entered and sat silent, sternly critical to note what heresies were
being instilled into the minds of his flock. “I am giving a lesson on
Palestine,” I said; “I have just been at Jerusalem.” “_In what sense?_”
said the awful young man, darkly discerning some mysticism (of the
Swedenborgian kind, perhaps) beneath the simple statement. The boys who
were dismissed from the school for obstreperous behaviour were a great
difficulty to us, usually employing themselves in shouting and hammering
at the door. One winter’s night when it was raining heavily, as I was
passing through Lewin’s Mead, I was greeted by a chorus of voices,
“Cob-web, Cob-web!” emanating from the depths of a black archway.
Standing still under my umbrella, and looking down the cavern, I
remarked, “Don’t you think I must be a little tougher than a cobweb to
come out such a night as this to teach such little scamps as you?”
“Indeed you is, Mum; that’s true! And stouter too!”
“Well, don’t you think you would be more comfortable in that nice warm
schoolroom than in this dark, cold place?”
“Yes, ’m, we would.”
“You’ll have to promise to be tremendously good, I can tell you, if I
bring you in again. Will you promise?”
Vows of everlasting order and obedience were tendered; and, to Miss
Carpenter’s intense amusement, I came into St. James’ Back, followed by
a whole troop of little outlaws reduced to temporary subjection. At all
events they never shouted “Cob-web” again. Indeed, at all times the
events of the day’s work, if they bordered on the ludicrous (as was
often the case), provoked her laughter till the tears ran down her
cheeks. One night she sat grieving over a piece of ingratitude on the
part of one of her teachers, and told me she had given him some
invitation for the purpose of conciliating him and “heaping coals of
fire on his head.” “It will take another scuttle, my dear friend,” I
remarked; and thereupon her tears stopped, and she burst into a hearty
fit of laughter. Next evening she said to me dolorously, “I tried that
other scuttle, but it was no go!”
Of course, like every mortal, Mary Carpenter had _les défauts de ses
qualités_. Her absorption in her work always blinded her to the fact
that other people might possibly be bored by hearing of it incessantly.
In India, I have been told that a Governor of Madras observed, after her
visit, “It is very astonishing; I listened to all Miss Carpenter had to
tell me, but when I began to tell her what _I_ knew of this country, she
dropped asleep.” Indeed, the poor wearied and over-worked brain, when it
had made its effort, generally collapsed, and in two or three minutes,
after “holding you with her eye” through a long philanthropic history,
Miss Carpenter might be seen to be, to all intents and purposes, asleep.
On one occasion, that most loveable old man, Samuel J. May, of Syracuse,
came to pass two or three days at Red Lodge House, and Miss Carpenter
was naturally delighted to take him about and show him her schools and
explain everything to him. Mr. May listened with great interest for a
time, but at last his attention flagged and two or three times he turned
to me; “When can we have our talk, which Theodore Parker promised me?”
“Oh, by and by,” Miss Carpenter always interposed; till one day, after
we had visited St. James’ Back, we arrived all three at the foot of the
tremendous stairs, almost like those of the Trinità, which then existed
in Bristol, and were called the Christmas Steps. “_Now_, Mr. May and
Miss Cobbe” (said Mary Carpenter, cheerfully), “you can have your talk.”
And so we had—till we got to the top, when she resumed the guidance of
the conversation. Good jokes were often made of this little weakness,
but it had its pathetic side. Never was there a word of real egotism in
her eager talk, or the evidence of the slightest wish to magnify her own
doings, or to impress her hearers with her immense share in the public
benefits she described. It was her deep conviction that to turn one of
these poor sinners from the errors of its ways, to reach to the roots of
the misery and corruption of the “perishing and dangerous classes,” was
the most important work which could possibly be undertaken; and she,
very naturally, in consequence made it the most prominent, indeed,
almost the sole, subject of discourse. I was once in her company at
Aubrey House in London, when there happened to be present half-a-dozen
people, each one devoted to some special political, religious or moral
agitation. Miss Carpenter remarked in a pause in the conversation; “It
is a thousand pities that everybody will not join and give the whole of
their minds to the great cause of the age, because, if they would, we
should carry it undoubtedly.” “What _is_ the great cause of the age?” we
simultaneously exclaimed. “Parliamentary Reform?” said our host, Mr.
Peter Taylor; “the Abolition of Slavery?” said Miss Remond, a Negress,
Mrs. Taylor’s companion; “Teetotalism?” said another; “Woman’s
Suffrage?” said another; “The conversion of the world to Theism?” said
I. In the midst of the clamour, Miss Carpenter looked serenely round,
“Why! the Industrial Schools Bill _of course_!” Nobody enjoyed the joke,
when we all began to laugh, more than the reformer herself.
It was, above all, in the Red Lodge Reformatory that Mary Carpenter’s
work was at its highest. The spiritual interest she took in the poor
little girls was, beyond words, admirable. When one of them whom she had
hoped was really reformed fell back into thievish or other evil ways,
her grief was a real _vicarious repentance_ for the little sinner; a
Christ-like sentiment infinitely sacred. Nor was she at all blind to the
children’s defects, or easily deceived by the usual sham reformations of
such institutions. In one of her letters to me she wrote these wise
words (July 9th, 1859):—
“I have pointed out in one of my reports why I have more trouble than
others (_e.g._, especially, Catholics). A system of steady repression
and order would make them sooner good scholars; but then I should not
have the least confidence in the real change of their characters. Even
with my free system in the Lodge, remember how little we knew of Hill’s
and Hawkins’ real characters, until they were in the house? (Her own
private house). I do not object to nature being kept under curbs of rule
and order for a time, until some principles are sufficiently rooted to
be appealed to. But _then_ it must have play, or we cannot possibly tell
what amount of reformation has taken place. The Catholics have an
enormous artificial help in their religion and priests; but I place no
confidence in the slavish obedience they produce and the hypocrisy which
I have generally found inseparable from Catholic influence. I would far
rather have M. A. M’Intyre coolly say, ‘I know it was wrong’” (a barring
and bolting out) “and Anne Crooks in the cell for outrageous conduct,
acknowledge the same—‘I know it was wrong, but I am _not_ sorry,’ than
any hypocritical and heartless acknowledgments.”
Indeed nobody had a keener eye to detect cant of any kind, or a greater
hatred of it. She told me one day of her visit to a celebrated
institution, said to be supported semi-miraculously by answers to prayer
in the specific shape of cheques. Miss Carpenter said that she asked the
matron (or some other official) whether it was supported by voluntary
subscriptions? “Oh, dear no! madam,” the woman replied; “Do you not know
it is entirely supported by Prayer?” “Oh, indeed,” replied Miss
Carpenter. “I dare say, however, when friends have once been moved to
send you money, they continue to do so regularly?” “Yes, certainly they
do.” “And they mostly send it at the beginning of the year?” “Yes, yes,
very regularly.” “Ah, well,” said Miss Carpenter, “when people send me
money for Red Lodge under those circumstances, I enter them in my
Reports as _Annual Subscribers_!”
When our poor children at last left the Reformatory, Mary Carpenter
always watched their subsequent career with deep interest, gloried in
receiving intelligence that they were behaving honestly and steadily, or
deplored their backslidings in the contrary event. In short, her
interest was truly _in the children themselves_, in their very souls;
and not (as such philanthropy too often becomes) an interest in _her
Institution_. Those who know most of such work will best understand how
wide is the distinction.
But Mary Carpenter was not only the guardian and teacher of the poor
young waifs and strays of Bristol when she had caught them in her
charity-traps. She was also their unwearied advocate with one Government
after another, and with every public man and magistrate whom she could
reasonably or unreasonably attack on their behalf. Never was there such
a case of the Widow and the Unjust Judge; till at last most English
statesmen came to recognise her wisdom, and to yield readily to her
pressure, and she was a “power in the State.” As she wrote to me about
her Industrial School, so was it in everything else:—
“The magistrates have been lapsing into their usual apathy; so I have
got a piece of artillery to help me in the shape of Mr. M. D. Hill....
They have found by painful experience that I cannot be made to rest
while justice is not done to these poor children.” (July 6th, 1859.)
And again, some years later, when I had told her I had sat at dinner
beside a gentleman who had opposed many of her good projects:—
“I am very sorry you did not see through Mr. ——, and annihilate him! Of
course, I shall never rest in this world till the children have their
birthrights in this so-called Christian country; but my next mode of
attack I have not decided on yet!” (February 13th, 1867.)
At last my residence under Mary Carpenter’s roof came to a close. My
health had broken down two or three times in succession under a _régime_
for which neither habit nor constitution had fitted me, and my kind
friend, Dr. Symonds’, peremptory orders necessitated arrangements of
meals which Miss Carpenter thought would occasion too much irregularity
in her little household, which (it must be remembered) was also a branch
of the Reformatory work. I also sadly perceived that I could be of no
real comfort or service as an inmate of her house, though I could still
help her, and perhaps more effectually, by attending her schools while
living alone in the neighbourhood. Her overwrought and nervous
temperament could ill bear the strain of a perpetual companionship, or
even the idea that any one in her house might expect companionship from
her; and if, while I was yet a stranger, she had found some fresh
interest in my society, it doubtless ceased when I had been a
twelvemonth under her roof, and knew everything which she could tell me
about her work and plans. As I often told her (more in earnest than she
supposed), I knew she would have been more interested in me had I been
either more of a sinner or more of a saint!
And so, a few weeks later, the separation was made in all friendliness,
and I went to live alone at Belgrave House, Durdham Down, where I took
lodgings, still working pretty regularly at the Red Lodge and Ragged
Schools, but gradually engaging more in Workhouse visiting and looking
after friendless girls, so that my intercourse with Miss Carpenter
became less and less frequent, though always cordial and pleasant.
Years afterwards when I had ceased to reside in the neighbourhood of
Bristol, I enjoyed several times the pleasure of receiving visits from
Miss Carpenter at my home in London, and hearing her accounts of her
Indian travels and other interests. In 1877, I went to Clifton to attend
an Anti-vivisection meeting, and also one for Woman Suffrage; and at the
latter of these I found myself with great pleasure on the same platform
with Mary Carpenter. (She was also an Anti-vivisectionist and always
signed our Memorials.) Her biographer and nephew, Professor Estlin
Carpenter, while fully stating her recognition of the rightfulness of
the demand for votes for women and also doing us the great service of
printing Mr. Mill’s most admirable letter to her on the subject (_Life_,
p. 493) seems unaware that she ever publicly advocated the cause of
political rights for women. But on this occasion, as I have said, she
took her place on the platform of the West of England Branch of the
Association, at its meeting in the Victoria Rooms; and, in my hearing,
either proposed or seconded one of the resolutions demanding the
franchise, adding a few words of cordial approval.
Before I returned to London on this occasion I called on Miss Carpenter,
bringing with me a young niece. I found her at Red Lodge; and she
insisted on my going with her over all our old haunts, and noting what
changes and improvements she had made. I was tenderly touched by her
great kindness to my young companion and to myself; and by the added
softness and gentleness which years had brought to her. She expressed
herself as very happy in every way; and, in truth, she seemed to me like
one who had reached the Land of Beulah, and for whom there would be
henceforth only peace within and around.
A few weeks later I was told that her servant had gone into her bedroom
one morning and found her weeping for her brother, Philip Carpenter, of
whose death she had just heard. The next morning the woman entered again
at the same hour, but Mary Carpenter was lying quite still, in the
posture in which she had lain in sleep. Her “six days’ work” was done.
She had “gone home,” and I doubt not “ta’en her wages.” Here is the last
letter she wrote to me:—
“Red Lodge House, Bristol,
“March 27th, 1877.
“Dear Miss Cobbe,
“There are some things of which the most clear and unanswerable
reasoning could not convince me! One of these is, that a wise, all
powerful and loving Father can create an immortal spirit for eternal
misery. Perhaps you are wiser than I and more accessible to arguments
(though I doubt this), and I send you the enclosed, which _I do not
want back_. Gógurth’s answer to such people is the best I ever
heard—‘If _you_ are child of Devil—_good_; but _I_ am child of God!’
“I was very glad to get a glimpse of you; I do not trouble you with my
doings, knowing that you have enough of your own. You may like to see
an abstract of my experience.
“Yours affectionately,
“M. C.”
And here is a Poem which she gave me in MS. the day she wrote it. I do
not think it has seen the light.
CHRISTMAS DAY PRAYER.
Dec. 25th, 1858.
Onward and upward, Heavenly Father, bear me,
Onward and upward bear me to my home;—
Onward and upward, be Thou ever near me,
While my beloved Father beckons me to come.
With Thy Holy Spirit, O do Thou renew me!
Cleanse me from all that turneth me from Thee!
Guide me and guard me, lead me and subdue me
Till I love not aught that centres not in Thee!
Thou hast filled my soul with brightness and with beauty
Thou hast made me feel the sweetness of Thy love.
Purify my heart, devote me all to duty,
Sanctify me _wholly_ for Thy realms above.
Holy, heavenly Parent of this earthborn spirit,
Onward and upward bear it to its home,
With Thy Firstborn Son eternal joys to inherit,
Where my blessed Father beckons me to come.—
December 25th, 1858.
M. C.
The teaching work in the Red Lodge and the Ragged Schools, which I
continued for a long time after leaving Miss Carpenter’s house, was not,
I have thought on calm reflection in after years, very well done by me.
I have always lacked imagination enough to realize what are the mental
limitations of children of the poorer classes; and in my eagerness to
interest them and convey my thoughts, I know I often spoke over their
heads, with too rapid utterance and using too many words not included in
their small vocabularies. I think my lessons amused and even sometimes
delighted them; I was always told they loved them; but they enjoyed them
rather I fear like fireworks than instruction! In the Red Lodge there
were fifty poor little girls from 10 to 15 years of age who constituted
our _prisoners_. They were regularly committed to the Lodge as to jail,
and when Miss Carpenter was absent I had to keep the great door key.
They used to sit on their benches in rows opposite to me in the
beautiful black oak-panelled room of the Lodge, and read their dreary
books, and rejoice (I have no doubt) when I broke in with explanations
and illustrations. Their poor faces, often scarred by disease, and
ill-shaped heads, were then lifted up with cheerful looks to me, and I
ploughed away as best I could, trying to get _any_ ideas into their
minds; in accordance with Mary Carpenter’s often repeated assurance that
_anything whatever_ which could pass from my thoughts to theirs would be
a benefit, as supplying other _pabulum_ than their past familiarity with
all things evil. When we had got through one school reading book in this
way I begged Miss Carpenter to find me another to afford a few fresh
themes for observations, but no; she preferred that I should go over the
same again. Some of the children had singular histories. There was one
little creature named Kitty, towards whom I confess my heart warmed
especially, for her leonine disposition! Whenever there was some
mischief discovered and the question asked Who was in fault? invariably
Kitty’s hand went up: “I did it, ma’am;” and the penalty, even of
incarceration in a certain dreaded “cell,” was heroically endured. Kitty
had been duly convicted at Sessions at the mature age of ten. Of what
high crime and misdemeanour does the reader suppose? Pilfering, perhaps,
a pocket handkerchief, or a penny? Not at all! Of nothing less than
_Horse-stealing_! She and her brother, a mite two years younger than
herself, were dispatched by their vagabond parents to journey by one
road, while they themselves travelled by another, and on the way the
children, who were, of course, directed to pick and steal all they could
lay hands on, observed an old grey mare feeding in a field near the road
and reflecting that a ride on horseback would be preferable to their
pilgrimage on foot, they scrambled on the mare’s back and by some means
guided her down the road and went off in triumph. The aggrieved farmer
to whom the mare belonged, brought the delinquents to justice, and after
being tried with all the solemn forms of British law (their heads
scarcely visible over the dock), the children were sent respectively to
a Boy’s Reformatory, and to Red Lodge. We kept Kitty, of course, till
her full term expired when she was 15, and I am afraid Miss Carpenter
strained the law a little in detaining her still longer to allow her to
gain more discretion before returning to those dreadful tramps, her
parents. She herself, indeed, felt the danger as she grew older, and
attached herself much to us both. A teacher whom I had imported from
Ireland (one of my own village pupils from Donabate) told me that Kitty
spoke of us with tears, and that she had seen her one day, when given a
stocking of mine whereupon to practise darning, furtively kissing it
when she thought no one was observing her. She once said, “God bless
Exeter jail! I should never have been here but for that.” But at last,
like George Eliot’s _Gipsy_, the claims of race over-mastered all her
other feelings. Kitty left us to rejoin her mother, who had perpetually
called to see her; and a month or two later the poor child died of
fever, caught in the wretched haunts of her family.
[Illustration:
_Door in Oak Room, Red Lodge,
Mary Carpenter, Kitty, etc._
]
In a visit which I made to Red Lodge two years ago, I was struck by the
improved physical aspect of the poor girls in the charge of our
successors. The depressed, almost flattened form of head which the
experienced eye of Sir Walter Crofton had caught (as I did), as a
terrible “Note” of hereditary crime, was no longer visible; nor was the
miserable blear-eyed, scrofulous appearance of the faces of many of my
old pupils to be seen any more. Thirty years have, I hope and believe,
raised even the very lowest stratum of the population of England.
Miss Carpenter’s work in founding the first Reformatory for
girl-criminals with the munificent aid of that generous woman Lady
Byron, has beyond question, contributed in no mean degree to thinning
the ranks of female crime during the last quarter of a century. Issuing
from the Red Lodge at the end of their four or five years’ term of
confinement and instruction, the girls rarely returned, like poor Kitty,
to their parents, but passed first through a probation as Miss
Carpenter’s own servants in her private house, under good Marianne and
her successors, and then into that humbler sort of domestic service
which is best for girls of their class; I mean that wherein the mistress
works and takes her meals with the servant. The pride and joy of these
girls when they settled into steady usefulness was often a pleasure to
witness. Miss Carpenter used to say, “When I hear one of them talk of
‘_My_ Kitchen,’ I know it is all right!” Of course many of them
eventually married respectably. On the whole I do not think that more
than five, or at the outside ten per cent. fell into either crime or
vice after leaving Red Lodge, and if we suppose that there have been
something like 500 girls in the Reformatory since Lady Byron bought the
Red Lodge and dedicated it to that benevolent use, we may fairly
estimate, that Mary Carpenter _deflected_ towards goodness the lives of
at least four hundred and fifty women, who, if she had not stirred in
their interest, would almost inevitably have spent their days in crime
or vice, and ended them either in jail or in the “Black Ward” of the
workhouse.
There is an epitaph on a good clergyman in one of the old churches of
Bristol which I have always thought remarkably fine. It runs thus as far
as I remember:—
“Marble may moulder, monuments decay,
Time sweeps memorials from the earth away;
But lasting records are to Brydges given,
The date Eternity, the archives Heaven;
_There_ living tablets with his worth engraved
Stand forth for ever in the souls he saved.”
We do not, in our day (unless we happen to belong to the Salvation Army)
talk much about “saving souls” in the old Evangelical sense; and I, at
least, hold very strongly, and have even preached to the purpose, that
every human soul is “_Doomed to be Saved_,” destined by irrevocable
Divine love and mercy to be sooner or later, in this world or far off
worlds to come, brought like the Prodigal to the Father’s feet. But
there is a very real sense in which a true philanthropist “saves” his
fellow-men from moral evil—the sense in which Plutarch uses the word,
and which every theology must accept, and in this sense I unhesitatingly
affirm, that Mary Carpenter SAVED four hundred human souls.
It must be borne in mind also that it was not only in her own special
Reformatory that her work was carried on. By advocating in her books and
by her active public pleading the modification of the laws touching
juvenile crime, she practically originated—in concert with Recorder
Hill—the immense improvement which has taken place in the whole
treatment of young criminals who, before her time, were simply sent to
jail, and there too often stamped with the hallmark of crime for life.