THE SEVENTY-FIFTH YEAR; NOTES AND INCIDENTS, IN THE YEARS
1845-46; DEATHS OF MR. J. J. GURNEY AND OF DR. CHALMERS; LETTER
FROM CROMER; DEATH OF MRS. E. ALDERSON; MRS. OPIE’S VISIT TO
LONDON IN THE SPRING OF 1848; LETTER FROM THENCE.
Mrs. Opie was now entering upon her seventy-fifth year; confinement and
pain were her portion during a large part of her remaining days; and
yet, on the whole, she was remarkably free from most of the infirmities,
bodily and mental, usually attendant upon such an advanced age. Her
sight was perfect, and even excelled in keenness; so that she read
without difficulty the finest print, and wrote in the same minute and
delicate characters to the last. Her sense of hearing, too, though less
acute, was not perceptibly impaired; and her carriage was as erect, and
indicative of vigour and energy, as of yore. But it was her soul—the
mind within her—that never felt the frosts of age. Her heart beat warm,
her eye kindled with living joy, her spirit responded like a well-tuned
lyre, to every breath that passed over it; and she was, too, such a very
woman in all her sympathies and antipathies. Such quick sensibilities
and vivid perceptions, such appreciation of little attentions, and
cordial interest in that which touched the hearts of others—no wonder
the young loved her! Perhaps, never were so many young and fair faces
seen clustering around an old one, as were to be found in her room, week
after week. They came, and made her their confidante;—and she liked so
well to hear the tales, and to enter into the hopes and pleasures of
youth!
Her love of fun,[44] too, her merry laugh, her ready repartee, made one
forget that she had numbered three-score years and ten. If we should
ask, whence came this bright and joyous old age? we may trace it partly
to natural temperament; her nature was genial, her temper sweet, and,
until a late period, her health was excellent. But, great as these
natural advantages were, more yet was owing to religious principle, and
self-discipline. She was not kind and forbearing merely because her
temper was sweet: she was so on principle; in obedience to the great
command of the gospel, “Love one another.” Her readiness to pass by an
unkind or slighting action, did not spring from easy indifference; none
was more keenly sensitive to these things. When she was deeply wounded
on one occasion, and could find no excuse for the offender, she looked
sad and disquieted, and at length said, “I hope I shall be able in time
to _forget_ this.” It pained her to think otherwise than well of any
one; it was a real _pang_ to be obliged to believe that he had acted
unworthily. She wept over the misdeeds of others, and rejoiced when they
acted well and nobly. She was “tender-hearted” towards the failings of
others, and _would_ not believe an evil report. There was really nothing
which roused her anger so much as for any one to spread a report to the
disadvantage of another; it seemed an offence done to herself: and is
not this the spirit of Christianity, akin to the “mind that was in
Jesus?”
It were easy to give instances proving these to be no exaggerated
statements. It may be permitted to mention one illustration of her
humble-minded ingenuousness in acknowledging herself to have done wrong.
The writer of these lines was one day calling on Mrs. Opie, when some
one who was very deaf, and talked in a loud, harsh voice, was visiting
her. After he had left the room, chancing to refer to something that had
passed, she repeated the words of her visitor in his dissonant tones—in
fact, mimicked him to the life! Almost immediately after reaching home,
the writer received a note from Mrs. O., saying how much self-reproach
she was suffering, in the thought of the “unchristian and vulgar action”
of which she had been guilty, and begging it might be forgiven.
We have seen that the loneliness of her lot was felt increasingly, as
her years multiplied, but happily, most happily for her, she was
sustained by the consciousness of the Divine presence; and it was this
which cheered her lonely hours, and inspired the sentiment with which we
find her entering upon the new year; she thus writes:—
(2nd mo., 4th, 1845.) I can say with truth that I am never
_less_ alone than when alone: home is becoming daily more and
more the place that suits me best. I have many cares and some
trials; but I feel, in the depths of my heart, that all is
right; and that all has been, and will be, for my good. “Shall
not the Judge of all the earth do right?”
This month occurred the death of Sir T. F. Buxton, causing another gap
in the circle of Mrs. Opie’s intimate friends. She had been long and
greatly attached to him, and all his family; and cordially united in his
views for the abolition of slavery, and in his desires and plans for the
improvement of Africa.
During the storms of the winter, great inroads had been made at Cromer
by the sea, and referring to this she wrote to her friend at Northrepps,
at this time, saying:—
I am very sorry for that dear West Cliff,
“Where once my careless childhood strayed, a stranger yet to
pain.”
There used to be, I am sure, a field before one comes to S.
Hoare’s field, where I used to gather the blue bugloss, and deck
myself out in it. Such is my love of Cromer, I sometimes think,
when I lost my dear father, I should have settled myself there,
or very near it, (on the West Cliff, most probably,) had I not
joined Friends.
In the same letter she speaks of several books she was reading, and
says:—
* * * I have read two volumes, (the last two, I think,) of Lord
Malmesbury’s Diaries, and with intense interest. I knew so many
of the men he writes about, and lived on the spot where they
acted. But, be not angry, as well as surprised, when I tell
thee, that, of the fourth volume, William Pitt is my hero, and
eke George III; their characters and powers come out there in
such high relief! * * I am also reading Carlyle’s history of the
French Revolution—full of genius, pathos, and pictures; with
all its faults, (and it has great ones,) still, I can hardly lay
it down!
Shortly after, recurring to the subject of the weather, she wrote:—
I try not to be impatient of the duration of this winter, and I
rejoice at the belief, (probably, however, an erroneous one,)
that my _only_ tree, an elm, in my south garden, into which my
sitting room looks, is budding! It is a pain to me to think of
the sufferings of inanimate nature, as well as of human nature.
I grieve for the cruel sea’s inroads at Cromer! But, as almost
all things “work together” for some “good,” these dangers give
rise to circumstances, honourable to one’s species; for
instance, the pious child that would not be saved till his
father’s safety was secured. Generally speaking, I have long
thought that in these days filial piety was at a low ebb; but,
in this instance, assuredly, the high tides have floated it into
my good opinion again. I am just returned from Earlham, where I
have been passing a happy day and a half, with J. J. Gurney and
Eliza; no other guest there but myself. We called at dear W.
Forster’s door on our way home.
Mrs. Opie made frequent visits, in the course of this year, to her
friends; and mentions with peculiar pleasure meeting Mr. Hallam, during
her stay at Ketteringham. Although occasionally suffering from accesses
of her old disorder, she was, upon the whole, free from pain. Her notes
refer to the great enjoyment she felt in attending various religious
meetings, and also the course of lectures at the Museum, delivered by
Professor Sedgwick.
On the return of the autumnal season her malady distressed her much, and
during her stay at Northrepps she was quite confined to the house;
“never quitting it after I entered it, till I got into the carriage
which took me away; but though unwell during the eighteen days I spent
there, I had much enjoyment.” In October of the following year, writing
to her friend there, she said:—
Oh! how sorry I am that I cannot come to thee next week, even in
a carrier’s cart; but I cannot. Dr. Hull says “it would be
madness;” and Mr. Crosse says, “he hopes my finger may allow me
to go to Keswick;” but I have so much cold and cough besides,
that I fear I shall not be able to leave the house at all. It
_is_ a disappointment to me not to have paid my usual visit to
Cromer, and to feel there the gratitude due to Him who has in
unmerited mercy spared me, that I might have been enabled once
more to enjoy the society of my dear friends at that place, so
full to me of early and pleasant recollections.
In the course of the summer of 1846 she was cheered by a visit from Mrs.
Backhouse, the daughter of Mr. J. J. Gurney, (whom Mrs. Opie always
called her grandchild,) bringing with her her infant son, who was
greeted as great-grand-child, and pronounced a darling. “I love all
babies,” she said, “but this one excels them all in my eyes.” Her
cousin, Mr. R. Woodhouse, also visited her in the month of August. But
amid all her cheerful and sympathizing enjoyment, she suffered
grievously. A sorrowful note, written about this time, tells how much.
* * * You will be glad to hear I am better. This day week I was
in great pain for hours! How thankful I ought to be; nothing can
have exceeded Dr. Hull’s attention; he came twice every day to
me; and I am sure his medicines have done me much good.
P.S. Sir R. Peel’s heart has stolen _mine_; that exquisite
self-oblivion, and that prompt sympathy with poor Haydon’s
sorrows, even only four days before his death: and then the
feeling and immediate reply to the hopes of the poor suicide in
his letter in his dying moments; and the prompt help, and the
promised succour of his purse and influence at a future time,
and when he (Sir Robert) was not himself lying on a bed of
roses! Oh! he is a good, as well as a great man, and God’s
blessing must rest on him.
On the 4th of January, 1847, died Mr. J. J. Gurney. Three weeks before,
he had been thrown from his pony, while crossing Orford Hill. At first
he appeared not to have sustained much injury; and, with thoughtful
love, he hastened to Lady’s Lane to inform his dear friend of the
accident, saying that he could not bear she should hear of it from any
other but himself, that he might assure her with his own lips of his
safety. Alas! how little did either of them imagine that ere that moon
had waned he would be sleeping the sleep of death! but so it was. This
was indeed a heart-blow; and, shortly after, his beloved daughter, Anna
Backhouse, followed him to the grave. It was an entire breaking-up of
the much and long-loved circle at Earlham. Mrs. Opie attended the
funeral of her friend. She saw him laid low in the midst of his
usefulness; cut down while there was, as yet, no shadow o’er his path to
tell of coming night. Honoured and beloved he was, and a blessing to
thousands. Doubtless in her heart she said, “would God I had died for
thee!” but she remembered her favourite text, “shall not the judge of
all the earth do right;” and bowed, and worshipped in silence and
submission.
There is no dwelling on these things. Each one, as he passes along on
the road of life, experiences like sorrows, and learns from his own
trials to realize the feelings of his fellow sufferers.
The following note, written shortly after this event, shews her state of
mind.
Norwich, 1st mo., 29th, 1847.
MY DEAR C. L.,
* * * * Thanks for thy kind inquiries, and still more for thy
graphic description of the Cambridge show; it made me long to
have been there! thy account of the behaviour of the students
carried me back to 1810, when I was at Oxford, at Lord
Grenville’s installation, and was excessively amused by the
thundering and hissing of the students for some time; but the
third day I grew tired of the noise. The Proctors _there_ were
treated, one excepted, with great indignity. How I did rejoice
in the first wrangler’s success; when I found he was a boy of
obscure birth, educated by a benevolent individual on whom he
had no claims, and that he had been enabled to repay his
benefactor!
The dear Bishop came yesterday afternoon, and was so kind and
sympathizing! I _could_ see him, for I was in my drawing-room
again. My doctors are just gone. I hope I am improving, and
expect to be allowed to get out next week to see my aunt; but I
shall be slow in returning my calls, and slower still in paying
any visits. I do so _dread_ the convincing myself, when I go
out, that there is one whom if I look for him, I shall never,
_never_ find! But no more of that, I can’t bear it.
Believe me, thy ever attached friend,
A. OPIE.
Her grief did not, however, prevent her taking an active interest in the
sorrows and sufferings of others. She was engaged in collecting for the
relief of the poor Irish, and says:—
Oh! the horrible state of things in that country; without our
aid they say the poor people must perish! I am collecting for
the Ladies’ Committee at Dunmanaway, near Cork; a very
distressed district, but small and with few rich residents in
it, therefore the more needing help. I let no day pass without
having, in the course of it, begged of some one. I take sixpence
or a shilling with thanks; and I have accepted twopence from a
little boy, who sent it to me because he knew what it was to be
hungry himself. I have a humble agent at work to procure small
sums, as my Irish ladies advise; and have a little money still
in hand, which I hope to make more. We shall one day perhaps
know scenes here like those in Ireland, and trials which
_wealth_ cannot help us to avoid or remove, but “shall not the
judge of all the earth do right?”
In the spring of this year Mrs. Opie paid her usual visit to Cromer.
While there, the tidings of Dr. Chalmers’ death reached her. She wrote
home requesting to have the lines she had addressed to him in 1833 sent
to her; and acknowledged the receipt of them in the following letter:—
TO MRS. BRIGHTWELL.
Cromer, 6th mo., 5th, 1847.
MY DEAR FRIEND,
* * * I do not exactly know to whom I was indebted for the great
kindness of copying for me my lines to poor dear Dr.
Chalmers,[45] but perhaps the same pen (it was thine I think)
would do me the same favour again. I am very desirous of having
them, though ashamed of troubling thee.
Poor dear man! on his way home to Edinburgh he could not be easy
without going to Darlington, to see dear J. J. Gurney’s daughter
once more. In his letter to me he said that he hoped one day “to
see him _before the throne_,” or words to that effect; how soon
(as I trust) the hope has been fulfilled.
I am here in such a lovely lodging! my sitting-room has a
bay-window that looks _on_ the sea and _up_ the shore and on the
jetty and the breakwater. I am at Randall’s bath house, and the
hot bath is delightful indeed! I think I am better, in spite of
visitors. I have had eleven callers already, since ten o’clock!
When I came, the sea was beautiful! yesterday it was awful to
look at! the white horses, the cavalry of the sea, were all out
yesterday. Alas! their appearance was signalized by death; a
boat was capsized, and a poor old man drowned, in sight almost
of my window. At twilight I looked on the sea, which appeared
terribly sublime! The hue grew darker and darker, as the mass of
waters seemed sloping _upwards_ as they went, till they looked
like a dark mountain bounding forth to engulph us—and I
retreated almost in fear. I hope this evening to see the sun set
from the western cliff. How beautiful, in my eyes, were the
hedges as I came! such a profusion of germander, bright red
bachelor’s buttons, the golden furze, and broom, in luxuriant
blossom, and the may, only too much laden with flowers;
Farewell; with love to thy spouse and bairn,
Thy attached friend,
A. OPIE.
Mrs. Opie returned from Cromer in the middle of June; in her notes we
find the following entries:—
I am come home, not the better for the sea and baths, though
_much_ so in mind and feelings for the great attentions and
kindnesses I received. A lame old woman is, however, best at
home. Poor dear Dr. Chalmers! he passed four or five as happy
days as he _could_ pass there, with the daughter of J. J. G.; he
would not rest without going, and was so charming! he died two
days after. He left Darlington well, but went home as it
proved—to die! He was every day, when there, going to write to
me, and I was just about to write to him, from Cromer, when he
died. (6th mo., 18th.) In the year 1809 I began to write lines
to Mrs. Lemaistre, on her birthday, and ever since, from 1809 to
the fifth of this month, 1847, I have never omitted writing the
accustomed verses. I wonder whether any king’s laureat ever
wrote so many to one potentate; perhaps Colley Cibber did to
George III. (19th.) I have been reading the life of Sarah
Martin; it made me shed many tears, from the sense of her
superior virtue, and my own inferiority. What an example she
was, and how illustrative her life, of what that of a humble,
but real, and confiding Christian should be! and her end was one
of intense bodily suffering! as Pope says of some one:—
“Heav’n, as its purest gold, by torture tried—
The saint sustain’d it, but the _woman_ died!”
W. Allan’s admirable Life I have read quite through, with
delight, and, I hope, instruction.
Mrs. Opie visited her friends at Brooke in the following month, and
writing shortly after to Miss Gurney, she says:—
* * * I received, before I went to Brooke, a very valuable
present from Lord Brougham, which he had ordered to be sent two
months ago, and I expected. It arrived at last, and is a folio
volume, two nails thick, containing the evidence before the
select committee of the House of Lords, appointed to inquire
into the execution of the criminal law, especially respecting
juvenile offenders and transportation. It interests me, and I
daresay I shall read it through. When I came home I found a very
interesting letter from Lord B.—that letter I am answering
to-day. I am glad he has renewed correspondence with me; he
often wrote during last autumn, and he is one of the pleasantest
recollections of my early days, when I was first in London
society.
My head is full of this horrible, _most_ horrible of murders, at
Paris! I am glad I do not know the parties concerned. I
earnestly hope that if he must die, he will be allowed no
privileges on account of his rank; the people would not bear it!
and the Most High “is no respecter of persons.” We purse-proud
English are a sadly aristocratic nation, and want humbling. * *
* If my aunt’s health allow, I intend to go to the Birkbecks’
ere long for a few days, but yesterday I conceived an alarm
concerning her, poor dear, and I must talk to her medical man on
the subject.
This alarm proved to be well grounded. Mrs. E. Alderson sank gradually,
and at length expired on the 10th of January, 1848. Mrs. Opie says:—
When I looked upon my dear aunt, just after I had closed her
eyes, she was, to me, the image, almost, of my father.
The time was now come, when Mrs. Opie was able to carry into effect an
intention she had long entertained. She felt very desirous to have a
house of her own; it had become, indeed, necessary to her comfort; and,
after long consideration, at length she fixed upon the house on Castle
Meadow, which she inhabited during the remainder of her life. Before
removing, or rather preparatory to doing so, she went up to London, to
spend some months there, according to her old usage. Four years had
elapsed since she visited the Metropolis, and the present occasion
proved one of much enjoyment. She bade adieu to Lady’s Lane on the 6th
of April, and journeyed to town, availing herself there of the cordial
invitations given her by her friends in Russell Square and Langham
Place. Much occurred, during her stay, to interest and cheer her, of
which she wrote accounts to her friends at home. She made short
excursions to Hampstead, Hornsey, Wandsworth, and Tottenham, and went to
hear the speeches at Harrow. She also attended all the Friends’
Meetings, and was present as well at the Missionary and Bible Meetings,
in all which she took a lively interest. Her letters shew that she still
retained much of her wonted energy, and interested herself in the
stirring events going on around her. In one of them she refers, very
characteristically, to the alarm excited by the threatened outbreak of
the Chartists—
I _would_ come home (she says) from Wandsworth on the Sabbath
day night, because I could not bear the anxiety I should feel
while being six miles from the scene of action on the Monday.
How agreeably disappointed every one was who was not
disaffected! Nothing ever was better managed: and I hear that
the Duke of Wellington was so delighted because all was effected
without a single soldier’s having been seen! but great was the
alarm, particularly of the Ministers. It is now clear that the
respectable middle classes are _not_ with the ultra chartists.
It was an interesting sight to see noblemen and their sons,
artizans, and men of all grades in society, sworn in as special
constables, and patrolling the streets.
The following letter is selected from among others, written at this
time, as being of most general interest:—
TO THOMAS BRIGHTWELL.
Russell Square, 5th mo., 22nd, 1848.
MY DEAR FRIEND,
I have been intending to write to thee for some time past, but
was prevented. My career has been a very pleasant one, spite of
occasionally _great_ lameness; but though I always limp, I am
not always in pain; and I find it possible to bear, with
patience, the ill which can’t, I fear, be ever cured.
I will, as briefly as possible, give thee a sketch of my goings
on; a dinner at Lord Denman’s was my pleasantest; I met Lady C.
L., Lord N.’s daughter, a dear old friend of mine; Mr. Justice
Earle, the new judge; and Mr. Warren, the author of “Ten
Thousand a Year.” These gentlemen and my host talked _across the
table_ and most pleasant were the dinner hours, as well as those
which succeeded. * * * More of this when we meet, if I am
permitted to return in health and safety. The next prosperity,
was, my going to a private view at the Society of Arts and
Sciences, in the _Adelphi_, where Barry’s pictures were lighted
up, and the rooms opened to receive so many and _no more_; that
is, twenty noble Ladies got leave to have so many tickets each,
to give, in order that the wonderful and beautiful specimens of
new English arts and manufactures, might be seen and known, to
those able and willing to purchase; and it was to be, that
unusual thing, an evening private view, beginning at ten
o’clock. My kind friend, Lady C. B., gave me a ticket, and after
_hours_ at the Bible Meeting, and a dinner at Baron Alderson’s,
I went to the place of rendezvous; I was the first person there,
so I could survey all the lovely things, and exquisite pictures,
long and well known to me, before any one came: but the room
filled at length, and the Bishop of Norwich told me he never saw
more of the nobility assembled. I saw many old acquaintances and
made many new * * *
Once, as I was walking round the room, the Duchess of S.,
leaning on a gentleman’s arm, curtsied to me, (for the first
time in her life,) with a most sweet smile. I acknowledged her
curtsey, regardless of the gentleman with her, and, indeed, not
seeing him; but he said, “what! do you not choose to see and
acknowledge an old friend?” I started, and beheld Lord Morpeth!
Surprized, and thrown off my guard, I exclaimed, “Oh! _dear_
Lord Morpeth! how glad I am to see thee!” eagerly accepting his
proffered hand. “Then you have not forgotten old times?” * * * I
then told him I had heard him speak in the morning, and we
talked of the meeting, as very interesting: “but,” I said, “I
thought it was rather _venturesome_, if I may so say, to allude
so much to the state of affairs in France.” He gave me a look I
did not quite understand, but replied, “perhaps there was
somewhat too much of that;” and I was told by the Bishop of
Winchester, (with whom I dined the next day) that Lord M. in his
speech, had _given the tone_ to the other speeches; but Lord
M.’s speech was not such, as to have drawn forth what I
disapproved,—the speeches of La Harpe, and others; however,
everything was approved by the meeting, and the French goings-on
_delighted_ in, as leading to an increased spread of the Bible!
We then talked a little more, and parted. Lord M. insisting on
it, that I used to be at Milcham School with Mathews, the great
ventriloquist, and I saying, “no, no, I disown Mathews
entirely!” Long have I wished to renew acquaintance with this
_good_ man, and at last I have, under pleasant circumstances. At
the B. and F. School Meeting, where he was chairman, I sat
nearly under the chair, and had a most kind bow from him, which
I as cordially returned.
Last sixth day (yesterday week) I dined at Sir J. Boileau’s, and
met Guizot, the American Ambassador, and our Bishop. After
dinner, we all went to the Royal Institution, to hear a Lecture
on the Greek Anthology, by a Mr. Newton, and I had the pleasure
of taking the Bishop with me, in my carriage.
Lady C. B. and I sat on a form near the lecturer; in front of
him was another chair, for the President, the Duke of
Northumberland; and on a chair, placed on his _right_ hand, was
Guizot; on his left the American Ambassador—_par conséquent_,
we conceived this was meant as a compliment to Guizot, who seems
much noticed. The private view of the Exhibition I rejoiced in,
till the people came, (but I believe I wrote an account of all
this to Lucy,) Sir R. Inglis followed up his kindness to me
there, by calling; and Lady Gurney, myself, and Russell, were
there this day week; a most pleasant evening to me, for I met
old friends, and among them, the British Minister, Morier, and
his family, whom I first knew at Paris, as Consul-General, and
afterwards, as our Envoy at _Berne_.
Now, to finish with my visit at Claremont. The ex-Queen fixed
the day and hour, by Madame de Montjoye, her Lady; I hired a
clarence and two horses, and borrowed J. Bell’s servant; and, in
a broiling day, set off on my fifteen miles’ journey! Madame de
M. came to me _first_, and said the Queen would soon come to me;
she did, and I cannot express my feeling, when I thought of the
change in her position since we met! I could scarcely speak,
while she pressed my hands most affectionately, and called me
“_ma chère, bonne Opie, que vous êtes bonne, de venir me voir_!”
at last, she sat, and desired I would do the same. Madame de M.,
had previously told me they had heard of the Duchess of Orléans
that day, and that she was in Germany. I can’t _now_ tell you
all the conversation. The first question was, “I hope you are
writing? you know I read and like all you write.” I replied that
I did _not_ write, and so on. * * * After half an hour, she
rose, and said she was very sorry to go, but she must, because
she had letters to write, which were to go to Paris that
morning; again she took my hands and pressed them to her heart;
I not being able to speak, from rising tears. At length I got
out, that “_les paroles me manquoient et que je ne pouvais pas
exprimer les sentiments que j’eprouvois_;” and I almost wished
to kiss, as well as press the hand I held; as she disappeared,
she said, “_souvenez vous, et ecrivez encore, ecrivez
toujours_!” Madame de Montjoye gave me her arm, to the other
room, and we parted most cordially. * * *
Thy attached friend,
A. OPIE.
Mrs. Opie’s stay in London was cut short by her increasing
indisposition. She had prepared to go on a visit to Mr. S. Gurney, when
(on the 7th July) she had a severe access of her disorder, and Sir
Benjamin Brodie recommending rest and quiet, after a week’s nursing, she
returned to Norwich.
-----
[44] She patronized the old custom of sending valentines, (which is much
kept up in Norwich,) and on one occasion, wrote some droll verses, which
she got copied and sent to some young friends, who, presently after,
hastened with their puzzling _billet-doux_ to her, that she might help
them to guess who could possibly have sent them! She did so enjoy the
fun of mystifying them with her guesses!
[45] The lines alluded to in this letter are given in chapter XX. Mrs.
O. had forgotten that she had written them until reminded of them by her
friend.