THE PALACE GARDEN
"Joy and woe are woven fine,
A clothing for the soul divine."--BLAKE.
By the autumn of 1842 the removal from Oxford to Chichester had been
accomplished. The Bishop and his family were installed in the palace,
which was to be their home for twenty-eight years. A new life was
beginning for Bessie, and one which, when the inevitable pain of parting
from old friends was over, she learnt to love very dearly. She had a
keen imaginative delight in the beauties of nature. She loved to hear of
clouds and sunset; of sunrise and the dawn, of green fields, of hills
and valleys. She loved the outer air, flowers, and the song of birds;
and she had passed the first sixteen years of her life in a house in the
High Street, Oxford. She was very proud of the architectural beauty of
Oxford, and always thought it a distinction to belong to Oxford; but her
whole heart was soon in the home at Chichester.
The Bishop's palace has a beautiful old-fashioned garden, of which the
city wall forms the west and part of the southern boundary. A sloping
mound leads from the garden to within a few feet of the top of the wall,
and there is a green walk around the summit. There are grassy plots,
umbrageous trees, flowering shrubs, roses, roses everywhere; and there
are birds that sing all the long day in the spring-time. The black-cap
was a special favourite of Bessie's and of the Bishop's. A garden door
in the palace opens upon a straight gravel walk, with a southern aspect,
leading towards the western boundary wall. On the southern side of the
walk lies the garden, on the north a bank of lilacs, laburnums, and
shrubs. Here Bessie could walk alone; she needed no companion, no guide.
It was a new pleasure to her, and one of which she never grew weary. The
song of birds, the hum of insects, the rustle of the trees, all made the
garden a fairy palace of delight. A sister remembers how one summer
morning at three o'clock she found Bessie standing at her bedside
begging her to get up and dress, and go with her to the garden "to hear
the birds waking up." Her father always gave a shilling to whoever saw
the first swallow, and Bessie was delighted when the shilling had been
earned.
The hall of the palace is a confusing place; there are many doors,
passages, rooms opening into and leading from it There was always a
moment of hesitation before Bessie opened the garden door or found the
turning which she wanted; but she quickly accommodated herself to all
other eccentricities in one of the most puzzling of old-fashioned
houses.
She spent less time in the schoolroom at Chichester than she had done at
Oxford; she was indeed soon emancipated from the schoolroom altogether.
She was much with her mother in the pleasant morning-room adjoining the
bed and dressing rooms used by her parents. A steep spiral staircase,
without a rail of any kind, with half a stair cut away at intervals for
convenience of access to a cupboard or a small room, led from her
father's dressing-room to rooms above. One of these with a western
window so darkened by trees that no sunlight and very little daylight
entered, was assigned to Bessie and one sister, whilst another sister
was close at hand in another small room. The Bishop made a window to the
south in Bessie's room, which greatly improved it, admitting light and
air and all the sweet garden sounds and scents. The drawing-room is on
the first floor near the morning-room. You ascend to it by a few broad
stairs. A passage on the same floor leads to the private chapel attached
to the palace, where Bessie knelt daily in prayer. The dining-room on
the ground floor, the best room in the house, with its oak panels and
fine painted ceiling, was a great pleasure to her. Some years later,
when her work made it necessary that she should have a private
sitting-room, two rooms were assigned to her in the centre of the house,
one of which had been the schoolroom. Access to these is gained by a
long passage barely high enough to allow a full-grown person to stand
erect at the highest part, near the bedroom door; and sloping on the
other side to the floor and outer wall of the palace. Windows in the
steep roof look north into West Street. Bessie's rooms were close to the
angle formed by the centre and west wing of the palace, and had windows
facing south.
Up and down the narrow steep stairs and along the passages to the
drawing-room, the morning-room, the dining-room, the chapel, the fragile
form of the blind girl was seen to pass with unerring accuracy. She
never stumbled or fell at Chichester any more than she had done at
Oxford. Indeed, Oxford was useful throughout life, as no difficulties
could be greater than those she had learnt to surmount in her childhood.
Scarce a stone's throw from the palace is the cathedral, where the seat
of the Bishop's blind daughter is still pointed out. Bessie had a
personal pleasure, a pride and delight in the beauty of the cathedral,
spoke of it, as she did of any venerated object, with lowered tones;
knew its history and form, the plan of the building, the salient
architectural features, and all the best points of view.
The Rev. Carey H. Borrer, Rector of Hurst Pierpoint, and Treasurer of
Chichester Cathedral, writes as follows of the impression produced at
this time:
My first introduction to Bessie Gilbert was when the Bishop had
just taken possession of the palace at Chichester. I had been
staying at Lavington with Archdeacon Manning (now the Cardinal),
and we went together to sleep at the deanery (Dean Chandler's), and
we all went to dine at the palace. Bessie was then very young, very
slight and fragile looking, dressed as usual in white muslin, and
with her dark spectacles immediately attracted my attention. In the
evening she went to the piano, and sang very sweetly and with much
pathos several familiar Scotch songs. I asked her if she knew
certain others, mostly Jacobite songs, with which I was familiar
from hearing my very dear friend William Harris (fellow of All
Souls', a devoted lover of Prince Charlie) sing them. She at once
warmed up and sang some of them. Others she did not know, and was
glad to hear something about them. Under that gentle aspect there
came out a heart full of fire and earnestness, which showed itself
in her interest for suffering and heroism, and afterwards found
field for its energy in her untiring efforts for the blind.
Whenever we met there was always a warm shaking of the hand, and a
feeling of sympathy of tastes between us.
I had not seen much of persons suffering from blindness, and I was
struck by her simple way of saying "I have not _seen_ him," or "I
should like to _see_ it"--something like Zacharias "_asking_" for a
writing-table.
No one could be with Bessie Gilbert without feeling chastened by
the presence of a true, pure, warm-hearted, earnest Christian girl.
I breakfasted at the palace the next morning after service at the
private chapel, and I was delighted at the Bishop's calling on one
of the younger girls to say grace. Mrs. Gilbert told me they took
it in turns. I should like to have heard Bessie's grace to her
Heavenly Father.
Very soon new friends gathered round the _sisterhood_; but at first the
change, so far as society was concerned, was keenly felt by them. There
were no Fellows of B.N.C. to come in with torn gowns to be mended, and
talk of Catalani and Grisi; no more dinners in the Hall, none of the
intellectual activity of university life. They had also far less of the
company of a father greatly beloved by all his children. Official
business at Chichester was much heavier than it had been at Oxford, and
absorbed more of his time.
The Archdeacon of Chichester at that time was the Rev. E. H. (now
Cardinal) Manning. He was a frequent visitor at the palace, where a room
was set apart for him. As years passed on, the anxiety of his friends
with regard to his views increased. At last there came a day in 1851
when he and Bishop Gilbert had a long talk with Bishop Wilberforce at
Lavington, and Archdeacon Manning returned to pay his last visit to the
palace. He wrote a day or two later to announce his decision to join the
Church of Rome. As he stood in the hall on this last visit he saw Bessie
enter from her favourite garden walk. She was as usual puzzled by the
doors, and hesitated a moment before coming to a decision. The
archdeacon saw this, and stepping forward took her by the hand: "I
believe you cannot find the way," he said. In speaking of this she would
add, in that gentle, solemn manner she had when she was deeply moved, "I
only said 'thank you,' but I thought is it I that cannot find my way?"
In 1844 an event of great interest to girls in and out of the
schoolroom took place. A German governess, Frauelein D., replaced the
English lady who had for so long been a member of the household. German
became at once the most fascinating of all subjects of study for young
and old; and the Frauelein, with her open mind and, from the point of
view of those days, her advanced views, speedily acquired great
influence over Bessie.
Frauelein D. describes the charm of the family circle at the palace, in
which the two prominent figures were the Bishop and his blind daughter.
Bessie had at this time a very tenacious memory. No matter how long the
reading of a book had been suspended, she could always repeat every word
of the last sentence. She was easily affected by any sad events that
were narrated, and would weep over them. Her parents, sisters, and
brothers had taken such pains to include her in all that was going
forward, and to make her and keep her one of themselves, that she would
say, "Oh yes, I see," and "How beautiful," when you talked to her.
She was very particular about her dress, quite as much so as any of her
sisters, and specially scrupulous in the matter of gloves. Her hands
were small, white, delicately beautiful, and very feeble. She liked to
have such accurately fitting gloves that the time she took to put them
on was a joke in the family.
Three of the sisters were at Culham when the Frauelein arrived, and many
bright letters passed between Bessie at Chichester and her own "special"
sister Mary at Culham. Bessie tells Mary how her brother Robert had
returned from the Continent, having learnt "a great many German words
and some French;" how he had grown fonder of music, and could allow
"that it is an art capable of giving a great deal of pleasure." She
gives all the little gossip of home, describes the new German governess
"a pretty figure, black hair, rather a large mouth, an animated
countenance, very lady-like and lively.... They (the younger ones) like
Miss D. very much, and so we do, all of us, I think." Bessie has read
_Don Carlos_, the _Bride of Messina_, and a play by Halm. Her reading
time is from four to five; but there are reading and needlework from
three to four, which all the elders try to join, and from which, we may
be sure, Bessie would not be absent. Then there is a dinner party at the
Palace: "She (the Frauelein) dined, and so did I."
"As to the dinner part I managed very well. I had it all by heart. What
I was to have was all settled in the morning, so that I had very little
else to do but to talk, and that I did so much that I was really almost
ashamed. Mr. ---- took me down, and pleased mamma uncommonly by praising
me to her in the evening. I cannot think why."
A little later Bessie is at Culham, and writes to Mary at Chichester.
Now don't make any more excuses about not writing. For my part I
have forgiven you, at least since this delicious weather, for we
have been out almost all day lately. Yesterday we walked to
Abingdon, did some shopping, and came back before breakfast.
[Inquiries about friends follow, and then:] Question upon question;
but no matter, answer another, who sent me the violets? though I
think my guess is right. If it was Mr. Ashworth it was very kind,
for I think they were the first he had found this spring. Take care
what you put in your letters to grandpapa. The last but one was
pronounced by a judge whose opinion I am sure you will agree with,
because you will think it right, to be very dignified and a perfect
specimen of epistolography. There were cries of "It won't do" all
through the letter. Do you think you shall come here soon? I begin
to want to see some of you.
Bessie, as usual, had charge of one of the little girls. She writes: "I
think Katie is improved since we have been here, but I cannot get her to
get up; so please ask mamma to say what time she is to get up, for now
it is not much before eight and often some time after."
Now to an elder sister who wants to do her shopping at Abingdon before
breakfast, Miss Katie must have been a trial. But Bessie herself was by
no means perfect in this respect. Some years later she and a sister
about her own age paid a visit to an old lady, cousin of their father's,
in Yorkshire. This cousin rose early, was very punctual, and expected
her guests to be the same; but, "Say what I would," writes her sister,
"I could not get Bessie up in the morning, not even though I represented
that it made me appear to disregard Miss Dawson's wishes as well as
herself, and was not fair. The only answer I could get was, 'I say
nothing;' and the next morning she was as late as ever." Whether Mrs.
Gilbert was in this case also appealed to "to fix the hour" we are not
told.
In the autumn Bessie is at home again, and, writing to her faithful
Mary, she says: "The week after next our house must stretch a slight
degree. There will be the Halls, the Churtons, the Woods from Broadwater
(it was Mrs. Wood who fought for the teaching of reading in St. George's
Schools thirteen years previously), the two Archdeacons, Mr. Garbett,
Mr. Simpson, and another gentleman, all in the house; and Mr. Wagner, if
he comes, will have a room at the inn. This will be something
like--won't it? I think mamma liked her visit to----."
The Bishop, his wife, and one daughter, had been paying short visits to
influential people in the county. The young lady sends home letters
which show close and minute powers of observation and no small insight
into character. The rooms, the pictures, the plate and china, all are
described, and she ends by saying:
I suppose you will expect a comparison of the two families. The
gentlemen are far superior at A----; and though B---- is more
fascinating, and makes one feel for her as if one could do
anything, yet A---- seems to me to be superior to her in strength of
mind and also in acquirements. Lady C. is much younger than Lady
D., much more in awe of her mother, and being plain, has not the
appearance of being used to the homage of all around her like Lady
D. So ends my long story of a short but pleasant time, and if it
has tired your patience, at least you cannot complain of my not
having given you a full account.
Looking over these letters, taken back into the past by the yellow
paper, the faded ink, the old-fashioned writing, all angular and
sloping, letters fresh and vivid with youth, intelligence, and goodness,
one cannot but wonder if those written by a girl of seventeen, in these
days of high pressure, will be such pleasant reading forty years hence.
Bessie was greatly interested in these visits, and she writes to Mary at
Culham: "Mamma saw some beautiful miniatures of the Pretender, the
Cardinal York and their sister the Princess Louisa. They were very
small, and set in turquoises and diamonds. I believe that princess
married the King of Sardinia."
The Rev. T. Lowe, Vicar of Willingdon, who left Chichester thirty-five
years ago, says that he often met Bessie at the palace and in general
society at Chichester; that he made use of every opportunity he had to
cultivate her acquaintance. She liked to talk of music, and he
"remembers well the sweet expression of her mobile features, declaring
the peace and resignation that dwelt within. These, no doubt, made her
so alive to all pleasures within her reach. It was a touching sight to
see her joining, with evident enjoyment, in a quadrille at an evening
party at home or elsewhere."
Mr. Lowe saw her occasionally after he left Chichester. She was
interested in some blind persons in his parish. One she rescued from
"the uncongenial life of the workhouse;" another acted as an agent for
her society; and she was specially interested in a third, both blind and
deaf, now dead. "Her sympathy with these sufferers was full of comfort
to them; and as to them, so to all to whom it is known, the history of
her long, patient suffering; of her submission to the heavy trial laid
upon her; of her thankful enjoyment of the blessings granted her; of her
loving endeavours to alleviate like suffering in others--will, I doubt
not, bring forth good fruit in other hearts and other lives."
Mr. Wintle at Culham was now an aged man, and his infirm health gave
much anxiety to Mrs. Gilbert. After she had left Oxford one or two of
her daughters were nearly always with their grandfather. One of his
latest letters, written from his Oxford lodgings, was to his favourite
Blossom.
_27th November 1845._
MY DEAR BLOSSOM--As I have gained the reputation of not caring for
what I do or say, why may I not scribble a scrawl to you containing
what is found uppermost in my memorandum box? Not having been
admitted a member of the Abingdon Literary and Scientific Society,
you must look rather for trifles from a bagatelle warehouse than
for graver subjects culled from the repository of useful and
entertaining knowledge. But previous to opening my budget let me
express a wish that I may soon hear from one of the numerous palace
scribes of your mother's faceache having left her, and that you are
all as well as the damps of November will permit of your being. As
you probably knew nothing of my opposite neighbour Chaundy,
hair-dresser and perfumer, perhaps you will nothing grieve at
hearing that he is moving from the Corn Market to the High Street,
nor will you be much interested in hearing that Mr. ---- tells his
Oxford tradesmen that as he deals with them, he expects they will
come to his shop and buy a pig of him. Possibly you may be amused
by hearing that Mr. A. and Dr. B. have nominated five select
preachers, all ultra low church, of whom Mr. C. is one, who takes
an annuity of L500 from his parishioners in Holy Well, in
preference to a living from his college. So would not I. [And so on
through three pages of gossip ending:] And now with love to you
all, affectionately am I yours, R. W.
In the spring of 1846 the Bishop and Mrs. Gilbert, with many but not all
the daughters, were in the Isle of Wight. Mary was again at Culham with
her grandfather, who was recovering from a serious illness, and had been
out "in a sedan chair." Bessie writes full accounts: "You should have
heard Nora begging to go. She has gained her point, you see;" and then
follows a description of the little house at Ryde, of their visitors and
friends, the books they were to read, etc. During this visit Bessie once
walked from Ryde to Shanklin, and was proud of the achievement.
The Bishop's house in London at this time was in Green Street, Grosvenor
Square. He and Mrs. Gilbert with some daughters were there in the early
part of the year 1846, and Bessie was left in the post of honour, at
home. The father writes to her without making any allowance for
blindness. She is to give orders and arrange for their return just as
Mary would have done.
MY DEAR BESSIE--I write to you as Mrs. House, Mrs. Pomona, Mrs.
Flora, _i.e._ as having, under your aunt and Miss Deiss, sovereign
rule in the domestic, horticultural, and floral departments at
Chichester, but not as Mrs. Ceres, as with respect to the farm I
reserve the rule therein to John and Symonds, and Smoker and
myself, which may account for the bad condition things in that
department are in.... Now, in your domestic department let me
suggest to you to order preparations for the return of the
veritable heads of the family, possibly on Friday next, to dinner,
but you may expect to hear again. Then, in the horticultural, know
that a tub of regent potatoes, and eke a tub of blues, containing
each about a sack, may daily be expected. They are to be used as
seed at your and Holmes's discretion. Those which are not so used
you may direct to be put from time to time into a pot and saved for
dinner. In your floral department I do not presume to give any
hint; the greater will be your responsibility if either violets are
drooping or snowdrops and crocuses not in sufficient abundance.
Poor me! I am afraid they are all over, blossomed and gone while I
have been smoke-dried here. But mind you show me something when I
come, or I may prove a rat without a tail. Pray, why do none of you
little pusses write to me? I desire I may have an olla podrida, a
bit of something from every one, without delay. How do you think I
am to get on here all by myself? Yes, indeed! Pray, look to it,
Mrs. House, and mind your P's and Q's, and do not laugh, but let me
have my letter from all in a cluster, and I daresay in a clatter
too forthwith. So no more at present from your and their fond
parent and most loving father,
A. T. CHICHESTER.
I suppose you know poor aunt E. M. has left you her piano. If your
grandpapa does not think it too large and would let it go to
Culham, should you object?
In August 1846 Bessie completed a long poem founded on a belief "which
prevails in parts of Burgundy, that the first flower which blossoms on
the grave of a departed friend links the soul of the departed in eternal
love to that of the person who gathers it." The verses are moderately
smooth and pretty, but give no great promise of excellence in that
department.
It is, however, characteristic of the writer that she represents the
"departed friend" not as a lover, but as the father of the girl who has
gathered the first blossom, and that she concludes:
And strength was given to her through prayer
In patience all her woe to bear,
Clearly her duty to discern,
And never more her life to spurn.
She lived, not wrapt in selfish grief;
Wherever she could give relief--
In poverty, sickness, or despair,
A spirit of comfort, she was there;
One of that heavenly sisterhood
Who only live for others' good.
Such words are like a feather thrown up in the air, they show the
direction of the prevailing current.
For two years longer the visits to Culham and Oxford recur at frequent
intervals, and there is repeated mention of the names of old friends.
Every event of interest that affects them--births, deaths, marriages,
arrivals, departures, promotions, bridesmaids' dresses--all are duly
chronicled. Once we are told of two merry girls shut up with some of his
pet MSS. by Mr. Coxe, the librarian of the Bodleian, who was too busy
to join them. They emerged from his den in a state of enthusiasm which
satisfied even his requirements; but they had to undergo a severe
brushing from "his own clothes-brush and at his own hands," for,
"learned dust as it was, we could not carry it through Oxford."
In 1847 the youngest brother, Tom, met with an alarming accident at
Westminster School. By some means when preparing to act in a play his
cloak caught fire, and he was almost burnt to death. Bessie used to tell
how the little fellow was found kneeling with raised hands, and praying
aloud, in the midst of a crowd of terrified boys, whilst the flames
leapt up above his head. He was so much injured that it was more than a
year before he recovered. His first letter, written with the left hand
and the greater part of it unintelligible, is to Bessie. He is the
little boy who was pulling daisies for her in Magdalen Gardens, and
telling of their golden centres.
In 1848 Mr. Wintle died at Culham. Mrs. Gilbert was staying with him,
and the Bishop with some of his daughters started at once for Oxford
when he heard how serious the case had become. Mr. Wintle had expressed
a special desire to see Bessie, but he was almost unconscious when she
arrived. He was told that "Little Blossom" had come. "Where is she?" he
asked, and with a last effort stretched out his hand towards her.
The pleasant home was henceforth closed to them, all silent and empty.
The great-uncle also passed away in 1855, and though many friends
remained, yet from this time Oxford recedes, and is no longer a second
home.
At this period Martin Tupper resided at Brighton; and Bessie, who seems
to have sent him a copy of "The Sea Gull," received from him a letter
which she valued, and a copy of "A Hymn and a Chant for the Harvest Home
of 1847, by the author of _Proverbial Philosophy_." He wrote as follows:
FURZE HILL, BRIGHTON, _23d August 1848_.
MY DEAR MISS BESSIE--An autograph of such affecting interest as
that with which you have this morning so kindly favoured me, gives
me the privilege of a letter of thanks in reply. And thank you I do
very cordially; especially for having so soon and so amiably
fulfilled your intention of honouring my verses with your melodious
tones. When they are quite ready, I shall look forward with much
interest to a manuscript copy; and I am not sure but that, some day
or other, I shall run over and pay my respects at the palace, very
much with the self-interested object of hearing you do justice to
your own music. I am sure you will not refuse me this, especially
as here we have no piano; not but that I will go _toute suite_ to
ask Miss Wagner or the Frauelein to give me an idea of your "Sea
Gull," so as not to be altogether ignorant of the "sweet sounds"
which you have married to Mary Howitt's "immortal verse." I have
nothing here to offer you in return for your musical authorship,
unless you might be pleased to accept "from the author" the
enclosed. Pray make my best respects acceptable to your father and
mother and sisters, and believe me, my dear Miss Bessie, your
obliged and faithful friend, MARTIN J. TUPPER.
Miss Bessie Gilbert.
In 1849 Bessie, with two sisters and a brother, paid visits in Ireland.
One of her chief pleasures was in listening to the echoes at Killarney.
Wherever she went the young blind lady called out warm sympathy. On the
way from Glengariffe to Cork they stopped at Gougon Barra to see the
famous "Healing Well." The guide besought Bessie in the most earnest and
pathetic manner to try the water, saying that he was sure it would
restore her sight, and entreating her brother and sisters to urge her to
make use of it.
This was the first time, since the visit to Liverpool, that she had been
far from home, and she enjoyed her journey. She liked staying at hotels;
the novelty was refreshing, and she liked the feeling that she also
could travel and "see" the world.
The Bishop writes to Bessie on the 11th September 1849 from the "Old
Ship private house," Brighton, as follows:--
Now I doubt not that you enjoyed the mountain scheme as well as any
of them, and, with the aid of the mountain air, the potatoes too
and milk of the cottagers, not omitting, however, I daresay, the
more substantial viands which accompanied you from the Hospitable
Hall. As for the wetting and all that, of course you treat that as
heroines are bound to do--that is as trifles, where it is not
convenient to exalt them above their true character.
The "Hospitable Hall" is that of Lismore, Archdeacon Cotton's house,
where the travellers stayed for some time. Bessie's eldest brother
married Archdeacon Cotton's daughter the following year, so that the
visit was one of special interest.
The Bishop had now a house in London, 31 Queen Anne Street, and the
family life was divided between London and Chichester. When she was
twenty-one Bessie had the command of her own income. One of her first
acts was to subscribe to the Philharmonic concerts. The daughter of an
old friend of her parents, Mrs. Denison (now Lady Grimthorpe), lived in
the same street, and also subscribed; she used to call for and take
Bessie with her. The impression which Lady Grimthorpe received at that
time was, first of all, "How merry she is:" and next, what an intense
appreciation she had of beautiful music, and what a happy, trustful
confidence in those about her. One night at the concert the gas suddenly
went out, fears of an explosion were whispered about, and many persons
left the room. Bessie put her hand in Lady Grimthorpe's and said: "I
have no fear whatever, with you. Go or stay as you think best;" and they
stayed.
She would return from these concerts so bright and beaming, and give
such pleasure to her father by her animated accounts of them, that he
learnt to associate her enjoyment with a scarlet cloak she then wore. He
said he would have her portrait taken, and in that cloak, for she never
looked so well in anything else. Some time later this was done by Sir W.
Boxall, and the frontispiece to this volume represents a picture which
gives as much of the spiritual beauty and delicacy of Bessie's youthful
face as the painter's art can render.