it does belong to this category I should say that your
best course was at once to carry it there, and I should say, with the
majority you had both in the Medical Faculty and in the Senatus, that
the reversal of the decision of so very insignificant and prejudged a
body as the Court was which judged of your case was pretty nearly
certain. If this cannot be done—which Masson or Playfair or Sir A.
Grant will at once tell you,—then I suspect the best thing is to bring
the case before the next meeting of the University Council. It has no
power to decide, but it may recommend to the University Court, and
that will bring the matter up again, and the constitution of the Court
can be better looked after than it appears to have been this time. It
may be also—though here again I am speaking without the Act, that such
a recommendation could be carried beyond the Court to the Queen in
Council. Any claim to admission on a legal construction of the Charter
would involve you in a law-suit which would not be decided for years
and would cost _x_=£s.!! Against that course I have no hesitation in
advising you, as a question of personal interest and comfort, though
of the legal merits of the question I can say nothing. I certainly, in
your case, however, would lose no time in seeing the Lord Advocate.
Substantially, I think he will be with you, and his advice in all such
matters is of great value, and will, I feel sure, be willingly given.
Mrs. Lorimer joins me in very kind regards, and in sympathy for the
annoyance which you are subjected to, and I am,
Yours very faithfully,
J. LORIMER.”
In a later letter Professor Lorimer says:
“There is one point on which I find I am with you against many of my
colleagues—even those who are guided by reason and not by tradition,
viz. as to whether Medicine ought to be taught to ladies separately,
or in the open classes along with the male students. As regards the
question of delicacy, I am clearly and strongly of opinion that in
holding the latter view your female instincts have guided you right.
The root of indelicacy is immodesty, and the root of immodesty is
immorality, and the arrangement that would in my opinion be immodest,
and might be immoral, would be that such subjects should be taught by
_one_ man to _one_ woman. The farther you recede from _that_
arrangement, the more you separate yourself from the circumstances in
which according to a well-known legal _brocard_, ‘charity ceases.’
The opposite pole as it seems to me, is the teaching of science
publicly in an open class, irrespective of the sex, age, or other
peculiarities of the audience; and mindful only of _truth_.
I am aware, however, that there are other considerations which
influence Sir Alexander Grant, and other members of Senatus who would
probably agree with me on this point. If young men and women were
thrown together daily, they say, imprudent marriages and the like
would come of it. Even here, however, I think the balance of evil is
on the existing arrangement, and not on that which you propose to
substitute for it. I have not seen Mr. Mill’s ‘Subjection of Women’
and I don’t go in much for that sort of thing, but I cannot see why
greater harm should come of men and women meeting at their occupations
than at their amusements; and I think imprudent marriages are just as
likely to come of croquet parties and riding-lessons as of medical
lectures.
As in later life one is sometimes apt to be deceived as to one’s
earlier feelings, I asked a young bachelor whom most Edinburgh Mamas
would _not_ consider ‘an imprudent marriage’ what his feelings were on
the subject; and his reply was ‘Anything rather than those dreary
balls and idiotic evening parties which at present afford the only
occasions on which men who go in for work in the early part of the day
can make the acquaintance of persons of the other sex.’
It can scarcely be doubted that by _working_ together men and women
would learn to know each other better, and that many _mistakes_ that
are now committed, would be avoided.
With kind regards from Mrs. Lorimer, believe me.
Yours very truly,
J. LORIMER.”
No one who has grasped something of S. J.-B.’s character will imagine
that she was likely to mistake a check for a checkmate, though she
sometimes made the converse mistake. She seems to have had some little
correspondence with Professor (afterwards Sir Lyon) Playfair, for the
following letter is among her papers:
“Athenæum Club,
London, 10th May, 1869.
DEAR MISS BLAKE,
I was much obliged by the list of women graduates and grieved at the
result of your case in Edinburgh.
There is no power of appeal against the decision of the University
Court. You had overcome the prejudices of the profession, but not
those of the students. With their strong opposition the University
Court could not possibly decide otherwise, for Scottish Universities,
without endowments, cannot go in face of the Constituency by which
they are supported. It would not do to ruin classes by the admission
of one pupil against the opinion of all the others. Though I regret
the result, I am not surprised at it. In the face of this prejudice,
the only hope that I see is for intending female graduates presenting
themselves in sufficient numbers to induce the Universities to give
them a separate education though a common graduation.
Yours truly,
LYON PLAYFAIR.”
“What I thought and think,” wrote Sir Alexander Grant, “is that if a
sufficient number of ladies could be found to constitute a small extra-
academical class in medical subjects, the University of Edinburgh would
be willing to make arrangements for the teaching of such a class, and to
examining the lady pupils with a view to awarding them medical degrees.”
In her diary S. J.-B. writes,
“Tuesday, May 11th.... Wrote today to ask to see Goschen,—see if
anything _can_ be made of appeal.”
“Friday. Saw Goschen, who will have the Act ‘looked up’ about appeals.
Lord Advocate also to ‘write.’ Slept at Hampstead Heath.”
“Saturday. Croquet. Came to Brighton by noon train.”
She used to recall many years later how on these much-prized visits to
the Corderys, some of the young folks got up at 6 o’clock in the morning
to have another game of croquet before the work of the day began.
“Wednesday. Met U. at Waterloo Bridge. It did me good to see her. Had
just heard ‘No appeal’ from Moncrieff, and no support except for
private classes from Grant.”
Here then she was obliged to stop and take breath. Failure? Surely not.
I think no one can view the subject all round, as we have done in the
foregoing chapters,—realizing something of the forces that were arrayed
against her—without a feeling of amazement that she should have
accomplished so much. Whatever the mistakes and failures of her
subsequent life, that first campaign must surely be pronounced an
astonishing success.
CHAPTER V
OPENING OF EDINBURGH UNIVERSITY TO WOMEN
The results of the campaign, duly chronicled in the _Scotsman_, filtered
through into other papers, and a certain amount of public interest was
the result. Before many days had passed the following letter came to
nerve a possibly flagging arm:
“8 Bedford Square, W.C.
May 15th. 69.
MADAM,
I venture to write to you as I see that the decision of the
University Court at Edinboro is based on the fact that they do not
feel justified in making ‘a temporary arrangement in the interest of
one lady.’ I also gather from the article in the _Scotsman_ on the
subject of your application that you are desirous that in some cases
private instruction should be taken instead of compulsory attendance
at the public classes.
As these are your views, I should be glad, if you renew your
application, to join you in doing so, and I believe I know two or
three other ladies who would be willing to do the same....
Trusting you will pardon my troubling you on account of the great
interest I feel in promoting the entrance of women into the medical
profession, believe me, Madam,
Yours truly,
ISABEL THORNE.
Miss Jex-Blake.”
A few days later came an equally interesting letter from Mrs. Butler:
“Your Essay is in Macmillan’s hands. You will receive a proof soon. I
have asked him also to let me see one, and to let you have a duplicate
to send to America.
I read it once again before sending it away. It is well worth while to
have included in it so much research. It gives one strongly the
impression while reading it, how much the present male monopoly of the
profession is an innovation; also how at all times women seem to have
striven to assert their right to a share in the healing art. I cannot
help hoping the publication of your Essay may be the beginning of a
new social era in those matters. God grant that it may!
It is indeed most trying to be kept back so long by the difficulty of
getting leave to do good and to toil. O England, what a wicked amount
of conservatism of selfish customs have you to answer for! I daresay
to yourself your life must appear sometimes to be being wasted—but it
is not so. In every good cause there must be martyrs and pioneers,
who, with gifts for more, have had the hard task of opening the way
for others to work. I saw a Miss Pechey at Leeds, who wishes to become
a doctor, and Miss Wolstenholme told me of a lady she knows who is
studying.
I don’t think the story about the Greek lady at all indelicate. I hope
no one else will think so. Is it not strange how people cry out at the
indelicacy of _speaking_ of a thing which it is far more indelicate
should _exist_, and yet to its existence they have no objection.
In a later letter she says:
“... Have you _seen_ Miss Pechey? She did not seem to me very clever,
but very steady and nice,—a silent, quiet woman.”
One knows the fine reserve under which Edith Pechey’s great gifts lay
hidden. “I only wish,” wrote a friend who knew her well, “that there
were 12 more _like_ her ready to begin.”
This is what Miss Pechey had to say for herself:
“Before deciding finally to enter the medical profession, I should
like to feel sure of success—not on my own account, but I feel that
failure now would do harm to the cause, and that it is well that at
least the first few women who offer themselves as candidates should
stand above the average of men in their examinations.
Do you think anything more is requisite to ensure success than
moderate abilities and a good share of perseverance? I believe I may
lay claim to these, together with a real love of the subjects of
study, but as regards any thorough knowledge of those subjects at
present, I fear I am deficient in most. I am afraid I should not
without a good deal of previous study be able to pass the preliminary
exam, you mention, as my knowledge of Latin is small and of Euclid
still less. Still, if no very extensive knowledge of these is required
(and doctors generally seem to know very little of them) I could
perhaps be ready by the next exam., and the study of Carpenter at the
same time would be a relaxation. Could you give me any idea when the
next matriculation exam. will be held, and whether candidates are
examined in _all_ the books of Euclid. If I thought I could prepare
myself in time for this, I think I could arrange pecuniary and other
matters so as to enter in October as you advise; and, though for some
reasons I should prefer to wait another year, yet, as I am nearly 24,
it will perhaps be better to lose no time.
Allow me to thank you for your kindness in assisting me with your
advice. I feel especially grateful as I have no friend able to supply
the information I need.
Believe me, dear Madam,
Yours sincerely,
EDITH PECHEY.”
We know how warmly S. J.-B. felt that the thanks were not all on the
side of her unknown correspondents, and she would have felt this even
more if she had known the sheer value as human beings of her first two
recruits. Taking the trio together, one simply could not have wished for
abler representatives of a struggling cause.
* * * * *
Meanwhile a new avenue of hope had opened quite unexpectedly; Mrs. Jex-
Blake had been seriously ill, and her daughter had taken her to consult
Dr. King Chambers.
“I liked Dr. Chambers very much,” she writes to Dr. Sewall. “I first
had a talk with him alone, and told him I was studying Medicine, about
which he was very kind. He seemed to think that if women were willing
to pay for separate Anatomical teaching, they could get into almost
any of the London schools, and promised to enquire about his own
school,—St. Mary’s. I doubt whether the way is quite so open as he
thinks, but I shall be very glad to hear his report, and meanwhile
shall go on to Edinbro’ and see what can be done there by way of a
separate class. It would be a much greater thing in the end to get the
Universities open, for of course the other medical schools feed
Apothecaries’ Hall and the College of Surgeons, and do not give the
M.D.
I think it very possible that by guaranteeing some sufficient fees for
two or three courses (_whatever_ the number of pupils) we could get
the thing _tried_, and, when once publicly done, I am sure numbers
would flock in. I had rather borrow and spend some money about it than
be bothered any more. But of that I can tell you more next week.”
In her diary she writes (June 19th):
“After opposite advice from Mrs. Butler (for St. Mary’s), and Salzmann
(Edinbro’) and much deliberation, decided for ‘baith, my lord.’ The
petition to go today to Dr. Chambers (signed by Miss Pechey and Mrs.
Thorne),—mine to Senatus on 25th. and to University Court July 5th.”
Dr. King Chambers spared himself no trouble in the matter.
“I have got over the chief difficulty,” he writes, “viz., that of
engaging the Anatomy lecturer, Mr. Arthur Norton, to undertake a class
of ladies. There is also a room they could have for dissecting, and
arrangements may be made with the porter’s wife to take care of their
cloaks and attend to their comforts. The other lecturers shall be
approached in due course, but I think Mr. Norton is the chief one to
be considered. What number of ladies can you get to form a class?”
A fortnight later, however, he is obliged to write:
“DEAR MADAM,
I fear you will be disappointed with the result of my
application to the School Committee of St. Mary’s. It was a full
meeting which had been already called on another subject; so I took
the opportunity of getting as many of my colleagues as possible to
freely state their opinions. And the result is my agreeing with the
idea you expressed in your note, that the most insuperable of your
difficulties lay in the direction of the students—to which I may add
their parents and guardians; of whom, as customers, private firms in
the position of the medical schools of London, must stand in awe. Such
a sort of partnership is essentially opposed to change, as, if even a
minority object to a novelty, their colleagues shrink from forcing it
upon them.
It seems hard that British women should be sent abroad to get that of
which there is such abundance at home, but circumstances seem to
render this inevitable.
Repeating my regrets that I should have deluded you with false hopes,
I am
Yours faithfully,
T. K. CHAMBERS.”
It is pleasant to note that, if S. J.-B. failed to get from Dr. Chambers
the thing she wanted at the moment, she had at least found in him a
lifelong friend and helper.
It was well that she had decided for “baith, my lord.” She now once more
approached the University Court in the person of its President, the
Rector, asking whether they would remove their present veto in case
arrangements could be made for the instruction of women in separate
classes; and whether in that case women would be allowed to matriculate
in the usual way, and to undergo the ordinary examination, with a view
to obtaining medical degrees in due course.
She also wrote to the Senatus, asking them to recommend the
matriculation of women as medical students on the understanding that
separate classes should be formed: and she addressed a letter to the
Dean of the Medical Faculty offering on behalf of her fellow-students
and herself to guarantee whatever minimum fee the Faculty might fix as a
remuneration for these separate classes.
“I appreciate your truly kind and thoughtful plans with regard to the
pecuniary arrangements,” writes Miss Pechey in this connection. “I
shall be sorry if my means will not allow me to take a full share of
the expenses, but I am afraid I shall not be able to afford more than
double the usual fees for a man.”
S. J.-B. had returned to Edinburgh in order to further arrangements, and
to meet any difficulties that might arise. The first thing to be done
was to secure teachers, and, now that it came to the point, some even of
those who had been most favourable showed a singular reluctance to take
the plunge. Their enthusiasm had had time to cool.
“June 26th ... Today went to see A. Most disappointingly timorous,—
‘_could_ not give the extra time himself,’ though he did not refuse to
see the importance and responsibility of the case. I _hope_ he will
vote for me still.
B. very disappointing,—very avaricious,—trying for the 100 guineas.
Balfour, out.
I very disheartened and weary....
I _do_ fear failure now,—indeed it seems to me probable, in Medical
Faculty.
And then all the time and effort wasted since March 1st! A year’s
steady work would have been less strain!...
If one had but faith! Ought one not to say, ‘I fight and work my
best,—God _will_ bring out the best result,—let me not prejudge what
is best.’
And so be content either way.”
“June 30th. Christison has had to go to London,—wrathfully enough they
say,—hurrah! I hear that he asked to have the day changed, and that
Balfour refused,—the brick!
Of course this adds to my chances.
Also I had a long crack with Turner this morning. He did not speak
against it as in his own person,—only evidently thought how awful it
would be if ‘odium were thrown’ on two professors for refusing perhaps
what others had granted. I suggested that it might perhaps be more
awful to refuse all women for the sake of that.
9 p.m. The 40 lines of Virgil written out [in preparation for the
matriculation examination that as yet was a more than doubtful
prospect], eyes and head weary. (Oh, dear, ‘it is not good for man to
be alone.’)
By this time tomorrow Medical Faculty at least decided.
Thrown back utterly again? Today for the first time since Friday I
hope a little. (Something of the Caliban in me says,—‘Unlucky to say
so!’)”
“July 1st. Yesterday O. H.’s ‘Two Poor Courts’ interested me much.
7 p.m. Won after all!—and I do think this must be at last ‘the
beginning of the end.’ For me 4 out of 6:—Balfour, Bennett, Spence,
M‘Lagan. Turner would not vote dead against it, as Laycock wished, so
those two did not vote, but Laycock ‘protested’....
Allman absurdly wroth (to Masson) about canvassing and unjustifiable,
etc., etc., seeming to mean that my poor little calls on people had
interfered with their judicial wisdom.
Just seen a letter from A. G. J.—I must hear that organ at Lucerne
(with its storm, etc.) before I die.”
“Friday, July 2nd.... 6 p.m. Hurrah!—The Senate granted my request
without limitation and without division, though M‘Pherson tried to get
up a motion for delay,—no one (not even Turner!) would second him.
Turner wished to have it recorded that he ‘did not vote,’ but as no
vote had to be taken this could not be, so he reluctantly had it
recorded that he ‘dissented,’ which I regret, for I am sure that it is
more than he wished.
Present,—14. Grant, M‘Pherson, Lorimer, Masson, Wilson, Tait, Kelland,
Craufurd, Liston, Stevenson, Balfour, Bennett, Spence, Turner.”
“Monday. _The_ day! Even now (4.30 p.m.) a University of Britain may
be literally open to women,—if so, won’t that have been worth doing?
When I say to Alice, ‘The University Court may still stop it all,’—
‘They’d better not!’ quo’ she ferociously.”
What actually happened at the University Court this time is best related
in a letter to Dr. Lucy Sewall:
“Maitland Street, Edinburgh.
July 6th, 69.
MY DARLING,
You may address to me here for a fortnight after you get this,
for I expect now to be here till about August 15th.
The Medical Faculty and the Senatus have both voted in favour of
special classes in the University for Women, and the University Court
at their meeting yesterday passed a vote in favour of the measure. It
seems however that there are some legal difficulties about the old
Charter, etc., and that the matter will require the sanction of the
Privy Council, which will cause delay, but I think no real
difficulty,—for the Queen is known to be favourable to women doctors;
and the present government is specially liberal. Indeed it has this
real advantage that it will make the whole thing very public and very
safe and permanent,—so that it will be almost impossible ever again to
exclude women.
So now I am looking forward to years of steady work here, and am so
very glad to be able to do so!
I am working at my Latin, etc., for the Matric. examination. It would
astonish the women studying in Boston to see the examination that we
have to pass here before we can even begin Medicine,—and it is a
capital thing, because it will keep out ignorant and silly women to a
great degree.... Oh, dear child, it is so nice to look forward to
having you here next summer to see and know all about it. You will so
enjoy Edinburgh. I have been thinking about taking rooms or a house
lately, and I keep saying to myself, ‘You must have a room full of sun
for my doctor!’ It _is_ so good to look forward to seeing you....
Have you seen Mill’s Subjection of Women? Your Father would delight in
it. I mean to send him a copy as a remembrance.
I am very glad to see that the British Medical Journal encourages the
opening of classes for women. I shall send you the number.
I am only anxious now to have a good big class of women and of a
creditable kind.... _How_ I wish that you would come and settle here!
You could establish a Dispensary at once, and have all us students at
your orders. We shall want sadly some teaching of that sort.... This
climate would be so much better for you, and I should feel so much
happier about you if you were here. I know if you are in Boston, I
shall worry about you all winter....
Well, Goodbye, my dear child! Whether you come or stay, all good be
with you!
Your very aff.
S. L. J.-B.”
The reader will scarcely be surprised to learn that when on July 23rd
the University Court formally acceded to her petition, S. J.-B. was
almost too tired to feel elated, though she admits that she would be
“grieving bitterly had things been otherwise.” In addition to her other
work, she had spent a fortnight in the house of a very dear friend,
nursing several serious cases of scarlet fever. Trained nurses for
private houses were almost unknown in those days, and she did not spare
herself. On July 9th she had written to ask Mrs. Thorne—who was in
Aberdeen at the time—to join her in Edinburgh. “I _won’t_ take the whole
responsibility alone,”—the responsibility of engaging lecturers and
guaranteeing fees,—she confides to her diary. The grasshopper had become
a burden. Even the modest amount of Latin required for the Matriculation
Examination was a great effort to her, and she knew of old the
importance of husbanding her strength.
“Most folk,” she says with great truth and pathos,—“or at least many,
have only their indolence to strive with. If they conquer that, all
serene. I (after that done) have to pause half way,—ware crash!—and to
calculate nicely how much brain force I dare bring to bear or use up.
Ah, well,—shall my strength be as my day,—or isn’t it fair to apply
that to self-imposed work?”
“Self-imposed?” There is a big question involved here. No doubt the
readers of this book will answer it in different ways.
* * * * *
In any case she had achieved her task. Notwithstanding a direct
negative, moved by the Revd. Dr. Phin, the resolution of the University
Court was approved by the General Council on October 29th, 1869, and was
sanctioned by the Chancellor on November 12th. The following
regulations, drawn up by the Court, were officially issued at the same
date, and inserted in the _Calendar_ of the University:
“(1.) Women shall be admitted to the study of medicine in the
University; (2.) The instruction of women for the profession of
medicine shall be conducted in separate classes, confined entirely to
women; (3.) The Professors of the Faculty of Medicine shall, for this
purpose, be permitted to have separate classes for women; (4.) Women,
not intending to study medicine professionally, may be admitted to
such of these classes, or to such part of the course of instruction
given in such classes, as the University Court may from time to time
think fit and approve; (5.) The fee for the full course of instruction
in such classes shall be four guineas; but in the event of the number
of students proposing to attend any such class being too small to
provide a reasonable remuneration at that rate, it shall be in the
power of the Professor to make arrangements for a higher fee, subject
to the usual sanction of the University Court. (6.) All women
attending such classes shall be subject to all the regulations now or
at any future time in force in the University as to the matriculation
of students, their attendance on classes, Examination or otherwise;
(7.) The above regulations shall take effect as from the commencement
of session 1869-70.”
This is how the “first British University”—the University of Edinburgh—
was thrown open to women.
CHAPTER VI
THE HOPE SCHOLARSHIP
The month of August brought some rest and refreshment, though S. J.-B.
remained in Edinburgh to “coach” for the Matriculation Examination. Mrs.
Burn Murdoch put her spacious and comfortable house for a little time at
the solitary student’s disposal, and, to S. J.-B.’s great joy, Miss Du
Pre came to visit her.
There were delightful excursions up the Forth, through the Trossachs,
and even farther afield, and S. J.-B. spent what is now known as a week-
end, at his country-place, with Mr. Findlay of the _Scotsman_, and his
wife. One realizes by many little indications how her views on the whole
question of women were becoming explicit. In the course of her visit,
her host showed her letters he had received from a clever American
woman—a journalist of sorts, apparently—in the course of which she asked
him to “help the little woman,” “the wee bit thing.” “When _will_ women
learn,” says S. J.-B., “if they claim to stand on common ground at all,
to ‘stand upright,’ to ask _only_ ‘fair field and no favour’!”
On October 10th she moved into No. 15 Buccleuch Place, “the house nice,
airy, wholesome, roomy,—rent, taxes and all probably £45,” and, on the
following day Miss Pechey lunched with her. A week later S. J.-B. sums
the new comrade up:
“I think her strong, ready-handed, with ‘faculty,’ great ability,
resolution, judgment; great calmness and quiet of manner and action,
and probably strength of feeling; good taste, good manner; very
pleasant face; rather good feet and hands; considerable sense of
humour; lots of energy and interest in things,—witness dissecting the
slugs, keeping caterpillars, etc. In fine, as good an ally and
companion as could well be had.”
She had occasion to add considerably to this estimate as life went on,
but in no wise to subtract from it.
Meanwhile Mrs. Evans had resolved to throw in her lot with the little
band, and S. J.-B. was coaching her in Arithmetic. Miss Chaplin
(afterwards the wife of Professor Ayrton) had also joined their ranks,
and it was a gallant and creditable little phalanx that made its way up
to the University on October 19th to undergo the Matriculation
Examination.
Of course they all passed, and passed far above the average, though
there was one “narrow squeak” in Arithmetic. They were all cultivated
women, all on their mettle, and the result was scarcely more than might
reasonably have been anticipated. “We believe,—” as a local paper had
occasion to say, after a similar result some ten months later,
“We believe that these results prove, not that women’s capacities are
better than those of men,—a thing that few people would assert,—but
that these women who are devoting themselves to obtain, in spite of
all difficulties, a thorough knowledge of their profession, are far
more thoroughly in earnest than most of the men are, and that their
ultimate success is certain in proportion. Nor would we omit the
inference that, this being so, those who wantonly throw obstacles in
the way of this gallant little band, incur a proportionately heavy
responsibility, as wanting not only in the spirit of chivalry, but
even in the love of fair play, which we should be sorry to think
wanting in any Briton.”[56]
Footnote 56:
_Daily Review_, Aug. 5, 1870.
It was natural, however, that friends and well-wishers should be not a
little elated. Here is one of many delightful letters:
“Oct. 22, 1869.
MY DEAR MISS JEX-BLAKE,
This is just one word of warmest congratulation from us both to
you and the other ladies. We are rejoicing more than I can tell you
over the results of the examination. I have been a prisoner today with
a severe cold, or I should have been unable to rest until I had shaken
hands with you. Shall you be at home any time tomorrow after one
o’clock? If so, I shall like to come and see you and Miss Pechey.
Do send me a line to tell me if you are as happy as I fancy you.
Yours faithfully,
E. ROSALINE MASSON.
Mr. Masson was very much gratified by the papers of the ladies. They
fully justified his highest hopes.”
From diary:
“Tuesday, Nov. 2nd. ‘The deed—of life—was done!’—This morning, 11.30
a.m., I, S. L. J.-B., first of all women, matriculated as ‘Civis
Academiae Edinensis!’—Tonight for the first time 5 women are
undergraduates!—Hurrah!
‘With exactness grinds He all.’”
“I do indeed congratulate you undergraduates with all my heart,” wrote
Dr. Elizabeth Blackwell, who had now settled in London. “It seems to
me the grandest success that women have yet achieved in England; it is
the great broad principle established that conducts to every noble
progress.
I feel as if I _must_ come up to Edinburgh in the course of the
winter, to see and bless the class! Perhaps towards the close of the
term would be best,—advise me.”
So began a winter’s work that for most, if not all, of the women
students, was an experience of extraordinary interest and happiness. S.
J.-B. and Edith Pechey had settled together in Buccleuch Place, and the
house was a _rendezvous_ for a choice little circle. It would be
difficult to say which of the two proved the greater attraction to their
friends. Miss Pechey was younger, more adaptable, less obviously
alarming, though possibly more critical really, in proportion as she had
seen less of life. The reader is already aware that S. J.-B., though a
most interesting person to live with, was not by any means always an
easy person to live with, particularly when she was overworked and
overstrained. For her friends as well as herself it was sometimes a
question—in her own significant words—of, “Ware crash!” Moreover,
although she often gave to others the advice,—“Glissez, mortels:
n’appuyez pas!”, she not infrequently failed to act on it herself: she
still, as when a child, staked her happiness too readily on matters that
might better have been regarded as trifles: and this is a characteristic
that becomes a more serious factor in domestic and social life as the
years go on. On the other hand, when she really “let herself go” in her
most intimate circle, there was no one like her. The diary and the
letters give scarcely an indication of the sense of humour and fun that
were so ready to bubble over into real whole-hearted laughter. The eyes
so familiar with sorrow could still sparkle with merriment like a
child’s, and, when anything struck her as irresistibly preposterous or
comical, she had a way of “tossing them up to the ceiling and catching
them again” that was a joy to behold. Increasingly as life went on, she
was a touchstone on which to test the things that might be said, the
stories that might be told. She could enjoy a joke that would have
shocked many women of her generation; but, as her Mother had said long
before, “anything impure ran off her mind like quicksilver,” and she was
a past master in the art of calling home a conversation that was
lingering too long in permissible bye-ways.
More than this,—even at the time of which we are writing, she was one of
those with whom people know instinctively that it is safe to speak, not
only of the great things of life, but of the disgraceful things, or the
small disconcerting things that want to be looked at in an atmosphere of
greatness. She was a Mother Confessor to many. “Now straight into the
fire!” she says in her diary of certain letters she had received; and
the smoke of that sacrifice meant something, for—born chronicler as she
was—it was pain and grief to her to destroy a letter at any time.
She was particularly happy that winter term. On the last night of the
year she writes in her diary:
“11.30 p.m. The long tangle of accounts unravelled at last!—‘after
long travail, good repose!’
In more senses than one.
Nine years since that look from the window,—‘And may the New Year
cherish.’
Since then I suppose no such (visibly) important year in my life. One
very dear friend won,—one strong ally,—Edinburgh opened!—What if one
_is_ a little tired? ‘After long travail good repose!’
I see that a year ago I thought there were no hopes ‘now bright,’—and
‘an hour of joy I knew not was winging its silent flight.’ Indeed the
next six months did cut out their own work.
The year has been glorious in many ways.
The chief point of pain....”
The chief point of pain was the fear that she was fickle,—that the new
interests and friendships were making her disloyal to the strange
unearthly friendship for Octavia Hill. Whether this would have been
blameworthy is a question that it is unnecessary to discuss, as the
contingency never arose. The flame may have flickered and sunk low, but
it continued to burn for another forty years. Then “after long travail
good repose.”
And in any case she was very happy that winter term. Strangely
enough,[57] her family were thoroughly sympathetic with her aims.
Discussing the volume of Essays to which she had contributed, her
brother wrote:
“Miss Cobbe was very vigorous and suggestive: might have been longer.
So might yours without any risk of the interest flagging; and more
details of fact would (I think) have driven the nail deeper in the
Philistine’s understanding.... I should say that Mrs. Butler’s and
yours will hit the public hardest; most dissimilar as they are.... On
the main question, for you personally, I am very glad that you are on
the medical rails. They are real and solid and really lead somewhere.
There is more specialty about them than in the somewhat vague
educational line. They belong to an old strong well-paid profession.
They tend to the alleviation of intense human misery; and that for a
large class of delicate cases women when properly trained are the
right physicians I have felt for years and feel increasingly. Stick to
them head and hands and feet. Don’t be drawn aside into tempting but
irrelevant bye-ways. You will be very useful and very happy in your
work: and to have helped to bring about the result that for the years
to come girls shall not be without the pale of professional and
University education,—shall not waste their best years in chafing at
want of elbow room at home—will be a great and additional
satisfaction. Nothing succeeds like success, and what you have got to
do is to prove that a Lady Physician can be trustworthy and a success.
Do nothing but your work, and you will do your work well. Of course
get hold of the widest and deepest Professional education within
reach.
Your aff. brother,
T. W. J.-B.”
Footnote 57:
“Strangely” when compared with the families of her contemporaries.
“When I told Mamma I had got my certificate,” said a former fellow-
student, “she said ‘Have you?’ When I told Uncle, he said ‘What good
is it?’ When I told Emily, she said, ‘I am very glad to hear it, but I
am very much surprised.’”
This last point, on which the writer touches so lightly, was precisely
the rub.
“Everything is just as we would have it,” wrote S. J.-B. at this time
to Dr. Sewall, “but that Professors are not _compelled_ to lecture to
us. We have already arranged for two courses for this winter,—5
lectures a week each,—Physiology and Chemistry; and we are now
arranging for Anatomy, both in lectures and dissecting.
As we have to make entirely separate arrangements, the Anatomy will be
very expensive,—about £100 probably for us five,—and of this I shall
pay about one-third, as two of the students are not at all rich.
Still it is worth any money to get the thing done, and I am only
thankful that I _can_ spend the money. Of course I borrow it from my
Mother.[58] My fees for this year will be about £55 or £60,—about
$400,—for the 6 months.
I have made up my mind to spend if needful £1000 on this business. I
feel sure that one does more good in thus concentrating one’s energies
and one’s funds to get one thing done thoroughly, than in frittering
away lots of small sums in charity,—Don’t you think so? It _is_ a
grand thing to enter the very first British University ever opened to
women, isn’t it?
My darling, you _must_ come and see us this summer, for, as I tell the
other students here, the whole thing is due to _you_ primarily;—when
they say that they feel grateful to me for having worked for this, I
say, ‘Thank Dr. Sewall,—she made me care for Medicine, and resolve
that a _thorough_ education should be open to Englishwomen.’ So I told
Dr. Blackwell too when she said something pretty to me. She is _very_
pleased about Edinburgh.
Well, dear child, I have settled down now for the winter in my little
new house. It amuses me to hear of your expenses in furnishing. The
_whole_ I have spent is under £35,—about $200,—and yet we are very
comfortable!
Miss Pechey is very nice and very clever,—you will like her very much,
and she is excellent company....
Our classes begin on Nov. 3rd. I am _very_ busy till then.
Your very aff.
S. L. J.-B.”
Footnote 58:
Money borrowed from Mrs. Jex-Blake was refunded as strictly as if it
had been borrowed from a banker.
Busy indeed she was with the great task of finding lecturers. The
University of Edinburgh still stood foursquare, and the Professors sat
in their comfortable chairs, lecturing to enormous classes of male
students. Looking at the question as a sheer matter of business, one
asks what inducement had these men to lecture to a handful of women
students? S. J.-B., Mrs. Thorne and the others might struggle and pinch
to raise the fees of a dozen or more, but what was that to men of
assured wealth and position?—men who looked upon a Scots professorship
as the topmost rung on the ladder of comfortable success,—men to whom
leisure and peace seemed almost a matter of right, an essential part of
the prize they had drawn in the lottery of life? Why should they double
their work for the sake of this paltry pittance? It was not to be
expected that they should have a great enthusiasm for the cause. How
could they? They might, it is true, have been possessed of a high sense
of the trust conferred on them by their position: but is such a sense in
any sphere of life the possession of more than the choicest few?
As regarded the class in Chemistry, everything had gone with delightful
smoothness. On July 10th, S. J.-B. had written in her diary, “Dr. Crum
Brown agrees,—not a word of demur as to fees,—good fellow,” and a few
days later she had received a letter from Dresden in which he said:
“I am convinced that the experiment must be made, and do not wish to
place any unnecessary obstacles in the way. I therefore cordially
agree to your proposal, on the understanding that the consent of the
University Court is obtained, and that the course be conducted in the
Chemical Class-room of the University, and be in all respects the same
as the ordinary course of Chemistry.”
So far as the work was concerned, one is glad to think that his
generosity met with its reward. All the teacher in him must have
rejoiced in the mettle of the new students. Miss Pechey, in particular,
simply fell upon Chemistry and proceeded to make it her own. In the
house of which the furnishing had cost £35, she and S. J.-B. rigged up
some kind of laboratory, and carried on experiments with a keenness that
to the stern advocate of “limited liability” might well have endangered
their success in class examinations.
When the winter session came to an end in March, however, it was found
that Miss Pechey stood third in the entire list, and was really first of
the first-year students,—two of the men having attended the class
before. There would have been nothing calamitous in this state of
affairs, had it not chanced that there were certain small scholarships
involved. A previous Professor of Chemistry in the University—Dr. Hope—
had made the experiment of delivering a course of lectures to ladies,
and had devoted the proceeds—amounting to about £1000—to the founding of
four Hope Scholarships, which entitled the winners to the free use of
the College Laboratory. What this privilege would have meant to a born
student like Miss Pechey one can easily imagine, but, as mixed classes
were forbidden, there might have been a difficulty—scarcely
insurmountable—about her making full use of it.
Hitherto, as we have seen, the Professor had treated the women
generously. We know that he bore them no grudge; and it is absurd to
suppose that he had any wish to be unjust to an engaging, deft-handed
girl, with a calm strong face, and a brain which he must have already
seen to be far above the average in either sex,—a girl, moreover, who
was frankly appreciative of her good fortune in having so able a man as
her teacher.
One can only conjecture the motives and the advice that must have
influenced him in the decision to withhold even the name of Hope Scholar
from this woman, and to give it to the man who stood beneath her on the
list. In explaining his position, the Professor said that, having
studied at a different hour, she was not a member of the Chemistry
Class; but at the same time he awarded to her the official bronze medal
of the University, to which she could only lay claim as a member of that
class; and, in the published list of honours, he put her name and those
of the other women in the place to which their marks entitled them.
It was a clumsy though well-meaning compromise, and only led to greater
difficulties farther on. Having said that the women were not members of
the Chemistry Class, how could he give them certificates of attendance
on that class? It was obviously impossible, so he offered them written
certificates of having attended “a ladies’ class in the University,”—
certificates absolutely worthless from the point of view of professional
examination. One is reminded of the strawberry jam labels which Mark
Twain offered to the conductor of a continental railway when his ticket
was worn out; but, unfortunately, the Registrar of a great University is
not to be appeased with strawberry jam labels.
In truth the Professor had done the cause an incalculable service. A
howl of indignation went up over the whole country. The _Times_, the
_Spectator_,—a faithful supporter from the first,—even the _British
Medical Journal_, were genuinely roused. The Universities and the
Profession had been governed by a spirit of Conservatism, of Trades-
unionism, of which this was but a mild example; but now at last that
spirit had become explicit: here was the priceless desideratum of the
tangible grievance: and it was just like life—just the irony of fate—
that the man who provoked the outburst, the man who had to suffer, was
not one of the bitter opponents: he was, in his own way, the friend and
helper of the struggling cause. He had taught the women Chemistry, and
he had taught them well; and that was the main thing, even though a
bronze medal, and a few “strawberry jam labels” were—for five people in
deadly earnest—to be the only outward and visible signs of six months’
hard work.
The matter was referred to the Senatus, who decided by a majority of one
that Miss Pechey was not entitled to the Hope Scholarship, and (on the
motion of Professor P. G. Tait) also by a majority of one, that the
women should have the ordinary class certificates. So the women grasped
the substance, if they did lose the shadow.
“I agree with you that the one vote stultifies the other,” wrote
Professor Masson, “and I think people are seeing this. At the time I
made up my mind that the first vote must carry the other unfavourably
with it; but it was not for me to keep the Senatus consistent, and,
when Tait announced his view, I grasped at the unexpected accident and
seconded his motion.”
But the outcry was not stilled. In those days the general public knew
little of the difference between one certificate and another; but they
had some idea of what was meant by the losing of a scholarship, and Miss
Pechey became the recipient of an amount of condolence that was
positively embarrassing when compared with the extent of the injury
inflicted. The skilled appreciation of the situation, however, was
delightful. This was the tribute of the _British Medical Journal_:
“Whatever may be our views regarding the desirability of ladies
studying medicine, the University of Edinburgh professed to open its
gates to them on equal terms with the other students; and, unless some
better excuse be forthcoming in explanation of the decision of the
Senatus, we cannot help thinking that the University has done no less
an injustice to itself than to one of its most distinguished
students.”[59]
One can imagine the effect of criticism such as this on some of the
professors. Here was a tiresome muddle from which it was difficult to
see a dignified exit. What wonder if many took the cheap and obvious
course of exclaiming, “The _woman_ that Thou gavest me!—she is at the
bottom of it all?” So far as the explanation went, it was perfectly
true: and of course only a few of the pundits saw today with the eyes of
tomorrow; only a few realized that the difficulty that was worrying them
was a part of a world-wide upheaval involving the whole human race.
Of course there were those who, without taking any extreme view, were
admirably sane and dignified. Instance the following letter from
Professor Fleeming Jenkin:
“April 5th, 1870.
DEAR MADAM,
I regret that I shall be unavoidably absent on Saturday next,
or, as far as might have been possible, I should have supported Miss
Pechey’s claims.
I regret my absence the less, however, as it seems to me that the
legal question of a particular reward is of far less consequence than
the fact of the position which you and Miss Pechey have taken in the
class.
Accept my very hearty congratulations and
Believe me,
Yours truly,
FLEEMING JENKIN.
Miss Jex-Blake.”
Footnote 59:
_Brit. Med. Journal_, April 16th, 1870.
There was a question of referring the matter to the University Court,
but one is glad to think that wiser counsels prevailed. Miss Pechey had
gone to her home in the country, and was listening to the nightingales.
“Thank you for Masson’s letter,” she writes to S. J.-B. “He is a grand
fellow. Wilson has sent me the minutes of the Senatus meeting about
the scholarship. I suppose I ought to write to him. I wish you were
here to tell me what to do.
You understand that I leave you to do as is thought best about the
scholarship,—only remember that my own judgment—apart from personal
feeling—is against appealing, and that I do not wish to do so unless
our friends are very decisively of opinion that we ought to.”
Well might Miss Pechey say, “He is a grand fellow.” Professor Masson had
taken up the cause of the woman as wholeheartedly as if it had been a
matter of vital import to himself. At the next meeting of the General
Council of the University, he moved (seconded by Professor Balfour)
that, instead of having separate instruction, women should be admitted
to the ordinary classes of the University. The original draft of the
motion was as follows:
“That, as the present arrangements for the medical instruction of
women in the University impose great and unnecessary inconveniences on
the women who are students, and also on Professors, and may, if
continued, even nullify the resolution of the University admitting
women to the study of medicine [and as it will not be to the credit of
the University that it should pretend to do a thing and not do
it],[60] the General Council recommend to the University Court that
women desiring to study medicine be admitted to the medical classes as
other students are, and on the same terms, except in cases where the
Court may see special reasons why the instruction should be separate.”
“The motion is longish,” he says, “but I thought it well to have
something which, when printed, would explain itself and attract
attention of members of Council.... I am the more convinced that we do
right in moving the General Council as above, even if we should lose,
because I distinctly perceive a relapse on the part of those who had
merely acquiesced, and a kind of exulting feeling on the part of
others that the experience of the session may be pleaded in proof that
the University perpetrated a troublous blunder when it admitted Eve’s
sex at all. This state of feeling will be but temporary; but it is
time that the opposed forces should meet in full conflict on the
mixed-classes question.”
Footnote 60:
The words in brackets were omitted from the resolution, but introduced
in the speech supporting it.
“Full conflict,” indeed, it proved. The opponents brought forward
arguments that called forth an indignant interruption from the Professor
of Moral Philosophy (Dr. Calderwood); and the _Times_, while
disapproving of mixed classes, stated in a leading article:
“We cannot sufficiently express the indignation with which we read
such language, and we must say that it is the strongest argument
against the admission of young ladies to the Edinburgh medical
classes, that they would attend the lectures of Professors capable of
talking in this strain.”[61]
The motion was lost by 47 votes to 58.
“No speaking on our side could have changed the vote,” wrote Professor
Masson, “those present were all predetermined. Crum Brown did well,
and administered a proper reproof to L. Struthers was present and
voted with us; so did Nicolson (who was quite in earnest when the time
came), and Dr. Craufurd, who avows himself a convert. On the other
hand, Wilson, Bennett, Charteris and Tait, of our side, were absent,
reducing our number somewhat. People today are consoling me—for I was
really downcast—by saying the result was a success in its kind, and an
omen of final success when the thing comes up again, as it must. All
very well; but how shall I console _you_? What are _you_ to do this
year? The only thing I disliked in Crum Brown’s speech was his opening
statement that he thought the motion perhaps premature, the time not
having elapsed for the experiment of the other method. Premature! This
in face of his own refusal to continue, and in face of his subsequent
declaration that the existing method is impracticable! Still he said
and did well. What shall I say but that my heart is sore for your
immediate discomfiture? Time—a year or two—will rectify the thing
generally, here and elsewhere; but how you are to get on with us is
the question. Christison, who draws Turner, Lister, and Sanders (L. is
nothing) with him, seems determined to get rid of you, and trusts to
effecting this by mere continuance of the present arrangement. Whether
you can wriggle on with us by any ingenuity in the hope of beating him
is for your consideration. Would it might be so!
Ever yours truly,
DAVID MASSON.”
Footnote 61:
The _Times_, April 25th, 1870.
The view that the result of the motion was a success in its kind proved
to be a general one, and the matter was discussed at great length by
newspapers, lay, medical and religious.
“There is no possible reason,” said the _Guardian_,[62] “why a very
large proportion of instruction may not be given with perfect
propriety to men and women together; but there are clearly some parts
in a medical course which cannot be so treated, and there ought to be
no difficulty whatever in making arrangements for these. To provide
separate lectures for a few special occasions is a very different
thing, both in the matter of convenience and expense, from insisting
on having two distinct and separate courses throughout in every
department.... Professor Masson’s motion was defeated, but by a
majority so small—eleven in a meeting of a hundred and five—that its
success at some future time seems certain. Let the ladies only add to
the exercise of one quality, with which the world credits them, that
of patience, another, which is supposed to be a less common attribute
of their sex, perseverance, and they will assuredly gain their point.”
“The female students almost deserve this rebuff,” said the
_Spectator_,[63] “for making the concessions they have done to English
prudery, concessions not made either in France, Austria, or the United
States. The only safe ground for them to stand on is that science is
of no sex, and cannot be indelicate unless made so of _malice
prepense_, and that by the very conditions of the profession the
modesty of ignorance must be replaced by the modesty of pure intent.”
Footnote 62:
April 27th, 1870.
Footnote 63:
April 23rd, 1870.
It is not to be supposed that the women students were fortified by a
unanimous chorus of journalistic support: far from it: some six or seven
months later the _Spectator_ strove to understand “the bitter and, so
far as we know, the unprecedented malignity with which women who aspire
to be Doctors are pursued by the literary class.”
One does not wish to dwell on this. It was simply bound to be. As Sir
James Stansfeld said seven years later in reviewing the whole movement:
“It is one of the lessons of human progress that when the time for a
reform has come you cannot resist it, though, if you make the attempt,
what you may do is to widen its character or precipitate its advent.
Opponents, when the time has come, are not merely dragged at the
chariot wheels of progress—they help to turn them. The strongest
force, whichever way it seem to work, does most to aid.”
It is the more pleasing, however, to record the sane and wholesome view
taken from the first by the leading responsible papers, including
_Punch_.
“I am very vexed about the General Council,” wrote Miss Pechey from
her home; “but it’s no use worrying,—at least so the nightingale tells
me. She sang two hours at my bedroom window last night, and said all
sorts of pretty things. I wish I could bring her to Edinburgh with me,
but she wouldn’t like it; besides they are a very old family, and have
lived in the place from the time of the Britons, so she wouldn’t like
to move.
Papa did not write to the _Scotsman_. I knew he wouldn’t unless
someone told him what to say; and I believe, if the truth were told,
he still has some lurking prejudice against mixed classes. He isn’t a
bit scientific, never notices the butterflies and beetles in a walk
unless I point them out to him, and there are lovely ones now,
peacocks and brimstones and tortoiseshells.”
It is clear that just then Miss Pechey was having a very good time. She
was the woman of the moment, a lion abroad as well as in her country
home, and she had the courage and the sense to enjoy the position
quietly and without making a fuss. Moreover both she and S.J.-B. were
human enough to appreciate the situation all the more because, from the
ordinary point of view, the heroine was a truly pretty girl, as
disarming as heroine well could be.
CHAPTER VII
PRACTICAL DIFFICULTIES
Perseverance—“wriggling on”—was thus the course recommended to the women
by stranger and friend alike.
The Professor of Botany (Dr. Balfour, formerly Dean of the Faculty of
Medicine) who had wished to admit them to his ordinary class, made
arrangements to teach them separately. Professor Allmann also had
declared his willingness to admit S. J.-B. to his class of Natural
History (see p. 234) but he did not feel able to follow the generous
example of his colleague in devoting special time and energy to the
purpose. Fortunately the women had a second string to their bow in the
person of Dr. Alleyne Nicholson, lecturer in the Extra-Mural School,[64]
and their application to him called forth a letter which shows what the
difficulties were which even a kindly and open-minded man had to face.
Footnote 64:
Appendix D.
“April 26th. 1870.
DEAR MISS BLAKE,
I have not as yet succeeded in obtaining a positive assurance as
to the legality of my admitting you to my ordinary class, though I no
longer entertain any doubt as to my perfect freedom in the matter, so
far as the University is concerned. I have, however, consulted several
of my colleagues, and they are tolerably unanimous in advising me to
submit the question to my class.... They advise me, namely, not to
commence abruptly on Monday without any warning, but to give my
opening lecture separately, to my ordinary class at one o’clock, and
to you at 2 p.m. At the conclusion of the hour I should explain to the
students how matters stand, and should ask their permission to make
over to you a bench in the general class. This is the advice which is
given me, and I have no doubt as to its wisdom.
I am fully aware that this will not be nearly so satisfactory to you
as unconditional permission on my part; and I must beg you to believe
that it is in many respects far from being so satisfactory to my own
feelings in the matter. If I were a thoroughly independent man I can
assure you that I should not be deterred from doing what I thought
right in this question by any fear of the consequences. As things
really stand, however, I do not feel justified in running the risk of
losing my ordinary class in whole or in part, as I am assured I should
do if I were to attempt to introduce this innovation wholly without
warning. If I _knew_ my class, if I had the opportunity of even two or
three days’ acquaintance with them, I think I should have little to
apprehend as to their behaviour on any such question as this. You will
remember, however, that I am dealing with an unknown quantity in
making up my mind as to the course I shall adopt; and that I am wholly
without adequate data to guide me in my determination.... My present
opinion is that whilst I have every wish to admit you to my general
class, it will be safest for me to submit the question to my class and
to abide by a decision of the majority.”
Apparently S. J.-B. obtained a verbal, but satisfactory, modification of
this programme by suggesting that the class should be asked “to unite
with the lecturer in inviting” the women to join them, but that was a
mere matter of detail. Everything depended on the way in which Dr.
Nicholson stated the case, and one is not surprised to hear that the
favourable reply came not from a majority, but from the entire class.
“So,” says S. J.-B., “the first ‘mixed-class’ was inaugurated and
continued throughout the summer without the slightest inconvenience.”
“The course of lectures on Zoology which I am now delivering to a
mixed class,” wrote Dr. Nicholson later in answer to a mistaken
statement in a medical paper, “is identically the same as the course
which I delivered last winter to my ordinary class of male students. I
have not hitherto emasculated my lectures in any way whatever, nor
have I the smallest intention of so doing. In so acting, I am guided
by the firm conviction that little stress is to be laid on the purity
and modesty of those who find themselves able to extract food for
improper feelings from such a purely scientific subject as Zoology,
however freely handled.”
This was all very well, but the classes so far obtained were mere
outposts. The real Giant Difficulty lay with Anatomy and Clinical
teaching, and that session’s work was complicated, for S. J.-B. in
particular, by a constant undercurrent of effort to obtain the necessary
teaching. It was essential that the teacher, if not a Professor, should
at least be recognized by the University, and there were representatives
of the University who were not desirous to make the matter easy. Over
and over again hopes were raised, only to be disappointed: on one
occasion the lecturer, after much parleying, had actually agreed to do
the work and had accepted his fee; but, even at that late stage, he
backed out and returned the fee with an apology. (“_How_ vexed I was!”
says S. J.-B., “thoroughly upset and nervous.”) It happened repeatedly,
too, that the men who would have liked to help had already on some other
question taken up a position unpopular with their more conservative
_confrères_, and simply dared not espouse another fighting cause.
S. J.-B. was urged to go to Zürich and fit herself to teach Anatomy; but
what assurance had she—what encouragement had she even to hope—that the
University would recognize her teaching on her return? And what were the
other students—a growing number—to do in the meantime? Try their fortune
elsewhere?—and brave the inevitable, “Lo, these who have turned the
world upside down are come hither also”?
Once and again some chivalrous man took up their cause, refusing to
believe that the difficulty was real; but little by little he was apt to
find that the intangible mist of opposition was as impervious as an iron
wall.
It was due to Dr. Arthur Gamgee that Dr. Handyside finally agreed to
admit the women to his ordinary Anatomy class and dissecting-room at
Surgeons’ Hall, provided the other lecturers made no objection: and, so
far the arrangements for the following winter session were made.
“Saturday, [June] 25th. Called on Dr. Watson[65] (Surgery). He signed
my petition readily. Thought if _we_ made no difficulty, no one ought
to about mixed classes,—anyone in earnest in his subject should be
able to teach all students. Of course the teacher should put his foot
down,—the students followed a beck,—and, if invited, would of course
make a row, etc....
Saw Keiller too.... Was quite favourable as to Handyside and mixed
classes;—he himself having had students and midwives....”
Footnote 65:
Afterwards Sir Patrick Heron Watson.
The question of these mixed classes in the Extra-Mural School was
technically an infringement of Regulation 2 in the _Calendar_ (see p.
260), and in this connection it was duly brought before the Senatus of
the University, with the proposal to refer the matter to the University
Court; but Professor Bennett moved, seconded by Professor Tait, “that
the Senatus see no reason to interfere.” This amendment appears to have
been carried by the casting vote of the Principal.
“So that’s settled,” says S. J.-B.
“_How_ fast events go! I really hope for mixed classes in the University
before 1871.”
She forgot to allow sufficiently for the fighting force of a large
minority, led by an angry few.
Meanwhile that wonderful Mother was following the struggle, not indeed
with the minute study Miss Du Pre was giving to the question, but with
the old unfailing sympathy. Like Miss Pechey’s father, she had been
rather staggered at first at the thought of mixed classes, but shortly
after this she writes:
“DARLING,
I don’t now at all object to mixed classes. As the teaching must
at present be given _by men_, I don’t see why there should not be
mixed classes to listen: and I feel confident if you continue to have
such a nice set of women, the tone of the young men generally will be
greatly raised. If mixed classes answer so well at Zurich and Paris,
why not here?—but I confess to great ignorance.”
Intellectually, the supply of women showed no sign of falling short.
With the advice and coöperation of Miss Garrett, Lady Amberley had
offered a scholarship for competition at the October Matriculation
Examination, and S. J.-B. proudly jots down the verdict of the examiners
on their work:
“‘Miss Barker’s Logic paper best ever had from medical students.’
‘Miss Bovell’s French best in University except one Frenchman’s.’
‘Miss Walker had the _only_ 100 per cent. in Mathematics.’
Classical examiner wrote,—‘I was very much struck with the accuracy as
well as elegance of some papers.‘”
Of course a woman—or a man for that matter—may pass a brilliant
examination in Mathematics or Chemistry, and yet be unable to keep her
head at a difficult midwifery case; and it was perfectly right and
fitting that men doctors should recognize and even emphasize this fact.
One would not have wished them to do otherwise. It was fortunate for the
women, however, that their opponents were apt to state their case with a
conspicuous want of any sense of humour, as the following letter from
the _Lancet_[66] sufficiently exemplifies:
“SIR,—In all popular movements, however one-sided and irrational they
may seem, there is some foundation of truth, the grain of common sense
in the bushel of chaff. And so it is with the movement that is now
taking place with respect to the admission of women into the rank of
medical practitioners. I believe most conscientiously and thoroughly
that as a body they are sexually, constitutionally, and mentally
unfitted for the hard and incessant toil, and for the heavy
responsibilities of general medical and surgical practice. At the same
time I believe as thoroughly, that there is a branch of our
profession—midwifery—to which they might and ought to be admitted in a
subordinate position as a rule.
In France, and in many other parts of the Continent, this division of
labour in Midwifery is fully carried out, and with great advantage to
both parties—to the regular practitioner, who is relieved of part of
his most arduous, most wearing and most unremunerative duties, and to
the women who have a vocation for medicine, who are able, thus, in
large numbers, to gain a respectable living in the profession they
wish to practise.
I think I may safely say that there are very few medical men who have
been ten years in practice, who would not gladly, thankfully, hand
over to a body of well-educated and friendly midwifes their half-
guinea or guinea midwifery cases. To a young practitioner there is the
charm of novelty, and the desire to improve, which make remuneration
altogether a secondary consideration. But after ten years‘ practice,
often long before, a very decided change comes over the spirit of the
dream.”
Footnote 66:
June 18th, 1870.
The part of the letter that follows is perhaps too technical for
quotation; but the writer continues on the general question:
“I would add in conclusion that, given women of exceptional energy,
capacity, and intelligence, nothing would be easier than for them, if
deserving, to rise out of the midwifery ranks into a wider sphere of
activity and worldly success. Let them show by their energy, by their
writing, by their contributions to the progress of medical science,
that they had exceptional powers of observation and intellect, and
fame would soon reach them. It has reached the very few women, who,
like Mrs. Somerville, have given evidence not only of mere ability and
talent, but higher powers, the power to grasp the more recondite and
abstruse teachings of science. But even this power—the power to master
and understand the existing state of science—does not constitute the
characteristic feature of the male mind in the Caucasian race. The
principal feature which appears to me to characterise the Caucasian
race, to raise it immeasurably above all other races, is the power
that many of its _male_ members have of advancing the horizon of
science, of penetrating beyond the existing limits of knowledge—in a
word, the power of scientific discovery. I am not aware that the
female members of our race participate in this power, in this supreme
development of the human mind; at least I know of no great discovery
changing the surface of science that owes its existence to a woman of
our or of any race. What right then have women to claim mental
_equality_ with men?
That woman may attain an honourable social position and pecuniary
independence in our ranks in the position I point out, is proved by a
case that came under my observation last year. A German lady M.D. in a
German University, called on me on her way home from San Francisco.
She told me that she had been practising there as an accoucheur and a
ladies‘ and child’s doctor for twenty years, had gained a small
fortune, and was returning to Germany to live and die in quiet. Her
history was this: Early in married life her husband lost his fortune
and became a confirmed invalid. She had thus her husband and two
children to support. She studied midwifery and medicine, took a
degree, and then went to America, settling at San Francisco. There she
placed herself in a subordinate position to the medical men, acting
with them, under them, and consequently supported by them. She had
thus lived harmoniously with her professional brethren, and had had a
career of uninterrupted professional success.
I remain, Sir, your obedient servant,
HENRY BENNET, M.D.”[67]
Footnote 67:
Not to be confused with Dr. Hughes Bennett, who had lectured to the
women on Physiology.
One can imagine the somewhat grim smile with which this lucubration was
passed round the little band in Edinburgh: and it is only fair to say
that many of their opponents would have been glad to cry:—“_Non tali
auxilio, nec defensoribus istis!_” The _Lancet_ was not the advocate of
the women students in those days, and one is glad to record that the
Editor allowed S. J.-B. the opportunity to reply. Her letter is a fair
sample of the style of writing that was becoming habitual to her,—
translucently clear, concise and businesslike,—absolutely shorn of the
picturesqueness that had characterized the writing of her youth.
“SIR,—I see in your columns of June 1st, 1870, a letter on ‘Women as
Practitioners of Midwifery,’ and appeal to your sense of fairness to
allow me a fourth part of the space it occupied for a few words in
reply.
It is hardly worth while to discuss the early part of the letter, as
the second paragraph sufficiently disposes of the first. After saying
that women are ‘sexually, constitutionally, and mentally unfitted for
hard and incessant toil,’ Dr. Bennet goes on to propose to make over
to them as their sole share of the medical profession what he himself
well describes as its ‘most arduous, most wearing and most
unremunerative duties.’ In the last adjective seems to lie the whole
suitability of the division of labour according to the writer’s view.
He evidently thinks that women’s capabilities are nicely graduated to
fit _half-guinea_ or _guinea_ midwifery cases,‘ and that all patients
paying a larger sum of necessity need the superior powers of the
‘_male_ mind of the Caucasian race.’ Let whatever is well paid be left
to the man; then chivalrously abandon the ‘badly remunerated’ work to
the women. This is the genuine view of a trades-unionist. It is well
for once to see it candidly stated. As I trust the majority of medical
men would be ashamed of avowing such a principle, and as I am sure it
would be indignantly disallowed by the general public, I do not care
to say more on this point.
But when Dr. Bennet proceeds to dogmatise about what he calls our
claim to ‘mental equality,’ he comes to a different and much more
important question. I for one do not care in the least either to claim
or disown such equality, nor do I see that it is at all essential to
the real question at issue. Allow me to state in a few words the
position that I and, as I believe, most of my fellow-students take. We
say to the authorities of the medical profession,—‘State clearly what
attainments you consider necessary for a medical practitioner; fix
your standard where you please, but define it plainly; put no
obstacles in our way; either afford us access to the ordinary means of
medical education, or do not exact that we shall use your special
methods; in either case subject us ultimately to exactly the ordinary
examinations and tests, and, if we fail to acquit ourselves as well as
your average students, reject us; if, on the contrary, in spite of all
difficulties, we reach your standard, and fulfil all your
requirements, the question of ‘mental equality’ is practically
settled, so far as it concerns our case; give us then the ordinary
medical licence or diploma, and leave the question of our ultimate
success or failure in practice to be decided by ourselves and the
public.’ This is our position, and I appeal, not to the chivalry, but
to the justice of the medical profession, to show us that it is
untenable, or else to concede it at once.
I am, Sir, your obedient servant,
SOPHIA JEX-BLAKE.
Edinburgh, June 21st.”[68]
Footnote 68:
_Lancet_, July 9, 1870.
Nothing conciliatory here: no appeal for help for “the wee bit thing,”—
the appeal that some men in those days used to find so disarming:
nothing even in the spirit of the “Now remember, Daddy dear,” of those
delightful controversial letters of her girlhood. It is a fair field and
no favour with a vengeance now.
Possibly she might have shortened the battle if she had adopted a more
conciliatory attitude. One might say the same of many of the martyrs.
Had she done so, it would have meant a smaller battle,—a victory far
more limited in its results. If a new move is being effectively made, it
is almost always overdone. That is in the scheme of things. If there
were not faults on both sides, there would be no dramatic action,—no
“story”; and the world would go on its sleepy way, and pay no attention.
“Individuals, feeling strongly, while on the one hand they are
incidentally faulty in mode or language, are still peculiarly
_effective_.... The very faults of an individual excite attention; he
loses, but his cause (if good, and he powerful-minded) gains. This is
the way of things; we promote truth by a self-sacrifice.”
* * * * *
Here then were the opposing forces, duly ranged against each other. One
can almost imagine the move and countermove that were bound to ensue.
And we must not forget the element furnished by the great mass of the
students—though there were “individuals” here, too, of course—on the
look out for mischief and fun, rejoicing in a row, ready “to follow a
beck” as that wise Heron Watson had said.
CHAPTER VIII
THE RIOT AT SURGEONS’ HALL
S. J.-B.’s medical experience in America had consisted mainly of
practical hospital work, and that chiefly in connection with the special
diseases of women. She had done a little dissecting in a rough and ready
way, and the privilege of what she then considered “real teaching” had
just been put within her reach when she was called home by the illness
of her father. She had this advantage, however, over her fellow-
students,—she knew that the “horrors” of the dissecting-room have only
to be faced in a spirit of serious intention in order to be dispelled.
She knew by experience that one _must_ pull oneself together in the
first instance for fear of doing irreparable damage to the dainty
structures that lie almost as cunningly hidden in surrounding tissue as
the future statue lies in the block of marble; and she knew that, little
by little, the privilege of laying bare that marvellous “handiwork”
becomes so enthralling as to make the earnest student oblivious to
everything else.
The Anatomy Class began formally in November, but the rooms were open
and teachers present from the beginning of October, for those who cared
to attend; so the women had the advantage of meeting in the first
instance only the keener of the students, or at least those who were
working with a special object in view. The women would gladly have had a
separate room, had this been available, but in their quiet corner they
worked away steadily, forgetful of all beyond. And everything went well.
Never, the lecturer said, had better work been done in his class-rooms.
Meanwhile influential friends were doing what in them lay to forward the
interests of the women in other quarters; for it must be remembered
that, as matriculated students of the University they ought not to have
been _compelled_ to study in Extra-Mural classes, and indeed it was only
a limited number of such classes that would be accepted for the
University degree. On October 28th a motion was brought forward in the
General Council of the University in favour of affording farther
facilities to the lady students. The motion was met by a direct
negative, Professor Christison asserting in the course of his speech
that Her Majesty Queen Victoria had expressed her concurrence in the
views that had been put forth on a previous occasion by Dr. Laycock and
himself. If there was any truth in this, one can only speculate as to
the form in which the story had reached Her Majesty’s ears,—certainly
not through the medium of a leading article in the _Times_. What weight
her reported opinion may have carried it is impossible to say, but, in
any case, when put to the vote, the negative was carried by 47 to 46.
(“Well, try again next year!” says S. J.-B.)
In reading the whole story, one is struck over and over again by the
narrowness of the majority by which things were turned. Great is the
responsibility of the weak and cowardly, the lazy and double-minded,—the
“unstable” who call themselves impartial.
At this stage, wisely or not, the women were advised to apply for
permission to work in the wards of the Royal Infirmary. This was the
only hospital in Edinburgh large enough to fulfil the requirements of
the General Medical Council for registration as a medical practitioner,
and the women were entitled to the privilege in virtue of their
Matriculation tickets. They knew that some of the doctors were in their
favour. Here are two of the “thumb-nail sketches” from the diary:
“Saturday, Oct. 29th. Dr. Watson,—most friendly. Only too happy to
have us as pupils. Could not anticipate difficulty about Infirmary,
etc....
Dr. Littlejohn foresaw the ruin of his son by women doctors, but
‘would drink the bitter cup to its dregs,’ and vote for us.”
Their request, however, was met by a curt refusal.
“Monday, October 31st. Refused us dead.
Gordon says, ‘Try a written memorial!’ Wood says he believes their
charter compels them to admit all medical students.
Qui vivra verra.”
It is obvious that they had approached the very stronghold of the enemy.
Might is right and possession nine points of the law. The matter lay in
the hands of a body of Managers who were obviously judging the case as
represented to them by the medical party in power; so now the duty fell
upon the women of explaining their position as far as possible to those
in whose hands the decision lay.
“Friday, Nov. 4th. Just put down this day’s work for a specimen!
Studying and canvassing at once,—
8.45. Started for Surgeons’ Hall.
9-10. Tutorial class, bones.
10-11. Surgery lecture.
11-1. Dissecting.
1-2. Anatomy Lecture.
2.10 Reached home and found a letter from Mr. Blyth (Manager) telling
me to meet him at 2 p.m.!! Got there (after bolting beef-tea and wine)
at 2.45. Talked at him for nearly an hour with good results, I
believe. Got back home 3.40. Bolted some food, and went
4 p.m. Demonstration exam. Didn’t know the Acromion but got 13/20
marks.
Home to dinner.
7 p.m. Started on round of calls.
Home at 10 p.m. Not tired,—oh, dear no!”
“I _don’t_ like you to be a perpetual battering ram,” writes Miss Du
Pre, “for I suppose battering rams do wear out after a good many
sieges; but still I thoroughly like and admire your ‘never say die’
feeling, and it _is_ a fight with something worth fighting for to be
got at the end, which is a great thing.
If only I could be with you!”
One must read the following letters, which were laid before the
subsequent meetings of the Board, in order to realize how strong and
sane the position of the women was:
“November 5, 1870.
MY LORD AND GENTLEMEN,—As lecturers in the Edinburgh Medical School we
beg most respectfully to approach your honourable Board, on behalf of
the eight female students of this school whom, we understand, you
object to admit to the practice of the Royal Infirmary. On their
behalf we beg to state:—
1. That they are regularly registered students of medicine in this
school.
2. That they are at present attending, along with the other students,
our courses of anatomy, practical anatomy, demonstrations of anatomy,
and systematic surgery, in the school at Surgeons’ Hall.
3. That as teachers of anatomy and surgery respectively, we find no
difficulty in conducting our courses to such mixed classes composed of
male and female students sitting together on the same benches; and
that the presence of those eight female students has not led us to
alter or modify our course of instruction in any way.
4. That the presence of the female students, so far from diminishing
the numbers entering our classes, we find both the attendance and the
actual numbers already enrolled are larger than in previous sessions.
5. That in our experience in these mixed classes the demeanour of the
students is more orderly and quiet, and their application to study
more diligent and earnest, than during former sessions when male
students alone were present.
6. That, in our opinion, if practical bedside instruction in the
examination and treatment of cases is withheld from the female pupils
by the refusal to them of access as medical students to the practice
of the Infirmary, we must regard the value of any systematic surgical
course thus rendered devoid of daily practical illustration, as
infinitely less than the same course attended by male pupils, who have
the additional advantage of the hospital instruction under the same
teacher.
7. That the surgical instruction, being deprived of its practical
aspect by the exclusion of the female pupils from the Infirmary, and
therefore from the wards of their systematic surgical teacher, the
knowledge of these female students may very reasonably be expected to
suffer, not only in class-room examinations, but in their capacity to
practise their profession in after life.
8. That our experience of mixed classes leads us to the conviction
that the attendance of the female students at the ordinary hospital
visit, along with the male students, cannot certainly be more
objectionable to the male students and the male patients than the
presence of the ward nurses, or to the female patients than the
presence of the male students.
9. That the class of society to which these eight female students
belong, together with the reserve of manner, and the serious and
reverent spirit in which they devote themselves to the study of
medicine, make it impossible that any impropriety could arise out of
their attendance upon the wards as regards either patients or male
pupils.
In conclusion, we trust that your honourable Board may see fit, on
considering these statements, to resolve not to exclude these female
students from the practice of, at all events, those physicians and
surgeons who do not object to their presence at the ordinary visit
along with the other students.
Such an absolute exclusion of female pupils from the wards of the
Royal Infirmary as such a decision of your honourable Board would
determine, we could not but regard as an act of practical injustice to
pupils who, having been admitted to the study of the medical
profession, must have their further progress in their studies barred
if hospital attendance is refused them.—We are, my Lord and Gentlemen,
your obedient servants,
P. D. HANDYSIDE,
PATRICK HERON WATSON.”
The second letter was a petition signed by the lady students, the famous
“Septem contra Edinam,” as they were called, enclosing _Paper A_ and
_Paper B_. It may be well to give the names of the gallant seven once
for all: Sophia Jex-Blake, Mary Edith Pechey (Mrs. Pechey Phipson),
Isabel Thorne, Matilda Chaplin (Mrs. Ayrton), Helen Evans (Mrs. Russel),
Mary Anderson (Mrs. Marshall), Emily Bovell (Mrs. Sturge).
“November 5, 1870.
_Paper A._—We, the undersigned physicians and surgeons of the Royal
Infirmary desire to signify our willingness to allow female students
of medicine to attend the practice of our wards, and to express our
opinion that such attendance would in no way interfere with the full
discharge of our duties towards our patients and other students.
J. HUGHES BENNETT,
GEORGE W. BALFOUR,
PATRICK HERON WATSON.”
In _paper B_, two other medical men expressed their readiness, if
suitable arrangements could be made, to teach the female students in
the wards separately.
“15 Buccleuch Place, Nov. 13, 1870.
MY LORDS AND GENTLEMEN,—To prevent any possible misconception, I beg
leave, in the name of my fellow-students and myself, to state
distinctly that, while urgently requesting your honourable Board to
issue to us the ordinary students’ tickets for the Infirmary (as they
alone will ‘qualify’ for graduation), we have, in the event of their
being granted, no intention whatever of attending in the wards of
those physicians and surgeons who object to our presence there, both
as a matter of courtesy, and because we shall be already provided with
sufficient means of instruction in attending the wards of those
gentlemen who have expressed their perfect willingness to receive us.—
I beg, my Lord and Gentlemen, to subscribe myself your obedient
servant,
SOPHIA JEX-BLAKE.
To the Honourable the Managers of the Royal Infirmary.”
Now the managers of the Infirmary were worthy folk as human nature goes,
“several” of them, says S.J.-B., known to the women as “just and
liberal-minded men,” so it is not surprising that a majority were
sufficiently moved by these arguments to desire that the request of the
women be granted. On the ground of want of notice, however, the party in
power got the matter deferred for a week.
And now, clearly, the moment had come when every effort must be made to
turn the women out altogether. If they carried their point at the next
meeting, all might well be lost.
It was at this juncture that, for the first time, some of the students
began to make themselves unpleasant, “shutting doors in our faces,
ostentatiously crowding into the seats we usually occupied, bursting
into horse laughs and howls when we approached,—as if a conspiracy had
been formed to make our position as uncomfortable as might be.” A
students’ petition against the admission of women to the Infirmary was
handed about, and 500 students signed it.
So the majority gained their point, and the party in power won an easy
victory.
“Follow it up,” said someone. “Don’t stop there. While you are at it,
why not get rid of the women altogether?”[69]
Footnote 69:
This is a neutral and harmless paraphrase of the arguments some of the
professors actually used in talking to the students, but one does not
want to perpetuate the memory of words used in an angry conflict.
It was not a surprising suggestion; the presence of the women was making
some people very uncomfortable; but those who made the suggestion must
have had a pretty good idea of how the students would proceed to carry
it out, and what class of student would take the lead.
For a day or two a feeble and cowardly effort was made to obstruct the
entrance of women into the class-room, but S. J.-B., followed by her
companions, simply failed to see the students who half-heartedly stood
in her way, and walked through them.
And then came about the “riot at Surgeons’ Hall”, of which so much has
since been said, and of which Charles Reade made picturesque use in his
novel, _The Woman Hater_.
In order to get a plain, unvarnished account of what took place, we
cannot do better than quote the _Courant_[70] (the only Edinburgh
morning paper which was unfavourable to the women) and the very brief
record in S. J.-B.’s diary:
“A disturbance of a very unbecoming nature took place yesterday
afternoon in front of the Royal College of Surgeons, caused by the
entrance of the lady ‘medicals’ to the class-rooms. However ungallant
it may appear, there is no doubt that many of the students look upon
the admission of the ladies to the classes with no friendly eye; but,
unfortunately for their own credit, some have adopted a very
undignified mode of signifying their displeasure. Shortly before four
o’clock, the hour when the ladies arrive at the College, nearly two
hundred students assembled in front of the gate leading to the
building. As may be readily supposed, there was no lack of animation
amongst the students; and, with other popular melodies, ‘The Whale’
and ‘John Brown’s Body’ were sung with more spirit than good taste by
at least a hundred voices. Such a noisy demonstration speedily
attracted a large crowd, and greatly interfered with the public
traffic. Shortly before four o’clock those on the outlook descried the
approach of the ladies, and immediately their appearance was greeted
with a howl which might have made those who are supposed to be
possessed of more temerity, quail, but it seemingly had no effect upon
the ladies, for they most unconcernedly advanced towards the gate, the
students opening up their ranks to allow them to pass. On reaching the
gate it was closed in their face. Amidst the derisive laughter which
followed this very questionable action, it must be said to their
credit that a number of students cried ‘shame.’ In a short time the
janitor succeeded in opening one leaf of the gate, and the ladies were
admitted to the precincts, but not before some of them had been
considerably jostled.
The anatomical class-room to which they proceeded was crowded to the
door, and, in consequence of the noise and interruption, Dr. Handyside
found it utterly impossible to begin his demonstrations. With much
difficulty, he singled out those students belonging to his class, and,
turning the others out of the room, he was about to proceed, when the
pet sheep which grazes at the College was introduced to the room, a
student jocularly remarking that it would be a good subject for
anatomical purposes. Poor ‘Mailie’ was kept a prisoner, and the
lecturer was allowed to proceed.”
Footnote 70:
The _Courant_, Nov. 19, 1870.
“Let it remain,” Dr. Handyside had said, “it has more sense than those
who sent it here.”
“When the class broke up, a number of the students seemed determined
to accompany the ladies home; but the result was that several of them
were apprehended by the police.”
The writer of the diary naturally saw things from a different point of
view:
“Friday, 18th. On getting in sight of S(urgeons’) H(all), found mob of
students and mixed multitude.
Had to go down to P.O. and to Houlden’s for Mrs. Evans [a most
characteristic touch this! in later life S. J.-B. often spoke of
herself as ‘a sheep dog grown old.’] Then crossed road, ... Mrs.
T[horne] and I in front, then Mrs. K[ingsley] and others.
Reaching pavement, way cleft for us by one or two, till gate reached
and clashed in our face, by smokers inside. I placidly leant on it
outside, mid cries of ‘Shame,’ ‘Let them in,’ etc., till Sanderson
sprang forward and forced it open and in we went,—Mrs. K. not, [she]
remaining outside to hear ‘very bad language, in which I didn’t join.’
(To S. M. M.’s great amusement.)
Then we went in and had demonstration,—some rushed in after us.
Dr. Handyside went out and remonstrated, etc. Then sheep introduced.
We passed rather good examination. Then at end H. asked if we would go
out by back door. ‘Oh, no,’ I said, ‘I am sure there are enough
gentlemen here to prevent any harm to us.’ And so we went, Hoggan and
Sanderson pioneering,—S. M. M. said she got hit,—Wilson came up and
took Mrs. K.’s arm (to our momentary fright), then we proceeded home,
escorted by
a. gallant cavaliers,
b. police,
c. general mob,
d. all boys and girls of the town.
“Monday, 21st. Had warning of a ‘more serious demonstration’, so
Wilson swore in the Irish Brigade. I asked Professor Wilson about it,
and he requested Turner to keep his class till past five,—they were
let out at 4.45![71]
Footnote 71:
One hopes this fact was incorrectly reported; it has never been
contradicted. Possibly the Professor was annoyed at being asked to
effect that by force which could safely be confided to the
gentlemanly feeling of his students.
However, it being rainy, there was almost no crowd.
“Tuesday 22nd.... The Irish Brigade filed in to demonstration, and
then escorted us home,—some 30 or 40 in all. One woman hissed. W. as
we came to crossing regretted it ‘hadn’t been swept,’ etc.—otherwise
all quiet. The O’Halloran squired E. P., called her ‘ma belle,’
declared ‘a loife wasn’t much, but all the Irishmen would lay down
theirs before we came to harm,’ etc.
And in the passage, the same mighty chief shook my hand nearly off,
vowing the pleasure it would give him and his to be any service to us,
etc., etc.
They gave us a great cheer when they got to the door.
In the crowd B. heard,—‘You know they’d never do it if they could get
married.’ ‘Eh, you‘re wrong there, there are some very good-looking
ones among them.‘ ‘Eh, now, see the students escorting them home,—
isn’t it pretty?’
And O‘Halloran’s troubles with his men. ‘For God’s sake, look after
X.! It’s his first night out, and he’ll be wanting to distinguish
himself,—he’ll be hitting a policeman!’
Altogether great ‘demonstration in favour,’ as _Daily Review_ says.
“Wednesday, 23rd. Same escort, though little necessary.”
The Wilson who swore in the Irish Brigade, has, of course, no connection
with Professor Wilson. He was a student, and remained throughout life a
loyal supporter of the cause.[72] His letter, written on the Sunday
following the riot, is interesting:
“DEAR MISS PECHEY,—I wish to warn you, and, through you, your friends,
that you are to be mobbed again on Monday. A regular conspiracy has
been, I fear, set on foot for that purpose. I wish you to tell your
friends that, although the projected demonstration against you on
Monday is intended to be much more serious than the one on Friday, and
to frighten you all away, you need not in the least fear it. I have
made what I hope to be efficient arrangements for your protection. I
have passed the word round amongst a lot of my friends—not wholly
inexperienced in the kind of work—and you will be all right.
I had a meeting with my friend, Micky O’Halloran who is leader of a
formidable band, known in College as the ‘Irish Brigade,’ and he has
consented to tell off a detachment of his set for duty on Monday.
Micky was the formidable hero with the big red moustache who stood by
us on Friday and whose presence with us rather disappointed the
rioters who, I think, calculated on the aid both of himself and his
set. I have taken care of _that_, and I believe the mere demonstration
of the fact that you have men on your side able and willing to protect
you, will deter the mob from even an attempt at a row.
They are a cowardly lot, nearly all very young, and I don’t think they
have even one amongst them, who has had experience of the days when
street-rioting was one of the accomplishments Edinburgh students were
acquainted with, so they are not likely to be very troublesome. I
believe they’ll ‘cave in’ if you only show a brave front. I have
considerable influence also with the Highlanders in College, and
expect to get a good deal of help from them, when I pass the word
round tomorrow.
May I venture to hint my belief that the real cause of the riots is
the way some of the professors run you down in their lectures. They
never lose a chance of stirring up hatred against you. For all I know
they may have more knowledge of the riotous conspiracy than most
people fancy. However, as I tell you, you and your friends need not
fear, as far as Monday is concerned. You will be taken good care of.
Yours faithfully,
ROBERT WILSON.
P.S. I would have sent this communication through Mrs. Kingsley, but
as I have no chance of seeing her tomorrow, and as you are her friend,
I send it to you.”
Footnote 72:
In January, 1886, Mr. Robert Wilson had an article, “Æsculapia
Victrix,” in the _Fortnightly Review_.
Mr. Henry Kingsley was at this time editor of the _Daily Review_, and
almost as redoubtable a champion of the cause as Alexander Russel
himself. Of Mrs. Henry Kingsley’s loyalty it is impossible to speak in
exaggerated terms. In the drawing-room, in the columns of a newspaper,
and on the platform, she was equally ready to defend a fighting cause,
and to correct the numerous misapprehensions that sprang up in
connection with it. She attended the scientific classes without any idea
of qualifying as a doctor, mainly for the purpose of identifying herself
with the movement, and with people who had her wholehearted sympathy and
admiration.
The news of the “Riot” went forth over the whole world, and the
indignation roused by the matter of the Hope Scholarship was as nothing
compared to that called forth by this escapade. “We trust the
authorities of the medical school at Edinburgh will visit exemplary
chastisement on the cowardly cads—we have no milder name for them—who
could so conduct themselves towards the ladies who paid them the
compliment of supposing they could act like gentlemen. Edinburgh has
ceased to be so attractive as she was as a centre of education.” This
was a fair specimen of the indignant criticism called forth, and one is
glad to record that none were more prompt to disown the delinquents than
the more reputable of the students themselves. Some few papers, even of
some standing, espoused the cause of the rioters; and, in order to do
this, it was perhaps almost necessary to represent the women and their
doings in a way that disgusted all decent-minded men,—“a brutality,”
said the _Spectator_, with reference to a given article, “of which a
costermonger quarrelling with a fishwife would be ashamed.”[73]
Footnote 73:
_Spectator_, December 3, 1870.
Some of us can imagine, too, the style of anonymous letter which the
women received, and such letters were rather terrible to the women of
those days.
“‘Well!—we are about in the deepest waters now,—that’s one comfort,’
says S. J.-B.”
“‘What _do_ you think your constitution is made of that it will stand
such overwork?’ writes Miss Du Pre at this time. ‘You will be a real
martyr to the cause, if you don’t take care. Yet I know you never
needlessly use up one atom of strength, so I get a fearful idea of
what the amount of work must be. I _do_ wish you could just sit down
to your lessons quietly as the men students can.
The two newspaper articles made me nicely angry! I think the —— is the
lowest, but, when you get to such a depth it is not easy to measure
degrees of lowness. I should think such attacks must make you feel as
if all people on the other side were low and mean and wicked,—don’t
they? It’s always so hard to believe that one’s opponents may be good
and honest and even sensible; but when any of them write such letters
as those, I think it must be well nigh impossible.’”
A new Act came into operation at this time, and all the Managers of the
Royal Infirmary had to retire from the Board unless re-elected. Now was
the time to get in members favourable to the admission of the women, if
this could be done. One can imagine the canvassing that took place on
both sides.
Here are some characteristic “thumb-nails” from the diary:
“Littlejohn at Police Court,—very uncomfortable talk; he so very
candid and honest, but believing he ought to vote against us in
Infirmary, because ‘by hook or by crook’ they’d got up such a spirit
among the students (L. was ‘ashamed of his sex’) that he was afraid
persistence would injure the School.
M.,—£1000 subscriber. Quiet, simple, not narrow or hard,—only not
interested previously. Said he ‘must think of it now,’ though his
prejudices were against women doctors. I showed him that that was only
a detail,—the question of justice lay beyond.
L. R.,—Had nothing to do with it, etc.,—but thought it all improper.
‘The young men in female wards?’... ‘Oh, it was _their_ business’!!”
At the Annual Meeting of Contributors on January 2nd, 1871, the hall at
the Council Chambers was crowded long before the advertised hour, though
that hour was one o’clock. Proceedings began with a hot dispute among
the civic magnates as to the propriety of adjourning to the High Church
(St. Giles’ Cathedral) which would seat a larger number of people,—the
representative of the Ecclesiastical Commissioners declaring that the
Police Court would be a more suitable place, but allowing himself to be
over-ruled on a point of law by Mr. Duncan M‘Laren, M.P. for Edinburgh.
By the time the move to the church had been effected, everyone was
“rubbed up the wrong way,” and there was a good deal of squabbling and
noisy interruption before the main question at issue came on at all.
The Lord Provost himself proposed the election of six men known to be in
favour of the women students, and an amended list was proposed by one of
the Infirmary Medical Staff. Warm language was used on both sides, and
interruptions were frequent. This was the atmosphere in which S. J.-B.—
in the capacity of a subscriber—asked leave to speak.[74]
Footnote 74:
Someone has pointed out that she was the first woman to speak in St.
Giles’ Church since Jenny Geddes threw her stool at the minister.
She was, as has been said, one of the finest women speakers of her time;
but, even in her maturity, she was wont to suffer beforehand from an
access of nervousness, of which, happily, no trace was obvious when the
crucial moment arrived. What she must have suffered on this first
occasion in Edinburgh we can imagine. We know that she was over-worked
and tired, and that her honest resentment had been raised to the highest
pitch by the way in which some of those in authority were inciting the
students to make trouble. It was deliberately said later by certain
grave and responsible Edinburgh citizens that she had suffered
“unexampled provocation.” She wished the contributors to know the real
truth of the situation, and she was resolved that the presence of her
adversaries should not deter her from giving a plain, unvarnished
account of what had taken place. She had realized the danger of failing
from cowardice; but, in her inexperience, she had not realized the
danger of going to the other extreme: and that was what she did. Part of
her speech might quite justly be described as a direct personal attack
on one or two individuals.
She spoke well, of course, but she owed her gift to Nature, in no way to
Art: and she was confronted by those—double her age and more—who had
learned the full value of outward calmness and urbanity in debate.
She had many friends in that church, and most of them must have suffered
acutely: not because they did not agree with her, but because they did.
Some whose allegiance was of little value, or who had come with “an open
mind,” probably went over to the enemy. One is almost surprised to hear
that it was only by the usual narrow majority—94 to 88 in this instance—
that her cause was defeated.
And yet, perhaps, one ought not to be surprised: for courage and honesty
make their own appeal; and the sore heart-burnings of generous adherents
are a fire in which great things are kindled.
Of course hostile papers jeered. The _Church Review_ went out of its way
to take up the matter. As it began by severely criticising on literary
grounds the speaker’s use of the words “realize” and “emanate,” one
wonders that it ever came to the end of its indictment at all.[75]
Footnote 75:
At a later date (1872) the _Church Review_ became definitely friendly.
We quote the part of the speech that was destined to lead to farther
proceedings:[76]
“I want to point out that it was certain of these same men, who had
(so to speak) pledged themselves from the first to defeat our hopes of
education and render all our efforts abortive—who, sitting in their
places on the Infirmary Board, took advantage of the almost
irresponsible power with which they were temporarily invested, to
thwart and nullify our efforts. I believe that a majority of the
managers desired to act justly in this matter; but the presence of
those bitter partisans, and the overwhelming influence of every kind
brought to bear by them, prevailed to carry the day—to refuse us not
only admission on the ordinary terms, but also to refuse us every
opportunity which could answer our purpose. I know of the noble
protests made against this injury by some of the most respected and
most learned members of the Board, but all their efforts were in vain,
because strings were pulled and weapons brought into play of which
they either did not know or could not expose the character. Till then,
during a period of five weeks, the conduct of the students with whom
we had been associated in Surgeons’ Hall, in the most trying of all
our studies, that of Practical Anatomy, had been quiet, respectful,
and in every way inoffensive. They had evidently accepted our presence
there, in earnest silent work, as a matter of course, and Dr.
Handyside, in answer to a question of mine after the speeches at the
meeting of the General Council, assured me that, in the course of some
twenty sessions, he had never had a month of such quiet earnest work
as since we entered his rooms. But at a certain meeting of the
managers when our memorial was presented, a majority of those present
were, I understand, in favour of immediately admitting us to the
Infirmary. The minority alleged want of due notice of the question,
and succeeded in obtaining an adjournment.
What means were used in the interim I cannot say, or what influence
was brought to bear; but I do know that from that day the conduct of
the students was utterly changed, that those who had hitherto been
quiet and courteous became impertinent and offensive; and at last came
the day of that disgraceful riot, when the college gates were shut in
our faces and our little band bespattered with mud from head to foot.
(“Shame.”) It is true that other students who were too manly to dance
as puppets on such ignoble strings, came indignantly to our rescue,
that by them the gates were wrenched open and we protected in our
return to our homes. But none the less it was evident that some new
influence (wholly distinct from any intrinsic facts) had been at work.
I will not say that the rioters were acting under orders, but neither
can I disbelieve what I was told by indignant gentlemen in the medical
class—that this disgraceful scene would never have happened, nor would
the petition have been got up at the same time, had it not been
clearly understood that our opponents needed a weapon at the Infirmary
Board. This I do know, that the riot was not wholly or mainly due to
the students at Surgeons’ Hall. I know that Dr. Christison’s class
assistant was one of the leading rioters—(hisses and order)—and the
foul language he used could only be excused on the supposition I heard
that he was intoxicated. I do not say that Dr. Christison knew of or
sanctioned his presence, but I do say that I think he would not have
been there, had he thought the doctor would have strongly objected to
his presence.
_Dr. Christison_—‘I must again appeal to you, my Lord. I think the
language used regarding my assistant is language that no one is
entitled to use at such an assembly as this—(hear)—where a gentleman
is not here to defend himself, and to say whether it be true or not. I
do not know whether it is true or not, but I do know my assistant is a
thorough gentleman, otherwise he never would have been my assistant;
and I appeal to you again, my Lord, whether language such as this is
to be allowed in the mouth of any person. I am perfectly sure there is
not one gentleman in the whole assembly who would have used such
language in regard to an absentee.’
_Miss Jex-Blake_—‘If Dr. Christison prefers——’
_Dr. Christison_—‘I wish nothing but that this foul language shall be
put an end to.’
_The Lord Provost_—‘I do not know what the foul language is. She
merely said that in her opinion——’
_Dr. Christison_—‘In her opinion the gentleman was intoxicated.’
_Miss Jex-Blake_—‘I did not say he was intoxicated. I said I was told
he was.’
_The Lord Provost_—‘Withdraw the word “intoxicated.”’
_Miss Jex-Blake_—‘I said it was the only excuse for his conduct. If
Dr. Christison prefers that I should say he used the language when
sober, I will withdraw the other supposition’ (laughter).”
Footnote 76:
_Scotsman_, January 3, 1871.
The _Pall Mall_,[77] chuckling sympathetically over this and another
repartee, wisely concluded:
“It is sincerely to be hoped that these unhappy little differences
will soon come to an end. It cannot be to the advantage of anyone that
lady students should be pelted with mud, or that they should use the
power of retaliation displayed by their champion at the Royal
Infirmary meeting on Monday.”
Footnote 77:
January 5, 1871.
So the conflict deepened, and it would have been small wonder if all but
the very brave had taken fright.
But Edinburgh did contain some very brave people besides the women
students.
At the meeting on January 2nd, the Revd. Professor Charteris had been
ruled out of order in some matter, but, at the earliest opportunity he
returned to his point, and brought forward a motion, expressing the
desire of the contributors that immediate arrangement should be made for
the admission of the ladies to the Infirmary. This motion, seconded by
Sir James Coxe, M.D., was lost by a small majority.
Several things happened at that meeting, however, which were of more
value to the cause than a formal victory would have been:
A petition was read, signed by 956 women of Edinburgh, expressing “our
great interest in the issues involved, and our earnest hope that full
facilities for hospital study will be afforded by the Managers to all
women who desire to enter the Medical Profession.”
More important still was the appearance of Mrs. Nichol, a well-known and
most gracious elderly lady, endowed with the very fragrance of early
Victorian womanhood, who came forward to ask a question,—“not,” she
said, “in the interests of the lady students, but on behalf of those
women who looked forward to see what kind of men were they who were to
be the sole medical attendants of the next generation, if women doctors
were not allowed.”
“If the students studying at present in the Infirmary cannot
contemplate with equanimity the presence of ladies as fellow-students,
how is it possible that they can possess either the scientific spirit,
or the personal purity of mind, which alone could justify their
presence in the female wards during the most delicate operations on,
and examinations of, female patients.”
Yes, there were very brave people in Edinburgh besides the women
students.
This question was received with “laughter, hisses and applause,” and no
one ventured on a reply. No one except the rougher of the students who
were assembled in the gallery on the look-out for a lark. They howled
their appreciation of the question; but it was only when S. J.-B. rose
to speak—and of course she had to pay the penalty of having rashly
described them as “puppets”—that they really let themselves go,—shouting
and yelling and pelting her with peas.
“Well,” said Professor Blackie, “ye can now say ye’ve fought with beasts
at Ephesus.”
As a matter of fact she had not meant to speak again, but one of the
professors had left her no alternative. In the course of a long speech
he had asserted that, in consequence of mixed education, a college in
America “had become so degraded that a woman who respected herself
shrank from the contamination, and preferred to renounce the benefit of
years of study rather than don the academic robe of one of its
graduates.”
“Name the college,” said S. J.-B., and other voices took up the cry of
“Name!”
“He spoke on authority.” (A voice—“What authority?”) “On the authority
of Miss Blake herself, who ... when asked why she had not pursued her
studies instead of coming here, told him that the character of female
medical students in America had so deteriorated that she could not
consent to stay.”
It cannot be easy to speak when one has awaited one’s opportunity
through a storm of hooting and pea-throwing; but now indeed S. J.-B.’s
fine courage and truthfulness shone out like the sun:
“She wished merely to give an absolute, unqualified denial to
Professor X.’s statement respecting her. She never made the statement
he asserted she had made. During her whole visit to America she had
never spent one whole session in any medical college whatever.... It
was true she had studied two years in a woman’s hospital, and every
day’s experience there had made her long more and more to see women in
charge of their own sex—(Great interruption and cries of ‘Order’)—and
it was her experience in that hospital and her knowledge of the ladies
connected with it [One can almost hear her inward cry, ‘Oh, Lucy!’]
that made her devote her life to getting medical education for herself
and also for other women.... Some of the friends she was proudest of
were women doctors in America who had been educated there entirely,
and in regard to whom she scarcely knew any equals and certainly no
superiors.”
It was only in answer to repeated calls that Professor X. rose and said,
“He was sure there was not an individual in that meeting who would not
give him credit for having given what he believed to be the correct
version of what occurred according to his recollection two years ago—
(Hisses and cheers)—between Miss Jex-Blake and himself. If he had
misconceived what had been said, or if his memory had failed him and he
had stated what was not correct, he begged to apologise, as it was
purely unintentional.” (Applause and hisses.)
A somewhat disappointing outcome this, of a long course of training in
scientific exactness.
It was now that the Professor of Moral Philosophy (Calderwood) rose,
profoundly stirred beneath the calm and judicial demeanour that seldom
failed him, and pointed out that Professor X., while speaking to the
amendment “that the question (of the women students) be left to the
unbiassed decision of the Managers,” had voluntarily given them a fair
average specimen of an unbiassed opinion!
There are worse adversaries, in fact, than the honest beasts at Ephesus.
A sore heart lay behind that jest of Professor Blackie’s if one may
judge by the following letter:
“24 Hill Street,
Edinburgh.
20th January, 1871.
MY DEAR MISS BLAKE,
It is of no consequence to you, my poor sympathy with you all at
present, and my utter horror of the conduct of your enemies; but I
wish to tell you how saddened my husband was by all he saw and heard
at the Infirmary meeting last week. He sat at tea-time shading his
eyes, and saying quietly from time to time, ‘I am ashamed of my sex.’
I never saw him so hurt before. I am sure the unmanly and indecent
conduct of these poor ill-led young men, and the untruthfulness of
their leaders will ultimately do you good. If men lose our respect and
confidence, let them look to themselves. Your admirable letters must
do great good.
Pardon this intrusion, and believe me always your true friend,
E. H. S. BLACKIE.”
No less welcome, we may be sure, was this:
Huntly Lodge,
Monday Evening.
MY DEAR MISS JEX-BLAKE,
I am feeling inexpressibly for you and your friends this
evening, and cannot resist the inclination that has come over me to
tell you how deeply grateful everyone who has the welfare of the next
generation at heart must feel to you who are so nobly fighting the
battle which must soon be gained—the _results_ of which will bear
_precious fruit_, I fully believe, long, long after even your heads
are laid in the grave.
You and the struggle you are carrying on remind me so forcibly of the
contest which the band of women in America so nobly waged with the
demon of Slavery. Your struggle will end much sooner, I trust, than
did theirs, but, whilst sympathising with you, I cannot help feeling
that the discussion is doing so much to educate people’s minds, that
it is better for the cause than if you had met with no opposition; and
in the end it may be better for you also, for by the time you are
ready to practise, persons will have become accustomed to the idea and
ready for you.
Meanwhile tell us if there is aught we outsiders can do for you, and
believe me, with love to dear Miss Pechey,
Your affectionate,
E. P. NICHOL.
I am sure you will like to know that I don’t feel a bit the worse for
this day’s work.
You will excuse haste and some little weariness.”
Once more we are tempted to quote from a delightful budget:
“13 Sussex Square,
Brighton,
Jan. 19th. 1871.
MY DEAR SOPHY,
One line to wish you many happy returns of the 21st, and most of
them quieter than this birthday seems likely to be.
I feel sure you will carry your point eventually, and should recommend
you to stick to Edinburgh where you have already so very nearly won.
It must be very harassing at times, and need a great deal of patience:
for half the enemy seem wily and half seem roughs.
The speech you last made, when the gallery ought to have been earlier
cleared of its noisy occupants, seemed to me excellent: and I thought
Maclaren showed great judgment in dealing with the adversary that same
day. I should not be drawn much into newspaper correspondence, if I
were you; and I doubt if ... was worth powder and shot. But he may be,
from personal or local reasons unknown to me.
I feel no doubt whatever of the ultimate victory, but the delay is
very fatiguing to the combatant.... Take it easy, and don’t let the
enemy make you angry. They are sure to try.
Your affectionate brother,
T. W. J.-B.”
Very soon, too, a long letter arrived from women in London,—“to the Lady
Students in Edinburgh:
“DEAR LADY STUDENTS,
Let us entreat you to persevere—” and so on.
Here then were both parties firmly entrenched, with no prospect of an
end to the combat; but that fire in the hearts of generous adherents was
burning steadily. The Lord Provost declined to accept his defeat. He
proceeded to call a meeting of citizens, and in a very short time a
committee was formed to share a burden that had become far too heavy for
the shoulders of a handful of women. The list of sympathizers grew like
a snowball, attracting many of the most honoured names in the country,
till it became a rallying cry for weaker folk the wide world over. One
can best describe the significance of all this in S. J.-B.’s own words,
written some fifteen years later:
“To the Committee thus inaugurated, we owe a debt of gratitude which I
hardly know how to describe adequately. From that time forward to the
close of our battle in Edinburgh, they stood by us with a fidelity and
chivalrous readiness to help which was never marred by officiousness
or needless interference. In a very short time they lifted from our
shoulders the whole burden of pecuniary risk and responsibility, and,
by personal and public help of every kind, made it possible for us to
continue the struggle in which, without such aid, we should have been
hopelessly outnumbered. Where so many gave us such invaluable
assistance, it is almost invidious to single out any for special
thanks; and yet I cannot refrain from putting on record our extreme
debt of gratitude to three men, of whom two have already passed away
from among us, viz., the Lord Provost of Edinburgh (William Law), who
gave us continually the support of his official countenance and
assistance; Mr. Alexander Russel, Editor of the _Scotsman_, whose
advocacy was literally beyond all price in those days, when our one
hope and our great difficulty was to get the real truth laid fully and
fearlessly before the public; and our still invaluable friend,
Professor Masson, whose championship of the weak and oppressed was
then, and always has been, worthy of the noblest days of chivalry.”
CHAPTER IX
THE ACTION FOR LIBEL
It is not to be supposed, however, that the dark days were at an end.
Far from it. The next act in the drama was an action for libel brought
against S. J.-B. by Professor Christison’s assistant.
Of course she took the lawyer’s letter smiling, but it must have seemed
well-nigh the last straw, for she was sorely overstrained by the public
meetings and all the criticism they called forth; and her entire
Christmas holiday had been spent in calling on Infirmary managers. These
were naturally of all sorts, from the big bustling prosperous brewer to
the refined gentlewoman of equally restricted outlook; and the strain of
adaptation to such divers personalities must have been very great.
Even on Christmas Day[78] (a Sunday!) she had been at the _Scotsman_
office, arranging with the Editor for the alteration and publication of
various entries on the following day. Things were not made easier by the
fact that a heavy fall of snow had been followed by alternating spells
of slush and ice. All the other students had gone out of town, and in
many ways it would have been better all round if she had gone too. But
her supporters simply could not get on without her. She might on
occasion be difficult and trying, expecting more of people than they
were prepared to give; but no one else could even compare with her in
knowledge of all the facts and arguments that might at any moment be
called for by the emergencies of a big public controversy. There was no
need for professors, editors and others to charge their memories with
endless _minutiae_ when S. J.-B. was at hand, clear and concise, as a
book of handy reference.
Footnote 78:
“God bless the Massons,” writes Mrs. Jex-Blake, “for cheering my
darling on Christmas Day.”
Life was too full this year for the accustomed backward survey at
midnight on December 31st; there was no quotation of “May the New Year
cherish—” This is the entry:
“Less utterly hopeless tonight,—only _so_ tired. E. P. just back,
bless her!”
Well, in any case, here was the lawyer’s letter, and it just had to be
faced. There is no reference to it in the diary till long after—indeed,
except as a register of facts that have now lost all interest, the diary
becomes almost non-existent—but, in a day or two, the news was all over
the country. It was more than could be expected of human nature that
some of the women students should not have felt aggrieved that the
situation had been complicated by their leader’s impulsiveness. On the
whole they were loyal, especially the three first recruits, Mrs. Thorne,
Mrs. Evans, and “E. P.,—bless her!”
But, as ever, faithful friends gathered round, and, if the postman’s
visit had become a thing to be dreaded, he also brought much good cheer.
Here is a letter from the wife of a leading minister of religion:
“DEAR MRS. EVANS,
The opposition have ‘crowned the edifice’ by bringing that
action of Damages against Miss Jex-Blake,—how unspeakably low and
unmanly it all is. I never knew before that saying a man was drunk was
actionable; if it is we must be very careful how we speak even of our
nearest and dearest. I think a subscription ought to be set on foot at
once to pay Miss Jex-Blake’s expenses, and I shall be delighted to
contribute my mite.”
One can only quote one or two out of many:
“The Athenaeum,
Jan. 23, 1871.
MY DEAR SOPHY,
I will gladly pay half expenses of your action for libel brought
by Dr. Christison’s assistant.
I think it vital that you should have the best legal assistance, and
win. Be careful, and don’t let them ‘draw’ you into indiscretions that
are most forgiveable morally, but damaging to the cause practically.
I don’t the least want to lecture you or assume the Mentor. I only
want you to win all along the line.
Your aff. brother,
T. W. J.-B.”
The next is written in a clear and clerkly hand:
“Miss Jex-Blake, Ph.D.
Edinburgh.
Kinbuck, 7 February, 1871.
MADAM,
We the undersigned desire to express our most sincere sympathy
with your cause and earnest hopes for your success.
I am, Your obedient Servants,—”
Follows a list of four names, apparently of young business men. One
wonders which of them conceived the bold idea of the “Ph.D.” How gladly
they would have made it “M.D.” if they could!
The letter was addressed to “Miss Jex-Blake, Royal Infirmary,
Edinburgh,” and is grimly endorsed, “Not for Royal Infirmary.”
One more letter we are tempted to quote with very mingled feelings:
“19 Inverleith Row,
Edinburgh.
27 January 1871.
MY DEAR MISS JEX-BLAKE,
I see that Mr. C. has raised an action against you. If you have
not already fixed on a counsel to defend you, will you allow me to
propose that you should employ my son-in-law, Mr. Trayner. I propose
this, not for his advantage but your own, as I am quite sure from the
great interest he would take in your case, and also that I know you
would find in him, not only an able advocate, but a kind friend, that
you would have no cause to regret the choice.
Believe me, dear Miss Jex-Blake,
Very truly yours,
MARGARET WYLD.”
From another source one learns that Mr. Trayner [now Lord Trayner], if
employed, would have done the work without fee, from sheer sympathy with
the cause.
The pity of it! One cannot help feeling how differently things might
have gone, if S. J.-B. had availed herself of this suggestion. “The best
legal advice” is an expression capable of varied interpretation, and of
course S. J.-B.—young and inexperienced—was guided by her solicitors. It
is possible, too, of course, that the advice was good.
Young and inexperienced she was in matters of this kind,—full of hope
that she, who had nothing to hide and everything to gain from full
publicity, would see herself substantially justified in an open court of
law.
On the whole, public opinion was against her. All sorts of stories were
rife, many of them entirely false, some with just that grain of truth
that makes a lie so deadly. When the Winter Session came to an end in
March, the President of the College of Physicians and the President of
the College of Surgeons both announced that they would not preside at
the prize-giving if lady students were to be present and to receive
their prizes on this occasion.
On the other hand S. J.-B. was, of course, much sought after by
outsiders who admired her talent and courage. In April she was urged by
the leading women suffragists of the day to speak at a Suffrage meeting
in London, and, after consulting Professor Masson and other friends in
Edinburgh as to the probable effect on her own “Cause,” she agreed.
“Darling,” writes her sorely-tried Mother, “speaking at a public
meeting will be anything but restful. You positively require rest to
go on with the real work and worrying work before you. May you be
guided aright.”
The speech took place, however, and was a great success. Her “pathetic
voice” and clear exposition of the argument deduced from her own trying
experience are referred to repeatedly. This was her first public
association with a cause of which, throughout life, she was one of the
sanest and most practical exponents.
It was in the course of this visit to London, too, that she made the
acquaintance of Mr. (afterwards Sir James) Stansfeld, whose influence
was to prove so priceless in the farther development of the movement.
Meanwhile the law ran its slow and expensive course.
“Monday, May 22nd.... White Millar wants to know if I will say C.
‘wasn’t drunk’ if he on his side allows that I ‘had been told so.’
I don’t want to be too obstinately pugnacious, but I hate the idea of
giving a handle to people to say I ‘ate my words’. Calderwood wisely
says it should be a _sine qua non_ that the public should know the
overture came from them, and I should like also to make C. own he was
‘Foremost among the rioters’.
“Tuesday May 23rd. I have just accepted Lord Advocate at fee of £200,
so now it shall go on unless they pay costs....
“May 26th, Friday 10 p.m. ‘Where the wicked cease from troubling and
the weary are at rest.’
_How_ inclined one feels to turn one’s face to the wall and say with
Elijah, ‘Lord, take away my life, I am not better than my fathers’.
The obstinate lying of these students in preference to giving any
information possibly useful to us;—the constant hisses and rudeness
even in the streets,—J’s insolent civility, especially to Miss B.,—
those two scamps shouting ‘Whore’ after S. M. M., as she crossed the
George Square Gardens yesterday evening, etc.
Oh, dear, I hope Tuesday at least will end one worry satisfactorily. I
think it must clear me morally at any rate!—and yet I have that
nervous quiver through me as when one wakes with nightmare. I wonder
if any such hysterical wretch ever had to do such work as mine!
And yet what good friends and helpers! Gilbert’s ever ready kindness,
Wilson’s hearty interest, ‘Well, if you lose on Tuesday, even you will
not be more vexed than I shall’.”
The case came on for trial on May 31st. On the morning of the day, S.
J.-B. received the following letter from her Mother:
“God’s protection and blessing be with you, my own precious child. I
will not harass and plague you by writing further than to assure you I
am in spirit present with you.
Your loving,
M. E. J.-B.
I am quite well, and picturing how calm and collected you are, and how
_many many_ are thinking of you with friendly thoughts.”
The case lasted two days. It was reported verbally in the _Scotsman_ and
other daily papers. “Throughout the day the Court-room was densely
crowded, many ladies being among the audience.” For many, of course,
this was the first opportunity of seeing these amazing women, and for
some time the provincial and weekly papers ran riot in impressions of
this kind:
“Mrs. Thorne succeeded as witness, and the assembled public thought it
very hard that she should be neither odd nor eccentric. Why was she
married? She was a medical student and ought not to be married.
Sedate, quiet and ladylike-looking, and dressed in an unobtrusive
fashion, and yet fairly within the pale of orthodoxy, Mrs. Thorne
confused the minds of many.”
“Miss Pechey was the sole remaining witness, and created a good deal
of fresh interest. A tall figure and a classically shaped head with
dark hair, are generally supposed to be the attributes of young ladies
who keep to their ‘sphere.’ That female medical students should dare
to be good-looking, dare to be married, dare to be dressed in good
taste, is, of course, an unpardonable crime.”
“Great interest of course was manifested in [Miss Jex-Blake’s]
appearance in the witness box. Plainly dressed in black, with white
round her neck and wrists, she presented the appearance of a tall and
well formed, handsome and determined woman, with dark hair and eyes.
She was perfectly cool and collected, and her manner was a great
contrast to the nervousness of Dr. Christison and the ‘smartness’ of
Dr. Bell.”
So much for the “hysterical wretch”!
In truth the women had learned their lesson. There was no bitter,
impulsive speaking now. They said what they meant to say, and they said
it well and with restraint. “These customers _are_ composed!” a man in
the back of the Court was heard to exclaim.
As has been said, S. J.-B. had everything to gain from publicity, from a
full exposure of the facts. The worst she had done had been to state her
case in public without fear of persons, without much tact and
discretion, though with no exaggeration of the actual truth. The public
had already passed judgment on her. She was now on her defence, desirous
only of asking her opponents, under cross-examination, to deny the truth
of what she had said.
But the law of libel is an intricate and parlous thing. S. J.-B. had
been told by several people of standing—including her teacher and his
assistant—that Professor Christison’s assistant had been a ringleader in
the riot; but she did not know of her own knowledge that he had been so.
“I wished,” she says, “to plead the substantial truth of my statement;
but, being, of course, ignorant of Scotch law, I was overruled by my
Counsel, among whom was the Lord Advocate of Scotland (Young), on the
ground that I could not _personally_ prove the truth of what I had
said, as indeed I did not know the young man by sight, and it would be
held an aggravation of the injury to plead ‘Veritas’ in a matter which
was, after all, only one of hearsay. I was assured that, if the case
came to trial, abundant opportunity would be given to prove the young
man’s real conduct in the matter.”
This opportunity, however, was relentlessly withheld.
The case for the defence was one to rejoice the heart of a brilliant
counsel, being full of technical opportunity,—and to a brilliant counsel
it fell. So entirely did Mr. Shand (afterwards Lord Shand) rely on his
own bow and spear to win the day,—and it must be admitted that there was
nothing else to rely on—that he dared to risk the conclusions which must
inevitably be drawn from his omission to call the pursuer as a witness
on his own side; he dared to provoke a laugh by saying that Mr. C. “was
not so fond of public appearances as the defendant.” He laid down in his
opening statement the law that must govern the case, and with dogged
tenacity, he brought the Judge and everyone else in Court to heel. Lord
Mure, as it chanced, was easily led. The choice of a Judge in Scotland
lies with the pursuer, and in any case it might not have been easy to
find one in those days who had a prejudice in favour of women doctors.
One is glad to know that the protagonist appeared “cool and collected”
to the indifferent observer, but she must have been on the rack much of
the time, for the “substantial truth and right” for which she longed,
got no chance at all, or rather they saved their lives only by losing
them, so to speak; and that is one of time’s revenges that youth cannot
foresee.
The full report of the case appeared in the _Scotsman_ of May 31st and
June 1st. The following extracts are taken mainly from the Edinburgh
_Evening Courant_, because they are slightly abbreviated, and because
they appeared in a paper unfriendly to the cause of the women.
“There could be no doubt,” said the advocate for the pursuer, “that,
however injurious the arguments she used might be, if they were
justified by facts, it was perfectly open to Miss Jex-Blake to
maintain that her statements were true, and to take what is called an
‘issue in justification,’ for the purpose of establishing upon her own
issue, as counter to the present one, what she said. But she had not
chosen to do that: it was not pretended that the statements were true;
and therefore the only question the jury had to try was, practically,
whether those statements were to the pursuer’s loss, injury, and
damage.[79]”
Footnote 79:
_Scotsman_, May 31, 1871.
This argument, fair enough as coming from an advocate, represents to all
intents and purposes, the attitude adopted by the Judge. The case
positively bristled with arguments, but the humblest appearance of a
really relevant fact brought Mr. Shand to his feet with a taboo.
“Thomas Sanderson deponed in answer to Mr. M‘Laren—I am a student of
medicine and last winter I attended Dr. Laycock’s class. On the 18th
November I was at the gate leading to Surgeons’ Hall. There was a
large crowd of students and a larger crowd of other people at the
gate. The students were both inside and outside the gate. The majority
were University students. I assisted the ladies to pass through the
College gate. I was pulled about a little by the students. The
students were hooting, and oaths and offensive expressions were used.
Among the students inside the gate did you recognize Mr. C.?
Mr. Shand (to witness)—Don’t answer that question.
Lord Mure sustained the objection.
Mr. M‘Laren—Did you see Mr. C. at any time on the 18th November?
Witness—Yes.
Where did you see him?—At the Surgeons’ Hall.
At what time of the day did you see him?—A few minutes after four
o’clock.
How was Mr. C. conducting himself?
Lord Mure disallowed the question.
E. C. C., examined by the Lord Advocate, deponed—I am the pursuer in
this action. I was twenty-one years of age last August.
You remember the riot at Surgeons’ Hall on the 18th of November?—I do.
Where were you?
Mr. Shand objected to this question. His Lordship had already ruled
that no evidence could be led as to whether the witness took part in
these proceedings; and it seemed as if the Lord Advocate was
attempting to evade his Lordship’s decision.
Lord Mure said this was a general question and he allowed it to be put
to the witness.
The Lord Advocate—Where were you at the time? Witness—At what time?
At the time of the riot?—I was at the College of Surgeons during part
of the time.
When did you go there?—Three o’clock.
When did the riot begin? Shortly after four.
What were you doing between three and four?—I was in the class for
practising physic.
When did it come out?—A few minutes before four.
Was there a mob of students at the gate?
Mr. Shand—Your lordship will understand that I am objecting to all
these questions.
The Lord Advocate—Were you present during the whole of the riot?
Mr. Shand—I object to that question.
Lord Mure sustained the objection.”
In addressing the jury, Mr. Shand said,
“A slander had been committed and was unrepented, and only by a
verdict from the jury could the calumny be wiped off. A nominal sum,
however, would be an injury instead of an assistance. Excessive
damages[80] he did not ask, but only such a reasonable sum as would
mark their sense of the injury inflicted on the pursuer by the
statements made in his absence.”
Footnote 80:
The amount claimed—£1000—was only specified when the case came into
Court, having been inadvertently omitted from the issue.
The Lord Advocate’s summing up was humorous in the extreme, and called
forth peals of laughter at the pursuer’s expense; indeed in the end he
almost went so far as to produce a counter-wave of sympathy for the
victim of his brilliant raillery. But, indeed, nothing could be made of
the case as it stood.
In the final summing-up, Lord Mure said:
“He had not allowed any evidence to prove that the pursuer had been a
leader in the riot, because, according to his view of the authorities
on the subject, it was incompetent to allow such evidence in the
absence of an issue of justification. The jury had heard the evidence
of Dr. Christison and others as to the injury which a man’s character
was calculated to sustain from such a statement as had been made use
of by the defender; and it was for the jury to judge whether that
charge was one which was likely, without retractation or apology, to
injure the pursuer’s character.
The jury retired at five o’clock, and at half-past six they returned
to Court, and gave a unanimous verdict in favour of the pursuer,
assessing the damages at a farthing.”[81]
Footnote 81:
Edinburgh _Evening Courant_, June 1, 1871.
On the following day a leading article in the _Glasgow Herald_ made the
following comment:
“Miss Blake has not pled or proved the substantial truth of her
accusations. She has preferred to challenge Mr. C. to prove their
falsehood. We are altogether unable to understand why he should not
have accepted the challenge, and why he omitted to deny the charges
levelled against him. We cannot see how he could have expected a jury
to give him substantial damages for his injured reputation when he
refused to allow any enquiry into the circumstances in which he stood.
The witnesses who were present on the occasion of the riot were not
allowed to say whether they saw Mr. C. present at the riot, whether he
took part in it, or what he said or did on the occasion if he was
present. Miss Jex-Blake is accordingly very properly fined one
farthing for her rash and libellous statements, and the public is left
to wonder for what earthly reason Mr. C. brought his action. It has
only one compensation for the loss of time involved in reading the
evidence in a trial which has established nothing. Miss Jex-Blake has
completely vindicated the title of her sex to aspire to the highest
honours not merely in medicine but in law. She has shown herself a
perfect mistress of the art of self defence. In no cricket field this
season have there been so many dangerous balls admirably stopped, and
so many badly bowled ones dexterously played. If the witness and the
counsel could have interchanged positions, the change might possibly
have had considerable effect upon the fortunes of Mr. C.”[82]
Footnote 82:
“Of course, as you know, I daresay,” writes Professor Jack to S. J.-B.
about this time, “all the articles that appear in the _Herald_ are
mine, and especially the good ones.”
But the end was not yet. It was still possible for the Bench to make S.
J.-B. responsible for the entire costs of the case, and in due time she
was called upon to pay—in addition to the farthing damages—a bill of
£915 11s. 1d.
Let it be recorded at once that her brother promptly redeemed his
promise, and sent a cheque for half the amount.
As soon as the decision of the Court was made known, one of the jurymen
expressed his feelings in a letter to the _Scotsman_:
“Edinburgh, July 1871.
SIR,—As one of the jurymen before whom this case was tried, I am
extremely disappointed to observe from the papers that the Court have
found the pursuer entitled to his expenses.
I have been anxiously looking forward to the determination of the
case, in the hope that the verdict of the jury would be so applied as
to receive the effect which they intended by it.
The jury were of the opinion that the pursuer should have submitted
some evidence to them of his non-participation in the disgraceful
riot, of which Miss Jex-Blake had so much reason to complain, to have
entitled him to a verdict; and they would have made some
representation to the presiding Judge on the subject had it been
possible to do so.
After retiring, the first thing done was to appoint a foreman. This
gentleman turned out to be in favour of a verdict for the defender.
With the view of ascertaining the mind of the rest of the jury, he
asked us individually to write down on pieces of paper whether we were
for ‘libel’ or ‘no libel’. The result was an equal division—six for
finding that there was a libel, and six for no libel. This was done a
second time with the same result. In this predicament, and after
considerable discussion as to the amount of damages, in the course of
which I don’t think a larger sum than one shilling was even mentioned,
even by those who thought there had been a libel, it was proposed to
ask the Court whether the foreman had a casting-vote. This was done,
and the Clerk came back and told us he had not. We then asked the
Clerk whether we were entitled to find for the pursuer without giving
any damages, and he told us we were not. Shortly after, we again sent
for the Clerk, and enquired whether a farthing of damages would carry
expenses against the defender. He stood a while, and said there was
some new Act which provided that a farthing of damages would not carry
expenses.
He went out to consult the Judge; but, having got this information
from him, we agreed upon our verdict, and rung the bell for the macer
at once. I had no doubt of the soundness of the Clerk’s opinion, and
in that belief I concurred in the verdict finding the pursuer entitled
to one farthing of damages. I certainly would not have done so, had I
for a moment anticipated the result which has happened. I think the
case a very hard one for the defender, more especially when, but for
the opinion given by the Clerk, the verdict might have been in her
favour. I think it is due to her that the public should be informed of
the circumstances under which the verdict was given, for it seems a
very illogical result to affirm that the pursuer had suffered no
damage by the alleged slander, or, at least damage of only one
farthing, and at the same time to compel the defender to pay a large
sum for expenses, especially when the origin of the whole matter was a
riot in which the ladies were so badly used.—I am, etc.
A JURYMAN.”
This letter was followed by one from a lawyer:
“Edinburgh, July 12, 1871.
SIR,—I am not surprised at the letter in your publication of to-day,
of a ‘A Juryman’ in the above case. The Clerk of Court was _in
substance_ correct in his statement to the jury that by a recent Act
of Parliament the pursuer in an action of damages is not entitled to
expenses if the verdict is for less than £5, but he was wrong in not
at the same time informing them of the discretion still left to the
Court....
But the thing that strikes me most forcibly in the juryman’s statement
is how came it that a Clerk of Court was allowed to speak to the jury
at all on such a matter. The public are indebted to the juryman for
making this known, because it at once explains what was intended by
the verdict. I do not think in the circumstances the verdict is worth
anything, and I would strongly advise Miss Jex-Blake to appeal the
case, and have the verdict set aside on the ground either of the
Clerk’s interference, or that the decision of the Judges is wrong.
Certainly the decision on the matter of expenses is very
unsatisfactory to the legal profession, especially as it was given
without the usual statement of the grounds of judgment.
I am, etc.,
A LAWYER.”
It remained for Miss Pechey to give her views on the practical outcome
of the case. Poor little Hope Scholar! She had travelled far since the
days when she had refused to “appeal” because she was better employed in
listening to the nightingales.
“Edinburgh, July 13th.
SIR,—I see that a juryman has written to you to say how very ill the
recent decision as to the costs agrees with the intentions of the
jury, and a lawyer has made clear how extraordinary it is in point of
law. Will you allow me to say a few words, from personal experience,
on the practical results?
The medical students of Edinburgh have received a hint by which some
of them seem well inclined to profit. They have been told pretty
plainly that it is possible that there should be a riot got up for the
express purpose of insulting women, for one of the very women insulted
to be accused of libel when she complains of such conduct, and then
for the insulters to escape scot-free, and the complainer to be
mulcted in expenses. In fact the moral seems to be that, unless a
woman is willing to be saddled with costs to the amount of several
hundred pounds, she had better resolve to submit to every kind of
insult, without even allowing herself to mention the facts.
I say that some of the students appear to have taken the hint so
given; for to this I must think is due the treatment received by
myself and some of my friends if we happen to meet students on our way
home in the evening. It will possibly strike some people as
sufficiently extraordinary that a knot of young men should find
pleasure in following a woman through the streets, and should take
advantage of her being alone to shout after her all the foulest
epithets in their voluminous vocabulary of abuse; yet such is the
case. I am quite aware that it would be useless to represent to those
students the injury they do to the University and to the medical
profession in the eyes of the public, because neither of these
considerations would weigh with them for a moment; but it may make
some impression on them to be told that the effect of their conduct is
really such as they would least desire. Dr. Christison is reported to
have said during his examination in Court, that he considered the riot
of November to be ‘a great misfortune,’ and from his point of view he
was undoubtedly right. If the wish of these students is to bar our
progress, and frighten us from the prosecution of the work we have
taken in hand, I venture to say never was a greater mistake made. Each
fresh insult is an additional incentive to finish the work begun. I
began the study of medicine merely from personal motives; now I am
also impelled by the desire to remove women from the care of such
young ruffians. I am quite aware that respectable students will say,
and say truly, that these are the dregs of the profession, and that
they will never take a high place as respectable practitioners. Such
is doubtless the case; but what then? Simply that, instead of having
the medical charge of ladies with rich husbands and fathers, to whom,
from self-interest, they would be respectful, they will have the
treatment of unprotected servants and shop-girls. I should be very
sorry to see any poor girl under the care (!) of such men as those,
for instance, who the other night followed me through the street,
using medical terms to make the disgusting purport of their language
more intelligible to me. When a man can put his scientific knowledge
to such degraded use, it seems to me he cannot sink much lower.
How far the recent decisions are calculated to arrest or discourage
such conduct, I leave the public to judge.—I am, etc.
MARY EDITH PECHEY.”
One is glad to note that the _Lancet_ now took fire:
“Common candour must compel any unprejudiced person to admit that the
fight has been pursued by the orthodox party _per fas et nefas_, and
that the ill-advised conduct of grave and learned seniors in the
profession has offered only too plausible an excuse to the heated
blood of younger partisans to indulge in coarse excesses.”
It would be wrong to make too much of this ebullition of wickedness from
the hearts of “ill-led” boys; but we must not forget that the women were
scarcely more than girls, unable to view these things as calmly as we
view them now; and all these experiences went to make them the thing
they became.
For the iron entered into their souls.
Thirty years later one of their number—a married woman and a physician
of standing—was heard to say that on her occasional visits to Edinburgh,
she would make a détour of miles rather than pass the gates of Surgeons’
Hall.
“Would you _really_?” said S. J.-B.
CHAPTER X
SOME FRIENDSHIPS AND HOLIDAYS
Of course S. J.-B. was not allowed to pay one penny of her expenses. The
amount was subscribed, and more than subscribed, by sympathizers all
over the United Kingdom in the course of a few weeks; and her brother’s
cheque was duly returned. It would almost seem as if nothing had done so
much to excite public interest and fellow-feeling as that unfortunate
speech and the lawsuit to which it led. The very names of those who
undertook to receive subscriptions gave a striking indication of the
challenge of popular sympathy.[83]
Footnote 83:
Mrs. Hill Burton, Rev. Professor Calderwood, Treasurer Colston, J. R.
Findlay, Esq., David Greig, Esq., Mrs. Hope of Drylaw, Miss Agnes
M‘Laren, Mrs. Nichol, Admiral Sir W. Ramsay, K.C.B., Miss L.
Stevenson, and R. S. Wyld, Esq.
There was no lack of criticism and condemnation, of course; the move and
countermove went on; but hundreds of letters poured in, bearing witness,
not only to the width, but to the depth, of the feeling called forth.
Miss Frances Power Cobbe’s impulsive beginning,—“I want words to express
my indignation,—” was typical of many. Harriet Martineau, too, was a
subscriber and a cordial sympathizer.[84]
Footnote 84:
“If you, as the honoured and trusted representative of us working
women, are insulted for us all, the grosser the insult, the more
secure you must be of sympathy and gratitude from increasing
multitudes of individuals, and of the adoption of our cause as a
practical aim by the best part of society in our day.”
A number of subscriptions were returned after the full amount was
raised, and many people expressed their disappointment at hearing of the
fund only through the announcement that it was closed. “I wish it would
open again,” wrote the Revd. Professor Charteris, “even if it were only
a little chink.”
Here are two very different letters that one is glad to put on record:
“Inverness, Aug. 3/71.
DEAR MISS STEVENSON,[85]
Assuredly _no man_ could calmly read Miss Jex-Blake’s case, out of or
in Court. And, could I do so publicly, I would cast from me with
_loathing_ all my once valued connexions with the Edinr. Colleges of
Physicians and Surgeons; to show my utter disgust at (with a few
honourable exceptions) their unmanly brutal conduct towards Miss Blake
and her friends.
On the 9th (D.V.) I shall be in Edinburgh, when I shall call for or
write to you. On that day, I hope to get some help from absent friends
to add to the mite of
Yours faithfully,
J. MACKENZIE, M.D.”
Footnote 85:
Miss Louisa Stevenson and Mrs. Henry Kingsley had kindly undertaken to
be Hon. Treasurers of the fund.
“33 Richmond Place,
Edinburgh, 24th Aug. 1871.
MADAM,
I beg to enclose a P.O.O. for eight shillings. This small sum is
subscribed by a few working men in aid of the fund for defraying the
Law expences so unjustly thrust upon Miss Jex-Blake for simply
speaking the truth in her own defence in a Straightforward Manner.
They deeply sympathise with this lady in the noble struggle she is
making for Womens right to a liberal education and remunerative
employment. May she be of good cheer, of good courage, and continue
steadfast unto the end.
I am, Madam,
Your obedient Servant,
JAMES GRAY.
P.S. If this subscription be advertised please put it, A few working
men—8s. It is payable at the Nicholson Street Post Office.
Miss A. M‘Laren.”
There was almost always an element of comic relief, too, about these
tragic and moving situations. The following letter was one of those
which provided it in this case:
“58 Altom Street,
Blackburn, 15 Aug./71.
MISS JEX-BLAKE,
DEAR MADAM,
Although a complete stranger to you I have long been familiar
with your name, and also with your efforts to open the Edinburgh
University to Ladies. I understand that you have been in America, you
will therefore be familiar with many of the Colleges and Universities
there. My wife who is in full practice here has studied Medicine in
the Hygeio-Therapeutic Medical College and has obtained her M.D.
Degree from the same College. As I am able to influence the Degree of
M.D. to either Ladies or Gentlemen who are able to satisfy me as to
their fitness to practise Medicine, I thought I would communicate with
you, as probably an American degree would answer your purpose until it
is possible to procure one from an English or Scotch University.
After all, it is not the degree but the ability of a Medical
practitioner that should be appreciated....”
Truly: but the law has something to say about the signing of death
certificates, the registration of lunatics, the recovery of fees, and
other incidental details. More strawberry jam labels!
The cheque, for over £1000, was presented to S. J.-B. at a public
meeting, when there was a large gathering of influential citizens, the
faithful Lord Provost occupying the chair. When all expenses were fully
paid, a balance remained of over £100, which S. J.-B. asked leave to add
to an already existing “nest-egg” for the purpose of founding a future
hospital for women officered by women.
The immediate struggle with the University was not made any easier,
however, though the “Cause” was gaining ground by strides all over the
rest of the world. The _Scotsman_ continued to give a wholesome lead to
the press: indeed no woman gained scholastic or other honours anywhere
without having her name and achievement duly registered with an implicit
_Verb. sap._ at the end of the paragraph.
One is glad to record, too, that one or two delightful holidays relieved
the strain of this year’s work. Mrs. Thorne was proving herself a most
valuable representative, not comparably so well versed as S. J.-B. in
all the _minutiae_ of the conflict, but certainly less exacting and
easier to work with.
Considering the stem from which she sprang—a Tory family of landed
gentry—S. J.-B. as prophetess had a surprising amount of honour in her
own house. Her conservative old friend, Lady Waldegrave, had written a
quite touching letter of appreciation in April of this year; and her
Norfolk uncle and aunt, the Revd. Thomas and Mrs. Gunton actually
subscribed to the cause and allowed their names to be put on her
Committee, though Mrs. Gunton had postponed reading the papers bearing
on the subject for some time, from fear that she and her husband would
be constrained to refuse.
“How ANY WOMAN can have a desire for the Medical Profession is indeed
WONDERFUL,” she writes, “but of course only very talented ones could go
through the stiff examinations that are required.”
She remarks too, with complacence, that men doctors will be kept up to
the mark when they have to compete against women.
In some remote part of Norfolk, Mrs. Jex-Blake gave her name in a shop,
whereupon “a lady stepped forward and said what good work you were
doing, but, if we were English, we must think very ill of the _Scotch_.
I said No, you had received far more kindness than unkindness, having
had a great many real and warm friends.”
This incident leads one to note that the present year, 1871, saw the
ripening into lifelong friendship of S. J.-B.’s acquaintance with Miss
Agnes M‘Laren, daughter of the Member for Edinburgh,—a lady who adds one
more to the gallery of truly noble women with whom we are brought into
contact when reviewing S. J.-B.’s life. At the time of “the Edinburgh
Fight,” Miss M‘Laren was engaged in Suffrage work with Miss Taylour,
acting as Hon. Secretary to the Association (with no paid subordinate to
do the drudgery), travelling on occasion all over Scotland in serious
propagation of her principles.[86] She was perhaps the most public-
spirited member of a public-spirited family, for the reason that in her
the strong purpose, shrewd judgment and liberal sympathies that
characterized all, were combined with an instinctive aloofness and even
shyness, with a spirit almost of quietism, with a real old-world grace
of womanhood.
Footnote 86:
It is interesting to note that at this time almost all public-spirited
women thought the suffrage would be granted before the right to a
medical education. They had so nearly got it more than once! “You will
accomplish nothing,” S. J-B. was sometimes told, “until we get the
vote.” And one is grimly amused to find her expressing a serious fear
that the suffrage may be granted before she has had an opportunity of
hearing her friend, Miss M‘Laren, speak in support of it. She need
have entertained no undue apprehension on this score.
She was hailed with something like reverence by the work-worn, hard-
driven students at 15 Buccleuch Place, and almost from the first they
spoke of her among themselves as “St. Agnes,” a name to which she
characteristically took exception as soon as it reached her ears.
“DEAR MISS M‘LAREN,” writes S. J.-B. in this connection,—
“You can’t seriously suppose that anybody in this house,—least of all
that I,—should really laugh at you!—though I don’t doubt that you are
a great deal too humble-minded to understand in the least the sort of
light in which most of us working women do regard you. However we’ll
keep our pet name for you to ourselves if you don’t like it.”
And again a few weeks later:
“15 Buccleuch Place,
Edinburgh. June 7th.
DEAR MISS M‘LAREN,
Though we all miss you here almost daily, I am unselfish enough
to be heartily glad that you are going to Germany. I am sure the
change of air and scene must do you good, and the chestnut trees at
Heidelberg must be simply lovely now.
When you get to the top and sit and look down at the valley of the
Neckar, you may picture me (as a lonely English teacher at Mannheim)
going over there on Sundays to church, and climbing to that brow to
enjoy the setting sun and the infinite peacefulness and beauty of the
whole scene.
I only _wish_ I could be there with you!—If you stay at all at
Mannheim, do go and see my old school, the ‘Grossherzogliches
Institut’—I think they will still remember my name there,—and I should
like so much to hear news of them. They would be electrified to hear
of me as a doctor.
I finished up by having scarlet fever there, and shocked them all by
refusing to submit to the stupid old German regimen of starvation and
shut windows!...
I do most heartily wish you a pleasant journey and great rest and
refreshment in it. Do you know that when I got your letter such a
longing came over me to see the Rhine again that for a moment I almost
thought of asking if you would take me with you, but five minutes
reflection showed me how wrong and foolish it would be for me to leave
home just now in the midst of term, and with these ‘appeals’ still
undecided, and with my petition to the Senatus coming on! But it _was_
a huge temptation all the same!”
This brings us back to the diary:
“Monday June 5th. The trial over at last. ‘Farthing damages’
satisfactory, I suppose.
But I so weary! If I could but get a month’s real rest! I wake feeling
driven,—I get through nothing all day, and I lie down tired out at
night.
Wednesday, June 7th. Sur ces entrefaites (as my present neighbours
would say) came a letter from St. Agnes saying she was to go to
Heidelberg on Saturday for three weeks. Instantly—Why shouldn’t I go
with her, quoth the Infantine.
Fifty reasons, quoth the Estimable,—law, money, study, Senatus, etc.,
etc.
Telling Pussy[87] of the temptation overcome, came a proposal to
‘treat Resolution,’ urged by her, E.P., and even Mrs. Thorne.
Footnote 87:
The name by which Miss Louisa Stevenson was affectionately known in
the little circle.
Millar [lawyer] said I could be spared.
So Thursday went to London with L. and F. Stevenson,... Good journey.
Slept at Hampstead.
Sunday 11th. Morning Stopford Brooke, St. James Chapel, York Street.
Stood till sermon, then pulpit stairs....
It might almost have been predicted that S. J.-B. would not pass through
Paris in a time of peace. The visit was destined to prove exciting
enough. She just dashes down a few polyglot jottings in her diary to
serve as stepping-stones for memory later on:
Tuesday 13th. Reached Paris about 6.30. No cabs, no apparent chance of
any. At length in streets 2-seated fiacre, drove to [Hotel]
Folkestone, was deposited, C. M‘L.[88] returning for others.
Footnote 88:
Mr. Charles M‘Laren (now Lord Aberconway) and Mr. Walter M‘Laren
were of the party.
Friday 16th. Writing all above (from 7th. onwards) by open window of
Hotel F.—rain falling on market outside. They not back from
Versailles, where gone in hope of hearing Assemblé, etc.
Wednesday. After long trudge found ‘voiture de grande remise’ 4 frs.
the hour, drove by Luxembourg, Notre Dame, Sainte Chapelle, etc. (Not
allowed to lift written scrap from street from heap of ruins by side
of Palais de Justice.) Great order and quiet everywhere and civility.
Pantheon dinted with ‘obus’. Hotel de Ville gutted, (with all
registers, etc.)—Tuileries, and Palais de Justice Ditto. Ministère de
Finances even more utterly in ruins, and houses here and there,—e.g.
in Rue Royale by Madeleine and elsewhere.
Hotel de Clugny incendie but unhurt. All along streets notice holes to
cellars stopped up with plaster for fear of petroleum.
Thursday. Drove by Champs Elysées, to Champ de Mars, Porte de Neuilly
(where such destruction from bombs, etc., vault of railway crashed
in,—trees in splinters, etc.) Then by Quaies, into Place de Carrousel
between Tuileries and Louvre to Bastille Column and (through bad parts
of town ...) to Père la Chaise, with its horrible trenches filled with
hundreds of bodies and soaked black with petroleum (clothes, etc.,
burnt over them?).
Then that ghastly corner where 250 and 140 (‘4, 5 femmes,’) were shot
‘en pleine vigueur’ crying ‘Vive la République!’ as a keen young
fossier told with evident sympathy, he having had to stand by,—see the
firing, and bury the results.
Today Friday, 16th. The Petit Moniteur gives a horrible circular (torn
down last night in the Rue Rochechouard) inciting ‘Travailleurs from
every country to join against priests, soldiers and tyrants, and
succeed, or nous nous ensevelirons sous les ruines de Paris!’
Fancy crying for fresh bloodshed when steeped in it to the lips now!
Some Frenchwomen at table curiously indignant at our small care about
English ‘communists’,—quite unable to understand how the solidarity of
national sentiment made such as these late events impossible in
England, and then, when I mildly said so, shooting at me:—‘Pourtant,
la Révolution où on a tué votre roi!’!!”
“Monday 20th. Went to Versailles to see the Chambre;—unpunctual
sitting, I only present during some minutes of debate. Given ticket in
‘D’ by President Grévy.
6.30. Left Paris via Dieppe. 8 hours roughish sea.
Tuesday. Brighton.”
So there was no Heidelberg after all,—no sitting on the brow of the hill
to look down on the valley of the Neckar, and recall _ces jours heureux
où nous étions si misérables_. We are not told why S.J.-B.’s holiday was
cut so short: perhaps railway communication was broken for the moment,
and it proved impossible to proceed: but in any case it may be that the
intense and unexpected picture of carnage and strife served to take her
more completely out of herself and her worries than the more peaceful
experience she would have chosen.
Moreover a real holiday was in store that Autumn, a holiday brightened
by a visit from Dr. Lucy Sewall. How much this meant to her one gathers
from the following letter, written about this date:
“MY DARLING,
I am so sorry for your loss of poor little Scamper,—I have got a
splendid big ‘Collie’ for you here,—the handsomest I ever saw,—if you
can take him back with you. If, that is, you _must_ go back; but, oh,
Lucy, I do _so_ wish you would stay with us here for a few years.
People are getting wild for women doctors here,—and you might make
almost any income, and do quite incalculable good by living here for
the next five years.
We have eleven women studying here now, and absolutely no one to give
them [adequate] uterine teaching!
This morning I had a quite spontaneous offer of £200 to help found a
Women’s Hospital here, and I believe that in a week I could get ten
times that amount promised.
You should organize everything exactly as you liked, and, republican
wretch as you are, you would be a sort of Queen among us,—and, what
you would care for much more, would do quite infinite good to
everybody concerned,—ladies, poor women, students, and all.
However, you shan’t be bothered or worried. I think the strongest
argument of all will be when you see for yourself how sorely we need
you.
I shall not make any definite plans for you till after you come. If
you like to stay quietly in Scotland all the time, we will do so, or I
will go with you to Zurich or Paris or anywhere you like.... Send me
early word of the steamer by which you expect to come, and, if at all
possible, I will meet you at Liverpool....
I send you another copy of my Suffrage speech, and hope you have
received the newspapers about the trial.
Your very aff.
S. L. J.-B.
Turk has put on mourning for Scamper,—crape round his left arm, as
they do in the army. He evidently quite understands, for he doesn’t
try to get it off....”
The reader will not need to be told that S. J.-B. went out on the tender
to meet her friend at Liverpool,—“after awful rush previous day with
Surgeons’ Hall, leader, etc.”
Dr. Sewall’s choice of a holiday, happily, was a quiet time, mainly in
Perthshire; but, straight from Liverpool, the two fellow-workers went to
Shipley to see Mrs. Unwin, whose health had been failing for some time.
The friendship between S. J.-B. and her fellow student had never
flagged. S. J.-B. had paid repeated visits to the Yorkshire home, where
husband and wife vied with each other in the warmth of their welcome,
and where both had proved most loyal advocates and upholders of the new
Cause. More than once when a petition was being got ready for Parliament
on the subject of the medical education of women, Mrs. Unwin had proved
herself a keen and successful canvasser for signatures in her
neighbourhood, throwing into the scale that weight of personal
popularity which is so important a factor in the achievement of any aim.
She had even paid a visit to the beehive at 15 Buccleuch Place, to be
made much of by the workers, and to be not a little impressed by the
sight of such divers and strenuous activities.
And now she was ill, and S. J.-B. was perfectly sure that, if anyone
could bring healing, it was “the little doctor.”
Fresh courage they brought indeed, a little fresh lease of life in which
the sufferer recovered strength and proved a renewed source of comfort
to husband and children before she was called hence out of their sight;
but healing in this world was not to be. _Dis aliter visum._
* * * * *
In other respects the holiday was a refreshing one. It included
attendance at a meeting of the British Association—great joy for Dr.
Sewall—and a stay at an old Perthshire farmhouse, which, to many other
attractions in S. J.-B.’s eyes, added the crowning one of a ghost,—a
ghost which was visible to the dogs, and abundantly audible to herself
and Miss Du Pre, though it failed subsequently to make any impression on
the representatives of the Society for Psychical Research.
From the farmhouse as a centre they made delightful excursions, the germ
of many subsequent driving-tours in Perthshire, and it was on this
occasion that the roadside inn at Fortingal was discovered, with its
restful surroundings, cosy interior, and omelettes that constituted a
positive object in life to the healthy holiday-maker!
After a farewell visit to Mrs. Unwin, Dr. Sewall sailed for Boston in
September, parting from S. J.-B. on the tender at Liverpool. Her “log”
was a lengthy one, full of wise observations and reflection, and every
word of it was written for S. J.-B....
“MY DEAR ONE,
... I have been thinking last night that if you and I could ever
practise together, we ought to do better than either alone, for you
have many qualities in which I am wanting. I think if we were
together, you would write a valuable book, and so give the world a
higher idea of women doctors. I know I shall never succeed in writing
a good book by myself.
It hardly seems worth while to make you read all my fancies, but it
seems to bring you nearer to me while I am writing, and the days are
so long and lonely here.”
“When I lie awake nights and think of you wanting me to help you in
Edinburgh, it seems to me as if I must break off from all my ties, and
come back to you at once; but then my New England conscience wakes up
and tells me that my life must be duty and not pleasure, and I try to
be contented with doing the work that God gives me, and trust that
when I am really at work it will be all right.
I do hope that you are having a nice quiet time with Miss Du Pre, and
getting rested.”
“It is just a week now since I said Goodbye to you, but it seems
almost like a month to me. Last night for the first time since I left,
I dreamed of having patients instead of dreaming of you.”
CHAPTER XI
THE QUESTION OF PROFESSIONAL EXAMINATION
Apart from the ghost—which was a pure joy, though a very exciting one—S.
J.-B.’s holiday was broken in upon by very disturbing rumours.
It was whispered by some of those who might have been supposed to know,
that—notwithstanding the paragraphs that still stood in the _University
Calendar_ (see p. 260)—an effort would be made to prevent any new women
candidates from undergoing the Preliminary Examination, and from
matriculating. Worse than this, it was hinted that a similar effort
would be made to prevent the women who had been studying for that
express purpose for two years, from presenting themselves for the First
Professional Examination.
There were positive difficulties apart from these vague rumours. In a
previous chapter we saw that the President of the Royal College of
Physicians and the President of the Royal College of Surgeons had
refused to preside at the prize-giving “if lady students were to be
present and to receive their prizes on that occasion.” This announcement
was followed by a decision on the part of the lecturers at Surgeons’
Hall “to rescind the permission given last summer to those lecturers who
desired to admit ladies to their classes,”—“it being, however,
understood that the prohibition should not extend to the instructions by
Dr. Keiller [in Midwifery] and others, of women who were not registered
students of medicine.”
It was still open to the women, of course, to get Extra-Mural lecturers
to teach them elsewhere, if rooms could be found and the necessary
arrangements made; but, as regarded the original students, an automatic
deadlock arose at this point of which certain Professors unhappily
elected to avail themselves:
By the rules of the University only four classes might be taken from
Extra-Mural (non-professorial) teachers, and the original students had
already taken these four. Professor Christison’s class was one of those
that came next in turn, and it would, perhaps, have been expecting too
much of human nature that he should have chosen this moment in which to
lay down his arms. In any case, he refused point blank.
In this dilemma, the women appealed to the Senatus,—(1) to appoint
special University lecturers (assistants to the Professors or others)
whose payment the women would guarantee; or (2) alternatively, to relax,
in the case of the women, the ordinary regulations, so that they might
take an increased number of Extra-Mural classes.
Counsel’s opinion was taken by the Senatus as to the powers of the
University in this respect, and, an opinion adverse to the wishes of the
women having been received, the Senatus decided by a majority of one to
take no action in the matter.
Promptly S. J.-B. and her Committee submitted the facts to other counsel
(the Lord Advocate and Sheriff Fraser) and received the opinion (1) that
it was quite competent to the University authorities to make any
necessary provision for the completion of the ladies’ education: and (2)
that the Medical Faculty were bound to admit the ladies to professional
examination on the subjects in which they were already qualified to
pass.
This latter point was included with special reference to the incredible
rumours referred to above.
As the day of the examinations drew near and nothing happened, the
leaders among the women began to feel reassured. The following letters,
however, show how well-founded their fears were:
“Private.
Oct. 2. 71.
MY DEAR MISS JEX-BLAKE,
I shall be at the Senatus any day you like, unless prevented by
something of which I have no present prospect.
I was glad to hear, from my wife, ... that Mr. Fraser has given you a
favourable opinion. His view that the Professors are _bound_ to teach
all persons who present Matriculation tickets to them, is what I have
always held, and I believe often expressed to you. In the same way I
should say, they are bound to examine them. What you must do now,
then, I fancy, is to present your Mat: tickets and class fees and
_demand_ class tickets, and present your Certificates, etc., and
_demand_ Examination, and, on either or both being refused, claim a
legal remedy. If possible you ought to go to the Court of Session and
not to the University Court; and to the 2nd Division, if you have to
go beyond the Lord Ordinary. Moncrieff will be much influenced by
Fraser’s opinion, whereas Inglis will be influenced, if at all, in the
wrong direction. As Chancellor, however, I should think he would
himself decline to sit as a Judge in a case which may come before him
in the former capacity.
With kind regards from Mrs. Lorimer, believe me,
Yours very truly,
J. LORIMER.”
“16 Charlotte Square,
Edinburgh.
Friday, Oct. 13th. 1871.
DEAR MISS JEX-BLAKE,
... I should very much like to see the legal opinion you have
obtained upon the point of legal responsibility as incurred by the
University Court in their pragmatic sanction of the lady students
matriculating and passing their preliminary examination.
A legal opinion depends so entirely upon the manner in which the
matter is laid before counsel, and usually leaves so many loopholes
for escape unperceived by a non-professional eye, that I am always
jealous of such opinions unless the interpretation thereof is given by
someone of good common sense and legal experience....
I shall be at home tomorrow (Saturday) evening at 7.40 p.m. when it
will give me the greatest pleasure to see you, if that will suit your
convenience.
Is it true that Mrs. de Lacy Evans is engaged to Mr. Russel of the
Scotsman?!!!
Most faithfully yours,
PATRICK HERON WATSON.”
Here is a significant little letter, too, from the Secretary to the
University:
“Inveresk. Oct. 13.
DEAR MISS JEX-BLAKE,
I have instructed Mr. Gilbert[89] to receive the money [for the First
Professional Examn.] and give the customary acknowledgments, so that
you may be all right with the Dean.
I am bound to call a meeting of Senatus upon a requisition signed by 3
Professors. Secure a day likely to suit your friends. Saturday is not
a good day generally, and on Friday 2 or 3 are coming down here to
dine,—at least they are asked to do so.
How would Thursday or Monday do?
Yours truly,
JOHN WILSON.”
Footnote 89:
Clerk of the University.
That afternoon, we are told, there was a “furious row” in the Medical
Faculty, and a day or two later each of the women candidates for the
First Professional Examination received a copy of the following letter:
“University of Edinburgh,
October 14th, 1871.
MADAM,
I am instructed by the Medical Faculty to inform you that your
name and your fees have been received in error by the Clerk of the
University as a candidate for the first professional examination
during the present month, but that the Faculty cannot receive you for
such examination without the sanction of the Senatus Academicus.
I am, Madam,
Your obedient servant,
J. H. BALFOUR,
Dean of the Medical Faculty.”
Two days later S. J.-B. received the following letter with reference to
the Preliminary Examination:
“University of Edinburgh, Oct. 16. 1871.
MADAM,
I am desired by the Dean of the Medical Faculty to inform you
that he has been interdicted by the Faculty from giving examination
papers to ladies on the 17th and 18th curt.
Kindly communicate this fact to the ladies whose names you some time
ago handed in to me for this examination.
I am, etc.,
THOMAS GILBERT.”
It will be noticed that the letter was dated on the day previous to that
on which the examination was to take place. Three ladies had come—or
were on their way—from various parts of the kingdom to submit to it. If
they were not allowed to enter, they would be thrown back in their
professional studies for a whole year.
Most women—and men—would have sat down under this blow. S. J.-B. went
straight to her solicitor and took him with her to see the advocate (Mr.
Fraser). The following is a copy of the letter that was sent by them to
the Dean of the Medical Faculty:
“Chambers, 8 Bank Street,
Edinburgh. Oct. 16th. 1871.
DEAR SIR,
We have been instructed to obtain the opinion of counsel with
reference to the legality of your refusal to admit ladies to the
Preliminary Examination in Arts, which will take place tomorrow.
We beg now to enclose the memorial submitted, and the opinion given
thereon by Mr. Patrick Fraser, for your perusal, and request that you
will, at your earliest convenience, return them to us.
We beg to point out that you are individually responsible if the
refusal is persisted in, and that we have been instructed, in that
case, to raise actions for damages against you at the instance of each
of the memorialists. You will also observe that the instructions of
the Medical Faculty, being in themselves illegal, will be no defence
against such actions.
We trust that you will, in these circumstances, reconsider the matter,
and see fit to retract the refusal, and prevent the necessity of
further proceedings.
We are, etc.,
MILLAR, ALLARDICE & ROBSON, W.S.
Professor Balfour, M.D.,
Dean of the Medical Faculty.”
There was no loss of time in receiving the reply:
“University of Edinburgh, Oct. 16th., 1871.[90]
DEAR MISS JEX-BLAKE,
I have received the legal notice from your solicitor. Under
these circumstances I shall not take the responsibility of refusing
the ladies admission to the preliminary examination as heretofore. But
I must inform you that I admit them provisionally until the matter is
decided by the proper authorities, and without prejudice as regards
myself.
I am, etc.,
J. H. BALFOUR.”
Footnote 90:
The dates of these three letters are correctly given. They were all
delivered by hand.
So the ladies were duly examined in the ordinary course.
On applying for Matriculation tickets, however, they were informed by
the clerk that the Principal of the University had written him word
that, in consequence of representations made to him by Professor
Christison, no ladies were at present to be allowed to matriculate. “Of
course,” said a friendly professor, “the Principal had no more authority
to issue this decree than had the janitor.”
In this case, fortunately, there was time to call a meeting of Senatus,
as referred to by Professor Wilson above (letter of October 13), and the
necessary requisition was signed by Professors Crum Brown, Tait, and
Liston.
[Diary.] “Tuesday 17th. Preliminary examination all right,—Mundy,
Dahms, and Miller. Dr. Alex. Wood takes Motion in General Council.
Thursday, 19th. Leader written yesterday, in proof today. I, oh, so
tired! Settled about motions in Senatus. Med. Fac. want Lord
Advocate’s opinion,—seem shaking in their shoes.
Ah, we _will_ win,—but the price!”
Poor little Despotic Emperor! Where was her Sackermena?
“It may be that the gulphs will bear us down,
It may be we shall reach the happy isles....”
“How these worries must increase the difficulties of study in the case
of each one of you;” wrote a faithful friend, the Dowager Countess of
Buchan, next day. “But then the certainty of success _somehow_, as the
dear Newman used to say, when he meant that there were benedictions in
the air; and that you will surely have worked out the greatest
possible benefit for womankind for all generations, even if
hostilities are prolonged, must be a support now and an abundant
recompense, I hope, for all your toils when they are happily
concluded.”
About the same time another “honourable woman” was writing:
“SIR,
I venture to trouble you with a post office Order for £2,—
payable from me to yourself,—as my small contribution to the Fund
needed by the General Committee for securing a Complete Medical
Education for Women in Edinburgh.
The question is so important, and the Lady-students have manifested so
fine a spirit and temper under the harassing trials, that a large
proportion of their countrymen will, I trust, feel the obligation of
sustaining them during their conflict with jealousies and prejudices
which will scarcely be credited by a future generation.
Permit me to offer you my thanks for the service you render to a good
cause by managing the financial concerns of the movement, and believe
me, Sir, with much respect.
Yours,
HARRIET MARTINEAU.
W. L. Reid, Esq.”
At the Senatus meeting on Oct. 21st., the question of admitting women to
the First Professional Examination was discussed, and the Medical
Faculty was instructed to examine them. It is interesting to know that
all the candidates passed.
But S. J.-B. was not one of them. All her strength was being spent in
carving out the way.
It was matter for congratulation, of course, that the schemes of the
enemy had been foiled; but the friends of the women in the University
were now more anxious than ever to raise the whole question on to a
level above these harassing obstacles. At a meeting of the University
Council Dr. Alexander Wood moved that “the University is bound in honour
and justice to render it possible for these women who have already
commenced their studies, to complete them.”
“This,” said the _Lancet_, “is precisely the ground we have always taken
up about the matter; and we hope the General Council of the University
will, by the adoption of Dr. Alexander Wood’s motion, put an end to the
controversy which has redounded so little to the credit of that school.”
Dr. Wood made a brave and telling little speech, and was ably seconded
by Mr. Alexander Nicolson. In moving the amendment, Professor Turner,
with great shrewdness, quoted S. J.-B.’s letter to the Dean of the
Medical Faculty of two years before (see p. 235), a letter which, at a
superficial glance, looked like the weakest point in her case—the letter
in which she had signified her willingness “to withdraw my application
altogether if, after due and sufficient trial, it should be found
impracticable to grant me a continuance of the favour which I now
request”; and of course no one present knew enough of the facts to
reply. It was only after Dr. Wood’s motion had been lost by 107 votes to
97, that S. J.-B. had an opportunity of pointing out—in the hospitable
columns of the _Scotsman_—that the letter quoted had reference only to
the tentative proposal that she, alone and without matriculation, should
attend Professor Balfour’s and Professor Allman’s summer courses. This
proposal the University had refused, “deferring the whole question till
a permanent plan could be arranged and formally sanctioned by all the
necessary authorities,—which was finally accomplished after eight months
of consideration and delay.”
This is one instance—out of hundreds—of S. J.-B.’s extraordinary ability
to refute statements that _looked true_, that _might have been true_,
that _were nearly true_,—by a precise quotation of facts. It was an
ability that made for her more enemies than friends as life went on. Let
it be noted, too, that, but for the generosity of the press, she never
could have corrected such statements at all.
“To sum up the whole matter in one word,” she wrote, “I will venture
to say, that, instead of the daily trials of the past two years and
the apparent deadlock at which we have now arrived, we should have
found nothing but smooth paths for our feet, and no difficulties from
either students or professors, had Dr. Christison but kept to the
promise he voluntarily made to me at the close of my single interview—
of two minutes—with him 2 years ago—‘I shall vote against you, but I
shall take no measures to oppose you.’”
Once more the _Lancet_ made dignified protest:
“The Edinburgh school has come badly out of its imbroglio with the
lady students. The motion of Dr. Alexander Wood, to which we made
reference last week, was negatived by a majority of ten. As we then
pointed out, the issue before the General Council was neither more nor
less than this,—to keep faith with the female students whom the
University had allowed to proceed two years in their medical
curriculum. The Council was not asked to commit itself in the
slightest degree to any opinion, favourable or unfavourable, to the
admission of ladies to a medical career. It had only to concede, in
common courtesy, not to say common fairness, the right to which the
best legal advice had clearly shown the female students to be
entitled,—the right to carry on the studies they had been allowed to
prosecute half way towards graduation. Will it be believed? An
amendment postponing the settlement of the difficulty till it had been
duly considered by the authorities of the University, was put and
carried; as if there was any more room for ‘consideration’ in the
matter! Thus Edinburgh stands convicted of having acted unfairly
towards seven ladies, whom she first accepted as pupils, and then
stopped half-way in their career.”[91]
Footnote 91:
_Lancet_, November 4, 1871.
Move and countermove follow with bewildering rapidity at this time.
Within a fortnight Professor Muirhead is urging the Senatus to rescind
the regulations for the admission of women to the University, reserving
the rights of those already entered; and this is passed by a majority of
one,—14 to 13.
Eighteen Professors, however, rose up in wrath to protest against this
decision, and—as only fifteen, out of a total of thirty-five, could be
got to support it,—the regulations of Nov. 1869, were confirmed by the
University Court, and everything was left _in statu quo_![92]
Footnote 92:
“The Court find it inexpedient at present to rescind the said
resolutions and regulations, and therefore decline to give effect to
the decision of the Senatus. The Court must not be understood as
indicating by this deliverance any opinion as to the claims of women
to proceed to graduation, or as to the power of the University to
confer on women degrees in the Faculty of Medicine.” Commd. by
direction of the University Court. J. Christison, W.S., Sec.
* * * * *
Meanwhile—in addition to classes for the seniors—arrangements had to be
made for the three new students who had entered. It was probably in
connection with these that S. J.-B. received the following letter:
“17 Drummond Place,
December 23rd. /71.
DEAR MADAM,
As you will probably be aware before you receive this, I have
been utterly unsuccessful in my attempts to bring my Colleague to my
own way of looking at the matter in question.
I may mention to you that my own impression, derived from various
conversations with several of the most prominent of your opponents, is
that they would have but little objection to give you, or at least to
make arrangements for giving you, the instruction you seek—_provided_
it were sought as a favor and not claimed as a right—in other words I
think many of them are anxious to avoid making what might be called a
precedent. This I give you confidentially and merely as an impression,
but I have little doubt of its being at least nearly a correct one.
Believe me, dear Madam,
Yours truly,
P. G. TAIT.”
This was the letter of a wise man, and it might, perhaps, have been
better for the cause in the immediate future if S. J.-B. had acted on
the advice it contained. Her reply is not forthcoming, but we know quite
well that she was not prepared to run the risk involved in acting on the
advice. Two women had already secured registration “by a postern gate,”
and that was not her aim. She longed—no one more—to write M.D. after her
name; but she would, as a matter of course, have foregone that right
forever, if, by so doing, she could have opened the gate for all.
CHAPTER XII
THE ROYAL INFIRMARY
A year previously to the date we have reached, Robert Louis Stevenson
had written in a letter to his cousin:
“You will probably know how nicely woman’s rights were received by
some of my fellow students the other day. The female medicals were
hooted, hissed and jostled till the police interfered. My views are
very neutral. I quite believe that Miss Jex-Blake and the rest of our
fellow studentesses are the first of a noble army, pioneers,
Columbuses and all that sort of thing. But at the same time, Miss Jex-
Blake is playing for the esteem of posterity. Soit, I give her
posterity, but I won’t marry either her, or her fellows. Let posterity
marry them. If posterity gets hold of this letter I shall probably be
burnt in effigy by some Royal Female College of Surgeons of the
future.”
It was many years before this letter was brought to S. J.-B.’s notice,
and when it was, she received it with a hearty laugh of genuine
appreciation. She enjoyed R. L. S. much more than he enjoyed her, but
she had never had the smallest wish to marry him!
He was entirely wrong, moreover, in the assumption that the women
students would have to wait for posterity to marry them. This very
autumn of 1871—to the profound sorrow and discomfiture of many upholders
of the movement—saw the engagement of no less than three of them. Mrs.
Evans’ engagement has been already noted in a letter from Dr. Patrick
Heron Watson. In a characteristic passage, we learn how the news of it
came to S. J.-B.’s ears:
“After my business over with R., I rose to go.
‘Oh, sit down a minute. So your class is thinning?’ [Miss Anderson had
been married a month before].
‘Yes,’ quoth I dolorously. ‘We’ve lost one.’
‘And I hear you’re going to lose another!’
‘Oh, no,’ protestingly. ‘I hope not.’
‘But I think so.’
‘Do you? Well, have you heard who?’
‘Mrs. Evans.’
‘Oh, no,—I don’t believe it.’
‘Well, she told me so herself.’
‘_Did_ she?—and who on earth to?’
R. got red up to top of bald crown. ‘Have you no idea?’
‘No,’ (a fib by this time).
‘Really no idea?’
‘How should I?’
‘Well,—she asked _me_ to tell you about it,—does that give you an
idea?’
‘_Mr. R.!_—you don’t mean to say it’s you?’
Great redness, and ‘Yes, I do.’
‘Well!!!—I hope your treachery will go between you and your sleep!’
‘Now don’t you be hard upon her! Will you go and see her?’
‘No, certainly not. The most she can expect is that I don’t send a
policeman after her.’
‘And brand her with D?’
‘Yes. You may tell her I won’t do that,—and that’s the utmost she can
expect!’
And leaving,—‘Well, I think you’re an uncommonly lucky man, but I hope
your conscience will prevent your sleeping!’”
This was all very well, but the blow was a severe one, especially as
Miss Chaplin was married—to Professor Ayrton—a month or two later.
“I do hope you and Miss Pechey will remain firm to the end,” writes
Miss M‘Laren plaintively, “for really three marriages within six
months is quite alarming.”
How many times Miss Pechey was urged to forsake the good fight one
cannot even roughly conjecture. Certainly very often.[93]
Footnote 93:
The following scrap has been inadvertently preserved. There is not
even any certain indication to whom it is addressed:
“When I came into the Anatomical room and saw you sitting there
dissecting, I was overpowered,—utterly conquered. When I spoke to you
and you looked up at me to answer, the look you gave me was the coup
de mort!—I determined then in my own mind to seek you for my wife....
But to see you as you were then with your superlative beauty, working
so bravely, so sensibly,—all fashion, frivolity and folly cast aside,—
was to me so new, so strange and so admirable a sight, that on
considering and re-considering it, I don’t wonder at myself for
flinging aside ordinary prudence to make a snatch at a jewel of such
unusual brilliancy.”
It is almost disappointing to reflect that the recipient of this
tribute was not equally prepared to “fling aside ordinary prudence.”
There was no time, however, to weep over fallen comrades. One must just
give them decent burial, so to speak, and pass on. From this time forth
the work in hand must take a two-fold direction:
1. The struggle in Edinburgh must be carried on with unabated energy, as
if success were a matter of course.
2. Every enquiry must be made, with the utmost secrecy and discretion,
as to a more hopeful solution of the problem elsewhere.
The following letters indicate some of the influences at work:
“13 Sussex Square,
Brighton.
1. November.
DARLING,
You must not think I don’t sympathize with you, but I am so
vexed and perplexed really I don’t know what to say. I always hope you
can see the next step in a clearer and brighter light than I do, and,—
you are sure you have my best wishes. I am rather uneasy about you,
being sure you must be worn and harassed, and can hardly know what to
do next.
I am very glad the examinations were successfully passed....
Your loving,
M. E. J.-B.”
“Trinity College,
Cambridge,
Oct. 18. 1871.
DEAR MISS JEX-BLAKE,
Mr. Sidgwick has shown me in “the Scotsman” a notice to the
effect that they are attempting to exclude you from paying the fees at
Edinburgh.
Are they making a final effort to reject you? Will it be successful?
If so, have you any plan of action.
Please let us know, for Mr. Sidgwick and I have been consulting
together, and have made up our minds that we will try all that we can
now for your admission to this university, and we are ready to begin,
if you feel that this is your best place to turn to, and if you need
it. Let us know then.
We feel quite sure of ultimate success here in the matter of full
admission of women to the whole benefits of the university.
Still we do not know how distant ‘Ultimate’ may be. We are not
_sanguine_ of success at present in your cause. Still we think it
worth while trying, if it would materially help you.
I am,
Yours truly,
JAMES STUART.”
So there were very brave people in Cambridge as well as in Edinburgh:
for Mr. Stuart as well as Mr. Sidgwick knew all about that unfortunate
speech and the lawsuit to which it led. S. J.-B. had scrupulously sent
them the records; and, as a matter of fact, Mr. Sidgwick had been one of
the many distinguished people who subscribed to the Fund for defraying
the expenses of the lawsuit.
If only the struggle had ended here: if only the University had
consented to give the women the little ledge they coveted on its
precipitous wall: or, failing that, if some young, enlightened
university had said, “Come to us!”—the story would be in all ways a
pleasanter one to tell. But that is not how things happen in life.
Removal to another university at this stage would simply have meant
beginning the fight all over again; and Edinburgh—blundering old
Edinburgh—was so kind, so homelike, with its great army of friends, many
of them convinced that victory lay within sight, that the inducement to
stay in spite of all was great. The very next turn of the wheel might
revolutionize all things.
Meanwhile the protagonist had been on the strain for nearly three years,
and she was growing very weary of the struggle: she was losing a little
of the verve that had carried her on hitherto. The incessant canvassing,
organizing and writing had developed her inherent business capacity to
the last point, and was making her a little intolerant of unbusinesslike
ways in other people. It was more difficult than formerly in journalism
and in verbal argument to show herself all things to all men as she had
done so finely in those first calls on the Professors. But she had not
the smallest idea of giving in: like a strong man lost in the snow, she
was conscious mainly of a resolute determination to keep going on
somehow.
“Your cause is sure to win,” Dr. Guthrie said to her about this time;
“but a cause may be won at the cost of a life.”
“I know,” she replied, “I am prepared to give it mine.”
But she did not mean to die if she could help it until the work was
done.
In any case the next move was fairly clear. The Annual Meeting of
Contributors to the Royal Infirmary was coming round once more, and
again the election turned on the question of the admission of the women
to the wards. S. J.-B. went doggedly on with her canvassing, but the
outer public was getting a little bored with the whole subject, and she
herself had no longer the attraction of freshness and novelty. In those
days perseverance was not reckoned a special virtue in a woman, and
persistence was a positive vice. She received one nasty snub (conveyed
through the office-boy) from one who had been almost a friend, and, in
order to understand what this meant to her, we must remember that family
tradition was strong in her still. Pelted with peas or pursued by a mud-
throwing mob, she never for a moment forgot that she was, in her own
way, _grande dame_. And now she was too tired to brush the little insult
off. “I was fool enough to go out with eyes so full of tears that I
doubted being fit for my next call.”
But the moral thews and sinews were in fine fighting form, and the
ideals of youth were as fresh as ever. The very words of the old
inspiring quotations rose to her mind. How surprised the old managers
would have been if they had heard them! They thought it was only that
weary question of Miss Jex-Blake and the Infirmary.
Kindly folk were many, however, and every now and then she met an
unexpected tribute of appreciation or respect; and sufficient votes were
gained to make the dreary proceeding worth while.[94]
Footnote 94:
It was at this Christmas season that Miss Miranda Hill sent to her old
friend, in the form of a brooch, a “winged Victory,”—meaning, she
said, “many things,”—“the victory of a stedfast noble purpose over
outward obstacles, of love over time.”
Sometimes she would return from these missions to find herself called
out to a slum maternity case undertaken through the mediation of a
friendly doctor. Then,—
“Home after 10 p.m. Then to write leader for Monday. Done about 12.15.
Then to relight fire and get warm,—then bed!”
“Sunday, [Dec.] 31st. Wrote paragraphs and finished article. Went down
to Scotsman Office....
Oh, dear, I hope the things will be in right tomorrow,—and oh, _how_ I
hope we may win!
We have 296 votes more or less promised. _We ought._
Now,—‘ring out the old, ring in the new’—Ah, that it may be so in some
things,—‘Ring out the care that frets the mind’[95]—Ring in quiet and
peace and liberty,—‘leave to toil’.”
Footnote 95:
“Ring out the grief that saps the mind,” is Tennyson’s line. S. J.-
B.’s version needs no explanation.
Next day the great meeting took place, and this time a large hall had
been taken for the purpose.
As before, six candidates were proposed by those in power, and six by
those in favour of the women. The task of the latter was made easier by
the fact that the suggestion of mixed classes had been given up some two
or three months before, the Committee for Securing a Complete Medical
Education for Women in Edinburgh having undertaken to guarantee the
payment of teachers, and to provide suitable rooms and accommodation for
the classes, if the University should find this latter an insoluble
problem.
Professor Christison pointed out incidentally that 80 beds at £40 a bed
would be one item in the reckoning.
When the votes were counted there were:
For the Women, 177
For the Powers, 168
“The result was received with great cheering and waving of handkerchiefs
from the ladies’ party.”
Professor Masson then proceeded to move:
“That henceforward all registered students of Medicine shall be
admitted to the educational advantages of the Infirmary without
distinction of sex,—all details of arrangements, however, being left
to the discretion of the managers.”
The hostile party raised an objection to this on the ground of want of
adequate notice—though Professor Masson had, as a matter of fact,
advertised it in the public papers as required—and, through an
indescribable hubbub, the proposer stood his ground, ably supported by
Professor Calderwood and by Mr. M‘Laren, M.P. When it became clear that
they were going to carry their point, the opposing party rose and left
the hall almost _en masse_; and it was then that Dr. Guthrie made what
proved to be his last public speech, in support of Professor Masson’s
motion. At the close of his peroration, with a wave of his hand towards
the door through which the great retreat had taken place, he concluded
with the lines S. J.-B. had quoted in her diary the night before,
“Ring out the old, ring in the new, ...
Ring out the false, ring in the true!”
The motion was then put to the meeting and carried unanimously.
“I, oh _so_ tired!” says S. J.-B.,—“hearing voices round me in a sort of
swoon.”
Her letter-bag for the next few days was enough to put new life into
anyone.
“24 Hill Street,
Edinburgh.
“My dear Miss Blake, and all your brave sisterhood, Three cheers for
you and one cheer more! My husband has just come back and told me of
your victory.
May this be an augury of future success in every direction.
Ever very truly yours,
E. H. S. BLACKIE.”
A lawyer who had strenuously opposed the idea of mixed classes writes,
“For your sake, I shall make my first charity this year £5 _to the
Infirmary_.”
And no one was more enthusiastic than the young man who was demonstrator
of Anatomy at the time of the riot:
“It would be almost a mockery to wish you all a Happy New Year after
such success. It is enough to turn one’s head, but only, I suppose,
the heads which hammered on so hard in defeat, or rather repulse, are
not to be turned with victory.”
It would have been almost a mockery, certainly, though not in the sense
he meant.
“Sunday, Jan. 7th. Hear that the doctors are going about getting their
patients to sign papers,—exact tenor unknown.”
True enough, here were already the first mutterings of a fresh storm,
and indeed, most people must have been rather uneasy at so terrifying a
victory.
“Dear Miss Jex-Blake,” writes Dr. Heron Watson on January 5th, “See to
it that there is a full representation on behalf of the ladies on
Monday week at the adjourned meeting, as I expect foul play!...”
And another lawyer writes:
“DEAR MISS JEX-BLAKE,
I don’t know whether you are taking any means to secure a muster
of your friends at the Infirmary meeting on Monday week; but I think
it would be worth while to do so. I am afraid our opponents may
attempt a surprise for the purpose of rescinding the Statute passed at
last meeting as to the admission of Lady Students. I have not heard
that they have any such plan on foot; but as no notice requires to be
given of any such motion, they may not improbably try it, trusting to
our being off our guard.
Yours truly,
WILLIAM ROBSON.”
A fortnight after the Annual Meeting, the Contributors met to hear the
result of a scrutiny of the votes, and it was then that the following
unexpected issue—quite distinct, of course, from the immediate object of
the scrutiny—was thrust upon them:
On the side of the women had voted,
28 firms,
31 ladies,
7 doctors.
On the side of the powers,
14 firms,
2 ladies,
37 doctors.
It was now claimed that the votes of firms were incompetent, at the
majority really lay on the other side.
“It mattered nothing,” said the _Scotsman_,[96] “that firms had voted
ever since the Infirmary was founded; that contributors qualified only
as members of firms had, as has now been ascertained, sat over and
over again on the Board of Management, and on the Committee of
Contributors. It was of equally slight importance that the firms whom
it was now sought to disqualify had been among the most generous
benefactors of the charity, and that, with the imminent prospect
before them of great pecuniary necessity, it would probably be
impossible, without their aid, to carry out even the plans for the new
building. The firms had voted in favour of the ladies, and the firms
must go, if at least the law would (as it probably will not) bear out
the medical men in their reckless endeavour to expel them.”
Footnote 96:
January 29, 1872.
An appeal to law, however, is a slow affair, and on this occasion there
was obviously no inducement for the law to bestir itself unduly. It was
not till July 23rd that Lord Jerviswoode pronounced the votes of firms
to be perfectly valid.
The case was appealed to a higher court, where it did not come on for
trial till the end of October: it was then again postponed and judgment
was not given till December.
“Dec. 7th. Saturday. Judgment from Second Division in our favour on
all points.”
The Annual Meeting was now once more at hand, however, when new managers
might be elected who were unfriendly to the women. Needless to say the
woman’s party lost no time. A Contributors’ meeting was called for
December 16th, and another for December 23rd, when a vote was passed
admitting the women to the Infirmary on condition that their visits were
to be separate from those of the men, and that they were to go only to
those wards where their presence was invited by the physicians.
So at last they got their tickets, and began an attendance which was to
“qualify” for graduation.
“Qualify” in the technical sense; assuredly not in any other. What the
girl graduate of the present day would say to such qualification, one
need scarcely ask. Here is S. J.-B.’s account of it:
“Dr. Balfour gave us a separate hour in his wards three times a week,
and such chances of practical study as could be arranged from time to
time. Dr. Watson’s very large practice, as the most eminent surgeon in
Scotland, made it impossible for him, at whatever inconvenience, to
repeat his visit in this manner, and our enemies would have gained
their point, had he not, with a kindness which I find myself even now
quite unable to acknowledge duly, given up for the two whole winter
sessions his Sunday mornings (his one day of rest) to our instruction,
while steadily refusing to accept any fees whatever for this great
sacrifice of his time and strength. Few more chivalrous acts were ever
done, and I only hope he found his reward in the lifelong gratitude of
a dozen women, who were not at that time too much accustomed to such
kindness and courtesy as his.”
To the end of her life, S. J.-B. looked upon these two men as “the
shadow of a great rock in a weary land,” and another name she would have
added with (in one sense) even better reason—that of Dr. Peel Ritchie,
who, a strong Conservative, absolutely and avowedly at that time without
sympathy for the “cause,” from a sheer sense of fair play, gave up his
class of men at the Royal Dispensary in order to teach a class of women
instead.
* * * * *
Of course S. J.-B. was a “celebrity” by this time. Here is an amusing
letter from a distinguished man who had been asked to meet her and her
friends at dinner:
[Letter undated.]
“MY DEAR EDITOR,
Wae’s me that I am engaged on Saturday! If I could on any decent
pretence get off I would do it _aftsoons_, for apart from the pleasure
of meeting yourself and Mrs. R., I would like fine to meet the other
ladies in such company, especially _some_ of them. I won’t say which!
But I accepted an invitation the other day from —— to meet a Mr. —— a
very nice Irishman that’s working at our Celtic MSS., and I promised
to show the Milesian the way. So though I would go far for the sake of
the ladies and of you, I feel that it would be rather too flagrant a
breach of faith to tell old —— that I have another engagement which I
had _forgotten_. I wish he or his wife would take some harmless
disease for a day or two and put off their dinner.
I needn’t say that I appreciate immensely the distinction of being
asked as the one man in Edinburgh worthy of admission to that select
company! It’s equal to the Cross of the Legion of Honour and a great
deal better. There’s something in the idea too that piques the
imagination. It’s as if—but far better—a favoured mortal got a special
card per Ganymede, to sup quietly in Olympus with Mr. and Mrs. Jupiter
and the Misses Minerva, Diana and Urania: or like being asked by a
Flamen and his wife to meet three of the Vestal Virgins over a jar of
Falernian; or again like an invitation from the grand Lama to have a
little jollification with a few Buddhist lady abbesses in the
innermost shrine of the great temple at Lassa, or from a chief of
Carbonari to take a glass and pipe with Mazzini, Garibaldi, etc.
There’s no end of the things it suggests.
As to your unworthy fears, fie upon them! You are more to be envied
than the Sultan, the Pope or Brigham Young.
Hoping to have a chance some other time of doing homage to the
Trinity, and to have the pleasure soon of calling upon Mrs. Russel.
I rest,
Ever Yours,
——.”
And her fame—or notoriety—extended to the most unexpected classes of
society. “Miss Jex-Blake had that house last year,” the driver of a
Highland coach would say, pointing with his whip in the direction of the
farm where she had stayed. Her name occurred repeatedly in that year’s
pantomime, and Harlequin and Columbine had called to ask if she had any
objection to this,—an incident which she always recalled with amusement
and appreciation. The main reference, as it happened, was quite
complimentary. A game was played on the stage in which various Edinburgh
dignitaries were the cards; but “Miss Jex-Blake” took the trick.
Her dislike of publicity was great, but she had long since hardened
herself to endure it in so far as was necessary for her work’s sake.
Beyond that she drew the line absolutely. The press rang with her name
for a few years, but she steadily refused to be interviewed. It was
nothing to her that the public had not the smallest idea of the more
human side of her character. “Nothing,” she wrote in response to many
requests, “would induce her to consent to the sale of her photograph.”
Her holidays were spent in absolute retirement, and intimate friends
will never forget how, on the first day in the country, the words would
rise to her lips,—
“The pulse of dew upon the grass kept his within its number,
And silent shadows from the trees refreshed him like a slumber.”
A memorandum of this period directs that, in case of her death, the
funeral shall be as simple and inexpensive as possible, and that the
headstone—if headstone there be—shall bear only her name, the dates, and
the words,—“Then are they glad because they be quiet.”
“Partly you see, I am so tired,” she had written half to herself and
half to Miss Du Pre in February,—“not physically or even mentally
exactly. I could come up to any given exertion of either kind for the
time being; but my whole nature is strained and wearied. I can get up
energy for nothing,—can but just get through the day’s work in the day
and long for rest!
‘Hades must rest us for ages,
Ere we can glory see.’
No, my glory _is_ rest!...
How strange lives are! Miss Anderson’s husband—married Oct. 5th (?),
died on Monday, November 12th,—love enough to change a life for, and
it,—no, not _it_, the marriage,—ends in 4 months!”
It was about this time that her friend Mrs. Unwin died. Up to the last
she had followed the Edinburgh campaign with intense interest and
sympathy. S. J.-B. had promised that, whatever the claims of her work
might be, she would pay a last visit to the Yorkshire home in case of
“utter need”; but Mrs. Unwin refused to make this plea. Resolutely she
bore her own cross: and, with a last message of “deepest love and
regard,” she passed away.
CHAPTER XIII
THE ACTION AGAINST THE SENATUS
“MADAM,
... I never read or heard of such a hard case as yours—and so
peculiar. It might be worth while to seek the advice of a Solicitor—
who would consult counsel—to find out whether you and your
disappointed friends have no case at Law. I would (if it be possible)
just like to know what the Court of Session would have to say,
touching—not only the arbitrariness, but the gross injustice, if not
absolute illegality, of the whole affair. You matriculate—get through
with about half of your classes—great loss of time—money—
disappointment—even exasperation or half ruin—all incurred: and are
then summarily brought to—made to fairly stick—and yet no legal
remedy! I can’t believe it. I would try and find out,—but yet, it is
an awful prospect. The length of time, and expense that would have to
be borne, ere any decision could be come to. You seem to me like one
who took a leap, without _seeing from the_ first,[97] where the leap
was to land you. For surely, had you foreseen all this,—you never
would have set foot in Edinburgh....
Footnote 97:
“Believe and venture! as for pledges,
The gods give none.”
The tide is coming in and nothing can retard it,—nothing worth
speaking of. And these views will be realised and acted upon some day.
Depend upon it.
The day will come when women will sit cheek by jowl with men through a
six months’ course of Anatomy, Physiology, Midwifery, etc., etc.,
right cheerfully, and neither jeering nor sneering there—nor winks nor
any other impertinences—singularly misplaced and out of time—if
certain important personages could only see matters rightly. Yes, and
walk the Hospitals—surgical and medical—and the lying-in Hospital
also, the Eye Infirmary, the Cancer one and the Consumptive one, and
the Lock into the bargain. And then all these important obstructives
will be dead, buried, rotten—forgotten—and their writings selling at
three halfpence per lb.”
The above is quoted from the letter of a complete stranger,—the so-
called “man in the street” apparently, and is a sample of many that came
pouring in upon S. J.-B. during those troublous years. “Has the
University any _right_ to act like this?” friends kept asking
constantly; and we know that more than one of the Professors had advised
an appeal to a Court of Law.
Towards the close of 1871, S. J.-B. seems to have consulted her brother
on the subject, drawing from him the following letters:
“The College,
Cheltenham.
Nov. 18. 1871.
MY DEAR SOPHY,
I do not think you can gain anything by sueing the Professors or
by going to Law with the University in any other shape.
It may be too late now to persuade, but it would be at all times
hopeless to compel, a great University to open its doors to ladies.
I return the Queries and Opinions: and should distrust legal opinions
that advised further law-suits.
It is most provoking, and your treatment has been unjust: but it comes
to my mind to this, When they persecute you in one city, flee ye to
another.
You can make better use of your time by getting University instruction
elsewhere, than by throwing legal pebbles at the University gates of
Auld Reekie: and life being short you had better gather up the net
result of your Scotch experience, and go to Zürich or Paris, or
wherever your own knowledge and judgment lead you.
I am exceedingly sorry for you; but I see nothing else to be done, so
far as I understand the facts.
It is very tantalizing that the majorities have always been so narrow:
and that there has been so much to justify sanguine friends in their
advice.
I shall be glad to hear your decision, and both Hetty and I are very
sorry for you.
Your affect. brother,
T. W. J.-B.”
“The College,
Cheltenham,
Nov. 21. 1871.
MY DEAR SOPHY,
There is more to be said for legal action than I knew of: for I
thought Paris or Zürich degree was legal qualification in England:
though of course to go abroad for degree is objectionable in several
ways, and the language must slightly increase the difficulties.
Still there is nothing to be said for legal action unless it is likely
to succeed: and of that your Scotch lawyers are the best judges:
though their expectations hitherto have been more sanguine than
accurate in your case.
I am sorry I cannot be of much use, and very sorry the Trades Union is
so strong and so well organized.
It must be very annoying, and is certainly a horrible waste of time:
but half of most people’s time is spent in untying the foolish knots
of blind opponents.
Hetty joins in love.
Your affect. brother,
T. W. J.-B.”
“13 Sussex Square,
Brighton.
Jan. 21. 1872.
MY DEAR SOPHY,
One line to wish you many happy returns of the day, and to tell
you that all is going on very well here....
We were very glad that you crept into such a haven of rest as Mrs.
Nichol has to offer you: and I am quite sure the strain of so much
fighting and organizing must be very great.
It seems hardly possible that you should get on with your own Medical
education while there is so much polemical business on hand; but if
you carry the point for all women, it will be cheaply bought at the
sacrifice of two or three years of individual training in books and
bones.”
“When they persecute you in one city, flee ye to another.”
This was advice which S. J.-B. had always kept well in mind, though not
with regard to Paris and Zürich; and enquiries as to other British
Universities had been diligently prosecuted. St. Andrews was the one
that most naturally suggested itself, “as a comparatively rural
University, without male students of medicine, and yet with the power to
grant degrees.” It is true that the Medical Curriculum at St. Andrews
was—and is—very incomplete; but the deficiency might be made good by
some teaching-school unable—or unwilling—to grant degrees. Professor
Lewis Campbell and Mrs. Campbell had taken a deep interest in the
project of making their University the Alma Mater of the women students;
S. J.-B. had visited them at St. Andrews in the autumn of 1871, with
Miss Massingberd Mundy[98]; and there are a number of cordial letters
witnessing to the genuine desire of both the Professor and his wife for
the success of the scheme.
Footnote 98:
Miss Massingberd Mundy was one of the junior students who did not go
on to graduation, but her gaiety and humour made her a real
acquisition to the little circle in the trying days.
Their enthusiasm was not typical of the University, however, though
Principal Tulloch “seemed friendly in a vague way”; and all hope in this
direction had, for the moment, to be given up.
Meanwhile S. J.-B., on behalf of herself and her fellow-students, had
made a final appeal to the University Court of Edinburgh to provide them
with the means of completing their education, and she had also forwarded
to them a farther legal opinion from the Lord Advocate and Sheriff
Fraser to the effect that the University authorities had full power to
permit the matriculation of women in 1869; that the resolutions then
passed amounted to a permission to women to “_study Medicine_” in the
University, and that therefore the women concerned were entitled to
demand the means of doing so; and finally, that if such means were
persistently refused, the legal mode of redress lay in an Action of
Declarator.
On January 8th the University Court resolved that it was not in their
power to comply with the requirements of the women as regarded teaching:
the whole question, they said, had been “complicated by the introduction
of the subject of graduation, which is not essential to the completion
of a medical or other education”: if the ladies would altogether give up
the question of graduation, and be content with certificates of
proficiency, the Court would try to meet their views.
“They forgot,” says S. J.-B., “that though a degree is ‘not essential’
to a medical education, it _is_ absolutely indispensable to any
practical use of it,—that is to any lawful practice of the medical
profession.”
She offered, however, to waive the question of graduation,—pending an
authoritative decision as to the powers and duties of the University,—if
arrangements might meanwhile be made for the women to continue their
education. To this the Court agreed. Farther correspondence, however,
elicited the fact that the Court had no intention of coming to any
decision with regard to its own powers, and that it did not mean to take
any active steps in the matter.
“On the other hand,” says S. J.-B., “we had no less authority than
that of the Lord Advocate of Scotland for believing that we were
absolutely entitled to what we had so humbly solicited, and that a
Court of Law would quietly award to us what seemed unattainable by any
other means; we had the very widely spread and daily increasing
sympathy of the community at large, and received constant offers of
help from friends of every kind.... Under these circumstances we did
the one thing that remained for us to do, we brought an Action of
Declarator against the Senatus of the University,—praying to have it
declared that the Senatus was bound, in some way or other, to enable
us to complete our education and to proceed to the medical degree
which would entitle us to take place on the Medical Register among the
legally-qualified practitioners of medicine.”
Of course the news of this daring step was forthwith noised abroad, and
S. J.-B. received a protesting letter from Dr. Elizabeth Blackwell,
urging her not to waste on an uncertain lawsuit, money that might be so
much more profitably spent in some other way.
The following is S. J.-B.’s reply:
“DEAR DR. BLACKWELL,
I suppose rumour very seldom does report things correctly, so I
do not wonder that you have been misinformed about the action which we
are on the point of bringing against the Senatus. It is not one for
breach of promise (what fun _Punch_ would make of it if it were!) but
simply an Action of Declarator whereby we pray one of the Judges of
Session to declare that the Senatus is bound to complete our
education, according to the decided opinion given by the Lord Advocate
of Scotland.
In the brief space of a letter it would be impossible for me to submit
to you all the facts and grounds on which our intention is based, tho’
I should be glad to explain them in detail if you were on the spot,
but you will be glad to hear that not only are the whole of the
students here of the same mind as myself on this point, but our
determination is strengthened by the advice and concurrence of some of
the wisest heads in Edinburgh, including those of friendly Professors.
I hope therefore that you will believe that, though you find a
difficulty at a distance from the field of action in concurring in our
present step, you would probably do so if all the facts of the case
were as thoroughly before you as they are before us and our
counsellors.
It is just because I find that London friends are so little au courant
of the facts that I am hoping to give an explanatory lecture when in
town next month, and I need not say how doubly glad I shall be to give
every explanation and information to you to whom [all] of us medical
women owe so much gratitude and respect as our pioneer and forerunner.
Believe me,
Yours truly,
S. JEX-BLAKE.”
Now that there was something definite to be done, S. J.-B. was in her
element once more and the following letters make it very clear that her
“counsellors” were working _con amore_.
“University Club,
Edinburgh.
18 March, 72.
DEAR MISS JEX-BLAKE,
Under the dread of bringing disgrace on the whole masculine
race, I applied myself today during all the time I could command to
the framing of the great Summons, and I brought it up to a point at
which I think nothing of importance remains to be added except the
historical statement and the pleas in law, both of which you may take
for granted will be made right. If I can get them done this evening
I’ll send them to you.
I thought as you were in a hurry to see the thing I had better let you
have what I had done at once, and so I took it to White Millar and
left it with him to send you. There must be a distinction drawn
between you and the other ladies who are ready for the first
professional exam., and the others who are not. So you will please
note on the margin of the M.S. who those are that occupy these
respective positions and the exact stage at which the less advanced
ones have arrived. I must also have the dates and exact terms of the
several resolutions and letters referred to in the last article, so as
to make the chronological statement complete and accurate. I would
like before the thing is finally adjusted to consult all the available
sources of information on the subject of graduation and the original
constitution of the University, and also I think if Bologna was our
model, as seems to be taken for granted, that it would be worth while
to communicate with some one there, such as the Secretary of the
Senatus, if they have one, or the Librarian, to get authoritative
statistics on the subject.
I have not heard from the Dean of Faculty yet in reply to my inquiry
on the point of professional punctilio involved in my undertaking the
case, but another eminent legal friend whose advice I highly value
thinks on the whole that I ought _not_ to undertake it. This did not
prevent me, however, from doing the Summons! Meantime you needn’t
mention that I am doing it, in case of my not going on with the case,
which might lead to unfavourable remarks, if it were supposed that I
had begun and afterwards backed out of it. I’ll be very sorry to do
so, if that is the Dean’s opinion.
Believe me,
Yours very truly,
ALEX. NICOLSON.”
Apparently the decision of the Dean was adverse to Mr. Nicolson, for the
case was taken up, and very ably argued, by Sheriff Fraser and Mr.
M‘Laren (afterwards Lord M‘Laren), who had been junior counsel in the
libel case.
“I am quite certain,” writes Mr. Fraser to S. J.-B., “that upon a more
thorough investigation it will be found that women did attend the
Universities and graduated.... When you are up in London just now
perhaps you would refer to some of the books in the British Museum,
mentioned by Watts, which are not in the Advocates’ Library. You need
not trouble yourself with the University of Edinburgh, as I have gone
over the whole Records of the Council and of the Professors since the
institution of the University, and I cannot find a single case of a
woman being a student. The same I fear will be the result of an
examination of the records of the other universities. This was
natural, for, until recently, both the law and the social customs of
Scotland, like those of other barbarous countries, regarded women as
nothing else but domestic drudges and field hands.”
It was useless, of course, to suggest the British Museum. S. J.-B. had
long since exhausted that mine. And she had no great faith in the
information to be derived from correspondence with foreign secretaries
and librarians. She had worked that vein too. It still remained to send
an emissary to examine the archives of the Italian Universities at first
hand, and this was what she now resolved to do. Someone had commended to
her interest about this time an able and well-educated young lady whose
health was causing her friends some anxiety, and, after watching and
tending her for some time S. J.-B. despatched her on the mission, duly
armed with the following _dossier_:
“1. At each University get access, if possible, to the official
archives and lists of students, and make a complete list of every
woman who studied there, with date, Faculty, and other particulars.
2. If you cannot get access yourself, get the lists made by some
official, and, if possible, compare it with originals or other
authorities.
3. If possible get the Secretary or Librarian, or some Professor to
attest the list with his signature, as truly extracted from the
records.
4. Pay any necessary fees, having as far as possible arranged for
these beforehand.
5. Make copies in one book of every list obtained, of name and address
of each person making or attesting such lists, and of all additional
information likely to be of value.
6. Send off attested lists to me in registered letters as soon as
obtained, marking in your M.S. book the exact duplicate in case of
loss and sending a separate letter to Miss P. to announce dispatch.
7. Do not let your own M.S. book out of your hands for any purpose.
8. Send all lists on foolscap and not on foreign paper.”
The ambassador seems to have carried through her mission most
efficiently, and an imposing array of names was the result. At any rate
_that_ vein was now worked out.
In the meantime “the great Summons” was duly delivered, and on March
27th the Senatus met to consider what action they should take with
regard to it. We get the following informal account of what took place
from Miss Pechey:
“I could not get particulars of the Senatus meeting ... till too late
to write last night, but it appears that it was first moved to defend
the action; then Fleeming Jenkin proposed that an attempt should be
made to have an amicable lawsuit. This was negatived by 17 to 10, and
then the other motion _not_ to defend the action being put against the
first, was negatived by 22 to 5. Many of our friends voted to defend,—
Wilson amongst others. He says he feels sure that the thing will never
be fairly settled without a legal decision. I saw him today in his
office. He is very anxious you should get some member to ask a
question when the Parliamentary grant is being arranged.[99] He told
me the enemy were dreadfully angry at the suit, from which he
concluded that our Summons is well drawn up.”
“This was the great argument for assenting to the corporate defence,”
writes Professor Masson, “i.e. that the Senatus could not possibly let
judgment go by default, which would yield all your demands (compulsion
of Professors, etc.) and yet not really settle the thing, inasmuch as
the Professors or anyone might afterwards reopen the whole judgment.
On the same ground it is that friends don’t seem to want to stir
individually. They say the defence is corporately by the Senatus and
everybody will understand that, and hence that individual secession is
superfluous. Tait, however, said he would consult his lawyer, and
Craufurd and Jenkin meditated something of the same.”
Footnote 99:
S. J.-B. appealed to Sir Robert Anstruther; and there is a
businesslike note from Lady Anstruther, asking for a very brief
summary of all the main events,—just the thing that only S. J.-B.
could supply.
The matter was brought forward in Aug. 1872, on Sir Robert
Anstruther’s behalf, by Sir D. Wedderburn, see below.
On the other hand, six members of the Senatus—anxious though they well
might be to have the weary question settled one way or the other—simply
could not allow the resolution to pass without protest, and the
following minute is duly recorded in the books of the University:
“We dissent from and protest against the resolution of the Senatus of
March 27, 1872, to undertake the defence of the action. This we do for
the following reasons:—(1.) Because we see no just cause for opposing
the admission of women to the study and practice of medicine; but, on
the contrary, consider that women who have honourably marked out such
a course of life for themselves, ought to be forwarded and aided in
their laudable endeavour as much as possible, by all who have the
means, and especially by those having authority in any University or
other institution for education; (2.) Because, in particular, we feel
such aid and encouragement, rather than opposition and discouragement,
to be due from us to those women who have enrolled themselves in the
University of Edinburgh, and we entirely concur, with respect to them,
in the desire expressed by Sir William Stirling-Maxwell, the Rector of
the University, that they should obtain what they ask—namely, a
complete medical education, crowned by a degree; (3.) Because we have
seen no sufficient reason to doubt the legal and constitutional powers
of our University to make arrangements that would be perfectly
adequate for the purpose, and we consider the public questioning of
such powers, in present circumstances, by the University itself, or
any of its component bodies, unnecessary, impolitic, and capable of
being construed as a surrender of permanent rights and privileges of
the University, in order to evade a temporary difficulty; (4.)
Because, without pronouncing an opinion on the question now raised, as
to the legal rights which the pursuers have acquired by matriculation
in the University, admission already to certain examinations, or
otherwise, to demand from the University continued medical instruction
and the degree on due qualification, we yet believe that they have
thereby, and by the general tenor of the proceedings, both of the
Senatus and of the University Court in their case hitherto, acquired a
moral right, and created a public expectation, which the University is
bound to meet by the full exercise of its powers in their behalf, even
should it be with some trouble; (5.) Because, with these convictions,
and notwithstanding our utmost respect for those of our colleagues
from whom we may have the misfortune to differ on the subject, we
should individually feel ashamed of appearing as defenders in such an
action, and should account any such public appearance by us in the
character of opponents to women desiring to enter an honoured and
useful profession, a matter to our discredit.”
The following are the names of the six[100] Professors who felt bound
thus to stand out against the arguments of their colleagues.
Footnote 100:
In addition to these six, Professor Fleeming Jenkin and Professor
Cosmo Innes removed their names from the list of defenders.
John Hughes Bennett, M.D., Professor of the Institutes of Medicine,
David Masson, M.A., Professor of Rhetoric and English Literature,
Henry Calderwood, LL.D., Professor of Moral Philosophy,
James Lorimer, M.A., Professor of Public Law,
Archibald H. Charteris, D.D., Professor of Biblical Criticism and
Biblical Antiquities,
William Ballantyne Hodgson, LL.D.,[101] Professor of Political
Economy.
Footnote 101:
Professor Hodgson was a recent addition to the professorial staff, and
a great asset to the women’s cause.
CHAPTER XIV
THE LORD ORDINARY’S JUDGMENT
“Did you advertise your lecture in the _Lancet_? I expect you will
have a lot of blackguardly doctors there in consequence. Don’t have
any libel cases, and don’t be hard on the students. They’re very bad,
but they’re not so bad as the Professors.[102] I know you are very
busy writing and so on, and that there would be plenty of copying for
me to do if only I were at hand. Don’t you want me to bully and be
bullied by?
How I wish I could be in the gallery to make faces at you and throw
peas!”
Footnote 102:
As a matter of fact a number of students came—unasked—to serve as
stewards.
An admirable and characteristic letter, this, from Miss Pechey. Was a
bracing message of warning and sympathy to a senior and chum ever more
tactfully and lightly delivered?
On April 25th, after some days in the country, S. J.-B. went to London
and was met by Miss Du Pre and Miss M‘Laren, who “heard and finally
polished up the lecture,” which was delivered the following day at St.
George’s Hall in the presence of a large and curiously assorted
audience. The Earl of Shaftesbury, who occupied the chair, was supported
by Professor Lewis Campbell, Rev. Dr. Martineau, Mrs. Garrett Anderson,
Dr. Elizabeth Blackwell, the Dowager Countess of Buchan, and other well-
known folk, and among the general public were a number of girlhood’s
friends, including Miss Ada Benson, Miss Miranda Hill, and many “modern
women,”—with a sprinkling of Norfolk cousins. In the course of his
address the Chairman made a shrewd remark, of which time has proved the
truth:
“The argument that women were not wanted in the medical profession
struck him as very singular. He was old enough to remember when
railways and electric telegraphs were not wanted for the simple reason
that they were not known. When they became known and tried, we could
not do without them, and in all probability it would be the same with
reference to ladies in the medical profession.”
In many ways the lecture was a success, and it was largely quoted and
referred to in the press; but, for the ordinary hearer, it was
overloaded with statistics, and—with a view to that ever-possible action
for libel—the lecturer kept herself too well in hand. It is amusing to
find _The Christian World_ hinting a regret that she “had not really
worked herself up into a passion” in narrating the injustice and
vexations to which she had been exposed.
On the other hand, Mrs. Priscilla Bright M‘Laren, an unbiassed expert,
expressed the wish that the lecture should be delivered throughout the
length and breadth of the land. The publication of a pamphlet, she said,
would not have the same effect, because most people never have their
sympathies thoroughly roused unless they come face to face with the
person who has been persecuted. “If you could be seen and _heard_” she
wrote, “you would produce a wonderful effect in favour of the cause you
have at heart.”
S. J.-B. had serious thoughts of carrying out this suggestion, but—in
the interests of her own health—one is glad to record that wiser
counsels prevailed.
“Thank you _very, very_ much, darling, for your telegram,” writes Mrs.
Jex-Blake, the day after the lecture. “I thought if you knew how
anxious I had been the last few hours, you would send one, but I did
not at all expect it.”
“I have not known where to direct to keep adding my rejoicing at the
many accounts of the success of your lecture. Well, I am very very
glad for you and with you, and I pray things may somehow take a fresh
start. How very nice of some medical students to come and officiate. I
wish Professor Masson could have been there.”
“I am very glad to think of you as once more snug at home and I hope
with less work in view and some anxieties abated.... I am very glad
indeed you have given up going about lecturing.... Tom, too, thinks
you very wise to give it up: he was struck with your looking so worn,
and very vexed to see you so.”
It is interesting to note that S. J.-B. had taken an invalid friend home
with her to recruit! At the same time she is writing to a protégée:
“I have seen Dr. Blackwell, and think she is rather disposed to give
you the work.... I think you should go in your bonnet, and look sage,
and not seem too eager for the work, and put a good price on
yourself,—say £2 a week, or, oh, you would accept £40 for the 6
months, etc. And be very confident you can do it all, if she asks you
to call on her.”
This is really the most worldly letter that S. J.-B. ever wrote!
* * * * *
In all these later happenings, one misses the name of Mrs. Butler, who
had stood by S. J.-B. so enthusiastically in the day of small things. As
a matter of fact, Mrs. Butler was now fully embarked on her own heroic
campaign, and both Mrs. Garrett Anderson and S. J.-B. had failed to give
her their support. Thinking differently from each other on many points,
characterised indeed by a fundamentally different way of looking at
life, the two medical women alike realized the complications of modern
civilization too profoundly to add the stupendous question that occupied
Mrs. Butler to a programme that was already involved and difficult
enough. Mrs. Butler felt their attitude keenly, and it was evidently
with mingled feelings that she received a letter from Miss Pechey about
this time, asking the privilege of adding her name and that of Canon
Butler to the ever-growing Committee.
“My dear Miss Pechey,” she writes, “You are welcome to use my own and
my husband’s names if you think they will do your cause _any good_. We
cannot conceive that they would, and, on that ground alone, we should
be as glad that you should not use them. It had better be left to Miss
Jex-Blake’s judgment.
“All the world knows that we are on opposite sides on one of the most
vital questions of the day, and that the Medical ladies have no
sympathy with the efforts being made to get rid of the scandal of a
great State system of legalised Prostitution, and therefore it appears
to Mr. Butler and me an inconsistency that our names should appear in
any such adverse connexion, deeply as we desire the prosperity and
success of the medical woman movement....”
“Dear Mrs. Butler,” writes S. J.-B. in reply,—“As Miss Pechey tells me
that you leave me to decide whether or no to place on our Committee
your name and Mr. Butler’s, I write to say that I shall most gladly
avail myself of your permission so to use your names.
I am glad to say that our Committee is made up of over a thousand
friends who not only differ widely on the point to which you refer,
but among whom differences no doubt exist on almost every other
question, social, political and religious.
As we cannot hope that even the most conscientious among us will
always agree on matters of judgment, I am sure that the only wise rule
is to keep each question distinct by itself, and to welcome for it the
support of all who care for its success, whether or no they agree on
other points.
With kind regards to Mr. Butler, believe me,
Yours truly,
S. JEX-BLAKE.”
The breach was never quite healed. When people care more for great
causes than for personal pleasure and satisfaction, the loss of a friend
must sometimes be taken as part of the day’s work. _Sunt lachrymae
rerum._
Meanwhile the work of propaganda was going on steadily, and, as S. J.-B.
had given up the idea of lecturing in the great towns, she proceeded, as
the next best thing, to publish her lecture, in conjunction with her
historical researches on the subject of Medical Women, in the form of a
small volume.
Just as she was seeing this through the press, news came of the illness
of her Mother, who was visiting the cousins at Bylaugh Park.
“June 17.
DARLING MOTHER,
I am _very_ sorry to hear that you have had such an attack
again. I should be really unhappy if I did not believe and trust in
you that you would telegraph for me if you at all wished for me, or if
you felt really seriously ill. Am I right in so trusting you?
I am sure they will take all the care they can of you, and I hope you
will be good and wise enough to eat all you can, broth at first, and
then as much meat and vegetables as possible—and lots of
strawberries!—are they ripe yet at Bylaugh?
You know that I am doing Dispensary work now, and have several
patients of all kinds to look after, but I envy the doctor that has my
old lady instead of me.
If you decide against going to Wales, suppose you come up here
straight from Norfolk, and we have a quiet month quite alone
together?—somewhere in the Highlands—if I have to give up Brighton.
Of course I shall send you your _own_ copy of my new book myself, but
Miss Pechey will send any quantity more that you may order for giving
away, etc.
How good of dear old Auntie to write!
Yours lovingly,
SOPH.”
The illness, however, rapidly assumed a dangerous character, and S. J.-
B. was telegraphed for next day.
“Luckily was up,” she says [she had been ill herself], “and received
the telegram by 9.50 a.m. Got things packed and off by 10.25 train.
Thunder and lightning whole way up. Reached Peterbro about 6.30,—Lynn
9.15. Got a carriage and drove to Swaffham ...—thence to Bylaugh,
arriving at 2.45 a.m. Crept up to Mother’s room,—she, ‘My darling!’—
She had been nervous and restless, but slept, holding my hand.
Oh, the horror of seeing her all shrunk together in bed, hardly
articulate,—I thought dying.
And had been very nearly....”
As usual when life was doing its worst, there follow a few blank pages
in the diary,—pages that were to be filled in some day! “I am so glad,”
wrote Miss Jane Cubitt from Fritton,—Miss Cubitt was the “sensible
cousin” of the childhood, who could do equations—“I am so glad that you
have arrived at Bylaugh. I feel now that all that can be done will be
done.” And fortunately on this occasion recovery came more rapidly than
the doctors had thought possible.
S. J.-B. returned to Edinburgh on the 8th July, not a moment too soon.
She was called out to a case the evening of her arrival—having travelled
north by day—and she proceeded forthwith to finish seeing her book
through the press. Law business, too, was urgently claiming her return.
On Wednesday, the 17th July, the historic lawsuit came on before Lord
Gifford.
It must be understood that this lawsuit, though of almost infinite
importance to the women, was in no way a dramatic affair like the last.
In the nature of the case it afforded no sensations to provincial
papers. An Action of Declarator is “for a decree defining and declaring
the right of the pursuer,”[103] and the evidence in Court was given by
Counsel only.
Footnote 103:
See S. J.-B.’s letter to Dr. Elizabeth Blackwell, pp. 356-7.
The women repeated in effect the requests they had so often made to the
University, viz. that the Professors should either receive them as
members of their classes, or else appoint (or recognize) other lecturers
who would. The defence consisted substantially of two pleas: 1. that all
parties are not called (see below); and 2. that the Senatus has not the
power to do what it is asked to do; in other words, (_a_) that the
University existed for men only, and, (_b_) that the University
authorities in making this experiment, had never intended to admit women
to _graduation_. If they did so intend, the intention was _ultra vires_;
and indeed they probably went beyond their powers when in 1869 they
framed regulations admitting women to share their privileges at all.
The hearing of the case lasted two days, and it was fully reported in
the Scottish daily papers of July 18th and 19th. Much of it, of course,
consisted of sheer technical detail that has long since lost interest,
but Lord Gifford’s judgment—delivered eight or nine days after the
hearing of Counsel—was characterized by a grip of the whole situation
and enlivened by a warmth of human interest that make it a landmark in
the history, not only of medical women, but of the whole Feminist
movement. If he allowed his sympathy with the pursuers to appear rather
too clearly, this was surely a fault that, in view of all the
circumstances, may well be reckoned to him for righteousness. The gist
of the judgment is contained in the following sentences:
“The Lord Ordinary finds that, according to the existing constitution
and regulations of the said University of Edinburgh, the pursuers are
entitled to be admitted to the study of medicine in the said
University, and that they are entitled to all the rights and
privileges of lawful students in the said University, subject only to
the conditions specified and contained in the said regulations of 12th
November 1869: Finds that the pursuers, on completing the prescribed
studies, and on compliance with all the existing regulations of the
University preliminary to degrees, are entitled to proceed to
examination for degrees in manner prescribed by the regulations of the
University of Edinburgh.”
In the “Note,” the Lord Ordinary discusses the case in detail:
“It is not easy to over-estimate the importance of the questions
involved in the present action. The decision may affect, in various
ways, not only the interests of the pursuers, and of all who are
similarly situated, but also the future welfare of the University, and
indirectly the well-being of the community at large who are interested
in securing the services of thoroughly educated and accomplished
medical practitioners.
The Lord Ordinary has endeavoured to approach the consideration of the
questions dispassionately, and free from all prejudices or
prepossessions. He has also endeavoured to keep in view that his
functions are merely judicial and not legislative, and that his duty
is simply to declare and apply the law as it at present stands, and in
no way to endeavour to amend it, however strong his convictions of
what the law ought to be....
The importance of the question to the present pursuers, and to all
ladies who, like them, may contemplate the practice of medicine as a
profession, lies in this, that, by the provisions of the Medical Act
of 1858 no one is entitled to be registered as a medical practitioner
without possessing a medical degree from one or other of the
universities of the United Kingdom, or a licence equivalent thereto
from certain established medical bodies mentioned in the Act. A
foreign or colonial degree is not available, and does not entitle to
registration unless the holder thereof has been in practice in Great
Britain previous to October 1858. Unless the pursuers, therefore,
succeed in obtaining degrees, they will be practically excluded from
the profession of medicine, for they are not in a position to demand
licences from any of the authorised medical bodies, and it can
scarcely be expected that they will prosecute their medical studies
merely in order to be hereafter classed with empirics, herbalists or
medical botanists, or with those who, in common language, are
denominated quacks. Without legal registration under the Medical Act
of 1858, the pursuers would be denied all right to recover fees; they
would be incapable of holding any medical appointment; and they would
be subject to very serious penalties if they so much as attempted to
assume the name or title of medical practitioners.
It is a fact, whatever may be its effect in law, that no University in
Great Britain has ever yet granted a degree to a lady. The Medical
Register of Great Britain only contains the name of two female
practitioners—Dr. Elizabeth Blackwell and Dr. Garrett Anderson. Dr.
Blackwell obtained her degree in America, and, being in practice in
Great Britain before 1858, she obtained registration in virtue of the
exception in the Act. Dr. Garrett Anderson obtained a licence from the
Apothecaries’ Hall, London, and is registered as such; but, since her
admission, regulations have been made which prevent any other lady
from hereafter obtaining a licence from the Apothecaries’ Hall.
Accordingly the course pursued by Dr. Blackwell and Dr. Anderson is
not open to any of the pursuers, and their only hope of being allowed
to practise medicine in Great Britain rests upon their being able to
obtain a degree from one or other of the Universities.
_Practically, therefore, the questions are now raised for the first
time, Can a lady obtain a medical degree? and, Is any lady to be
allowed to practise in Great Britain?_”
The Lord Ordinary then discussed the case for the defenders, point by
point: The first plea in law was the technical plea that “all parties
are not called,” or, in other words, that the action should have been
brought, not against the Senatus and Chancellor, but against the
University as a whole.
This question, said the Lord Ordinary, should have been raised before
the record was closed, and settled _in limine_. As a matter of fact,
however, it was of little moment, as the Senatus and Chancellor were the
only parties complained of,—it being assumed that the University as a
whole was ready and willing to do its duty as soon as such duty was
clearly defined. The Chancellor, indeed, had expressed this willingness
so far as he individually was concerned, and, strictly speaking, he need
not have been called as a party.
From the principle on which this preliminary plea was repelled, it
followed that there was in the present action no attempt to impugn in
the slightest degree the existing constitution of the University. Its
existing regulations and ordinances must be taken as right, and the
Senatus must simply be called upon to give effect to these as they
stood.
The Lord Ordinary proceeded to make one or two observations of a general
nature. He was clearly of opinion that, by the law of Scotland, there
was no inherent illegality in women prosecuting the science of medicine,
using the word in its largest sense, or in their engaging in the
practice of medicine as a profession.... Indeed some branches of the
profession were peculiarly appropriate to women and peculiarly
inappropriate to men. For instance, in obstetric practice and in
numerous diseases of women, a male practitioner was singularly out of
place, and nothing but the deadening effect of habit would ever
reconcile the community to that anomaly both in name and in reality, “a
man-midwife.”
Keeping these preliminary observations in view, the Lord Ordinary
proceeded to consider the constitution and regulations of the University
of Edinburgh so far as they related to women:
I. It had been broadly maintained by the Counsel for the Senatus, in a
very powerful and able speech, that the University of Edinburgh was
founded and existed for males alone.
If this proposition were well founded, there was, of course, an end of
the whole case. The Lord Ordinary, however, had felt himself quite
unable to affirm this proposition, but had come ultimately, without any
hesitation at all, to the conclusion that there was no foundation for
this first and general contention of the defenders.
_a._ The charter gave no countenance to this supposition. The masculine
noun or pronoun was used merely in conformity with ordinary brevity and
simplicity of expression.
_b._ The fact that the Universities of Scotland were founded to a great
extent upon the model of Bologna, etc., seemed to show that—as women
were admitted to the Italian Universities—there could have been no
original intention to exclude them from those founded in Scotland.
_c._ It was true that there was no recorded instance of a woman having
taken her degree in Scotland, and this was an argument of some weight,
perhaps considerable weight. If, however, the women had the right
originally, that right would not be lost by the mere fact of non-usage.
The right in their case was _res merae facultatis_, like a man’s right
to build upon his own ground,—a right that is not lost though no
building be erected for hundreds or thousands of years. To extinguish
such a right there must be a contrary usage—a possession inconsistent
with the exercise of the right—and that did not exist in the present
case.
_d._ If there was no express exclusion of women and nothing necessarily
leading to their exclusion, it seemed fair to fall back upon the
inherent legality and appropriateness of the study and practice of
medicine by women, and to infer that a medical school founded in the
University could not have as one of its conditions the exclusion of the
female sex.
_e._ Passing from such general considerations, the Lord Ordinary
considered it quite conclusive of the whole question that, by
regulations lawfully enacted by competent and sufficient authority,
provision had actually been made for the admission of women to the study
of medicine in the University of Edinburgh, and that actually detailed
regulations had been made regulating their studies and examinations.
II. The Lord Ordinary was of opinion that the “regulations for the
education of women in Medicine in the University” of Edinburgh, enacted
by the University Court of 10th November, 1869, and approved of by the
Chancellor on 12th November, 1869, were valid and binding in every
respect, and formed an integral part of the constitution and regulations
of the University as it at present existed. At the debate it was felt on
both sides that these regulations formed almost the turning-point in the
case, and the counsel for the Senatus, sorely pressed by them, had
boldly challenged their legality, maintained that they were _ultra
vires_ of the University Court to enact, and had asked the Lord Ordinary
to treat them as a nullity. Here again the Lord Ordinary thought the
position taken by the Senatus was absolutely untenable.
The regulations in question were solemnly, after much discussion, after
long consideration, and after due communication with the whole governing
bodies of the University, enacted by the University Court, a body which
had very large and almost legislative powers. The regulations were
enacted with all the required statutory requisites. “Due communication”
was had with the Senatus. The matter was submitted to and was duly
considered by the University Council, and the regulations received the
final sanction and approval of the Chancellor. The Senatus, the
University Court and the University Council had all the benefit of the
very highest legal skill and experience. Most eminent lawyers were
members of all these bodies; and the Chancellor who put the seal of his
approbation and sanction to the regulations held with universal
acceptance the very highest judicial office in Scotland.... So satisfied
had the Senatus been of the validity of the regulations, that they had
actually applied to the enacting power—that is, to the University Court—
to rescind them. The University Court had refused to rescind the
regulations and they still stood part of the law of the University.
III. The Lord Ordinary was of opinion that the pursuers were entitled in
substance to the declaratory decree which they demanded in the present
action....
The right to medical graduation was really at the foundation of the
whole of the present dispute. If the ladies had been content to study as
mere amateurs—as mere dilettanti—it rather appeared that no question
would ever have been raised. But their demand for degrees, and the
announcement of their intention to practise as physicians, had aroused a
jealousy which the Lord Ordinary was very unwillingly obliged to
characterize as unworthy, and hence this strife.
The Lord Ordinary was of opinion, without any doubt at all that the
proposal to withhold from successful or fully accomplished female
students the regular degrees, and to give them instead mere certificates
of proficiency was incompetent as well as unjust. The proposal was not
unnaturally stigmatized by the pursuers as “a mere mockery.”
IV. All this, of course, had reference to the declaratory conclusions.
Beyond that the Lord Ordinary could give no help. The first petitory
conclusion asked that the Professors be directed to admit women to their
ordinary classes; but this, as Lord Gifford pointed out, was more than
the Senatus had power to do, and the University Court could only do it
by altering regulations which the present judgment had assumed to be
right. The University Court, however, had undoubted power to recognize
extra-academical teachers; and—as teachers of unquestionable standing
and ability were ready to give the pursuers instruction in separate
classes—as, moreover, the University had only been held back by a doubt
as to its own powers—the Lord Ordinary hoped that this solution would
terminate the unfortunate controversy which had raged so long.
* * * * *
S. J.-B. records the result very briefly in her diary:
“Friday, July 26th. Lord Gifford’s judgment. Affirms declaratory
conclusions, i.e. full rights,—denies petitory conclusions, i.e. says
action so framed that he could not make order on Senatus.
Gloria tibi, Domine!
Substantially the whole cause won for all women, I believe.
His note too good to be easily set aside. _May_ be fresh delay—hardly
defeat.”
In any case it was a great and inspiring judgment,—almost enough to
atone to S. J.-B. at the moment for all she had come through; for it
must not be forgotten that the epoch-making enactments of November 1869,
on which almost everything turned, had been won by her own bow and
spear, practically before any other woman student had appeared upon the
scene.[104] Well might she cry, “Gloria tibi, Domine!”
Footnote 104:
See p. 260.
And within a few days a great pæan of rejoicing rang out over the land,—
rejoicing that was to spread over the whole civilized world. Once more
the postman was a delightful visitant. Indeed, as one reads the letters,
one is fain to retract the dictum that this lawsuit was in any way
devoid of dramatic interest.
The telegraph boy came first, with a characteristic message from Mrs.
Kingsley:
“A thousand congratulations. How is R.C.”
“Eileanach,
Inverness.
July 31/72.
DEAR MISS BLAKE,
A paragraph in the _Daily Telegraph_ of the 30th made me
surprise sitters-by, by exclaiming ‘Thank God,’...
It is almost too good news to be true, although those not versed in
legal quibbles felt that your claim was both legal and equitable, and
_must_, in due time, be conceded. Yet, I would thankfully learn that
the case is ended, and that there is to be no appeal to keep it open
longer.
I mean to be in Edinr. (Cockburn Hotel) on the 8th August, and will
that day try to see and congratulate you on the blessed determination
you have shown, all along, not to be put down by mere brute, unmanly
force, but to compel justice to be done.
I am grieved that this should have cost you and your friends such
shameful trouble and expense, but know, that this loss to you, will be
the cause of myriads of dear women thanking God for having won a
victory that will do more for their welfare and happiness, temporal
and spiritual, than is now perceived but by a very few....
May God be with you and your friends, and speedily fill the land with
true women like you, so that no woman may need to keep secret for an
instant a single pain, because she can only tell it to men.
Very sincerely yours,
J. MACKENZIE, M.D.,
Provost.”
“Wednesday, July 31.
DEAR MISS JEX-BLAKE,
Will you allow me to add my hearty congratulations to those with
which I doubt not you are now being overwhelmed, on the success of
your brave and patient conflict with prejudice and injustice? I think
the question is now practically settled.
Thanks for your kind letter. I am very glad you liked St. Andrews.
Believe me with much respect,
Yours very sincerely,
A. K. H. BOYD.”
The letter that follows is from one who was to become an invaluable
champion.
“16 Wimpole Street.
July 27.
DEAR MISS JEX-BLAKE,
Allow me to congratulate you most heartily on the decision of
Lord Gifford, which establishes the rights of the lady students at
Edinburgh.
I will do what I can to get your interesting little book noticed in
the _Lancet_.
I do hope that the Conservative party in the profession will now have
the sense to give way with a good grace.
Believe me, dear Miss Jex-Blake,
Yours very truly,
FRANCIS ED. ANSTIE.”
The next is in the shaky handwriting of an invalid:
“MY DARLING,
I was so delighted to have your letter with the grand news. I
had not dared expect anything so good. From my heart I thank God and
rejoice. I feel so comfortably well, no aches or pains whatever. May
God bless and prosper my darling.
YOUR LOVING MOTHER.
Shall I give a copy to Nurse of _the_ book when we part?”
“Riffelberg.
July 30th. 1872.
MY DEAR SOPHY,
I am delighted to see in _Times_ of 27th, just arrived, that
Lord Gifford has given a judgment entirely in favour of yourself and
the other lady students. I congratulate you heartily and only hope it
is final.
I am here 8,400 ft. above the sea, having found it impossible to get
fresh in England, ...
I hope your legal perils are over; and, though one has regretted that
so much legal work prevented your own medical start, it has been well
worth all you have gone through, or yet may go through, to open the
Profession thoroughly to women.
As soon as you have completed your training, you have in my opinion
nothing but success before you: and, within 12 months of settling in
London as a properly qualified Physician, you will find it easy to
make £2000 a year, and impossible to avoid doing a very large amount
of good in making it....
Your affectionate brother,
T. W. J.-B.”
It was on the occasion of this visit to Switzerland that Mr. Jex-Blake
made the acquaintance of Miss Agnes M‘Laren—on the top of the Eggishorn!
It chanced one day that he ran down from the summit to assist a fragile
little lady up the last steep climb, and, in the course of subsequent
conversation, lent her a guide-book, in which, to her great surprise,
she found the familiar name of Jex-Blake.
So the Eggishorn heard all about it.
Yes, friends were kind, and more than kind; but, as before, the “man in
the street” rejoices one’s heart:
“Glasgow. 30th July, 1872.
DEAR LADY,
I beg respectfully to convey my sincere thanks to you for the
gallant stand which you have made against those parties whom I may
term Medical Monopolists, and to express my delight at the success
which have attended your efforts.
Your address and ability in thwarting the selfish purposes of said
parties have endeared you to every liberty loving individual in the
civilised world, and I sincerely hope you will long be spared to
benefit suffering humanity by your experience and knowledge—knowledge
which you have pursued under such tremendous difficulties, but the
possession of which cannot fail eventually to raise you to the very
pinacle of your profession.
I am,
Yours very respectfully, ...”
The following lines, written and sent to S. J.-B. a few months later by
a well-known Edinburgh citizen, may be taken as a sample of much clever
and spirited doggerel on both sides of the question:
“I do rejoice, Miss Jex,
The gods have heard your Prex,
To vindicate your Sex,
By passing a new Lex,
Though that does sadly vex
Professor C., senex,
Who plays the part of Rex,
But may become an Ex,
Because he won’t annex
The females to his Grex.”
CHAPTER XV
PAYING THE PRICE
All through that autumn S. J.-B’s mind must have been simply seething
with the manifold interests that claimed her attention.
“If anybody ever deserved a rest, you do,” writes Miss Stevenson, “and
I most earnestly hope you will take a thorough one. I do not think
_any of us_ are able fully to realize the importance of Lord Gifford’s
decision to all men and women in all time coming.”
“I am truly glad that something is definitely settled at last,” writes
Miss Bovell from Paris, “and not least for _your_ sake. I do trust you
may have much less worry in future, though I fear the ‘separate
classes’ will still prove a source of trouble. Perhaps some time hence
the British Medical Profession, as well as the British Public, may be
sufficiently advanced to throw aside the unscientific scruples which
happily appear to have no existence here....
I suppose you will be going in for your Professional in October? I
wish you all possible honours. I trust your mind is now sufficiently
at ease for you to work at books, but you will take a holiday in the
country first, will you not?”
The difficulty of arranging classes was so great that a good many of the
students had scattered for the summer months. Mrs. Chaplin Ayrton, as
well as Miss Bovell, was in Paris; Miss Massingberd Mundy and Miss Dahms
had gone to Dr. Lucy Sewall at Boston, and Miss Pechey was working at
the Lying-in Hospital in Endell Street.
“Oh, Lucy, I’m so tired of it all!” S. J.-B. had written to her friend
a month or two before this. “When those children went to you a
fortnight ago, I did so wish I could have gone and been rested and
nursed for a few months!
But I’m sure you will see how utterly without choice I am,—that I
_must_ stay at my post as long as I can stand.
But I am getting more and more doubtful whether I myself shall ever
finish my education. I think when once the fight is won, I shall creep
away into some wood and lie and sleep for a year.
However all that is beside the question.”
A letter from Miss Pechey—written in September—takes a sterner tone than
is her wont. After reporting about her work at Endell Street, she goes
on:
“You have never told me how you are getting on with your exam.
subjects; such silence is very ominous, and I’m afraid you haven’t
been doing anything at them. You really must, if you intend to go up
in October, for it is by no means child’s play getting up three such
different subjects, and it would be simply _awful_ if you went up and
didn’t pass....”
Here the writer has obviously dried the ink, and sat looking at the
space that remained, appalled, we may suppose, by the contingency she
has called up.
“Don’t you like me to lecture you?” she concludes finally, and passes on
to another subject.
There certainly were not many people who dared to ‘lecture’ S. J.-B. The
mingled love and fear with which her juniors (and not her juniors only)
regarded her scarcely comes out in the correspondence, though one gets
more than a glimpse of it in the following letter from one of the two
who went to Boston, the humourist and _enfant gâtée_ of the little
circle:
“DEAR MISS PECHEY,
I write to you for several reasons, the one chiefly worth
mentioning being that I want you to give some messages to Miss Jex-
Blake, as, however busy you are, you are not likely to be so busy as
she is, and therefore a letter is less waste of time to you. I believe
though at the bottom of my heart that my real reason is that I am,
even away from her, frightened of her. See how deep the feeling is.
(The writer proceeds to relate a perfectly fantastic dream.)
Miss Jex-Blake, as you know, has written to Dr. Sewall, advising me to
stay in Boston this winter; the Dr. is so good as to say she will keep
me with her, and I am quite willing to stay, so unless my father and
mother object, that is settled....
What joyful news that lawsuit news has been. I have had letters of
rejoicing from many folks, but I declare I am chiefly glad for Miss
Jex-Blake’s sake, and I hope now she sees some prospect of a quiet
winter. Of course there is still much to do, but she has put a great
piece of the road behind her. Is it not so? And I assure you the
general question was becoming lost to sight by me in the particular
one of her success and rest.
If Miss Jex-Blake comments on my hand, tell her I do write my copies,
I do remember her rules, and only fall into this style when a little
tired as at present....
I have seen now Dr. Sewall use forceps three times, and it is
impossible to see anything prettier.... She uses any sort of
instrument beautifully. I should like to see her conduct some large
operation. I think well-done surgery is fascinating, and I never saw
anyone handle an instrument so easily and so securely. I should feel
safe whatever she was going to do to me or mine....”
Of course S. J.-B. saw the letter,—though the dream was a most audacious
one—and it made her quite homesick for the old Boston life.
“DEAREST LUCY,” she writes,
“It is just a year since we parted, and I do so want to see you
again. Miss —— makes me quite envious with her descriptions of her
happiness in Boston and of the goodness of ‘my doctor.’ Will you come
over with her in the spring?...
I am just going to set hard to work for 5 weeks in preparation for my
1st Professional Exam., which comes off about October 22nd. It would
never do for _me_ to be plucked! In fact I shall not go in unless I
feel pretty well prepared when the time comes. Please thank Miss Call
for her note to me, and tell her I wish she could have come to
Edinburgh.”
She did set to work hard, but events could scarcely be called
propitious. On the strength of Lord Gifford’s judgment, she was renting
a small house to serve as a medical school, arranging for the winter’s
course of teaching; and, especially, trying to get an Anatomy lecturer
recognized by a body of men, who—rightly or wrongly—did not mean to
recognize him. Meanwhile editors showed themselves increasingly glad to
get her work—journalistic work—not only on subjects connected with her
special struggle, but about anything that called forth her gift for
clear and incisive writing: and all the money she could earn in this way
was not only welcome, but actually needed to keep things going. Although
she was extraordinarily economical, as we have seen, her generosity and
her large and businesslike way of dealing with things always gave the
impression of larger means than she possessed; and many appealed to her
for help who would have been amazed to learn how narrow her margin was.
“I am glad of both your articles,” writes Mr. Russel about this time,
“but the _beginnings_ of both are de trop.
If I see a topic you would care to handle, I shall be prompt to let
you know.”
“I am much obliged by your MS., which will duly appear as a leader
tomorrow,” writes another editor.
Her book, too, was exciting no small interest, and the consequent
letters, enquiries and reviews[105]—very lengthy reviews in some cases—
were a preoccupation in themselves. Any day might bring the opening up
of a new vista.
Footnote 105:
The following is a fair average specimen of the cordiality with which
the book was received:—“So convincing is the argument, so obvious the
conclusions to which it leads up, that one fairly wonders, after
putting down the essay in which they are enforced, how it should have
come to pass in this nineteenth century that it should be necessary
for any such essay to be written.”—_Liverpool Mercury._
“Sept, 11th.
DARLING MOTHER,
I have but a moment to send you a piece of news that I know will
be very welcome, viz, that A Scotchman resident in India called on me
last night, asked how matters were progressing, said the battle was
being gallantly fought, and departed after stating mildly that he
would send us ‘a thousand pounds at once and more if needed,’ that the
fight might not fail for want of money! The money is worth a great
deal, but the moral effect is almost more, as the man is an absolute
stranger and cares simply for the principle.
Probably now we shall get a lot more.
Yours lovingly,
SOPH.
His name is Walter Thomson, he had just read my book. (Not a bad 2s.
6d. worth, was it?)”
It is impossible to exaggerate the reverence—“respect” is too weak a
word—with which S. J.-B. throughout life treated the money that came to
her in this way. It was infinitely more precious to her than possessions
of her own: and the amount of the donation made no difference. If it was
not to be used immediately, it was invested with the greatest care and
forethought; every penny was strictly accounted for; and no farthing
expended on administration, or on any kind of work involved (railway
journeys and so forth), was allowed to come out of the fund itself.
There never were any “working expenses.” All that was done for love.
More gifts on this scale did not follow forthwith, but her lecture and
the book that followed it were bringing in a return that was worth even
more. They were arousing interest among men who might be able to assist
the cause in a bigger way than had yet suggested itself.
“I wonder,” writes Miss Wolstenholme, “whether you are aware how
deeply interested Mr. Stansfeld is in your question, and how warmly
disposed to help you by legislation or in any other way.”[106]
Footnote 106:
Mr. Stansfeld was President of the Local Government Board.
There follow a number of suggestions as to the amendment of the Medical
Act of 1858.
* * * * *
Meanwhile the University had appealed to the Inner House against Lord
Gifford’s judgment, and—after hanging fire for long months—the case at
this juncture became imminent.
It was in the midst of all this that preparation for the professional
examination went on.
Of course the task ought not to have been a formidable one. S. J.-B. had
done excellent class-work in the subjects required, and they had been
simmering in her mind for years; but everyone who has watched the career
of many students knows that that man stands the best chance of
acquitting himself well who, having got his subject up, goes in for the
examination straightway, before the natural process of selection and
assimilation in his own mind emphasizes this item and discards that, as
the case may be. The knowledge one wants for an examination is not the
knowledge that becomes one’s working equipment for life.
The “last straw” for S. J.-B. was the distressing illness of a very dear
friend in the course of those five precious weeks, and finally we come
without surprise to the following entry in the diary:
“Sunday, Oct. 6th. Rather out of heart. I can’t get courage or sense
for the Organic Chemistry, and must leave it till E. P. comes; and the
Botany seems so desperately voluminous! My head seems tired,—I _can’t_
make it work more than an hour or so at a time,... But somehow my
fatalism makes me think I _shall_ get through, when E. P. comes and
quiets me,—she comes Thursday, 10th.”
“Oct. 11th. I’ve had such bother about Anatomy rooms, etc., and shall
have to organize about Fund, etc.
Things seem to _crowd_ on me so. And other people get such nice long
holidays!—oh, dear! Well, as Robertson says, everything has its
price....
Then H. [the Anatomy teacher]. The Court refused him flat on Monday,
on ground of ‘no evidence of qualification’! He on Tuesday is to send
in his diplomas and other testimonials, and I have to get them copied
and printed, etc.
My own Botany stuck fast,—I nervous and shaky again,—feeling strength
go out of me drop by drop.
If only the 22nd were _well_ over!
E. P. came back yesterday, dear child,—so loving and good.”
At this point S. J.-B. breaks off to record the—very indifferent—
achievements of the new students in their preliminary examination!
“Oct. 22nd. Professional Exam.... Did good paper in Nat. Hist.,—fair
in Chemistry, poor in Botany. Went down to Falkirk to sleep.[107]
“Oct. 23rd. Came up for Practical Chemistry Exam. White Millar met me
and worried me for [law] papers. Head dazed,—Crum Brown let me up [?
off] till another day.”
Footnote 107:
To visit the friend who had been ill.
Well, there is no use in “spinning out the agony.” S. J.-B. was rejected
in her examination. With a mental endowment obviously far above the
average in either sex, she found herself, after all these years of
study,—so far as any practical result was concerned—absolutely at the
foot of the ladder. She had nothing whatever to show for her work: she
had failed in a test that almost any schoolboy can pass,—and the eye of
the civilized world was upon her.
There is no denying that it was bad to bear, and the tragic part of the
matter was that she could not bring herself to believe that—in the
subject of Natural History at all events—her paper had been fairly
treated. So many petty difficulties had been thrown in her way all
along, so little magnanimity had been shown her by some of those in
authority, that her fighting instinct rose almost automatically to the
encounter. What could this be but simply one effort more on the part of
the enemy to defeat her _per omne fas et nefas_?[108]
Footnote 108:
See extract from _Lancet_, p. 319.
About this time Professor Huxley seems to have expressed to some mutual
friend his sympathy with the women students; he had refused—quite
definitely, but with obvious regret—to come to their assistance by
examining their proposed Anatomy lecturer[109] when the University of
Edinburgh refused to do so; and Miss Pechey now took upon herself the
difficult task of asking his opinion upon the Natural History paper. It
was a great venture from every point of view, and certainly shows how
confident S. J.-B. was in her view of the case.
Footnote 109:
See _Huxley’s Life_, i. 387.
“_Vor den Wissenden sich stellen_—” is an admirable motto, but the
standard of examination in Natural History in Edinburgh at that time was
certainly not the standard demanded by London now, and many a creditable
Edinburgh student of those days might have cause to congratulate himself
that he was not examined by Huxley.
“He was very kind about it,” writes Miss Pechey, “and I had a long
talk with him. He thought it would be difficult for H. to get anyone
to examine him, as even Ellis would not like to constitute himself an
examiner. I think he has rather altered his idea of the honesty, etc.,
of the Edinr. Professors, but he said such conduct was inexplicable to
him. However, although I expect he thought I’ was giving him a one-
sided statement, I think he considers us the aggrieved party.
At first he would not look at the papers, but when he had asked me
about them, he said he would look over the Natural History, and
although he was very kind about it, his verdict was unfavourable. Of
course I have no doubt that they would have passed a _man_ on your
paper, but still you must have them extra good before you can make any
fuss about it....
I hope you won’t worry yourself about the papers, as I hope we shall
have plenty of leisure so that we can go over the subjects again in a
proper way: it would have been a wonder if you could have passed in
the midst of all that worry.... God bless you, darling.”
As we know S. J.-B. had more worries on hand than the sore question of
her examination papers. The Appeal in the famous case of Miss Jex-Blake
_v._ the Senatus was really before the Court of Session now, and she was
“up till past 12 revising the proofs” for the daily papers.
“Sunday, Nov. 3rd. Word from E. P. (who went to London Wednesday) that
Huxley didn’t approve my Nat. Hist. paper. So fight for ‘pluck’ given
up.
Poor Nelly O’B. lost her father a few weeks ago.”
Apparently she wrote to report progress to her brother the same day.
“The College,
Cheltenham. Nov. 4. 1872.
MY DEAR SOPHY,
You have come to the right decision without a doubt. Probably
they were sharp upon you, but to _prove_ injustice in an examiner is a
hopeless task. They are evidently very bitter, and apparently not
scrupulous; but to my mind that was not the point; for, in writing to
you[110] I had only to consider what was the wise course for you; and
it seemed to be exactly what I advised and what you have done.
I am very sorry, and so is Hetty, for the mishap and the loss of time:
but you can turn it to benefit: and all’s well that ends well, as your
cause will end certainly.
Your affectionate brother,
T. W. J.-B.”
Footnote 110:
The previous letter has not been found.
“The Elms.
Monday, 4th November.
MY PRECIOUS DARLING,
I am not all surprised, and so glad to hear that there is
another opportunity in April. I had said I had no doubt they would
floor you if they could. Your mind and time have been so engrossed
that you cannot be very angry with yourself. I quite think I have felt
for you more than you have for yourself....”
[The dear old Mother, with the sword in her heart!]
“I am getting on so nicely here. I hope you will not have any lawyers
to consult with about other pressing matters, nor articles to write
when you take up study for April. I shall like to know when you begin
(probably not till February) that I may ask help where it is promised
to be given. I hope my darling has a little breathing time now, and
will take every care of herself, as I will of her baby.
Ever your loving Mummy,
MARIA EMILY JEX-BLAKE.
It is best for me to write little.”
[Illustration:
_Henry J. Wells 1862_
_Emery Walker ph. sc._
_Maria Emily Jex-Blake_
_from a drawing in chalks by H. T. Wells R.A. 1862_
]
Meanwhile enquiries poured in on every side. The following paragraph
appeared in a well-known Weekly:
“The question of the admission of Women to medical degrees in
Edinburgh University has been rather unexpectedly solved, at least for
the present. Miss Jex-Blake, a foremost champion of the movement, has
actually been ‘plucked’ in her examination and sent back to complete
her scientific studies.”
This paragraph was cut out and sent to S. J.-B. by other papers and by
many individuals as well, with a request for an explanation, or, as they
graciously put it, “for the means of authoritatively contradicting it.”
* * * * *
Norfolk cousins who had been mildly loyal and sympathetic at a distance,
were roused to positive incredulity. The delightful Sarah of the
girlhood reverts to the old affection and the old playful names:
“Wimbledon.
Dec. 14th.
DEAR OLD MAN,
I want you to write and tell me all about yourself, and why you
did not pass your examinations. There must be a reason why you did
not. I want you to tell me, for I hear all sorts of things, and want
to know the truth. Send me a Scotch paper about you, for I never see
anything in the English papers for or against you—only facts [!]...
Write to me like a good man.
Ever your affectionate,
S[ARAH] J.-B.”
Yes, things were pretty black. So black that one is not in the least
surprised to hear that at this time Miss M‘Laren decided to throw in her
lot with the women students. Retiring and delicate though she was, the
following letter written on one of her propagandist Suffrage tours, is
evidence that she brought sufficient moral grit to the new life:
“Strachie, [?] Argyllshire.
Nov. 10th. 1872.
I wish so much that you could have joined us yesterday by balloon, so
as to have had this delicious day in the country,—besides the pleasure
of being together. The pure air would have refreshed you very much,—
and it is so lovely. Yesterday it rained in torrents.... I was so glad
you were not with us, for I found I had promised more than I could
perform,—only a pleasant drive of two hours! Imagine our horror when
we found that the steamer advertised to sail from Helensburgh to
Dunoon was broken down and could not go,—and we were told that it
would be impossible for us to manage the journey. Of course we _had_
to find out a way to go, and it was to drive 3 miles, then to ferry,
then to drive 4 miles, then to catch a steamer, then to have the 2
hours’ drive originally expected! ... and only to reach this at 7—half
an hour after hour of meeting!
It was out of the question to put meeting off, for there was no
telegraph, and the people had come 6, 8, or 9 miles. They knew
something must have happened to delay us, and waited patiently. We had
to hurry to the meeting, and found a large schoolhouse crowded with
people, and some half dozen dogs, and dimly lighted by 8 candles! It
was _so_ funny! And they were so enthusiastic....
I have been thinking a great deal about joining you, and the
conclusion I have come to is to tell Papa and Mama that I would like
to _try_ to study if they would give their consent.
If I felt I had a vocation for medicine, it would make me bolder, but
you know that I cannot honestly plead that. On the contrary I have
very grave doubts of my capacity for it, especially for the
preliminary years of study, and they might very probably prove to be
lost years....
No, the attractions to me would be a definite sphere, and an
independent one, and being associated with you in work of any kind.
It would be a great happiness to me to be with you, and to believe
that I was a help to you however small.
But then, I cannot but believe that you must before long have the
greater help of having Miss Du Pre with you, and, in the meantime,
till she can come, you may be sure I will be as much as possible with
you.”
A delightful correspondence ensued between Miss M‘Laren and Miss Du Pre,
who knew each other but slightly:
“As you cannot be with Sophy,” writes Miss M‘Laren, “I would like very
much to be with her, for she does really deserve all the help she can
get when she has so much to do.... It would, as you know, be a great
happiness to me to be with her, but I would not mind for myself at
all. If you could only be with her, I would be quite happy not to be,
feeling that it was not right for me to risk making family discomfort,
just for myself. What do you honestly think? I would not of course
think of troubling you about my concerns except as they concern
Sophy.”
“All my instincts are against causing family sorrow and trouble,”
writes Miss Du Pre in reply. “... but I cannot but think that in your
case the trouble would not be permanent.
I think myself that studying new and difficult sciences and trying to
help Sophy at the same time would be more than your strength would
stand,—at least I know I could not do it myself. Though, on the other
hand, it might be still more difficult to study at home where all
sorts of family habits and calls upon one’s time make it so hard to do
anything thoroughly.
I believe, if I were you, I would try to wear away by degrees the
opposition of my parents, perhaps by going to help Sophy for a month
or so, and then coming home again, being willing in the meantime to be
present at any dinner party when they particularly needed my help,
etc. I do think that people hate a plan so much less when the thought
of it is no longer new and startling to them.... I cannot express to
you how glad I shall be if you can see it to be right to go to Sophy,
for I think your presence and help are exactly what she needs and
needs sorely too. But you must not think that I _only_ care about it
for her sake, for it would be a great pleasure to me to think that you
were enjoying her company and friendship.”
Of course Miss M‘Laren carried her point, and, if she never quite
succeeded in persuading herself of her “vocation,” she left a large
_clientèle_ of patients in no doubt at all upon the subject.
CHAPTER XVI
END OF THE BATTLE IN EDINBURGH
The year 1873 is not one of the most dramatic in the history, but no
other has a more impressive record of work done, of resolute
determination to try every door, and to _keep on trying_.
It was becoming increasingly clear that—whatever the immediate issue of
the lawsuit might be—a wider appeal must be made. Even S. J.-B. began to
see that “no decision in our favour can give us the good will of the
Medical Faculty”; and Mr. Stansfeld’s warm and appreciative interest in
the question seemed to open a new door of hope. From this time forward
the recurrence of his fine clear handwriting in the correspondence
(brief though his letters are) is a constant reminder of how “Providence
rescues and saves His elect inheritance” as “the dear Newman” would have
said, though in another connection.
Mr. Stansfeld knew Professor Masson well, and probably began his
acquaintance with S. J.-B. in no ignorance of her _défauts_,—the
_défauts_ that made so many timorous; but, like Masson, he was a strong
man; like Masson he thought Carlyle was right in holding that “on the
whole we make too much of faults”; and to the end of the long history he
rejoiced wholeheartedly in the magnificent acumen and strength of Sophia
Jex-Blake.
S. J.-B. had made his acquaintance at the time of her lecture, and now,
after some little correspondence, she saw him again, and received his
introduction to some of his colleagues.
We quote from diary:
“Dec. 10th [1872] To London. At Cordery’s till 13th.
11th Wednesday. Saw Stansfeld at Whitehall. Then Simon, who, though
not very sanguine as to value of women doctors, is quite clear they
must have a chance. Suggests that the Colleges _could_ not refuse to
examine us. Lord Ripon also kindly,—quite inclined to make Medical Act
as dependent as possible on Registration. Lowe marvellously civil.
Very glad to see me, was quite clear it was a case for legislation. If
we lost the lawsuit, he would consult with Stansfeld, and do all he
could.
Tuesday, 17th. (Dear old man’s birthday,—would have been 82!) To
Yaxham. Mother fairly well.
For next 10 days stayed much in bed, read _Gil Blas_, etc., in utter
dearth of books. Worried by letters and telegrams from Edinburgh.
Thursday 26th. Started back for Edinburgh. Carriage to myself whole
way. Arrived
Friday 6 a.m. Slept an hour or two. Then 4 hours’ cab and canvassing;
and so on for next week.”
“Monday, Jan. 6th. 1873. Infirmary meeting. We apparently beaten by
279 to 271—pending scrutiny. Turner and Lister waved hats and
hurrahed!”
“Feb. 10th. The piety of the Infirmary Managers actually obliged them
to turn us out of Sunday visit, at least ‘for the present.’ Cowan[111]
delightfully indignant for once at ‘breach of faith’.
Feb. 16th. He went to Infirmary during Sunday visit; and went away,
telling Mrs. Thorne oracularly that ‘he had seen quite enough for his
purpose’.
Feb. 17th. Monday. He made a tremendous row at Managers’ Meeting. Said
that the previous day he had visited the wards and ‘had never seen a
more truly Christian, more truly Sabbatic sight, than the ladies at
the sick-beds.’ By 10 to 6 votes in again.”
Footnote 111:
Lord Provost.
Such were the ups and downs of daily life.
* * * * *
The question was raised at this time of having one or more women on the
School Board, and S. J.-B. took up the matter enthusiastically. It was
useless to remind her that she had more than enough on her hands
already. Here was a matter in which she really could serve. And a great
occasion it proved. Even those who were children at the time have not
forgotten the wild excitement in Edinburgh over that election, and the
lift given to the whole woman movement when the two lady candidates—Miss
Phoebe Blyth and Miss Flora Stevenson—appeared on the list second only
to the Roman Catholic priest, who had, of course, all the suffrages of
the faithful.
“You and Miss Blake must have half killed yourselves in getting a
Committee with such names as you have,” Miss Blyth had written.
“If you and Miss M‘Laren had not gone in so strongly for my interests,”
wrote Miss Stevenson, “I should have found myself _very_ much lower.”
So perhaps it was worth while, for the place taken by the women on the
list was a weapon of good fighting force for the future.
It was a helpful distraction too for S. J.-B. herself, and at that
moment the constant pressure of unsatisfactory difficulties and worries—
some few of these latter, of course, created by herself—was very
wearisome. Always something trying to do, and never anything to show for
it,—that was the record of her life at the time. Here is a heart cry
such as one seldom gets from her now:
“Sunday, May 18th.—Oh, dear!—for some brightness and freshness and
pleasure to break the long grey wait and work!—Nothing’s wrong,—I’m
fairly well, and by no means unhappy. I’ve the real essentials of
happiness,—love and work,—but the fruition of both seems so far away!
And I want 3 or 4 days of bright sunshine,—rides and drives, ices and
champagne!—easy luxurious life for a few days’ change.
Ah, well! Some day I hope to have just such a bright easy home or nest
somewhere—and to find brain and body workers to take to it for the 3
or 4 days’ rest and change! How one needs to _experience_ needs in
order to understand them!”
There are some perhaps who will read this entry with no little feeling
when they remember how, long years after, she realized this ideal in the
home of her retirement, Windydene.[112]
Footnote 112:
“... And now a flood of memories of sweet Windydene brings tears to my
eyes. No fear there of rowdy ricsha coolies in a narrow alley
quarrelling over the right of way—nor rattle of carriages with their
annoying official bell ‘Clear the way’ up to 2 a.m.—but just silent
peace. My heaven will certainly have to be silence for a space. But
Windydene contains ... and the Doctor, and I remember talks over the
drawing-room fire, and those incomparable evenings in the Doctor’s
Study, and as these thoughts make one both weepy and sentimental, I
had better stop.” _Extract from a letter from Dr. Lillie Saville,
Tientsin, Jan. 7th, 1911._
But the saving sense of humour was never less than dormant. She seldom
has time to quote jokes in the diary now, but here is the very next
entry:
“May 23rd. From Life of Barham. Dr. Thos. Hume charged 7s. 6d. instead
of 5s. for death notice, because of ‘universally beloved and deeply
regretted.’ To surly clerk,—'Congratulate yourself, Sir, that this is
an expense to which your Executors will never be put!’”
The mood was not quite evanescent, however, for the anxious Mother reads
it between the lines:
“13 Sussex Square,
28 May.
DARLING,
I fear you were very weary when you wrote; Mother’s heart is
constantly with her little one, and yearning for some little word of
her health or her interests. Though I don’t want to be selfish and
have her write _often_,—when she does write she must mention herself
and how she is getting on.
H. [a former maid] is paying me a little visit. She looks very poorly
and she jumped at my offer to come here for a week.... She asked about
you, and I lent her your book. She wishes enough there were a lady
doctor for her to consult.
Ever your loving Mummy,
M. E. J.-B.”
One is glad to know that the women students were having a course of
lectures on Medical Jurisprudence from Dr. (afterwards Sir Henry)
Littlejohn that term,—with all the delightful excursions, topographical
and mental, which that course involved. No one who has had the privilege
of the same experience can regard the history of that summer as a trial
without compensation.
* * * * *
Meanwhile the lawsuit was dragging its weary course. One cannot be
surprised that the University should have appealed against Lord
Gifford’s decision. If appeal be made to law at all, one must get the
last word of the law,—especially if, in the last resort, public funds
are available to pay for it. There were still lurking possibilities in
that little word “vir,” and it might yet be shown that the University
had done an illegal thing when it admitted the women in the first
instance. If that proved to be so—and it was the _crux_ of the whole
case—the University (so it was argued) must be held excused from all
responsibility towards the women students themselves.
* * * * *
But, if one refrains from blaming the University, one cannot
sufficiently admire the behaviour of the women students as a whole
during those trying days of uncertainty. While the younger members of
the little band were pursuing their education where and how they could,
the seniors were striving on every hand to find some open door or to
unlock one that was closed. Birmingham was at least discussed, with its
possibilities; St. Andrews, Durham, and the various centres in Ireland
were visited and worked diplomatically, and for a time not without
apparent prospect of success. It is pathetic to go through the endless
reams of correspondence—vital once with hopes and fears—that was
destined to end, for the moment at least, in nothing.
In June S. J.-B. and Miss M‘Laren went on a mission to Newcastle, and
they had scarcely left Edinburgh before Miss Pechey, who had just
returned, sent the following report:
“15 Buccleuch Place,
Edinburgh.
June 17th. 1873.
DARLING SOPH,
I was going to write to you yesterday, but was overcome with
sleep, the result, I suppose, of getting up at 5 o’clock. Last night
Millar sent a copy of the Consulted Lords’ Opinion with a note to say
that the case would be put on this week, and that the proceedings
would occupy only a few minutes—merely formal. He is to let me know
when it comes on. Ormidale, Mure, Mackenzie and Shand are dead against
us, contending that the Court had no power to make the regulations.
Deas, Ardmillan, Jerviswoode and Gifford only in favour of the
regulations holding good and our right to graduation,—but _not_ a word
as to the regulations being enforced, and we are still left at the
mercy of the individual professors.
‘That being the case, this coloured individual will take to the
woods.’ We must look either to Newcastle or St. Andrews. My only care
now about the decision of the other judges is with regard to the
expenses....
I hope the Newcastle people are behaving well.”
Individually they were behaving well of course, and individually the
applicants saw them. Two of S. J.-B.’s drafted petitions have been
preserved:
“Station Hotel,
Newcastle. June 19th. 1873.
GENTLEMEN,
Relying on the liberality with which the College of Science of
the University of Durham has been thrown open to women, I venture to
request that you will pursue a similar liberal policy with reference
to your College of Medicine, and will admit to it those women who are
desirous to enter the medical profession, and for whose education
absolutely no provision exists at this moment in Great Britain.
If it is thought desirable that separate classes should be established
in any of the subjects of medical education, I am prepared to
guarantee for such classes the payment of whatever minimum fee may be
fixed by you, and I am further in a position to state that, if your
College is thrown open, at least fifteen women will at once enrol
themselves as students.
I have the honour to be, Gentlemen,
Yours obedly,
SOPHIA JEX-BLAKE.”
“June 23rd. 1873.
DEAR SIR,
As I understand that some of the Medical Professors feel a
difficulty in arranging for the education of women, while others are
quite ready to do so, I venture to suggest whether it would not be
possible to admit ladies tentatively for a single term to the classes
of such teachers as are prepared to receive them, pending a final
decision of the whole question.
I think I mentioned to you that those among us who have studied
longest, have attended all the classes required for the Durham
licence, except those of Midwifery, Materia Medica and Therapeutics,
and that if these classes could be given in the winter session they
might present themselves for the April examination. After the
experience of such a tentative session, it might with greater
certainty be decided whether or not permanent arrangements could be
made.
Indeed, even if it should be thought impossible to make any such
partial arrangement for instruction, it might be a matter for
consideration whether the Medical Council (in conjunction with the
Durham authorities) might not agree to _examine_ women with a view to
the licence, if they presented certificates of having attended all the
necessary classes, and if they paid the fees for one session at
Newcastle, even without attending classes there, in case such
attendance should be found impracticable.
Commending the whole question to the most favourable consideration of
yourself and your colleagues, I remain,
Yours obedly,
SOPHIA JEX-BLAKE.”
At least she and Miss M‘Laren were not kept waiting long in suspense. On
the very same day the answer was despatched:
“University of Durham College of Medicine,
Newcastle on Tyne.
June 23rd. 1873.
DEAR MISS BLAKE,
I am requested to forward you a copy of a resolution passed
unanimously at an extraordinary meeting of members held today.
‘That the members of this College, at an extraordinary meeting, having
considered the question of opening the Classes of the College for the
education of women, decide that they cannot consent to the application
made, either as to education or as to Examination for Licences and
Degrees.’
I am,
Yours very truly,
W. C. M. ARNISON, M.D.,
_Secretary_.”
St. Andrews seemed more hopeful. Professor Campbell, as we know, was
more than favourable; so was Professor Baynes; there is a thoroughly
encouraging letter from Principal Tulloch at this time as to the
prospects; and Professor Birrell wrote “in a friendly spirit to the
cause which has been ennobled by the rare spirit with which you and your
friends have fought a hard fight in its defence.”
One wonders whether he had the faintest idea _how_ hard the fight had
been.
In any case opposition proved too strong, and nothing was done at St.
Andrews.
One must remember that the full equipment of the medical side of the
University was a big financial undertaking; and, although the women were
prepared to bear their share, they were naturally unwilling to do this
without some pledge that they would not be left stranded in the first
emergency. Moreover, they were anxious not to lose time, and above all
things St. Andrews was unwilling to be hurried.
Dr. King Chambers urged the women to get their classes somehow—anyhow,
and then to “practise boldly as unregistered practitioners who are ready
to submit to examination when called upon.”
A heroic piece of advice all round. One hopes the unregistered
practitioners would be allowed breathing space “when called upon” to
refresh their recollection—for instance—of the preparations of opium!
Meanwhile Mrs. Thorne was working hard to arrange classes in Edinburgh,
and—failing the University degree—to secure for women the Licence of the
Royal Colleges of Physicians and Surgeons—a privilege which was actually
granted some dozen years later. She and others were also enquiring about
the possibilities of the Apothecaries’ Society of London and the
Apothecaries’ Hall of Ireland, and, with a view to this, S. J.-B. went
the length of securing a legal apprenticeship to her old friend and
teacher, Mr. Salzmann of Brighton, who was most anxious to help her if
he could. In fact no stone was left unturned.
The women students were really so restrained, so admirable, through all
this, that it is a positive relief to come upon the following outburst
some months later from Miss Pechey:
“Langham, Colchester,
October 12th. 1873.
MY DARLING SOPH,
Since I saw you I have indeed suffered many things of many
physicians, and my temper is no better but rather worse. It is,
however, gradually working down to its normal again. If I could only
have spoken my mind when they talked their conceited bosh about their
infinite superiority, and said,—‘Do you know what a poor fool you are
making of yourself?’—it wouldn’t have been so hard; but to sit still,
smiling benignantly, when men, commonplace enough, goodness knows, in
everything but their uncommon stupidity, boasted of their mental
capacity!—it was no wonder that, having to bottle it all up, while I
mused the fire burned. They are so like the fools that David had to
contend with that I can’t help quoting him.”
After reporting progress, she goes on: “Still I would not have Mrs.
Thorne stop in her arrangements for classes in Edinburgh, as I think
we have no chance, the influence of the medical men being so much
against us.
Yes, I am curious. I wonder what it is. Perhaps another hopdog? The
other died this morning,—poor thing, it had had to go too long without
food, and even fresh hops did not revive it.
Please give my love to Scrap....
I will telegraph to you when I hear from S.
Yours lovingly,
EDITH.”
Meanwhile the great decision of the Edinburgh Lords had been formally
given. The Lord Justice-General, being Chancellor of the University,
gave no judgment, but the Lord Justice-Clerk and four others, including
all the remaining judges of the First Division were in favour of the
women students. The seven remaining judges, including Lord Mure and Lord
Shand, were against the women students; so the case was lost by the
usual “narrow majority.”
The adverse judgment was based mainly on the opinion that the University
Court had, in 1869, done an illegal thing in admitting women to the
University at all, and on this ground the authorities were held excused
from all responsibility towards the women themselves.
As we look back on the episode after all these years, the point that
stands out is the brave and luminous judgment of the Lord Justice-Clerk,
of which the following is, from our point of view, the most interesting
passage:
“To deny the women students the degree which was essential to their
entering the profession, and with a view to which they had studied, on
the pretext—for it was no better—that no such end was ever
contemplated, was entirely unjust and unwarranted; and that all the
more that all the evils said to be connected with the admission of
females to the University attached only to the study which was
permitted, while the honour could injure no one, and was only valuable
as the passport to the medical profession, with which, as a body, the
defenders had no concern. That this question of graduation, from
whatever cause, was in reality the sole matter in dispute, was
sufficiently evident from the pleading of the defenders themselves. No
doubt they devoted a large portion of their argument to prove that
women never had been, and never ought to be, admitted to University
study; but in the sequel they disclosed with sufficient frankness that
if the pursuers would have contented themselves with mere certificates
of proficiency, and would have abandoned their claim for graduation,
they might possibly have fared better. This alternative implied
university study, and, therefore, as graduation was the cardinal point
in the case, his opinion was that, on completing the curriculum as
matriculated students, the pursuers were entitled by the existing
rules of the University to be admitted to graduation, and, indeed, he
had found little of argument addressed to prove the contrary. This, in
his opinion, was sufficient for the decision of this case. It was,
however, maintained by the defenders that the University Court had no
power to pass these regulations; they said that by the constitution of
the University no woman could be admitted either for study or for
graduation, and that the regulations and all that has followed upon
them were therefore a mere nullity, and could receive no effect. He
thought this answer entirely irrelevant. Questions might no doubt
arise between the superior and subordinate powers in the University as
to the legality of the former’s orders, and these might legitimately
be called in question. But, when a student had entered the University,
and had duly conformed to the rules on the faith of which he entered,
it would be no defence on the part of the Senatus to his claim to
graduate that the rules under which he had been admitted were liable
to legal objection. The duty of the Senatus was to obey the _de facto_
law of the University, and any other principle would be not only
subversive of academical discipline, but would lead to the greatest
injustice, as he thought was the case here. The matriculation of the
student created an implied contract between him and the University
authorities that, if he complied with the existing rules, they would
confer the benefits in the hope of which he resorted to the
University. They could not, after the student had performed his part
of the engagement, refuse to fulfil theirs, on the ground that the
contract was made under rules which it was beyond the power of their
academical superiors to make. They could not compel the student, as a
condition of his graduation, to take upon himself the defence of the
laws of the University; his sole duty was to obey them, and if their
lawfulness was disputed, that must be done in a question with those
who made them, not with the student who trusted to them.”
The women students were ordered to pay the expenses of the appeal: and
thus ended the hard fought “Battle in Edinburgh.”
CHAPTER XVII
THE QUESTION IN PARLIAMENT
How far S. J.-B. was depressed in mind and body by the events of that
wearing fight, we can fairly guess. But nothing had happened to disturb
in the smallest degree her faith,—her philosophy of life. She never
doubted that she was fighting the battle of the Lord; but—greatly though
she hoped, sure though she felt of final victory for her cause—she was
always, in the background of her being, absolutely prepared for the
defeat of any one of her plans. In the thick of the combat, she seemed
so engrossed that comrades and onlookers were wont to say,—“Defeat will
kill her,” but this was a complete misunderstanding of her attitude. The
moment defeat came, it was accepted as simply the will of God, though it
well might be that God still meant her to try again.
In the occasional great affairs of later life it was positively
startling to contrast her apparent inability to recognize another side
to the question at issue with her instant acceptance of an adverse
decision when it came. But for the vital record we now possess of her
youth, most people would have had no clue. She was not ordinarily taken
for a religious woman; but it is simply true that the watchword of her
life—passively and actively—was _Fiat voluntas tua_.
She was one of those who pray; but she would have thought it wrong to
pray for the success of a definite scheme, for the life of a friend,
even—in the hour of her greatest need—for the renewal of a broken
friendship.
And indeed there was always some comfort at hand, quite apart from the
highest philosophy. To the end of her life the words were often on her
lips, “You see we had such _excellent friends_”; and though some few
adherents were estranged because they thought the battle was being
fought too pugnaciously, others became increasingly impressed by the
extraordinary constancy shown by the fighters, and, in particular, by
the protagonist’s rare and individual type of unworldliness, an
unworldliness which, just because it was individual, often made life
rather difficult for her supporters.
Here is a letter from one of the Edinburgh professors, who in the early
days had begged S. J.-B. not to speak harshly of an Alma Mater of which
she would yet be proud, and who, later, had congratulated her on a book
which “tells a very sad and disgraceful story, and tells it clearly and
temperately and effectively,—all the more effectively because your
justifiable indignation is kept well within bounds”:
“Edinburgh, 21 Oct. 1873.
DEAR MADAM,
I send you herein a cheque for five pounds towards the law
expenses of the lady medical students in the recent trial.
If I had the misfortune to be a member of the University Court, I
should think myself bound in honour to pay my individual proportion of
the whole expense incurred by these ladies in consequence of their
supposing that this learned Court knew the extent of its own powers.
Horace’s words, ‘_Delirant reges, plectuntur Achivi_,’ may in this
case be rendered, ‘The University Court blundered, and the Ladies are
mulcted in the costs.’ If any sense of justice is still extant in this
country, the result must be, not only the payment of these costs by
public subscription, but a more than ever energetic agitation for the
overthrow of male monopoly in the medical profession.
Yours most truly,
W. B. HODGSON.
Miss Stevenson.”
Immediately after the legal decision had been given, the _Spectator_
took up the question in an article “Women’s Wrongs at Edinburgh,” of
which the following sentences give the gist:
“To canvass the legality of the judgment itself is alike beyond the
present writer’s competency and his wish, though it may be permitted
to remark that the best known names are found in the minority, and
that the reasonings on the other side, while turning on a very narrow
principle, are exceedingly discursive and inconsequent.
... The Senate included some staunch friends of the lady students, and
about an equal number of resolute opponents, but the indifferent
majority who swayed the action of the body appears to have had no aim
except to hush up a troublesome affair. Their policy was to do all
they could to oblige the applicants, meanwhile trusting to the chapter
of accidents to escape the difficulties that might come after.”
This was shrewd and true.
Within a few days a long and exhaustive review of the position and its
possibilities, from the pen of Mrs. Garrett Anderson, appeared in the
_Times_, in the course of which the writer urged that the time was not
ripe for the medical education of women in Great Britain, and that “in
no way could women better serve the cause we desire to promote than by
going to Paris to study medicine, and returning here as soon as might be
to practise it.” “Never,” she said, “was there a case in which the truth
of the adage, ‘Solvitur ambulando,’ was more likely to make itself
felt.” [In the spirit of Professor Hodgson’s translation of Horace, one
may say, in fact, that “the difficulty might be solved by crossing the
Channel.”]
Of course S. J.-B. did not agree with her, and she wrote a detailed
reply[113] which Jupiter supported with a leading utterance in his own
name. He was not enthusiastic about women doctors at all, but in this
particular difference of opinion he gave his vote for the “equally
deserving, but hitherto less fortunate aspirant to the position of a
legally qualified practitioner.”[114]
Footnote 113:
Appendix E.
Footnote 114:
“In this case, as in most others, those who say they want a thing must
put their own shoulders to the wheel in order to obtain it, and must
be prepared to back the soundness of their opinions. If only twenty
women annually could be added to the ranks of the medical profession
in this country, the expediency of the addition would be speedily
removed from the domain of controversy, and the expression, ‘Solvitur
ambulando,’ which Mrs, Anderson calls an adage, would be applicable to
the case.”
_Times_, August 23rd, 1873.
S. J.-B. knew more of the hidden springs than anyone, and she did not
consider that the time had come to give in. She who had borne the brunt
of so many disappointments was still full of hope. She wanted her own
country to give her this thing. Above all she felt that “so long as no
means of education are provided at home, only a very small number of
women will ever seek admission to the profession.”
“This last consideration,” she says, “was to me conclusive.”
“I greatly admire your letter to Mrs. G. Anderson,” wrote Professor
Hodgson, “and I am truly glad to see that you are not so despondent as I
am. The passive power of resistance on the part of those who hold a
position is terribly difficult to overcome. It is not mere _inertia_;
that would be bad enough. Ultimate success I do not at all despair of,
but individual life is short and the journey is long and arduous.”
Both _Times_ and _Spectator_ spoke severely of the behaviour of the
University, and on September 1st an _apologia_ appeared from the pen of
the Principal. It was just the letter one might have expected from an
able, urbane, scholarly gentleman; he scanned the whole history “as we
do our own poetry, laying stress on the right syllables and passing
lightly over a halting foot.” It would have been a fine and conclusive
defence,—if Jupiter had not allowed a poor overworked medical student to
answer it. The two letters represent two conflicting schools of
historians, the one sweeping, picturesque, probable: the other definite,
statistical, true. The former is certainly the easier to read. The
correspondence is so essentially typical of many of the “disputes” S.
J.-B. had with others in the course of her life that it is given in full
in the appendix.[115]
Footnote 115:
Appendix F.
“I have seen the Venerable Principal’s letter,” wrote a distinguished
lawyer from Uig, “for even in these uttermost parts of the earth the
_Scotsman_ has reached me, and I need not say what I thought of it. I
read also with great satisfaction your thorough demolition of the
learned and venerable and inaccurate gentleman, and the _Scotsman’s_
excellent punching of his head.”
S. J.-B. spent part of that summer holiday visiting Norfolk cousins, and
she took the opportunity to read a paper on her special subject at the
Social Science Congress at Norwich, under the auspices of her friend,
Professor Hodgson, who was President of the Education Section.[116] Here
she made two friendships of great value,—one with Miss Louisa Hubbard,
whose sister, Lady Rendel, had been S. J.-B.’s schoolfellow; the other,
even more memorable, with Miss Pauline Irby, who was just entering upon
her heroic and self-sacrificing life work in Bosnia. In October S. J.-B.
returned to Edinburgh to clinch the arrangements Mrs. Thorne was making
for the winter session.
Footnote 116:
Lord Houghton was President of the Congress. In a letter to his wife,
dated October 3rd, 1873, he says, “Miss Jex-Blake and Mrs. Grey both
spoke capitally.” Lord Houghton’s _Life_, vol. ii. p. 281.
It is one more instance of the extraordinary, dogged perseverance of
those women that during that winter session the lectures were delivered
to women as before by Edinburgh Extra-Mural lecturers, the subjects
being Materia Medica, Pathology and Midwifery. S. J.-B. attended these
lectures when she could, and took honours in all of them; but she was
already in correspondence with Dr. Anstie and others as to the
possibility of opening some school for women in the larger and more
impersonal milieu of London. As a matter of fact, the whole centre of
interest had changed. The question was now potentially before
Parliament,—not indeed as a question of practical politics to be decided
by the rank and file, but as a matter for private discussion by a few
men of courage and vision.
“It was necessary,” wrote Mr. Stansfeld in reviewing the history three
years later,[117] “to appeal to a yet higher tribunal. Such appeal might
have been made on the question of law to the House of Lords; but that
would have meant further indefinite delay and further heavy expense, and
then, if the result were favourable, a probable refusal of the
university to act on their ascertained powers. It was necessary to
_secure_ the admission of women to medical study and practice, and not
merely to ascertain that one out of nineteen examining bodies could
admit them if it liked. Miss Jex-Blake and her friends determined to
widen their appeal, to base it on the ground of right, and to address it
to Parliament and to public opinion.”
Footnote 117:
“Medical Women,” by the Right Hon. James Stansfeld, M.P., _Nineteenth
Century_, July, 1877.
As early as August 1872 Sir David Wedderburn (on behalf of Sir Robert
Anstruther) had moved that the vote for the Scottish Universities should
be reduced by the amount of the salaries of the Edinburgh Medical
Professors. He explained that the motion was brought forward in order to
lay before the House the course followed by the authorities of the
University of Edinburgh, but that, in view of the fact that the Lord
Ordinary, had, a few days before, given a judgment in favour of the
ladies, he hoped the University would accept the decision as final and
as indicating to them their duties in the matter; and he would therefore
refrain from pressing the motion to a division.
When the University appealed against the Lord Ordinary’s decision, and
got it reversed on appeal, Sir David Wedderburn, on July 29th, 1873,
gave notice that he would, early in the following session, bring in a
Bill to grant to the Scottish Universities the power they were now
supposed not to possess, to educate women in medicine and to grant to
them the ordinary medical degrees.
It was highly desirable, of course, to secure Government support for
this Bill, and in October we find S. J.-B. in correspondence with the
Home Secretary. There is a long letter marked “Private” in which Mr.
Lowe (Lord Sherbrooke) expresses his view of the matter, and asks her to
let him know what course she proposes to follow. Shortly after, we get
the following:
“Secretary of State,
Home Department.
Oct. 13. 1874.
MY DEAR MISS JEX-BLAKE,
I have done what I can to forward your views. I should think you
would be met by the same legal difficulty in Ireland as in Scotland.
But though it may not be very agreeable to my constituents I should
have no objection if this were the only obstacle to introduce an
enabling Bill giving all Universities the power if they please to
confer medical degrees or indeed any other degrees on women.
Believe me,
Very truly yours,
ROBERT LOWE.”
Clearly she was eager to follow up the opening, for ten days later he
writes again:
“I am afraid I cannot commit the Government to introducing the Bill
without consulting them. I will do so at the Cabinets which will take
place next month and tell you the result.”[118]
“The matter has been discussed to-day,” writes Mr. Stansfeld on Dec.
1st, “but nothing is settled; I apprehend difference of opinion....
I should advise personal communication with members of the Government
before January Cabinets. A concise but complete and temperate
statement in favour of legislation would, I think, be useful.”
Footnote 118:
Mr. Lowe’s advocacy was strengthened by a fine memorial presented to
him at this time by 471 graduates of the University of London, praying
that the benefits of the University should be extended to women. This
memorial was secured through the exertions of Dr. Alfred Shewen.
So, early in January, S. J.-B. went up to London to interview ministers
and others.
“Jan. 7th. Wednesday. Mr. Lowe, 4 p.m. Very cordial and courteous.
Would certainly bring in a Bill if his colleagues allowed him,—very
doubtful if they would,—if not, would help Wedderburn all he could,
‘and I can do a great deal.’
Thought Enabling Bill more hopeful than compelling Medical Boards to
examine.”
“Jan. 10th. Saturday. In morning at Museum, looking up Charters of
Colleges, etc.
2 p.m. Sir J. Lubbock. Pleasant and friendly,—non-committal rather.
Would talk with Wedderburn,—‘generally agreed with him.’
At 4 p.m. Stansfeld. Friendly as ever. Thought Selborne’s opinion most
important.”
After a few days spent with Mrs. Jex-Blake at Brighton the tale
proceeds:
“Tuesday, 20th. At 1 p.m. saw Lord Aberdare,—quite friendly,—‘should
heartily support Bill.’ Was quite willing that Bill should come from
his office, by Forster.
2 p.m. Grant Duff, friendly but not encouraging as to his power to
help with Cabinet.
Wednesday 21st. Saw Thos. Hughes, 10 a.m. Very friendly. Would speak
to Forster, etc....
Thursday 22nd. Breakfasted with the Russell Gurneys. Very friendly. He
quite ready to put his name on back of Wedderburn’s Bill. On the whole
encouraged to get special Exam. and practise in spite of Act, if no
legislation to be got.[119]
11 a.m. Lady Selborne—‘knew nothing about’ our question,—laughed at
the idea of my seeing the Chancellor—but listened fairly to what I had
to say,—seemed impressed by the facts and by the attention of the
other ministers,—promised to report fairly what I had said.
Not specially courteous or gracious, but I think honest.”
“8.30 p.m. express from King’s Cross to Edinburgh.
Friday 23rd. Illuminations, etc., for Duke of Edinburgh’s wedding day.
Saturday, 24th. Dissolution! What next?”
Footnote 119:
“I was very much troubled by your last letter,” wrote Dr. Sewall a
month later, “for the idea of your beginning to practise without a
diploma seems to me such a mistake. It appears to me that by
practising illegally in that way, you will be giving up all you have
been fighting for, and will be opening a way that some women who have
not studied thoroughly may use; and there will be no way of your
showing the public the difference between your qualifications.”
It was only too true. The time of reaction had come after a long period
of reforming energy under Mr. Gladstone, and now—failing to find an
adequate rallying cry for his party—he dissolved Parliament and appealed
to the country. In the confusion of the moment the Home Secretary did
not forget the women students.
“MY DEAR MISS JEX-BLAKE,
I am sorry to say that in the present state of things it is
quite impossible for me to bring in a Bill on your subject or indeed
on any other. I don’t think you will find much difficulty in getting a
man.
I congratulate you on your brother’s appointment.[120]
Very truly yours,
R. LOWE.”
Footnote 120:
To the Headmastership of Rugby.
This was followed on February 10th by a letter from Mr. Stansfeld:
“DEAR MISS JEX-BLAKE,
The Conservatives will certainly come in and for a long time. I should
have thought that Russell Gurney might not improbably now be placed
upon the Bench. I don’t suppose that a political appointment would
suit him; unless it were that of Speaker and I have not heard his name
mentioned for it.
I think you can’t do better than ask him, saying at the same time that
you cannot but see that the coming political change may make it out of
his power to comply.
It is all very extraordinary and mortifying.
Yours truly,
J. STANSFELD.”
The suggested letter was roughly drafted forthwith:
“To Russell Gurney.
Will you forgive me if, at such a busy and engrossing time, I venture
to trouble you about our comparatively small affairs, very important
as they are to us.
You are, of course, aware that Sir David Wedderburn is no longer in
Parliament,[121] and I suppose it is quite certain that the present
Government must go out, so that Mr. Lowe cannot at least introduce the
Bill as Home Secretary, and thus on both hands our prospects are at an
end.
I venture, however, to rely on the kind interest you expressed in our
cause, and to ask you whether it would be possible for you to induce
the Conservative Government to take it up, or, if not, whether we
might hope for your personal help still farther in the matter,—if you
do not take office, as I hear you may. I think Mr. Lowe would be
willing to help us as a private member, and it occurred to me as
possible that you and he might take up the Bill jointly so as to
conciliate both sides of the House.
I am personally very ignorant of political matters, and of what could
and what could not be done. I shall feel it the greatest possible
favour if you will kindly tell me how far you can help us in this
matter, and will give me any advice on the subject which may occur to
you. It is of extreme importance to us that the Bill should, if passed
at all, be passed as soon as possible, as it will at any rate be
difficult enough to make arrangements in time for next winter’s
session, and we can ill afford to lose another year.
I trust that you will at least excuse me for thus troubling you.
Yours truly obliged,
S. J.-B.”
Footnote 121:
Sir David Wedderburn did not offer himself for re-election.
A most gracious answer to this arrived without loss of time:
“Queen’s Hotel, Hastings,
13th. Feb.
DEAR MISS JEX-BLAKE,
Although politically opposed to Sir D. Wedderburn, yet for your
sake and for that of the cause which he so faithfully supported I can
sincerely regret the loss of his seat.
I really do not know what course to advise you to pursue. My absence
from Parliament during nearly the whole of the two last Sessions makes
it more difficult for me than it would have otherwise have been.
I should think that it would scarcely be possible to get the new
Government as a Government to take up the measure. Coming in at the
time they do they will be sure to take up as few measures as possible.
If a Bill is brought in by Mr. Lowe or anyone else I would not only
support it but use any little influence I may have with the Ministry
to induce them not to oppose it.
The state of my health is such that I cannot undertake to take charge
of the Bill. I have come here in order to get a little rest before the
Meeting of Parliament and I am under positive orders from my doctor to
avoid all extra work.
I fear indeed that during the next Session I am likely to be a
somewhat useless member.
I shall always be ready to consult with you, though at present I
confess that I do not see my way.
Believe me,
Very sincerely yours,
RUSSELL GURNEY.”
It was characteristic of the vicissitudes of S. J.-B.’s life at the time
that within a few days of receiving this letter she had a telegram from
Mrs. Jex-Blake’s physician at Brighton: “Your Mother is very poorly. I
should like you to come.”
This was delivered at 8 p.m., and it is needless to say that she started
by the night train. A fortnight of anxious nursing followed; but her
affairs were not forgotten:
“Local Government Board,
Whitehall. Feb. 24. 74.
DEAR MASSON,
I have heard, of course, also from Miss Jex-Blake. I won’t say
‘No’ at any rate at present.
First I will see Lowe and ascertain his mind; and then I should like
to see if someone more acceptable to Dizzy cannot be found. I think
one must look around one first in the new Parliament, before deciding.
Is not the Bill you propose simply one enabling Universities to grant
Degrees to women; or what else do you propose?
Whether it is good or bad I should tell you that the wirepulling and
newspaper doctors _hate me_.
Yours ever,
J. STANSFELD.”
“Feb. 25th. 74.
DEAR MASSON,
I have seen Lowe about your proposed Bill.
He is ‘heartily’ for it, but thinks that he and I had better support
and not originate. Just now, he says, whatever we do will probably be
considered wrong, as the tide is against us, and for this reason none
of these Bills should be _introduced_ by any of us ex-cabinet
ministers. Moreover if any of them are to pass they must be made as
little unacceptable as possible to Dizzy & Co., which means that they
had better be proposed and seconded by men on either side of the
House—one on one side and one on the other—but not by us.
I must say that the more I think of it the more I find this reasoning
sound. And I am prepared to _advise_ therefore that you should not ask
either Lowe or me.
As to myself there is another special reason, to which I have already
referred, why it might be more prudent not to choose me, viz. that
‘the doctors’ hate me; and tho’ I can’t see exactly how that fact
might operate, it might at least be admitted that it might operate
unfavourably, and that therefore it would be safer to look elsewhere.
I won’t write to Miss Jex-Blake yet, but will wait to hear from you
what you think.
Of course I would willingly support and help.
Yours ever,
J. STANSFELD.”
“10, Regent Terrace, Edinr.
Feb. 26, 1874.
DEAR MISS JEX-BLAKE,
I have had two letters from Mr. Stansfeld, which I enclose. The
second, you will see, is less favourable than the first, though not
absolutely conclusive. In reply I have expressed my belief that the
second objection—that about his relation to the ‘doctors’—can matter
little, inasmuch as we can’t expect anyone who takes up the cause to
be a darling of the doctors or to remain one[122]; but on the other
objection I have not felt able to say much against the experienced
instinct of Mr. Lowe and himself. On the one side there may be a good
deal in their feeling that for an ex-minister of the Gladstone Cabinet
to move the Bill may move Disraeli to criticism, if not to opposition;
on the other it seems essential that the lead should be taken by an
eminent and faithful man. You will weigh the whole matter in London
and consult.
I daresay it will be best not to publish the Memorial to Disraeli till
the receipt of it is acknowledged. I have all the renewed
signatures[123] now except the Edinburgh ones; and these, I hope, will
be completed today or tomorrow.
Yours very truly,
DAVID MASSON.”
Footnote 122:
We must never forget that a minority of doctors had been helpful all
along. Years before this a petition to Parliament in favour of the
women had been signed by nearly two hundred.
Footnote 123:
The Memorial had been originally addressed to Gladstone.
“Stoke Lodge,
Hyde Park Gate, W.
Feb. 28. 74.
DEAR MISS JEX-BLAKE,
I could see you either on Monday or Tuesday afternoon. But
where? For the Local Government Board knows me no more.
I shall be working at the Athenaeum on Monday afternoon, and could
therefore easily call on you anywhere in town.
I could see you _here_ on the Tuesday and could make any time
convenient, but the morning would be most so.
Pray let me know.
I enclose Mr. Lowe’s and Mr. Russell Gurney’s notes. You have heard
from Masson, I presume. I wrote after seeing Lowe. But I will postpone
telling you of our interview till we meet.
Yours truly,
J. STANSFELD.”
A sharp little illness made it difficult for Mr. Stansfeld to pursue the
matter for a week or two, but finally we get the following:
“15 Gt. Stanhope Street, W.
March 21.
DEAR STANSFELD,
I am quite ready to take up the case of the women students if a
good Bill can be framed, and I shall have to see you on Monday at the
House.
Ever yours,
W. COWPER TEMPLE.”
[Telegram] “March 23rd. Cowper Temple, Great Stanhope Street to Miss
Jex-Blake, 15 Buccleuch Place, Edinburgh.
Can you tell me a lawyer who knows the subject and will frame the Bill
or advise about it.”
This was apparently followed by a letter, for, at the earliest possible
moment on March 24th, S. J.-B. sent down a note by hand to her
solicitor:
“DEAR MR. MILLAR,
An eminent M.P. has undertaken to bring in an Enabling Bill to
_enable_ Universities to educate and graduate women on the same terms
as men, and I have just got a letter asking me to send up a draft of
such Bill. As you are the best authority on such matters I should like
to see you at once about it, and should be extremely glad if you could
sketch out a draft beforehand, as time is of the greatest moment.
Could I see you if I called between 12.30 and 1 p.m.?
Yrs. truly,
S. JEX-BLAKE.”
The Draft Bill seems to have been posted that afternoon, and the
following day another telegram arrived:
“March 25th. Rt. Hon. Stansfeld, London, to Miss Jex-Blake, 15
Buccleuch Place, Edinburgh.
I have seen Mr. Cowper Temple and we advise you to come and see him.”
So of course S. J.-B. travelled up to London next day.
[Diary] “March 26th. Summoned up to London about Cowper Temple’s Bill.
He very kind, plenty of good will.... Stansfeld admirable. Gurney do.,
only from health inactive. Lowe, Gallio-like.”
A day or two later S. J.-B. dined with the Cowper Temples and details
were threshed out.
“I am so glad,” writes Miss M‘Laren, “that you have succeeded so well,
and find Mr. Cowper Temple such a nice man and energetic besides,—and
trust all may go well. I am not afraid of opposition at all, but what
I do fear is that at this late season it may not get through.”
“Broadlands.
April 15.
To Miss Jex-Blake:
... Mr. Ewing consented when I explained the Bill to him, and
his name with that of Mr. Gurney and Dr. Cameron are on the back of
the Bill. I am not very sanguine of success if a serious opposition
should be manifested, but I have hopes that the moderation of the
measure may have the effect of not calling forth the latent antagonism
that exists against the cause.
But whether the Bill passes or not, it must advance the cause, for at
least we shall have a good debate on the subject.
I talked to Sir W. Maxwell when I first thought of undertaking a Bill
and I found that he took the view that in his representative position
as Rector of Edinburgh University he ought not to take a part in a
question in which there is so much difference of opinion and warmth of
feeling. I have fixed Friday 24th for the second reading, but am not
at all sure that it can come on that evening as there will be many
questions before it.
I return to London tomorrow.
Yours—[illegibly],
W. C. TEMPLE.
The names on the back of the Bill are
Mr. Cowper Temple,
Mr. Russell Gurney,
Mr. Orr Ewing,
Dr. Cameron.”
There was much discussion as to the desirability of keeping quiet about
the Bill, and allowing it to slip through, if possible, without arousing
all the energies of the opposition.
“10 Regent Terrace,
Edinburgh.
April 1, 1874.
DEAR MISS JEX-BLAKE,
Best thanks for your letter. From what it says and from what I
had heard before to the same effect from Miss M‘Laren, I have not the
least doubt of the practical wisdom of the limitation of the Bill to
the Scottish Universities. The difficulty of taking such differently-
constituted Universities along in the Bill has struck me so far; but I
had not thought of the special difficulty that might arise from
jealousy of the divided powers of the University of London. But, while
_our_ Bill goes on alone, there is no reason why the other
universities should not be _moving_, each for itself, and all such
movement would help ours.
I am not so sure of the policy of _silence_ about our Bill. Miss
M‘Laren will have told you that Dr. Lyon Playfair has alarmed our
people here by informing them of it, and asking their opinion. There
is a Committee on watch with power to call a Senatus meeting when the
Bill is perfectly known. Possibly, when they see it, they may feel
inclined to do nothing, seeing that it only legitimises the power the
University thought it possessed when it passed the regulations; but no
one can tell. All that Dr. L. P. wanted was advice for himself; and
nothing, even of that kind, can be done collectively, except by
Senatus—as the Committee is for observation only. Still the matter is
public; and _individuals_ may be at work. Also the fact and drift of
the Bill have been mentioned in the newspapers, e.g. by the London
correspondent of the Glasgow _Mail_. If, in these circumstances, you
are of opinion that the memorial to Mr. Disraeli may be published,
please return my copy with the signatures; and I will send it to our
_three_ papers here—where perhaps it ought to appear first. But you
will, of course, act with the advice of Mr. Cowper Temple and others;
and I won’t publish till you give the word. Anyhow it might be best to
return the memorial to me. A telegraph from you would then tell me to
publish any day—if not immediately.
Yours very truly,
DAVID MASSON.”
“April 15, 1874.
DEAR MISS JEX-BLAKE,
After reading today the _Scotsman’s_ report of the introduction
of the Bill, and observing how quietly and cautiously it seems to be
framed (‘to remove doubts as to the powers’ etc.)[124] I have thought
it better not at once to publish the memorial. If there is any
possibility that the Bill will be let through without opposition, our
memorial, as more strongly expressed, might interfere with this. At
all events I have thought it most prudent not to be in a hurry, but to
wait a day or two till we see how Mr. C. T.’s Bill is received among
the probable enemies. Very likely they will move against it somehow,—
secretly if not publicly; and, if we find this, then our memorial
ought to come out as a contribution to the argument. You will perhaps
hear how Dr. Lyon Playfair and Mr. Gordon act in London: I will
observe here. Perhaps I am prudent in excess; but, once the memorial
is out, it is past recall.
Yours very truly,
DAVID MASSON.”
Footnote 124:
“A Bill to Remove Doubts as to the Powers of the Universities of
Scotland to admit Women as Students, and to grant Degrees to Women.”
“83 Belgrave Road, S.W.
16th April, 1874.
DEAR MISS JEX-BLAKE,
The bill has been introduced by Mr. Cowper Temple, and my name
is one of those on its back. If it could be smuggled through it would
of course save a great deal of time and trouble, but I am afraid it is
of no use to think of that. The moment it is published the bill will
be telegraphed to all the Scotch papers, and every professor in every
university, and almost every medical man throughout Scotland, will
perceive its drift. Moreover you must remember that the Lord Advocate
is member for Glasgow and Aberdeen University, and will have to keep
his constituents well posted up in everything affecting their
interests. If I see anything concerning the measure in the Scotch
papers, I shall forward it to you, and meanwhile remain
Yours very sincerely,
CHARLES CAMERON.
Miss Jex-Blake.”
So the glove was thrown down, and, as Dr. Cameron had predicted, the
news of it was instantly flashed from Dan to Beersheba. In a very short
time 65 petitions in favour of the Bill were presented to Parliament,
three of these being from the Town Councils of Edinburgh, Aberdeen, and
Linlithgow. There was also one from the City of Edinburgh, and one from
16,000 women. The most important, perhaps, was from twenty-six
Professors of Scottish Universities, including eight (out of fourteen)
Professors of the University of St. Andrews,—among them the Rev.
Principal Tulloch,—and thirteen Professors of the University of
Edinburgh. If Glasgow was poorly represented in number, the women had
all the more reason to be proud of the weight of the two names,—John and
Edward Caird. There was also a petition from those Edinburgh lecturers
who had actually taught the women.
Against the Bill there were four petitions:
1. From the University Court of Edinburgh.
2. From the Senatus of Edinburgh University.
3. From the Medical Faculty of the Senatus (probably identical with
2).
4. From the University of Glasgow.
The second reading of the Bill was fixed for April 24th, but at the
urgent request of Dr. Lyon Playfair, member for the University of
Edinburgh, it was postponed to a later date (“in order that his
University might have time to consider the subject”!) when the pressure
of business made it impossible to secure any day: or, as Miss M‘Laren
had predicted, it failed to “get through.” And so the whole question was
practically shelved for another year.
There was an interesting debate on the motion, however, on June 12th,
1874, when able speeches were made by Mr. Cowper Temple, Mr. Stansfeld
and others,—the two members for Edinburgh (Town and Gown) providing an
almost dramatic contrast.
Mr. M‘Laren (Town), hard-headed, shrewd man of business, bluntly
declared that “if it were a question to be decided by the intelligent
inhabitants of Edinburgh, nine-tenths would vote in its favour.... If
two or three of the professors would only take a voyage round the world,
the whole question would be satisfactorily settled before they returned.
(Laughter.) Where the male students paid three or four guineas for each
class, the ladies paid eight or ten guineas, so that money was no
obstacle. There was no difficulty, in fact, except want of will, and
that arose from medical prejudice,—at least that was the opinion of the
great majority of the people in Edinburgh.”
Dr. Lyon Playfair (Gown), scholar, courtier, man-of-the-world, had a
harder task. Even _Punch_ was moved to sympathy with him “as one in a
perplexity between his constituents and his convictions.”
* * * * *
In any case the whole question had entered on a new phase, there was
fresh enthusiasm for the cause, and, on the other hand, those who had
looked upon the idea of women doctors as an amusing absurdity, were
roused to perturbation and alarm.
CHAPTER XVIII
THE LONDON SCHOOL OF MEDICINE FOR WOMEN
It is a terrible thing for a hasty, impulsive, faulty human being to be
placed as S. J.-B. was at this time, in a difficult position—on a
slippery ridge, as it were—in the eye of the whole world. It has been
said before that few people ventured to “lecture” her: she liked to hear
the truth, and, when her friends were prepared to risk all, she took
their faithful dealing magnanimously, often nobly: but somehow she made
adverse criticism very difficult. It was said of her that she would have
made an excellent advocate,—she had so keen an eye for the strong points
of her own position and the weak points of those of her adversaries; and
it is only fair to say that, in conversation with her, many people might
well be simply carried away. In a sort of _esprit d’escalier_—or
_jugement d’escalier_—they might see the other side of the question, and
sometimes they wrote a qualifying letter to say so; but we know how few
people are prepared in life to take that amount of trouble in a matter
that does not intimately concern themselves. It is so much easier to
sympathize with those who confide to us their troubles and difficulties,
and then to vent our _jugement d’escalier_ on the man we meet in the
street below. In the course of her life S. J.-B. got more than her share
of that kind of sympathy.
We have seen that, in the matter of her examination the year before, she
did not admit the justice of her rejection. She was supported in this
attitude by the opinion of three or four lecturers and examiners in the
subjects for which she had entered, who had read her papers and had
cordially pronounced them—in writing—to be up to or above the pass
standard. Hundreds of people had, of course, expressed to her their
belief that she had not been fairly treated, and their sympathy had
steadily intensified the impression in her own mind. She would have
accepted Huxley’s verdict loyally, if _all_ the papers handed in at that
examination could have been submitted to him. No one who reads one paper
only can possibly say—except by an exercise of faith in his fellow
creatures—whether worse papers have been accepted and better rejected,
or no. It would have been strange indeed if Huxley had not had that
amount of faith in his colleagues.
From the moment of Dr. (afterwards Sir Wyville) Thomson’s appointment to
the Chair of Biology, S. J.-B. had dreaded him as an examiner, on the
ground that he was altogether adverse to the women. “You will receive no
insolence from _him_,” Professor Tait had written to her in 1871, “but I
fear that is all I can say, though it _is something_.” And previously,
“although he is not in your favour, he is not a man to take any mean or
unfair advantage.”
She ought, of course, to have accepted this judgment once for all as
that of a just man, but from the time of her examination the conviction
that she had been unfairly treated never wavered, though the whole
matter was, she thought, a thing of the past forever.
In a great controversy, however, nothing may ever be safely assumed to
be a thing of the past. It seems to be buried forever, but it lies at
the mercy of any chance turn of the spade.
And this brings us back to the point where Dr. Lyon Playfair, “in a
perplexity between his constituents and his convictions”—those
constituents meaning to all intents and purposes the “two or three
Professors” for whom the Member for Edinburgh had recommended a voyage
round the world as a means of solving the whole difficulty—Dr. Lyon
Playfair had so availed himself of the machinery of Parliament as to
shelve the whole question indefinitely.
One quite realizes that by this time it was war to the knife on both
sides, and one refrains from unduly criticising either; but it is S. J.-
B. whose life we are considering, and there can be no doubt that for
her—overworked and overstrained as she was—the situation was very hard
to bear.
And now the discussion in Parliament, literally bringing the question
“into the range of practical politics,” had stirred up all the latent
objection to the idea of women doctors, and had brought every weapon
into play. One can dimly conjecture the number and variety of assaults
that must have been made on the leading newspapers, and it is small
wonder if some of them were sorely unsettled, so much so that “the
pulpit spake pure Canterbury in the morning and Geneva in the
afternoon.”
Even the _Times_ began to talk of “all the delicacies and best charms”
of woman’s nature, and took occasion to say in a leading article, “It is
a little amusing, indeed, that one of the Ladies who had rendered
herself most conspicuous, should after all have failed under the test of
examination.” The writer did not add—perhaps he had not been informed—
that three of the fellow-students of that conspicuous Lady had
successfully passed the examination in question in a previous year; but
the playful taunt—if taunt it was—was more than the generous spirit of
one of those successful candidates could stand. She wrote an impulsive
letter, mentioning S. J.-B. by name, and explaining that it was
“devotion to our cause which led to her failure,” that “she had borne
the brunt of the battle, and had spared her fellow-students all the
harass and worry of the struggle, and had thus enabled them to enjoy the
leisure requisite for passing their examinations.”
Of course the writer should have consulted S. J.-B. before sending this
letter to the _Times_, but apparently it never occurred to her that the
defence might not be acceptable to the one defended. In any case, the
letter came upon S. J.-B. like a thunderbolt, and she committed the
great and crowning mistake of her life,—she wrote a letter to the
_Times_, implying in effect that in the matter of the examination, she
did not believe she had been fairly treated.
It was quite a temperate letter from her point of view, but—as her
brother had said—she was throwing pebbles at a fortress, and, what was
worse, throwing them under the gaze of the whole civilized world.
If Professor Crum Brown had done the Women’s Cause a service by denying
to Miss Pechey the name and privileges of Hope Scholar, S. J.-B. had now
repaid that service to him and his colleagues, full measure, pressed
down, shaken together and running over.
Under the mighty Ægis of the University of Edinburgh, the examiners
replied, and Professor Huxley himself entered the controversy in defence
of his friend, Dr. Wyville Thomson, who was away on the “Challenger”
Expedition at the time.
Miss Pechey was only restrained by prudent friends from publishing a
generous letter in which she expressed her conviction that, if Professor
Huxley had examined the Edinburgh students, 90 per cent. of them would
have failed, and she added a paragraph which shows at least how
differently a great institution may look when regarded from two
different points of view:
“It is really amusing to those who know anything of the constitution
of the University to find [the Examiners] gravely suggesting that [S.
J.-B.] could have appealed to the Medical Faculty, the Senatus, and
the University Court. The names have an imposing sound, but, when one
comes to consider, the Medical Faculty resolves itself into the
medical examiners, the Senatus (at that time of the year, before the
arts professors had returned for the winter) into the Medical Faculty,
whilst the University Court is in reality the mouthpiece of one member
who I fear would turn a deaf ear to any appeal from Miss Jex-Blake.”
Well, there it was! If the cause could have been killed, this mistake
might probably have killed it. If S. J.-B. could have been crushed, this
mistake would have crushed her. But the cause was intensely vital, and
S. J.-B. was tough.
One falls back once more on Newman’s brave and comforting words:
“The very faults of an individual excite attention—he loses, but his
cause (if good, and he powerful-minded) gains—this is the way of
things, we promote truth by a self-sacrifice.”
S. J.-B. was just starting on her holiday when the correspondence took
place, and, although Miss Stevenson and Mrs. Thorne both wrote to tell
her of the “irreparable” damage it had done, most of her friends and
supporters were disposed to let her enjoy her holiday—if she could—in
peace.
So, in the silence and repose of a sojourn in Perthshire, she laid her
future plans.
* * * * *
As early as December 6th, 1873, Dr. Anstie had written to her:
“DEAR MADAM,
I am afraid I do not see my way to any practical plan at
present.
“At Westminster it is quite possible that my colleagues would consent
to _separate_ classes. But the fatal objection is want of space; and I
could not, I feel sure, persuade them to try the experiment of mixed
classes.
I fear there is no way, except by the ladies raising money enough to
found a school for themselves. In _that_ case I, and I think others,
would be willing to go out of our way to afford them _teaching_. But
the difficulties about clinical teaching seem very great.
I will talk the matter over with my colleague, Mr. Cowell, and write
to you again....”
“16 Wimpole Street,
Dec. 12th.
DEAR MADAM,
Three or four days of complete prostration with influenza have
prevented me from finding time to talk with Mr. Cowell.
But as regards the Westminster Hospital School I think it very
unlikely that any proposition would be entertained with regard to
surrendering our position as teachers of _male_ students....
I think (so far as I can at present judge) that your best course would
be to take some premises in London, and build a thoroughly good
school, fit for first-class teaching of the theoretical courses. I
believe if that were done you would get teachers. And with that solid
evidence of sincerity and energy in your work I believe the hospitals,
or some of them, would give way and grant you hospital practice.
But this is only my first crude idea. Believe me,
Yours very faithfully,
FRANCIS ED. ANSTIE.”
It is impossible to over-estimate the whole-heartedness with which Dr.
Anstie took up the cause. There are numerous letters in which he records
the various advances and checks which he experienced in the course of
his advocacy. For a time he had hopes of inducing his own School to
admit women, but the matter got wind, and an adverse medical paper
raised all that latent opposition with which the pioneers were becoming
so familiar. From this point of view the discussion in Parliament did,
for the moment, as much harm as good, and finally we find Dr. Anstie
writing:
“16 Wimpole Street,
July 2.
DEAR MISS JEX-BLAKE,
For the moment we are thoroughly defeated, and it may be well to
rest on our oars for a little time. You will probably have heard of
the rejection by the Senate of U. L. of the proposition about degrees,
and I wrote to tell you that I also found it was impossible to induce
my colleagues at Westminster to open a female department of the
School.
I think there is nothing for it now but to make up your minds to form
a school for yourselves. Were that once done I do not think there
would be any very great difficulty in obtaining clinical instruction
and in becoming recognized by some of the corporations.
I am sorry to have had no better luck as your champion. But there is
no doubt just now for some reason or other, a strong current of
adverse opinion. As I said before I think you and the other ladies
should take counsel with your friends, and (without renewal of the
discussion in public) should set to work upon the scheme of a school.
I feel little doubt that, if you could show the positive evidence of
energy and resource afforded by the establishment of a separate school
in London, you would get both sympathy and teaching help.
Believe me,
Yours sincerely,
F. E. ANSTIE.”
Mr. Norton, too, of St. Mary’s Hospital, assured S. J.-B. that “a
thoroughly good school might be organised, apart from the existing
schools, but with friendly lecturers gathered from any or all of them.”
This suggestion obviated the very real difficulty of getting fresh
lecturers “recognised.”
Mrs. Anderson still thought the time was not ripe: Mrs. Thorne was in
Paris[125]: the other students were scattered far and wide for the
holidays. From every point of view it seemed imperative that the winter
session should be secured: so, with the help of the two men mentioned
above and of Dr. King Chambers, S. J.-B. simply did the work herself.
Footnote 125:
Mrs. Thorne on her return tried to dissuade S. J.-B. from making the
attempt; but, on finding how much had been done, she gladly coöperated
in raising funds.
The record is brief enough,—there has been no entry in the diary since
June 23rd: no reference to the _Times_ controversy at all:
“August 11th. Tuesday. To London, in one day [from Perthshire]. To
Hampstead. Rested one day.
August 13th. Thursday. To Anstie and Norton. Both encouraging and
helpful.”
Follows another of those sheaves of blank pages which always indicate
intense activity or preoccupation; and her book, _Medical Women_, just
touches on “an almost incredible amount of search, enquiry and
disappointment”; there are various stray lists of lecturers, possible,
probable and certain; and then we proceed without farther entry to:
“Sept. 15th. Actually signed lease and got possession of 30
Henrietta[126] Street. Rigged up some kind of beds and slept there
that night,—Alice coming from Wales to help me.”
Footnote 126:
The name was afterwards changed to Handel Street, and then to Hunter
Street.
Here there is a footnote:
“Miss Irby also came for a night one day this month,—grand, quiet,
strong.”
Another blank page or two, and then:
“Oct. 9th. Friday. Entered into 32 Bernard Street,[127] Mother and
all. (She nearly extinguished by mattress!)
Oct. 12th. Monday. Opening of London School of Medicine for Women.”
Footnote 127:
The house S. J.-B. had taken as her private residence.
There is no farther entry till 1875. We owe to a stranger, however, the
following pleasant description of the School as it was then:
“For the early existence of an institution like this School of
Medicine no more appropriate home could in all probability be found
within the wide area of London than the curious old house in Henrietta
Street. In a central position, within easy reach of museums and
libraries, but retired from the bustle of noisy thoroughfares, a range
of spacious rooms stretches a long front towards the green sward of an
old-fashioned garden. Apartments admirably adapted for the purpose of
lecture halls ‘give,’ as the Americans say, from underneath a broad
verandah on this pleasant outlook. Cosy in winter, cool in summer, and
undisturbed by the sounds of external life always, these rooms should
be highly favourable to philosophic contemplation. In the upper story—
there is only one above the ground-floor—are several smaller
apartments suitable for museums and reading-rooms.”—_Daily News_,
March 13, 1877.
How deep was the impression made upon Miss Irby by that brief visit we
gather from a letter written twenty years later (on July 5th, 1894):
“I was on the point of writing to you after the prize-giving at the
London School of Medicine for Women. A visit to those premises always
recalls to me those few days with you when you stood there alone in
almost bare walls, establishing the fort. You would wish nothing
better than that the School should go on as it is going on, friends
and foes being drawn into it. But I always _burn_ with the
recollection of your first days there.”
CHAPTER XIX
THE RUSSELL GURNEY ENABLING ACT
It was at this stage that Mrs. Anderson’s help was so invaluable to the
great venture. She had an assured position—social and professional—in
the metropolis; and her name carried the weight that belongs to a sane
and shrewd and able personality. It is impossible to over-estimate the
good she had done to “the Cause” by simply showing that a woman _can be
a reliable and successful practitioner_. She had founded a small
hospital for women; but she still thought that the time for the creation
of a good medical school for women had not come,—that it would have been
better to wait till public opinion was more distinctly in favour of
women doctors: and she would have fostered the growth of public opinion
by encouraging women to obtain foreign degrees, and to practise in
England as unregistered physicians and surgeons.
She was strengthened in this position by the fact that S. J.-B. was not
the Founder she would have chosen: she judged the Edinburgh campaign by
its net result as regarded the immediate object at which it had aimed,
and, so far as Edinburgh University was concerned, that net result was
failure. There were those, moreover, who assured her, not without a
measure of truth, that Miss Jex-Blake’s impulsiveness (“want of
judgment,” “want of temper,” she told S. J.-B.) had done great harm in
Edinburgh. She and her informants alike failed, perhaps, at the moment
to realize how that same impulsiveness (mistakes and all) had formed the
picturesque element that made the popular appeal,—how that same
impulsiveness had roused and had borne the brunt of the latent
opposition which must have manifested itself sooner or later under the
wisest management.
There is abundant contemporary evidence to this effect. Dr. Mary Putnam
Jacobi wrote from America:
“You have fortunately been able to interest a much larger and better
class of people than have ever bestirred themselves in the matter
here. The list of governors of your School is quite imposing. You at
least have had the advantage attaching to a conspicuous battle with
real and dignified forces engaged on each side; whereas here,—this
question, as so many others, has rather dribbled into the sand.”
Miss Pechey, too, after delivering a lecture in Yorkshire a year later,
wrote:
“I couldn’t conclude without saying that all we had done towards
opening up the medical profession to women was due mainly to Miss Jex-
Blake, who had got all the abuse because she had done all the work,—in
fact all along she had done the work of three women or (with a grin at
the phalanx of men behind)—of ten men! This brought down the house.”
“Mrs. Garrett Anderson is a fine instance of an individual success,”
said one of the physicians who assisted the movement in those early
days; “but Miss Jex-Blake fights the battle, not for herself, but for
all.”
Of course an individual success cannot but assist a movement of the kind
quite as surely as any other contribution.
One thing the two pioneers had in common,—a fine honesty and
truthfulness: much plain speaking passed between them: and, if it had
been possible for two such different natures to see things eye to eye,
no want of candour or breadth of view on either side would have
prevented it. Here is a sample of their correspondence:
“Hampstead.
21st August, 1874.
DEAR MRS. ANDERSON,
If I kept a record of all the people who bring me cock and bull
stories about you, and assure me that you are “greatly injuring the
cause,” I might fill as many pages with quotations as you have
patience to read, but, beyond defending you on a good many occasions,
I have never thought it needful to take much notice of such incidents,
still less to retail them to you.
Nor do I much care to know whether or no certain anonymous individuals
have confided to you that they lay at my door what you call “the
failure at Edinburgh,”—inasmuch as the only people really competent to
judge of that point are my fellow-workers and fellow-students, such as
Professor Masson, Professor Bennett, Miss Stevenson, Mrs. Thorne, Miss
Pechey, Dr. Watson, and Dr. Balfour, and I do not fancy that it is
from any of these that you have heard the comments in question.
It can, as I say, serve no purpose whatever to go into this sort of
gossip which is very rarely indeed founded on any knowledge of facts;
but, quite apart from any such discussion, I am more than willing to
say that if, in the opinion of a majority of those who are organizing
this new school, my name appears likely to injure its chances of
success, I will cheerfully stand aside, and let Mrs. Thorne and Miss
Pechey carry out the almost completed plans.
So much for your second objection [to joining the Council of the
School] which I have taken first, because I feel that the other is for
your own consideration and Dr. Anstie’s, and that it is needless for
me to say anything on the point.
In conclusion let me say that I never said it ‘did not signify’
whether you joined the Council (though I _did_ say that I believed the
School was already tolerably secure of ultimate success.) I think it
of very great importance, both for your credit and ours, that there
should, as you say, be no appearance of split in the camp, and I
should greatly prefer that your name should appear on the Council with
Dr. Blackwell’s and those of the medical men who are helping us.
Believe me,
Yours truly,
SOPHIA JEX-BLAKE.”
So Mrs. Anderson joined the Council, taking no part in the daily life
and work of the School, but bringing to the new venture excellent
qualities in which S. J.-B. was lacking, among them the valuable gift
for bearing in mind who are the people worth conciliating,—the people
with whom one simply must not quarrel.
S. J.-B., on the other hand, brought an amount of practical capacity and
experience which the reader can estimate for himself. We have seen what
she expected—and got—from her solicitor in the matter of the draft of a
Parliamentary Bill: it is not to be supposed that she was less
successful with printers, nor with plumbers, carpenters and others. She
knew exactly how quickly a proof might be expected in an emergency, and
she knew what the printing ought to cost. If there was anything about
the printed page that struck the eye as “odd,” she had her finger on the
technical defect in a moment, and saw that it was put right. She loved
drawing up specifications for tanks, etc., and making her drawing to
scale: carpentry was an unfailing joy,—nuts, bolts, staples, screws were
as familiar to her as were bourgeois, pica, leads, and other mysteries
of the printer’s craft. “I like working for the Doctor,” an Edinburgh
joiner said in later years, “she knows what she wants, and she knows
when it is well done”; but of course it was only a competent and
conscientious workman who could rise to this view of the case.
Fortunately life provides a good many of these: when S. J.-B. met one,
she valued him as he deserved.
Recalling the early days of the School at a meeting of the Governing
Body more than twenty years later, Mr. Norton said:
“Miss Jex-Blake had come to him in 1874 after leaving Edinburgh, and
he had then expressed the opinion that if funds were raised and a
school established of which all the teachers were recognized by the
Examining Boards,—the Apothecaries’ Society would be obliged to admit
its students to examination. By the middle of October Miss Jex-Blake
had succeeded in obtaining £1300 and in renting 30 Handel Street for
the purposes of a School of Medicine for Women. It was her great
energy which succeeded in so promptly carrying out the work of
starting the School.”
“Mrs. Anderson said she recollected that in those early days she had
been timid and had considered the time had not yet arrived for
establishing a separate School of Medicine for Women. To organize a
School on the slender sum of money raised by Miss Jex-Blake required
great optimism....”
So it did. It required much more than optimism. It required a unique
capacity for directing and supervising every atom of work done, a unique
capacity for getting a full and fair penny’s worth out of every penny, a
unique capacity for finding workers who would put their shoulder to the
wheel, and do things for love. Chief of these workers always was
herself.
After the first Prize-giving Miss M‘Laren writes:
“L[ouisa] S[tevenson] and I have just been saying that no one but you
could have done all that work on Wednesday. But indeed there is almost
nothing that you don’t do better than everyone else.”
Few even of S. J.-B.’s opponents would have denied that this was true.
In everything connected with Board and Business meetings she was an
expert. To say one had been trained under her was for many years an
invaluable testimonial among those who knew. Her enthusiasm was combined
with a clear-sighted grasp of every detail of the situation. Repeatedly
one finds Cabinet Ministers and other busy people saying,—“I won’t look
at the documents till you come and give me the thread,” “I can’t begin
to write the paper till you come and talk me into it,” or words to that
effect.
Valuable qualities these: but not necessarily the qualities that create
the pleasantest possible atmosphere for those who have been in the habit
of slipping through life easily. There must have been a good many then
as later who would have been glad on occasion to deal with someone a
little less business-like.
In any case the thing was launched, Mr. Norton accepted the office of
Dean[128]; there was a staff of able lecturers; and twenty-three
students joined during the first year. Mrs. Anderson and others brought
much needed financial help; Lord Shaftesbury distributed the prizes at
the end of the first winter session; and Lord Aberdare presided at the
first meeting of the Governing Body. So far all went well.
Footnote 128:
To the great loss of the medical women—as to many besides—Dr. Anstie
died suddenly on September 12th.
Many were the congratulations from Edinburgh and St. Andrews, mingled
naturally with regrets that the little social centre at 15 Buccleuch
Place seemed permanently broken up. Professor Lewis Campbell and
Principal Tulloch were sure the situation as regarded their University
had been greatly simplified by the creation of a good School; and Dr. G.
W. Balfour wrote:
“I only regret that you will be so far beyond my reach that it will be
impossible for me to coöperate actively in your future education,—
though I shall always be very glad to do anything I can for you.”
This was one of the rare blank cheques on futurity that are destined to
be redeemed to the last farthing.
Professor Masson, too, was keen as ever.
“10 Regent Terrace, Edinr.
Oct. 23, 1874.
DEAR MISS JEX-BLAKE,
I had purposed when in London to give myself the pleasure of a
visit to the new premises, and to hear from yourself all about the
school and its prospects; but I was up on the business of some
researches, and had to spend my days, almost to the last, at the
British Museum or Record Office. One day I had a glimpse of you in a
cab passing the British Museum gate, but too fast and too far off to
be stopped. Mrs. Masson who is to be in London for a few days more
will certainly make her way to Henrietta Street.
I was very glad indeed to hear of so much success in organizing the
new School, and glad also to hear several medical men I met in London
speak of it not only approvingly on their own account, but also with a
kind of conviction that it would settle matters. Are there not several
rocks ahead however? And what about the Apothecaries and their
disposition? May they not be acted upon by those opponents in the
profession whose opposition is now likely to take the form of
permitting women to qualify themselves under a different title to that
given to men. The conservatives of the University of London Senate
will probably promote this current of opinion.
With best regards to all Edinburgh friends with you,
Believe me,
Yours very truly,
DAVID MASSON.”
Dr. Masson had put his finger precisely on the difficulty. It was still
necessary to secure two indispensable conditions of success,—1.
Qualifying Hospital Instruction, and 2. Recognition by some Examining
Board. It is clear that even Mr. Norton had no idea when he first
espoused the cause how great this double difficulty would prove.
Application was made to every one of the nineteen Examining Boards, and
to every one application was made in vain. The Hospitals proved equally
obdurate. “Why should _this_ University be the _corpus vile_?” Dr. Lyon
Playfair had asked in Parliament the year before: and this very human
and comprehensible cry was doubtless echoed by every Examining Body in
the land.
S. J.-B. was determined not to let the public forget the question, and
in March 1875 she had an article in the _Fortnightly_, which Mr. Morley
(now Lord Morley) had accepted very cordially.
“It will give me the most entire satisfaction,” he wrote, “to join the
Governing Body of the New School of Medicine for Women, and I shall not
grudge whatever time may be necessary for taking part in its
proceedings. I thank you for your invitation.”
Once more the hopes of the women centred in Parliament. On March 3rd,
1875, Mr. Cowper Temple again brought forward his Enabling Bill, and a
long debate ensued, but the Bill was lost by 196 votes to 153. On March
25th he returned to the charge with a Bill to permit the registration of
the degrees of the Universities of France, Berlin, Leipzig, Berne and
Zurich, where such degrees were held by women. This was simply an
extension of a concession in the Medical Act of 1858, by which any
persons in practice in England with foreign degrees _at that date_ were
allowed to register. It was found impossible, however, to obtain the
support of Government to this measure, and no day could be secured for a
second reading, so the matter was again deferred.
It was not to be expected that the students would go on indefinitely
taking theoretical classes that led to nothing, and the future was
beginning to look dark when at last a step forward was made.
Mr. Stansfeld, Mr. Cowper Temple, and Mr. Russell Gurney were all the
kind of friends with whom one would go tiger-hunting, and no one of the
three showed any intention of backing out. On the 16th of June, in
answer to a question of Mr. Stansfeld’s, Lord Sandon admitted in the
name of the Government that the subject of the medical education of
women, only very lately submitted to Government, demanded their
consideration; and he undertook that it should be carefully considered
by the Government during the recess, so that they should be enabled to
express definite views with regard to legislation upon it in the next
session.
In the meantime Mr. Simon, in the name of the President of the Privy
Council, had addressed a letter to the President of the General Medical
Council requesting the observations of that Council on Mr. Cowper
Temple’s Bill, and indeed on the whole subject of the admission of women
to the medical profession.
The General Medical Council took up the question at last in all
seriousness, and the discussion lasted three days, during which many
remarkable things were said on both sides. Finally a report was adopted
and presented to the Privy Council to the effect that,
“The Medical Council are of opinion that the study and practice of
Medicine and Surgery, instead of affording a field of exertion well
fitted for women, do on the contrary, present special difficulties
which cannot be safely disregarded; but the Council are not prepared
to say that women ought to be excluded from the profession.”
In the autumn of 1875 a fresh hope was raised, owing to a really
brilliant suggestion of Mr. Simon’s. He bethought himself that those
doctors who wished the women to have a different qualification from that
of men might be willing to allow them to enter for the Licence in
Midwifery of the College of Surgeons. Now this Midwifery Licence,
strangely enough, was a regular qualification, involving the same
medical curriculum as the M.R.C.S., and entitling those who held it to
put their names on the Medical Register, and to practise legally with
full rights as doctors. There was no reason why those women who had a
complete set of certificates from Edinburgh should not go in for it at
once, and forthwith become qualified general practitioners. It was not a
very dignified way of entering the profession, but it did seem to be a
way.
“Thursday, Nov. 11th. Today saw Simon again. He thinks they would
admit us for Midwifery Licence with present certificates,—not for
M.R.C.S.—though expressly same [certificates] required in Regulations.
Better to get on the Register _anyhow_ it seems to me?
Only, could it choke off anything better? Hardly. If told that was
open and refused, half our case gone. Besides any _existing_ Exam.
better than a special one.
Shall ask K[ing] Ch[ambers] tomorrow.
Nov. 12th. Homme propose! K[ing] Ch[ambers] out of town....
To see Sir J. Paget tomorrow.
Bertie[129] been here today. Quite agrees, get anything you can,—ask
for more by and bye.
In fact one’s position would be far stronger after one’s certificates
had been accepted for the one,—when identical are required for the
other. Ah, well! Qui vivra verra—many things!...
Saturday, Nov. 13th. Sir J. Paget this morning,—with Dr. A. He very
kind and courteous, infinitely more of a gentleman than most.
He decidedly of opinion that we could not get admitted to the
M.R.C.S., but probably might to the L.M. He at least evidently thought
we ought, and thought most of the Council would think so too. They
meet apparently on Dec. 14th, and he advises us to send in application
before that, and then, if granted, we can be examined by end of
December.
Fancy an Exam. in Midwifery _only_ putting one on the Register!...
Tuesday, 16th. Saw Sir James Paget again at his request. He thinks we
had better not apply before the meeting, but give application to
Critchett to present, if desirable at the time....
Wednesday 17th. Saw Critchett. Most friendly and wholehearted—willing
to raise the question of M.R.C.S. if we liked, but I advised one step
first, then leverage for next....
Chambers not quite satisfied about L.M. but thinks it on the whole
best for the cause (‘perhaps not for yourselves,’) to take it if we
can.”
Footnote 129:
Miss Bertha Cordery, now Mrs. S. R. Gardiner.
So those three brave women, Mrs. Thorne, Miss Pechey and S. J.-B.
proceeded to rub up their Midwifery, and meanwhile the authorities of
the College took the opinion of counsel as to their legal power to grant
or refuse the application. If no one else prospered by that long and
wearing struggle, certainly the lawyers did! On this occasion they
earned their salt by declaring “that the College had power to admit
women under its supplemental charter, and could be compelled by legal
process so to examine and grant certificates, ... that the Medical Act
clearly considered a holder of such certificates a licentiate in
midwifery, and as such entitled to register.”
“Friday, 21st. Jan. My 36th birthday. Just half my life since I began
independently. So curious to look back on cogitations of 18th
birthday! But even then I had a presentiment of ‘sunshine and storm.’
It seems as if this year was really to gain (tho’ in rather mesquin
shape) what I have been fighting for in England for 7 years—
Registration.
College of Surgeons on 7th Jan. decided on advice of their counsel,
Mr. Beaver, that they could not exclude women from the licence in
Midwifery,—so we three seniors have sent in our certificates, etc.—
given to Critchett on application on Dec. 4th,—presented by him on
Jan. 7th.”
On March 17th, the women were told that their certificates had been
accepted, but, on the public announcement of this fact, the whole board
of examiners resigned. In relating the circumstances a year later, Mr.
Stansfeld wrote that “since then there had been no examiners and no
examination.”
“Perhaps after all it is as well,” wrote Miss Pechey from Birmingham,
where she now held a post at the Women’s Hospital under Mr. Lawson
Tait,—“perhaps after all it is as well, as it gives us a stronger case
for Parliament, and that licence would have been a sorry thing to
practise upon....”
After suggesting a great scheme of a new “National University,” she
concludes,—
“I suppose you can’t think of any way in which I could earn some
money? I am beginning to wonder what I shall do when I leave here: I
can’t begin to practise till I have had more midwifery.
* * * * *
“I have only one other resource to suggest now this College of
Surgeons has failed, viz., that I should go over to Ireland, take that
Licence in Midwifery and then try to force the Registrar to register
it,—if he would not do so at once, by legal measures. _Qu’en pensez-
vous?_
Yours aff.
E. P.”
This is simply quoted to show the state—not indeed of despair, but of
desperation, which these gallant women had reached. One can sympathize
with this _cri du coeur_ from S. J.-B.’s diary:
“Here comes Miss Irby’s note this morning,—wanting a hospital for the
wounded at Serajevo.... Oh, dear, how I should love to go! It would
probably be just the making of me as a surgeon,—and I have such a sort
of wild feeling of wanting to ‘break out,’—of having been sair hadden
doun by many bubbly jocks,—by the constant fighting, by Mother’s
frequent illnesses, etc., etc. I feel as if it would be an intense
relief to break right away into half savage parts and do hard rough
work—and breathe!
And then how nice it would be with Miss Irby.... I want to get away
from mental strain and excitement,—to bodily hard work.
And what magnificent practice it would be!”
* * * * *
“U. D. P. against Serbian idea. Thinks my Mother would die in my
absence and I never forgive myself.
Also I should hurt ‘the cause’ by doctoring men.
I doubt both propositions, but can’t disprove either.
My brain is in a sort of dull ‘waiting’ condition,—‘quo Deus vocat.’
Well, isn’t that best? Yes, if _thoroughly_ honest.
I suppose the constant worry and constant thwarting have made me
almost wild to break away for a bit. I feel somehow as if my mind were
all strained, and this better than anything would give it back its
tone.”
Miss Irby’s idea came to nothing for lack of funds, but in any case, of
course, S. J.-B. could not have gone. It was she who held in her hands
all the parliamentary threads, and she was looking anxiously for some
practical outcome from Lord Sandon’s promise of the year before. On
January 14th, however, Mr. Cowper Temple wrote:
“DEAR MISS BLAKE,
The Government are not prepared to tell me whether they will
introduce any Bill next session on the subject of the medical
registration of women, and therefore it will be necessary for me to
bring in my Bill again at the commencement of the session....”
S. J.-B. thought it worth while, however, to remind the Government
tactfully of their promise, and she had learned by bitter experience to
keep every possible iron in the fire. So a deputation from the London
School of Medicine for Women, headed by Lord Aberdare, and including
herself and Mrs. Anderson, waited on the Duke of Richmond and Gordon,
Lord President of the Privy Council. The mission was ably voiced by Lord
Aberdare, Mr. Stansfeld, and Mr. Forsyth, M.P., Q.C., whose name now
appeared on the back of Mr. Cowper Temple’s Bill; but, although
courteously received, the deputation elicited no farther encouragement.
In these circumstances, Mr. Cowper Temple again introduced his “Foreign
Degrees” Bill, but fortune did not favour him in the matter of the
ballot for dates, and, in the meantime, S. J.-B. writes in her diary:
“Saturday, May 13th. Saw Russell Gurney [who was now Recorder of
London]. Found Government had intimated to him that he should bring in
Bill _enabling_ all nineteen bodies,—to be shown to General Medical
Council on 24th.
_If_ this passes!
Might graduate at Edinburgh after all.”
On the 5th of July Mr. Cowper Temple’s Bill came on for second reading,
but was withdrawn after debate upon a statement from Lord Sandon that
the Government were prepared to support the Recorder’s Bill. Even then
anxiety was by no means at an end, for the Government were not prepared
to make the Bill their own and find a day for it, and any persistent
opposition would have been almost necessarily fatal to its passing at so
late a time. One can picture the surprise with which S. J.-B. received
the following letter:
“8 Palace Gardens, W.
21 July, [1876].
DEAR MISS JEX-BLAKE,
I saw Lord Shaftesbury yesterday and he intends to give notice
on Monday to move the second reading on Tuesday.
The third reading will probably follow in a day or two.
All that we shall then have to wait for will be the Royal Assent.
Always sincerely yours,
RUSSELL GURNEY.”
On August 12th the Bill became law. Henceforth no University nor
Examining Board could be in any doubt at all as to its own powers. Those
mysterious depths were at least no longer “an uncharted sea.”
On August 7th Miss Pechey writes:
“Has our Bill received the Royal Assent? If so, I suppose Mrs. Thorne
and I might apply any time to Edinburgh, though I don’t suppose she
would consent to say what I intend to. I mean simply to ask them
whether now they have the power, they intend honourably to fulfil the
contract they made with me in 1869. It does not matter to me when I
send in the question, as we can’t be examined, I believe, till next
April. Isn’t it so? But of course we had better not apply till the
Arts Professors are back.
Ever yours affect.
E. P.”
Edinburgh, however, did not prove encouraging even to its own
matriculated students, so Miss Pechey—accompanied by Miss Shove—went to
Ireland in September to see what could be effected there. She was very
cordially received, though many with whom she had to deal were quite
unaware of the existence of the all-important Baby Act; and one can
imagine the joy with which, after much labour, she wrote to report that
both the Queen’s University and the King’s and Queen’s College of
Physicians had consented to examine women, subject only to their
complying with the ordinary regulations. “Miss Pechey has done wonders,”
wrote Mrs. Thorne.
The University regulations required attendance at four courses of
lectures in one of the Queen’s Colleges (at Cork, Belfast and Galway),
and four professors at Galway agreed to deliver these; but, owing
mainly—as happened so often!—to the opposition of one influential man,
the Council of the College interposed and vetoed the arrangement.
Fortunately the Irish College made no difficulties, and to that body
belongs the credit of being the first to grant to women—and above all,
to _these_ women—the long-deferred privilege of Registration. “I cannot
realize,” wrote Mrs. Thorne to S. J.-B. a few weeks later, “that an
examining body is absolutely open to us.” “You have been the mainspring
of the seven years’ struggle, and to you we are all deeply indebted for
the result.”
* * * * *
Before passing on, we must record one pleasant distraction which that
summer had afforded in the appearance of Mr. Charles Reade on the scene,
deeply interested in “the fight,” and very anxious to obtain materials
for his _Woman Hater_. There are numerous letters from him to S. J.-B.,
asking information about this happening and that: and he spent many
mornings at her house, studying the archives. The novel achieved no
small success by running its course in _Blackwood’s Magazine_, within
the very gates, so to speak, of the enemy’s citadel.
CHAPTER XX
AT LAST
While all this business was pending, Miss M‘Laren, rendered incredulous
by her long family experience of parliamentary life, that a Bill
introduced so late could really pass—had written glowing descriptions of
the advantages offered by Berne, and Miss Pechey had almost resolved to
go there for the M.D. As the regulations of the Irish College were
exacting in the matter of hospital work, she resolved to carry out this
intention in any case as a preliminary measure.
“I shall be very glad,” she writes, “of another _good_ winter’s
hospital. I hope you will join me in this, so that we may keep
together. I think I should send in the Berne degree here [in Ireland]
when I had got it.”
The two friends were most desirous that Mrs. Thorne should join them on
this expedition for old sake’s sake; but family claims made this
impossible.
Well, it was something to break away, even thus far, and be mere
students again. For the moment S. J.-B. and Miss Pechey may almost be
said to have been resting on their oars. Nothing more arduous was
required of them than preparation for professional examination!
It was on Wednesday, November 1st, that, accompanied by Miss Clark (now
Dr. Annie Clark), they entered Switzerland, a white world, as it
chanced, for snow had already fallen. The diary begins again almost from
the moment of arrival:
“Excellent déjeuner [at Bernerhof] 12.30. Then I lay down. E. P. and
A. C. went out exploring. Wonderful energy of youth!”
They all proceeded at once to interview professors (Professor Masson had
sent a delightful introduction), and forthwith began to attend lectures
and cliniques, and to complete the theses which had been begun in
England. S. J.-B. took as her subject Puerperal Fever, she having
unhappily experienced an outbreak of that disease at Boston. The thesis
was clear and exhaustive at the time, but of little permanent value, as
the infective nature of the fever was not yet recognized, and treatment
everywhere was mainly on a wrong scent.
She suffered terribly from neuralgia, the result of past and present
strain, and work proceeded with difficulty. On December 20th Miss Pechey
and Miss Clark went home for Christmas.
The diary has been brief and painful reading, but the writer revives
just in time:
“Tuesday [Dec.] 26th. Nearly seven hours’ work. Splendidly well.
Accepted for examination Jan. 10th.
Thursday 28th. Slept splendidly. For first time for weeks without
anodyne.
Wednesday. N. Schultz called. Very nice. To walk with me before exam.
next Wednesday. Rather made me nervous with her pity.
Friday.... Letter from U. D. P., begging me not to hurry—‘if I fail it
can’t be kept secret.’ Are they all in league to shake my nerves?
Saturday [Jan.] 6th. E. P. still in London. Glorious day.
Tuesday 9th. From 5 a.m. rather nervous—got better in day—and did 9
hours’ work. Good head all through—thank God!
10 p.m. How very happy or very wretched I shall be this time tomorrow!
I really feel as if I ought to be able to pass as far as knowledge
goes,—tho’ not brilliantly,—but I am in despair about Langhans, and in
less degree about others.—Still they will surely manage not to pluck
me for mere want of German! Yesterday I felt almost as if I should
fail, tonight I hope I shan’t, but with trembling....
Eh, dear, if I succeed, how I shall (half) laugh at past funk!—if I
fail, I feel as if I need never laugh again. (And yet, played patience
half an hour just now rather than be beat—‘ill to beat’ not a bad
motto!) And, if I’m not beat,—fancy this being my last night without
M.D.!
Wed. 10th. Nothing from E. P. or A. C. Wonder if latter has come.
Very curious my sort of duplex feeling, (_a_) If I could only feel
sure of passing, I should pass,—i.e. not being nervous. (_b_) _If_ I
felt sure—I should be sure to fail, (superstition!) A sort of unworthy
Setebos feeling, I think.
Undertake for me!
* * * * *
And He has! Thank God! Every exam. fairly creditable, which is worth
twice a scratch.
Now to see how much better an M.D. sleeps than other people!”
“13th Jan.
Brighton.
MY DARLING,
Words cannot express my thankfulness at your success, and
release from anxiety. I did not fear because I did not see why they
should be unjust, but I am more than glad that it is settled.
I ought to have scolded you some days ago for more grapes. I am very
forgetful, and I really sleep so well that I do not require them.
Well, dear, I am quite unsettled with the good news. Hoping to meet so
soon, and with great congratulations from Tom, and Hetty, and Carry,
and more love than a letter will take, ever your loving Mother,
MARIA EMILY JEX-BLAKE.
I heartily echo your ‘Thank God.’ I am so thankful I cannot settle.”
A few weeks later Miss Pechey and Miss Clark also passed the
examination.
“You will like to hear,” writes Miss Pechey, “that Professor Hidber
told Miss Clark that the Professors were much pleased with your exam.
and said it was evident that you had studied well. It is more
satisfactory, I think, to hear it indirectly like that than if they
had told you so.
Miss Clark says she is very glad you answered better than I did. So am
I: I only wish I had answered better for the credit of my
countrywomen.”
It still remained to get on the English Register through the newly
opened portal of the Irish College. S. J.-B. and Miss Pechey spent some
time in London, reading and attending the Brompton Hospital, where Dr.
Symes Thompson proved very helpful.
There is a sheaf of blank pages in the diary, and then:
“_Sunday, May 6th. Rugby._
‘One fight more,—the worst and the last!’ Oh, dear, if I pass this
Exam. I shall deserve all I may get if I ever go in for another!
Since Nov. 1st.,—indeed one might say since September 1st,—hardly a
day of rest and respite, but brain worked at highest pressure—often
when almost a blank.
Now it is over and ‘waiting for the verdict.’
Off tonight for Dublin with E. P. Dr. A[tkins] also to join. ‘Omne
ignotum pro magnifico.’ The various tests loom vague and large.
Diagnosis at bedside,—horrible,—though enormously helped by Brompton
experience. Recognition of drugs and things under microscope. 4
written exams. 2 hrs. oral, etc., etc.
I feel as if I really had fairly mastered my subjects and must know
more than the average medical practitioner just fledged,—not to say
have more sense.
But the stake is so enormous. A pluck would be so perfectly awful
after all antecedents.
But in spite of my work, my brain is wonderfully well and clear.”
“_Monday, May 7th. 9.45 p.m._ Books closed after 4½ hours’ reading and
examination,—not to be opened probably till all is over!
Be the fates propitious,—as I really think they ought, ... I the most
comfortable of the three. ‘Where angels fear...?’ No,—I rather think
on the principle of ‘While the child, etc.’
I’ve done my utmost,—and results are God’s.”
One is thankful to record that results were safe in His hands (as indeed
S. J.-B. would have said they must have been whatever the examiners had
decided). Two or three days later the three women, with a number of men,
were solemnly summoned to the Board Room,—“repeated declaration after
Registrar, then signed book, and Dr. Hayden, as Vice-President, took the
hand of each and ‘admitted’ us!”
“Oh, dear, after long travail, good repose!”
“All dreadfully overwrought and tired. E. P. and I came to fisticuffs
over Mrs. A.’s Memorial to London University. Pair of fools!”
A characteristic telegram went off at once to Mrs. Jex-Blake:
“Success just declared for all three of us.”
And within an hour this was followed up by a letter:
“... We are all so happy! The Exam. has been pretty stiff.
Yours lovingly,
S. L. J. B. M. D. L. K. Q. C. P. I.”
The waiting Mother sends a mere scrap by return:
“I don’t know how to be thankful enough that all is so well thro’.
Nothing will seem a trouble now. God bless you,
Ever your loving Mother.
_All_ going well with Pony, Turk, me, etc.”
And on the heels of this all the other congratulations pour in. “If I
could I would ring the bells from Bow to Beersheba,” writes a friend and
patient.
One almost feels that, if the bells had known the whole story, they
would have rung of their own accord.
CHAPTER XXI
THE ROYAL FREE HOSPITAL
The friendly reader will feel, without doubt, that the year 1876-77 had
done something to justify its passage, so far as the women were
concerned, but the year 1876-77 was giving more than this. S. J.-B.’s
main ideal, “Not me but us,” remained to be realized. The fundamental
requisite, training in a large General Hospital, was no longer
practically attainable in Great Britain. A handful of women had scaled
the coveted height by means of steps cut, as it were, in ice that melted
behind them. It remained to prepare a permanent way for those who were
following on. And the year 1876-77 was destined to give this too.
Mrs. Anderson and others had been endeavouring to obtain admission for
women students to some of the wards of the London Hospital, and for a
time their efforts had seemed likely to prove successful. They ended in
the failure to which all the patient workers were becoming so
accustomed, but meanwhile “that which was for”—the women—“was
gravitating towards them.”
Before the end of 1876 Mr. Stansfeld had written:
“_Private._
DEAR MISS JEX-BLAKE,
I will bear the London University in mind as soon as I see
anybody....
I met Mrs. Garrett Anderson at dinner the other day; she did not seem
to have much hope or plan about the School in any way.
I have however something to tell you that I think you will be rather
pleased to hear. Mrs. Stansfeld and I went to Clapham today to call on
the Hopgoods, with whom we had become friendly at Whitby: and Mr.
Hopgood is Chairman of the Board of the Grays Inn Lane Hospital. We
found them both _with us_, but strange to the question.
I am to send Mr. Hopgood something to read, and he is to consider
whether anything is possible there; he _does not appear to be in awe
of the staff_.
Just as I had begun to talk the Editor of the Contemporary Review [?
Nineteenth Century] came in and listened and then expressed general
sympathy in a timid way, but asked me if I would write him a paper
shewing a practical way and outcome; and I undertook at once to do so.
The paper I can manage though I am glad to think I shall be likely to
see you before I send it; but in dealing with Mr. Hopgood I very much
wish you were here.... What time in January shall you be back,
probably time enough for us to act together in the matter.
Yours truly,
J. STANSFELD.”
In subsequent letters Mr. Stansfeld writes:
“Jan. 5th. 77. I shall not consult anyone if I can avoid it. I think
you and I have the best chance of managing it alone.”
“Jan. 13. 77. I congratulate you seriously and sincerely; it was time
to get that particular anxiety off your mind, and to be M.D. at all
events....
I will defer what I may have to say till we meet; but we’ll win and no
mistake.”
“Stoke Lodge,
Hyde Park Gate, W.
Thursday evening.
[Feb. 9th. 77.]
DEAR MISS JEX-BLAKE,
I have your letter, but feel a little doubtful about seeing Dr.
Chambers until after Sunday when I am to see Mr. Hopgood.
You may judge of what that interview should be, how hopeful and how
critical, by his letter just received, which I copy on the other side.
I think that you ought to be with me on Sunday if possible. I see
there are plenty of trains.
We might be with him say at 3 p.m. If you would come here and lunch at
1.30 I would drive you down.
Pray telegraph reply tomorrow that I may write and let him know.
Yours truly,
J. STANSFELD.”
Follows the copy of Mr. Hopgood’s letter:
“I shall be at home all Sunday and glad to see you.... We dine at 5.
I see my way so far clear that on receiving a formal application from
your Association it shall be without delay submitted to our Weekly
Board,—and I think they will forthwith summon a special meeting of the
Committee of Management, whose _decision will be final for the current
year_! My wish may be father to the thought, but I think that if you
can make some such proposition as that we talked of we have a good
prospect of success.
My wife feels such a deep interest in the success of the movement that
she wished me to say that if you think it desirable to form a
guarantee fund, her name may be put down as a subscriber or guarantor
to the extent of £100.”
There is no record of that interesting and critical Sunday, but all
seems to have gone as Mr. Stansfeld would have wished, for a week or two
later Mr. Hopgood writes to S. J.-B.,—“I heartily wish that every
success may attend this movement,—if so I know to whom it will be
chiefly due.”
* * * * *
During S. J.-B.’s preoccupations the School had been in other hands.
On March 13th Mr. Stansfeld writes,
“DEAR MISS JEX-BLAKE,
Have you noticed the article in the Daily News of today on the
London School of M. It is not written in our interest,—you are not
mentioned and I not much; but there is a list of names rather new to
me, omitting, however, Lord Aberdare, a true friend.[130]
It looks as if tomorrow were pretty certain.
Yours truly,
J. STANSFELD.”
Footnote 130:
A very true friend was Lord Aberdare. Here is a delightful letter
written a few months later:
“Glen Tulchan, Advie, N.B.
June 23. 1877.
DEAR MISS JEX-BLAKE,—I yield to your request—an annual subscription of
£10. 10s. for 5 years, including the present—but with the same
_Caveat_ which St. Peter made to Pope Gregory when he prayed that that
virtuous heathen Trajan might be admitted into Paradise viz ‘that you
make no more such requests.’ For I find extreme difficulty in refusing
applications for so good a work, and my ‘engagements’ are heavy. By
this post I must send a reluctant refusal to the hardworking promoter
of an excellent work.
Ever sincerely Yours,
ABERDARE.”
Close on the heels of this letter came a telegram:
“Mar. 15th. Right Hon. J. Stansfeld, London, to Miss Jex-Blake 13
Sussex Square, Brighton,
London Free Hospital have unanimously accepted my proposal. Come
before ten o’clock Saturday. I go out half past ten.”
Once more there was great rejoicing, and Mr. Stansfeld forwards to S.
J.-B. a cordial letter from Mrs. Anderson:
“March 19. 77.
DEAR MR. STANSFELD,
As I was not able to join in the cheer which I am glad to hear
was given for you at the School on Saturday, will you please accept my
very heartiest thanks for your grand success at Gray’s Inn Road. We
all owe more to you than to anyone. I do not imagine there will be any
difficulty about the £700 a year for five years. I shall hope to be
able to contribute £50 a year as my share.
Yours very truly and gratefully,
E. G. ANDERSON.”
One thing more that wonderful year had given. Miss Edith Shove, who had
accompanied Miss Pechey on the mission to Ireland, had made formal
application to the University of London for admission to medical
examination and degree. In February Mr. Smith Osier moved in the Senate
that her request should be granted, and the motion was carried by 14
votes to 7. The majority consisted of the Chancellor (Lord Granville),
Vice-Chancellor (Sir John Lubbock, M.P.), Lord Kimberley, Dr. Billing,
Mr. Fitch, Sir William Gull, Mr. Heywood, Mr. Hutton, The Master of the
Rolls (Right Hon. Sir G. Jessel), Right Hon. R. Lowe, M.P., Mr. Osler,
Sir James Paget,[131] Lord Arthur Russell and Dr. William Smith. The
minority consisted of Lord Cardwell, the Dean of Lincoln, Mr. Goldsmid,
Sir William Jenner, Dr. Quain, Dr. Sharpey and Dr. Storrar.
Footnote 131:
The following interesting letter shows that Sir James Paget’s attitude
at this time was not that of a partisan but of a just man:
“1, Harewood Place,
Hanover Square, W.
Feb 26. 1877.
DEAR MR. STANSFELD,
I intend to go, if possible, to the Meeting of the University
Senate on Wednesday that I may vote against hindering the entrance of
Women into the Medical Profession. I think them sadly mistaken in
wishing for it, but I see no sufficient grounds on which they can
justly or usefully be excluded.
Believe me most truly yours,
JAMES PAGET.
The Rt. Honble. James Stansfeld, M.P.”
S. J.-B. received the intelligence in the following note from Dr.
Archibald Billing, the father of the profession, who had taken his own
degree at Oxford in 1818:
“34 Park Lane,
1/3/77.
“DEAR FRIEND,
All right. I was at my post and gave my opinion rather freely.
We had a majority about two to one, but you shall have the minutes as
soon as printed. Some of the medicos rather recanted.
Yours sincerely,
A. BILLING.”[132]
Footnote 132:
This letter may probably have been written to Mr. Stansfeld.
One last storm was raised in Convocation about the action of the Senate,
on the ground that it dealt with the Faculty of Medicine only, but this
final obstruction only proved the truth of Mr. Stansfeld’s wise dictum
that when the hour for reform has come all that opponents can do is to
widen its character or to precipitate its advent. On January 14th, 1878,
a new Charter admitting women to _all_ degrees was laid by the Senate
before Convocation, and was carried by a majority of 241 to 132.
* * * * *
So much good that year had brought—that _annus mirabilis_ 1877—one must
not be surprised if it brought some evil also. And, to S. J.-B.
personally, it dealt one heavy blow. The School, as her Mother said, was
her living child. She had conceived it, brought it forth, tended it,
fought for it,—done most of the daily work it involved, with the help of
a lady secretary she herself had trained. Until she was a qualified
doctor, however, she did not wish her name to appear either on the
Council or on the Governing Body. In all the early papers it occurs only
as Trustee.
But she had always looked forward to her registration as something that
would initiate a new order of things. That platform gained, and the dust
of the struggle and fight left behind, she expected to take officially,
as Honorary Secretary, the position she had filled hitherto without any
recognition at all. Up till now she had been constantly harassed,
driven,—striving for something that always receded when it seemed within
her grasp. No wonder if she had often been hasty, high-handed,
difficult. Now all that, so she thought, was past. We recall the dreams
and ideals of her youth,—how she had longed to organize some fine new
school for girls, of which, conceivably, she might be worthy to be the
head.
“I am beginning to hope, Mother! If I only suffer enough—and I don’t
believe mine will ever be a smooth or easy life—I may yet be fit to
_be_ the head for which I am looking so earnestly.”
We have seen with what searchings of heart she laid aside this ideal for
the long struggle of her medical career; but from first to last she
never laid aside the sympathetic interest in her colleagues and juniors
which was perhaps the most striking characteristic of her professional
life. Is it strange if she now looked forward to a realization of the
whole dream ?
In any case that realization was not to be. Her enforced absences in the
matter of her examination had given people a chance to do without her.
We have seen that they had not always found her particularly easy to
work with. “You wouldn’t let me muddle, and you wouldn’t let me dawdle,
and how _could_ I be happy?” one of her “daughters” used to cry in the
radiant success of later years: and although it would not be fair to
generalize this into a solution of the whole difficulty, it goes a long
way to account for it. There were those who were thankful that things
should be done a little less efficiently and more easily,—thankful to
have a little more say in matters for which they felt themselves
partially responsible. There were those who looked forward with sinking
of heart to the time when S. J.-B. would return and really take up the
reins.
We have seen repeatedly that she never realized the strain of
“difficulty” in her own nature, and she always had a cohort of loyal
supporters; but she must have heard—or guessed—something of what was
going on, for she wrote to Mr. Stansfeld that the task of being Honorary
Secretary was too onerous to be undertaken except at the unanimous wish
of those concerned. Perhaps Mrs. Thorne—Dr. Atkins—Mrs. Anderson—would
care to undertake the task? Probably she knew for a fact that the two
first named would refuse it; and it must have seemed impossible that
Mrs. Anderson—overwhelmed as she was with other work—would entertain the
suggestion.
S. J.-B. was still in Ireland when the question came up. Mrs. Thorne
proposed S. J.-B. as Honorary Secretary, and someone else proposed Mrs.
Anderson, both nominations being duly seconded.
Mrs. Anderson was in a difficult position, and said so frankly. She did
not wish to take an unfair advantage over her colleague; but if it was
to be for the good of the School—?
Mr. Stansfeld and the Dean (Mr. Norton, who was always S. J.-B.’s
staunch supporter) were somewhat at a loss, and so no doubt were others;
it was not an easy situation for anybody. After some talk the meeting
was adjourned. Everything pointed to Mrs. Anderson’s election.
But, when it came to the point, this was more than S. J.-B. could stand.
Many lesser people would have accepted the situation gracefully,
concealing any heartburning they might have felt, but this was just what
S. J.-B. could not do. It was partly a personal question, of course.
With every desire and effort to be fair, Mrs. Anderson had always looked
at S. J.-B.’s life and work through the wrong end of the telescope, so
to speak, and it is not easy to appreciate fully the people who make no
secret of the fact that they take that view of us.
But the personal question was not all. We remember how warmly S. J.-B.
had spoken of her colleague in the old days, as “running where I
crawl,”—how she had triumphed in every stage of her colleague’s success.
She honestly felt that Mrs. Anderson was already too fully occupied to
undertake so big a job,—felt that, humanly speaking, Mrs. Anderson
_could_ only lend her name, and do the work by proxy.
And even that does not exhaust the subject. The truth is that S. J.-B.,
to the day of her death and with all her faults, was an incorrigible
idealist; and Mrs. Anderson, rich though she was in excellent qualities,
seemed to her to be lacking in certain capabilities of insight and
imagination which outweighed everything else.
“Put me utterly aside if need be!” she had cried in the self-surrender
of her adolescence.
And now she was taken at her word. But it was not easy to see the “need
be.” For a time it was blotted out by the bitter experience of personal
opposition.
It was a painful situation all round, but like so many painful
situations, it called forth something fine. Mrs. Thorne was _persona
grata_ with all parties, and finally Mrs. Thorne stepped into the breach
and allowed herself to be elected Honorary Secretary of the School.
“About the best possible,” wrote S. J.-B. in her diary, “with her
excellent sense and perfect temper. So much better than I.”
It involved a definite sacrifice, for, although Mrs. Thorne had taken
all her classes with distinction, she had only passed one professional
examination; and she was not one of those who are content to scrape
through. She had aimed at a London degree, and had even talked of taking
her whole course over again in order to fulfil every requirement. Dr.
Sewall had long since singled her out as “_the_ doctor” in potentiality
among the English medical women.
Already family claims had made her pause. This new claim, combined with
the others, proved more than she could withstand. She cast aside her own
ambitions, and made the success of the School her main object in life.
* * * * *
“Sweet Sackermena and her isles!
See how many yards and miles
It takes to walk round Sackermena.”
A breezy way this of paraphrasing the more familiar passage:
“Tantae molis erat Romanam condere gentem.”
But what one really wants to express is,—See the amount of work, the
number of people it took to achieve this one bit of human evolution!
Even the many names in this book are culled from a great multitude.
It was S. J.-B. who opened the subject boldly up, and forced the whole
world to discuss it. It was she who—in the eye of the whole world—led
the Edinburgh fight to its unforeseen sequel in Parliament and in the
opening of the London School.
Miss Pechey was a loyal and stimulating comrade throughout, disarming
opponents by the personal charm, intelligence and humour which
eventually opened the Irish College and gained the actual concession of
the right of registration.
Mrs. Thorne contributed a fine undercurrent of stability. It was not her
way to write picturesque letters that lend themselves to quotation, but
it was mainly owing to her that the London School became a lasting and
conspicuous success.[133]
Footnote 133:
In later years, as Dean, Mrs. Anderson did much for the enlargement
and development of the School.
_Pari passu_ with all this, as we have seen, and antecedently to any of
it,—Mrs. Anderson was quietly showing the English world that a woman can
be a reliable and successful doctor.
Fine records all four, and surely no less fine was the brave, wise,
unwearying championship of Professor Masson and Sir James Stansfeld,
without whom—humanly speaking—nothing could have been achieved at all.
Sir James Stansfeld would not have allowed us to draw the line there. In
an able sketch of the whole movement up to 1877, in the _Nineteenth
Century_, he concludes his survey with the following significant words:
“One thing more remains to record. These pages will, I think, have
presented to the reader’s mind evidence of a tough and persistent and
continuous struggle. Such struggles do not persist and succeed,
according to my experience, without the accompanying fact, the
continuous thread, as it were, of one constant purpose and dominant
will. Dr. Sophia Jex-Blake has made that greatest of all contributions
to the end attained. I do not say that she has been the ultimate cause
of success. The ultimate cause has been simply this, that the time was
at hand. It is one of the lessons of the history of progress that when
the time for a reform has come you cannot resist it, though, if you
make the attempt, what you may do is to widen its character or
precipitate its advent. Opponents, when the time has come, are not
merely dragged at the chariot wheels of progress—they help to turn
them. The strongest force, whichever way it seems to work, does most
to aid. The forces of greatest concentration here have been, in my
view, on the one hand the Edinburgh University led by Sir Robert
Christison, on the other the women claimants led by Dr. Sophia Jex-
Blake. Defeated at Edinburgh, she carried her appeal to the highest
court, that most able to decide and to redress, the High Court of
Parliament representing the Nation itself. The result we see at last.
Those who hail it as the answer which they sought have both to thank,
in senses and proportions which they may for themselves decide.”[134]
Footnote 134:
_Nineteenth Century_, July 1877.
It would be easy to close on this note, but it is on the earlier part of
Sir James Stansfeld’s conclusion that one prefers to dwell. A tough and
persistent struggle is indeed recorded in these pages—it was only on
working through the vast mass of original documents that the present
writer formed the faintest conception how tough and persistent that
struggle had been—and yet what will strike the reader most is that it
was emphatically _not_ a “one man fight.” S. J.-B. never said “I” in
connection with it. “You see we were so splendidly helped,” was her
almost invariable comment on looking back.
And she _was_ splendidly helped. Not only by her fellow-students, by
friendly professors, by the Editor of the _Scotsman_, and by those who
would fain have been her patients. All that one was prepared to find.
The amazing thing is the way in which—when all of these were almost
paralyzed by the strength of the opposition (yes, and by her mistakes)—
_help came from somewhere_. It might be the working-man, sending her a
shilling to represent his sympathy, or the statesman in a London club,
throwing down his newspaper with the determination that that woman
should be baited no longer. In any case help came.
Truly, as Sir James Stansfeld said, the time was at hand.
And Newman is perfectly right when he says that, if the individual be
powerful-minded and the cause good, the mistakes actually help. They
increase the talk, increase the interest, help to make the picture that
appeals to the popular imagination, till what has seemed to be the
eccentric action of a single individual spreads out in waves that
envelop the whole earth.
Writing exactly forty years after the events just narrated—at a moment
when women doctors are proving so vital an asset to the nation and to
humanity at large—one realizes the difference it would have made to the
whole world if Sophia Jex-Blake had been content to qualify abroad and
to slip on to the Medical Register somehow, instead of throwing the
gates wide open for all who were to follow her.
Reference has been made above to her love of poetry, and of all her
poems there was none she was wont to recite more solemnly than Kipling’s
_Explorer_:
“Yes, your ‘Never-never country’—yes, your ‘edge of cultivation’
And ‘no sense in going further’—till I crossed the range to see.
God forgive me! No, _I_ didn’t. It’s God’s present to our nation.
Anybody might have found it but—His Whisper came to Me!”
_PART III_
My fame is in the hands of others. I have weighed in a nice and
scrupulous balance whether it is better to serve men or to be praised
by them, and I prefer the former.
SYDENHAM.
(Quoted in S. J.-B.’s commonplace book.)
Have I named one single river? Have I claimed one single acre? Have I
kept one single nugget—(barring samples)? No, not I.
KIPLING.
Your goodness must have some edge to it,—else it is none.
EMERSON.
CHAPTER I
EARLY DAYS IN PRACTICE
The dramatic days were over. The task that now lay before S. J.-B. was
to pick up all that remained of herself after the conflict, and settle
down to practice. It is a solemn moment in the history of any doctor
when he or she deliberately takes in hand the issues of life and death:
mistakes can no more be avoided in this than in any other walk of life,
and yet the consequences here are so much more _apparently_ important.
And if it is a solemn moment for any man or woman, it was surely not
less so for her who for years had been a city set on a hill. In the
course of the long struggle youth had quite slipped away; her best
energies were spent; her nervous system was overstrained beyond the
possibility of complete recuperation. If George Eliot could say with
some truth that she began _Romola_ as a young woman and ended it an old
one, how much more might S. J.-B. have said this of her education in
medicine. Perhaps the coward in her would gladly now have shunned the
conflict altogether.
Small say was allowed to that coward at any time, and at this juncture
few even of S. J.-B.’s friends realized that—as regarded output of
energy—she had already done a life’s work. No one would have been
surprised if she had died a few years before, in the stress of the
fight; but the human memory is short, and, as she had survived, almost
everyone now looked upon the toil of the last ten years as simply the
introduction to the volume. She was now expected to show how great a
success a woman doctor can be.
First came the anxious question where to settle, and, while she
meditated on this, she was making good, at Brompton and wherever she
could find an entry,[135] the deficiencies in her hospital education.
Footnote 135:
We hear of her visiting the Middlesex, Moorfields, the Royal Free, the
Cancer, and the Children’s Hospitals.
Her original plan had been to settle in London, to foster the School she
had founded, and at the same time to be within easy reach of her
Mother,—the Mother for whom she would at any moment in her life have
thrown up every hope and plan that guided her.
There is no doubt that this would have been in most respects the ideal
arrangement. There is room for everyone in London. In those days it was
absolutely essential for a woman doctor to settle in a town large enough
to allow for the overwhelming proportion of patients who declined to
take their lives in their hands, so to speak, by trusting one of their
own sex. Even if the patient herself was willing to lean her whole
weight on an untried plank, husbands and mothers stood in the way.
Indeed there were girls who reckoned it the prime luxury involved in
earning their own living that they became free to employ the doctor of
their choice—a woman.
It is true that patients—and still more their male relatives—were
readier to trust S. J.-B. than they would have been to trust most other
women. Her inherent motherliness was not weakened by any aggressive
femininity; but on the other hand it is not to be supposed that she was
any less alarming than she had been as a student. No doctor ever
inspired greater enthusiasm and devotion than she did, but it was on the
whole the few to whom she appealed. Her vein of tenderness lay too deep
for the casual eye to see; and many were afraid of the occasional high-
handed imperious ways and the disregard of what people were likely to
say.
“It was like being lifted on a comet’s tail,” writes a patient to whom
she had been called in an emergency in March 1878, “when you came in,
strong and swift, with your eagle wings, getting over distances in a
third of the time other people take to do it.”
This is admirable, and describes what many felt, but although being
lifted on a comet’s tail is exactly what many patients want, the
treatment is not universally applicable.
London, then, would probably have supplied S. J.-B. with a larger
practice than she could have worked; many friends, and particularly her
brother, were keenly anxious that she should settle there; Mr. Norton
always regretted her departure; but, now that the School had been taken
out of her hands, it seemed inadvisable that she should remain as a
looker-on. The difficulty was to find another place big and
representative enough: she dreaded the great midland towns. After much
consultation, she decided on the last place on earth she might have been
expected to choose,—on Edinburgh.
It was partly the bracing climate, partly the beautiful drives, partly
the many friends who had stood by her so gallantly, that led to this
spirited decision, but on the whole it was a mistake. The smoke of the
conflict was still hot, and some of those who had admired her most had
admired her for qualities which were not what they sought in a
physician.
Moreover, she was the last person on earth to play up to the
expectations of the community in which she lived. The Edinburgh of those
days was a more conventional place than Edinburgh is now, and doctors
above all were expected to conform to a particular standard. There was a
general impression that piety paid and that an interest in missions was
a great help to success in practice.
“You never will succeed unless you conform to these usages,” said a
friend: “You might have Edinburgh at your feet if you would go to church
regularly and show yourself a religious woman,” said another.
It is needless to say that these were not the arguments to use with S.
J.-B. Never, moreover, since the far-off school-days in which she had
given a highly-valued shilling to “the Jews” had she taken any interest
in missions. That vein in her was worked out, or transmuted into
something else. The more she read of the old religions—and she did read—
the more she found in them to admire and respect,—the more it seemed to
her that they were the fitting medium for the training of the people to
whom they had been given. It must be frankly admitted too that she
continued to see such questions in the atmosphere of the particular
Evangelical school in which she had been brought up; in recognizing the
evolution of the individual—of herself as an individual—she failed to
recognize the evolution of the medium; and her life was so full of
active beneficent interests as to leave scant time for the consideration
of questions that did not at first sight appeal to her,—that did not
seem to be her job.
In the Edinburgh, too, of those days, the ordinary people who “counted”
were the people who liked things done “just so.” It disturbed their
sense of the fitting, for instance, that S. J.-B. should pay
professional visits, driving herself in a pony phaeton. Altogether she
was too big, too untrammeled for the post. What was wanted was the woman
who is a credit to any cause she may adopt. There are plenty of them
now-a-days.
Finally, S. J.-B. realized from the first that, with her limited
physical resources, she could not combine a social with a professional
life. Hospitality is a poor word to describe the manner in which her
door stood open to the few she loved, to those whom she thought she
could help, to all in whom she recognized any sort of spiritual kinship;
but from ordinary social engagements she stood aloof. She refused
invitations to dinner,[136] or made excuse to leave so early that she
might better, perhaps, not have gone; she declined to be lionised in any
way; and she was apt to snub those whom she suspected of wishing to know
her from motives of curiosity.
Footnote 136:
For the same reason she went but seldom to the theatre, unless an
actor whom she greatly admired visited Edinburgh. When Henry Irving
was there she would go as often as three times a week, and usually
take a little party of friends. Louis XI. was, in her opinion, his
masterpiece. For Miss Terry she had, like all the rest of the world, a
great admiration. Of Ristori she used to speak almost with bated
breath.
We must not forget how different she could be from all this,—how
radiant, how sympathetic, how full of humour and fun. “What a comfort it
is,” writes a patient at this time, “to see your dear supporting face!”
“You always come as Hercules did to Alcestis,” writes another. “Emily
and I have often spoken of your ‘How are you?’ being like his, ‘I am
here to help.’”
Nor am I working up to the avowal that she was a professional failure:
she was not: in many ways she was a great success. But if Edinburgh—like
Cousin Ellie of old—could have made “even a slight alteration” in her,
she might almost indeed have had the town at her feet.
* * * * *
She took the house 4 Manor Place, and in June 1878 she put her plate on
the door and began. Three months later she started a small dispensary.
Her professional isolation was great: Dr. Pechey was at Leeds; the other
medical women were in London or farther afield. A doctor in the early
days is sorely handicapped if he cannot discuss difficult cases and
questions with his contemporaries and seniors. S. J.-B. never had,
except for a few days at a time, the daily chit-chat—what students call
the “shop”—that is so helpful; but she was not allowed to suffer. Dr.
Heron Watson, Dr. George Balfour, and Dr. Angus Macdonald supported her
with a chivalrous loyalty of which it is difficult to write calmly even
now. They encouraged her to appeal to them at any time: they put the
whole wealth of their learning and experience at her disposal; and—what
was not a matter of course in those days—there was not a single question
in all the complicated domain of medicine which they would not discuss
with her as frankly as if she had been a man. It must be borne in mind
that in her own special subject, the diseases of women, her equipment
was all that could be desired. It was not for nothing that she had
worked for two years under Dr. Sewall at Boston. If adequate training
had been available, she might have made a great gynæcological surgeon,
for she had great calmness and presence of mind in an emergency, and her
hands, though full of character, were small and deft. Dr. Sewall always
regretted the waste of her potentiality in this respect.
The following extracts are from letters written during the first few
months of practice:
To her Mother,
“MY DARLING,
I know you will be pleased to hear that I yesterday received
fees which just completed my first £50,—earned in Edinburgh in less
than three months,—and that in what they call the “empty” season. And
what pleases me still better is that everyone of my patients has done
well. Several have left my hands practically recovered, and those who
are still there are all going on satisfactorily. And as among them
were two cases to which I was called when the patient was described as
‘dying’ (and both got well) I think I may very well be content. I have
had 23 patients (nearly 100 visits) at my private house, and about as
many more at my Dispensary, which has only been open a fortnight; so I
don’t think there is much doubt about the ‘demand’ nor about my
prospects.”
To Dr. King Chambers,
“I feel I am learning a great deal from the large variety of practice
here. You will see from the enclosed paper that I have the help and
support of four[137] of the best medical men in Edinburgh, and they
are all excessively kind in giving me advice and help as often as I
want it. No one ever had better friends and I doubt if anyone ever
liked a profession better than I like mine.
I find that each of my cases involves so much reading and thinking
that I am almost anxious they should not multiply too fast.”
Footnote 137:
The three mentioned above, together with Dr. Peel Ritchie. In later
years, of course, she would have added to the list,—notably the names
of Dr. (Sir Thomas) Clouston and Mr. C. W. Cathcart.
To Dr. (now Sir Thomas) Barlow to whom she had commended a young
colleague,
“March 24th. [1879.]
DEAR SIR,
I thank you very much for the kind response to my note which
reached me this morning. I feel sure that you will find Miss K.
grateful for your kindness and most anxious to benefit by it. I have
had repeated cause myself in my own Dispensary work to be thankful for
the various lessons I learned from you and Dr. Lee.
Thank you also for the kind interest you express in my personal
success, which indeed is all that I could desire. I have about 25 or
30 patients at the Dispensary every day that it is opened, and I also
have a much larger private practice than is usual at so early a date.
I have not yet been established here in practice quite 9 months, and I
find that I have already had about 400 visits to or from private
patients, which I think you will allow shows the ‘demand’ is a real
one.
As you refer to the ‘general question of lady doctors’ you must allow
me to say that I am quite sure it would have your support, from at any
rate one point of view, if you had the least idea of the amount of
preventible suffering which women bear with rather than consult men in
special cases....
Now I do not care for a moment to argue whether this feeling is right
or wrong; ... if the feeling exists it should be distinctly recognized
as an element in the question; and I am quite sure that you would be
one of the very first to desire that every possible remedy should be
brought to such needless suffering.
In the same way I never care to argue at all about the relative
capabilities of men and women. I mean to try to do my own work up to
the very best of my power, and that is all that really concerns me. I
cannot imagine any work nobler or more perfectly fascinating, than
that of medicine, and I am very thankful to be allowed ever so small a
share in it.”
To Mrs. Henry Kingsley,
“I have full as much work at my Dispensary as I can manage, indeed I
am pretty well used up on those days, but I always enjoy them.
I am just going to begin a course of lectures which I hope may be
successful.
It is hard work altogether, but nothing to the old worries.”
Hard work indeed it was, especially when one bears in mind that she was
urged at times to undertake confinements at a very considerable
distance,—as far off as Yorkshire. Moreover, being a woman, she had of
course the cares of housekeeping, and S. J.-B. always took her
housekeeping very seriously.[138] She was herself a good cook and an
excellent manager, and her staff were expected to carry out her methods
and principles loyally. If they happened to be lazy and unprincipled, or
even easy-going, their tenure of office was likely to be brief. Her
comfortable home—in common with all the other gifts of the gods—meant
nothing to her unless she could share it. How heartfelt was her
hospitality may be gathered from the following letters:
“August 15th. [? 1878.]
DEAR MISS IRBY,
Welcome home again! I saw in yesterday’s paper that you had
reached England, and was going to write when your letter came. I shall
be delighted to see you again! I expect to be here all autumn and
winter (with the exception of a few days) and shall be only too glad
to have you whenever you like best to come. Only do manage to give me
at least a week, and let me know which time suits you best as soon as
possible, so that I may make my plans suit yours.
Several people are most anxious to meet you, so I will ask them to
dinner, etc., when you fix a time; but I hope you won’t accept
invitations much (you are sure to have dozens) as I do want you to get
a little rest while with me, and I want to take you drives about
Edinburgh,—the country is so lovely. I shall tell everybody you will
be too tired to go out much.
Would you like a public meeting here? I daresay it would help, though
most residents are away at this season.
Yours affectionately,
S. JEX-BLAKE.”
Footnote 138:
The invaluable Alice had retired from service to join a sister in
Wales. She and her mistress continued to correspond till the end.
“June 16th. [1879.]
DEAR MRS. THORNE,
I hear that your two girls are coming to Morton next week. Don’t
you think it would be very wrong to let them travel so far all alone?
Don’t you think it is clearly your duty to come and stay a week or two
with me when you arrive? I should like so very much to see you again
at something like leisure, and also to show you my Dispensary and all
and sundry I am doing here. _So_ many Edinbro’ friends would like to
see you! _Do_ try to come if only for a week or two!
I remember that the ‘wonderful woman’ went to London and back for 24
hours once, so she can’t mind travelling! In haste
Yours sincerely,
S. JEX-BLAKE.”
“June 18th.
DEAR MRS. THORNE,
I shall be really _delighted_ if you will come down with your
girls and spend a week or two with me while they are at Morton. You
and I have never had any really quiet time together since our student
days, and I cannot tell you how much I should enjoy some talks with
you, and how glad I should be of your advice about lots of things in
my Dispensary and otherwise. Dr. Sewall you know always said you were
_the_ doctor among us, and I quite believe it. I wish so very often
that I could ask you about things.”
To a colleague in London she writes a month or two later:
“Your thanking me so much for a very moderate amount of good nature
shown to Miss X., makes me wonder how you _expect_ one to behave to
people who are ill and poor. I am sure you yourself act upon the ‘aux
plus déshérités le plus amour’ principle? Seriously I have done very
little for her beyond what I should have done for anybody more or less
in her position, except perhaps half a dozen drives and dinners which
I promised ‘pour l’amour de vos beaux yeux' before I saw her.
I am afraid you must think me a very ungrateful person in my turn, for
I don’t _say_ a quarter as much about your various kindnesses to me
and my friends.”
She always had a word of brave and wise advice for colleagues who
appealed to her:
“I am inclined to think you had better send Miss Z. off to Australia.
I am sure Miss Du Pre will gladly do her part if you write to her
about it. She is now at ‘Surbiton, S.W.,’—no farther address required.
I think you are _quite_ wrong to think you will ‘not forgive yourself’
if the plan does not succeed. I have long ago come to the conclusion
that ‘efforts are ours, results are God’s,’—and, if you don’t like
that phraseology, you can paraphrase it as you like, so long as you
acquiesce in my conclusion that we are _not_ to blame or worry
ourselves if things go wrong when we have done our best.
How I wish we could sit by that upstairs window and have a chat over
it all!”
* * * * *
“No, life isn’t a bit of a failure, and you wouldn’t think so if we
could get ten days’ holiday together up in the highlands!—don’t I wish
we could!—for I am very tired too.
I’ve got to go off to Yorkshire in a few days to attend ——’s
patient....
My coachman got drunk last week, and I turned him off at an hour’s
notice, and had to see to the stable myself for a day or two!—My whole
household has been upside down, and in the midst of it my dear old
Turk died last week, but quite quietly and without pain. I have a new
page, and a new cook, and a new groom,[139] and am going to have a new
housemaid,—don’t you pity me?—Still I say ‘Life is good,’—Can you have
better testimony?”
Footnote 139:
In place of the “coachman”; she never had both.
Her advice on occasion could be fairly drastic:
“Yes,—I know about Miss W. _Why_ do you _let_ her stay 1½ hours with
you? At the end of five minutes I should take out my watch and say,—
‘Now I have just ten minutes more for you,—is there anything you want
to say?’ That’s the way to treat those sort of folks. _I_ am not ‘too
good for this world.’”
Here is a rather amusing answer to a question from Dr. Pechey,—“Why do
you recommend Vermouth?”
“DEAR EDIE,
I sent off my two cards to you too hurriedly to answer about
‘Vermouth’!—but now let me say at my leisure that I never heard
anything more beautifully illustrative of the way stories are
‘evolved.’
The one and only occasion when I made acquaintance with Vermouth was
when one day, during a hurried call at Mrs. Nichol’s, the dear old
lady in Mr. F.’s presence, offered me some Vermouth as something new
she had got, and insisted on my tasting it,—which I did, and said I
thought it ‘very nice,’ as in duty bound! Neither before nor
afterwards have I either seen or heard of it! It really _is_ nice, I
think,—in the orange bitters line,—but further I know nothing about
it, and certainly never recommended it in my life—nor expect to.
My professional life is, I find, largely a crusade against tea and
alcohol, so certainly I am not likely to preach up new liqueurs—if
this is one.”
To Dr. Sewall she writes,
“Oct. 8th. [1879.] ... I have a very charming little brougham, which
my Mother gave me; and a beautiful horse, quiet as a lamb and strong
as a bull, from Miss Du Pre. Altogether it is an extremely smart turn-
out, and I should like so much to show it to you! I hope I shall this
summer. You _must_ come then if possible,—it is so hard to be apart so
many years!
I am so sorry my Father’s carriage is worn out. That little gift was
such a pleasure to him and almost the last thing he did. I think the
letter in which he told me he had paid the money to my bankers was the
very last I had from him—dear old man!...
Dr. King Chambers gave the inaugural address at our School this year,
I moved the vote of thanks to him,[140] as it was my one day in
London. I will try to send you a report.”
Footnote 140:
This was probably _not_ the occasion of which she writes in her
diary,—“S. J.-B. made very nice speech in moving vote of thanks,—only
forgot to thank much!”
Later she writes,
“I have rather a sore heart today, for dear old Turk has just died in
my arms.... He seemed about as usual today, but rose from where he was
by the kitchen fire, walked into the scullery and fell over. They
fetched me, and he gave just two gasps in my arms and died. It seems a
bit of one’s life gone, when he had been in it for 13 years!—and a
Boston bit too.”
“Nov. 29th. 1879.... We are in great excitement here with the visit of
Gladstone to Edinburgh,[141] and his speeches. I send you two papers
today, to show you how he alludes in one speech to the sympathy of
women with his cause,—I have written a short letter in today’s
_Scotsman_ asking if it would not be better that they should be able
legitimately to express that sympathy through the Suffrage.... How I
hope and trust to see you here next year!”
Footnote 141:
This was the celebrated visit to contest the County of Midlothian,—a
“triumphal procession”!
Apparently Miss Pechey did not think Gladstone’s appreciation of women
sufficiently adequate to be worth acknowledging, for a few days later S.
J.-B. writes to her,
“I like Gladstone much better than you do, or I shouldn’t have written
as in the _Scotsman_, but no doubt he is wrong about women,—his wife’s
fault however, I fancy. Miss Irby went to stay with them for a day or
two last year, and I know he admires her hugely,—perhaps she may be a
means of grace to him.”
It was about this time that the opinions of a number of representative
women were collected on the subject of the Suffrage. S. J.-B. at first
declined to respond, but, on Miss Irby’s remonstrance she wrote the
following lines, which are quoted here because they represent fairly the
calm and decided attitude she took upon the subject throughout life:
“If I correctly understand the British Constitution, one of its
fundamental principles is that Taxation and Representation should go
together, and that every person taxed should have a voice in the
election of those by whom taxes are imposed. If this is a wrong
principle, it should be exchanged as soon as possible for some other,
so that we may know what is the real basis of representation in this
country; if it is a right principle, it must admit of general
application, and I am unable to see that the sex of the tax-paying
householder should enter into the question at all.
The argument respecting the ‘virtual representation’ of women under
the present system seems to me especially worthless, as it can be
answered alternatively thus:—If women as a sex have exactly the same
interests as men, their votes can do no harm, and indeed will not
affect the ultimate result; if they have interests more or less
divergent from men, it is obviously essential that such interests
should be directly represented in the councils of the nation. My own
belief is that in the highest sense, the interests of the two sexes
are identical, and that the noblest and most enlightened men and women
will always feel them to be so; and, in that case, a country must
surely be most politically healthy where all phases of thought and
experience find legitimate expression in the selection of its
parliamentary representatives.”
As regards the medical education of women S. J.-B. never for one moment
lost interest in the movement as a whole. If her hand was no longer on
the helm, she never deserted her post on the bridge. A new Medical Bill
was on the _tapis_ at this time,—a Bill which—very rightly—made it
essential that all doctors should hold a qualification in both medicine
and surgery. As, however, no College of Surgeons would examine women
(who nevertheless had gone through the required surgical _training_),
this Bill would have had the result of placing women on a different and
inferior footing to men as doctors, and the hard-won steps that had
seemed to be cut in the solid rock would have melted away once more.
The General Medical Council, in its suggested amendments to the Bill,
proposed to establish a special Board for the examination of women, and
to admit them in the end to a separate register! It was the old
“strawberry jam labels” over again. Moreover in order to conform with
the requirements of this Board a woman must be in a position to assert
that she had received _no part of her education_ along with men,—a
requirement that at once ruled out all the women who were enjoying the
great privilege of studying at the University of Paris.
So there was small encouragement even now to relax that keen look-out on
the bridge.
In Dr. Heron Watson, who was at that time President of the Edinburgh
Royal College of Surgeons, S. J.-B. had a keen and sympathetic adviser,
and with his approval she wrote to her former supporters, Mr. Stansfeld,
Lord Aberdare, Lord Ripon and others, begging them to keep a watchful
eye on the interests of the women. Early in the spring of 1878 she had
urged Mrs. Anderson to write to two or three of the London daily
newspapers on the subject, while she herself undertook two or three
more; and on April 19th she writes again:
“DEAR MRS. ANDERSON,—It occurs to me that it would be well for the 8
registered women to send up a distinct protest against the new Medical
Bill to strengthen the hands of our friends in both Houses.
I have made a rough draft of what I should propose, and enclose a copy
to you, while also forwarding one to Mr. Stansfeld. Before doing
anything further I shall wait to hear what you and he think about it,
and whether you have any alterations to propose.
If the plan is adopted, can you tell me how we can get Dr. Blackwell’s
signature? There is no great hurry, as the petition need not be
presented for three or four weeks.
Yours truly,
S. JEX-BLAKE.”
To Mrs. Thorne she writes some months later,
“I had a long talk with Dr. Watson yesterday, and he tells me the
Government is likely to drop the Medical Bill for this session. I
shall be rather sorry if they do.
If they do _not_, I hope you will make a point of ‘keeping the run’ of
every proposed amendment, and of watching very carefully how each may
affect women. I should look out very sharp if I were in London, but
here it is impossible to do so with sufficient efficiency and
promptitude; so please don’t let anything slip. The matter is almost
more important than School affairs, and even friendly M.P.’s are too
busy to be trusted and often they don’t see the bearing of phrases.
Mr. Stansfeld, Mr. Cowper Temple or Dr. Cameron, could any of them get
papers for you, but they need reminding.”
Amid these manifold interests life ran its course in the early years of
practice. The happiest times were those when Miss Du Pre came to stay
with her friend, and it was the dream of S. J.-B.’s life that these
visits might develop into constant companionship. No one who was not a
doctor ever took a more sympathetic interest in medical questions than
did Miss Du Pre: her advice in difficult social and professional
problems was invaluable; and then there was her delightful sense of fun!
“The only witty friend I ever had,” S. J.-B. says about this time. And,
added to all was her sheer goodness and interest in the poor.
“32 at Dispensary,” writes S. J.-B. in her diary. “One or two so
hungry and forlorn that they went to my heart. Oh, dear, if only J.
[Miss Du Pre] were here to do her half of the work!
No motto of mine that over the Venice monastery, ‘O solitudo, sola
beatitudo!’”
It is needless to say that Miss Du Pre’s visits were as long and as
frequent as the many other claims in her life made possible, and in her
absence she entered as of old into every detail of her friend’s life.
Of course this friendship could not but take in great measure the place
of the old enthusiasm for Octavia Hill, though the latter never died.
In May 1877 someone had told S. J.-B. of the “terrible trouble” Miss
Hill was in. “Oh, dear,” she cried in her diary, “I’m ashamed of the
first sort of thrill of triumph that she should know how it hurts!”[142]
Footnote 142:
It was not till later—not perhaps till she saw that regrettable number
of _Fors Clavigera_ that S. J.-B. had any clear idea what the trouble
was.
“My life is full and complete again,” she writes in April 1878, “if
somewhat greyer for all the past pain; and, if I can have J., the
former things may abide in shadow till the day of restitution of all
things. I can’t but believe that _some_ day, some _where_, I shall
learn what it all meant,—even now one sees in some measure ‘why it
could not be otherwise.’
It is at any rate a grand thing that, over and through all, each has
kept on at her work and done yeoman service.”
“Dear L. E. S. turned the tide, gave me back the beginning of strength
and life, physical and mental, and since then for the last 12 years I
have stumbled steadily onwards,—gaining in strength and calm and
hope,—till at length I can feel a wholesome life of my own—quite
independent of the old pain,—with a very dear hand in mine, and with a
grand life of work and struggle against disease before me.”
On the last night of that year she writes:
“‘Tarry thou the Lord’s leisure,’ ... ‘and He shall strengthen thy
heart.’...
I believe profoundly in the ‘that He might be able to succour’. One
does learn through pain what one never learns without,—and, hard as it
is to _feel_ it, I suppose one knows the ‘power of ministration’—the
‘Lo, I come’ _is_ higher and more than even the personal happiness.
So—take and use Thy work.
What is the use of _talking_ about presenting ourselves a ‘living
sacrifice,’—and then moaning over pain,—wanting to ‘freeze on a warm
night’!
Oh, dear!—one’s own littleness.
Well, God teach and guide us all.”
A few weeks later she comes to the end of the volume, and writes in a
sunnier vein:
“Yet surely,—‘hitherto He has helped us’—Look at beginning of this
book,—or stronger still look back some 17 years and see how the light
has arisen out of darkness,—and shall it not grow and grow.
I fully believe ‘God is very merciful to those who suffer _young’_.
How much harder the other way.
And much to be thankful for in health. No neuralgia,—very great return
of brain power....
Who can look forward?—who dare plan?
Domine dirige nos!”
CHAPTER II
LAST ILLNESS OF MRS. JEX-BLAKE
So far S. J.-B.’s success in Edinburgh had been on the whole greater
than most of her friends had anticipated. The experiment could never
have been made, had not Mrs. Jex-Blake agreed to spend her winters in
Edinburgh. S. J.-B. was a good deal blamed by other members of the
family for urging this arrangement; but it must be borne in mind that
although Mrs. Jex-Blake was in fairly good general health, she was
subject to sudden alarming attacks of illness which had repeatedly
brought her daughter hundreds of miles in hot haste to the sick bed,
regardless of the studies, or the still more important affairs she was
leaving behind.
Modern methods would have grappled with the illness at its source long
before the patient had reached her present age, and a radical cure might
have restored her to perfect health: as it was she lay under a sword of
Damocles, and was regarded as a more delicate woman than she really was.
It was impossible for S. J.-B. to embark on medical practice under these
conditions; so the Sussex Square house was given up, and the old lady—
who elected to have her own _ménage_—divided her time between her
daughter in Edinburgh and her son at Rugby.
“You have always been different to me from my other children,” she said
to S. J.-B.; and, if she spoke with a consciousness of the sword in her
heart, the words were mainly a tribute to her younger daughter’s
untiring devotion, and remained in later days the source of comfort they
were meant to be.
Towards the end of April 1881 Mrs. Jex-Blake went south, leaving her
daughter more reluctantly than usual. It was only those who knew S. J.-
B. very intimately who were at all aware of the effort it sometimes cost
her to get through each “day’s darg,” and to keep a bright face turned
to her patients and a brave face to the world at large. She was more
tired than usual at the end of that winter, and Mrs. Jex-Blake was well
aware of this.
The usual series of love letters passed between Mother and daughter:
“Eastfield,
April 30th. [1881].
OWN DARLING,
I am really well, but feel only half of myself without you. I am
_very_ good,—I sleep well, eat well—_two_ hot dinners a day,—but, as I
was very tired, keep my room, it is so much easier to be quiet there.
Florence quite mothers me....
You may be sure Dobbs is most attentive—and backs anything she advises
with the
_Dr.’s wishes_....”
“4 Manor Place,
Edinburgh.
May 1st.
... Many thanks for your dear little letters, but you mustn’t scribble
too much to anybody!—Such sweet leaves in today’s note!
Yes, my darling, I miss my dear old lady _very_ much, but we are both
going to be very good, and get quite strong for our reunion in
September. I shall be very grateful to you if you keep up your ‘two
hot dinners’ honestly, and all the rest of it.... It breaks my heart
to find you run down as I do year after year when I come to fetch you
back again.
I don’t know exactly when Ursula comes, but you will hear from her.
Dr. M‘Laren is back,[143] and so vexed to have missed saying
‘Goodbye’!
Yours lovingly,
SOPH.”
Footnote 143:
Dr. Agnes M‘Laren had taken the house adjoining S. J.-B.’s.
Towards the end of June Mrs. Jex-Blake was less well, but the doctor who
attended her saw no cause for anxiety. On the 28th, however, alarming
indications of the old enemy showed themselves suddenly, and he
telegraphed to S. J.-B. to come immediately. There was one more rush
south “on eagle’s wings,” but fortunately this time S. J.-B. had the
companionship of Miss Du Pre, with whom she reached Rugby at 2 a.m.
The patient had been given up by the doctor and by all, and even S. J.-
B., when she saw her, thought she was dying; but she fought for the
precious life with every fibre of her being, refusing to own defeat and
absolutely regardless of her own health. For ten days and nights she
scarcely left the room. The doctor in attendance was only too glad that
she should have a free hand, and after a few days they sent for Dr. King
Chambers, in whose skill S. J.-B. had almost unlimited faith. His visit
proved reassuring.
“Her life hung so evenly on the balance when I left,” he wrote next
day, “that I was obliged to acknowledge to myself that my trust in her
recovery was a sanguine one. Please one line about her, and, if it is
a favourable one, I shall answer it by a little advice to yourself,
which you will in that case be in a condition to take.”
On July 7th all looked well, and S. J.-B. felt the wonderful supporting
power of hope, but, on the following day, there was a sudden turn for
the worse, and at half past six in the evening, the patient passed
quietly away.
* * * * *
The event is recorded in the diary by a great sheaf of blank pages, with
a pathetic notice from the _Times_ in the middle of them.
That is all, but constantly for a year, intermittently for many years,
the diary recurs to the old longings and regrets, the gropings and
questionings, the heart-searching and tears, that have followed every
great bereavement. The reader of the preceding pages will not need to be
told that S. J.-B. drank the cup to the dregs.
There were not a few who had lost in Mrs. Jex-Blake their dearest
friend, but everyone’s first thought was of her younger daughter.
“I do hope,” writes that wise Heron Watson, “that you are not overborne
by over much sorrow.”
“No human being loses what I do in her,” S. J.-B. wrote to her friend,
James Cordery, and this was perfectly true. No one had loved her Mother
as she had; no one else had the same cause; and no one else had the same
appalling capacity for suffering.
It is interesting to note that of many beautiful letters of sympathy
there is not one that strikes the reader as more truly comprehending
than does Mrs. Anderson’s:
“4 Upper Berkeley Street, W.
July 13th, 1881.
DEAR MISS JEX-BLAKE,
I have seen with very great regret the notice of your sorrow.
Knowing as I do how very close and tender was the tie between you and
your Mother and also what a fine and ennobling influence she must have
been to all within her range I am very full of sympathy for you. It is
always very sad to break away from the past by losing one of these
main links with it, but in your case there is very much to increase
your sense of this. You have not (as so many others unhappily allow
themselves to do) outlived the tenderness of the relationship. I hope
that after a time it will be a comfort to you to remember this and to
recal how happy she was in having so much affection from you.
I was very sorry to find I had written on business last Sunday at such
a time.
Yours very truly,
E. G. ANDERSON.”
S. J.-B.’s own letters are calm and restrained, of course. To her
assistant in Edinburgh she writes,
“July 11th.
... Thanks for your kind note, and [your Mother’s] kind
thoughtfulness.
But nothing would grieve me more than needlessly to part a Mother and
daughter who still have each other, and I beg her to remain with you
at least as arranged until the end of this month during which time I
shall almost certainly remain here and try to get rested.
It was a hard battle,—it was bitter to fail just when we seemed
winning, but I believe it was her wish to go. On Thursday I heard her
murmur quietly, ‘Oh, Father, I pray Thee take me home,’—and now all is
peace.
Yours sincerely,
S. J.-B.”
About the work in Edinburgh S. J.-B. had no anxiety at all. It was her
way, when she trusted people, to trust them whole-heartedly, and she had
absolute confidence in the assistant who had worked with her for more
than a year. Well, indeed, she might, for she was extraordinarily
fortunate in that gallant-hearted and faithful young helper, whose only
fault seems to have been that she threw herself too completely, too
conscientiously, into everything she undertook,—her chief’s work and
interests, together with her own studies and laboratory
experiments.[144] S. J.-B. never realised what a responsibility her very
trust was to one wholly worthy of it.
Footnote 144:
She was working at the solubility of fats, and the ether fumes were
supposed to have proved insidiously poisonous.
In any case the double burden on the young shoulders proved too great,
and there was a sudden and tragic breakdown ending in death.
One wonders how S. J.-B. bore the double shock. She had fancied herself
“girt with the girdle of him who has nought,” when the second blow fell.
She always said herself that she never could have won through but for
Miss Du Pre, who simply carried her off to quiet places and tended her
and brought her gradually back to the possibility of beginning again.
The practice in Edinburgh was given up for the time. There was nothing
else to be done. Miss Ellaby took up the threads and finished them off
as well as a stranger might; but there was no medical woman free to
remain and fill the niche. It was hard on the practice.
* * * * *
In later years S. J.-B. met Mr. Frederick Myers, and she was induced by
her impression of him to read his _Human Personality and its Survival of
Bodily Death_, when it appeared some time later. She was deeply
interested in the book, and her mind was open on the subject always; but
she “tried the spirits” severely. “No human being,” she said one day in
the course of an earnest talk, “could strive to come into touch with one
gone before more earnestly than I tried to come into touch with my
Mother. I used to lie awake at night concentrating every faculty on the
effort. But I got no response.”
Her diary became her great outlet again in those dark days, in some
places almost, as of old, a very cento of beautiful or poignant thoughts
from the treasure-house of her memory; but that was never the side she
turned to the world, though intimate friends got glimpses of it that
startled them. One guessed it too from her anxiety to spare others the
pain she had suffered herself.
“Don’t you ever go through the farce, dear, of thinking you haven’t been
good to me,” she said to a friend years after this; and, although
throughout life she often spoke hastily and over-sharply, she never
spoke a word that might poison the night-watches for those she left
behind. Coventry Patmore’s terrible poem[145] could never have been
inspired by her.
Footnote 145:
“Poor Child.”
To one of her nieces she writes:
“Sept. 2nd, 1881.
DEAR ——,
I found the enclosed treasured among Grandmamma’s most valued
papers, and I am sure you will like to have it back and to see how she
kept and cared for it through so many years....
I think all your life it will be a pleasure to you remember how much
you added to her happiness and helped to take care of her during the
last few years. She always said you were ‘a little mother’ to her.
Your affec. aunt,
S. J.-B.”
CHAPTER III
PATIENTS AND FRIENDS
It was hard to go back to the house in Manor Place, so full of
associations, and, as soon as might be, S. J.-B. and Miss Du Pre removed
to Bruntsfield Lodge, a roomy, rambling old house[146] with a shady,
high-walled garden, standing high on the south side of Edinburgh,
overlooking Bruntsfield Links. The sunny rooms and the possibility of
stepping out into quiet greenness were worth a fortune to the strained
nerves and over-active brain.
Footnote 146:
This house is now the picturesque nucleus of the Edinburgh Hospital
for Women and Children.
“You will be glad to hear that I am much stronger,” S. J.-B. writes to
Dr. Sewall in September 1883, “and am sleeping excellently. I have
just begun also to take short rides, and I do not think they tire me
too much.”
Here then she began the life of comparative seclusion and active
beneficence which was to last for sixteen years. The keynote of her
existence was sharing, taking others with her, and the joy of sharing
this comfortable house and garden was very great.
Miss Du Pre’s absence is the occasion for some playful letters written
quite in a patriarchal spirit:
“August 25th. [1883.]
... _I_ have had an addition to my family as well as Mrs. B.,—though
it isn’t yet in the _Times_ first column,—viz. a delightfully comic
small dog, white with one black eye, whom I have christened Toby, and
whom I bought from the Home for Lost Dogs for the large sum of 2s. 6d.
The police take stray dogs there, and if no one claims them, or buys
them, they are killed; so this little fellow has escaped by the skin
of his teeth, in virtue of his supposed excellences in the cat-chasing
line![147] Has cottoned up to me most amusingly—followed me about all
day, and whined at the door when shut out....
The two boys are delighted, of course,—especially A., who declares Mr.
Toby to be the moral of a dog for whom his late master ‘wouldn’t take
£100.’ Nice profit wouldn’t it be if I clear £99. 17s. 6d.!
Lest the household should be too full, I have sent off a member,—viz.,
White Angel, to grass for a week at Currie,—H. being so overjoyed at
being let ride him out that cook declared he ‘couldn’t eat his lunch‘!
He walked back (6 miles) in 1¾ hr., not bad, was it?
Miss A. is coming tonight,—Mrs. J. went this afternoon. By the bye on
Thursday she asked me to ‘see Baby for a minute,’ and I found the
child white and out of sorts, rather feverish, etc., and overjoyed
Mrs. J. by prescribing ‘a little Bruntsfield’. So she has been out
here for 2 days, tumbling in the hay and delighting Ann’s heart. She
is so fond of children.
I also sent Mrs. S. off to Brackenrigg yesterday, as I decided she did
want a change before beginning a winter’s work. The fare was 17s. 4d.,
and I gave her the rest of £4, which will pay everything for 10 days,
with 5s. or 6s. to spare. I haven’t heard from her yet, but I am sure
she will be in the seventh heaven.
Probably she will see Miss Anthony there,—she went the previous
day....
I think it _was very_ good of you to ask for the Baring votes!...”
Footnote 147:
S. J.-B. made great friends with the birds in her garden, and cats
were accordingly taboo.
“Sept. 4th.
... Mrs. S. lunched here today, and says she feels infinitely
better for the change,—things no longer worry her in the same way. She
tells me that the red-room gentleman was back,[148]—and that being
confined to bed one day, he evidently heard Miss Anthony haranguing on
Women’s Rights in the next room,—and Mrs. W. told them that he had
asked ‘when those two ladies were going,—for he heard enough to know
they were men-haters, and _he_ was a woman hater!”
Footnote 148:
S. J.-B. and Miss Du Pre had visited the same hotel that summer.
“Sept. 9th.
I’ve had another addition to my family,—_not_ a permanent one this
time! A. J. was very anxious not to catch scarlet fever so as to be
thrown back for his examinations, etc., and so I have taken him in for
a few days, and given him ——’s room upstairs. (Do you think W. is in
any danger?) He seems a very nice lad, but by no means strong. He is
so very pleased with the quiet,—he says he can sleep _so_ much better.
Now a lad of his age ought to be able to sleep in any row!”
“Sept. 13th.
... The grapes are getting on famously, some will be ripe
within a week I think, but they will be rather small this year.”
“Sept. 23rd.
You needn’t have asked so meekly for ‘2 or 3 grapes’. We
have cut none yet, but when they first began to colour, the most
forward bunch was dubbed ‘Miss Du Pre’s,’—and for the last 10 days
the household might be seen every morning with upturned chins
gazing to see ‘if Miss Du Pre’s bunch is ready’,—H. going up the
ladder and hanging in all sorts of odd positions to look at it all
round.
The combined wisdom has decided to cut it tomorrow—in spite of a
red berry or two which won’t get right,—so probably you will get
it on Wednesday morning by P.P. Be sure to tell me how it
travels.”
The first few months in the new house were a time of comparative
leisure, and S. J.-B.’s friends received letters less telegraphic in
their succinctness than they afterwards tended to become. The
following is to Mrs. Brander, who (when Miss Isobel Bain) had
accompanied S. J.-B. to America:
“Sept. 26th. [1883.]
DEAREST BEL,
I wish you could peep in and see my new house now that it is
fairly in order. I think the quiet and airiness will be of very
great value to me. I have felt much better since I came here....
You have so often wished for good medical women in India that you
must now be pleased to have your wish granted. I don’t know if you
know Mrs. Scharlieb who is just entering on practice at Madras,
but, if you don’t, I wish you would go and call on her, and give
my card. I do not know her personally, but I have corresponded
with her, and respect her much for the gallant way in which she
got her education, first at Madras and then coming to England to
perfect herself. She passed the very difficult examinations of the
University of London (M.B. and B.S.) with great distinction, and
won the gold medal in Obstetrics from the whole University....
Have you heard also that Dr. Edith Pechey is going to settle at
Bombay? She has been invited to do so by a committee of native
gentlemen, who guarantee her an income and find her a hospital....
I am very sorry to lose her from England, but very glad to have so
admirable a representative in India. She always wins golden
opinions and does such excellent work. I do hope the Government
will do something for her. I have just written to Lord Ripon about
her.
You know I suppose that Mr. Fawcett has appointed a medical woman
(Miss Shove) as medical officer to the women post office clerks,
with £350 a year. It is an immense step in public opinion.
I am getting on very well here, but I begin to feel I am getting
old. My hair is so grey!...
Dear old Mrs. Brander came to see me the other day, looking as
nice as ever, ... I think I care more and more for old people’s
happiness as compared to young, though the world is hard enough
for them too sometimes,—and hardest of all I sometimes think for
the middle-aged folks who have outlived the spring and energy of
youth and not reached the calm of age. How much pain one sees in
the world!
I hope _your_ life is getting easier and happier every year, dear
child. Tell me all about yourself some day....
Yours affectionately,
S. J.-B.”
She was planning a new edition of her book, _Medical Women_, at this
time, and she wrote to Mr. Osler to ask for statistics as to the
percentage of women, as compared with men, who had so far passed the
examinations of the University of London. In reply to his
information she writes:
“Feb. 3rd. 1884.
DEAR MR. OSLER,
I can hardly express strongly enough how grateful I am both to you
and to Mr. Milman, for the very valuable tables of numbers sent
me....
Please do not doubt for a moment that I quite agree with you that
it is unfair to compare ‘picked women’ (i.e. really in earnest)
and ‘unpicked men’. I have said so repeatedly. But you must
remember that a _very_ few years ago I had a very hard fight to
get it admitted as a possibility that _some_ women _might_ do as
good work as men. In ‘Visits to American Schools’ (published 1867)
I wrote with at least sufficient diffidence,—‘Whether most women
would be capable of the amount of study required, for instance,
for one of our University degrees, I really do not know,’ etc. My
one contention has been all along,—‘Give a fair field and _try_’—
and no one can exaggerate the gratitude that all women ought to
feel to the University of London for giving that field.
At the same time, while quite conceding that ‘percentages’ need
correction by certain considerations on the men’s side,—youth,
want of choice, etc.,—you must not forget that women are quite as
much weighted in other ways,—e.g. by the greater reluctance of
parents to spend money on their education, and the more
inconsiderate claims made on their time, etc., at home, inferior
early teaching, etc., so that after all one set of difficulties go
far to balance another.
From a medical point of view my chief anxiety now is how women are
going to stand the strain; I am _very_ much afraid of seeing the
movement discredited by the breakdown in health of girls who begin
too young, or with inadequate physical stamina, or who try to
‘burn the candle at both ends’ by combining society or home duties
with serious study.
However, I must not trespass longer on your time and kind
patience, and with repeated thanks, I remain,
Yours very gratefully,
S. JEX-BLAKE.”
This subject of the education of girls had been brought prominently
before her mind by the breakdown of a rarely gifted young friend. S.
J.-B. had some great talks on the subject with Miss Buss and others,
and she wrote to various papers about the danger of over-pressure.
“The headmistresses have a difficult problem before them,” she says,
“but it has got to be faced.”
As a matter of fact the problem was destined to be solved abundantly
in due course by the development of games and physical culture
generally,—all that side of life for the lack of which she herself
had suffered so terribly.
She was specially interested, of course, in the daughters of her old
friends, and, of these, Hermione Unwin and Katie Ballantyne held a
special place in her regard. To the former she writes:
“July 29th. 1884.
MY DEAR HERMIE,
Thank you for sending me your examination papers. I am very
glad that you passed so successfully. What now interests me most
is to know to what use all this work is to be turned, for after
all knowledge is noblest when it becomes an instrument of work
beyond itself. Have you any tastes or wishes, or any thought of
any special kind of work?
I daresay that after all this study the best thing you can do is
to rest on your oars for six months or a year, but during that
time I hope you will be thinking in what way you can turn yourself
to best account. There is so much that needs doing in the world,
and it is such a privilege to help in the doing of it. I hope you
will write and tell me when you have any definite thoughts on the
subject.
I have already had my holiday for this year, having spent June in
driving about (with the white pony) in the Perthshire highlands
with my friend, Miss Du Pre. I think there is hardly any kind of
holiday that rests one so much. You should persuade your Father to
take you all in a waggonette, a long drive into Scotland or to the
English Lakes. If you should decide on Scotland, I should hope to
find this house used as a stopping-place. I think I could take you
all in pretty comfortably.
Remember me very kindly to Mr. Unwin, and believe me
Yours very truly,
S. JEX-BLAKE.”
Here is an interesting letter to an old friend whose husband’s
distinguished career separated her for the time from a dearly-loved
daughter:
“I much enjoyed seeing her for the flying visit which was all she
vouchsafed me, and I am _delighted_ to see how very much she is
improved,—very much more healthy in mind and body all round....
She amused me much by plunging headlong into some theological
difficulties,—which reminded me of how she (aged 6!) used to
harass you about the Trinity. Her great trouble seems to be that
she can’t feel sure the world is governed by a beneficent and
omnipotent God,—she thinks there is so much pain in it which
wouldn’t be allowed unless God either _didn’t wish_ to help it, or
_couldn’t_ help it. That has never been my difficulty,—I have
always had such a devout belief in the possible blessing of pain,—
‘Because all noblest things are born
In agony.’
Do you remember Miss Cobbe’s hymn?
However she asked me if _I_ felt sure the world was governed,
etc., and I said frankly that I hadn’t absolutely made up my
mind,—that it seemed to me we had very small means of being ‘sure’
of anything,—but that I thought, if there was a Ruler both good
and all powerful, it was at least perfectly conceivable that He
might allow all the pain, etc., partly because the very theory of
free will involved possibilities of evil with its consequences
which not even Omnipotence could avert, and partly because He
might see that pain was at any given moment the very best thing
for the person who suffered it.
Then she went off to,—Did I think it _possible_ that any Being
could follow out the lives of millions of creatures at once,
etc.,—to which I said that certainly I couldn’t conceive how it
should be possible; but neither could I conceive many other things
that yet we knew to be scientific truths,—e.g. that our whole
earth could be swallowed up in one of the ‘spots’ of the sun, and
not fill up the spot, and that that very sun is only a unit in a
myriad of worlds whose immensities simply reduce us to silence.
However I didn’t mean to inflict a réchauffé of all this upon you,
though I think you will like to know how the child’s mind is
working. Let it work!—being in a wholesome atmosphere of love and
labour, she will learn all sorts of practical replies to
theoretical difficulties, and come to no harm.”
Interesting, as bearing on the above, is another letter written to
someone else about the same time:
“It is a double principle with me never to bring forward
theological questions, and never to seek to change the opinions of
anyone who is satisfied with his or her own; and on the other hand
to be always ready to say exactly what I think myself about any
given point to any intelligent person who cares to ask me the
question, and to say frankly where I feel that I know nothing. I
do not think anyone can possibly be more conscious than I of the
immense vastness and difficulty of questions that the general
public answer glibly offhand, and of my own utter incompetency to
decide in the abstract ‘what is truth’. Practically I think one is
generally able to see one’s own duty day by day, and probably
Browning is right—
‘... more is not reserved
To man, with soul just nerved
To act tomorrow what he learns today.’
Beyond that, I suppose that all that any of us can do is to be
very chary of either asserting or denying, but to strive to keep
our whole souls open to every ray of light we can get, and hope
some day to learn everything that it is needful for us to know.
Personally I am always getting to feel that opinions matter less
and less, and motives and feelings more and more.
Excuse this long dissertation and believe me,
Yours sincerely,
S. JEX-BLAKE.”
In December 1885 she writes to Miss Du Pre:
“Yes, we shall miss poor old X. sadly. It does seem pathetic,
doesn’t it?—and yet don’t you think it is something to be taken
away just when you _have_ attained your highest ambition?... The
first thing I thought,—as it almost always is,—was, I wonder what
he thinks now that he ‘knows what Rhamses knows’. It always does
strike me so very curiously when someone who has never, I suppose,
thought half as much as I about the mysteries of life and death,
goes in in front of me,—if there is any ‘going in’. I thought it
so very strongly about Vanderbilt. How _will_ he get on where
everything isn’t reckoned as on the Stock Exchange?”
Although the new house was certainly not in a central position, S.
J.-B.’s practice steadily grew. As the first woman doctor in
Scotland, she had, as she had told Sir Thomas Barlow, numerous cases
that had long gone untreated, and she was the recipient of many a
pent-up confidence. The Edinburgh that criticized her would have
been surprised if it had known some of the secrets that lay, so
safely, in her keeping. She was often called upon to be a Mother
Confessor, and, although she always declared that “one profession is
enough for one person,” her practice was by no means so rigid in
this respect as was her theory. Many strange problems were discussed
in that quiet consulting-room, with its book-lined walls and green
spaces outside. To the end of life her impulsiveness led her into
mistakes for which she had to suffer, but her advice to others was
extraordinarily sane and good. Yet the idealist in her never slept.
“I took Colani from the shelf,” she says on one occasion, “and read,
‘Cast _thyself_ down,—for the devil can suggest; compel can he
never.’”
She was often asked, too, to take a resident patient who wished to
have her own suite of rooms and sometimes her own attendant. More
than one of these patients became personal friends.
She of course received high fees for cases of this kind, but she
often had resident patients who paid no fees at all. Some governess
who could not get well in dreary lodgings would be simply wrapped up
in blankets and carried off in the brougham—or was it on a comet’s
tail?—a messenger having been sent up to the house,—“Have blue room
ready in half-an-hour. Am bringing patient.”[149]
Footnote 149:
“Ah,” said an old servant in later years. “We did see life in that
house!”
“I wonder,” writes a patient at this time, “if you have any idea
how pleasant it is to be lifted on somebody’s shoulders and
carried away from the shadows of your own life into the brightness
of theirs. No I do not think you can have; you do not seem to have
dwelt in the shadows.”
And another writes,
“I know you will believe me when I say that I have rarely, if
ever, been so _supremely_ happy as during the past few weeks. The
feeling of peace and comfort was so delicious, and I only wish I
could prove myself just a little worthy of all I have enjoyed.”
We have seen how on one occasion she took in a lad who could not
afford to risk incurring the infection of scarlet fever. On another
occasion, when visiting a patient, she was asked to see a boy of
ten, who had unluckily fallen ill while paying a short visit to the
house. His hostess did not understand boys, and he was having an
uncomfortable time. His plight roused all the boy—and there was
plenty of it—in S. J.-B. She carried him off, mothered him, took him
for drives when she could, got him well, and apparently made him
happy. At all events, when the time came to say Goodbye, he flung
his arms round her neck and kissed her!
There are some men who are born with an instinctive knowledge of the
right thing to do in unusual circumstances.
Most useful was the comet’s tail in cases where some overworked
brain was on the point of a breakdown, where a worry was developing
into an _idée fixe_, and threatening to drive the patient mad. S.
J.-B. would carry the patient off, regardless of possible
developments more disconcerting even than an outbreak of scarlet
fever in her house, tend her, feed her up, make her sleep,
sympathize with her, bully her, laugh at her, till the patient was
ready to fall into line and laugh at herself. Some of these “cures”
were extraordinarily rapid and complete, and there is no record of a
single failure.
[Illustration:
_from a photograph by M. G. T._ _Emery Walker ph.sc._
_Sophia Jex-Blake_
]
She never heard of any over-weighted woman or child without asking
herself whether she could lift the burden.
“DEAR CARRY,”—she writes to her sister about this time—“... I
don’t like the idea of our teacher looking ‘pale and anxious’,—do
you know if she has any special troubles?—or is likely to be short
of money? Has she relations with whom she spends her holidays? or
is she at Bettws now?—When do the holidays begin and end? What pay
has she now?—Has it been raised lately?—What is her name and
nation?
A sad number of questions, but very short replies will suffice.
Your aff. sister,
S. J.-B.”
It was partly because she had so many guests of this kind that she
made it an absolute rule that none of her servants were to receive
gratuities from visitors,—a rule that some of the visitors disliked
extremely, and even refused to submit to. Such cases sometimes led
to an amusing breeze of correspondence of which the following is a
sample:
“SIR,
Well acquainted as I am with your many and great iniquities,
I confess that I did _not_ expect you wantonly to abuse our humble
hospitality by deliberately inciting our household to rebellion
against constituted authority as distinctly announced to you by
written warning on the mantel-piece.[150] Manifold as are the
notorious vices of the Conservative mind, I _had_ supposed it to
have some slight reverence for law, national or domestic. In
future I shall know better.
Sir, the humble but incorruptible member of my household whose
integrity you sought to corrupt, begs me to re-inclose to you the
accompanying lucre (2s. 6d.), of whose history you so falsely
pretended yourself ignorant, and as I see no reason why I should
be impoverished in consequence of your evil doings, _I_ request
you to repay me on your return from the continent the commission
charged by H.M. Government (viz. ½d.) upon the enclosed
remittance.
I am Sir,
Yours more in sorrow than in anger,
S. J.-B.”
Footnote 150:
“_On est prié de ne rien donner aux domestiqúes._”
The postal order was indignantly returned, with a request to do what
she liked with it, so she at once sent it to the London Society for
Women’s Suffrage, directing the secretary to forward the receipt to
her refractory Conservative guest!
Notwithstanding this, and other differences of opinion, he paid many
more visits to her house, and for the future contrived usually, at
least, to elude her vigilance.
She used to consult him in all sorts of legal difficulties, and he
replied with unfailing patience.
“DEAR JAMES,”—she wrote on one occasion,—“I want to make a
codicil, leaving some money to ..., the income to her for life,—
the capital between her daughters. Will you please tell me the
simplest words in which I can do this?”
In sending a rough draft, he inserted the words,—“if only one such
daughter.”
“Of course I can put in ‘if only one such daughter,’ if you like,”
she replied, “but at present there are seven!”
The initial mistake, of course, was hers, and it was a kind of
mistake that was very unusual with her.
Her correspondence was very large,—so large that she never had time
to write a “proper letter about ‘Shakespeare and the musical
glasses’,” as she would have said. To her most intimate friends she
wrote with spontaneous charm,—letters circumstantial, tender,
nonsensical, as the case might be. “Do you _ever_ write any letters
that would look well in your memoir?” asks Miss Du Pre. “I begin to
be anxious about that book. It seems to me that it will be so
fearfully dull,—unless your diaries ... prove to be amusing.”
On the other hand, strangers consulted her about manifold schemes
and perplexities, and she always asked herself how she could help.
“Dear Madam,” wrote one of these, “As you sit alone in the evening
with the curtains drawn, imagine that a woman steals into your room,
_hunted to death by men_. I am that woman....”
Even this sensational beginning did not put S. J.-B. off, and it was
weeks before she allowed herself to be persuaded—by Dr. Pechey and
Miss Du Pre—that the case was one for Dr. Clouston rather than for
her.
* * * * *
But it was in her Dispensary, with working women and girls, that one
saw her, perhaps, at her best. She was so vital, so sympathetic, yet
so full of humour and common sense that the regular provident
patients were devoted to her. They knew there was nothing to be
gained by arguing. “Well, I must just take my scolding,” they would
say resignedly. So keenly did she sympathize with their difficulty
in following out her directions in their own homes that in 1885 she
added a few beds to the Dispensary, and thus formed the nucleus of
the Edinburgh Hospital for Women and Children, which has since grown
to great things and has been honoured by a visit from the Queen.
Where the case was serious, and the remedy lay in the husband’s
hands, S. J.-B. always took the bull by the horns. “Ask him to come
and have a little talk with me,” she would say breezily. “Tell him I
can see him at such and such hours.” And he would come!
She was admirably fitted for work of this kind. No woman was ever
more strictly fair. An injured husband was no less—and no more—sure
of her sympathy than was an injured wife.
And, of course, it was the old and feeble who at once found the
radiant side of her.
“The thanks and blessings of old J. G.—85—bring a rush of tears,—
‘Ah, somebody be good to my old lady!’
And yet I suppose she may be ‘old’ no longer, but young and strong
and bright, and sorry for _my_ weakness and weariness,—
‘waits on the hills of Paradise
For her children’s coming feet.’”
She seldom rose quite above this sense of effort and weariness,
though few would have guessed it. “I always get so much good from
being with you,” writes Lady Jenkinson,—“body and soul—especially
soul.... I wish _you_ would ’fess when you feel downcast.”
In her inmost circle, of course, she did ’fess, pretty often. “Not
strong enough for the place, John,” she used often to quote
whimsically from _Punch_. And here is an interesting bit of heresy
in a letter to Dr. Sewall—
“I don’t at all agree by the bye with your theory that ‘there is
nothing like work for producing real happiness.’ I don’t find that
it has even any tendency to produce it, though of course one
_must_ work if one is able. ‘Otherwise she drops at once below the
dignity of man,’—so says Aurora Leigh.
To quote Mrs. Browning again,—‘What’s the best thing in the
world?—Something _out of it_ I think.’”
The reader will not need to be told that the poetry of her nature
had not been crushed out by that long fight. Far from it. All
through the strenuous days she had been supported by the very poems
she had repeated by the fireside in Sussex Square, but the store had
grown till her repertory must have been nearly unique. To many
passages from the Psalms and Isaiah, George Herbert, Trench, Alford
and others, she had added a harvest from Whittier, Emerson, Lowell
and divers less known American poets. She loved her Tennyson and
Browning too—_Abt Vogler_ and _Rabbi Ben Ezra_—but indeed the
“poetry book-case” included a very catholic range, from Macaulay’s
_Lays_ to Swinburne and Christina Rossetti, with a corner for Jean
Ingelow and for Mrs. Hamilton King. We have seen the store she set
in her youth on some of Sadie’s Poems. No one who has ever heard it
will forget how the “pathetic voice” would repeat:
“Is it so, O Christ in Heaven, that the highest suffer most?
That the strongest wander farthest, and more hopelessly are lost?
That the mark of rank in nature is capacity for pain,
And the anguish of the singer makes the sweetness of the strain?—
‘I have many things to tell you, but ye cannot bear them now.‘”
or again,
“No, no, by all the martyrs, and the dear dead Christ;
By the long bright roll of those whom joy enticed
With her myriad blandishments, but could not win.
Who would fight for victory, but would not sin.
By these our elder brothers who have gone before,
And have left their trail of light upon our shore.
We can see the glory of a seeming shame,
We can feel the fulness of an empty name.”
It was recitations like this that formed the nucleus of the
“incomparable evenings in the Doctor’s Study” to which Dr. Lillie
Saville referred (see pp. 390-1, footnote). When life was not too
exacting—and sometimes when it was—such evenings were very frequent,
and they were a great refreshment after the burden and heat of the
day.
* * * * *
She derived much relaxation, too, from the best of the unceasing
current that flows through the circulating libraries. Her brief
criticisms of books are often interesting. She was disappointed in
George Eliot’s _Life_, because the long series of letters was not
sufficiently welded together by narrative. Of the Carlyles she
agreed with Mrs. Oliphant that “there was a great deal of love on
both sides,—with very raw nerves.” Of two books she confessed to
Miss Du Pre that she “sobbed over them like a baby,”—one was _Laetus
Sorte Mea_, the other _The Little Pilgrim in the Unseen_.
CHAPTER IV
PUBLIC LIFE
It is not to be supposed that the “cataracts and breaks” were a
thing of the past. There were many who found S. J.-B. a delightful
person to work with, but even they had no difficulty in seeing how
it was that others had a different experience.
“But the Doctor is _nearly always right_,” said one of her
assistants in later years, “when she differs from other people.” And
this was perfectly true. She _was_ nearly always right; but the few
times she was wrong were sufficient in many quarters to give the dog
the proverbial “bad name.”
Moreover, one must frankly admit that her rightness was often too
uncompromising, too business-like, too far in advance of what other
people could be expected to agree with, too inconsiderate of
ordinary human frailty. “You treat other people like pawns,” Miss Du
Pre used to tell her, but, although she quoted the remark, she never
seemed really to grasp it.
During the first few years of her life at Bruntsfield Lodge she took
a great interest in local women’s questions. She was a moving spirit
in the organization of one or two large suffrage meetings, and in
the laborious propagandism and canvassing involved in the election
of women as poor law guardians. Evidence of the thoroughness of her
work persists to this day; but it was not always appreciated by the
Edinburgh ladies who coöperated with her. They thought her so big
and masterful that nobody else got a chance. It was just as well
that her own special work absorbed her more and more. In 1884 she
had written for Macmillan (at the instigation of her friend Mrs. S.
R. Gardiner) a useful little book on _The Care of Infants_, which
was warmly received by the profession and by a considerable public,
and she was steadily taking notes for a second edition of her
_Medical Women_, which should bring the narrative down to the date
of publication.
Public affairs, too, demanded their share of interest. That weary
Medical Bill kept cropping up at intervals, and S. J.-B. was often
appealed to privately by members of parliament and others for
information and advice. They were well aware, of course, that her
main interest was to safeguard the rights and privileges of women,
but they also knew something of her mental acumen and thoroughness
of method. Moreover, she was unconnected with any of the great
vested interests which constituted the great stumbling block in the
way of any Bill. There is a telegram extant addressed to her by the
President of the Edinburgh College of Physicians who had gone up to
London to watch the debate,—“Please wire Mr. Stansfeld to be sure to
be here in time to secure dropping of bill proposed.”
Towards the end of 1884, the Edinburgh Extra-Mural School made an
effort towards incorporation, and memorialized the Privy Council to
grant them a Charter. S. J.-B. was anxious to take advantage of this
opportunity to raise again the question of the admission of women to
medical education in Scotland, especially as, by this time, the
various missionary bodies were quite alive to the importance of the
subject.
“The Free Church are also willing to move,” she writes to Mr.
Stansfeld on November 20th, “and they wish to memorialize the Privy
Council direct, and to request that any Charter granted may _not
exclude_ women, but make it at least optional for the College to
admit them. To my intense amusement the request has just come to me
that I will ‘draft’ such a memorial, but I have not the remotest
idea how even to address the Privy Council!”
It was not only the Free Church that asked her help. The lecturers,
mindful of her power of enlisting the sympathy of statesmen in the
past, also begged her to use her influence in high quarters, and,
through the National Association, to present a petition to the Privy
Council. Mr. Stansfeld was helpful as ever, advising her to
interview Lord Carlingford, from whom she had a gracious reception.
“But the primary condition must be,” she writes to Dr. Littlejohn,
“that the Charter distinctly commits the College to the admission of
women on equal terms. If this is not approved, the whole thing falls
to the ground.”
The reader of the foregoing chapters might not unnaturally be
prepared to hear that the College was duly incorporated, and that
the women were left in the lurch; but it was the unexpected that
happened. The effort of the Extra-Mural School to achieve
incorporation failed, but the examining bodies for which the School
existed, the Colleges of Physicians and Surgeons, decided a few
months later to admit women. We may reasonably suppose that the
renewed discussion of the whole question had not been in vain, but,
so far as S. J.-B. was concerned, it was a case of the seed cast
into the ground, which springs and grows up “he knoweth not how.” On
March 17th, 1885, she writes to Dr. Pechey:
“Meanwhile I have two splendid pieces of news to send you, if they
have not yet reached you,—viz. (1) The Irish College of Surgeons
has not only opened all its examinations, and even its
fellowships, to women, but also all the classes in its School,—
making separate arrangements for Practical Anatomy only. (2) More
wonderful still, the Scottish Colleges of Physicians and Surgeons
of Edinburgh and Glasgow (now combined to give one ‘Triple
Qualification’) have decided _without a division_ to throw open
all their examinations to women. I am exceedingly surprised, for
though I heard an application had been made, I thought there was
little hope of success, and took no trouble about it. However, so
it is, and I hope to have classes opened in the Extra-Mural School
(and perhaps in connection with St. Andrews) next winter. Somebody
has left St. Andrews (subject to a life interest) a legacy of
£50,000 on condition of admitting women. So you see all round
‘Pigs is looking up.’
Mrs. Russel was here for a few days a fortnight ago, and is as
nice as ever.”
This great advance gave a fresh impetus and point to the publication
of _Medical Women_,[151] which was duly achieved a few months later.
It called forth a great sheaf of congratulatory letters from those
who remembered the old days.
Footnote 151:
_Medical Women_, by Sophia Jex-Blake, M.D. Oliphant, Anderson &
Ferrier. The book has long been out of print, but, as a storehouse
of facts, it is largely drawn upon by all writers on the subject,
including the author of the present volume.
“Of course,” wrote Dr. King Chambers, “future generations will
think it necessary to season your arguments with the traditionary
grain of salt; but the facts are so clearly and calmly stated that
they will be accepted absolutely. As to the character of the
movement itself, the future must give it.”
“I am glad I was always a steady, if humble, adherent to the side
of justice before its cause was popular,” wrote Professor
Charteris. “I hope that you will long and increasingly enjoy the
position that you had such a hard fight to win. You got all the
buffets for many a day.”
And Dr. Elizabeth Blackwell:
“I am sorry that we have lost you from London. We much need that
combination of unselfish activity and wise combination of
practical qualities which we find in no other of the leaders of
the movement.”
“What a change,” says Dr. Heron Watson, “has come over the spirit
of the Medical Corporation since the story of your efforts in the
cause first appeared.”
And this—finally—is from a generous letter from the Revd. William
Pechey:
“If Edith is entitled to the praise of having borne, as you say,
‘an excellent part’ in the movement you narrate, she would, I am
sure, be the first to join me in saying that you alone can fairly
say: ‘_Quorum maxima pars fui._’”
But the mention of Dr. Pechey’s name reminds one of a delightful
letter she forwarded from her little friend Rukhmabai (now Dr.
Rukhmabai) who, needless to say, was _not_ one of those who
remembered the old days.
“Girgaum,
“23rd June, 1886.
MY DEAR MISS PECHEY,
I herewith return ... one of your books (The Roman Singer),
with many thanks. I looked it all over just enough to know the
purport of the story, which I found contains nothing but mere
_love_ matters.
I shall return the other book (Medical Women) in a few days. It is
so very interesting to me that I don’t like to drop a single word
of it while reading. It gives me a great comfort as I see the
_truth_ won the victory at last, though you had to suffer so much
even in a country like Europe. I would never have believed if some
common person were to tell me, that the people there were so
against to allow women to study medicine....
Yours affectionately,
RUKHMABAI.”
S. J.-B. was interested too at this time in the development of a
volume for the publication of which she had been responsible in the
first instance,—that most useful gazetteer, _The Englishwoman’s Year
Book_,—the success of which has unhappily never been comparable to
its merits: and she continued to advise and help the first editor,
her friend, Miss Louisa Hubbard.
In 1886 she was asked to deliver one of a series of Health Lectures
in Edinburgh, and of course she consented gladly,—her special
lecture being addressed to women only. The lectures were free, and
the lecturers unpaid.
When arrangements were far advanced, she found that the Committee
proposed to charge one shilling for admittance to her lecture, and
she promptly rebelled. She wanted all her Dispensary patients and
all their friends to come and hear what she had to say, and the
charge seemed to her to do away with more than half the good of her
lecture. It was represented to her that a charge was also to be made
for the corresponding lecture to men only, but she did not consider
the cases identical. In any case the men’s lecture was no affair of
her’s.
Mrs. Trayner (afterwards Lady Trayner) was an important person on
that committee, and she and Lord Trayner had a great respect and
cordial regard for S. J.-B. They understood her, and they wanted
other people to understand her too. They were most anxious that she
should waive her objection to the shilling charge, partly and
especially because she was coöperating in the matter of the Health
Lectures with men doctors, and they—the Trayners—wanted her to show
herself gracious and conciliatory.
S. J.-B.’s reply to Mrs. Trayner’s letter is characteristic of her
attitude at that time:
“Pray thank Lord Trayner warmly for his kind interest in me and
the medical women generally. I think, however, that he somewhat
over-estimates the importance of what the men doctors may think
one way or the other. You and he will remember that all that we
have gained has been gained in the teeth of nearly all of them,
and if they have failed to hinder me hitherto, they are certainly
powerless to hurt me now.... I am willing enough to shake hands
with them if they wish it, but you must remember that it is I and
not they who have the old sores to forgive....
I am sure you will understand that I say this merely because I
want you to understand that my position is probably one of the
most independent in Edinburgh,—I want nothing from anybody and I
fear nothing from anybody. I mean to do in this, and larger
matters, what seems to me right, to the best of my lights, and I
have long ago learned while doing so to leave consequences to take
care of themselves.
With hearty thanks for your kindness, believe me,
Yours very truly,
S. JEX-BLAKE.
Pray excuse this hasty line, written at the end of a long day’s
work.”
If this seems written in an ungracious and reprehensible spirit, the
reader must bear in mind the fire the writer had come through. And
after all what is it but a somewhat pagan rendering of St. Paul’s
“From henceforth let no man trouble me....”
In any case the Trayners were not of the kind to take offence. Their
interest in S. J.-B. and her work remained unbroken. Lady Trayner
visited the Dispensary more than once and took on as a regular
pensioner a brave old patient with a disfigured face, who appealed
to her sympathies more than most.
The lecture was free, and proved a great success.
“You will like to know,” writes S. J.-B. to Miss Irby, “that my
lecture went off very well, the hall (which holds nearly 2000) was
crammed to the doors and stairways, and I lectured from slight
notes, much better, Ursula says, than if I had read a lecture.
I have already had 4 new patients in consequence.”
It now remained for women to avail themselves _de facto_ of their
admission _de jure_ to the Royal Colleges. “I trust,” wrote S. J.-B.
in a letter to the _Times_, announcing the fresh step gained, “I
trust that classes will now within a few months be re-opened in
Edinburgh. With a view to definite arrangements for the ensuing
winter session, I shall be very glad to receive the names of any
ladies desiring to study in Scotland.” A few days later she wrote to
the secretary of the Extra-Mural School, who happened to be an old
ally.
“Bruntsfield Lodge,
March 17. [1886].
DEAR DR. MACADAM,
I have already had nearly a dozen letters from ladies
wishing to study Medicine in Scotland, so it is clear that the
demand is real and considerable.
Can you give me any printed statement about the classes, etc., in
the Extra Mural School?... Of course I know that if separate
classes were required much greater expense must be involved, but I
sincerely hope that most of the lecturers may be willing to admit
women in the ordinary way. If so, I believe that a considerable
number would join the classes next winter. If you would kindly let
me have a list of the Lecturers, and would tell me when the next
meeting is to be, I might (if you thought it desirable) see some
of them before the meeting. I wish very much that the matter could
be favourably decided next month, as this would give us time to
make arrangements, and get up a good class, etc.
Would it not be well for you before the meeting to get an official
letter from the Registrar of the Irish College of Surgeons stating
that women are admitted to all the ordinary classes (except
Practical Anatomy) at Dublin?
To turn to another subject,—can you tell me the chemical nature of
the fluid contained in “Fire-Extinguishing Grenades,” etc. Are
they really reliable?
Yours very truly,
S. JEX-BLAKE.”
It is clear from this that she had not the smallest intention nor
wish to found a separate School of Medicine for Women; but her hopes
as regarded the lecturers were doomed to disappointment. On the
whole they showed themselves enlightened and helpful, but they
declined to admit women to their ordinary classes.
They were quite willing—some of them—to lecture to women separately,
but one could not expect first-rate men in rising practice to devote
an hour or more of precious time daily without more adequate
remuneration than the fees of the first handful of women students
were likely to represent. There must, of course, be a sufficient
guarantee to make the undertaking worth their while, and the
students were assuredly not in a position to provide that guarantee;
so S. J.-B. made herself responsible for it at once.
For the first year the women attended separate lectures at one of
the men’s schools, but it soon became obvious that separate
premises, in which students could study and dissect, and change
their dress, and generally make themselves at home, were, if not
absolutely necessary, at least highly desirable.
Now it happened that, in the days of the old struggle, in a moment
perhaps when hope ran high, S. J.-B., Miss Louisa Stevenson and Miss
Du Pre had bought the famous old premises in Surgeon Square, which
had been a medical school for generations. Here Robert Knox had
lectured to his students, and the place had thrilling and sinister
associations with Burke and Hare. When all hope of education in
Edinburgh seemed finally blighted, these premises had been let to
various tenants, but S. J.-B. had never lost sight of the
possibility that they might some day be used again for their
original purpose.
So now the old place was repaired and cleaned and painted and
heated,—under the personal supervision of S. J.-B. and one or two
friends, at small cost as regards money, but with lavish expenditure
of brains and good will.
It was necessary, too, that hospital instruction should be provided,
and to this end, S. J.-B. approached the authorities at Leith.
“The very large number of students at the Edinburgh Infirmary,”
she wrote to Dr. Struthers, “make it almost impossible that women
should there get opportunities of study, and (as there is no other
suitable hospital of sufficient size in Edinburgh) I am anxious to
ascertain whether the Directors of the Leith Hospital would
entertain the idea of admitting them to opportunities of clinical
study in their wards.
If so, I should be glad to make any arrangement as to fees that
may be desired by the Directors; or if they preferred it would at
once guarantee fees to the amount of 200 guineas yearly.”
Her application was warmly supported by Mr. R. Somerville, and
others of the Directors, and after a long series of letters and
interviews, the negotiation was completed.
“Every night I am quite as tired as is safe,” she wrote to Miss
Irby, who had begged for a postcard, “and yet every day I have to
omit half a dozen things that cry out to be done. However I _do
not mean_ to break down again, so I simply do what I can and leave
the rest.”
Little by little the School became more of a corporate thing. A
resident secretary was necessary, of course, so S. J.-B. hit on a
likely person[152] and trained her. Caretakers (man and wife) were
found to look after the premises. A library was provided, and, as
soon as might be, anatomical and Materia Medica museums. No one who
has not lived through the founding of a medical school can form the
faintest idea how much it means. S. J.-B. had been over the ground
before, and may be supposed to have realized what she was
undertaking.
Footnote 152:
S. J.-B. never had a more loyal and devoted helper than the first
secretary of the School, Miss Janet Black.
She had Dr. Balfour’s help from the first, and a tower of strength
he proved: by degrees a committee was formed: but from first to last
the responsibility rested to all intents and purposes on her
shoulders.
The position, too, on which the whole thing rested was curious. The
School was not recognized as such. Each lecturer was recognized
individually. At any moment any lecturer in the Extra-Mural School
was free to open a rival class and cut the ground from under S. J.-
B.’s feet.
The new venture, moreover, had all the disadvantages inherent in a
new creation. It had no senior students, none even, at first, who
had gone through the wholesome discipline of the modern High School:
it had no tradition. By the sheer necessities of the case, S. J.-B.
was compelled to be senior student,—to be tradition.
For ten or more years the School did excellent work, but the
instability of its foundation proved too great. Whether the “lion-
hearted”[153] pioneer, with her extraordinary bent for arranging
detail, could in any case have made a success of the venture, under
such difficult conditions, when the heroic days of initiation were
over, it is impossible to say. The reader will not need to be told—
S. J.-B.’s bitterest opponent never denied—that she put into the
venture infinitely more labour and sympathy and affection and brains
than she need have done,—and there were those among the students who
came near to appreciating these qualities as they deserved. But of
course there were others—as at Mannheim of old—with whom a cheaper
personality would better have served the turn.
Footnote 153:
The adjective is applied to her by Charles Reade in _The Woman
Hater_.
For a year or two everyone was happy and contented, and then the
crash of temperaments came. There is no need to tell the story in
detail. Some of those concerned were young, and some were foolish,
and there are some concerning whom one’s lips are sealed. The
original difficulty was complicated by side issues that never could
be fully threshed out. The actual story seems interminable, and
sometimes insignificant enough, but the principle underlying it is
of the real essence of tragedy. Enough to say that at the end of a
year or two, S. J.-B. found herself confronted with a form of
opposition which no one in authority would cheerfully have gone to
meet,—a form of opposition peculiarly trying to one of her
temperament. Supreme tact might have weathered the storm,—and it
must always be remembered that, on many occasions in life, in this
connection and in others,—she evidenced a tact that was all but
supreme. In any case she failed here. Opposition classes were
started in due course on a cheaper basis, classes in which the
central controlling power was purely nominal. There was endless
propaganda; some sort of organization was got together: everybody
who had a grudge against S. J.-B. remembered it now; her faults,
mistakes and deficiencies—particularly her want of enthusiasm for
missions—came back relentlessly upon her head: and she found herself
(as Thring has said of “every consistent worker on principle”), “put
in the position of opposing what she had always worked for, and her
opponents posing as the workers.” Professor Masson and Miss Louisa
Stevenson, both of whom had considered the founding of a Scottish
School at this moment premature, wrote to her in grim amusement at
some of the names which now appeared in support of the cause.
Let it be conceded for all the concession is worth, that in a sense
S. J.-B. brought the difficulty upon herself. Once again something
was required of her which a smaller person could have given, but
which she could not give. The tragic element lay in this that she
never saw where she was at fault. She was conscious of an honest
purpose and of unwearying unselfish endeavour. What more could one
ask? So many people succeed who give much less than this! She even
yielded on a good many points—when yielding was too late.
What strikes one most on looking back is the extraordinary loyalty
with which most of the students rallied round her when the split
came.
When one of the lecturers (who had striven, like so many others,
to make “even a slight alteration” in her) congratulated her on
the “brains” she had retained in the School, she responded
characteristically:
“_And_ the heart.”
“And the heart,” he agreed.
Some of the lecturers were even finer. “The terms you name are quite
satisfactory,” wrote Dr. Aitken when things were at quite their
worst, and S. J.-B. could no longer guarantee an adequate emolument.
“I would take your students without fee of any kind before I would
see you beat, so you need not let the matter give you any concern.”
And Dr. (now Professor) A. J. Thomson, when he heard she was leaving
Edinburgh, wrote:
“I have always felt, if I may dare to say so, that your part has
been like that of a general who won a great battle and then rode
away, leaving the achievement with the ungrateful. Happily you
know how many of us are neither ungrateful nor ignorant.”
But finest of all was the effect on S. J.-B. herself. She fought on,
of course,—that was in the nature of her,—and loyal supporters were
many;[154] but, although the long struggle to keep the better School
going,—to get it improved, endowed, affiliated to the University of
St. Andrews,—absolutely wore her out, she never became embittered
and she never really lost her buoyancy. When Queen Margaret College
opened a medical side in 1890, one might have thought it was the
last straw, especially as it meant the removal of eight of her
students whose homes were in or near Glasgow, but in this case her
loss meant the progress of the cause, and she rejoiced in it
wholeheartedly. It was delightful to see the happy terms on which
she and Miss Galloway worked in sympathy until and beyond the final
closing of the Edinburgh School.
Footnote 154:
The Marquis of Bute and Sir Colin Scott Moncrieff (Under Secretary
for Scotland) are among the best-known names in the company of
those who did their best to help her.
So she always retained her gallant front. If she thought sometimes
of “that weary School” she never spoke so: she always saw in it the
ideal of what it was going to be. Success was always just round the
corner so to speak, all but within reach; but success, in the form
in which she looked for it, never came.
Success there was, of course, “not its semblance, but itself.”
Honest work always means success. The brief life of that School was
the seed-time of much fine work that would otherwise never have been
done. Its students have acquitted themselves nobly in many parts of
the world. And on the principle that “he who watereth shall himself
be watered,” it did much for S. J.-B. It gave her a little band of
juniors who in some measure understood her, who responded to her
ideals, who were proud to assist her and to reckon themselves her
disciples. The interest she took in them individually was amazing.
No trouble was too great that would forward their interests in any
way. As the years went on, she seemed to forget herself altogether
in their successes. She lived anew in their lives. Her whole nature
grew and mellowed, though it could not change. And one is glad to
record that never again to the end of life did she suffer the weeks
and months of loneliness that had darkened the early days of her
professional career.
CHAPTER V
RE-OPENING OF EDINBURGH UNIVERSITY TO WOMEN
It seemed better in the previous chapter to explain at once that,
after a brief run of prosperity, the history of the Edinburgh School
of Medicine for Women was chequered by a long fight against heavy
odds; but no one who visited the stirring bee-hive at Surgeon Square
would have guessed at the struggle that underlay its cheerful
aspect. And, fortunately, there were many strands in S. J.-B.’s life
besides the struggle for her School. In a doctor’s experience there
must always be much to interest and cheer, and S. J.-B.’s range was
wider than that of the ordinary doctor. Editors were no less glad of
her work than of old. In the autumn of 1887, she wrote to the Editor
of the _Nineteenth Century_, offering him a paper on Medical Women
which should supplement the one contributed by Mr. Stansfeld ten
years before. Mr. Knowles replied immediately that he would be
delighted to receive such a paper from her, and “the sooner the
better.” The article duly appeared in November of that year.
At her little hospital she had a series of residents, some from the
London School and some from her own, whom one can fairly describe as
picked women,—keen and competent and loyal; and she enjoyed and
appreciated these as they deserved. More and more, too, people
sought her opinion and advice on every subject of real human
interest. One doctor—a complete stranger—even wrote from far wilds
to ask whether there was any lady studying in her School who she
thought was likely to make him a suitable wife. He was coming home,
but his leave was short, and he would be glad if she would save time
by paving the way for him as far as possible. I am afraid the
students never even heard of this opportunity!
How far she was from discouraging a true marriage may be gathered
from the following letter to one of her former residents for whom
she had designs in the way of more ambitious work, and who wrote in
some trepidation to confess that she was engaged to be married:
“May 30, 1895.
DEAR MISS ——,
I was very glad to get your letter of March 10th, and very
much interested in all your news. I may set your mind at rest by
saying at once that I am not going to scold you about your
engagement. I hold most strongly that ‘Love should still be Lord
of all,’ and that if two good people love each other heartily in
the right way, they ought to marry under almost all circumstances.
I don’t believe in vows of celibacy for medical women any more
than for any one else. Women are women before they are doctors.
At the same time I am afraid you are rather sanguine in hoping
that you will be of more use in your profession married than
single. It is not the husbands that are the obstacles to practice,
but the babies. If a woman becomes a mother, I certainly think
nothing outside her home can have, or ought to have, so much claim
upon her as her children.
However I think it constantly happens that we plan out one kind of
life for ourselves, and then that another is shaped out for us,
and we must believe, if we believe in a God at all, that the
wisdom that decides for us is greater than our own.
So long as we act up to our highest light, I think we need not
trouble ourselves about results....
With all good wishes, believe me,
Yours sincerely,
S. JEX-BLAKE.”
That this was no new attitude on her part we learn from a letter
written many years before to Miss Bertha Cordery. “You are quite
right in thinking that I do not by any means as a matter of course
congratulate people on their marriage, but when you say that ‘having
met, no other result was possible,’ I think you express the essence
of a good marriage with the terseness worthy of the distinguished
historian.[155]”
Footnote 155:
The “distinguished historian” of course refers to Miss Cordery
herself.
This seems the best place to say one word about the special interest
S. J.-B. took in her Hindu students. The first of these, Annie
Jagannadham, was a young woman of such fine and finished character
that her early death, soon after her return to her native land, was
a matter for infinite regret, but scarcely for surprise. When she
qualified as a doctor, S. J.-B. wrote to the _Spectator_ to point
out the desirability of sending back Hindu women educated in England
to minister to their own countrywomen; and her letter called forth a
gratifying response from Mr. James Cropper of Ellergreen (who had
been interested in S. J.-B.’s first application to the University of
Edinburgh many years before) offering to found a scholarship for
Hindu women at her school. This was accordingly done, and a series
of Hindu students was the result. Differing from each other in many
respects, they were alike in one thing, and that was a real gift for
understanding and appreciating their Dean. They seemed to find the
Mother side of her by a sort of instinct.
“I cannot tell you,” wrote one who had failed in an examination
abroad, “how much your kind letter comforted me. When I was happy
I wrote to other people; but when I was in distress I wrote to you
and was soothed, for failure did not seem so hard when you were
satisfied with my work.”
When Rukhmabai came to Edinburgh for her Final Professional
Examination, she was S. J.-B.’s guest, and a strong mutual
admiration and friendship was the result.
* * * * *
In accepting the chairmanship of the School, Dr. Balfour had made it
almost a stipulation that S. J.-B. should personally undertake the
teaching of Midwifery, and, in consequence of this, she was the
first woman to be recognized as a lecturer in the Extra-Mural
School. As a matter of fact, her special technical training was
necessarily out of date. Dr. Balfour probably looked upon Midwifery
mainly as a subject that successful physicians leave behind them,
and did not realize that greater strides had been made in the
teaching of this subject than in any other. However, S. J.-B. was a
born teacher, as we know: she worked hard: and she had the able
coöperation of the late Dr. Milne Murray, whose attitude towards her
in this connection was one more of the splendid loyalties bound up
in the story of her life.
And one cannot talk of loyalty without recalling a characteristic
letter from Dr. Pechey, written when she received the news of S. J.-
B.’s appointment:
“Hip Hip Hooray!!
Hip Hip Hooray!!!
Hip Hip Hooray!!!!!
In the very place where we were stoned and beaten 18 years ago.
Well, I am glad to have lived to see the day. Just when your paper
came, I was feeling life a burden.
Do you think they would let me lecture on something—Shakespeare or
the musical glasses—when I come home _if_ ever I do. When you want
an assistant let me know.
I don’t know when I have felt so pleased and elated and especially
that it should happen to _you_, it is so appropriate. Isn’t Mrs.
Thorne very pleased and everybody else?...
Dear Sophy, I _am_ so pleased, more than if some one had left me a
million of money, though I do have to look hard at every anna now
before letting it go!”
“Thanks for your very hearty congratulations,” S. J.-B. wrote in
reply,—“... Selfishly, I regret it very much, for I have no idea
how to find either the time or the strength (or knowledge) for the
course, but I suppose I must just do the best I can.
Of course if you were here you could have the pick of the
lecturerships in the School, and after one precedent, they
couldn’t refuse to recognize you: but the pay would hardly keep
your Highness in hairpins.”
The idea of having her old friend in Edinburgh dwelt in her mind
nevertheless, and some time later—in May 1890—she wrote:
“By the bye if you do decide to leave India next year, and if it
could possibly be made to fit in with Mr. Phipson’s plans,[156] I
wish with all my heart that you could see your way to come and
settle in Edinburgh, and take up with your splendid energy the
very wide field in Scotland that is almost ripe to harvest. My
strength is about spent, and besides you have elements of social
success that I never should have. You are far more of a woman of
the world and a far more able diplomatist. My Hospital will never
develop in my tired hands, but I believe you might make a splendid
thing of it; and at the same time I believe you would have a
capital west-end practice almost immediately, and of course a
lectureship if you cared to have it. Think this idea over
thoroughly before you decide against it.
Yours sincerely,
S. JEX-BLAKE.”
Footnote 156:
Dr. Edith Pechey had married Mr. H. M. Phipson of Bombay.
The feeling that her time of work was drawing to an end was
intensified by the news of the death of her friend, Dr. Lucy Sewall.
This was the last heavy bereavement she had to face, and she took it
hard. To her friend, Mrs. Brander, her “eldest daughter,” she had
written a month or two before the above correspondence with Dr.
Pechey:
“Feb. 27. 1890.
DEAREST BEL,
For the second time I have to send you terribly bad news. My
dear friend, Dr. Sewall, has been as you know in bad health for
the last 4 or 5 years, and last month she was seized with a very
severe attack of bronchitis, from which she never regained
strength, and she passed away ‘very peacefully’ on Feb. 13th.
Though I have seen so little of her for some years back, it is a
great blow to me,—the greatest I have felt since 1881.
_How_ I hope that she is again with the mother and father she
loved so very dearly. Indeed she has never really rallied, I
believe, from her father’s death (at 90) a year ago.
A whiter sweeter soul never lived, and her memory ‘smells sweet
and blossoms in the dust.’
I cannot write more today, but I could not let you hear it from
anyone else.
I hope you got the little book I sent you at Christmas. I could
not write but it carried much affection to you.
Yours affectionately,
S. J.-B.”
For the _Englishwoman’s Review_ she wrote an account of this “strong
and gentle soul,” quoting the lines Whittier had written about her
ancestor. “I enclose the whole verse about Judge Sewall,” she says
to the Editor, “in case you have room for it. It might almost word
for word have been written of his far-away descendant.
‘Walks the Judge of the Great Assize,
Samuel Sewall, the good and wise.
His face with lines of firmness wrought,
He wears the look of a man unbought,
Who swears to his hurt and changes not;
Yet touched and softened nevertheless
With the grace of Christian gentleness,
The face that a child would climb to kiss!
True and tender and brave and just,
That man might honour and woman trust.’”
S. J.-B.’s hands might be tired, but the eye on the bridge was as
keen as ever. She had been aiming from the first at some sort of
reinforcement from St. Andrews, and in 1888 Lord Lothian’s Bill had
seemed to open a new door of hope.
“May 10th. [1888.]
DEAR MR. STANSFELD,
The Bill of which I wrote is the ‘Universities (Scotland)
Bill,’ which has been introduced in the House of Lords by Lord
Lothian. I believe it has not yet come down to your House, but I
am very anxious, when it does so, that attention should be
directed to the clauses about women and about ‘affiliation of
Colleges,’ which latter might solve our problem, e.g. if our
Edinburgh School were affiliated to St. Andrews.
I shall be most grateful if you will talk about it beforehand with
members likely to be interested, and if possible speak on it also.
Yours always gratefully,
S. JEX-BLAKE.”
The previous day she had written,
“May 9th.
DEAR LORD ABERDARE,
I am extremely obliged for your very kind letter, and shall
be _most_ grateful if you can make Lord Lothian’s acquaintance,
interest him in our subject, and introduce me to him. I am very
anxious to secure his favourable attention, and that of the
Commission, and I am sure that your introduction would give me the
best possible chance. I am most anxious not to lose the present
opportunity to bring our needs to the front.
With renewed thanks,
Yours very truly,
S. JEX-BLAKE.”
When the Bill was passed and Commissioners appointed, she laid
before them a memorial in support of the desired aims, and in June
1891 she was summoned to give evidence in person. On June 28th she
wrote to Miss Du Pre:
“I had to appear before the University Commissioners last
Wednesday, and if possible I will send you a proof of my
examination. It was very satisfactory, as the Chairman (Lord
Kinnear) said they were satisfied that it was desirable and
necessary to give medical degrees to women in Scotland.”
To another friend she had written a week earlier,
“By the bye you will like to see the enclosed proof of my evidence
last week before the Universities Commission. Miss E.-L. made me
tell my class about it next day, and they clapped warmly; and
then, after the lecture, as I was going out, they gave me another
round. I stopped and said,—‘Oh, is that for Univ. Commission?’
‘For _you_, Doctor!’ shouted Miss Moorhead.”
The whole matter, as is usual with such things, ran a leisurely
course, for on April 27th, 1892, she writes again,
“... I had one very amusing experience on Monday. The Scottish
Universities Commission has been issuing some ‘Ordinances’ to
which serious objections are taken, and among others a flaw has
been found in the Women’s Ordinance, which we want to have
remedied. All the objecting bodies were to meet together, so Dr.
Balfour and I were summoned by enclosed solemn document to appear
to represent our School, and it _was_ amusing to find myself an
invited delegate, at whose entrance the Chairman rose and came
forward with outstretched hand, in the awful University Court
Room, where our case had over and over again been tried by a
hostile authority, and lost, without an opportunity for a word in
our own defence.
Sir Robert Christison looked down from the wall, and it made me
almost chuckle to think what _he_ would have said!
Sic transit! _How_ the world moves!
I have just heard this morning of a legacy of £100 for our
Hospital, and probably something for the School though (from vague
wording) that is less certain.”
At this time the great hope—as so often in the past—lay in the
direction of the University of St. Andrews, but the hope proved
illusory once more. In reading the history, one feels again and
again as if St. Andrews University had been surrounded by some
strange magic circle, for it happened on numberless occasions that
when everything seemed settled, and every difficulty had been
laboriously overcome, some unsuspected link in the chain gave way,
and endless exertion was rendered null and void. So it seems to have
happened now, for in June 1894 we find S. J.-B. writing again to
Miss Du Pre:
“I have been desperately busy this week, chiefly at the University
or with University people, as circumstances have led to my very
suddenly applying to have our School recognized by the [Edinburgh]
University Court, which really seems possible, Calderwood and
Watson both being members of it. The story is a long one, arising
out of complications at St. Andrews.
I enclose a copy of my Memorial,—please return it. It comes up
tomorrow before the Court.
Watson said so very kindly that he hoped it would pass, if only
that I might have rest from my long labours,—wasn’t it sweet of
him? A quarter of a century _is_ a long time!”
So the old warrior gathered herself together once more and made a
last appeal to the University Court of her own Alma Mater to grant
to other women the privilege that could never now be her own. She
reminded them that in 1869 the same Court had conceded the principle
of admitting women to graduation in medicine, that that principle
had never been disallowed by them, and that the problem of its
practical accomplishment had been under the consideration of the
Court ever since.
It cannot be said that hope ran high even now. It had always been a
saying among Scottish students that Edinburgh would be the last
stronghold to yield; but the tide everywhere was on the turn. After
full consideration of the subject, the Court rose nobly to the
spirit of the resolution passed by their predecessors in 1869, and
in October 1894 made public their determination to admit women
forthwith to graduation in medicine.
* * * * *
The National Association for Promoting the Medical Education of
Women, which had done such excellent service after its foundation in
1871, had for some years ceased to exist; “At the present time many
of its members had passed away, and others were widely scattered,
but it seemed desirable to those women who had always been members
of it, and who were still resident in Edinburgh, that some
congratulation should be offered by them to Dr. Jex-Blake, for the
great victory that had been achieved by her in the opening of the
degrees of the University of Edinburgh to women after a struggle
extending over exactly five-and-twenty years.”[157] So on Saturday,
November 3rd, 1894, these honourable women met together and
presented the following address:
“We, the undersigned, women members of the original National
Association for the Medical Education of Women, resident at this
time in Edinburgh, desire to offer to you our warm and hearty
congratulations on the brilliant success you have achieved in
securing the opening of the Edinburgh University medical
examinations and degrees to women students. We know that it was
largely due to your great ability and knowledge that the enabling
Bill of 1876 was passed, which put it into the power, if they so
willed, of each of the nineteen examining bodies of the United
Kingdom to admit women to qualifying examinations, and which was
the foundation of the success on which we congratulate you to-day.
Many who worked with and under you in the old days have passed
away. We who are left take this opportunity of expressing to you
our appreciation of the great sacrifice you have made of time, and
strength, and money, to win for younger women in their own country
a complete medical education crowned by a degree. To have done
this in Edinburgh we regard as a success of which you may be
justly proud. (_Signed_)—Elizabeth Pease Nichol, Anne H.
Calderwood, Grant A. Millar, Flora C. Stevenson, Phœbe Blyth,
Sarah E. Siddons Mair, Emily Hodgson, Charlotte Geddes, Agnes
Craig, Anne B. Foster, Hannah Lorimer, M. G. Paton, Priscilla
Bright M‘Laren, Elizabeth Stuart Blackie, Elisa Carlile Stevenson,
Mina Kunz, C. M. Charteris, Margaret Wyld, Eliza Wigham, Jessie M.
Wellstood, Euphemia Millar, Eliza Scott Kirkland, Maggie A. Rose,
Augusta G. Wyld, Helen Brown, A. A. Skelton, C. M. Edington, A.
Edington, Amelia R. Hill, Mary Burton, Louisa Stevenson.—_9th
October, 1894._”
Footnote 157:
The quotation is from Miss Louisa Stevenson’s speech in presenting
the address.
Before leaving the subject of S. J.-B.’s active life in Edinburgh,
it may be well to sum up some of her main characteristics as a
doctor and as a citizen, though to a great extent these have already
become evident.
First, was her great deftness in any kind of manipulation. It was
interesting to see her outshine in this respect so many of the trig
and dainty women who at one time or another, worked under her.
Second, was her readiness in emergency. The grass never grew under
her feet. It is on record that she had finished some minor operation
before her anaesthetist knew that she had begun. An amusing instance
of her readiness occurs in a chance episode with her carriage-
builder. It was not unusual for her to have little rubs with this
man. He and his subordinates had difficulty in living up to her
ideas of punctuality, and no doubt they considered her a bit of a
nuisance.
One day she called to remonstrate about something and found “the
Governor” in great distress from a splinter of steel which had
become imbedded in his eye.
“I’ll take it out for you,” she said, and, turning to the men,
added, “Bring a chair.”
The chair was placed by her direction in the best light obtainable,
_i.e._ on the gallery surrounding the carriage yard, in full view of
the men and horses below. She made the patient sit down, and,
standing behind him, produced a surgical needle from her instrument
case and with its curved convex edge deftly removed the splinter.
It was all done in the twinkling of an eye. Very simple, but very
characteristic.
And it would have been awkward if she had failed.
Third, was her refusal to let a patient die. No doctor wishes to
lose a case, but with S. J.-B. it was a matter of definite personal
struggle.
One day in the comparatively early days of practice, she came in
very late to lunch, having been urgently detained with a private
patient. She was anxious about a case in her little hospital—a
surgical case which had developed medical complications—and she sent
a messenger down for news.
“Just sinking,” was the pencilled reply from the resident. “Dr. ——
and Dr. —— [the consultants] have been here, and have given her
up. We have ceased to worry her with food.”
“_Ceased to worry her with food!_” One saw the summer lightnings on
S. J.-B.’s forehead. “Tell Charles to bring the brougham round
immediately.” Within half an hour the beef-tea was being
administered by her own hand; and there was no more talk of “not
worrying the patient with food.” She was worried until she not only
rallied, but got her foot on to the ladder of a slow and sure
recovery, a recovery that meant just everything to the husband and
children who were anxiously awaiting the mother’s return to the
little home.
As a neighbour and citizen S. J.-B. had certain outstanding
_qualités_, which, with their corresponding _défauts_, have never
tended to make the possessor of them universally popular. She
considered it a public duty to uphold as far as lay in one person’s
power the general standard of proper behaviour and efficiency in the
community. She had no use for sluggards and shirkers. “Here’s the
Doctor,—mind yersel’!” a cabman was heard to say when he and a
gossiping mate had allowed their vehicles to sprawl right across the
highroad just as the familiar pony-chaise came in sight. No postal
service ever deteriorated in her vicinity. If lesser officials
failed to listen, she appealed to the Postmaster-General, and she
accomplished many minor reforms by which her neighbours profited as
much as she did herself. Assuredly she was no grumbler, but she
considered that those who make it their aim to slip smoothly through
life, leaving to others all the irksome work of protesting, are—to
say the least—acting an unheroic part. She agreed that all things
come to him who waits,—and come through the exertions of those who
have not been content merely to wait. The callow upstart official
was apt to fare badly at her hands, but if the official happened to
be an elderly woman at—say—some isolated country post office, one
saw S. J.-B. at her best. She would steer the way gently and
patiently through some simple transaction that seemed involved
enough in those wilds; and, if she was met by a flash of interest
and intelligence, her appreciation was great. “Why we’ll make you
Postmaster-General!” she has been heard to say, leaving a beaming
face behind her as she gathered up the reins and drove away,—a
visitant indeed from another world.
CHAPTER VI
DRIVING TOURS. ANIMAL FRIENDS
All through the years of work and conflict, S. J.-B. had looked
forward to her “Sabbatical year,” when, with a clear conscience, she
could retire from active life, and share with others the rest and
seclusion she longed for. As early as 1892 she had written to a
cousin in New Zealand about a visit from her brother, who had been
examining at Fettes:
“Today he is gone south again. His life at Wells must be very
quiet and restful after the hard work of Rugby.
I am beginning to think that I must soon wind up my work and rest.
I have worked about as hard as anybody could for more than thirty
years, and I think I have almost done my share. There are young
people coming up now to do the medical work,—we have about 130
women on the British Register,—in 1865 when I began to work there
was only _one_!”
Some months later she seems to have written in the same vein to the
old aunt in Norfolk, for Mrs. Gunton replies in a holograph letter
of four beautifully-written pages:
“You must not talk of being tired with your occupation at
_present_. Consider what a _chicken_ you are! On the 11th of
November I was 93.”
How difficult to find any ground of comparison between those two
lives, grown on the same stock, the one of 52 and the other of 93!
* * * * *
The opening of the University degrees to women cleared the ground a
good deal, but there were still three great difficulties in the way
of retirement. The first was the Hospital. S. J.-B. was aware, as
she had written to Dr. Pechey that it “never would develop in her
tired hands,” but before passing it over to her juniors, she was
anxious to use her name and influence for all they were worth in the
way of raising money to constitute a small endowment, and justify
building, or at least a removal to larger premises. “The one thing
that I do long for still,” she wrote, “is to see a thoroughly good
Women’s Hospital officered by women established in Edinburgh.”
On the whole it was hard work. She wrote many letters in vain, but,
little by little, she gathered a few thousands: and there were, as
usual, some pleasant surprises by the way. Her old friend, Mrs.
Arthur, when asked for £100, promptly responded with a cheque for
£500, and some of those who gave little gave with a few words of
gratitude and appreciation that lifted the gift quite out of the
region of shillings and pounds.
A greater obstacle, perhaps, than the Hospital was the sheer
difficulty of winding up and getting away. S. J.-B. had begun life
as an early Victorian girl with an exceptionally strong hereditary
tendency to store and treasure all sorts of things great and small.
Almost in the twinkling of an eye she became a modern woman with a
correspondence that ran to dozens—sometimes hundreds—of letters in a
day,—a modern woman with no leisure at all for the always
distasteful work of weeding out and destroying. She was always
giving, but she never seemed to give away the things of which she
would be well rid. Moreover she always did things on a massive,
great-spirited scale. If a number of copies of any document were
wanted, it was better to get it printed,—and, if you were getting it
printed, it was safer and cheaper to get 500 or 1000 copies while
the type was up. You never knew how important that particular
document might become. If any article was nearly worn out, buy a new
one by all means,—but keep the old one too in case the new one
should break down.
And so it came about that in her roomy old house, with its spacious
attics and cellars, things were stored and stacked and forgotten
until their volume was almost incredible to those who had not seen
it.
And finally there was the great question where to settle. She never
lost her love for Edinburgh, and she was often tempted to choose a
house on the outskirts. On the other hand, she had always dreamed of
growing figs and peaches on a sunny south wall in her beloved native
county of Sussex: and how was she to find just the right house in
Sussex? So the time slipped away, and she had one illness after
another, and it often seemed to those nearest her as if the
Sabbatical year would be spent on the other Side of the River.
She took holidays more and more frequently, however, and rejoiced
increasingly in the work of those who took her place. “My
daughters,” “my girls,” “my young doctors,”—how proudly she used to
say it! Her face the day five of them were “capped” at the
University was a thing to be seen. And if she was an absolutely un-
self-sparing worker, she knew better than most how to make holiday;
indeed her holidays were as characteristic as everything else she
did and was. She hated publicity, hated the noise and bustle of
trains, so a driving-tour was her ideal of happiness and
refreshment. Her chaise had been specially built for the purpose,
with space in front of the dash-board to accommodate two small
valises, abundant room under the seats, and other incidental
conveniences that one only discovered by degrees. Little by little
she had made a fine art of her preparations. The list of compact
necessaries was always at hand, and the so-called “work-box” alone
contained in a condensed form resources for emergencies of all
descriptions. The groom had his own kit behind, and woe betide him
if his tools were not at hand when a shoe came loose or a nut needed
screwing up.
The strain of packing was apt to be considerable for everyone
concerned, and it lasted for the first mile or two of the journey.
Then gradually it melted away. She would draw a deep breath and give
herself up to the delightful sense of freedom. “Oh, isn’t it good to
be away!” “It seemed yesterday as if we never should get off.”
She always elected to go for the first night or two, if possible, to
an inn she knew. She asked so little, but it had to be just the
particular little that she wanted. No “much” could take the place of
that.
“Thank you, that is very nice,” she would say breezily, after
surveying the rooms in some unknown inn where she hoped to stay for
more than a night. “Now will you open the windows, and give us both
some more towels and one or two little tables, and take away the
ornaments in the sitting-room. We want room for our books.”
Sometimes the people were aghast, but much, much more often they
entered into the spirit of the thing and gave her just what she
wanted. She had a great knack of carrying them with her. She was so
easy-going in most ways, “because of course,” as she used to
explain, “one is not responsible for inn servants as one is for
one’s own.” And some few inns became to her a real haven of refuge,—
Rumbling Bridge, under old Mrs. Macara; Fortingal, in the old days,
under Mr. and Mrs. Menzies; and—above all latterly—(under Mrs.
Beattie), her beloved Gordon Arms at Yarrow where she and Miss Du
Pre had perforce taken refuge one day in a storm, little thinking
what a sanctuary it was often to prove.
“Yarrow, with all its snows and storms, has answered splendidly
for both of us,” she writes to Miss Du Pre in April 1896, “and we
shall return on Saturday much refreshed and strengthened. I have
been walking a good deal as well as driving. There seems something
specially restful about this country,—and this inn is as good as
old Fortingal, in rather a different way.”
The showy inn where one got no real comforts and where the cooking
was bad, was of course the object of her special detestation.
Many times she drove all over Perthshire; she went as far north as
Loch Maree, and, on one occasion at least, she drove all the way
from Brighton to Edinburgh arriving, by the way, to find a patient
on the door-step, and that patient a dowager countess! As a rule the
horse and chaise were put on the train from Carlisle to Rugby.
And the woods and hills seemed the very home of her spirit. More
than anything else they brought the poetry to her lips,—Whittier’s
_My Psalm_ very frequently in later years,—she did so love those
“robes of praise”—and his _Autograph_ too,—
“Hater of din and riot,
He lived in days unquiet—”
But always most frequently of all, perhaps, Mrs. Browning’s
couplet,—
“The pulse of dew upon the grass kept his within its number,
And silent shadows from the trees refreshed him like a slumber.”
Of course there were hardships to be faced too,—as one reckoned
hardships in those days! Often the rain came down in sheets when one
was half way across a shelterless mountain pass; or one drove
unexpectedly into deeper and deeper snow till it even happened that
the groom had to borrow a spade from a neighbouring cottage, and dig
a way out of the drift. Not infrequently night came on before a
suitable inn had been found,—for it is by no means every country inn
that has stabling,—let alone a lock-up coach-house,—and one drove
mile after mile with a tired horse and diminishing hopes.
In all such minor emergencies the indomitable spirit rose to meet
the occasion. One well nigh forgot the ageing woman and saw only the
gallant-hearted boy. She loved driving across a ford, though in some
of the Highland rivers it is highly desirable, if not necessary, to
know the lie of the ground beneath, and to choose just the right
détour or zig-zag.
In the neighbourhood of Woking one day when the floods were out, she
stopped to ask the way, and was informed that the route she proposed
to take was under water and dangerous. It would have been awkward to
change plans at that stage, so S. J.-B. drove on, though the water
gradually rose above the axles.
Presently a meek voice was heard from the groom behind. “He said it
was dangerous.” But S. J.-B. did not hear.
She was never foolhardy, but she did love the off-chance of an
adventure, and there would have been danger often if her nerve had
given way, or if she had not had a thorough understanding with her
horse. In the moment of emergency one saw what excellent comrades
they were. She knew how to get the last ounce of pluck and endurance
out of him in case of need.
It was all made up to him when the strain was over! That hot mash on
reaching the inn was the first thing thought of, and on a trying day
there was always a snack of some sort for the groom before the inn
was reached, so that the thought of his own supper might not bulk
_too_ largely in his general view of life and duty.
She was the friend of all her horses, and was never happy with one
that failed to respond. Blinkers and bearing-reins were an
abomination to her. She even objected to brass, and refused to use
the smart be-crested harness that came to her from her father’s
stable.
Her first favourite was White Angel, a pony. Professor Wilson had
helped her to choose him for a driving-tour in her student days. She
hired him several times and finally bought him. When she was at
Berne for her degree, he lived in her Mother’s stable at Brighton.
“Angel and Turk send their duty,” Mrs. Jex-Blake used to write.
“Master Turk says, ‘Very dull Christmas without Missis. He don’t
think much of Switzerland.’”
White Angel was badly named,—he was a lovable creature, but far more
of a sprite than an angel. There was never any harm in his mischief,
and she used to recount his pranks with the greatest delight. Above
all things he hated to be beaten. Going up Corstorphine Hill, he
would not allow even a pair of horses to pass him. He would allow
them to come close up, and then he would throw up his heels and race
to the top as if the chaise had been a nut-shell. And she enjoyed
his spirit far too much to check him.
He continued this practice up to a period of life when most
creatures place comfort above such expensive luxuries; but there
came a time when he had to give in. Then, as he heard younger hoofs
gaining on him, he would turn his head with great dignity and look
the other way, refusing to see that he was being outdone.
Very early in the days of practice, Blackbird came to reinforce him,
replacing a smarter, more troublesome horse whom S. J.-B. passed on
to Dr. Pechey: and on the whole Blackbird was her dearest horse
friend. He was such a gentleman, so willing to coöperate with her,
and if necessary to exert himself only too much on those occasional
long days in the Highlands. She never could see that he was growing
old and ceasing to be a credit to her,—indeed she seldom could see
that of anything she had cared for. No flower that had brightened
her writing-table was allowed to spend its last hour on an ash-heap.
So Blackbird remained king of the stable, doing an occasional easy
job, till the remonstrances of S. J.-B.’s friends prevailed against
even that, and he was lent to a farmer friend to fill an easy place
in the country.
Everyone meant well and kindly, but the farmer lent him after a time
to a less soft-hearted dairyman, and one day when S. J.-B. went out
to visit her old friend, she found him rheumatic and broken-kneed
and lean. She said scarcely a word, but asked to be left with him in
the stable. She had taken out a feed of beans, Blackbird’s special
weakness, and she gave him the feeding-bag herself,—then put her
arms round his neck and sobbed.
A day or two later Blackbird went to whatever place is reserved for
such good and faithful friends.
There was Austral, too, the favourite of her later years,—a
gentleman in every sense of the word,—his father and mother both in
the Australian stud-book. The father was Oxford, the mother
Uproarious, and the colt had been cleverly named Undergraduate. It
was S. J.-B. who changed his name: she probably thought it
inappropriate to a horse of eight or nine years; and indeed it was a
word that for her was too full of associations.
No other animal came anywhere near horses in her estimation. Cats
she disliked. In the old student days she had gone to see Miss
Pechey at the home of the lady whose children were fortunate enough
to have her for their governess. In the course of dinner, a spoiled
and cherished family cat leapt gently on to the table, coming
between S. J.-B. and the person to whom she was talking. Without
stopping to think, S. J.-B. put out her arm and brushed the cat on
to the floor.
When, some thirty years later, she was recalling how she had
wondered whether so pretty a girl as Miss Pechey _could_ have nerve
enough to study medicine, and how she had been informed by one who
knew that the pretty girl was “calm as an ox,” Mrs. Pechey Phipson
grimly intervened,—“I assure you I was anything but calm when you
swept that cat on to the floor!”
S. J.-B. laughed. And her laugh was a thing to hear,—especially when
the old jokes and the old stories were recalled,—a hearty musical
laugh that brought such wholesome tears to her eyes, and that would
not allow her face to set into really tragic lines.
But there is something more to be said about her dislike to cats.
After lunch at Bruntsfield Lodge, it was her custom to gather up the
bits of bread that were left and take them out to the lawn to feed
the birds. She loved to see the creatures flying towards her the
moment she appeared, and no cat was ever tolerated in the grounds.
One evening in early summer, when she came in from her work to a
high-walled garden all shimmering with promise, a half-grown kitten
stood in the way. “Shoo!” said S. J.-B. “Go away! Who allowed that
cat to be here?”
Everyone trembled,—except the little intruder. It looked S. J.-B.
full in the face, and held its ground.
Of course it was turned out, but a few days later she saw it in the
same place, leaping at a moth in the sunshine. And that time nothing
was said.
And a few days later still, when she had passed beyond the garden
into the house, the kitten walked forward to meet her. This really
was too much; but when she protested, the kitten simply looked in
her face and smiled.
So it was allowed to remain under due restrictions, until one night
S. J.-B. was awakened by a loud sneeze. She struck a light, and
there, on the shoulder of the sofa at the foot of her bed, calmly
reposing on a big woollen shawl, with its eyes fixed on her in
gentle protest against the open window, was the kitten.
It was simply uncanny. Of course it was only a kitten, but to S. J.-
B. it was always more. “It must have known me in a previous
incarnation,” she said. So she called it Karma, and before many days
were over it was a favoured and lovable member of the household,
taking all sorts of liberties in the most attractive way, and even
lying unforbidden on her lap. “Li’l cat!” she used to say
affectionately.
There is one more animal friend worth recalling, though pedigree and
admirers he had none,—the Nameless Dog at Bordighera.
S. J.-B. had gone to Bordighera in the winter of 1897-98 with a
friend who had been ill, and greatly did she enjoy the almost
unfailing sunshine. She seldom made acquaintances under such
conditions, but two delightful Irish ladies proved irresistible, and
a pleasant _partie carrée_ was the result. Every day S. J.-B. used
to walk with one or other of her friends through the unlovely main
street and sit for hours on the rocks at the Cap, watching the waves
tumbling about on that fine bit of coast.
One day, in passing through the somewhat squalid town, she was
stopped by a brawl among a few dogs,—a poor half-starved pariah was
being set upon and robbed of some morsel it had contrived to pick
up. Never was a more unwholesome-looking object than that dog,—with
a coat utterly out of condition,—wounds in every stage of refusal to
heal,—and an eye so mauled and battered that only a sanguine
prognosis could have associated it with the idea of any special
function in the future. The poor wretch showed no fight, but slunk
away as soon as its tormentors would let it go,—a pitiful craven,
utterly beaten in the struggle for life.
Next day it was seen again, slinking about in some bye-way, afraid
of everyone who came near. Of course S. J.-B. had a crust in her
pocket, and of course the dog got that crust, in spite of rivals and
in spite of its own groundless fears. Next day it was looking out,
and from that day the crust never failed. Little by little the
natural vitality of the creature began to gain ground; he became
something like a dog, and able to hold his own. His wounds healed,
and he soon could forage a bit for himself; but he never forgot to
look out for S. J.-B., and he never refused her crust. He began to
walk with her to the Cap, and to lie at a respectful distance till
she was ready to go home.
One day when she was confined to the house, he appeared on the steps
of the hotel. The waiter of course gave him a greeting that in
former times would have driven him well on the road to San Remo; but
now he held his ground. “What on earth does he want?” said the man.
“Oh,” said one of the others, “it’s Miss Blake’s dog.” At that
moment S. J.-B. came downstairs to _déjeuner_. She fetched him half
her roll from the dining-room, and the waiters might grumble as they
pleased.
From that time the dog formally constituted himself her body-guard,
and quite a creditable body-guard he was, with two good keen eyes
always on the look-out, and a coat worth wearing. He had positively
acquired a “presence.” He waited for her every day at the hotel
gate, and he walked proudly in front of her to the Cap. No other dog
dared to come near. No beggar ventured to molest. The very purveyors
of inlaid jewellery had to keep their distance.
At last—just before she left the Riviera—the Nameless Dog secured a
large bit of strongly smelling fish. There would have been a free
fight for it in the early days, but no other dog disputed his
possession of it now. He can’t have been overfed, poor fellow, even
then; but he brought his coveted trophy to S. J.-B. in triumph, and
laid it at her feet.
I am afraid he missed her horribly, and of course she could not
explain to him and say Goodbye,—as no doubt she did to Blackbird.
But she left behind a creature able to stand on his own legs, and
show a brave face to the world: I am not sure that she didn’t leave
behind the germ of a soul.
And, while this little story is scrupulously true, it tells in a
humble parable many episodes in the life of S. J.-B. that were known
to very few.
CHAPTER VII
THE SABBATICAL YEAR
It was that winter at Bordighera that gave her strength and energy
for the final uprooting. The autumn of 1898-99 was spent on a
driving tour of 1100 miles through the S.E. counties of England in
search of a suitable house. She set about the search in her usual
business-like way,—pasting into a book all the likely houses from
the agents’ lists, rejecting at a sweep all within ten miles of
London, all above or below a certain price and acreage, all that
fell short of the desired level above the sea, all that were in a
town, or that advertised their proximity to a railway station. The
tour was then planned to include as many as possible of those that
remained.
There were a few unusual disqualifications. One house that attracted
her belonged to the Rector of the parish, who refused to let to a
Roman Catholic or a dissenter, and, although S. J.-B. was neither,
she did not wish to be subjected to any test. Another house—more
strangely still—was only to be let to someone who would carry on the
evangelistic meetings in an out-building. “What if I were to take
the house and preach Buddhism?” she said.
Finally she decided on the house which she afterwards named
Windydene, near the village of Mark Cross, on the Forest Ridge of
Sussex, some five or six miles south of Tunbridge Wells. “It is
neither a new or an old house,” she wrote to her friend, Miss
Keily,—“built probably some 50 years ago,—very comfortable and airy,
and with pleasant garden and shrubberies, a good kitchen garden
(much neglected of late) and about 8 acres for pasture and hay.”
Having put various negotiations and alterations in train, she
returned to Edinburgh for the final winding-up.
And there was much in those last months that lingered pleasantly in
her memory. In June 1898 the British Medical Association had met in
Edinburgh, and S. J.-B., like most other doctors, had kept open
house. Some thirty medical women were present at the meeting, and,
before it broke up, Dr. Jane Walker organized a dinner under the
presidency of the old Edinburgh pioneer. Mrs. Garrett Anderson and
Mrs. Scharlieb were among the guests. As always, S. J.-B. spoke very
happily, and a number of those present got for the first time
something like a just impression of her personality.
Early in 1899 a Farewell Reception was given in her honour by the
Committee of her Hospital, and some happy inspiration made the
occasion not only a social success, but a gathering of unique
interest. The majority of the large company were in evening dress,
but the Dispensary patients were encouraged to look upon the
Reception as their affair too, and they came in what dress they had.
Moreover, it was no mere “meeting,” it was a real “party,” with
refreshments galore in a side room, and no compulsion to listen to
more speeches than one was in a mood for. The Marchioness of Bute,
President of the Hospital, who was ill, was represented by one of
the Vice-Presidents, Lady Helen Munro Ferguson. Lady Victoria
Campbell made a point of being present, as did the Countess of
Moray, and many patients, colleagues and allies of all sorts.
It was Professor Masson who moved the resolution of the evening:
“That this company, remembering all that has been done by Dr. Jex-
Blake so preëminently for the medical education of women, and for
the opening up of the medical profession to women, both here and
elsewhere, take this opportunity of congratulating her on the
present evidence of the success everywhere of the cause which owes
so much to her powerful initiation and persevering advocacy; and
regrets that the occasion should also be one of farewell.”
Dr. Balfour felt inclined, he said, to quote the words of the old
song:
“Dost thou remember, comrade old and hoary,
The days we fought and conquered side by side
On fields of battle, famous now in story?”
He indicated apologetically that the words were not wholly
appropriate, but S. J.-B. speedily set his mind at rest on that
score. She felt old and hoary enough.
Dr. Peel Ritchie recalled how he had begun to help the women
students simply from love of fair play, with no enthusiasm at all
for the cause, but how he had been gradually worked up to a warmer
feeling and interest; and Dr. (afterwards Sir John) Sibbald
confessed that he had taken no part in the old conflict at all; but
acknowledged gladly that his original dislike to the whole thing had
gradually given way as he had watched the life of the protagonist,
with increasing admiration, appreciation and....”
At that fine silence he left it.
A bouquet of roses was presented by Dr. Jessie Macgregor, one of the
most brilliant of S. J.-B.’s students; and a basket of flowers by
Winifred Beilby, daughter of a lady who had been a member of
Committee for many years, and a patient from the first.
Yes, it was a great send-off, and S. J.-B. was simple-hearted enough
to enjoy it all like a child.
There were other tokens of recognition too,—among them a
presentation from a great number of women doctors, and another from
the Dispensary patients.
* * * * *
There is no doubt that Dr. Sibbald voiced the opinion of many in his
tribute to S. J.-B. For years she had lived among the Edinburgh
people, driving about in her quiet brougham or unpretentious pony-
chaise, and retiring to the high-walled garden. In a way they could
not but get to know her. They might like or dislike her, but she
went on her way, doing her work absolutely without ostentation,
welcoming publicity when it seemed likely to forward her aims or the
welfare of the community, shunning it absolutely as a matter of
private taste.
With most of these whose opinion was worth having, opposition and
dislike were simply worn down. She was impulsive, she made mistakes
and would do so to the end of her life: her naturally hasty temper
and imperious disposition had been chastened indeed, but the
chastening fire had been far too fierce to produce perfection. She
held out at times about trifles,—failed to see that they _were_
trifles—and at times she terrified people more than she knew. Above
all she cared nothing for the praise and blame of any but those whom
she respected or loved. Of her indeed it might be said that she
heard the beat of a different drummer. But there was another side to
the picture after all. Many of those who regretted and criticised
details were yet forced to bow before the big transparent honesty,
the fine unflinching consistency, of her life.
“Yes, it was simply greatness.
There was nothing else I could say,
I had hedged my path more straitly,
But [hers] was the kinglier way.”
* * * * *
It remains only to give some picture of S. J.-B.’s life in
retirement. Dr. Clouston had shaken his head when he heard what she
proposed to do. It was a great risk to give up a life packed with
work and interest for one of leisure.
“I am not going to be idle,” she had said. “I am going to farm.”
“Then you’ll lose a lot of money.”
“I can’t lose much on ten acres.”
“_Ah!_” He seemed to indicate that ten acres was not enough; but as
a matter of fact S. J.-B. reaped now all the advantage of that love
of detail which had so often proved a snare. “Windydene” had been
unoccupied and more or less neglected for some time, so there was
abundant scope for an enterprising “Squire.” And the situation was
as choice as even the county of Sussex can provide. From the terrace
one looked right across to the South Downs, and even Fairlight was
supposed to be visible on a clear day. The garden had been ideally
planned on ground that fell away rather steeply to the south. It had
spacious lawns cunningly planted, some of the trees being of real
value and beauty.
Beyond the lawns were shady paths and all sort of unexpected
openings and surprises; and beyond these again were the meadows
hedged with blackberries, and carpeted in spring with cowslip and
ladies’ smock. From the meadows one passed through to the woods, and
so to the whole billowy stretch of the Weald, with its varied
foliage, its blue lights and chasing shadows, its lakes of white
mist in the still summer mornings.
S. J.-B. had seen the place first in November. She actually took
possession in May, when the red chestnuts were in bloom and the
woods full of bluebells.
“‘The lines have fallen to me in pleasant places’,” she said, “‘I
have a goodly heritage’;” and the words were constantly on her lips
till the end. Kipling’s “Sussex by the Sea” might have been written
for her, so gratefully did she take possession of it.
“Each to his choice, and I rejoice
The lot has fallen to me
In a fair ground—in a fair ground—
Yea, Sussex by the sea!”
Her first care was to institute a fruit garden, building a south
wall and planting vines, figs, peaches, nectarines and apricots. In
the course of a few years her strawberries in particular had
acquired quite a reputation.
She started a dairy too, and supervised it herself. It was a real
joy to her to have cows in the paddock and to produce her own cream
and butter. The hay-making and the harvest supper were great events
in the year.
But long before she had got as far as this—before the house was more
than tolerably straight after the great flitting—she was inviting
guests to share the joys of the spring and summer. All through the
later years of her life she had the intimate daily companionship she
prized so generously, but her doors stood open always as of old.
“Windydene is a Mecca,” one of the younger medical women said, and
there were those to whom it was a Mecca and something more. From S.
J.-B.’s old fellow-students down to some unknown girl graduate, they
came from all parts of the world. We have seen what Dr. Lillie
Saville thought of life at Windydene, and indeed Lady Jenkinson’s
“soul and body, especially soul” often finds an echo. A woman doctor
who met S. J.-B. first at that British Medical Association dinner in
Edinburgh writes years later:
“Thinking it over, I see that the best new influence that came
into my life during the last seven years was the Doctor’s young
fresh interest, her enthusiasm, her breadth of mind, her spiritual
force and faith, and her strong original wisdom.”
But it was not only women doctors who came. Literary folk were
guests too, and, above all, the old friends, whatever they had
chanced to become. Miss Du Pre, Lady Jenkinson, Miss Catharine
Eliott-Lockhart, Miss E. Cordery, Mrs. Gardiner, Mr. James Cordery,
Mr. Phipson and Dr. Pechey Phipson, Mrs. (Dr.) Mears, and many
others. The arrival of Dr. Agnes M‘Laren from her season’s practice
on the Riviera was one of the events of the early summer; she always
came by Newhaven and so to Crowborough, where S. J.-B. faithfully
awaited her. A still earlier event in the year was the arrival of
Miss Caroline Jex-Blake, “when the primroses were out,” and her joy
in the meadows and woods was a thing that only those who knew her
could conceive.
Little enough entertainment in the ordinary sense was offered to the
guests at any time. Breakfast in bed was an unfailing institution
for tired workers, and most of the guests were tired workers. There
was fruit and cream to heart’s content and beyond it; there were
long leisurely drives uphill and down dale through that beautiful
country,[158]—plenty of chess for those who were worthy of chess,—
unforgettable evenings round the study fire; and at all other times—
stated meals apart—an almost unlimited choice of books,—and liberty
to do as one pleased.
Footnote 158:
“I took her to see the pixies,” writes S. J.-B. to a friend, in
June, “I don’t think she did see any, but she greatly enjoyed the
woods, etc.”
* * * * *
S. J.-B. used to say that her one extravagance at Windydene was
journals and books. She had always been a book buyer, and books were
more essential than ever now. New shelves had to be put up every
year or so. Her collection of recent novels alone induced a well-
known publisher to say that she ought to have a testimonial from
authors and publishers. There was a certain amount of practical
benevolence in this. In Edinburgh she had often said that an
important part of her treatment of patients was the lending of
suitable novels, and at Windydene she often had twenty or thirty
books out at a time. Her taste was catholic in the extreme, but she
specially appreciated among others _Peter Ibbetson_, _San Celestino_
and _Out of Due Time_; and—like so many distinguished people—she
keenly enjoyed detective stories, especially for reading in the
watches of the night.
She had lost none of her love of poetry. The “poetry book-case” had
an honoured place as of old; but, as she sat in her big chair by the
fire, she had a revolving stand filled with special favourites
within reach of her right hand, and, on her left (in the angle of
the chimney-piece) a tiny set of shelves brought from the
corresponding nook in her Edinburgh consulting room, contained her
Mother’s Bible and a few other chosen friends.
But the range of her purchases during those later years was very
wide: almost at random one recalls Blomefield’s _Norfolk_, all
Father Tyrrell’s works, a whole library of books on social
problems,—industry, poverty, labour, etc.—and a fine copy of _The
Book of the Dead_.
She retained her old interest in what one may call the polemics of
religion, and this was intensified by a delightful and unexpected
friendship of those later days.
She had not been many weeks in Mark Cross before some mutual friend
suggested that she might care to know the Roman Catholic priest—a
man, as it chanced, of scholarship and culture—following up the
suggestion with the loan of a book which the priest had published
some years before.[159] A few days later S. J.-B. wrote the
following letter:
“June 15th [1899].
DEAR SIR,
I have been reading your book on Reunion with very great
sympathy and admiration; and, if you care to call on an elderly
woman who is not of your creed, I should be very glad to have the
honour of making your acquaintance.
I expect to be at home tomorrow afternoon, or could fix any day
except Monday, next week, if more convenient to you.
Yours truly,
SOPHIA JEX-BLAKE, M.D.
Rev. Father Duggan.”
Footnote 159:
_Steps towards Reunion._ The book had been put on the Index
Expurgatorius.
It did not strike the looker-on as a specially likely combination,
but it was the unlikely thing that happened. The Revd. Father Duggan
became one of the most welcome guests at Windydene. He and his dog,
Caesar, used to drop in almost every Sunday afternoon for
strawberries on the lawn or tea round the study fire. I don’t
pretend that Caesar took any interest in the strawberries—possible
rabbits were a more absorbing subject—but he did enjoy his bowl of
tea, especially when a lump of sugar remained at the bottom as a
_bonne bouche_. He was the centre of interest when his turn came,
and, when the anticipated “crunch” was heard, the general laugh of
sympathy never failed. They were just happy children together,—the
Dog, the Reverend Father and the old Pioneer, and now the world is
the poorer for the loss of all three.
There were great talks on those Sunday afternoons; it was no
uncommon thing to see three versions of the Bible and half a dozen
volumes of the _Encyclopaedia_ lying about at the end to witness to
the interest of the discussion. There was much borrowing and lending
of books,—and no obvious change of view on the part of anyone except
in the direction of increased tolerance and brotherly kindness. A
very simple anecdote will give as good an idea as any of the nature
of the friendship.
Father Duggan had been the lender of Canon Cheyne’s _Commentary on
the Psalms_, which he had just reviewed for a daily paper.
“I won’t pretend that I read the whole of it,” said S. J.-B. in
returning the volumes. “In fact”—with a sparkle of mischief,—“I
noticed when it came that only about a quarter of the leaves were
cut.”
“Yes,” he admitted tranquilly. “I did think of cutting a few more
before sending it up to you,—but I didn’t.”
“_Ah, no!_” she said. “You were an honest man.”
She was on excellent terms, too, with the local doctors: they looked
forward to a chat when they met her in the country lanes, and, if,
when she left Edinburgh, there had been any hatchet left to bury,
their boyish camaraderie would soon have compelled her to bury it.
“I confess I had a prejudice against women doctors,” one of them
said after her death, “but she disarmed me completely.”
The life at Windydene was not unbroken. The clay soil in that wooded
garden was not conducive to the health of a rheumatic person like S.
J.-B., so several brief winters were spent at various places on the
Riviera, and one in Portugal, mainly in the Sacred Forest at
Bussaco. At Carqueiranne in Provence one of the editors of the
_Matin_ was a fellow guest, and he proved another unexpected
comrade. It must have been a matter of some surprise to him to meet
in that unlikely place, an elderly English gentlewoman with a grasp
of the range of European politics and a facility for discussing it
in excellent French.
It was at Carqueiranne that she and the intimate friend of those
days met Mr. Frederic Myers and Professor William James, and here
too there was a pleasant _partie carrée_ for some days with
Professor and Mrs. Gardiner who were on a cycling tour in the south
of France. Professor Gardiner had several times been S. J.-B.’s
guest in Edinburgh, when his researches brought him north to inspect
some unique document among the archives there, and it was a pleasant
change to meet when both were in purely holiday mood.
In the late Autumn of 1909—in spite of increasing physical
disqualifications—she made a last driving tour to her beloved
Yarrow.
* * * * *
It is needless to say that she never lost her interest in the
happenings of the world. She had latterly a profound distrust of
Germany, and was an eager reader of the articles on this subject in
the _National Review_. _The Riddle of the Sands_ was a novel that
she helped to circulate widely. Her name appeared pretty frequently
in the correspondence columns of the _Times_, sometimes in
connection with Woman Suffrage, more often in unavailing protest
against the endless “joy-riding”—degenerating into the sheer
lawlessness of the “road-hog”—that was making the loveliest English
lanes a nightmare of dust and danger.
It was to the _Times_, too, that she sent her last tribute to the
most heroic of her Edinburgh friends in the old days of the “fight.”
“SIR,—It seems impossible to let the grave close over the mortal
remains of Professor Masson without one word of heartfelt
gratitude from those whom he befriended so nobly in 1869 and the
following years. Our struggle with the University was hard enough
as it was, but without his help and that of half a dozen other men
it would have been impracticable. I feel that it is really quite
impossible to do justice to the chivalry, the unselfishness, the
constant readiness to espouse the unpopular cause, and to fight in
its foremost ranks, which characterized Professor Masson, and it
would take far too much of your space to say even a fraction of
what could be said of the aid he gave us in that great battle.
But I beg you at least to allow me to say that those so deeply
indebted to him will never forget him, but hold his memory in love
and reverence as long as they live.
Yours obediently,
SOPHIA JEX-BLAKE.
Windydene, Mark Cross, Sussex, Oct. 10 [1907].”
The suffrage movement was always near her heart, though she never
grew restless or impatient over the long delay. She never approved
of tax-resistance, and militant methods made her uneasy, though she
admitted that they had given the cause a prominence that nothing
else could have done. Looking back in 1879 on her own fight she had
been able to say, “We seemed led all the way; certainly our aim was
straight at the end [before us], but ‘highly and holily’ too. I
never minded dirt of others’ throwing, but I don’t think I ever
smirched my own conscience.” It was in her favour that the Editor of
the _Spectator_ broke through his stern rule of excluding all
letters advocating the extension of the franchise to women. “Our
respect for so eminent a lady makes it a pleasure to publish Dr.
Sophia Jex-Blake’s letter.”
It was this question of the suffrage, too, as we shall see, that
brought her for the last time into touch with Octavia Hill.
S. J.-B.’s outer circle had never suspected her of being
“religious,” and even by the fireside she spoke less perhaps, rather
than more, on the subject as time went on; but the old quotations
kept flashing up to witness to the fire beneath. She was always
profoundly interested in any genuine profession of faith, any real
conversion or perversion. Several of her friends joined the Church
of Rome in those later years, and she was one to whom they always
felt the need of justifying themselves. They felt sure of an
underlying sympathy, however she might disapprove. Often, of course,
she declined to take the matter too seriously. To an old student she
wrote:
“I am not at all shocked at your Sunday programme, but I must say
I am amused at your going to a dissenting chapel.”
And again:
“I don’t trouble myself much about who goes ‘over to Rome’ and who
does not. After all for each one,—‘To his own Master he stands or
falls,’ and what we must ask of each is to act to the best of his
lights.
But I think ‘subterfuging’ implies dim lights.”
Her own attitude grew steadily simpler, enriching the vital elements
of her Mother’s creed with the wisdom and experience of her own
life. As time went on she disliked increasingly to be classed with
those whose attitude towards religion is one of indifference. Even
before she left Edinburgh she had written to an old school friend,
in acknowledgement of a book by another schoolfellow:
“To speak plainly then it strikes me as crude and superficial,—as
the work of a person who has caught up passwords rather than of
one who has struggled through the conflict of thought personally.
It reminds me forcibly of the old proverb, ‘Qui pauca considerat
facile pronuntiat.’ The deeper we go into problems, whether social
or religious, the less possible it seems to me to pronounce about
them offhand.
In theology you would, I suppose, rank me among the Agnostics, as
I feel very strongly how little we _know_ on such subjects, and
that the truly scientific aspect of mind is one of suspension of
judgment; but I have no sympathy at all with C.’s attacks on
Christianity and the alleged motives of its advocates, and still
less with her estimate of the character of Christ.
The programme of Socialism strikes me (so far as I understand it)
as unworkable, because it ignores a great many of the facts of
human nature; and I am sure you are right in thinking that the
true path of progress lies in gradual improvement, and gradual
removal of unjust restrictions, rather than in sudden violence and
revolution.”
To a much more intimate friend she had written about the same time:
“Yes, I think —— is what I should call an Agnostic, but perhaps
you from lordly heights of orthodoxy don’t appreciate that that
differs ‘toto caelo’ from an atheist; and that it is one of the
most offensive of errors,—and one frequently made from culpable
carelessness,—to substitute the one for the other.”
Her appreciation of the Bible increased—and it had always been an
exceptional appreciation;—but there are two quotations that stand
out in one’s memory as belonging to her in a special sense. She
always appropriated to herself with great fervour the prayer of
Agur:—“Two things have I required of thee...: Remove far from me
vanity and lies; give me neither poverty nor riches; feed me with
food convenient for me; lest I be full and deny thee, and say, Who
is the Lord? or lest I be poor and steal, and take the name of my
God in vain.”
And more than once, after quoting the words from Isaiah:—“Thus saith
the high and lofty One that inhabiteth eternity, whose name is Holy;
I dwell in the high and holy place, with him also that is of a
contrite and humble spirit, to revive the spirit of the humble, and
to revive the heart of the contrite ones,” she added almost under
her breath,
“I am not sure that that is not the finest thing in the whole
Bible.”
But while she was one of those to whom the Old Testament makes
perhaps a special appeal, it was not by accident that at the time of
her death, and for years previously, the words were fixed above the
mantelpiece, both in her study and in her bedroom,—“Bear ye one
another’s burdens, and so fulfil the law of Christ.”
* * * * *
Some years before leaving Edinburgh, S. J.-B. had a heart attack
which caused Dr. Balfour grave uneasiness, and, although she rallied
in the course of a week, similar attacks kept recurring at
considerable intervals. On one occasion at Windydene she was
unconscious for several hours, and finally “came out of blackness”
to ask with great calmness, “Well, what do you suppose has
happened?”
Within a week of this attack she started for the Riviera.
It is probable that she never fully realized the seriousness of
these cardiac signs and symptoms; but, in one way or another, death
knocked at her door pretty frequently during those later years.
In 1901-2, she suffered from a mysterious and anomalous “growth,”
for which a leading London surgeon refused to operate on the ground
that she was a bad subject. She was not sorry for the refusal, but
the enemy grew with appalling rapidity, and it became increasingly
clear that something would have to be done. All through the period
of uncertainty she went on with her life absolutely as usual. “I did
wake up one night in a horror of great darkness,” she confessed,
“wondering what was going to happen; but very soon Whittier’s words
came into my mind:
“I know not what the future hath
Of marvel or surprise,
Assured alone that life and death
His mercy underlies....
I know not where His islands lift
Their fronded palms in air;
I only know I cannot drift
Beyond His love and care.”
And then I just turned over on the other side and went to sleep
again.”
“How thankful we should be,” she said on another occasion, “that we
don’t know what is before us. Life is hard enough, it would be much
harder if we knew.”
When a friend remarked on her courage, she said,—and this was a
remark repeated many times before the end of her life,—“No, no. I
have been brave sometimes in my life, but not now. There is nothing
to be brave about now.”
In response one day to a warmer expression of admiration, she almost
cried out in protest,—“_Oh!_ ... God be merciful to me a sinner.
That is what one feels more and more.” Then, after a pause:
“‘Suffice it if—my good and ill unreckoned,
And both forgiven through Thy abounding grace—
I find myself by hands familiar beckoned
Unto my fitting place.’”
Another day she said, “My life here will not be much longer, but I
feel that I have not reached the end. I have learnt a great deal,
and I have a great deal still to learn. Unless one has absolutely
_refused_ to learn, one must get the chance to learn more.”
Her friend quoted Thring. “My creed is life. Blessed is life the
King, etc.”
“Ah,” she said, “I don’t know that it will be _better_ than this
life, but it will give us the chance to learn fresh things.”
It was on that occasion that she looked death in the face while
still in full possession of her powers—“‘I laid me down with a
will,’” she said—; but for the moment the sacrifice was not required
of her. When the malady reached a point at which surgical
interference was at worst a necessary palliative, she proposed to
ask two of her own old students to come and undertake an operation.
It was represented to her that it was scarcely fair to put so great
a responsibility on them,[160] so she wrote to her friend, Mr.
Cathcart of Edinburgh, asking him to come and undertake the case. He
came at once, of course, and the operation proved a triumphant
success.[161]
Footnote 160:
At that time very few women had come into the front rank as
surgeons.
Footnote 161:
Her old fellow student, Dr. Annie Clark, who had graduated with
her at Berne, came from Birmingham to give the anaesthetic.
So life was given back to her just as she had laid it down, and the
remaining years were in some respects the happiest and most peaceful
she had known. She renewed her youth, though in truth she had never
grown old, and lived more than ever in the life of her “girls.” She
had always said, “Not me, but us.” Now more and more the “us” came
into the centre of her scheme of life. Perhaps her last ambition was
that some British University should give her its honorary degree,
but her friends only realized this when she had already laid the
ambition down. “I shall never have a University hood,” she said once
or twice quite simply. All the more she enjoyed the glories of the
young women doctors who were coming on. She listened to their
accounts of what they had learned and of what they had done with an
admiration that was nothing short of poignant in its simplicity. Her
own share in the whole thing simply dropped out. At most she would
say when some gifted visitor was gone, “Wonderful the work she is
doing! Well, I did help a little bit once upon a time, didn’t I?”
It was when one of her old girls seemed face to face for the first
time with that most bitter disappointment in a doctor’s experience,—
the loss of a patient for whose life one has fought with repeated
recrudescence of hope in the teeth of despair,—that S. J.-B. wrote
one of her last letters:
“Windydene,
7 p.m. March 19th. 1911.
DEAR CHILD,
I _am_ so sorry for you, and I think of you so much! It is
an experience that has to come to all of us who live in our work,—
and we must believe ‘we shall see in heaven why it could not be
otherwise.’
Meanwhile ‘the Healer by Gennesaret shall walk thy rounds with
thee.’
When it is all over,—for I suppose that is now the end,—I think
you should come down here for a few perfectly quiet days. We shall
be so glad to have you.
Yours sincerely,
S. J.-B.”
There was, of course, one visitor whom she would fain have welcomed
to her “pleasant places.” She had followed Octavia Hill’s life with
unfailing interest, and had subscribed to the Derwentwater scheme,
and to other of Miss Hill’s beneficent works. In July or August 1910
a letter opposing the extension of the suffrage to women appeared in
the _Times_ above the signature of Octavia Hill. S. J.-B. replied to
the letter, regretting that Miss Hill should have “given the support
of her honoured name” to the negative side of the controversy. The
_Times_ did not often refuse a communication from S. J.-B., but on
this occasion her letter was not inserted. Perhaps the trifling
episode called up memories too insistent to be stilled, for a day or
two later she wrote to her old friend:
“August 5th. 1910.
Windydene, Mark Cross, Sussex.
DEAR,
I wrote enclosed mainly as an answer to yours in the
_Times_, and as it has been sent back to me, crowded out, I send
it to you,—to show you another old woman’s point of view.
I am rheumatic and lame now, and cannot go about much, but I wish
you would come down and spend two or three days with me here on
the Sussex hills, and we would thrash out this Suffrage question—
surely one of us ought to be able to convince the other!
And I _should_ like to see you again!
Yours sincerely,
S. JEX-BLAKE.
I grieved greatly with you in your loss in June.”[162]
Footnote 162:
Miss Miranda Hill died in June 1910.
Miss Octavia Hill had allowed herself no “sabbatical year,” and she
was flagging in harness. Her life had been spent in unremitting
service of her fellow men. She answered her old friend’s letter, but
she could not respond. One has no difficulty in understanding her
attitude now. A conventional meeting would have been useless, and
anything else would have involved a greater upheaval than most
people are willing to face as life goes on.
And it well may be that she had acted wisely all along. As Mrs. Jex-
Blake had said many years before with that strange _pre_vision that
is given sometimes to the pure in heart,—“God has two great works,—
one for her, one for you.”
Those two great works could never have been combined.
And, indeed, no one with a disposition like S. J.-B.’s can go
through life without losing friends. She might have said with St.
Teresa,—“For one thing, the devil sometimes fills me with such a
harsh and cruel temper; such a spirit of anger and hostility at some
people, that I could eat them up and annihilate them.” But, as in
the case of St. Teresa, the obverse side of the medal was a capacity
for loving that can seldom have been surpassed in our human nature.
“Went not my heart with thee...?” she used to say: and it did,—not
only with those nearest to her, but with all who appealed to her
mother-heart. The comforting letter was written, in spite of all
fatigue and inconvenience, at the earliest possible moment: the box
of flowers, the grapes, the wine, the cheque, the open hospitable
doors,—all seemed messengers waiting for their turn, like the swift-
heeled servants of the Fairy Queen.
No appeal ever came to her that she ignored. The Charity
Organisation Society was familiar with her name; and great sometimes
was her disappointment when those she wanted to help were pronounced
hopeless or unworthy. Nothing that she loved ever grew old. Her
friends, her horses,—even the purely material things to which she
was attached—grew more beautiful in her eyes as their market value
decreased. She always parted deliberately with the flowers that had
stood by her hand. No one was ever allowed to throw them away as a
matter of routine, and often she would raise them to her lips before
putting them in the fire.
St. Teresa’s love no doubt was a more transcendent thing. It was her
lot to live in an age of faith. S. J.-B. often quoted Whittier’s
_Autograph_:
“If of the Law’s stone table,
To hold he scarce was able
The first great precept fast,
He kept for man the last.
Through mortal lapse and dulness
What lacks the Eternal Fulness,
If still our weakness can
Love Him in loving man?”
There are those of whom Teresa herself said:
“They may have more merit in His eyes than their more favoured
neighbours, because their obedience and their faith and their love
have cost them more. Their Lord deals with them as with strong and
valiant men, appointing them travail and trouble here, that they
may fight for Him the good fight of faith, and only come in for
the prize at the end.”
No portrait gives any adequate idea of Sophia Jex-Blake. Someone who
saw her first in 1886 writes:
“Although too stout in figure, she had a fine commanding presence,
and one was struck at once by the exceeding _comeliness_ of her
face. It was strong, wise and benevolent, capable of an
extraordinary range of expression. The brow was ideally shaped,
broad and serene in repose, though always liable to the summer
lightnings that one half admired, half dreaded. Her hair was
growing white, but the eyebrows remained black till the end, and
the eyes, both by nature and by the long discipline of life, were
extraordinarily fine and expressive.”
It was twenty years later than this that a girl friend said,—“She
has the look of one ‘following fearlessly’.” Throughout life, the
tendency to sadness of expression was wholly contradicted by her
smile; her eyes very readily bubbled over with merriment; as some
reporter had said in the days of the fight, “With those dimples she
must be good-natured.” When an old servant was shown the final
portrait in this volume, she said, “But I want her to look up at me
and laugh as she used to do!”
* * * * *
One does not wish to dwell on the history of the last few months.
From the physical point of view it is a familiar story. One by one
every medicament lost its efficacy: the failing heart ceased to
invigorate one organ after another. But the strong and disciplined
will held the shattered tabernacle together. Sometimes acute
symptoms forced her to stay in bed for a day or two, but she always
struggled on to her feet again at the earliest possible moment and
went for the daily drive through her beloved lanes and woods. True
that towards the end she noticed these less and less,—drowsed most
of the way; but, if there was occasion to rouse herself and speak to
anyone, she did so almost as of old.
“The worst of lying awake at night,” she used to say whimsically,
“is that one realizes all the mistakes one has made in one’s life.”
It was not even _lying_ awake sometimes: it was a weary sitting up
or lying down as each position in turn became intolerable. And
often, after only three minutes’ unconsciousness, she would exclaim
in something like the old happy voice, “I have had such a lovely
sleep!”
Almost to the last day she repeated bits of her favourite poems and
psalms,—and nothing gave her so much pleasure as to plan holidays
for those who still had a day’s work before them. She was infinitely
mindful of those who tended her. Almost her last words were,—“Now do
go and have a good rest.”
And so the end came,—suddenly but not unexpectedly. She sat down one
day more tired than usual—it was the 7th January, 1912—stretched
herself back, and rendered up her soul to God who gave it.
* * * * *
A great wave of feeling arose in the village and round about when it
was known that the familiar figure of the old warrior would no more
be seen in her Sussex lanes. Perplexed at first, her neighbours of
all classes had come in a measure to understand her, to be proud of
her,—some of them to love her. With one or two, indeed, she had
formed a warm and intimate friendship. There was every token of
respectful sympathy and mourning when the little procession made its
way to Rotherfield Church.[163]
Footnote 163:
By a strange coincidence she lies within a few yards of her old
friend and champion, Sir James Stansfeld. See Appendix G.
And that wave of feeling went out over the whole world. Messages and
tributes of appreciation and regret poured steadily in. The most
beautiful and adequate was the paragraph in the _Pall Mall Gazette_:
“The woman as Happy Warrior has passed away with the death in her
Sussex home of Sophia Jex-Blake. There is scarcely an attribute of
the great figure in Wordsworth’s poem which she did not possess,
with the crowning added happiness of seeing her fame as a noble
and successful pioneer in a great movement finally established.
She it was, more than anyone else, who compelled the gates of the
medical profession to be opened to women. Through years of
hostility and obloquy she never lost heart in her Cause; and,
meeting violence with reason and coarseness with dignity, she won
at last. Her longest and bitterest fight was with the University
of Edinburgh; and, later, when Parliament had recognized the right
of women to be doctors, it was in that city that she practised for
twenty-one years. Since the death of Florence Nightingale no woman
has died of whom more truly may it be written, _Bene actæ vitæ
recordatio jucundissima est_.
But the reader may find a special propriety in a very simple
resolution passed a few days later in an Over Seas dominion:
“That the members of the University Women’s Club of Toronto do
place on record their deep sense of the great influence and noble
life of Dr. Sophia Jex-Blake. Now that her distinguished career
has closed, they feel that she was the helper of all University
women,—and they love her for many reasons.”
THE END
APPENDIX A
PEDIGREE OF THE JEX-BLAKE FAMILY
S. J.-B.’s father was one of the Blakes of Bunwell, Scottow, etc.,
in the county of Norfolk.
A family of Blakes settled at Bunwell in 1620. It is said
traditionally that they came from Somersetshire and were descended
from the same family as Robert Blake, the great Admiral of the
Commonwealth, being probably a branch of the original family of the
Blaks, Blaaks or Blakes of Pinnels in the parish of Cawne or Calne,
Co. Wilts., there seated as early, at least, as 1400. These families
bore the same arms with slight differences, namely, argent a chevron
between three garbs sable. Crest, on a chapeau gules turned up
ermine, a martlet argent.
In the chancel of Bunwell Church, near the altar rails, is a
tombstone with the following inscription:
Under this Stone lyeth the Body of Mr John Blake
He dyed the 21 of August 1686 being sixtie 4
Yeares of age and upwards.
Above this legend are the arms of Blake as above: on the chevron a
fleur-de-lis for difference.
From this gentleman is descended in direct line all the present
family through his fourth son, Robert Blake, who settled at Scottow
about 1680, marrying Margaret, eldest daughter of William Durrant of
Scottow Hall. Their son, Thomas Blake of Scottow, born November 7th,
1689, married Elizabeth, daughter of John Jex, Esq. of Lowestoft,
and the grandson of these last, William Blake of Swanton Abbots, in
the Commission of the Peace, and Deputy Lieutenant for Norfolk,
having inherited the chief part of the Jex property, obtained on his
petition by Royal Licence on August 17th, 1837, that he and his
descendants should assume and use the surname Jex in addition to and
before that of Blake, and also bear the arms of Jex quarterly, in
the second quarter, with those of Blake.[164]
Footnote 164:
See _The London Gazette_, Friday, August 25, 1837.
APPENDIX B
“WORDS FOR THE WAY.”[165]—No. 2. REST
“There remaineth a Rest for the people of God.”—HEB. IV. 9.
Footnote 165:
The authors have sought to supply a want, more or less widely
felt, of simple Tracts, which, while endeavouring to set forth the
deepest truths of Christianity, shall avoid the phraseology of
certain schools, as jarring on the minds of many.
Those who see any degree of successful effort in the Tracts
already published are invited to assist in obtaining for them, and
others of the series, such a circulation as may best ensure their
usefulness.
What is the thing that you wish for most in the world?
I cannot hear your answers to my question, and I do not suppose that
everyone to whom it is addressed would answer it in the same way;
but I must try and fancy to myself what you would be most likely to
say. And first I suppose that each of you would be likely to wish
for that of which he has most felt the need.
Some of you, perhaps, who are very poor, would say, “Money.” Well,
money is a very good thing, and, if we know how to use it rightly, a
great blessing for which to thank God when He gives it to us; but
you might have money, and yet be far from happy—yet have a great
many of your deepest wants unsatisfied. And very many of those who
have most money would be the first to tell you that this is the
case; and I am sure that with very little of it, it is possible to
be very happy if we have some other things.
I hardly think that money is what we should wish for most.
Those of you who are very ill, and who are constantly suffering pain
that seems to be always coming freshly upon you, would perhaps say,
“Health.” Well, that too is a very good and great gift of God’s, and
those of us who have it should thank Him very much for it, and pity
heartily and helpfully those who have it not. But I think that with
even this blessing, there may be very great wants left; and I
believe that it is possible to be very blessed without it. I do not
think that Health satisfies the deepest want of our nature.
And some of you perhaps, who have felt how sad it is to be ignorant
of many things that it would be so good to know, and who are longing
to learn more about God and His great and wonderful works, might say
that “Knowledge” was the gift which of all others you desire.
Some again who have felt how sad it is to stand all alone in this
great world, every part of which God has made so dependent on the
rest,—who long for some heart to lean upon in all life’s troubles,
some hand to help to cut a way through them, will say that “Love” is
the greatest blessing that it seems to them possible to receive.
I have no doubt that if I were really talking to you, or, still
better, could see the thoughts of your hearts, I should be told of
many wants which you earnestly desire to have satisfied,—wants, some
of them belonging to the lower and some of them to the higher part
of that wonderful nature which God has given to us all.
And now perhaps you would like to hear _my_ answer to this question
I have been asking of you, “What is the thing we most want?” It
seems to me that there is one blessing which sums up in itself—which
seems to imply or to contain—almost all others, and which, if we go
deeply enough into it, does really satisfy all the great wants of
our nature. This is REST.
Now let us think what Rest is: and see whether if you had that, you
would have the deepest part of all your wants satisfied.
You said you wanted Money? Well, was not the comfort which you
thought money could give you, just that freedom from care and
anxiety which we call Rest?—was it not really for this, and not for
the money itself, you longed?
And you wanted Health? Is it not just because health would give you
rest from pain and from continual weariness that it seems to you the
best of all things? Does not Health for you really mean Rest?
And is it not because there is something that you are always longing
to know and understand that you desire so much to have Knowledge? Is
not your wish for it founded on the feeling that God gave you a mind
and understanding which can only be satisfied by learning and
knowing. Do you not really desire knowledge that your intellect may
have some firm standing ground?—that it too may have Rest?
And most of all do not you who long for Love, long for it because
you feel that to have some one beside you to feel for you and help
you, to pray with and work with you through all the labours of this
life, is the nearest approach to Rest that we can have on earth,
except that deepest Rest which comes through feeling the constant
nearness of Him who loves most of all, who “will never leave thee
nor forsake thee” (Heb. xiii. 5). If then we can but look forward to
Rest, are we not sure of having _all_ that we need?
And it is just this that is promised to us in the text we read at
the beginning, “There remaineth a Rest for the people of God.” God
knows so well all our wants, and knows so well what will best supply
them, that all through the Bible you will find beautiful promises
about Rest. Let us look at a few of them. Job in the midst of his
great troubles speaks of the future life as that “where the weary
are at Rest” (Job. iii. 17). The prophet Jeremiah promises to those
who will hear God’s will and seek to do it, that they “shall find
Rest for their souls” (Jer. vi. 16). Our Lord Jesus Christ knew well
about this deepest want in our nature when He spoke that most
beautiful of invitations to all who heard Him on earth, and to all
who read His words now, “Come unto me all ye that labour and are
heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and
learn of me; for I am meek and lowly of heart: and ye shall find
Rest unto your souls” (Matt. xi. 28, 29).
And the whole argument of the chapter from which the text we are
talking about is taken, is this, “Let us therefore fear, lest, a
promise being left us of entering into His Rest, any of us should
seem to come short of it” (Heb. iv. 1).
But now let us ask what is implied or meant by those last words
about “coming short of it?” What is meant by our Lord’s telling
people that they must “take His yoke upon them” and be “meek and
lowly of heart” if they would find Rest? What is meant when Rest is
promised specially to the “people of God”?
Now, if we believe that God loves us as He does, quite infinitely—
more than we can even understand—we may be quite sure that He will
always give us every good thing that He can—that He will never put
any limit to His promises if He can help it—that He would like to
give Rest and all other good things to everyone if it were possible.
We must never doubt for one moment God’s willingness to give us all
good things, and to do all for us that it is possible for love to
do. Remember what Christ says about that, “If ye then, being evil,
know how to give good gifts unto your children, how much more shall
your Father which is in heaven know how to give good things to them
that ask Him (Matt. vii. 11). And again, “I say not that I will pray
the Father for you; for the Father himself loveth you” (John xvi.
26, 27). And St. Paul tells us that “He that spared not His own Son,
but delivered Him up for us all, how shall He not with Him freely
give us all things?” (Rom. viii. 32).
So you see that we may be quite sure that if we do not get this
great blessing, Rest, it will not be because God is not willing to
give it to us.
But there are certain great principles, which we call laws, which
govern God’s world, which are of the very nature of God’s own being,
and the more we come to know and realize about these laws, the more
we shall find them to be the most wonderfully good and beautiful and
blessed ones which could be imagined, and see in every one of them
some great and glorious provision for the best possible things,
which could not come without them.
Now you know God made man in His own image (Gen. i. 27), and, though
man afterwards broke that beautiful image and lost the perfect
likeness that God had given him to Himself—(as we are told in
Eccles. vii. 29, “God made man upright; but they have sought out
many inventions”)—still man is so deep a partaker of God’s nature,
that the truest and deepest part of him is that which is like God
and akin to Him, so that St. Paul tells us, “In God we live, and
move, and have our being ... for we are also his offspring” (Acts
xvii. 28). Now just because our whole blessedness, and our only hope
of returning at last to the perfect image in which God made us, lies
in our trying to get nearer and nearer to God, and to become more
and more like Him, so that our Lord Jesus bids us “Be perfect, even
as your Father which is in heaven is perfect” (Matt. v. 48)—just
because of this, I say, one of the great and merciful laws of God is
that none of us shall ever find any true happiness apart from
goodness; and no one can hope for Rest who does not seek it in the
way of striving to do God’s will. Some one has said that the true
Rest of the soul is attained only when God’s will is our will. So we
are told by Isaiah, that “There is no peace, saith my God, for the
wicked” (Isa. lvii. 21).
And “the wicked” do not mean those only who do great and shameful
sins, which seem very terrible even to us, but all who do not strive
in everything to do God’s will. Let us look a little more closely at
what this will of God’s is.
We are told in the Old Testament what it is. Look at Isaiah i. 16,
17, “Wash you, make you clean; put away the evil of thy doing from
before Mine eyes; cease to do evil; learn to do well; seek judgment,
relieve the oppressed, judge the fatherless, plead for the widow.”
And again, look at Micah vi. 8, “He hath showed thee, O man, what is
good; and what doth the Lord require of thee, but to do justly, and
to love mercy, and to walk humbly with thy God.”
And when we come to the New Testament, we find Our Lord Jesus Christ
telling men who those are whom God blesses—what it is to do God’s
will:
“Blessed are the poor in spirit.
Blessed are the meek.
Blessed are they that hunger and thirst after righteousness.
Blessed are the merciful.
Blessed are the pure in heart.
Blessed are the peacemakers.” (See Matt. v.)
And while He says that that man only “shall enter into the kingdom
of heaven,” who “doeth the will of my Father which is in heaven”
(Matt. vii. 21), He explains that will to be, “Thou shalt love the
Lord thy God with all thy heart, and with all thy soul, and with all
thy strength; and thy neighbour as thyself.... This do and thou
shalt live” (Luke x. 27, 28). So that if that Rest seems to us a
great and glorious thing to attain, we must seek it in God’s way; we
must try to do God’s will here, that we may rest in perfect harmony
and agreement with that will hereafter.
Is it not a wonderful and beautiful thing that God loves us _so_
much that He will not _let_ us be otherwise than good?—that He will
not cease to remind us by constant unhappiness and restlessness that
we are not fulfilling our highest end, till we strive day by day to
come nearer to Him; so that at last, in that great happy day of
Rest, there will be no more striving; for “we shall be like Him, for
we shall see Him as He is.”
Would you like to hear once more those words, which I daresay you
know so well, and which tell us better than any others have ever
done, _what_ that Rest shall be, and how it shall satisfy all our
wants at last, as “eye hath not seen, nor ear heard.”
Let us turn to the Revelation of St. John, and hear the description
he gives of those who have entered into Rest: “They shall hunger no
more, neither thirst any more; neither shall the sun light on them,
nor any heat. For the Lamb which is in the midst of the throne shall
feed them, and shall lead them unto living fountains of waters: and
God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes.” “Behold the
tabernacle of God is with men, and He will dwell with them, and they
shall be His people, and God Himself shall be with them, and be
their God.... And there shall be no more death, neither sorrow, nor
crying, neither shall there be any more pain: for the former things
are passed away.” “And there shall be no night there; and they need
no candle, neither light of the sun; for the Lord God giveth them
light: and they shall reign for ever and ever.” “Blessed are they
that do His commandments, that they may have right to the tree of
life, and may enter in through the gates into the city” (Rev. vii.
16, 17; xxi. 3, 4; xxii. 5, 14).
APPENDIX C
CONCLUSIONS FROM “A VISIT TO AMERICAN SCHOOLS AND COLLEGES”
“The two features of American education which strike an Englishman
as characteristic, are, the union of all classes in the same schools
and of both sexes in the same colleges; the first being nearly
universal throughout the Northern States; the second still
exceptional, and as regards public opinion, still on probation.
I. That no disadvantages attend the system of mingling all classes
in school can hardly, I suppose, be maintained, though it may be
thought that the advantages greatly preponderate.... So far as
distinctions and consequent separations of rank depend on merely
external circumstances, such as wealth and position, I do not
believe that we gain much by observing them; but when they rest on
real differences of culture and refinement, the case becomes
different, and it does not seem good policy to risk certain loss to
one class, without being sure of securing a more than proportionate
gain to another. In short it seems to me that, if we can mingle
different classes of children in such proportions and under such
conditions as to ensure that the higher standard shall prevail over
the lower, and the tone of all be raised to that of the foremost
few, the measure must be an altogether good one: and I am sure that
to some extent and under some restrictions this may be done: but if
once the inferior standard of refinement is allowed to predominate,
the lower dragging down the higher rather than being raised by it, I
fear that no results gained can pay for the loss accruing.
II. With regard to the joint education of the sexes, it seems to be
pretty clearly established that, in America at least, this system
can prosper for years without any markedly evil effects as to the
morals and manners of the fellow-students, and the evidence of most
professors and teachers goes strongly to show that, on the contrary,
the mutual influence exerted is usually very beneficial.
It seems also to be proved that at least a considerable number of
women can undertake and successfully complete the same course of
study that is usual for men, and that without more apparent
detriment to their health than students of the other sex.
The general issue divides itself into three practical questions:
(_a_) whether men and women shall pursue the same course of study;
(_b_) whether they shall continue it to the same point; and (_c_)
whether their studies, if identical, shall be pursued together....
(_a_) If there is no fundamental education answering to the needs of
common humanity, and, therefore, equally necessary both for men and
women,—it follows that the difference of sex is more radical and
more essential than is the common humanity that underlies it....
Women have, I think, from the earliest times, suffered from the fact
of men’s pretensions to ‘evolve out of their moral consciousness the
idea of’ a woman,—which idea has not by any means always happened to
correspond with the facts that might, perhaps, afford a surer
guide.... It might perhaps be shown that those who, starting with
their ‘evolved idea’ of a woman, deny that the same education may
safely be given to each sex because of the vast essential
differences of nature, are in point of fact more incredulous of the
reality of that difference than those who hold the opposite
views.... The naturalist will not fear to lay meat and hay before
horses and lions, cows and tigers, for neither will the lion be
seduced by the offer of hay, nor will the horse and cow lose their
distinctive characteristics because they both partake of it.....
I do not by any means intend to say that I desire to see the
education of all women made identical with that at present given to
men. It must first be proved that that education is, in truth, the
best and most desirable for the human being, before we can wish to
make it universal. But I do say that what is ultimately decided by
the wisdom of ages to be the best possible form of culture for one
human nature, must be so for another, for our common humanity lies
deeper in all, and is more essential in each, than any differences.
I do not believe that women are to be ‘educated to be wives and
mothers’ in any sense in which it is not equally imperative to
educate boys to be husbands and fathers. I believe that each human
being, developed to his or her best and utmost, will most perfectly
fulfil the duties that God may appoint in each case, and if teachers
and parents have ever before their eyes the aim of making good,
true, and sensible women, I do not fear but they will also train the
best wives and mothers....
(_b_) I confess that I have been surprised in America to find how
much study young women do seem able to accomplish without material
injury, but I do not know how much allowance to make for possible
differences of national constitution.... My own belief, founded
mainly on observation of English girls, is, that in quickness of
intellect they in no way fall behind their brothers, and that during
one or two hours’ study of any subject they would be quite able to
keep up with them, but that after a certain time their physical
powers flag,—sooner perhaps than those of boys,—and that a long
continued strain is apt to be injurious to them. I state this
opinion with great diffidence, however, for many of my fellow-
teachers and friends assert the contrary....
Above all, be the limits of study what they may, let whatever is
done be done _thoroughly_, so that the only too well deserved
reproach of superficiality and incompleteness may at length be
removed from our system of female education. Work half done is not
merely unsatisfactory, it is absolutely injurious to the moral and
mental health of the worker; and I believe it is better to omit any
and every study altogether, than to allow a pupil to skim over it so
as to gather together a string of words thereto relating, with no
solid meaning or knowledge lying beneath.
(_c_) The third question,—whether men and women shall pursue their
studies together,—I do not much care to discuss, for I am by no
means sure of having sufficient data whereon to rest any opinion,
and moreover it seems to me not vital to the general issue. So long
as men and women can each obtain an absolutely good education, it
does not appear very material whether they get it in company or
not,—not material, that is, as regards the education, whatever may
be the case as to the social results.
But one thing does seem to me important, viz. that not merely a
similar but an identical standard should exist for all, whether it
be the many or the few who avail themselves of it. This fixed
standard does exist for men, being represented by the examinations
and degrees of the Universities, and that the same facilities should
be thrown open to women does seem to me vitally important. I have
already said that I should not care to see all women aim at so high
a mark; nor do I believe that, for many years, a large number would
present themselves for examination. But that those who do, by
earnest study, attain to the prescribed standard, should be excluded
from recognition of the fact, seems to be manifestly unjust and
wrong. Universities hold, I suppose, in some sense a national trust,
and that trust involves all possible aid to the cause of education
throughout the land.”
APPENDIX D
THE EDINBURGH EXTRA-MURAL SCHOOL
The Edinburgh Extra-Mural classes are medical classes conducted by
fully qualified and authorized lecturers other than the University
professors. They prepare students primarily for the examinations of
the Royal Colleges of Physicians and Surgeons, but their
certificates are, as a matter of fact, accepted by many examining
bodies. The history of the association of these classes with the
University is—briefly—as follows:
In 1840 Professor Syme begged the Town Council of Edinburgh, who
were then the recognized patrons of the University, to order the
recognition of extra-mural classes, an argument for the innovation
being “that one of the professors was so comparatively inefficient
that many students, after paying his fee and obtaining his
certificate of attendance, went to learn his subject elsewhere.” In
1842 the Town Council ordained that _four_ Extra-Mural classes
should be allowed to count for graduation,—the classes to be chosen
by each student at his discretion. The Medical Faculty of the
University refused to consent to this except on the condition that
any student taking such classes should have a year added to his
curriculum. The Town Council refused this condition, and the
Senatus, supporting the Medical Faculty, referred the matter to the
Court of Law. In 1850 judgment was given against the Senatus; they
appealed to the Inner House, but the judgment was confirmed in 1852.
An appeal was taken to the House of Lords, but again in 1854 the
Town Council gained the day. In 1855 the regulations came into
operation and have ever since remained in force.
APPENDIX E
LETTER TO THE _TIMES_ IN REPLY TO MRS. GARRETT ANDERSON
“TO THE EDITOR OF THE _Times_.
SIR,—I have only just seen the letter from Dr. Garrett Anderson
which you published on the 5th inst., and I venture to beg that you
will allow me to point out my reasons for thinking she has selected
the very worst of all the alternatives suggested, when she advises
Englishwomen to go abroad for medical education.
In the first place, I think that Dr. Anderson assumes greatly too
much in supposing that all the Scotch Universities are permanently
closed to women by the recent decision, especially when notice has
already been given in Parliament that a Scotch member will, at the
beginning of next Session, bring in a Bill to enable those
Universities both to teach and examine female students. Even if no
such Bill were announced, it would, I suppose, be open to every
Scotch University at this moment to obtain the necessary powers
merely by application for the sanction of the Queen in Council, as
it was repeatedly stated, both by the defenders in the late suit and
by those Judges who gave decisions in their favour, that it was
merely the absence of Royal authority for recent changes which
rendered those changes illegal. I think there is very good ground to
hope that this course may be taken by one or more of the other
Universities, even if Edinburgh is content to rest quietly under the
imputations on her good faith which can hardly be effaced in any
other way.
Even if the Scotch Universities are left out of the question, those
of Cambridge and London may well be expected to move in a matter
like the present; or it would hardly seem unreasonable to hope that
some of the surplus revenues in Ireland might be applied in one way
or other to the solution of the present difficulty.
I think, moreover, that Mrs. Anderson concedes very much more than
has yet been proved when she states that the examining bodies, such
as the Colleges of Physicians and Surgeons, ‘have the power to
refuse to admit women to their examinations and qualifications.’
That they have the will to do so may, I fear, only be too probable,
but it is at least a very open question whether such power does lie
in their hands. I have been assured on very good authority that this
is not the case, and at any rate I believe no decision to that
effect has ever been given by a Court of Law. Certainly the _primâ
facie_ assumption would be the other way. The Medical Act of 1858 in
no way excludes women from the profession, and two women are
actually registered under its provisions. It is, therefore, hardly
credible, that when all candidates are by the Act required to submit
to certain examinations, the Examining Boards should at their option
be able to turn away all applicants who are not of the male sex, no
mention of any such power being contained in the Act itself; nor, I
think, need we assume even a desire to exclude women on the part of
all the Examining Boards until application has been made to each
individually; and this has never, so far as I am aware, been done at
present.
I trust, therefore, that I have shown that Mrs. Anderson’s advice
that all Englishwomen desiring to study medicine should at once
expatriate themselves is premature in the extreme; I hope further to
show that it is moreover radically erroneous in principle. Even if
it should ultimately be proved (as is at present by no means the
case) that women cannot obtain official examination in this country,
and therefore cannot enter their names on the Register, it would
still, I think, be very far from certain that their best plan was to
seek such examination abroad, seeing that after having spent years
of labour and much money they would, as regards legal recognition,
be exactly as far as ever from gaining their end. Mrs. Anderson says
that they would at least obtain ‘what is denied them in their own
country, a first-class medical education.’ If it were true that such
an education could not be got without going abroad, there would, no
doubt, be much force in this argument, but I submit that this is not
the case. Without stopping to consider the alternatives brought
forward by your correspondent herself—the establishment of a new
school for women or the purchase of one of the existing hospital
schools—either of which seems to me infinitely preferable, Mrs.
Anderson quite overlooks the fact that at this moment medical
classes of first-rate quality can be obtained in Edinburgh in the
Extra-Mural school (many of whose lecturers stand much higher than
the University professors in public estimation),[166] and that with
very little trouble a complete curriculum of medical study could be
there arranged, without altering any of the existing conditions of
affairs. The doors of the Edinburgh Royal Infirmary have also been
thrown open to women, though under some restrictions, and excellent
clinical instruction is given to them there by two of the best and
most popular teachers in the city. Can any one doubt that when so
much has been secured, and when every year promises increased
facilities, it is infinitely better that Englishwomen should study
medicine under the direction of their own countrymen, in their own
language, and amid the social and hygienic conditions which will
occur in their own future practice, rather than in a foreign land,
from lecturers who teach in a strange language and in hospitals
where all the arrangements and theories vary from those of this
country, and where even the types of disease may be so far modified
as greatly to lessen the value of the instruction for those who
intend to practise medicine in Great Britain?
Footnote 166:
S. J.-B. was thinking mainly of Dr. Heron Watson and Dr. G. W.
Balfour.
In point of fact, the question of medical education in this country
may be already considered solved, even if we grant the necessity of
attending lectures on every subject in the medical curriculum. It
is, however, worth remark that many of the very first men in the
profession are becoming more and more strongly in favour of free
trade in study—_i.e._, of allowing every student to obtain his
knowledge as he pleases, whether from books or from lectures,
requiring only final evidence of satisfactory results. It may be
that on investigation the present system will be found to rest
rather on the ‘vested interests’ of teachers than on the needs of
students, and, if so, the question of medical education for women
will be still further simplified. At present, however, it is not
needful to argue that question. I have shown that provision for the
education of women after the present fashion is to a great extent
already made, and that, for purposes of instruction at least, it is
quite unnecessary for them to expatriate themselves.
With regard to examination, the case seems to me equally clear. No
foreign diploma or degree is at present acknowledged as qualifying
for registration in this country, and though it may be well for
those who covet such ornamental honours to go through the
examinations requisite to obtain them, I cannot see any ground on
which it would be worth the while of most Englishwomen to live for
years abroad to arrive at a result so eminently unpractical. We live
under English law, and to English law we must conform, so far as
lies in our power; if we are arbitrarily precluded from such
compliance it is to the English Government that we must look for a
remedy. I can imagine few things that would please our opponents
better than to see one Englishwoman after another driven out of her
own country to obtain medical education abroad, both because they
know that, on her return after years of labour, she can claim no
legal recognition whatever, and because they are equally certain
that, so long as no means of education are provided at home, only a
very small number of women will ever seek admission to the
profession. I do not say that a woman may not be justified in going
abroad for education if her circumstances make it imperative that
she should as soon as possible enter upon medical practice; but I do
say, and I most firmly believe, that every woman who consents to be
thus exiled does more harm than can easily be calculated to the
general cause of medical women in this country, and postpones
indefinitely, so far as in her lies, the final and satisfactory
solution of the whole question.
It is not an easy thing to remember at all times that
‘They also serve who only stand and wait’;
but I do believe profoundly that at this moment the very best
service we can do to the cause in which we are all interested is to
make use of every opportunity open to us in this country to qualify
ourselves as thoroughly as possible for the profession we have
chosen, and then (refusing resolutely to be driven into byways or
unauthorized measures) to demand, quietly but firmly, that provision
for our ultimate recognition as medical practitioners which we have
a right to expect at the hands of the Legislature. Mrs. Anderson
seems to think it hopeless that the present Parliament should
‘promote the interests of an unrepresented class,’ but it must be
remembered that one of the very strongest arguments against granting
the franchise to women has always been that their substantial
interests are and will be provided for by the existing Government,
and a case like the present will certainly afford a crucial test of
the truth of these assertions. If they be true, we cannot doubt that
Parliament will in its next Session make full provision for a case
of such almost unexampled hardship; and if, on the other hand, this
be not done, the argument above referred to can hardly be again
brought forward when the suffrage for women shall again be claimed.
Let me, therefore, conclude, as I began, by protesting as strongly
as lies in my power against this idea of sending abroad every
Englishwoman who wishes to study medicine; let me entreat all such
women to join the class already formed in Edinburgh, the great
majority of whose members are thoroughly of one mind with me in this
matter, and who, having counted the cost, are, like myself,
thoroughly resolved to ‘fight it out on this line,’ and neither to
be driven out of our own country for education nor to be induced to
cease to make every effort in our power to obtain from the
Legislature that measure of justice which we imperatively need, and
which is, in point of fact, substantially implied in the provisions
of the Medical Act of 1858.
I am, Sir, yours obediently,
SOPHIA JEX-BLAKE.
15, Buccleuch-place, Edinburgh. Aug. 8.”
APPENDIX F
LETTER FROM THE PRINCIPAL OF EDINBURGH UNIVERSITY, AND S. J.-B.’S
REPLY
LADY STUDENTS AT EDINBURGH
TO THE EDITOR OF THE _Times_.
SIR,—In your article on the medical education of women, under date
the 23rd inst., you give utterance to reproaches against the
University of Edinburgh, which appear to me to be undeserved, and
which I feel sure you would not have admitted had the full
circumstances of the case been before you. May I be allowed as
briefly as possible to indicate what seems to me to be a correct
view of those circumstances? You say:
“It was next thought that an opening for female medical students
might be found or made at the University of Edinburgh, and a few
were for a time actually received there. The Professors, however,
were greatly divided upon the question, and those who were opposed
to the necessary concessions threw every possible difficulty in the
way of those who wished to make them. After much quarrelling and
litigation, and after transactions which reflected very little
credit on the University, a legal decision adverse to the ladies was
finally given by a bare majority of Scottish Judges, and will remain
binding unless carried by appeal to the House of Lords. Under these
circumstances the ladies were placed in a position of great hardship
and difficulty.”
I acknowledge and regret the hardship and difficulty of the position
in which the ladies referred to have been placed; but this is owing
to the state of the law of the land as interpreted by the Court of
Session, and not to any discreditable transactions on the part of
the University. I admit the manifestation, during the history of
this question, of a partisan feeling both for and against the
medical ladies, to some extent within the University itself, but far
more in the outside public of Edinburgh; but I confidently assert
that the main body of the Professors were not partisans on either
side, and that the general feeling was a desire to give facilities
for medical study to women, so far as this could be done
consistently with the maintenance of academical good order. Again,
it must be remembered that the Professors do not constitute or
govern the University. The governing body is the University Court,
consisting of eight members (of whom only one is a Professor),
headed at present by Sir William Stirling Maxwell, as rector. I
utterly deny the appearance of any unworthy feeling in the way in
which this Court dealt with the questions relating to female medical
education which came before it.
The University was solicited in 1869 to admit ladies, as an
experiment, to the lectures of Medical Professors. There was a
certain amount of opposition to this request, but the feeling of the
majority in each of the constitutive bodies of the University was in
favour of conceding under necessary restrictions what was asked. In
one of the debates on the subject it was indeed suggested that such
a concession should not be made without clearly ascertaining
beforehand whether we had the power of ultimately conferring degrees
upon women, should it be found on experiment that they succeeded in
completing their medical curriculum and in passing the examinations.
But such a delay was deprecated by the supporters of the
application; it was urged that such an inquiry would be premature,
as what was asked for the present was only that trial might be made
of ladies in the capacity of medical students. I need hardly point
out that these representations were dictated by the policy of
“getting in the thin end of the wedge.” And far better for all
parties, more prudent, and more consistent with the dignity of the
University, would it have been, had we resisted this policy, and
refused to take any step before endeavouring to ascertain our powers
in respect of the graduation of women. But the University Court
yielded to an impulse of liberality, and proceeded at once to frame
regulations forbidding mixed classes, but permitting any professor
of medicine to hold separate classes for the medical instruction of
women. The applicants appeared satisfied with what was done for
them; and I must say that it would then have been in their power to
ascertain beforehand how many of the Professors were prepared to
institute classes for them. The ladies must not now throw on the
University all the blame of their disappointment, for they were not
without sufficient warning that only a limited number of such
classes, far short of a full curriculum, would be provided for them.
The regulations said not a word of graduation or of a full course of
study; they were merely permissive, and, as had been requested,
tentative. But the ladies preferred to enter at once upon such
lectures as they could get, trusting, apparently, to the chapter of
accidents. To several of the Medical Professors it would have been
impossible to open full course lectures for ladies, in addition to
their ordinary duties. Some had already on hand the teaching of more
than 300 students, not only by lectures, but also by daily
demonstrations for many hours in the laboratory or dissecting-room.
Others had extensive and important medical practice to attend to,
being sought out by patients from all parts of the country.
Altogether three of the Medical Professors opened classes for
ladies, and of these one has had his health seriously broken down by
the labour, and the two others have both declared that the burden of
such extra duty was more than they could continue to bear.
Under these circumstances, the medical ladies applied that
substitutes might be appointed to lecture to them in the place of
such Professors as might be unable, or unwilling, to give them
instruction. Now, for the first time, the University determined to
seek legal advice. An impartial statement of the case was drawn up
and submitted to the Solicitor-General for Scotland, with the
question whether such measures as the ladies now asked were within
the competency of the University? The opinion of the Solicitor-
General was very strongly given, and went even beyond the exact
point inquired on; it was to the effect that any step tending
towards the graduation of women would be beyond the powers of the
University. This opinion paralyzed the action of the University. The
University Court informed the ladies, on further application from
them, that it was debarred by this opinion from promoting their
graduation until the legality of such graduation could be
established, but it offered to make, in the meantime, arrangements
for their full medical instruction, and it was suggested to the
friends of the ladies that an amicable suit should be instituted
with a view of ascertaining the law. These offers were rejected, and
a suit was brought by the ladies against the Chancellor and
Professors of the University, which has terminated, thus far, in a
judgment that it is not within the powers of the University to
confer a degree upon a woman.
This, Sir, is in brief the history of an unhappy affair, in which
the University certainly made the mistake of consenting to an
experimental arrangement which was strongly urged upon them, and for
this it has been most severely punished. But I doubt if there is
anything in what has occurred which can be called a “transaction
reflecting little credit on the University,” with one exception—
namely, that on one occasion some of the students misbehaved
themselves and insulted the medical ladies. But I must say that this
lamentable occurrence was occasioned by those ladies having
transgressed the regulations of the University Court, and having
joined a mixed class in anatomy under an extra academical lecturer.
This outraged the feeling or prejudices of the students.
In conclusion, Sir, I sincerely sympathize in the earnest appeal
made by Miss Jex-Blake, in the very able letter which forms the
subject of your article, to the Legislature to take up the
consideration of the medical education of women. It is a subject
well worthy the attention of the Legislature, and one which can only
be properly dealt with, as a general social subject, by the
Legislature. Whether or not an University is a suitable institution
for the medical instruction and examination of women is a wide
question on which I will not venture to enter. But, however this be
decided, all other Universities of the United Kingdom must share in
the decision of the University of Edinburgh, and this University
will loyally bear her part in carrying out whatever Parliament may
ordain as expedient. In the meantime, under considerable obloquy,
she can at all events claim to have contributed something in the way
of experience to the elucidation of the question.
I am, Sir, your most obedient servant,
A. GRANT, _Principal_.
_August 27._
TO THE EDITOR OF THE _Times_.
SIR,—As Sir Alexander Grant, as representative of the University of
Edinburgh, has thought fit to lay before your readers a statement
respecting that University and its lady students which is, to use
the mildest term, imperfect in the extreme, I trust to your justice
to allow me to supplement his narrative with such additional facts
as he has not thought it desirable to make public.
Sir Alexander states that in 1869 the University was “solicited to
admit ladies as an experiment to the lectures of the medical
professors,” and further on speaks of the regulations as being, “as
was requested, tentative.” He implies that all that followed was in
compliance with this request, the claim to graduation being
altogether an afterthought on the part of the ladies. Now, the real
fact is that in March, 1869, I personally did request admission to
medical lectures on these terms, but though the application was
granted by the Senatus it was refused by the University Court on the
express ground of the inexpediency of making any such “temporary
arrangement in the interest of one lady.” About three months later
four other ladies joined me in making a new and altogether different
application—viz., that the University “would sanction the
matriculation of women as medical students, and their admission to
the usual examinations, on the understanding that separate classes
be formed for their instruction.” At the same time (June 21, 1869) I
addressed a formal letter to the Lord Rector of the University
urging the same proposal, and asking that, if separate classes could
be formed, women should be “allowed to matriculate in the usual way,
and to undergo the ordinary examinations, with a view to obtain
medical degrees in due course.”
Our new proposal was successively submitted to all the different
authorities of the University, and received the assent of all—viz.,
of the Medical Faculty, the _Senatus Academicus_, the University
Court, the University Council, and the Chancellor—and, after five
months of consultation and consideration, regulations were, in
November, 1869, framed and issued “for the education of women in
medicine in the University,” these regulations being henceforth
incorporated in the official University Calendar. The first of these
regulations states that “women shall be admitted to the study of
medicine in the University”; in the fourth regulation exceptional
provision is made for “women not intending to study medicine
professionally”; and the sixth regulation ordains that “all women
attending such classes shall be subject to all the regulations now
or at any time in force in the University as to the matriculation of
students, their attendance on classes, examination, or otherwise.”
As the decision by which a bare majority of the Scotch Judges
absolved the University of Edinburgh from all responsibility towards
its matriculated lady students rests on the assumption that the
University Court exceeded its legal powers in passing the above
regulations, it may be worth while to state that the University
Court comprised at that time the then Lord Advocate of Scotland (who
is now Lord Justice Clerk), and also the previous Lord Advocate, Mr.
Gordon, and that the regulations in question were confirmed by the
Chancellor, who happens to be, as Lord Justice General of Scotland,
the highest legal authority in the country. It is certainly a
tolerably striking instance of the “glorious uncertainty of the
law,” that the two highest Judges in the land should concur in an
action which is subsequently declared by a majority of their
brethren to be illegal.
Sir Alexander further goes on to suggest that we might have
ascertained beforehand how many of the Professors would be willing
to hold separate classes for our benefit. The answer to this is
twofold. In the first place, no less than four of the medical
Professors have been changed since my first application was made,
and in every case the change has, as regards our interests, been
for the worse. One of those Professors whose loss we have most to
deplore is Sir James Simpson, whose generous liberality made him
always ready to espouse the weaker cause, and whose strong sense
of justice would have made him always our strenuous supporter in
the councils of the University. Had he been spared, it is, indeed,
more than possible that the whole history of the past four years
would have been different. On these losses it was impossible for
us to calculate; nor could we (before we learnt the full
bitterness of professional rancour) have foreseen that those
Professors who were themselves unable or unwilling to teach us
would absolutely refuse their assent to every one of the
alternative measures by which others might have been enabled to
give us the necessary instructions. It is hardly necessary to
allude to your correspondent’s rather apocryphal statement that
the stupendous labour of giving two lectures a day (which is
habitually undergone by Professors in the Arts Faculty) has ruined
the health of one medical Professor and seriously endangered that
of two more. Suffice it to say that these facts are, to say the
least of it, quite new to me, and that, did space permit, I think
a very different version of the circumstances might be given.
As Sir Alexander has thought fit to refer to the students’ riot in
November, 1871 (though to my mind it is very far from the most
discreditable episode in this history), I think it right distinctly
to deny the interpretation he puts upon the event. It is true that
the riot did occur while we were attending an extra-mural class of
anatomy (we having utterly failed to obtain a private class, though
we had offered a fee of a hundred and fifty guineas for one), but
the rioters were, with few exceptions, not our fellow-students at
all, but a mob of University students who had been summoned together
by a missive circulated in the University class-rooms. The real
truth was that the riot was deliberately got up simply and solely in
the hope of frightening certain friendly infirmary managers from
admitting us to their wards, and perhaps also of frightening us by
showers of foul words and of street mud from pursuing our studies
any further. Fortunately, the chivalrous device was not permanently
successful in either direction.
I pass on, however, to notice the statements made respecting the
recent lawsuit and the events immediately preceding it. Sir
Alexander says that when the University “for the first time sought
legal advice” the authorities obtained an opinion adverse to the
ladies’ claims from the Solicitor-General. As that opinion has never
been published, there is no opportunity for its discussion; but Sir
Alexander appears entirely to forget the fact that an opinion to the
exactly contrary effect was delivered by the Lord Advocate of
Scotland, who takes official precedence of the Solicitor-General,
and that that opinion was not only submitted to the University
Court, but published more than once in the newspapers and elsewhere.
In that opinion the Lord Advocate stated distinctly that he believed
the University to be not only able, but distinctly bound, to
complete the education of those ladies whom it had invited to
matriculate, and that all necessary arrangements for that purpose
could legally be made. It will thus be seen that the above opinions
at any rate neutralized each other, and that, had the University
willed it otherwise, it certainly need not have been “paralyzed” by
one of them.
It is further stated that the University Court informed the ladies
that, by the opinion above referred to, “it was debarred from
promoting their graduation until the legality of such graduation
could be established, but it offered to make, in the meantime,
arrangements for their full medical instruction”; and, further, that
such offer was rejected by the ladies. Both these statements, Sir, I
distinctly deny. I have at this moment the whole correspondence
before me, and I fail utterly to find in it any such offer as that
alleged. The only thing that in any degree gives colour to Sir
Alexander’s assertion is a passage occurring in a Minute of the
University Court of January 8, 1872, which is as follows:
“The Court are of opinion that the question under reference has been
complicated by the introduction of the subject of graduation, which
is not essential to the completion of a medical or other
education.... If the applicants in the present case would be content
to seek the examination of women by the University for certificates
of proficiency in medicine, instead of University degrees, the Court
believe that arrangements for accomplishing this object would fall
within the scope of the powers given to them by section 12 of the
Universities (Scotland) Act. The Court would be willing to consider
any such arrangements which might be submitted to them.”
On receiving a copy of this Minute I pointed out that certificates
of proficiency, not being recognized by the Medical Act of 1858,
would be quite useless to us; but added that, “As the main
difficulty before your honourable Court seems to be that regarding
graduation, with which we are not immediately concerned at this
moment, we are quite willing to rest our claims to ultimate
graduation on the facts as they stand up to the present date, and in
case your honourable Court will now make arrangements whereby we can
continue our education, we will undertake not to draw any arguments
in favour of our right to graduation from such future arrangements,
so that they may at least be made without prejudice to the present
legal position of the University.”
In answer to this letter I was informed that “If the names of extra-
academical teachers of the required medical subjects be submitted by
yourself or by the Senatus, the Court will be prepared to consider
the respective fitness of the persons so named to be authorized to
hold medical classes for women who have in this or former sessions
been matriculated students of the University, and also the
conditions and regulations under which such classes should be held.”
I, of course, replied that we would willingly prepare and submit
such a list (though your readers will notice that this simply
amounted to all the arrangements being thrown upon us students, and
not in any degree made by the Court), but requested first to be
assured that, “though you at present give us no pledge respecting
our ultimate graduation, it is your intention to consider the
proposed extra-mural courses as ‘qualifying’ for graduation, if it
is subsequently determined that the University has the power of
granting degrees to women.” In reply I was informed that the Court
would do nothing of the kind; that we might, if we pleased, take all
the trouble and expense of finding teachers, and might “submit”
their names to the Court, but that in no case would the Court take
any measures for making their teaching of any practical use to us
from a University point of view. Your readers will therefore judge
of what value was the boon that we are alleged to have rejected—I
had almost said the trap that we were fortunate enough to have
escaped!
I am sorry to have paused so long over this point, but the assertion
of your correspondent was so amazing that it seemed essential that
the real facts should be laid before the public. I should be only
too glad if your space would allow you to publish the whole
correspondence, of which I forward a copy for your own perusal.
Should any of your readers desire, however, to ascertain more of the
facts, they will find the correspondence fully given in the notes to
a little book called _Medical Women_, published last year by
Oliphant & Co., of Edinburgh, to which also I may refer for a
detailed account of the whole struggle of the first three years at
Edinburgh.
I notice that Sir Alexander Grant thinks it well to omit the fact
that, when we were at last driven to assert our rights in a court of
law (and I may remark that no proposal for an “amicable suit” was
ever made to me or to any of my fellow-students by the University
authorities, and therefore none was ever “rejected” by us), an
unhesitating decision in our favour was given by the Lord Ordinary,
before whom the case was tried, his Lordship also finding the
Senatus liable for three-fourths of our expenses. The University
refused, however, to accept this verdict, and appealed the case to
the Inner House, where they at length succeeded in obtaining a
judgment in their favour from a bare majority of the Lords of
Session, the whole costs being in this case thrown upon us. Perhaps
you will kindly allow me, however, to quote the following passage
from the judgment of the Lord Justice Clerk, who adhered to the
decision of the Lord Ordinary, and who had himself been Rector of
the University when we were admitted as students.[167] ... I may
mention that an abstract of the whole recent lawsuit has been
published as a sixpenny pamphlet, and may be obtained from Mr.
Elliott, 67 Princes Street, Edinburgh.
Apologizing for so large a trespass on your space,
I remain, yours obediently,
SOPHIA JEX-BLAKE.
Footnote 167:
The passage has already been quoted, pp. 396-7.
APPENDIX G
PERMANENT MEMORIALS OF SOPHIA JEX-BLAKE
In St. Giles’ Cathedral, Edinburgh,—a brass tablet placed by the
Very Rev. T. W. Jex-Blake:
“Sacred to the Memory of Sophia Jex-Blake, M.D., by whose
energy, courage, self-sacrifice and perseverance the Science
of Medicine and the Art of Healing were opened to Women in
Scotland.”
In the Edinburgh Hospital for Women and Children, placed by the
Committee and friends,—a medallion of cast bronze mounted on a slab
of verde-antique marble: on the medallion, surrounded by a wreath of
laurel, the family crest and motto:
Bene praeparatum pectus.
And below this the inscription:
“In affectionate remembrance of Sophia Jex-Blake, Founder of
this Hospital, to whose large courage, insight and constancy
the admission of Women to the Profession of Medicine in this
Country is mainly due.”
On the family monument at Ovingdean, near Brighton:
SOPHIA LOUISA,
YOUNGEST CHILD OF THOMAS JEX-BLAKE,
AND MARIA EMILY, HIS WIFE.
DOCTOR OF MEDICINE,
FOUNDER IN 1874 OF THE LONDON SCHOOL OF MEDICINE FOR WOMEN,
AND IN 1888 OF A SIMILAR SCHOOL IN EDINBURGH,
WHERE SHE ALSO FOUNDED A HOSPITAL FOR
WOMEN AND CHILDREN IN 1886.
“Bear ye one another’s burdens, and so fulfil the law of Christ.”
In Rotherfield Churchyard, where her body was laid,—a grey granite
cross, bearing the words:
SOPHIA JEX-BLAKE, M.D.
BORN 21ST JANUARY, 1840.
DIED 7TH JANUARY 1912.
“Then are they glad because they are at rest, and so He
bringeth them unto the haven where they would be.”
INDEX
Aberdare, Lord, 404, 427, 433, 443 (footnote), 466, 507.
Aberdeen University, 226, 413.
Act, Russell Gurney Enabling. _See_ Table of Contents.
Action of Declarator, Part II. Chap. XIII.
_Advocate_, The Boston, 191.
_Aids to Faith_, 108, 109.
Aitken, Dr., 500.
“A. K. H. B.” _See_ Rev. A. K. H. Boyd.
“Alice,” 88, 105, 106, 107, 168, 185, 204, 205, 207, 230, 258, 421,
461.
Allman, Professor, 257, 258, 276, 337.
Amberley, Viscountess, 279.
America, Life in. _See_ Table of Contents.
Anderson, M.D., Mrs. Garrett (Miss Elizabeth Garrett), 117, 118,
119, 120, 155, 187, 200, 205, 232, 233, 279, 362, 364, 368, 369,
400, 401, 420, 423, 424, 425, 426, 433, 441, 444 (letter from),
447, 449, 466, 467, 473 (letter from), 524.
Anderson, Miss Mary D. _See_ Mrs. Marshall, M.D.
Andrews, Miss Amelia, 56, 57.
Anstie, Dr. F. E., 402, 421, 425, 427;
letters from: 374, 419, 420.
Anthony, Miss, 477.
Anstruther, Sir Robert, 360, 403.
Lady, 360.
Atlantic House, 193, 194.
Antioch (at Yellow Springs in Ohio), 168.
Apothecaries’ Hall of Ireland, 395.
Society of London, 395.
Ardmillan, Lord, 392.
Arthur of Barshaw, Mrs., 514.
_Athenaeum_, The, 188.
Atkins, Dr. Louisa, 431, 439, 447.
Ayrton, M.D., Mrs. Chaplin, 263, 289, 336, 341, 377.
_A Visit to some American Schools and Colleges_, Part I. Chap.
XIII., 188, 228, 479.
B., Miss, 12, 17, 18, 20, 21, 24, 36.
Bain, Miss Isabel (Mrs. James Brander), 159, 160, 172, 478, 506.
Balfour, Dr. G. W., 289, 349, 425, 427, 459, 498, 504, 508, 525.
Professor J. H., 118, 228-9, 235, 237, 240, 241, 248, 258, 272,
276, 333, 334, 336, 337, 358.
Ballantyne, Mrs. _See_ Lady Jenkinson.
Miss K., 480.
Barker, Dr. Annie, 279.
Barlow, Sir Thomas, 460, 483.
Baynes, Professor, 394.
Beaconsfield, Lord. _See_ Disraeli.
Beattie, Mrs., 516.
Bedford College, 107.
Begbie, James, 107, 117, 118, 229, 233, 239, 240.
Beilby, Lady, 525.
Miss Winifred (Mrs. Frederick Soddy), 525.
Bell, Dr., 311.
Bellevue Hospital, 199.
Bennet, Dr. Henry, 280-1 (letter from).
Bennett, Professor Hughes, 236, 237, 241, 258, 273, 279, 289, 361,
425.
Benson, Miss Ada, 62, 63, 84, 362.
Henry, 62.
Bernerhof, 436.
Berne University, 436.
Bettws-y-Coed, 45, 60, 86-7, 120, 127, 198, 485.
Biblical Criticism, S. J.-B.’s views on, 142-4.
Billing, Dr. A. (father of the profession), 444, 445.
Birmingham University, 392.
Birrell, Professor, 394.
Black, Miss Janet, 498.
Blackie, Professor J. S., 239, 241, 301, 302, 303.
Mrs., 239, 510;
letters from: 302-3, 346.
Blackwell, Dr. Elizabeth, 199, 200, 204, 205, 207, 264 (letter
from), 267, 356-7 (letter from S. J.-B.), 362, 364, 367, 368,
369, 425, 493.
Dr. Emily, 199, 204, 205, 206, 233.
_Blackwood’s Magazine_, 435.
Blake-Humfrey, family, 59, 60.
Mr. Robert, 59.
Blyth, Miss Phoebe, 107, 239, 390, 510.
Bologna University, 221, 239, 240, 241, 358, 370.
Bonney, Dr., 220, 221.
Bordighera, 521-3.
Bosnia, Miss Irby’s work in, 402.
Boston _Daily Advertiser_, 190.
Boucherett, Miss, 91.
Bovell, Dr. Emily (Mrs. Sturge), 279, 377.
Boyd, Rev. A. K. H., 374.
Brander, Mrs., 479.
Mrs. James. _See_ Miss Isabel Bain.
British Medical Association, 524, 528.
_British Medical Journal_, 233, 259, 270, 271.
British Museum, 239, 240, 358.
Brompton Hospital, 438, 439, 456.
Brontë, Charlotte, 133, 139, 237.
Brown, Professor Crum, 268, 269, 270, 273, 335, 382, 418.
Mrs. Helen, 510.
Rev. Olympia, 178.
Brown-Séquard, Professor, 191.
Buchan, Dowager Countess of, 335, 362.
Burke and Hare, 497.
Burn Murdoch, Mr. John, 118, 229.
Burn Murdoch, Mrs., 106, 110, 112, 118-9, 133, 151, 229, 240, 262.
Burton, Miss Mary, 510.
Buss, Miss, 480.
Bussaco, The Sacred Forest of, 531.
Bute, The Marquis of, 500.
Marchioness of, 524.
Butler, Rev. Canon, 364, 365.
Mrs. Josephine, 218, 219, 221, 223, 256, 266;
letters from: 226, 253-4, 364-5.
Cabot, Dr., 224, 247.
Caird, Professor Edward, 413.
Rev. John, Principal, 413.
Calderwood, Rev. Professor, 239, 273, 302, 310, 320, 346, 361, 509.
Mrs., 510.
Call, Dr. Emma, 199, 379.
Cambridge University, 219, 220, 221, 224-5, 226, 342-3.
Cameron, M.P., Dr., 410, 411, 412-3 (letter from), 467.
Campbell, Professor Lewis, 354, 355, 362, 394, 427.
Mrs., 354, 355.
Lady Victoria, 524.
Cancer Hospital, The, 456.
Candlish, Rev. Dr., 109.
Cardwell, Lord, 445.
_Care of Infants, The_, 491.
Carlingford, Lord, 492.
Carlyle, Thomas, 161.
Cathcart, F.R.C.S., Mr. C. W., 460 (footnote), 536.
Chambers, Dr. King, 255, 256 (letter from), 395, 421, 430, 431,
442, 460, 464, 472, 493.
William, Lord Provost of Edinburgh, 244.
Chaplain, S. J.-B. as, 173, 174, 175, 176-7.
Chaplin, Miss. _See_ Mrs. Chaplin Ayrton, M.D.
Charteris, Rev. Professor, 273, 300, 321, 361, 493.
Children’s Hospital, 456.
_Christian World_, The, 363.
Christison, Professor, Sir Robert, 229, 235, 236, 237, 240, 241,
242, 245, 249, 258, 273, 286, 299, 311, 315, 318, 331, 335, 337,
345, 418, 449, 508.
——’s Assistant, 299, 306, 307, 308, 310, 311, 312, 313, 314, 315.
_Church Review_, The, 298 (and footnote).
_Cives Academiae Edinensis_, 264.
Clark, Dr. Ann, 436, 437, 438, 536 (footnote).
Clouston, Dr. (Sir Thomas), 460, 486, 526.
Cobbe, Miss Frances Power, 152 (letter from), 158, 171, 178, 243,
266, 320.
Colenso, Bishop, 141, 142, 145, 146.
Colston, Treasurer, 320.
Commune, The, 326.
_Contemporary Review_, The, 442.
Cordery, Miss Bertha. _See_ Mrs. S. R. Gardiner.
Miss Emma, 66, 153, 155, 528.
Miss Henrietta. _See_ Mrs. T. W. Jex-Blake.
James, 66, 473, 528.
Family, 66, 83, 252, 389, 421.
_Courant_, The Edinburgh, 291.
Evening, 312, 315.
Cowan, Lord Provost of Edinburgh, 389.
Cowell, Dr., 419.
Cowper Temple, M.P., W. (Lord Mount Temple), 409 (letter and
telegram from), 410-411 (letter from), 412, 414, 429, 430, 433,
434, 467.
Coxe, M.D., Sir James, 300.
Craig, Miss Agnes, 510.
Craik, Mrs., 55.
Craufurd, Professor, 241, 258, 273, 360.
Critchett, F.R.C.S., George, 431, 432.
Crocker, Miss, 163.
Cropper, James, 504.
Crudelius, Mrs., 106.
Cubitt, Miss Henrietta (Mrs. Orr), 106.
Miss Jane, 37, 38, 366.
Maria Emily. _See_ Mrs. Jex-Blake.
Mrs. P., 151.
Thomas of Honing Hall, 2.
family, 59.
Dahms, Dr. Anna, 335, 377.
_Daily News_, The, 421-2, 443.
_Daily Review_, The Edinburgh, 119, 236, 263, 293, 294.
Davies, Miss Emily, 118, 219.
Deas, Lord, 392.
De Dreux, Miss, 107, 108, 124.
Degrees, American, 189, 190, 322.
Derby, Hasket, 192.
Dimock, Dr. Susan, 190 (and footnote), 191.
Disraeli, Benjamin, 407, 408, 409, 412.
Dispenser, S. J.-B. as, 173.
Dispensary, S. J.-B.’s, 459, 460, 461, 462, 468, 486, 487, 495,
494.
Driving Tours, Part III. Chap. VI.
Dublin University, 226.
Duggan, Rev. Father, 529-30.
Dunham, Great, 59, 63.
Du Pre, Miss Ursula, 221-3, 229, 230 (and footnote), 242, 247, 252,
262, 279, 287, 295 (letter), 328, 329, 351, 362, 386-7 (letter),
433, 437, 463, 464, 467, 468, 471, 472, 476-8 (letters to), 481,
482, 486, 489, 490, 495, 497, 507, 509 (letter to), 516, 528.
Durham University, 392-4.
Edinburgh Extra-Mural School, 276-9, 285, 286, 330, 331, 491, 492,
496. Appendix D.
Edinburgh, First visit to, Part I. Chap. IX.
Edinburgh Hospital for Women and Children, 476 (footnote), 487.
Edinburgh Royal Colleges of Physicians and Surgeons, 309, 330, 395,
491, 492.
Edinburgh Royal Infirmary. _See_ Table of Contents.
Edinburgh School of Medicine for Women, 496-502, 504, 507, 508.
Edinburgh University. _See_ Table of Contents.
Edington, Mrs., 510.
Miss, 510.
Eggishorn, The, 375.
Ellaby, Dr. Charlotte, 474.
Eliott-Lockhart, Miss C. H., 508, 528.
Emerson, Edith, 166.
Edward, 166.
Ellen, 166.
R. W., 161, 161-2 (letter from), 166-7.
Mrs., 166-7.
Employment of Women, Society for the, 81.
Enabling Bill (Cowper Temple, _i.e._ Bill “to remove doubts”), 403,
404, 410; (Russell Gurney), 434.
_Englishwoman’s Year Book_, 494.
“Englishwomen’s Educational Union,” 125, 127.
_Essays and Reviews_, 109.
Evans, Mrs. De Lacy. _See_ Mrs. Russel.
Miss M. J. (Mrs. Heath), 60, 70, 73, 82, 151.
family, 59, 61.
Fawcett, Rt. Hon. Henry, 479.
Findlay, J. R., 233, 262, 320.
Fitch, J., 464.
Foreign Degrees Bill, 429, 433.
Forsyth, —, Q.C., M.P., 433.
Forster, Rt. Hon. W. E., 404.
Fortingal, 516.
Foster, Mrs. A. B., 510.
_Fortnightly Review_, The, 293, 429.
Fraser, Professor Alexander, 234, 240.
Fraser, Sherriff Patrick, 33, 332, 334, 335, 358.
Galloway, LL.D., Miss Janet, 501.
Gamgee, Dr. Arthur, 278.
Gardiner, Professor S. R., 531.
Mrs., 66, 431, 490, 503, 528, 531.
Garrett, Miss Elizabeth. _See_ Mrs. Garrett Anderson.
Gaskell, Mrs., 154.
Geddes, Mrs., 510.
George Eliot, 455.
Gifford, Lord Ordinary, Chap. XIV. _passim_, 377, 379, 381, 391,
392, 403.
Gilbert, Thomas, 310, 332, 333.
Gladstone, Rt. Hon. W. E., 405, 409, 465.
_Glasgow Herald_, The, 315.
_Glasgow Mail_, 412.
Glasgow University, 221, 226, 246, 413.
Glencorse, Lord. _See_ Inglis.
Gordon (Lord Advocate), 249, 287, 412.
Goschen, G. J. (First Viscount), 252.
Göttingen, 124-6, 132.
Gover, Mrs., 27.
Grand Ducal Institute, 126-8, Chap. XI. _passim_.
Grant, Sir Alexander, 235, 241, 244, 247, 249, 250, 252, 258, 279,
335, 401, Appendix F.
Lady, 235, 236.
Granville, Earl, 444.
Greig, David, 320.
Grévy, President, 325.
Grote, George, 47.
_Guardian_, The, 158, 274.
Gull, Sir William, 444.
Gunton, Rev. Thomas, 323.
Mrs., 323, 513.
Gurney, Mr. Russell, 405, 406, 407 (letter from), 409, 410, 411,
429, 434.
Guthrie, Rev. Dr., 109, 344, 346.
Handyside, Dr. P. D., 278, 279, 285, 287-9 (letter from), 291, 292,
298.
Harris, Miss Mary, 90, 101.
Hayden, Dr., 439.
Harvard University, 168, 171, 191, 192, 195, 196, 199, 204, 206,
239.
Heath, Mrs. _See_ Miss M. J. Evans.
Heaton, Miss Martha (Mrs. Hilhouse), 84.
Henderson, Professor, 235, 237.
Heywood, Mr., 444.
Hidber, Professor, 438.
Hill, Miss Miranda, 90, 101, 105, 125, 344, 362.
Miss Octavia, 84-94, 96, 98, 99, 101, 108, 110, 112, 116, 125,
133, 181, 199, 238, 258, 266, 468, 538.
Hill, Mrs., 87, 89, 92.
Hill, Mrs. A. R., 510.
Dr., President of Harvard, 168, 171, 190-1.
Hill Burton, Mrs., 320.
Hillsdale College, 168, 171.
Hoare, Miss Elizabeth, 161.
Hodgson, Professor William B., 361, 399 (letter from), 400, 401,
402.
Mrs., 510.
Hoggan, Dr., 292, 346.
Holmes, Dr. Oliver Wendell, 191.
Honing Hall, 2, 60, 151.
Hope, Dr., 269.
Hope Scholarship, 269, 295, 317, 418.
Hope of Drylaw, Mrs., 320.
Hopgood, James, 442, 443.
Mrs., 442.
Houghton, Lord, 402.
Hughes, Miss. _See_ “Alice.”
Hughes, Thomas, 405.
Humphry, M.D., Sir George, 220.
Huxley, T. H., 383, 384, 416, 418.
Hubbard, Miss Louisa, 402, 494.
Hutton, R. H., 444.
Inglis, Chancellor, Lord Glencorse, Lord Justice General of
Scotland, 240, 260, 269, 332, 396.
Innes, Professor Cosmo, 239, 240, 361.
Irby, Miss Pauline, 402, 421, 422, 432, 433, 461-2, 465, 495, 498.
“Irish Brigade,” 292, 293, 294.
Irish University, 435.
Irving, Sir Henry, 458.
Jack, Professor, 315.
Jagannadham, Dr. Annie, 504.
James, Professor William, 531.
_Jane Eyre_, 108, 111, 113.
Jenkin, Professor Fleeming, 239, 241, 271 (letter from), 359, 360,
361.
Jenkinson, Lady (Mrs. Ballantyne), 151, 159, 180, 229, 247, 258,
481, 487, 528.
Jenner, Sir William, 445.
Jenny Geddes, 297 (footnote).
Jerviswoode, Lord, 348, 392.
Jessel, Rt. Hon. Sir G., 444.
Jex-Blake, Thomas, 1-17, 20, 21, 28, 29, 30, 37, 41, 45, 48, 50,
52, 59, 63, 66, 67, 74, 88, 91, 108, 122, 140, 146, 148, 150,
158, 159, 160, 177, 194, 202, 203, 205, 207, 208, 213, 283, 389,
464.
Letters from: 15, 26, 30, 35-6, 39-41, 67-8, 70-1, 72, 79, 88-9,
112, 185-6, 252-3, 385-6.
Letters to: 19, 20, 22-3, 36-7, 68-70, 71-2.
Jex-Blake, Mrs., 1, 2, 3, 9, 11, 13, 14, 16, 17, 19, 21, 28, 29,
31, 32, 37, 39, 42, 50, 51, 52, 54, 56, 58, 59, 65, 66, 70, 74,
81, 82, 85, 88, 91, 93, 96, 108, 110, 111, 113, 120, 124, 135,
137, 139, 140, 147, 148, 158, 168, 180, 182, 185, 187, 201, 208,
213, 214, 217, 219, 224, 226, 237, 238, 239, 255, 265, 267, 279,
306, 310, 323, 365, 366, 389, 391, 407, 421, 423, 439, 445, 456,
470, 471, 472, 473, 474, 475, 518.
Letters from: 4-5, 13-4, 15, 16, 25, 30, 35, 41, 43, 44, 45, 73,
89, 111, 112, 113, 121, 134, 137, 138, 139-40, 145-6, 159-60,
185, 279, 309, 310, 342, 363, 375, 384-5, 391, 438, 440, 471.
Letters to: 5, 6, 19, 24, 47, 48, 81, 86-7, 97-8, 114-5, 121,
121-4, 129-30, 131, 141-5, 163, 164-6, 172-5, 176-7, 184, 193-
4, 194-5, 197-8, 200-1, 203, 204-7, 365-6, 380, 459-60, 471.
Jex-Blake, Very Rev. T. W., 1, 4, 14, 16, 28, 45, 66, 69, 71, 185,
202, 208, 219, 229, 240, 316, 320, 405, 417, 438, 457, 513.
Letters from: 169-70, 266-7, 303-4, 307-8, 353-4, 375, 384.
Letters to: 4, 170-1.
Jex-Blake, Mrs. T. W. (Miss H. Cordery), 49, 66, 171, 185, 353,
354, 384, 438.
Jex-Blake family, 171, 185.
Jex-Blake, Miss C. A., 1, 3, 4, 9, 13, 14, 15, 28, 29, 38, 39, 43,
56, 60, 85, 87, 106, 119, 158, 177, 194, 198, 207, 214, 438,
528.
Letters from: 43-4.
Letters to: 176, 484-5.
Jex-Blake, Elinor (Mrs. Miles), 44, 58, 60, 61, 73, 75, 82-83, 110,
113, 156, 459.
Ferrier, 58, 59, 73.
Miss Kate (Mrs. Forde), 44.
Miss Sarah (Mrs. Brown), 42, 59, 60, 61, 73, 82, 385.
William, of Swanton Abbots, 2.
Jowett, Professor Benjamin, 235.
‘Juryman, A,’ 316-7 (letter from).
Keiller, Dr., 279, 330.
Keily, Miss S. E., 523.
Kelland, Professor, 239, 258.
Kimberley, Lord, 444.
King’s and Queen’s College of Physicians, Ireland, 435, 436, 438.
Kingsley, Charles, 63.
Henry, 294.
Mrs. Henry, 292, 294, 321, 373, 461.
Kinnear, Lord, 508.
Kirkland, Miss E. S., 510.
Knowles, James, 502.
Knox, Dr. Robert, 497.
Kunz, Madame, 510.
_Lancet_, The, 280, 282, 283, 319, 336, 337, 362, 383.
Laurence, Samuel, 76, 187, 205.
Law (Lord Provost of Edinburgh), 296, 299, 304, 305, 322.
“Lawyer, A” (letter from), 317.
Laycock, Professor, 236, 237, 241, 248, 259, 273, 286, 313.
Lectureship on Midwifery (S. J.-B.’s), 504.
Lee, Dr., 460.
Leith Hospital, 479.
Lister, Professor (Lord), 273, 389.
Liston, Professor, 258, 335.
Littlejohn, Dr. (Sir Henry), 286, 296, 336, 337, 362, 383.
Liveing, Professor, 220.
_Liverpool Mercury_, The, 380.
London Hospital, 441.
—— School of Medicine for Women, 421-2, 429, 433, 443, 445, 449,
464, 502.
—— University, The, 117, 219, 441, 444, 445, 448, 456, 479.
Lorimer, Professor, 239, 240, 241, 258, 361.
Letters from: 249-50, 331-2.
Lorimer, Mrs., 239, 250, 251, 332.
Loring, —, 195.
Lothian, Marquis of, 507.
Lowe, M.P., Rt. Hon. Robert (Viscount Sherbrooke), 507.
Lubbock, Sir John, 404, 444.
Macadam, Dr. Stevenson, 495.
Macara, Mrs., 516.
Macdonald, Dr. Angus, 459.
McDougall, Dr. Mary, 537.
Macgregor, Dr. Jessie, 525.
Mackenzie, Dr. J., letters from: 321, 373-4.
Maclagan, Professor Sir Douglas, 237.
M‘Laren, Dr. Agnes, 320, 321, 323, 324 (letter from), 325, 341,
362, 375, 385, 386 (letter from), 387, 390, 392, 394, 410, 413,
426, 471, 528.
Duncan, M.P., 296, 304, 346, 414, 416.
Mrs. Priscilla Bright, 363, 510.
Macmillan and Co., 168, 187, 188, 253, 491.
Macmillan, Mr. Alexander (letter from), 218.
M‘Pherson, Professor, 239, 258.
Mair, Miss S. E. S., 510.
Manchester, Projected Ladies’ College, 152-6, 200.
Mann, Mrs. Horace, 166.
Mannheim, Part I. Chap. XI., 324, 499.
Marshall, M.D., Mrs. Mary, 289, 319, 340, 351.
Martineau, Harriet, 320, 335 (letter from).
James, 216, 362.
Massachusetts General Hospital, 191, 192, 196.
Eye and Ear Infirmary, 191, 192.
Massingberd Mundy, Miss, 292, 335, 377, 378-9 (letter from).
Masson, Professor David, 106, 221, 226, 228, 231, 234, 239, 241,
243, 245, 250, 258, 264, 270, 272, 273, 274, 305, 309, 345, 346,
360, 361, 363, 388, 407, 411, 425, 428, 437, 449, 499, 524.
Letters from: 228-9, 247-9, 273, 408, 409, 411-12.
Masson, Mrs., 263 (letter from), 428.
Masson family, 306.
Matriculation (First) of women in Edinburgh University, 264.
Maurice, Frederick Denison, 63, 66, 70, 110, 203.
_Medical Women_, 223, 224, 265, 380, 402, 421, 479, 491, 492, 493.
Medicine as a career, 182, 183, 184, 187.
Menzies, Mr. and Mrs., 516.
Ministry, thoughts of, 177, 182.
Middlesex Hospital, 456.
Mitchell, Miss Maria, 163.
Millar, Mrs., 510.
Millar, Mrs. Grant, 510.
White, 310, 325, 334, 357, 382, 392, 410.
Milne Murray, Dr., 504.
Monck Mason, Miss Dora. _See_ Mrs. Burn Murdoch.
Moore, Dr., 52.
Moorfields Hospital, 456.
Moorhead, Dr. Alice (Mrs. Langwill), 508.
Moncrieff, Lord Advocate (Lord Justice Clerk), 244, 250, 252, 332,
396, 413.
Moray, The Countess of, 524.
Morse, Rev. T. C. D., letter from, 132, 153, 156, 158.
Mount Temple, Lord. _See_ Cowper Temple.
Muirhead, Professor, 239, 240, 241, 248, 338.
Munro Ferguson, Lady Helen, 524.
Mure, Lord, 313, 314, 392, 396.
Music, 138.
Myers, Frederick, 474.
“National Association,” 335, 345, 491, 509.
New England Hospital for Women and Children, 162, 165, 172, 188,
189, 197, 206, 285.
New York Infirmary, 204.
Newman, Professor, 223 (letter from), 223.
Niagara, 167, 168.
Nichol, Mrs., 300, 303 (letter from), 320, 354, 464, 510.
Nicholson, Dr. Alleyne, 276-7 (letter from).
Nicolson, Alexander, 249, 273, 336 (letter from), 357-8.
_Nineteenth Century, The_, 402, 442, 449, 502.
Norton, Arthur, 256, 420, 421, 426, 428, 447, 457.
Oakeley, Professor Sir Herbert, 240.
Oberlin College, 168, 171.
O’Halloran, The, 293, 294.
Ormidale, Lord, 392.
Orr, General (Captain), 106.
Orr, Mrs. (Miss Henrietta Cubitt), 106.
Orr, Miss Margaret, 106, 110, 229, 230.
Orr Ewing, —, M.P., 410, 411.
Osler, Smith, 444, 479-80.
Padua University, 241.
Paget, Sir James, 431, 444.
Palaus, Fräulein von (Baroness), 127, 130, 133, 134, 136, 137, 144,
147, 148.
_Pall Mall, The_, 195, 300.
Palmer, Sir Roundell (Lord Selborne), 241.
Paris University, 228, 229, 235, 239, 279, 353, 354, 377, 400.
Paton, Miss M. G., 510.
Peabody, Miss, 161, 166.
Pechey, Dr. Edith (Mrs. Pechey Phipson), 254, 256, 257, 262, 267,
269, 270, 271, 272, 274, 275, 289, 293, 303, 307, 311, 325, 336,
341, 364, 365, 366, 377, 378, 382, 384, 418, 424, 425, 431, 432,
434, 435, 436, 437, 438, 439, 444, 449, 459, 464, 465, 478, 486,
492, 493, 505, 514, 518, 519, 528.
Letters from: 317-9, 359-60, 362, 383.
Pechey, Rev. William, 275, 279, 493.
Peel Ritchie, Dr., 460, 525.
Phin, Rev. Dr., 249, 260.
Phipson, H. M., 505, 528.
Playfair, Professor (Sir Lyon), 237, 240, 241, 250, 251, 411, 412,
413, 414, 416, 428.
Letters from: 241-2.
Plumptre, E. H. (Dean of Wells), 63, 64, 69, 113, 150, 152, 155.
Portal, Miss Lucy (letter from), 26-7.
Provosts (Lord) of Edinburgh:
Chambers, 244.
Law, 296, 299, 304, 305.
Cowan, 389.
Professional Examination, 330.
Puerperal Fever, S. J.-B.’s thesis on, 437.
Pulsford, Rev. Dr., 109, 110, 112, 145.
_Punch_, 44, 275, 356, 414, 487.
Putnam-Jacobi, Dr. M., 224, 424.
Quain, Dr., 445.
Queen Margaret College, 501.
Queen Mary, H.M., 487.
Queen Victoria, H.M., 138, 259, 286.
Rainy, Rev. Principal, 109.
Raleigh, Rev. Dr., 160.
Ramsay, Admiral, Sir William, 320.
Raymond, Dr., 166.
Reade, Charles, 291, 435, 498.
Recorder of London. _See_ Gurney, Russell.
Reid, W. L., 336.
Rendel, Lady, 402.
Richmond and Gordon, Duke of, 433.
Richter, Dr. Otto, 376.
Riot at Surgeons’ Hall, Part II. Chap. VIII.
Ripon, Marquis of, 389, 466, 479.
Ristori, 458.
Robson, W., 334, 347.
_Robertson’s Sermons_, 139, 142, 230, 382.
Rogers, Professor, 164, 195.
Mrs., 162, 178.
Rose, Mrs. Hugh, 510.
Royal Free Hospital, 442, 444, 456.
Royal Infirmary, 286, 287, 288, 296, 298, 299, 300, 308, 340, Chap.
XII. _passim_.
Rukhmabai, Dr., letter from, 493, 504.
Rumbling Bridge Hotel, 516.
Russel, Alexander, 233, 294, 305, 332, 340, 349, 380.
Mrs. (Mrs. de Lacy Evans), 236, 243, 263, 289, 292, 307, 332,
340, 341, 349, 492.
Russell, Lord Arthur, 444.
Sackermena, 6-10, 18, 50, 120, 335, 447.
_Sadie’s Poems_, 230, 242, 488.
St. Andrews University, 119, 221, 225, 226, 354, 392, 394, 395,
413, 417, 492, 507, 508, 509.
St. Giles’ Cathedral, 296, 297.
St. Louis College, 168, 171.
St. Mary’s Hospital, 255, 256.
Salamanca University, 241.
Salzmann, Dr., 215, 256, 395.
Sanders, Professor, 273.
Sanderson, Dr., 292, 313.
Sandon, Viscount, 429, 433, 434.
Saville, Dr. Lillie, (letter from) 390, 488, 528.
Scharlieb, Mrs., 478, 524.
Schoolfellow’s criticisms of S. J.-B., 33-4.
School Board (Edinburgh), 389.
Schultz, Fräulein, 437.
_Scotsman_, The, 119, 233, 234, 249, 253, 262, 275, 298, 305, 306,
310, 312, 313, 316, 322, 337, 342, 348, 401, 412, 450, 465.
Scott, Dr. Sam., 148.
Scott Moncrieff, Sir Colin, 500.
Selborne, Lord (Sir Roundell Palmer), 241, 404, 434.
Lady, 405.
Serajevo, 432, 435.
Sewall, Dr. Lucy, 161, 162, 163, 165, 172, 173, 174, 176, 177, 181,
182, 183, 187, 193, 197, 198, 201, 202, 205, 206, 215, 229, 230,
237, 238, 302, 327, 328, 329, 377, 378, 379, 448, 459, 462, 468,
476, 506.
Letters from: 162, 175, 186, 215, 405.
Letters to: 16 (footnote), 199, 213, 214-5, 216, 219, 221, 224,
232-3, 246, 255, 259, 267, 327, 377-8, 379, 464, 487.
Sewall, Hon. Samuel, 162, 177, 205, 259, 506.
_Sewall, The Prophecy of Samuel_ (_1697_), 162, 506-7.
Shaftesbury, Earl of, 363, 427, 434.
Shairp, Professor, 226.
Shandwick Place University Classes for Women, 106.
Sherbrooke, Viscount. _See_ Lowe, Rt. Hon. Robert.
Shewen, Dr. Alfred, 404.
Shove, Dr. Edith, 435, 444, 479.
Sibbald, Dr. (Sir John), 525.
Sidgwick, Professor Henry, 226, 245, 342, 343.
Letters from: 219, 221, 245, 225-6.
Simon, J., 389, 429, 430.
Simpson, Sir James, 221, 233 (footnote), 234, 237.
Skelton, Mrs., 510.
Slaves and Slavery, 168, 171, 182 (footnote).
Sleighing, 197.
Smith, Professor Piazzi, 240.
Southwood, Dr., 96.
Dr. William, 444.
Social Science Congress, 402.
Society of Apothecaries, 232, 255.
Society for Employment of Women, 81.
Soddy, Mrs. Frederick. _See_ Beilby, Miss Winifred.
Somerville, Mr. Robert, 498.
Spence, Professor, 236, 237, 258, 498.
_Spectator_, The, 270, 274, 295, 399, 401, 504.
Stansfeld, Rt. Hon. Sir James, 274, 309, 381, 388, 389, 402, 404,
406, 410, 414, 429, 432, 433, 444, 445, 446, 449, 491, 502.
Letters from, 407-8, 409, 441-2, 443, 507.
Stansfeld, Mrs. Caroline, 441.
_Stationer_, The, 188.
Stevenson, Miss Flora, 320, 325.
Miss Louisa, 325, 390, 510.
R. L., 340 (letter from).
Professor, 240, 258.
Stirling Maxwell, Sir William, 360, 411.
Storar, Dr., 445.
Struthers, Dr., 497.
Professor, 273.
Stuart, M.P., James, 225, 226, 343.
Letter from, 342-3.
Suffrage, Woman, 309, 323, 327, 465, 485.
Syme, Professor, 258, 274, 295, 399, 401, 504.
Symes Thompson, Dr., 438.
Tait, Professor, 239, 240, 241, 258, 270, 273, 279, 335, 360, 416.
Letter from, 338-9.
Tait, Lawson, 432.
Taylor, Mrs., 59.
Mrs. Peter, 161.
Taylour, Miss, 323.
Teaching, Comparison of English and American, 169, 170.
Teed, Mrs., 13, 17, 18, 35, 46, 48, 53, 55, 69, 71, 133.
Miss, 13, 16, 46, 175.
Temple, Miss, 185.
Tennyson, Alfred, 63, 345.
Terry, Miss Ellen, 458.
Thackeray, S. J.-B.’s likeness to, 76.
Thomson, Professor A. J., 500.
Walter, 380.
Sir Wyville, 416, 418.
Thorne, Mrs. Isabel, 256, 260, 268, 289, 292, 307, 311, 322, 325,
336. 389, 395, 396, 402, 418, 420, 425, 431, 434, 435, 436, 447,
448, 449, 462, 467, 505.
Letter from, 253.
Thornton, Mrs., 77.
_Times_, The, 108, 270, 273, 286, 375, 400, 401, 417, 421, 472,
495.
Trayner, Lord, 308, 494, 495.
Mrs. (Lady), 494, 495.
Trench, R. C. (Archbishop), 63, 64, 216.
Tulloch, Principal, 119, 355, 413, 427.
Turner, Professor (Sir William), 235, 237, 241, 247, 248, 258, 273,
293, 336, 389.
Tutorship (mathematical), 67-73.
Tweedie, Mrs. Alec., 63 (footnote).
Tyng, Dr., 166.
Tytler, Professor, 239.
Unitarianism, 109, 153, 154, 179, 180 (footnote).
University. _See_ Aberdeen, Bologna, Cambridge, etc.
Universities Commission, 508.
Universities (Scotland) Bill, 507.
Unwin, Miss Hermione, 480-1.
Unwin, Mrs. S. P., 84, 124, 202, 328, 329, 351.
Letters to, 100, 130-1, 149-50, 156-8, 167-8, 184.
Letters from, 186.
Unwin, S. P., 158, 481.
Letter from, 186.
_Villette_, 126 (and footnote).
Waldegrave, Dowager Countess, 373.
Walker, Miss, 279.
Miss Lucy. _See_ Mrs. Unwin.
Dr. Jane, 524.
Watson, Dr. (Sir Patrick Heron), 278, 284, 286, 340, 349, 425, 459,
466, 467, 472, 493, 509.
Letters from, 287-9, 332.
Wedderburn, Sir David, 360, 403, 404, 405, 406, 407.
Welstood, Mrs., 510.
Weisse, Herr Heinrich, 107.
Westminster Hospital, 419.
Wigham, Miss Eliza, 510.
Wilberforce, William, 182.
Williams, Mrs., 63.
Mrs. Agnes. _See_ Miss Woodhouse.
Wilson, Professor John, 239, 240, 258, 272, 273, 292, 293, 310,
332-3, 335, 359.
Wilson, Mr. Robert, 292, 293 (and footnote).
Letter from, 293-4.
Windydene, 390, Part iii. Chap. vii.
Wolstenholme, Miss. _See_ Mrs. Wolstenholme Elmy.
_Woman Hater, The_, 291, 435, 498.
Women’s Medical College, New York, 204, 206.
Women, Society for Employment of, 81.
_Women’s Work and Women’s Culture_, 221, 223, 224, 243, 253, 266.
Wood, Dr. Alexander, 287, 335, 336, 337.
Woodhouse, Miss Agnes (Mrs. Williams), 64, 65, 70, 74, 78, 83, 107.
_Words for the Way_, 158.
“Working men, A few,” 321.
Wyld, A. G., 510.
Wyld, Mrs. Margaret, 510.
Letter from, 308.
Wyld, R. S., 320.
Yarrow, 516.
Young, Lord Advocate, 310, 312, 313, 313, 331, 335, 356, 413.
Zurich University, 190, 235, 239, 278, 279, 353, 354.
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Footnotes
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Transcriber’s Note
The author most commonly abbreviates her subject’s name as ‘S.
J.-B.’, but frequently neglects to punctuate it consistently.
These lapses have been corrected, with no further notice here.
Likewise, lapses in punctuation of the Index have been silently
rectified.
Other errors deemed most likely to be the printer’s have been
corrected, and are noted here.
The many nested quotations result in some inconsistencies in
punctuation, resulting in missing or seemingly superfluous
quotation marks. Corrections were made if the voice or context
seems to warrant them, and otherwise are simply noted below. The
quoted passages typically begin and end with double quotation
marks, but interior paragraphs do not follow the convention of
opening each with a quotation.
On p. 255, a misprint seems to have disrupted the word ‘about’
as ‘a bo’. The correction makes sense, but is speculative.
In the Index, in the first column of p. 583, the entry for Mr.
Robert Somerville is missing a page reference. The sole
reference to Mr. Somerville occurred on p. 498, and that has
been added to the text.
The entry for ‘Miss Wolstenholme’ refers the reader to ‘Mrs.
Wolstenholme Elmy’; however, the Index contains no such entry.
Elizabeth Wolstenholme-Elmy was an English suffragist and
writer, who is referred to twice in the text on pp. 284 and 381.
The entry for ‘A Visit to Some American Schools and Colleges’
mistakenly refers the reader to Part I. Chapter XXIII. This has
been corrected to Chapter XIII.
The references are to the page and line in the original. Those
with three numbers refer to the line within the designated note
on that page. A prefix of ‘i’ indicates that this is an index
page, and that the second number refers to the column on that
page.
21.7 “Now for a word about the ‘bowing,’[”] he says Added.
21.8 [‘/“]It is of _no_ importance in itself, Replaced.
24.26 and may be long i[s/n] showing fruit Replaced.
57.10 ‘Yes, ma’am ma’am[.]’ Added.
58.28 did not much admire me, I guess, that Added.
night.[”]
60.17 unless you want to see it.[’] Added.
63.7 ‘Which faith except..., etc.’[”] Added.
63.21 [“]M. brought me an invite Added.
74.32 Feb. 11, 1865![”] Added.
97.21 makest me to dwell in safety.[’]” Added.
101.39 and have felt most solemnly[,/.] Replaced.
107.3 I was so annoyed[./,]—it seemed so silly Replaced.
111.40 May 9th. [“]We do well to struggle Added.
115.3 for which I am looking so earnestly....[’] Removed.
119.20 Yours affectly, S. L. J.-B.[”] Added.
119.32 It’s so weak, it can’t do harm that way.[’] Added.
131.33.2 she writes in her diary[!/:] Replaced.
135.16 and here, perhaps, the answer.[’]” Added.
138.4 the girls’ progress,[”] ought to comfort me Removed.
there,
145.33 by the doubt and co[m/n]tempt Replaced.
154.35.6 I keep such company.[’/”] Replaced.
157.18 when I am next in the North.[”] Added.
164.26 we got on grandly....[”] Added.
167.6 all connection of time and place.[”] Added.
167.18 not a bad church, will it be?[”] Added.
167.38 so wonderfully, bewitchingly, grandly _sic_
[beautifully] as this.
174.35 [“]Dec. 15th. I have just begun Added.
180.17 if not of the conquerors.[”] Added.
180.32 Well done America and L. E. S.!—bless her.[”] Added.
181.40 to run close to practical atheism....[”] Added.
191.41 C. E. BROWN-S[E/É]QUARD. Replaced.
192.10 [“]Dr. A. ‘not afraid of responsibility Added.
203.43 with the old Mother.[”] Added.
205.16 Wasn’t I right?...[”] Added.
205.39 you can read and forward respect[t]ively Removed.
234.41 if poss[s]ible before Simpson goes. Removed.
243.15 of what things we have need.’[”] Removed.
246.37 [“]I am so glad that you are prospering so Removed.
well
255.25 and told him I was studyi[m/n]g Medicine Replaced.
255.39 spend some money [a bo/about] it Speculation.
256.6 and to University Court July 5th.[”] Added.
257.39 let me not prejudge what is best.[’] Added.
258.17 [“/‘]Unlucky to say so!’ Replaced.
260.30 the resolution of the Un[vei/ive]rsity Court Transposed.
260.32 by the Chancellor on November 12th[,/.] Replaced.
289.35 PA[RT/TR]ICK HERON WATSON. Transposed.
293.20 he’ll be hitting a policeman![’] Added.
321.27 the noble strug[g]le she is making Added.
333.41 thrown back in their profess[s]ional studies Removed.
335.8 time to call a mee[e]ting. Removed.
341.27 your conscience will prevent your Added.
sleeping!’[”]
374.25 Thanks for your kind letter[.] Added.
376.9 of your prof[f]ession Removed.
379.19 [“]It is just a year since we parted Added.
383.30 although I [I ]expect he thought Removed.
448.14 [“]So much better than I.” Removed.
449.7 the personal charm, intelligen[e/c]e and Replaced.
humour
464.2 [‘/“]Why do you recommend Vermouth?” Replaced.
469.16 to those who suffer _young_[’] Added.
509.29 to admit women forthwith to graduation in Added.
medicine[.]
511.29 [“]Dr. —— and Dr. —— [the consultants] have Added.
been here
514.6 a removal to larger premises[,/.] Replaced.
546.15 specially to the “people of God[.”/”?] Replaced.
i566.1.51 Brown-S[e/é]quard, Professor, 191. Replaced.
i568.2.28 (Mrs. Hil[l]house) was giving him Removed.
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