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.”