WHAT THE PROPHETESS FORESAW
"Cette loi sainte, il faut s'y conformer
Et la voici, toute ame y peut atteindre:
Ne rien hair, mon enfant; tout aimer
Ou tout plaindre."--VICTOR HUGO.
The early summer of 1838 was spent by the Vice-Chancellor and his family
at Malvern. Bessie greatly enjoyed long walks on the hills, but either
from over fatigue, or because the air was too keen for her, she began to
suffer at that time from what she always spoke of as "my long headache."
It was a headache that lasted many months and caused the parents almost
as much suffering as the child. On their return to Oxford the family
doctor was called in and promptly applied a blister to the back of the
ears.
The blister did no good; the child was often quite prostrate with pain,
probably neuralgia, but the doctor was a man of resource. The diary of
Mrs. Gilbert is instructive as to the treatment of such a case fifty
years ago. The entry "Gave Bessie two grains of calomel," begins in
August and is continued at short intervals throughout the month.
"Blisters behind the ears, to be kept open," are added to the calomel in
September. In October we have reached the more advanced stage of calomel
blisters, black draught (to be sipped, poor child), and leeches. The
treatment was continued, with additions, throughout November, and on the
21st of December Mrs. Gilbert makes the not very surprising entry,
"Bessie was worse this evening."
The parents were by this time alarmed; and the doctor acknowledged that
he could do no more. Casting about for help, they bethought them of the
physician whom they had seen in London some years previously, of his
tenderness and sympathy.
The rough draft of a letter written to him by Mrs. Gilbert still remains
to testify to the grave consideration given by the parents to the
adequate statement of the case, to their endeavour to recall it to his
mind and to their acknowledgment of his previous kindness and courtesy.
One point in their letter may be mentioned. "She is very fond of, and
has good talents for music," writes the mother, "but her pain is so much
increased by it that her music has had to be discontinued."
Poor little girl! No privation could be greater.
Of the answer sent by Dr. Farre there is no trace. But all drugs
disappear from the records, and there is an account of "veratrine
ointment," "a preparation of Hellebore known to Hippocrates," sent down
from London, and needing so much care in the application that the
Oxford doctor himself came every night to rub it on the child's brow.
Early in 1839 she had quite recovered not only from the headache but
from the effects of the remedies.
The music lessons were resumed, and before long she began the study of
the harp. A younger sister remembers sitting by her to teach the pieces
note by note. Bessie found it also very easy to play by ear and learnt
much in this way; but the harp was a difficult instrument, and the
management of it always fatigued her.
During her childhood, Cardinal, then the Rev. J. H. Newman was incumbent
of St. Mary's, the church close to the house in High Street, and that
which the family attended. Even up to the last days of her life Bessie
used to say that she could not listen to a chapter in Isaiah, especially
any of those read in Advent, without hearing the sound of his voice.
Cardinal Newman mentions in his _Apologia_ that, on account of his
doctrine and teaching, the Vice-Chancellor threatened no longer to allow
his children to attend St. Mary's. But the children knew nothing of the
proposed prohibition.[4]
Augustus Short, afterwards Bishop of Adelaide, was one of Mr. Wintle's
curates at Culham. He remembers Bessie as a child, and visited her for
the last time when he was in England in 1884. Mr. Coxe, the late
Librarian of the Bodleian, was another of the Culham curates, the friend
of a lifetime, whose farewell letter to Bessie was written shortly
before his own death in 1881. He lived in Oxford, and went over to
Culham every Sunday. At first he was accompanied by his young wife, but
Mrs. Coxe was speedily overtaken by the cares of a family and could not
go with him. Mrs. Gilbert, with her warm, kind heart, took pity upon the
lonely wife, and invited her to spend the Sundays with them. In this way
she saw much of the _sisterhood_, the pretty name by which the eight
girls were known.
They generally walked out on Sunday afternoons, and when they reached a
certain spot in Christ Church Meadows, Bessie would stop and say, "Here
you have the best view of Christ Church Towers." Other friends of this
and later times were Bishop Gray of Cape Town, Bishop Mackenzie, and Dr.
Barnes, Canon of Christ Church. The Provost of Oriel, Dr. Hawkins, and
Dr. Gilbert were great friends, and it was possibly on this account that
Bessie was a special favourite with the Provost. Mrs. Gilbert's uncle,
Mr. Wintle, was a fellow of St. John's. He was a wealthy bachelor, had a
fine voice, sang well, and was very fond of the society of his
great-nieces. The Gilberts were acquainted with nearly all the families
of the heads of colleges in Oxford, and the handsome, clever little
girls were favourites and were "made much of." When there was a dinner
party at home they came in to dessert, and accompanied the ladies to the
drawing-room, where Bessie would play and sing. She lived thus not
merely in a world of ideas, but in the external world of facts, of
things. When a friend once spoke of another lady as handsome, Bessie
exclaimed, "Oh, Mrs. ----, with such a nose!"
Many of the fellows of Brasenose College were frequent visitors at the
Vice-Chancellor's Lodgings, and the old friends, Dr. Kynaston and Mr.
Bazely, were constant as ever. They joined the girls in their walks, and
paid frequent visits to the schoolroom, where the younger ones would
hide their caps to prevent them from leaving.
Bessie used to delight in these visits, and looked back upon them as the
very sunshine of life at Oxford. Her poetry and music gained her much
sympathy. At this time, when she was about fourteen, she wrote a poem on
the violet which was much praised. At fifteen her intellectual activity
was the most remarkable point in her character, whilst at the same time
there was an equally remarkable absence of that rebellion against
authority which marks an epoch in so many young lives. Boys and girls of
that age begin to fret against the restrictions of childhood and youth;
they endeavour to cast aside laws and restraints; they are eager to
"live their own life" and to enjoy a freedom which they are all unfit to
use. Bessie knew nothing of this, or rather, she knew it in a very
modified, even attenuated form. The one extravagant desire which marked
her adolescence, was to be allowed the privilege of pouring out tea!
It was urged in vain that she would not know if cups were full or half
full, that she could not give to each one what they wanted of tea or
water, milk or sugar. Her reply was always the same, she would know by
the weight. The decision of the parents, however, went against her, and
she had her one small grievance. She did not "take turns" in making tea.
In the summer of 1841 Bessie, with a sister of nearly her own age, and
one of the little ones, went on a long visit to Culham. They took the
harp with them and practised diligently. They read history together.
Bessie gave daily lessons to her young sister, reading with her Scott's
_Tales of a Grandfather_, and teaching the child to love them as she
herself did. Whenever she had charge of a younger sister, poetry entered
largely into her scheme of education, and the "little sister" still
remembers the Scott, Wordsworth, and Mrs. Hemans, "Hymns for Childhood"
which she learnt at this time.
Bessie loved romantic ballads and stories. She was more imaginative than
any of "the others;" and "the others" thought that the loss of sight
acted upon her like the want of a drag upon a wheel, when the coach goes
down hill. During this visit Bessie had such a constant craving and
eager desire for books, that even in their walks she induced her sister
to read aloud. They thus read Southey's _Curse of Kehama_, and she was
so much excited by it that somewhat to the alarm of younger persons she
went about repeating aloud "the words of that awful curse."
There were plenty of books at Culham. Mr. Wintle interdicted two or
three, but amongst the rest his grandchildren were at liberty to select.
They picked out all that promised to be "most exciting," and this free
pasture made the visit memorable. Bessie was still "Blossom" to her
grandfather, a Blossom that he admired and loved, but Blossom only.
Never was a Blossom whose words and deeds have been treasured in such
loving hearts.
"We looked upon her as a sort of prophetess;" and this view was
confirmed by incidents that occurred in 1842. The sisters were walking
together, and first one and then another suggested strange things that
might happen. "Why, who knows," said Bessie, "in less than a month our
house may be burnt down and we may be living in a palace!" Now within a
month it is recorded that a rocket let off in the street, and badly
aimed, went through the windows of the nursery in which several children
were asleep. The governess happened to be in the room, and with great
presence of mind seized the rocket and threw it back into the street.
Now here was at any rate the possibility of a fire. Still more
impressive was the fact that within the month Dr. Gilbert was appointed
to the See of Chichester. They would really live in a palace.
Much excitement and no little awe in the nursery, not so much because
the father was a bishop as because Bessie was a prophetess. The bishop
would be comparatively innocuous in the nursery, but who could tell what
a prophetess might foresee!
And so the pleasant Oxford life came to an end; and in spite of a
prospective palace, the _sisterhood_ thought the change a calamity.
Bessie specially disliked leaving her old friends, and her regret at
parting from them did not diminish but increased with time. Doubtless in
later years the inevitable restraint of her life lent an additional
charm to the memory of her youth in Oxford. The constant solicitude of
parents, friends, and sisters had kept from her in early days the
knowledge of limitations; but in the time that was at hand she was to go
forth to face the world and to learn more of the meaning of the
mysterious word blind. Canon Melville, who knew her in Oxford, writes to
one of her sisters as follows:--
THE COLLEGE, WORCESTER, 1885.
I have a very clear memory of the person and character of your
sister Bessie; it is a pleasure to me to recall them.
The natural gifts and graces of her mind and disposition were only
heightened by the loss of her eyesight. That wonderful compensating
power which often makes amends for loss of faculty in one sense by
corresponding intensity in another, her moral and spiritual
sensitiveness with that inward joyfulness recording itself in
outward expression of a pleased and happy countenance, were
remarkably evident. Out of many little traits indicative of this
and her quiet intuition of what favourably or otherwise might
strike her moral sense, I remember once when the appearance of some
one she personally, for some unknown reason, disliked, was being
remarked upon, and I had pronounced my admiration of it, she turned
quite gravely to me, and with deep earnestness, as if she was then
seeing or had recently seen the form and figure of him of whom we
were talking, exclaimed, "Oh, Mr. Melville, I cannot agree with
you! How can you admire him!" Something that had jarred with her
moral perceptions having made her transfer her judgment on the
character to the form and features of the person, as though she had
seen the analogy she felt there must be between the outward and the
inward.
Of the history of her self-devotion to the personal and industrial
improvement of those under like affliction with herself her whole
life was an illustration. Of that many must have much to tell.
During the removal from Oxford the Bishop and Mrs. Gilbert were in
London with two daughters, of whom Bessie was one; Fanny and the younger
ones were left under the charge of the faithful governess, Miss Lander,
and in bright and copious epistles they inform Bessie of all that is
going on in the old home. They tell how they had heard Adelaide Kemble
in Oxford, whom Bessie is shortly to hear at Covent Garden; how they met
many friends at the concert; how one gentleman told them that Adelaide
Kemble sang better than Catalani; and how three who had not heard
Catalani said she was equal to Grisi. How some of the "Fellows" went
home to supper with them, and how they all stayed up till twelve
o'clock, a great event for the little girls and their governess, who
all send "love and duty to papa and mamma."
There is another letter to Bessie, still in London, though the parents
have returned to Oxford, which gives a happy picture of last days there.
Bessie sends as farewell presents some of the little chains which she
makes, and the sisters sew them together for her. The father receives a
farewell presentation of plate, the elder girls darn rents in the gowns
of their friends, the Fellows of Brasenose, and so on it runs:--
MY DEAR BESSIE--I write to you now in a great hurry to tell you to
send Mr. Melville's chain to-morrow by Mr. ----, as I expect we
shall see him some time to-morrow, and I could sew it for him. I
sent the mat on Tuesday, and when he came to tea in the evening he
said he must come to thank you for it to-day; but as I told him he
would not be able to see Sarah and Henrietta after this week, he
seemed to say that he should wait till next week to see you, which
I hope you will think quite fair. The plate was presented to papa
yesterday. The address was short, but a very nice one, and I
suspect chiefly written by Mr. ----. Papa's answer I have not seen,
as he had only one copy, which he left with the Vice-Principal. We
were none of us there, which I am almost sorry for, although it
would very likely have been too much for us. Papa is delighted
beyond measure with it.... We went last night to drink tea at
aunt's, and then went to sleep at the Barnes's. We are going to
dinner there to-night and sleep, for there is not a bed here. The
glasses and all the pictures are gone, and that has made the house
more deplorable than ever. Miss A. is here now, and seems pretty
well. You know that Mary and I have been mending Mr. A.'s gown for
him.
He came this morning for it and stayed some time. He said he could
not have got it done anywhere else so nicely; that is a long darn
that Mary did for him. The B.'s have told Mr. W. that they will
keep their acquaintance with him for our sakes, so that he will not
be quite deserted; are not you glad of it? Will you ask Miss Lander
to send word where she left her Punch and Judy? If she doesn't
remember, I daresay it will be found; but we have not seen it.
There is a chance, I believe, of Mr. A.'s taking Selham, but you
must not say anything about it. All send love to
everybody.--Believe me to be your affectionate sister, F. H. L. G.
Whilst the parents were in London this year, Bessie paid one visit which
produced a great and lasting effect upon her. She accompanied her mother
to the blind school in the Avenue Road; and this seems to have been the
first time that the blind, as a class of the community, apart from the
majority, and separated by a great loss and privation, came under her
notice. The experience could not fail to be painful. She contrasted the
lot of these young people with her own in her happy home, and shrank
back in pain from institutions in which the afflicted are herded
together, the one common bond that of the fetters of a hopeless fate.
The matron of the girls' school, afterwards Mrs. Levy, remembers this
visit, and says the impression produced on her by the bishop's daughter
was that she was "delightful, beautiful, full of sympathy for the
blind." She remembers also that the Bishop preached in Marylebone Church
in aid of the blind school, taking as his text words that must often
have comforted and strengthened his own heart, "Who hath made the blind
and deaf, but I the Lord?"
This year, 1842, was altogether a memorable one. Bessie's grandfather,
as a young man, had a living or curacy at Acton, where his chief friend,
the squire of the parish, was a Mr. Wegg. Another friend of whom he saw
much at this time was Mr. Bathurst, afterwards General Sir James
Bathurst, aide-de-camp to the Duke of Wellington. A third was Miss
Hales, companion and friend of Mrs. Wegg. The Gilberts and the Bathursts
were Miss Hales's dearest friends; and she had a god-daughter in each
family, they were Catherine, younger daughter of Sir James Bathurst, and
Bessie, the blind grand-daughter of Mr. Wintle. Mrs. Gilbert always
corresponded with Miss Hales, sent her copies of Bessie's verses, and
information as to the health and progress of the child. Miss Hales died
in 1842, and by will divided her fortune between her two god-daughters.
Bessie was thus placed in a different position from that of any of her
sisters; she alone when she attained her majority would have an
independent income during her father's lifetime. The Bishop was relieved
from anxiety as to the future of his blind daughter, and the necessity
of ample provision for her; but he felt strongly, and wished her also to
feel, that the possession of money brings with it duties and
responsibilities.
FOOTNOTE:
[4] "Added to this the authorities of the University, the appointed
guardians of those who form great part of the attendants on my sermons,
have shown a dislike to my preaching. One dissuades men from coming, the
late Vice-Chancellor threatens to take his own children away from the
church."--_Apologia pro Vita Sua_, p. 133. John Henry Newman, D.D.
Longmans, 1879.