Philanthropic Women.
_SECTION I.—ELIZABETH FRY._
“She pleaded unweariedly, and with the happiest results, for the
persecuted, the ignorant, and the wretched of every class, and has left
behind her a monument of grateful remembrance in the hearts of
thousands.”
SAMUEL FOX.
_WOMAN’S WORK._
In the last census returns it was shown that females exceeded by half a
million the number of males in these islands. In England there are
fifteen thousand governesses. A few years ago eight hundred and ten
women applied for a situation of £15 per annum; and two hundred and
fifty for another worth only £12. What are we to do with these poor
creatures? How can we find suitable employment for them? These
questions pass from lip to lip, and are re-echoed on every hand. We
join issue with those who of late times have come to the strange
conclusion that there is no essential difference—beyond an anatomical
or sexual one—between the two great divisions of the human race—men
and women. As surely as the little girl takes to the doll, and the
baby-boy to his whip, his pop-gun, and his miniature ship; so surely
did God plant natural instincts for their different duties in the souls
of the different sexes. But although we hold that men and women were
made and adapted for their own peculiar walks in life, we think woman
as well as man may have a laudable ambition—she as well as he may take
“Excelsior” as the device upon her banner. All honour to every woman
who, sustaining the dignity of her sex, and not forgetting her modesty,
turns her talent to account. Moreover, it is permissible to believe
that men have sometimes invaded the province of women. Is the unrolling
of ribbons and measuring of tape a suitable employment for young men?
Would it not be much more natural for linendrapers and silk-mercers to
employ women? The silk would lose nothing in being turned over by their
little white hands. True, it requires a tolerably strong frame to be
incessantly taking down and putting back in their places, samples of
goods. But what prevents the hiring of a small number of men to be
specially employed on heavy jobs? Besides, would there be nothing to
praise from another point of view? If ladies were forced to be face to
face with their own sex, who would treat them on a footing of equality,
would presume to be out of temper, and would lose patience with their
sauntering through a world of curious things, and then going away
without buying anything,—the making of purchases which is now a
pleasure would become a business. Might not females labour in the
tailoring department with as much credit to themselves, and
satisfaction to their employers, as males? The needle is woman’s
instrument, and if the society of operative tailors would nobly give it
up to her, hope and work would visit many a family, and charm many a
home. The question whether women, instead of being confined as at
present to a few occupations, shall in common with men, be clergymen,
doctors, lawyers, professors, bankers, members of parliament, masons,
sailors, and soldiers, is felt by many to be one of great difficulty
and importance. There is no reason in theory why women should not make
good masons, sailors, and soldiers; and there are abundant instances on
record in which they have succeeded admirably in these employments. If
you say these vocations are adapted to men by physical conditions, and
not to women, you contravene the programme of some very able men and
many strong-minded women, and admit all that those contend for who say
that a line must be drawn somewhere, and add that the line which is
indicated by the twofold consideration that woman is physically weaker
than man, and that the business of maternity requires more devotion,
time, and energy than that of paternity, has every appearance of being
a natural line. Of this we are certain—that women, who have time and
money at their disposal, might take the advice given to Lady Clara Vere
de Vere:—
“Go teach the orphan boy to read,
And teach the orphan girl to sew.”
To visit mission schools, ragged schools, Dorcas societies, and
prisons, is womanly, consistent, and noble.
_BIOGRAPHY._
Elizabeth, third daughter of John Gurney, Esq., of Earlham Hall, near
Norwich, was born on the 21st of May, 1780. By her mother, Catherine
Bell, who died in 1792, she was descended from the ancient family of
the Barklays, of Ury, in Kincardineshire, and great-granddaughter of
Robert Barclay, the apologist of the Quakers. In natural talent she was
quick and penetrating, but her education was rather defective. To the
gaieties of the world, in the usual acceptation of the term, she was
but little exposed. Music and dancing are not allowed by Friends;
though a scruple as to the former is by no means universal. The Misses
Gurney had all a taste for music, and some of them sang delightfully,
especially Rachel and Elizabeth. They even danced, now and then, in the
large anteroom; but with little of the display generally manifested on
such occasions.
Years passed on, and little by little an all-wise Providence gradually
led Elizabeth Gurney into the meridian light of day—the glorious
liberty of the children of God. A severe illness first brought her to
serious thought, but it was on the 4th of February, 1798, at the
Friend’s meeting-house at Norwich, that the word was spoken which was
destined to transform her into a new creature. The instrument of this
great change was William Savery, an American Quaker, who had come to
pay a friendly visit to this country.
The real goodness, self-denial, and devotion of the early founders and
disciples of Quakerism, first brought it into existence, and kept it
alive, in spite of much that was absurd, much that was bigoted,
fantastic, and unmeaning. Like other strange mixtures of human error
and Divine truth, it has lived its day, and is gradually dying out, as
all phases of religious excitement must eventually die when based upon
external peculiarities, and exceptional cases of personal consecration
to a one-sided form of narrow sectarianism. It is computed that the
number of Quakers in all England is now scarcely one in eleven hundred,
while in their palmy days they reached one in one hundred and thirty
persons. The Society of Friends now contribute much less to the great
solid stock of intellectual wealth and spiritual worth which is
constantly accumulating in the world, than they did in the days of our
heroine. They can boast of no celebrities now such as Fox, and Penn,
and Barclay, and Naylor, and Woolman. Their sole orator is Mr. Bright,
who belongs to them in name rather than reality. But although Quakers
may soon become extinct, their exertions in the cause of freedom will
continue to bear noble and good fruit for many an age. But for the
circumstances in which she was placed, there is reason to suppose that
Elizabeth Gurney would have adopted some less strict, not to say more
legitimate, form of Christianity. Be that as it may, she continued
throughout life a Quakeress; singularly free from narrow-mindedness and
intolerance.
Having visited London, the south of England, and Wales, she began when
not more than eighteen years of age, those manifold labours of
philanthropy, which have raised her to a distinguished place among the
benefactors of mankind.
In 1800, she became the wife of Joseph Fry, Esq., of Upton, Essex, then
a banker in London. The wedding was on the 19th of August, at the
Friends’ Meeting House, in Norwich. We shall quote her own description
of the day. “I awoke in a sort of terror at the prospect before me, but
soon gained quietness, and something of cheerfulness; after dressing we
set off for meeting; I was altogether comfortable. The meeting was
crowded; I felt serious, and looking in measure to the only sure place
for support. It was to me a truly solemn time; I felt every word, and
not only felt, but in my manner of speaking expressed how I felt;
Joseph also spoke well. Most solemn it truly was. After we sat silent
some little time, Sarah Chandler knelt down in prayer; my heart prayed
with her. I believe words are inadequate to describe the feelings on
such an occasion. I wept a good part of the time, and my beloved father
seemed as much overcome as I was. The day passed off well, and I think
I was very comfortably supported under it, although cold hands and a
beating heart were often my lot.” It was much more the custom then than
it is now, for the junior partner to reside in the house of business;
and accordingly Mr. and Mrs. Joseph Fry prepared to establish
themselves in St. Mildred’s Court, in the city of London. The house was
suitable in every way; and continued to be an occasional residence of
different members of the family, till it was pulled down in consequence
of alterations.
Elizabeth Fry was, by her marriage, brought into completely new
circumstances. Unlike her own parents, her father- and mother-in-law
were “plain and consistent Friends;” and thus she found herself the
“gay, instead of the plain and scrupulous one of the family.” This
brought her into difficulty and trial; and she feared, lest in the
desire to please all, she should in any degree swerve from the line of
conduct she believed right for herself. Nevertheless, for several years
her life flowed smoothly on, in a round of domestic and other virtues.
But God visits His people with trials, for the very same reason that
the refiner casts his silver into the furnace. He tries them, to purify
them. Again and again had sickness been permitted to enter her
immediate circle, and she was frequently called upon to witness the
last moments of dear relatives. In 1808, her father-in-law, William
Storrs Fry, died at St. Mildred’s Court, where she had nursed him for
several weeks. His decease produced an important change in her
circumstances, causing the removal of the family to Plashet, a hamlet
in the parish of East Ham, Essex, in the spring of 1809. The change
from the din of the city to the quiet of the country, was not the less
appreciated because years had left traces of hard-earned experience.
In 1811, she was publicly acknowledged by the Society of Friends as one
of their ministers. A Mrs. Fry, or a Miss Marsh, may with much success
labour for the eternal weal of souls. Those who would hinder them ought
to bear in mind that God inspired women of old with the spirit of
prophecy, and gave the songs of more than one of them a place in sacred
literature. In the memoir edited by two of her daughters, we read as
follows: “One thing is obvious, that it was as a minister of the
Society of Friends, and as such only, shielded by its discipline and
controlled by its supervision, that she could have carried out her
peculiar vocation in the world and the Church.” She attended the first
meeting of the Norwich Bible Society, and ever after took a deep
interest in that noble institution. Elizabeth Fry evidently entered
upon the scene of her future labours among the poor female felons in
Newgate, without any idea of the importance of its ultimate results.
That career, while presenting an almost inexhaustible fund of
instructive thought, is yet, necessarily, somewhat repetitive. It is
the glory of benevolence to be uniform.
Queen Charlotte heard of this exemplary woman, and in 1818 she went by
royal command to the Mansion House. She should have been presented to
her Majesty in the drawing-room, but by some mistake, she was conducted
to the Egyptian Hall. The queen perceived Mrs. Fry, and advanced to
address her. A murmur of applause ran through the assembly, when they
saw the diminutive queen covered with diamonds, and the tall Mrs. Fry,
in her simple Quakeress’s dress, earnestly conversing together. It was
royal rank paying homage at the shrine of royal worth. In 1831, she had
an interview with the Duchess of Kent and the Princess Victoria; and
reminded the young princess of King Josiah, who began to reign when
eight years old, and did that which was right in the sight of the Lord.
The same year she had some conversation with Queen Adelaide, chiefly on
benevolent subjects. In 1840, Lord Normandy presented her to Queen
Victoria, at Buckingham Palace. Her present majesty had sent her £50,
for a refuge at Chelsea, and inquired about Catherine Neave’s refuge,
for which she had sent another £50. Mrs. Fry thanked her, and before
withdrawing, reminded our noble queen of the words of Scripture, “with
the merciful Thou wilt show Thyself merciful;” and assured her that it
was her prayer that the blessing of God might rest upon her and Prince
Albert, to whom she was about to be married.
Her health now began to fail, from over-fatigue and anxiety; but she
rallied, and only ceased from works of benevolence when her strength
was entirely spent. As increasing infirmity prevented her from active
employment, she occupied herself with correspondence, which by degrees
became enormous.
In August, 1845, Mrs. Fry was removed to Ramsgate, as sea air was
considered desirable for her, and after some difficulty her husband
obtained a house exactly suited to her necessities. For some time the
hopes and fears of her relatives were kept in a constant state of
alternation regarding her recovery. On the 10th of October, she
appeared better, but shortly after was seized with a paralytic attack,
which, though it did not render her speechless, destroyed her capacity
for rational communication. The will seemed gone, and the inclination
to resist or even desire anything, passed away. The last words she
spoke were, “Oh! my dear Lord, help and keep thy servant.” She died on
the 12th, aged sixty-five. The night had been dark, but the morning
broke gloriously; and soon after the eternal light had dawned upon her
soul, the sun rose from the ocean, and
“Flamed in the forehead of the morning sky.”
A vast multitude attended her funeral, not to listen to the language of
inflated eulogy, but to testify the estimation in which the departed
was held. The procession passed between the grounds of Plashet House,
her once happy home, and those of Plashet Cottage, to the Friends’
burying-ground at Barking, Essex, where her grave was prepared. There
is no appointed funeral service among Friends. A deep silence pervaded
the mighty assembly. At length her brother, Joseph John Gurney,
addressed the thousands gathered around her tomb, and offered solemn
prayer.
_EARLY SCHEMES OF USEFULNESS._
During seventeen centuries of the Christian era, the only associations
of a benevolent character were the family, the school, and the church;
and the peculiar form of operation in which such societies are now
seen, virtually began at the commencement of the present century. It is
only of the England of the last sixty years that we can emphatically
say, “on her head are many crowns, but the fairest and brightest is
that of charity.” Had this great benefactor of her race lived but one
half century earlier, her plans would have been circumscribed, and in
all probability would have ended with her own life. But it pleased
Almighty wisdom to raise her up at a time when it was not only
beginning to be whispered, but even loudly asserted, that each
individual was bound to spend and be spent in the service of God and
humanity. At a very early age Elizabeth Gurney commenced those habits
of visiting and relieving the poor, both at Earlham and in Norwich,
especially the sick; reading the Bible to them, and instructing their
children. She established a school, which gradually increased, from one
little boy to so great a number, that the house became inconvenient,
and a vacant laundry was appropriated to that purpose. How she managed
to control above seventy scholars, without assistance, without
monitors, and without the countless books and pictures of the present
day, must ever remain a mystery to many. Nor was her attention confined
to the very poor. The widow of an officer, who was living alone in a
small house near Norwich, was surprised during her confinement with her
first child, by a loud ring at the bell. Her servant came running up
stairs with a basket in her hand, and in the broad dialect peculiar to
Norfolk, informed her mistress that it had been left by a beautiful
lady on horseback, in a scarlet riding habit, whose servant had told
her it was Miss Elizabeth Gurney. The basket contained a chicken and
some little delicacies.
_THE FEMALE PRISONERS’ FRIEND._
In 1813, the deplorable condition of the female felons in Newgate
attracted the attention of Elizabeth Fry, and she resolved to visit
them. We will not attempt to describe the details of miscalled prison
discipline, nor of those flagrant abuses which, under the very eye of
law, encouraged rather than diminished crime, by destroying the last
remnant of self-respect in the criminal. Suffice it to say that the
condition of the female convicts was a disgrace to any civilised
country. Four rooms, comprising upwards of one hundred and ninety
superficial yards, were crowded with nearly three hundred women,
besides their children, without classification or employment, and with
no other superintendence than that of a man and his son! Into this
scene Mrs. Fry entered, not mailed in scorn, in hatred, or contempt,
but in the armour of a pure intent. She respected human nature however
fallen, and worked with it, not against it, as prison systems often do.
Her gentleness at once fixed the attention of those insolent, violent,
and insubordinate characters. She then read and expounded a portion of
Scripture, and uttered a few words in supplication. Many of the poor
creatures wept from a hitherto unfelt motive, and Mrs. Fry left, deeply
affected, but without any idea of the importance or ultimate results of
the labours she had begun. It was not, however, till about Christmas,
1816, that she commenced her systematic visits to Newgate, being then
particularly induced by the reports of those gentlemen who, in 1815,
originated the society for “The Improvement of Prison Discipline.”
Under her influence the Association for the Improvement of the Female
Prisoners of Newgate, was formed in 1817. The almost immediate result
was order, sobriety, and neatness. This surprising change soon
attracted attention, both in and out of Parliament, and in 1818,
Elizabeth Fry was called upon to give evidence before a committee of
the House of Commons. Arrangements similar to those adopted at Newgate
were subsequently introduced into all the metropolitan gaols; and she
personally inspected the prisons, lunatic asylums, and other kindred
institutions in the United Kingdom, and afterwards those in the most
influential nations of Europe. The enlightened and benevolent of her
sex, both in our own and foreign lands became her coadjutors. Through
her instrumentality important improvements took place in the treatment
of female convicts sentenced to transportation. Her active and untiring
philanthropic exertions on behalf of felons of her own sex, acquired
for her in her lifetime the name of “the female Howard.” Only to hang,
banish, and imprison convicts, ill becomes those who have sinned more
against God’s laws than the worst of criminals have sinned against
man’s. It has been clearly proven that women discharged from prison,
and thrown upon their own resources, without a character, and
consequently without any means of obtaining a livelihood, relapse into
their former evil habits. We ought to provide suitable employment for
them, and thus restore them to society, and prevent their children from
sharing their poverty and learning their crimes.
_FAMILY BEREAVEMENTS._
Death frequently entered the family of Mrs. Fry, and “sorrow upon
sorrow” often formed the burden of her wounded spirit. Her sister,
Elizabeth Gurney, died rejoicing that the hour of her deliverance had
arrived, and that she was about to lay down her frail tabernacle, and
appear in the presence of her God and Saviour. Her little grandson,
Gurney Reynolds, was an especial object of interest to her. He left her
not more unwell than usual. News came that he was worse, and three days
afterwards he breathed away his patient spirit, as he lay upon the sofa
in his mother’s room. The lovely little Juliana, the second daughter of
her son William, one of the sweetest blossoms that ever gladdened
parents’ hearts, was cut off after thirty hours’ illness. But the storm
had not blown over; again the thunder-clouds rolled up. Her son,
William Storrs Fry, the beloved and honoured head of that happy home,
was himself laid low. On the day of the funeral of his little Juliana,
he exclaimed, “I shall go to her, but she shall not return to me.” His
last words were, “God is so good!” Emma followed her father, whom her
young heart had loved and desired to obey, just one week after his
departure, and eighteen days from the death of her sister. One grave
contains all that is mortal of the father and his daughters. Mrs. Fry
felt these blows acutely, but He who sent them bestowed His Holy
Spirit; and so her faith proved stronger than her anguish. When the
lips turn pale, and cold damps gather upon the brow; when the loved one
is laid in the shroud; when the screws go into the coffin, and the
mould rattles hollow on its lid,—faith can rise above things below,
and see the ransomed spirit, singing and shining, before the throne.
_RELATIVE DUTIES._
The marriage union is, of all human relations, that involving the most
delicate, profound, and various responsibilities. It is only when the
hearts of husbands and wives are right with God that high conjugal life
can be attained. Mrs. Fry knew what was necessary to adorn the estate
of matrimony—even virtuous love. “No happiness,” says Dr. Macfarlane,
“can be expected at home, if love do not preside over all the domestic
life. How blessed is that husband who is the loved one, who is made to
feel that the reverence and obedience due to him are not only ungrudged
but cheerfully conceded! This lies at the foundation. That wife is not
only wicked, but a very fool, who contests with her husband for
authority. It is against the law of marriage, and, therefore, it is
against nature. Ten thousand times ten thousand wrecks of domestic
happiness have been the consequence.” Although more liberally endowed
with the qualities adapted for government than most women, Mrs. Fry
rejoiced that it was laid upon broader and stronger shoulders. Her
husband loved her, and therefore had a right to rule over her; she
loved her husband, and therefore willingly obeyed him. Both were happy
because both drank into the spirit of love.
As a mother she shone with peculiar brightness. In that most important
sphere—home, she was at once the inspiring genius and the guardian
angel. By her visible action and invisible influence, she efficiently
prepared her children for passing through the inevitable struggles, and
for securing the great ends of life. She knew that they might be fitted
for the idols of coteries and the lights of drawing-rooms, and yet be
utterly unable to grapple with the first onset of temptation. As a sure
proof of their excellent education, her children rose from infancy to
childhood, and on to youth, womanhood, and manhood, with hearts full of
affection and grateful recollections of the worth of their mother.
Some mistresses seem to think that little responsibility attaches to
them with regard to servants, and that so long as they provide them
with home, food, and wages, they perform all the duty required. Mrs.
Fry believed that servants should be rightly directed and kindly
treated. She did not look upon domestics as foreigners or as aliens,
but as members of the household; not mere living machines, hired to
cook well, scrub well, wash well, and attend the table well; but living
persons of flesh and blood, with nerves and muscles, liable to pain and
weariness—with hearts capable of feeling joy, sorrow, love, and
gratitude—with souls that may be saved or lost! Her conduct met its
immediate reward. The servants cared for the mistress, they had an
interest in the family, they were attached friends.
_CHARACTER OF MRS. FRY._
Her figure was tall and, when young, slight and graceful. She was an
excellent horsewoman, and rode fearlessly and well, but suffered a good
deal from delicacy of constitution, and was liable to severe nervous
attacks, which often hindered her from joining her sisters in their
different pursuits. When young she had a profusion of soft flaxen hair.
Finery in dress was always avoided, but she was slow in adopting the
costume worn by the Friends. She first laid aside all ornaments, then
chose quiet colours for dresses, and had them made with perfect
simplicity.
We must say something of Mrs. Fry’s mental powers. Old Byrom, in one of
his quaint humours, tells us that,—
“Tall men are oft like houses that are tall,
The upper rooms are furnished worst of all.”
In many cases it may be as he has said; and not only in regard to men,
but also in reference to women. Here, however, we have a splendid
exception—one who was a cedar in the Lebanon of intellect, as well as
in that of flesh and blood. In natural talent, she was quick and
penetrating, and had a depth of originality very uncommon. She was not
exactly studious, yet her “upper rooms” were well furnished.
Her moral character is not difficult to describe. As a child, though
gentle and quiet in temper, she was self-willed and determined. In a
letter, written before she was three years old, her mother says:—“My
dove-like Betsey scarcely ever offends, and is, in every sense of the
word, truly engaging.” As she grew older, what at first seemed
obstinacy, became finely tempered decision; and what was not unlike
cunning, ripened into uncommon penetration. Enterprise and benevolence
were predominant traits in her character. While she believed that
domestic duties had the first and greatest claims; she overflowed with
sympathy for suffering humanity. Utter unselfishness was the secret of
her power.
_SECTION II._
_AMELIA WILHELMINA SIEVEKING._
“An actual life, that speaks for itself with that force of conviction
which pierces like a purifying fire to the conscience, and demands of
everyone who hears its voice, an answer, not in words, but in deeds.”
DR. WICHERN.
_WOMAN'S RIGHTS._
At the present time the question of woman’s rights is being widely, and
in some quarters warmly, discussed. Our serial literature, both at home
and abroad, is claiming for woman freedom from all political, social,
and legal, disqualifications. That women have legal grievances of a
serious nature, cannot for a moment be questioned. How much longer will
seduction continue to go unpunished, except as a civil injury and by a
fictitious and costly suit! How much longer is woman to bear all the
consequences flowing from the sin of two souls, and to be goaded into
child-murder or suicide by the monstrous injustice of law! We punish
every crime save the wrong that is deepest and most cruel of all. Then
again, the absolute right of the husband to the property of his wife,
unless secured to her by special settlement, is both cruel and unjust
in its practical operation. Anything so injurious to woman ought
immediately to be erased from the statute-book. Yet with every
disposition to secure for woman all that she can wisely claim, we have
no sympathy with those who would draw her into public action in
opposition to man to whom she is so closely allied. Some time ago we
read that the Aylesbury magistrates had appointed Mrs. Sarah Wooster to
the office of overseer of the poor and surveyor of highways for the
parish of Illmire, and that during the previous year four women filled
similar offices in the Aylesbury district. As surely as a good
housewife would give her husband a Caudle curtain-lecture were he to
proffer his services in sweeping the floor, dressing the linen, or
cooking the dinner, so surely will a good husband cry out against and
turn with disgust from a wife who would invade his province. In the
sick-room, woman, by her quick perception, her instinctive decision,
and her tender sensibilities, may accomplish infinitely more for the
well-being of society, than man. For all the services of philanthropy
she is peculiarly fitted. The rights of woman do not obtain their due
measure of attention even in this country. Nothing but good could
possibly accrue from the full acknowledgment of her claims to be
educated as well as man is educated, and thus to be provided for the
many contingencies to which her sex is subject.
_BIOGRAPHY._
Amelia Wilhelmina Sieveking was born at Hamburg, on the 25th of July,
1794. Her father, Henry Christian Sieveking, was a merchant, also a
senator of the city, and seems to have been a man of considerable
literary cultivation. Of her mother, Caroline Louisa Sieveking, whom
she lost before she had completed her fifth year, Amelia retained no
distinct recollection. During the illness of Madame Sieveking, Miss
Hösch, a niece of her husband’s, entered the family, and, after their
mother’s death, carried on the housekeeping, and took charge of Amelia
and her four brothers. At an early age she received a succession of dry
lessons in writing and arithmetic, French, drawing, music, and when old
enough to enter on a more regular course of instruction, Mr. Sieveking
gave his daughter her choice between two rationalistic theologians.
Amelia had no means of making a choice between them; she had recourse
to drawing lots, and the gentleman on whom the lot fell gave her
instructions in German grammar and literature, history, geography, and
religion. But his method of teaching was so stiff and formal, that he
soon lost the affection and respect of his pupil.
Up to the time of her father’s death, in 1809, her education had been
so badly conducted as to awaken positive dislike in the child’s mind,
and her religious instruction in particular was so defective as to
leave her not only without joy, but tossed with doubts and
difficulties. After the death of her father, as he left no property,
the family was scattered, and Amelia was put to board with a Mdlle.
Dimpfel, a very pious but ill-educated person. Her Bible, however, the
old lady knew from beginning to end, and had the happy art of telling
Bible stories in such a way as to interest the young. Her dependent
position deprived her of all paid tuition, and she had to work at
ornamental needlework for her maintenance. About this time, although
she had not learnt to know Christ as the Son of God, as her Redeemer,
and the only source of happiness, she was nevertheless confirmed. In
1811 she went to live with Madame Brünnemann, an excellent and
kind-hearted woman. Her duties consisted in reading aloud to an invalid
son, and assisting his mother in the household. The son died in
September of the same year, and Amelia could not leave the poor mother
in her bereavement. It was arranged that an aged aunt of Madame
Brünnemann’s should take up her abode with them, but she fell ill and
died. From this lady and Madame Brünnemann, Amelia inherited a small
sum of money, which, together with a pension from a fund for the
daughters of deceased senators, supplied her modest requirements and
insured her independence.
The many losses and calamities brought on Hamburg in consequence of the
French occupation in 1812, led her to retrench her expenditure by doing
her own washing. For a whole summer she washed all her own clothes in
secret. She also endeavoured to learn dressmaking and cooking, and
besides these household accomplishments, gave some attention to others
of more use in society; but the instruction of youth was the only
vocation that seemed to satisfy both her intellect and heart.
In 1817 her brother Gustavus died at Berlin while studying for the
ministry. He was the nearest in age to herself, and had been her chief
and favourite companion. The stroke was heavy, and intensely felt.
Amelia herself says, “I had not felt so deeply the death of my father,
still less that of my elder brother. This profound grief became a
turning-point in my life.” At the pressing invitation of her now, alas!
only brother and sister-in-law, she visited London in June, and found
refreshment for her own heart at the sight of their domestic happiness.
Soon after her return from England, the house next to the one where she
lived in the city was burned down, and five persons perished in the
flames. This event impressed her deeply. Thomas à Kempis’s “Imitation
of Christ” now fell into her hands, and its devout and tender teachings
shed a balm over her wounded spirit. She sought explanations of the
Bible from all the books that came in her way; but unfortunately they
were all rationalistic in their tone, and gave no light. At last
Francke’s “Preface to the Bible” fell into her hands, and there she was
taught to compare the different passages one with another, and to apply
all she read to herself by prayer. She was hungering and thirsting
after righteousness, and the promised blessing was soon to be hers. In
June, 1819, she says: “I feel myself now strongly inclined to adopt the
orthodox doctrine which I have so long rejected, but I must have
clearer light on it first.” That clearer light was soon given to her,
in conversations with an evangelical pastor of the name of Rautenberg,
and at last she arrived at childlike faith in “that most comforting
doctrine of atonement.”
The biographer of Miss Sieveking, in a memoir in itself of unusual
interest and value, by means of apt quotations from her diary and
letters, has presented us with a very complete portraiture of her outer
and inner life. From these extracts we learn, that in her early years
she was in the habit of casting lots, when in difficulty as to the path
of duty; but in after-life she discontinued the practice. Doubtless,
like many others, she was led to feel that we have no right to ask for
a sign in circumstances which are sent to train us in the use of our
judgment. We also find her complaining of a certain slowness and
awkwardness in the transaction of business, which often prevented her
from managing all her household and social duties to her satisfaction.
Miss Sieveking published several works. These were for the most part
merely transcripts of the religious instruction given to her pupils.
They were read in many circles, and met with very different receptions;
but they certainly contain a vast amount of practical wisdom and
judicious suggestions on the whole subject of charitable work, and
organizations of women for that purpose.
Amid these varied labours and experiences, one thought was ripening in
her soul. She had read a little French book in which there was much
said of the sisters of charity among the Roman Catholics, and it
awakened in her a strong desire to found such a sisterhood in the
Protestant Church. She had been led to this by the fact, that in
hundreds of instances unmarried women are not permitted to do the good
to which their hearts impel them, because they have not the settled
position which would be given by a definite calling, recognised as such
by the world without. With a longing after this work which had only
increased in intensity from being so long pent up within, we cannot but
admire the Christian wisdom and moderation with which she viewed the
matter, even when encouraged by the approval of friends.
In the autumn of 1824, Miss Sieveking became acquainted with Pastor
Gossner, a Bavarian by birth, who had been a priest in the Roman
Catholic Church, but by deep study of the holy Scriptures had been
converted to the evangelical doctrines. This good and great man gave a
new and powerful impulse to her aspirations after what now floated
before her as the future vocation of her life. Charitable work now
engaged so much of her thought and sympathy that her health, usually so
strong, began to give way; but the water of Ems proved beneficial, and
old strength and fresher looks returned. In 1826, Professor Tscharner
of Berne, who had been imprisoned in his own country, was giving
lectures in Hamburg, and Miss Sieveking spent many happy hours with
himself, his wife, and his son. Here also, in 1828, she became
intimately acquainted with the celebrated Neander, of Berlin.
Nursed amid the sultry climes of India, where it periodically slays its
thousands and tens of thousands, the cholera seems occasionally to take
migratory and comet-like excursions to Europe, spreading on every hand
sickness, death, lamentation, and dismay. In 1831, it suddenly appeared
in Hamburg; and Miss Sieveking felt constrained to take a step which,
in the eyes of the world, had something _unusual_ in it, and was judged
by that world accordingly. With the full consent of her adopted mother,
she offered her gratuitous services as nurse in the French wards of the
town hospital. She also inserted in a journal an appeal to other
females to offer themselves for the same work, but her letter found no
response. Our own Florence Nightingale had not yet set the example of a
lady voluntarily consecrating herself to such an office.
The labours in which Miss Sieveking now engaged form a deeply
interesting chapter in the history of philanthropy, but they must not
be detailed here. Suffice it to say that her society was attended with
the most blessed results. She at first found some difficulty in
obtaining coadjutors, although she required nothing “beyond sound
sense, a certain amount of bodily strength, and a knowledge of domestic
matters—except love to the cause and a living principle of
Christianity.”
Miss Sieveking’s robust bodily constitution and elastic spirits enabled
her for many years to sustain the pressure of charitable work in its
many branches. But in 1857, her strength began to fail; the physicians
were unanimous in advising a journey to some watering-place, and Soden,
near Frankfort-on-the-Maine, was recommended. In 1858, her active
employments were gradually and with great reluctance given up, and for
many months she had to learn the harder lesson of waiting patiently on
the Lord in weakness and suffering.
On the 1st of January, 1859, she felt so ill, that she took leave of
her servants with the words, “We part in tears, but we shall meet again
with smiles.” Some time afterwards, her physician, at the request of
her nephew, Dr. Sieveking, in London, examined the state of her lungs,
and declared that he found things even worse than he expected; one half
of the lungs was entirely gone, and only so much left as that, with
entire silence and perfect rest, her life might perhaps be prolonged
for a short time. Miss Sieveking thanked him, but remarked that as long
as she was alive, she would act like a living person, and see and speak
to her friends. On the 1st of April, after the reading of the psalm,
“Like as the hart panteth after the water brooks,” she folded her
hands, and said, “My Lord! my Lord!” Her work on earth was done, and
she entered on the higher service above.
In order to conquer the prejudice of the poor people against a pauper
funeral, she had desired to be buried as a poor person; and out of
respect to her wishes, the plain coffin, made of four black boards, was
carried by the two appointed pauper bearers, on the pauper’s bier, to
the churchyard of the parish of Ham and Horn, and set down on the
church path. It was soon covered with flowers and garlands, while a
vast assembly, composed of all classes, flocked out of the city and the
suburbs. Pastor Rautenberg spoke some impressive words, and the
minister of the parish, Pastor Mumssen, uttered the concluding prayer
and blessing. Then, as if from the depths, arose the chant of the
brethren and the children, and amidst the sounds of the doxology and
the apostolic benediction, the coffin was lowered into the vault of the
Sieveking family.
_AMATEUR TEACHING._
The children’s world was Miss Sieveking’s element, and she therefore
felt happy among them. It was while attending confirmation classes that
she began her career as a teacher. Among those who received the
instructions of the clergyman, was a peasant girl, whom she found
weeping under a tree, because unable to read aloud like the other
scholars. Miss Sieveking offered to teach her, and for some time she
came regularly for lessons, but after a while, probably finding the
distance from home too great, she appeared no more. The impulse to work
and make herself useful never slumbered in Miss Sieveking’s heart. She
often fetched the little daughter of the family that lived in the same
house into her room, to instruct her in knitting, and when the
governess was leaving, she asked permission to educate the second girl.
Finding that she could get on better if she had more pupils, and that
no one had any objection to make, she took six others from families of
her acquaintance, and at the age of eighteen began her little school.
With what earnestness she set to work is shown in numerous letters to
Miss Hösch. Madame Brünnemann’s married daughter had no children, and
she had adopted a little girl, whom she was most anxious to place under
Miss Sieveking’s tuition; and as the child was much younger than her
other pupils, she was obliged to open a second set of classes. About
this time, a small circle of ladies, of whom Miss Sieveking was one,
established a school, in which twelve poor girls, afterwards increased
to eighteen, received gratuitous instruction. She found increasing
refreshment in her intercourse with her children, and as she had
correct views on the subject of education, she aimed at something
higher than the cultivation of the memory, viz., the development of the
whole nature. Such training could not fail to sweeten domestic life,
and realise the essential elements of a true home. If we would have
security, virtue, and comfort in our dwellings, we must give our girls
a thorough education.
_SERVICES IN THE HOSPITAL._
When that new terror-inspiring spectre of our age approached Hamburg,
Miss Sieveking put her services at the disposal of the board of the
cholera hospital of St. Eric, on the Hollandisch Brook, and was
summoned when the first female patient was brought in. We cannot
conceive of a more engaging spectacle than a pious female, who, amid
all the abstractions attendant on her rank in society and personal
accomplishments, can find time to visit the sick and the dying. At the
same time, we must remember that certain duties require certain
qualifications. Many excellent women who would spend their fortunes in
soothing the sick, cannot bear the sight of blood; and a “rank compound
of villainous smells” is to others positive poison. We do not say this
to detract from such philanthropic heroines as Miss Sieveking, but in
justice to those who would do what she did if they could. To Miss Hösch
she thus writes: “I have not the slightest fear of infection; and as
far as this danger is concerned, I can enter the hospital as calmly as
my school-room. This absence of all dread is unanimously said by the
physicians to be the best preventative against illness, and hence,
nurses, comparatively speaking, very rarely die from infection. So you
see there is no need for you to feel any painful anxiety on my
account.” The letters written during the eight weeks she spent in the
hospital, given almost entirely by her biographer, present us with a
most graphic picture of her life and labours. In the men’s ward, her
special duty was to observe what diet was prescribed, and to draw up
the daily bill of fare for the housekeeper. She had also charge of all
the linen belonging to the attendants. She also occasionally took part
in nursing the patients; but the general superintendence was of more
importance even in the women’s ward. Although called to the work of
Martha, when the hospital afforded her opportunities she gladly engaged
in Mary’s work, and was the means of saving at least two young girls
from utter ruin, and restoring the one to her aged mother, and the
other to a married sister. There was a strong prejudice against her
entering upon this kind of work, not only in the outside world, but in
the hospital itself; and it required no little wisdom and self-control
to take up and keep her right place. However, she was enabled to meet
and overcome all difficulties, and when her work ceased to be an
experiment and became a success, those who had blamed, praised. On the
morning of the day that she left the hospital, she received a formal
visit from Dr. Siemssen and Dr. Siemers, accompanied by three other
gentlemen of the special commission, when Dr. Siemers, in the name of
the rest, made a speech, and then handed her a written address of
thanks; and another of a similar kind was sent to her in the afternoon
by the General Board of Health.
_PROTESTANT SISTERHOODS._
At an early age we catch glimpses of that thought which, in the secret
depths of her heart, Miss Sieveking cherished as her possible future
vocation. In 1819, she writes in her diary:—“Has not God different
vocations for His different creatures, and has not each its own joys?
May I not find in mine some compensation for what is denied me
elsewhere? To be a happy wife and mother is not mine—then foundress of
an order of Sisters of Mercy!” While in the hospital her original plan
assumed a more attainable form, and was shortly afterwards carried into
execution. The first principles of the plan, however, remained the
same, and they are those which have been so thoroughly tested, and so
nobly advocated by our own Mrs. Sewell, Mrs. Bayly, Miss Marsh and
others,—“personal intercourse with the poor, and the exhibition of a
love towards them manifested in action and rooted in faith.” Miss
Sieveking believed that under their rough exterior, the poor had
considerable intelligence, and knew whether their visitors thought them
fools or not. We sometimes blush to see how well-meaning men and women
unwittingly insult the working classes in their efforts to do them
good; there was no shrinking at dirt or personal infirmities—no
talking down to or patronizing those whom she visited,—with Miss
Sieveking. She treated them as human beings.
This new kind of labour for the good of the poor, was attended with
the most blessed results. At first she met with many refusals. One
considered herself too much tied by her household duties, another
was afraid of the objections of her family, and a third was alarmed
at the difficulties of the undertaking. But the Lord strengthened
her to persevere, and by degrees led her to find some who formally
bound themselves to take part in the work. In May, 1832, the
members,—thirteen in number, and all voluntary workers from
private families, six married women and seven unmarried,—met for
the first time at Miss Sieveking’s home. Many perils threatened the
young institution. It would be strange not to find a new thing
objected to. The medical men were the greatest barrier. But
by-and-by they changed their minds, and many of them recommended
their poor patients to Miss Sieveking. In a few years the number
increased to thirty-three visiting members, besides other ladies
who undertook on certain days of the week to cook for invalids. The
public confidence in the work so increased that contributions of
all kinds were forthcoming as soon as wanted.
The great fire of Hamburg in 1842, gave occasion for the enlargement of
the Amalienstift. The association erected two large white houses, each
comprising twenty-four tenements, which were incorporated with the one
already existing as the Amalienstift. At the celebration of the
twenty-fifth anniversary of the association, she stated that she had no
fears for her work; she believed it would survive her; for it was built
upon the only foundation that ensures permanence—faith in Christ. The
idea that filled her whole soul, the raising and ennobling of her sex
by works of saving, serving love, had become a fact and a reality.
There grew out of the parent stem in Hamburg several kindred
institutions; and similar associations on the plan of Miss Sieveking’s
have been founded in many cities of Northern Germany, in Switzerland,
in the Baltic provinces of Russia, in Sweden, Denmark, and Holland. It
was the experience of this eminent philanthropist, as it is the
experience of all who have thought carefully on the subject in the
light of Scripture, that all higher kinds of benefit to the poor are
connected with personal intercourse with them.
_SPINSTERS RESPECTABLE, HAPPY, AND USEFUL._
Miss Sieveking had on two occasions cherished in secret those wishes
and dreams which probably no young girl is wholly without. In both
cases the object was worthy of her regard. She was not likely either to
shut her eyes to reason and common sense, and marry a fool; or to flirt
with a man, and in consequence die an old maid. In fact she declined an
offer of marriage from a man whom many would have looked upon as a
desirable match, because he was not after her own heart. She knew that
the married life was only beautiful and happy when wisely entered and
truthfully lived. In December, 1822, she writes:—“Doubtless it is
sweet to be loved by a truly good man with his whole heart, and to give
one’s self to him in return. I can understand this, and I am not
unsusceptible to the happiness of the wife and mother; on the contrary,
their joys seem to me among the sweetest and highest on earth.” Yet she
well knew, that the married state was not essential to the
respectability, happiness, and usefulness of woman. In novels and in
Campe’s book, “A Father’s Advice to his Daughters,” she found marriage
represented as the only proper destiny for a girl; but something within
her secretly protested against that view. Yes; to her it constantly
grew clearer that an all-bounteous God could not have given His
blessing to one state of life alone, but must have a blessing for each.
God had evidently reserved her for another career; and, like many other
spinsters, she was unquestionably respectable, and evidently enjoyed
more real happiness, and was more extensively useful, than numbers of
married females. The marriage relation must be rightly used or it turns
to evil. Some young men marry dimples, some ears, some noses; the
contest, however, generally lies between eyes and hair. The mouth, too,
is occasionally married; the chin not so often. Some of the most
haughty, cold, equable, staid, indifferent, selfish creatures in the
world are wives; and some of the noblest women are spinsters.
_CHARACTER OF MISS SIEVEKING._
In stature Miss Sieveking scarcely reached the middle size; was sparely
made; mercurial in all her motions; and very short-sighted. There was
nothing remarkable in the head or forehead. Her figure was easily
recognised from a distance, as she hurried along the streets, generally
with a heavy basket of books and papers. Never arrogant in her dress,
she was always neat and clean; cared little for fashion or elegance,
and believed firmly that freedom consisted in having few wants. She was
not handsome or graceful, in the ordinary sense of the words; and never
wasted time over her toilet.
Mentally Miss Sieveking was simply a woman of good sense, conversant
with tangibilities; but singularly ill fitted to calculate regarding
the invisible elements of power by which the tangible and the material
are moved and governed. She was not in any respect a genius; but
eminently a matter-of-fact woman. Her knowledge of the human heart was
profound, but her insight into individual character was not remarkable.
She was, however, right in believing that most women underrate their
own powers; and that besides discharging the duties which the conjugal
and filial relations bring with them, they would do well to develope a
different kind of activity, in schools, churches, and charitable
societies.
Her character morally was of a high order. Few persons are so exactly
what they profess to be as she was. Once she fell asleep in church, and
when her brother charged her with it, denied it out of shame: but she
could get no peace until she acknowledged the fact. In her
conscientiousness and self-control, the earnestness which she carried
into the smallest matters, the diligence with which she followed every
good work, her severity towards herself and mildness towards
others,—she may serve as a pattern to her sex. The great idea of
compassionate and ministering love which was embodied in the life and
work of Amelia Sieveking, is an idea which can and will set woman
free—not from the restraints of law and custom, not from her vocation
of quiet retirement and domestic virtue, but from the dominion of
vanity, of false appearances, and of self-love. Naturally impetuous and
impatient, at times sharp and abrupt, and prone to carry out her own
will, she might have turned all her faculties to bad account. But by
careful moral culture she built up a noble character, and in the
language of her biographer, “Hamburg accounted it an honour and a joy
to call Amelia Sieveking her own.”