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DEPOSITED BY THE

LINONIAN AND BROTHERS LIBRARY

SIX LIFE STUDIES OF
FAMOUS WOMEN.

SIX LIFE STUDIES OF
FAMOUS WOMEN.

_ , BY
Bafbafa
M:, BETHAM-EDWARDS,
it irtTTV '' " 1_, ETC., ETC., ETC.

WITH SIX PORTRAITS ENGRAVED ON STEEL.

GRIFFITH AND FARRAN,
^ SUCCESSORS TO NEWBERY AND HARRIS,
WEST CORNER OF ST. PAUL'S CHURCHYARD, LONDON.
E. P. DUTTON & CO., NEW YORk]
MDCCCLXXX. VI

( The rights of translation and reproduction are reserved. )

PREFACE.
I HAVE ever been of opinion that a brief
biography, to be read at a sitting without
fatigue, yet so comprehensive as to embrace
the leading features of life and character, is
one of the most attractive forms of popular
literature. The scholar may enjoy at leisure
such voluminous biographies as are sure to
find a place on his library shelves ; for
instance, the famous life of Johnson, Southey's
delightful chronicles of the Wesley Family,
Lockhart's life of Scott, Forster's life of
Goldsmith, and so on. But ordinary readers,
and especially young readers, have neither
time nor opportunity for such works ; they
read short biographies, or none at all,

vi Preface.
consequently many of the best books in our
language remain inaccessible to the majority
of the reading world. Handy, epitomized
editions of our great classics in biographical
literature, seem more needed than ever in
these days of inordinate book-buying and
book-skimming ; and to multiply them, one
of the surest methods of making this taste
for reading profitable. The object of the
present work, however, is rather to popularize
less known memories of remarkable persons
than to abridge those already famous ; and
also to dehneate some lives which, although
full of charm and interest, have not hitherto
found a worthy biographer. Except in one
case — that of Caroline Herschel — no subject
of these sketches has as yet been made
familiar to us by competent writers. Eliza
beth Carter, it Is true, has long since received
justice at the hands of her grateful pupil and
nephew ; but his volumes are too ponderous
to find general acceptance, and are now only
to be occasionally met with on bookstalls.

Preface. vii
Thus for the most part these pages will give
the reader what Is not easily to be found
elsewhere, whilst each memoir is attractive In
itself. Caroline Herschel, who was insensible
alike to the pleasures of youth and the
infirmities of age. In her sublime taste of
" minding the heavens ;" EHzabeth Carter,
who turned from her homely domestic duties
and the classical education of her young
step-brother, to the interpretation of ancient
writers; Madame Pape, whose life was devoted
to the happiness and good of children, and
whose pupils may be seen in Athens teaching
little Greek boys and girls after her own
delightful method ; Alexandrine Tinne, most
daring and Intrepid of woman travellers, who
penetrated regions in which the face of a
white woman had never before been seen, and
whose darling scheme was ever the ameliora
tion of the oppressed tribes of Central
Africa ; Matilda Betham, the friend of the
Southeys, Coleridge, and Charles and Mary
Lamb, and herself the first biographer In our

viii Preface.
language of celebrated women ; Fernan Ca-
ballero, the charming Spanish story-teller,
whose name is a household word from one end
of Spain to the other, and the delineator of
life in her native country under all its aspects,
polished and rustic, cosmopolitan and pro
vincial, grave and gay ; these figures make a
delightful and noteworthy group. We hardly
know on which the eye rests with most
pleasure, and the more details afforded, us
the better we are pleased. Fortunately In
each case material Is forthcoming for a bio
graphy on a small scale; and If the portrait
Is a miniature, at least we may congratulate
ourselves that the likeness has been preserved.
As we pass from one sketch to another,
however, our feelings of pleasure are mingled
with keen regret. It is impossible not to be
reminded of the glorious women of all ages
and countries about whom next to nothing Is
known. Here history has been Indeed unjust.
Whilst the deeds of kings and great warriors
are detailed to us with an exactitude calcu-

Preface. ix
lated rather to inspire repugnance than admi
ration, the heroines of each successive epoch,
the illustrious wives, mothers, and daughters,
have been passed by In silence. Here and
there imperious queen or saintly devotee
has won recognition at the hands of the
chronicler. We know something about Louise
of Savoy, Anne of Brittany, Margaret of
Parma ; from earliest childhood we have been
taught to admire Joan of Arc, Elizabeth of
Hungary, and Saint Theresa. But there are
heroic women of another type of whom we
would fain know something also ; fireside
heroines whose lives are more In sympathy
with our own than those of female warriors,
rulers, and martyrs. We may be sure that
the women of the past have not been so In
significant as recorded experience would have
us beheve. They had grand Impulses, they
hungered and thirsted after great deeds, they
were capable of great acts of self-devotion
as now. The Aspaslas and Cleopatras of
antiquity, the Elizabeths of England and

X Preface.
Isabellas of Castile do notfalrlyrepresentthem.
Nor do the Joans of Arc or the Saint Theresas
represent them either. There are intermediate
notabilities, stars of lesser magnitude, tran
quil, lovely Hves, as worthy of a biographer
as those of the famous women just mentioned.
But they were not appreciated in their own
time, and history has looked upon them with
suspicion. To take one example from Im
perial Rome. What would we not give for
a few particulars concerning the beautiful,
virtuous, and learned Polla Argentaria, wife
of Lucan, one of the most gifted and unfor
tunate of Latin poets. During his lifetime
she corrected several books of his immortal
work, the Pharsalia, and after his death — he
was cut off at the age of twenty-six by the
tyranny of Nero — she continued to win the
admiration of contemporaries by her devotion
to his memory.
Coming down to the Middle Ages and the
Renaissance, how glad we should be to learn
something more about the mothers and wives

Preface, xi
of the noble Estlennes, the learned and
illustrious printers, who devoted their Hves to
the reproduction of antique writers ! These
ladles aided the glorious work no less than
the men. Night and day the family toiled at
their stupendous tasks with the zeal and
fervour of crusaders and explorers. They
lived in an age of Intellectual resurrection.
Homer, Plato, and Virgil, had just been
resuscitated for the wonder and admiration of
future ages ; and It was mainly due to the
labours of men and women like the Estlennes
that the Church did not re-inter them ! Their
very speech wore a flavour of antiquity. Boys
and girls were alike reared to speak In the
tongue of Horace and Nsevlus. Their minds
were full of the poetry and wisdom of antiquity.
To come down to a later period. We have
long had a Hfe of Henry Fielding; we know
all that we want to know, perhaps, about the
author of " Tom Jones." But he had a sister,
a gifted and learned sister — who knows any
thing about her? This Sarah Fielding had

xli Preface.
great powers as a novel writer, and her
brother early recognized them. She was
also a good Greek scholar, and wrote a clear,
beautiful English style ; In fact, there Is little
doubt that she was a remarkable woman.
We do not learn what became of her. Most
likely she was obliged to leave her novel-
writing and Greek translations In order to
make shirts, pastry, and gooseberry-wine !
Fortunately one admirable specimen of her
scholarship remains, a translation of the
Memorabilia of Socrates, by Xenophon, yet
to be picked up at bookstalls. It reached
several editions during the author's Hfetime,
and should always be purchased when op
portunity offers. Simple, accurate, digni
fied in style, Xenophon has here found a
worthy interpreter. Many other instances
might be given of deplorable gaps in the
biographical history of women, and of course
no favour is shown. Women philanthropists
and scholars, social reformers and artists
educationalists and romancers, all fare alike.

Preface. xiii
History has no time for them. Let them
make room for their betters ! I will now only
add that my labours will be amply rewarded
if the present volume finds favour with the
young. For them, more especially, it has
been written, and each may carry away a
profitable lesson. Alike the story of Caroline
Herschel, of EHzabeth Carter, of Madame
Pape, of Matilda Betham, Alexandrine Tinne,
and Fernan Caballero, lead us beyond the
narrow vision and Hmlted aims of every-day
existence. These women had aU noble or at
least worthy aspirations. They felt that life,
unleavened with the leaven of thought and
endeavour, is a mere life in death, a parody
upon a lofty theme ; they recognized the
goodness and desirableness of knowledge, not
only for themselves but for others, and asked
themselves in the words of a great poet of
our own day^ —
" Why stay we on the earth unless to gi-Qw ? "
Readers can hardly help drawing, indeed,

xiv Preface.
a moral for themselves. What- consti
tuted the happiness of the Hves here de
lineated for their edification ? Not certainly
the favours and flatteries of the world, not an
unusual share of prosperity so-called, not
wealth and social successes and pleasure.
These women were happy because they loved
and admired what was good and admirable,
because they had an intellectual and moral
remedy against misfortune, disappointment,
ill-health. Littleness was eHminated out of
their existences. Their thoughts were fixed
on something higher and better than the
mere satisfaction of every day, and the fulfil
ment of common cravings after happiness.
Thus in solitude they had ever companion
ship, in self-sacrifice ever a sweet and
durable reward.

CONTENTS.

PACE
Fernan Caballero (Spanish NoveHst) . . i
Alexandrine Tinne (African Explorer) . . 41
Caroline Herschel (Astronomer and Mathe
matician) ....... 87
Marie Pape-Carpantier (Educational Reformer) 129
Elizabeth Carter (Scholar) . . . -171
Matilda Betham (Litterateur and Artist) . .229

\J''tj^'Tz. a^vz- V ^<-^ a-,//j/~iHi^

SIX LIFE STUDIES OF
FAMOUS WOMEN.

FERNAN CABALLERO.
It is curious that in an age perhaps un
equalled for memorial writing, no biography
should exist of a writer so deservedly famous
as Fernan Caballero. Her reputation may
be called European, whilst in her own country
she stands out as a delineator of national
manners and customs junri vailed and alone.
But neither in Germany, which may partly
claim her as a child, seeing that the father
of this astonishing woman was German, nor
in Spain, where all but her earliest years
were spent, and where she lately died in
the full vigour of her intellect, at the ripe
B

Fernan Laballero.

age of eighty, does any kind of biography
as yet exist. It is, therefore, only from
scattered sources, and with considerable
difficulty, that materials for the following
brief monograph have been procured. Let us
hope, ere long, that some Spanish biographer
will take up the theme, and treat it with all
the fulness it deserves.
Dona Cecilia Bohl de Faber, and Marquesa
de Arco Hermoso, was born, some say in
Switzerland, some say at Cadiz, in 1797.
Her father, the son of a Hamburg merchant,
had been sent to Cadiz to learn banking
business there; he adopted Spain as his
country, turned Catholic, and married a well
born Spanish lady, the mother of Fernan
Caballero. From her German father Fernan
Caballero inherited something more than
literary taste and aptitude ; well versed in
the early literature of Spain, his collections
of dramas and anthologies still hold their

Fernan Caballero.

place, notably the " Floresta de RImas An-
tlquas Castellaiias," well known to German
scholars. The German edition of " Ticknor's
History of Spanish Literature," contains a
notice of Herrvon Faber, or Senorde Faber,
who was a member of the Spanish Academy,
besides belonging to learned German so
cieties. Intensely Spanish, and CathoHc__by
temperament, yet German in culture, Fernan
Caballero thus manifested the characteristics
of both societies and nationalities in an ex
traordinary degree. So familiar was she with
German, that her first novel was written in
that language, whilst no Spanish writer living
or dead has shown such entire uncompro
mising oneness with Catholic Spain.
At seventeen. Dona Cecilia was married to
a certain Captain Planells, with whom she
made the journey to America, soon after
becoming a widow. Her second husband, the
Marquis von Arco Hermoso, also died in a
B 2

Fertian Caballero.

few years, and in 1837, she married for the
third time Herr von Arrom, or Seiior
de Arrom. He was of German extraction
and Spanish consul in Australia. He went
thither, leaving her behind ; and after the
death o£ her father, Doiaa Cecilia Faber y
Bohl, as she was more generally called, took
up her residence in apartments assigned to
her by Queen Isabella in the Royal Palace
of the Alcazar of Seville. Ever a staunch
Royalist, as well as a staunch Catholic, she
was at the time governess to the royal chil
dren, and a good deal at court. By far the
greater part of her life was S2.entjn her beloved
Andalusia ; though, as we find from her col
lected works, she travelled considerably, at
different periods visiting England, Belgium,
and other countries. An excellent linguist,
understanding besides her. two mother tongues
of Spanish and German, Latin, French,
English, and Italian, she was also a volu-

Fernan Caballero.

minous reader, though these cosmopolitan
tastes never for one moment interfered with
her rigid Catholicism and somewhat narrow
Espanolisimo, or nationality. English letters
and life seem to have had peculiar at
tractions for her, and the occasional bits of
an insular character introduced intq^ her
novels are cleverly, nay, brilliantly done.
We first hear of her as an authoress in
1 849, that is to say, when she was fifty years
of age, a fact worthy of note in literary
biography. Before the publication of the
" Gaviota," however, the novel which made
her famous, we learn that she had shown her
powerful story of peasant life, " LaFamilla
de Alvareda/^hich was written In^German,
to Washington Irving, then in Spain. The
graceful American littirateur was charmed
with the freshness of this work, and very
prudently advised the author to go on, and to
write in Spanish only. The advice was taken.

Fernan Caballero.

with what result we know. The publication
of " La Gaviota ; or, the Seagull," brought her
immediate popularity at home, and wide
spread notice abroad. Its brilliance and
charm of style, its picturesqueness, know
ledge of human nature, lastly, its intense na
tionality, made Fernan Caballero, apseudonym
taken from a little town in Andalusia, famous
throughout the length and breadth of her
native land. Paul Heyse early proclaimed
the new writer in Germany. M. de Mazade
dedicated an eulogistic paper to her in the
Revue des deux Mondes.
The Edinburgh Review took up the
theme here, whilst various foreign editions
and translations were not slow to make their
appearance in different places. In Spain,
her later works were published at the cost of
Queen Isabella, the reason whereof is not
plain, seeing that their enormous popularity
must have made the publication of them a

Fernan Caballero.

lucrative matter. Perhaps this step was
simply taken by the Queen out of a desire to
do honour to her friend. Be this as it may,
there is no lack of editions now of these
charming novels, a little library of fiction in
themselves, Brockhaus' edition, published at
Leipzig, being among the most attractive.
The publication of " La Gaviota " was
rapidly followed by that of " Clemencia,"
" Lagrlmas," " Ella," and the goodly list of
novels and popular stories which appeared be
tween her fiftieth and seventy-seventh year.
Never did a late writer so industriously atone
for past silence. Never was old age more
vigorous, sympathetic, and animated ! It is
a cheering fact to dwell upon, this fresh and
fruitful period of intellectual activity, at a
time when most of us are in the sere and
yellow leaf. Fernan Caballero was young
to the last, and when she died In April, 1877,
she was mourned for as a writer from whom

8 Fernan Caballero.
much had yet been expected. Her death
happened at Seville, just after the triumphant
progress of the young King Alphonso XII.,
and we can fancy how the last hours of the
great novelist were cheered by that event.
The prince, now reinstated in his right, was
not only dear to her as a former pupil, and
the son of her friend and patroness Queen
Isabella ; he represented in his person those
principles of the divine right of kings and
Ultramontanism for which we can but believe
she would willingly have laid down her life.
As she lay in the royal apartment she had
occupied so many years, her feeble frame
must have thrilled with joy at the loud vivats
without. And she must have gone to her rest full of
blissful hopes and visions concerning her be
loved Spain, that Spain with whose literary
history she would ever be identified.
Scattered here and there through the pages

Fernan Caballero.

of a charming work of travel written by the
Lady Plerbert of Lee, we have glimpses of
this great writer in her stately old age ; the
writer, herself an ardent Catholic, was natu
rally in sympathy with the Spanish authoress,
to whom she was introduced at Seville by the
Bishop of Antinoe. Lady Herbert in her
"Impressions of Spain," published in 1866,
thus describes Fernan Caballero about eleven
years before her death : " This charming lady,
by birth a German, and by marriage connected
with all the bluest blood in Spain, lives in
apartments given her by the queen, in the
palace of the Alcazar. Great trials and sorrows
have not dimmed the fire of her genius, nor
extinguished one spark of the living charity
which extends itself to all who suffer. Her
tenderness towards animals, unfortunately a
rare virtue in Spain, is one of her marked cha
racteristics. She has lately been trying to
establish a society in Seville for the prevention

ID Fernan Caballero.
of cruelty to animals, after the model of the
London one, and often told one of our party
that she never left her home without praying
that she might not see or hear any ill usage
to God's creatures. She is no longer young,
but still preserves traces of a beauty which in
former years made her the admiration of the
court. Her playfulness and wit, always
tempered by a kind thoughtfnlness for the
feelings of others, and her agreeableness in
conversation, seem only to have increased
with lengthened experience of people and
things. Nothing was pleasanter than to sit
in the corner of her little drawing-room, or
better still, her tiny study, and hear her pour
out anecdote after anecdote of Spanish life
and Spanish peculiarities, especially among
the poor. But if one wished to excite her,
one had but to touch on questions regarding
her faith and the so-called ' progress ' of her
country. Then all her Andalusian blood

Fernan Caballero. 1 1
would be roused, and she would declaim for
hours in no measured terms against the
spoliation of the monasteries, those centres of
education and civilization in the vIHages and
outlying districts ; against the introduction of
schools without religion and colleges without
faith ; and the propagation of infidel opinions
through the current literature of the day . . .
" Fernan Caballero talked much also of
the great purity of morals among the peasan
try. Infanticide, that curse of England, is
absohttely unknown in Spain, whether from
the number of foundling hospitals, or from
what other reasons, we leave it to the political
economists to discover."
As would naturally be taken for granted
by readers of her novels, Fernan Caballero's
knowledge oLAndalusian life in all its phases
was extremely vast^and she seems to have
made intimate acquaintance with all classes,
from the highest to the lowest. Thus Lady

12 Fernan Cabellero.
Herbert, among other anecdotes, cites the
following as an illustration of the horrible
results of bull-fighting : " Fernan Caballero
told us that she was once with the wife of a
famous matador, whose chest was transfixed
by the bull at the moment when, thinking the
beast's strength was spent, he had leaned
forward to deal the fatal stroke. He lingered
for some hours in an agony which, she said,
must have been seen to be believed."
Have we not here the suggestion of those
wonderfully powerful scenes descriptive of
Pepe Vera, the famous matador, his brilliant
successes and tragic end, in " La Gaviota" ?
As a friend of the queen, she would of course
have admirable opportunities for studying
court life ; as a devotee, and a charitable
lady, she would find ready access to the
homes of the poor.
She was moreover an adept in the difficult
art of holding a salon, putting every one at
ease at once, and bringing the best out of

Fernan Caballero. 13
her visitors. Her great beauty in old age
must have been remarkable.
We will now indicate what the reader will
find in Fernan Caballero's works, and this,
even in the case of so versatile and volumi
nous a writer, is no difficult task. For her
strength lies in her sincerity, that entire one
ness with her subject which prevents any
straining after effect, or the necessity of
havlnof recourse to artificial method in work-
ing it out. Next to sincerity, she eminently
possesses the gift of sympathy, both qualities
being necessary to the making of a story-teller.
She is the most natural writer in the world,
taking up no theme with which she is not
familiar, and which she does not love, never
seeking far and wide for her inspiration ; she
gives us little in the way of poetic idealism in
her characters, or picturesque romanticism in
her situations. All that she wants for building
up those bright and charming fictions is close
under her eyes, at hand, indubitably and ir-

14 Fernan Caballero.
revocably her own. Her literary horizon was
limited to the life of the Spanish people in
its manifold aspects, and it is because she
realized this that she became a great national
writer. Perhaps none can be named who is
more national. Her intense nationality con
stitutes alike her strength and her weakness.
" How willingly would Fernan Caballero,"
writes one of her German critics, " have built
a wall of China round about her beloved
country!" It Is not because good and
beautiful things are Spanish that she loves
them. It is because they are Spanish that
she finds them good and beautiful. This
feeling — which nevertheless does not blind
her to the faults of her country-people — be
trays itself in every page, and so readily does
she communicate her sympathies to her
readers, that we are completely carried away,
forgetting momentarily that we are not
Spanish too. Even those who have never
visited Spain, and have paid no attention to

Fernan Caballero. 15
her literature, must feel this magnetic attrac
tion, although, of course, the charm Is greatly
heightened by being able to realize, no matter
how faintly, the backgrounds of those power
ful stories, and also by reading them in the
writer's own language. Several of the most
famous have been translated Into English,
but we believe with no great success, partly
owing to the isolated position of Spain among
nations, and our general indifference to what
is going on there in the world of letters. It
is, however, becoming more and more the
fashion to visit Spain, a country almost
uniquely interesting from various points of
view, archaeological, artistic, picturesque ; ^
and as any knowledge whatever of present
manners and customs lends additional charm
to foreign travel, intending tourists cannot do
better than make a study of this writer's
' See the present writer's "Through Spain" for an
account of an easy and pleasant journey performed by
two ladies some years ago.

1 6 Fernan Caballero.
works. The colloquial Spanish of the dia
logues will be invaluable to them by the way,
and we can hardly suppose the task of mas
tering a language so acquirable and magni
ficent could daunt any but the idlest.
Fernan Caballero does not lose more than
any other imaginative writer in translation,
but in order to do her justice we must read
her works as she wrote them, in that pure,
rich, epigrammatic Andalusian of which she
was so thoroughly the master. From this
treasure-house of wit and poetry she takes
nothing away, still less does she seek to add
any foreign matter or outlandish gloss to
what is sufficient of itself. The Idiomatic
speech of Andalusia is plastic in her hands,
and skilfully and well does she bend it to her
needs. Song, proverb, wise saws, parables
and religious maxims, nursery rhymes —
everything that is popular — woven into the
thread of daily discourse, constantly on the

Fernan Caballero. 1 7
lips and in the hearts of young and old — she
makes her own. The memory of the Anda
lusian, as she somewhere says, is an archive
of coplas (couplets), so numerous and so varied
that it would be difficult to say anything
which could not be said in verse ; and her
stories are garnished with snatches of popular
poetry, the peasant-folks evidently talking in
rhyme as naturally as in prose.
What we have to look for in the novels of
Fernan Caballero, therefore, is the every-day
life of the every-day people of Spain ; and if
we trust ourselves to her guidance, believing
implicitly in all she tells us, we shall finish our
literary excursion into unknown regions with a
very different notion from that Avith which we
set out. And let no outsider incautiously criti
cize and carp at 'this picture or that as being
highly coloured or overdrawn. No writer

was ever surer of her subject than Fernan
Caballero, otherwise, witty and wise and
c

1 8 Fernan Caballero.
strong as she was, she would not thus have
anticipated the critics of her native country ;
in a prefatory note to one of her stories, she
naively and unanswerably says : " Many
years of study made unremittingly and con
amore permit me to assure all those who find
fault with my delineations of popular life, that
they are less versed in the subject than my
self." Would that critics were often thus
authoritatively silenced for once and for all !
But it is not only the peasant-folk we find
delineated here with masterly touch. Fernan
Caballero is equally at home in the world of
beauty and fashion ; side by side with pictures
of rural life worthy of George Sand, and
indeed In respect of breadth surpassing those
of the illustrious Berrlchone — we have lively
sketches of society ; the beauty surrounded
by her little court In a Tertulia of Seville ;
the dandy and his boon companions ; the
stately grande dame after the old type ; the

Fernan Caballero. 19
true old Spanish don ; the worldly-wise,
courtly spiritual advisers of noble ladies ; the
money-lenders ; the coquette — all the actors
that take part In the every-day tragedy and
comedy of existence — are vividly brought
before us, and we listen to what they say
and watch their doings with unflagging in
terest, forgetting that they are Spanish,
only aware that they are men and women
whose passions, motives, and thoughts are
portrayed by a true artist. Just as English
readers are fascinated by the Russian stories
of M. Tourgueneff by reason of their fidelity
and freshness, so will Fernan Caballero
fascinate them, being cosmopolitan in the
sense that all great novelists must be, seeing
that the stuff they have to deal with, whether
called Russian, Spanish, or Japanese, Is much
the same all the world over. Provided a
story-teller has the power to interest us, her
heroes and heroines may indeed be pre-
c 2

20 Fernan Caballero.
historic or South Sea Islanders for aught we
care. Let the reader then unhesitatingly have
recourse to this little library of fiction, safely
assuming that he will be interested, no matter
which volume he takes up. It is especially
to be noted of so prolific a writer, that her
first work was not published, till she was
verging on fift)-. She died, as we have seen,
at seventy-seven, and her literary activity and
creatlveness were therefore crowded into that
portion of life when most writers' powers and
energies begin to flag. Perhaps this fact may
account for the striking want of constructive
power and finish, literary carpentering and
joining, and varnishing, combined Vv-ith a cer
tain not ungraceful, yet inartistic, carelessness,
characterizing most of her stories, great or
small. She seems to have sat down to her
work with a triumphant consciousness of all
she could do, and an overwhelming conviction

Fernan Caballero. 21

of all she must do ; then to have plunged
straightway into the subject, paying no heed
whatever to minor points. She had a story
to tell, and she told it in her own manner, a
manner delightfully spontaneous, but often
irritating from mere _ technical faultlness.
Lonsf digressions, want of arrangement,
above all, want of balance and proportion,
are the faults of this otherwise admirable
writer. Her longer novels are rather a series
of pictures and studies, indeed, than a dramatic
whole. She does not know how to work up
her situations to a climax, and except in some
exquisite little stories of peasant life, we seek
in vain for that artistic completeness not to
be compensated by wit, pathos, and passion,
all of Avhich she possessed in abundance.
Very likely had she taken earlier to the
career of a novel- writer, she would have paid
more attention to style and literary construc
tion ; as it is, we can hardly help v/Ishing

2 2 Fernan Caballero.
that she had left a literary heir and executor
behind her to edit these delightful works,
in other words, to reduce them by cutting
out the interminable digressions, which how
ever lively and amusing, irritate the reader
who is anxious to get on with the story.
IMost people will prefer the delineations of
rustic life to those of the gay world of Seville
and Cadiz, so brilliantly described in " La
Gaviota," " Clemencia," " Lagrlmas," and
elsewhere. A German critic dwelling upon
the marvellously delicate, }'et bold touch,
with which these social pictures are drawn,
notes the characteristic lightheartedness and
ease of Spanish society, as strikingly con
trasted with anything to be found in Ger
many. " A great charm exists for us," he
writes, " In Fernan Caballero's representa
tions of life In the upper ranks, for the absence
of conventionalism, and the free-and-easy
intercourse of the sexes described in her

Fernan Caballero.

novels are wholly unknown among us. The
young people are grouped together, flirting,
singing, asking each other riddles, making
love, intriguing, all in the most unceremonious
manner Imaginable ; their elders sit at the
card-tables often disturbed by the noise going
on." And truly Fernan Caballero gives us flirt
ing enough and to spare in these Tertullas or
salons, and love-making of a kind deeply
contrasted with the love-making of the pious,
serious, proud Andalusian peasant-folk. But
we do not quarrel with our author on the
subject of flirting, which, like everything else,
is right and proper In its place. If the young
Spanish ladies get more of it than their
English and French sisters, that does not
prevent them from becoming dignified
matrons and devoted mothers, of whom we
have here some delightful portraits. More
over, the vivaclousness, sparkle, and Ineftable

24 Fernan Caballero.
gaiety of the Spanish Tertulia is pleasant to
read of, as a relief to the dulness, boredom,
and intolerableness of such social gatherings
in some other countries. Even among French
people eminently genial by character, etiquette
and custom divide the sexes at evening
parties. The maidens sit with their cha-
perones on one side of the room, the gallants
eye them furtively on the other. Whatever
flirting falls to the share of a Frenchwoman
comes after marriage, whereas evidently In
Spain, it has its due season, and a yqung
beauty no sooner emerges from the convent-
school, than she flirts to her heart's content
till her marriage-day. We should, for our
part, prefer a little more reserve and a little
more discretion in her coquetries, but must
accept her as she is, or nothing at all.
Fernan Caballero idealizes, but she does not
invent. Her creations are living types, not
phantoms of the brain.

Fernan Caballero. 25
If she succeeds to perfection in her heroines
and heroes of fashionable life, the queens of
the Seviflan Tertulia or "At Home," and
their admirers of the other sex, she is
equally happy In delineating their elders.
No other novelist has given us perhaps
such a delightful series of old gentlemen,
and her Don Perfectos, Don Modestos,
Don Benignos, Don Justos, &c., are touched
off with a wit and pathos worthy of the
countrywoman of Cervantes. Equally good
are some of her old ladies of the sangre asul,
or blue blood, notably the " Asistenta," a
character in " Ella," sketched without ex
aggeration, and with much quiet humour.
But it Is impossible to give any adequate
idea of the versatile powers of Fernan
Caballero as a delineator of character. She
is not a psychologist like George Eliot, she is
not a poet like the great Sand, or our own
Currer Bell, but she possesses a deep insight

2 6 Fernan Caballero.
into the human heart, and an extraordinary
knowledge of life under its various phases.
Take, for instance, two characters in the first
and more famous novel. The heroine, a
fisherman's daughter called " La Gaviota,"
and Pepe Vera, the bull-fighter. The young,
handsome, reckless Pepe Vera, the darling
of the Sevillan people. Is inimitably drawn ;
no less so the wild daughter of the sea
and rocks with the wonderful voice, " La
Gaviota" or sea-bird. Pepe's passion for
her, and superhuman power over her, is one
of the finest and most dramatic episodes
in Fernan Caballero's work. The fisher
man's daughter brought from her rude home
on the coast to Sevifle, and by virtue of her
rare voice and the persistent efforts of her
husband, an elderly musical German doctor,
become prima donna there, fafls into the
toils of Pepe; is drawn to him as by a
basilisk glance, Ave know not how or why,

Fernan Caballero. 27
we only feel that it cannot be otherwise.
Pepe's last and fatal appearance on the arena
is a powerful scene ; every incident and cir
cumstance of the bull-fight are brought
vividly before us ; we see the gorgeous
pageant, we shrink from the lurid scene, we
hear the shouts of the people. Those, like
the present writer, who have witnessed such
a spectacle, can fully realize the force of our
author's description, whilst others need make
no journey to Seville for the purpose. The
magician transports us thither with her wand,
and we behold without bodily eyes.
" La Gaviota," the child of the rocks and
the sea, no fitting companion for the sober
German who has married her, mated before
hand by passion and nature to the beautiful,
masterful Torero, is a bold and original
figure. The story is at best a painful one,
but full of colour, life, and reality. Having
said thus much for the wide range of this

28 Fernan Caballero.
author's powers, and her extensive knowledge
of human nature under its varied aspects, we
must still assert our belief that it is pre
eminently as a delineator of peasant folks
and country life that she will live. Her
title of honours, fier claim to be remembered
lie here. Doubtless many writers will sketch
Sevillan and Cadlzan society as piquantly,
wittily, and forcibly as she, but in the por
traiture of Andalusian rural life, she must
ever remain unrivalled and alone. A vast
variety of themes and characters s'ne gives
us in these delicious little novelettes, making
us alternately smile and weep, interesting
and attracting always. Of digressions there
are enough and to spare, but as she herself
good-humouredly says, the reader is not
obliged to go through them, whilst word-
painting as such or padding, are w^holly
absent. The rich, varied scenery of Anda
lusia forms a background for the stories, and

Fernan Caballero. 29
that is all. She never, as is the fashion
among certain English writers, finds a story
to suit a background, but adjusts a back
ground to her story ; and if occasionally
wearisome when dilating on her bugbears,
" el pseudo " ^ and " el positlvo," ' she does not
tire us with descriptions of scenery. In fact,
we often wish for more of them, so pictu
resque are they, and so choicely does the
Spanish language give apt expression to the
thought in descriptive writing. The no
velist's business is, however, with the human
heart, and here wc have neither too much
nor too little. Tenderly, yet with masterful
touch is the pious, poetic, ofttimcs sad and
laborious life of the Andalusian peasant
portrayed. We feel that there can be no exaggeration
" El pseudo, the snob, sesthetic, social.
" V\ positlvo, the ultra liberal or radirnl in politii:s,
social matters, and progress generally.

30 Fernan Caballero.
in these pictures, that all the deep religious
faith, simplicity, family love, and keen sense
of family honour on which she dwells so
fondly are there; that however much the
Spain of the capital and of the towns is
being modernized, the life of the people is
unchanged. A great deal in the Andalusian
character reminds us of the Bretons ; they
too as yet remain almost what they were in
the time of their ancestors. In Andalusia,
as in Brittany, we find the same strong
religious feeling, alloyed with no little super
stition ; the same clinging to soil, king, and
church ; the same feeling of clanship existing
among blood relatives ; the same inrooted
dislike to innovation of all kinds. " Oh, my
native soil, my white bread, my church, my
Holy Mother, my country, my faith, and
my Floly Sacrament ! " cries one of the
peasant folks. " A thousand times fortunate
am I to be born her^. Thanks be to God

Fernan Caballero. 31

that thou, niy son, art not a child of the land
of heretics thou speakest of." And so would
speak a Breton peasant. We also find the
same poetical turn ; the Breton, like the
Andalusian, having a snatch of song, a wise
saw, or a legend for every occasion. And
the same charitableness abounds ; the beggar,
or " chcrchcur de pain," being welcomed in
both countries as a guest not to be rudely
dismissed, the hearth of the poor man being
ever open to those poorc;r than himself.
This benevolence one towards another, is
strikingly brought out in Fernan Caballero's
novels, and lends especial tenderness and
beauty to the character of the women. There
is one peasant woman, Estefania, in the
novelette called " Mas Honor que Honores,"
who stands out in our memories with almost
an angelic halo round her head. She is the
wife of an ordinary peasant, and her exist
ence is no less rude and unpoetic than that

Fernan Caballero.

of most who have to win scant bread by the
sweat of their brow. But Estefania's life is
beautified by love and tenderness, not merely
that maternal expression of it which is found
in the lower animals as well as in human
beings, but that more beautiful quality still
called forth by helplessness and misfortune.
She shields a nameless little orphan, and
rears him as her own. She o^Ives bread and
shelter to an old man past working, because
there Is none other to do it In her place.
This story of Estefania and her adopted
child Gabriel is as simple as can well be, yet
no more material is needed by the true
artist. Gabriel has been entrusted to Este
fania and her husband, Juan Martin, as a
nurse-child ; but they are suddenly informed
that no more payments are forthcoming, and
that they must do as they will with the
foundling. Neighbours come in with a word
of cold, worldly Avisdom. Juan Martin says

Fernan Caballero.

nothing, but wears an anxious look. Este
fania being determined all the time not to
abandon the child, appeals to her husband,
asking whether this little one will not be a
nice playmate for their little Ana, and fill the
place of their baby-boy just "gone to God."
Being' left unanswered and alone she folds the
orphan to her heart and soliloquises thus, —
" Thou hast no mother, I have np son ;
and neither of us can do without the other.
To whom should I give the milk of my breasts
and. the love of my heart ? who but me
would watch over thy cradle and guard thee,
sleeping or waking ? Come, then, come, thou
whom all repel, for whom not even thyself
can implore aid. Come, not knowing that
thou hast found the first and sweetest treasure
of a human creature, mother's love, my poor
abandoned cherub ! If the Lord has brought
us all helpless into the world, it is because
He knew that woman would not forsake us ! "

34 Fernan Caballero.
Gabriel turns out well, and the ddnotiement
of the story, embracing a charming love-
episode between himself and Ana, his pro
tector's daughter, is happy. Fernan Cabal

lero's stories always end well, when It seems
in accordance with the fitness of things,
though not a few are deeply tragic.
It is impossible not to lay bigotry to the
charge of this writer, yet In these delineations
of peasant life, it does not disconcert us. She
represents Catholicism as part of the life of
the^ people, moulding their daily thoughts
and actions, coming to their aid in hours of
trial and fleshly temptation, consoling them
under bitterest calamity, easing their dying
beds. This inrooted devotedness indeed
forms the one bright thread running through
the tissue of a peasant's laborious existence.
The Andaluslan's lightness of heart and so
ciability of disposition are there as a relief
to toil and hardship ; but these too often

P\rnau Caballero. 35
lead to all kinds of excesses, and need
keeping in check by the sternest warn
ings and reproof. The first thought of an
Injured Spaniard is revenge — revenge that
is prompt, satisfying, ofttimes deadly; but
wo generally find him penitent at the last,
and in reconciliation with his enemies and
the Church. The spiritual side of the people
lends a touching solemnity to these village
scenes. We hear the ringing of the Angelus,
a signal for old and young to uncover their
heads and give themselves up to momentary
pra)er. We join the crowds of village chil
dren assembled to celebrate the joyous
festlA-al of the Nativity. We follow the
imposing procession of the Host, as it wends
its way Avith banners and military music to
the bedside of the dying. From his cradle to
his grave, the Church takes the Andalusian
peasant by the hand, teaching, exhorting,
consoling. Thus, at least, Fernan Caballero
D 2

36 Fernan Caballero.
makes us feel as if she writes of a Spain
gradually undergoing transformation ; the
picture. is doubtless true as far as it goes.
For herself also this uncompromising Ca
tholicism was all or nothing. Half German
by birth, cosmopolitan by learning and literary
taste, she is yet saturated with the theology of
an epoch passing away, and the influences of a
religion out of harmony with the spontaneous
growth of thought and the development of
progress. Her stories abound in dglicious
descriptions of_AndalusIan scenery, and as
such may be commended to intending Spanish
tourists. Those somewhat already famlHar
with southern Spain and its people will find
here countless happy touches. In " Lagrlmas"
there is a richly humourous sketch of a mule,
which "now raised one ear, and noAv the other,
as if to demonstrate that two and two make
four," — one incident of a thousand of the
writer's humour.

Fernan Caballero. 37
Fernan Caballero^ adored jjiimaLs, as we
have seen ; and the famfly mule, donkey,
cat, dog, and other domestic pets, figure with
the children in these home-pictures. Al
though she was the reverse of a social re
former, she puts in a plea for the animal
world, upbraiding her country-people for
their cruelty in terms of bitter reproach. The
nobility of the woman shines forth in these
appeals on behalf of the unfortunate "Borrico,"
the very word in the mouth of Spaniard or
Arab seeming opprobrious enough to warrant
any amount of ill-usage — the over-charged,
over-driven mule, often left to perish of
fatigue in moyntain ruts during the rainy
season ; and, lastly, the battered horse,
dragged, after his laborious career, to the
arena — there to be gored to death by in
furiated bulls. All tliese things fill her mind
with shame and horror, and whilst she is a
true Spaniard in every fibre of her being,

38 Fernan Caballero.
she is not national with regard to the bull
fight. As a spectacle, she can grasp it and
describe it magnificently ; but the whole
thing is distasteful — nay, repugnant to her,
and she cannot understand that it should be
otherwise with any moderately sensitive
human being. But beyond increased justice
and mercy towards animals — perhaps a few
minor social reforms in manners, dress, &c. —
she is well pleased to leave her beloved Spain
as she finds it. The great questions now
uppermost in leading minds seemed to her,
as an ardent Catholic, either wholly chimerical
or absurd, or to be quietly ignored. In this
exclusiveness lies the secret of her success
and her fame.
She made it her business to portray to
the life, the life that she knew, and because
she could do this, and attempted nothing
else, she has become so worthily renowned.
It would be hard to name any other writer,

lu'rnan Caballero. 39

who, as a novelist, is equally national, her
works forming quite an encyclopcedia of
Spanish modern life in its varied aspects.
Jane Austen has done as much for certain
sections of English society, but her sphere
Is limited. George Eliot is unequalled in
her delineations of Derbyshire peasantfolk,
but her ladies and gentlemen fail to interest
us. George Sand is a poet, and, though
gifted with an almost unexampled know
ledge of the human heart, she gives us
ideals always, not living types. Fernan
Caballero, without being so perfect as any of
these writers in their peculiar fields, com
bines some of the excellencies of each. She
wants the minute finish of Jane Austen, the
breadth and subtlety of George Eliot, the
passion of George Sand, and she is far less
of an artist than these, yet by virtue of her
intense national sympathies and marvellous
insight Into character, she may be put on

40 Fernan Caballero.
the same pedestal. She has indeed con
tributed a noteworthy share to the literature
of her country, and few women occupy so
proud a position in the world of letters.
We might find it hard to indicate the
most national English story-teller to an
inquiring Japanese or Hindoo ; but such a
question put by a foreigner to a Spaniard
could hardly be answered except in one
way. It is to the works of Fernan Cabal
lero all must go who would acquaint them
selves with the Spain and Spaniards of our
OAvn time.

ALEXANDRINE TINNE,
AFRfCAN EXPLORER.

'/

//^.r^///r///'//<s' ^^^ /";//??{'

c-A.

¦T/2t a yi<:-t

^ta,€C y-i'-u--' c_~y'>Pi-^>i..

ALEXANDRINE TINNE, AFRICAN
EXPLORER.
The sedentary part of mankind, which is the
vast majority in civilized countries, wifl ever
be especially attracted towards the records of
adventurous travel undertaken by women.
Sitting by your fireside, and reading of Lady
Hester Stanhope's Bedouin wanderings in
the Syrian Desert ; of Lady DufF Gordon's
daily life among the Fellaheen of the Nile ;
or of the gallant Lady Baker's participation in
her husband's African perils, our minds are
powerfully and agreeably affected by the sense
of contrast such experiences present to those
of ordinary existence. It is without doubt

44 Alexandrine Tinne.
chiefly an impatience of conventional society,
a domestic routine, narrowed by custom and
. fashion, that leads women of such courageous
type far out of the beaten track. Sedentari
ness is not a normal condition of things, and
most young people possessed of high spirits
and good health would choose an out-of-door,
breezy, adventurous life. If choice were pos
sible. This feeling, up to a certain point, is
a natural and healthy one. On the threshold
of life, all is so new, so marvellous, so en
ticing ! We would fain know what the great
world is like, take part in its ever-changing,
many-phased development, do as others have
done before us, and discover or create for
ourselves. Added to the inherent adventure-
someness of youth, we must take into account
the romance attaching to Eastern travel.
There is a magnetic fascination for some
minds In Oriental life, that strange mixture of
Biblical simplicity and primitiveness, with

Alexandrine TinnS. 45
the splendour and poetry of the Arabian
Nights. It was certainly the desire of ad
venture, as well as a craving for the fabled
East, that actuated the career of Alexandrine
Tinne, veritable page of romance itself, and
at the same time as daring and luckless a
chapter of African exploration as any on
record. Visitors to Algiers, some years ago, will
remember the air of mystery hanging about
a certain yacht lying off" the harbour. Ru
mour spread all kinds of glowing reports
about the mistress of Its motley crew, Euro
peans, negroes, and stately Nubians. Some
said it was an Oriental princess ; one in
vented a love affair, to account for the lonely
wanderings of this female Odysseus ; another
hinted darkly at some political mission from
far off Mussalman courts to the chiefs of
the Sahara. The bare truth, when at last it
was made known, was almost as marvellous

46 Alexandrine TinnS.
as, anything fiction could invent on behalf of
its owner. The yacht, indeed, belonged to
a lady, young, beautiful, and possessed of
queenly fortune, whose existence, almost from
childhood, had been spent in the East, who
had already accomplished several voyages of
discovery in Central Africa ; and who, un
daunted by the mishaps of former pioneers
in the same direction, now projected an un
dertaking, which, if carried out successfully,
must place her in the foremost rank of
African discoverers.
This courageous young lady, for she was
in the flower of her youth, was born at the
Hague in 1839, of mixed parentage, her
father being an English merchant long resi
dent in Holland ; her mother, a Dutch
baroness, daughter of that famous Dutch
Admiral van Capellen who assisted Lord Ex-
mouth at the siege of Algiers in 181 6. Thus
Alexandrine directly inherited some of her

Alexandrine TinnS. 47
unusual mental and physical qualities. By the
death of her father, whilst she was stiUamere
child, she became one of the richest heiresses
in the country ; and her mother, who must
also have been a remarkable woman, gave
her as choice and expensive an education as
that bestowed on a young princess. She was
early introduced at court, where she soon
grew to be an especial favourite of the Queen,
but these glimpses of royalty, and constant
intercourse with the most cultivated and
artistic circles of the capital, acted upon her
in a wholly unexpected manner. What high
tastes, culture, and elegant surroundings could
do to make the young heiress in love with
such a life were hers. Everything was
placed within her reach ; the pleasures of the
world, as well as those of the intellect,
distractions of every kind, the prospects of
a brilliant marriage, and an enviable social
position. Young, beautiful, rich, gifted, she

48 Alexandrine Tinni.
yet turned her face upon the future that
beckoned so enticingly, and in her eighteenth
year quitted the Hague never to return. Her
first journey was on an ambitious scale, and
evidently determined, for once and for all,
the bent of her career. In company of her
mother and aunt, she visited Norway, Italy,
Constantinople, Palestine, and the Nile,
spending the winter at Cairo. Egypt, how
ever, with its influx of European tourists and
cosmopolitan element, despite its unspeakable
picturesqueness and grandeur, failed to satisfy
the aspiration of the enthusiastic young tra
veller. She wanted to throw heart and soul
into the life of the African explorer, to
devote her fortune and energies to the cause
of geographical discovery, to contribute to
wards the solution of those vast problem
which have perplexed travellers of all ages
and countries •, lastly, to report on the
slave-trade, and to do what in her lay for

^S^exandrine Tinnd. 49

the oppressed people of the "dark con
tinent." With schemes no less ambitious than these
she started on a voyage of discovery in Cen
tral Africa, her companions being her mother
and aunt, worthy daughters of the brave Dutch
admiral. The journey alone, for enterprise
and originality, sufficed to place her among
the fraternity of African explorers, and is
severally described in the ZzVw^j' of November,
1862, under the head of " Lady Travellers on
the White Nile ;" afterwards in Petermann's
well-knowngeographical publication, " Mitthei-
lungen," also in a communication read before
the Royal Geographical Society of London.
"A thousand mfles on the White Nile" is
no small achievement, as a glance at the map
wiU show. Their project was attended with
many difficulties. No climate is more fatal to
Europeans than that of the W-hlte Nile; every
possible obstacle was then put in the way of

50 Alexandrine Ti^tnd.
travellers by the slave-driving authorities
and their abettors. Undismayed, however,
Alexandrine and her companions set off" from
Cairo in January, 1862, with three Nile boats,
containing provisions for twelvemonths, large
quantities of money, chiefly in copper, and a
numerous train of servants. At Korosko,
they quitted their dahabeeyahs and purchased
a hundred camels, starting for Abu- Ham
med through the Nubian desert. Being
largely provided with water, the caravan did
not suffer much ; but great was the general
joy, when at last, after this monotonous pere
grination in the blinding sand, the pinnacles
of Abu-Hammed were descried rising amid
palm groves and granite crags, the Nile
flowing beyond in majestic fulness and splen
dour. Our travellers proceeded to Khartoum,
capital of Egyptian Soudan, built near the
confluence of the White and Blue Nile, a
modern town of between 40,000 and 50,000

Alexandrine Tiniic'. 51
inhabita.ats, and of considerable importance
from many points of view. In the first
place, it is the seat of local government
established there by Its founder Mohammed
All ; secondly, it is the great halting-place
and centre of ivory-hunters, slave-captors,
and travellers generally. At the time of
the ladies' visit, Musad Pasha, the Turkish
Governor-General, ruled with military sway,
oppressing the people, draining the country
of its last resources, and carrying on a vast
commerce in slavery. The fame of this
young heiress's great wealth and her pro
testations against slavery had already reached
Khartoum, and it was well known that what
she saw in Africa would be reported in
Europe ; as might be expected, therefore,
every possible obstacle was put in her way.
The intrepid young lady — she was only
twenty-two at the time — insisted, however, and
being backed with a queenly fortune and
E 2

52 Alexandrine Tinni.
influential protection, she gained her point,
starting from Khartoum in a steamer placed
at her disposal by a brother of the Khedive
of Egypt. This voyage was full of pictu
resqueness and poetic charm. The river banks
were luxuriant with palm-trees, mimosas, and
acacias, peopled with birds of great variety,
and monkeys, and the little villages along
side formed a succession of pictures in the
mellow atmosphere, an amber light toning
down the brilliant hues of day. Whenever
the party alighted, the appearance of the
young leader of the expedition aroused the
most lively curiosity. A superb horsewoman,
blonde, handsome and commanding in ap
pearance, as she galloped with' her escort
through the negro villages, it was rumoured
that this was no lesser personage than a
daughter of the great Lord of Stamboul. Her
youth, her beauty, her courage, and, abcve
all, her kindness to the black race won all

Alexandrine Tinnd. 53
hearts, whilst even the emissaries of Turkish
rule in these parts treated her with courtesy
and respect. Such a life as this was in per
fect harmony with Alexandrine's tastes, but
she could not for a moment shake off the
painful impression produced by the curse of
slavery that lay on the land. Her purse was
ever open to those needing help, though, of
course, against this evil as a whole, she was
powerless. The journey was continued eastward,
nothing daunting Alexandrine. They duly
reached the Nu Lake, where the White Nile
joins the Gazelle river, as dismal and un
healthy a spot as any in Africa, one vast
sAvamp meeting the eye on every side,
and life being made insupportable by mos
quitoes. There is nothing in all nature more deadly
and repulsive than these SAvamps of the White
Nile, but the travellers escaped malaria, and

54 Alexandrine TinnS.
pursued their way to the Austrian missionary
station of Heiligenkreuz, veritable European
grave-yard in the heart of Africa ! Sixty
souls in afl, missionaries and laymen, lie
buried here, some martyrs to religious zeal,
others to a love of science and humanity.
One of the latest of these, Wilhelm von
Harnier, sportsman and naturalist, who had
only halted at the mission-station for rest,
magnanimously sacrificed his life in attempt
ing to rescue a negro from an enraged
buffalo. Various excursions were made by the ladles
in the neighbouring villages, mere congeries
of straw huts, inhabited by a quite naked
population, whose food consisted chiefly of
bats, snakes, termites, and roots. On the
30th of September the party reached Gondo-
koro, having successfully accomplished a
journey of upwards of a thousand miles in
these a' most unknown regions. Gondokoro

Alexandrine Tinnd. 55
pleased them greatly, and Madame Tinne
wrote home in glowing terms of the pleasant
terraces, planted with lemon and tamarisk
trees, and of the fertile negro villages, where
so long as the maize lasted, the inhabitants
did nothing but sing and dance. Excursions
were made in the en\'irons, where they found
a rich plain, dotted with fine trees, and
peopled with flocks and herds. The return
to Khartoum Avas safely accomplished, and
the fame of the unique journey made by
ladies soon reached Europe. As they sailed
up the river towards Khartoum, they en
countered the dahabeeyah of Sir Samuel
Baker, Avho was just quitting it, and the great
explorer touchingly alludes to this rencontre
in his opus magnum. Salutes were fired,
handkerchiefs waved, so long as the steamers
remained in each other's sight. Little did
Ave think, wrote Sir Samuel, that it was the
last time Ave should see those friendly faces.

56 Alexandrine Tinnd.
and that the little exploring party was doomed
to so fearful an end. The journey had cost
the ladies six thousand pounds !
At Khartoum they halted for a time,
falling in with other travellers equally en
thusiastic, and with them maturing ambitious
schemes of adventure and discovery. It must
be remembered that at no time was more
enthusiasm displayed concerning African ex
ploration than on the occasion of the three
ladies' expedition to Gondokoro. Speke and
Grant had just accomplished their remarkable
journeys ; Sir Samuel Baker was on the eve
of setting out for his great voyage ; Pethe-
rick had brought home a vast collection of
spoils from the White Nile ; and German
and other travellers were meditating expe
ditions in all directions. It was the begin
ning of an epoch rich in geographical result,
as a glance at the map and the history of
African travel of the last thirty years will show.

Alexandrine Tinnd. 57
The achievements, indeed, of our OAvn
country-people are alone enough to take
one's breath away ! The great Livingstone
led the van, exploring vast tracts which had
hitherto been mere blanks in the African
map, discovering the Lake Victoria Nyanza
nearly under the Equator, and the Lake
Tanganyika farther south, also the great
river Lualaba ; and, among other exploits,
tracing the Zambesi river from the interior
to its outlet in the Indian Ocean. Infected
by his ardour, came the gallant Speke and
Grant, who shared with Sir Samuel Baker
the glory of discovering the sources of the
Nile. To the latter we owe also the dis
covery of a second great lake, the Albert
Nyanza ; and, furthermore, one of the most
important expeditions into Central Africa for
the suppression of the slave-trade. Stanley's
search after Livingstone is another memo
rable exploit. Starting from Zanzibar In

58 Alexandrine Tinnd.
January, 1871, Stanley with 200 men suc
ceeded in reaching Ujiji on Lake Tanganyika,
whither Livingstone had just arrived from
the south-west lakes. Stanley explored the
region between the Lakes Albert Nyanza
and Tanganyika, descended the river Liv
ingstone had discovered and named, the
Lualaba, to its mouth — a stupendous feat, un
fortunately accompanied by many sanguinary
encounters with the natives. Lastly, we
have Cameron's more peaceful and equally
magnificent journey — the first performed by
an Englishman across the African continent
in its central latitudes, beyond the western
shore of Lake Tanganyika to the Atlantic
sea-coast of Lower Guinea, Nearly 3000
miles were accomplished on foot, the most
important part of his travels lying in the
interior west of the great lakes and rivers dis
covered by Livingstone, and which Cameron
found to be connected with the river Congo.

Alexandrine Tinnd. 59
Such are a few of the splendid results of
African exploration within the last thirty years,
as far as English travellers are concerned, to
say nothing of the journeys of Barth, Schwein-
furth, and other foreign travellers equally
daring, In different regions. No wonder that
Alexandrine Tinne, whose mind from her
earliest years had been turned to exploration
and adventure, now caught the general glow.
At Khartoum, the great meeting-place of
African explorers, Petherick, Grant, Speke,
and Baker — she was not long in finding others
ready to enter into her schemes, and thank
ful to avail themselves of her pecuniary re
sources. These kindred spirits were two Abyssinian
travellers, Drs, Steudner and Heughlin,
Germans, the first a botanist, the last a
naturalist, who were only awaiting such an
opportunity to carry out their project of
penetrating into unknown regions of the

6o Alexafidrine Tinnd.
White Nile. Here we must follow the nar
rative of Dr. Heughlin, who has published
from a naturalist's point of view, one of the
most interesting volumes contributed to the
literature of African exploration.'
Dr. Heughlin and his friend had reached
Khartoum — the Canterbury of these pilgrims
— some months before the return of the ladies
from Gondokoro, and the first part of the
doctor's work is devoted to a previous jour
ney made into East Kordofan; We will pass
by this portion of the work, highly interesting
as it is, and devote our attention to the
narrative of his journey made with Alexan
drine Tinn6 and her companions on the
White Nile and Gazelle river.
The travellers soon matured their plan,
which was no less ambitious than that of a
voyage to the lake-sources of the Gazelle
' Reise in das Gebiet des Weissen Nil von Th. von
Heughlin. Leipzig, 1869.

Alexandrine Tinnd. 6i
river, thence by land to the country of the
famed cannibal tribes, the Nyam-Nyam.^
Such an undertaking required preparations
on a large and costly scale, but in this respect
no obstacle presented itself.
Alexandrine, the leading spirit and prime
mover of the expedition, undertook to furnish
the necessary funds, and a relation of her
own, the Baron d'Arkel d'Ablaing, also an
experienced traveller, joined the party. ' But
there were hindrances not of a pecuniary
nature. The Baroness van Capellen, Alexan
drine's aunt, was too much weakened by fever
to undertake another journey as yet, and
some delay also occurred in getting together
the necessary provisions and retinue. Large
quantities of provisions were taken, chiefly
consisting of biscuits, meal, butter, rice, cofiee,
tobacco, wine, and brandy, also wax-lights
" Much interesting matter concerning these tribes is-
appended in Dr. Heughlin's volume.

62 Alexandrine Tinnd.
and soap ; besides these, copper bracelets
and bars, fine glass beads, woollen stuffs,
salt, &c., for barter, and vast stores of money.
The clothes of the ladies seem to have oc
cupied an enormous space, and for each of
the travellers was provided a riding-horse or
mule. At last the entire company was embarked,
making two hundred souls in all ; this num
ber including ten Dutch women-servants, an
Italian ship's steward, a Turkish officer with
ten soldiery belonging to a Khartoum regi
ment, besides twenty Berber paid soldiers,
several Arab interpreters and scribes, the
rest of the crew being composed of negro
servants and sailors. The Baroness had
finally decided to remain at Khartoum. Four
camels, besides thirty donkeys and mules, and
several riding-horses were also carried. A
steamer, two dahabeeyahs, and two ordinary
Nile-boats convoyed the expedition, which

Alexandrine Tinnd. 6

o

created no little astonishment among the in
habitants. The gentlemen started first, the
ladies following a few days after, and very pic
turesquely and graphically does Dr. Heughlin
describe their experiences by the way.
This is the kind of picture he gives us
from the White Nile : —
" To our right we have the large island of
Nabreh, and, as we proceed, come in sight of
many smaller ones, the river widening as we
go, its entire breadth not, however, being
perceived from the boat. Vegetation be
comes more luxuriant, and on a larger scale ;
the bushes are alive with the notes of birds,
sounding clear across the transparent water.
Splendid is the white plumage of the
osprey, gleaming In the midst of the dark-
green shining foliage ; no less that of the
little white heron, resting on dark, fallen
tree-trunks. On an overhanging branch
stands the shy, snake-necked cormorant.

64 Alexandritie Tinnd.
with fiery-red eyes fixed on his slippery
prey; then, plump as a stone, he darts
into the AA'-ater, after a long interval show
ing his head and neck above. One of
his comrades seems to feel a little too
drenched after his late immersion, for he sits
in the sun, spreading out his beautiful plu
mage of dark metallic green to dry. The
piping call of the cheerful jacama is changed
at intervals for the deep, full note of the red-
billed shrike, as he sits hidden in the thicket ;
bright yellow weaver-birds twitter in crowds
on the boughs, whilst from the depth of the
shade is heard the cooing murmur of the
turtle-dove. Stiff and stark Hke the stem of
an old tree, the crocodile takes his rest, some
times with wide-open jaws ; here and there
is seen the hippopotamus, as he lifts his
giant head from the troubled waters, noAv
scattering it in showers, now raising his fear
ful voice which is echoed from the distant

Alexandrine Tinnd. 65
shores ; not far off we encounter dozens of
carrion birds, whilst a pair of huge storks fly
high over the green shore."
One spot is described as an Eden brooded
over by perpetual, enchanting calm, with
lofty trees, tasselled by parasitic flowers ; the
acacia Nflotica wafting balmy perfumes,
multitudinous birds singing in the branches,
and splendid tropic plants in rich crimson
bloom abounding everywhere.
On the loth of March, the flotilla of the
ladies steamed into Meschra-el-Req on the
Gazelle river, flags flying, guns firing in their
honour, all the inhabitants flocking out to
behold them. The travellers had lingered
by the way on account of the scenery, and no
wonder, for in spite of much dreary swamp,
and the unhealthiness of the harbour itself,
there are scenes of positive enchantment on
the Gazelle river. Take the following
extract from Dr. Heughlin's account of
F

66 Alexandrine Tinnd.
every-day scenes : — " Before daybreak we
sailed in a south-westerly direction, having a
moderate breeze, the early rays of the sun
lighting up the splendid tropic landscape.
Noble trees were growing here and there ;
mighty tamarisks in loveliest bloom spread
their branches over the thick undergrowth,
acacias of different kinds, mallow-trees, and
close to the river-side, a diversity of water-
plantains and Avater-lilies. Out of the trees
darted large carrion vultures and ravens, flying
straight across the horizon ; the thicket was
alive with shrikes, bee-eaters, and wattle-birds,
whilst in the brushwood were tiny warblers,
swallows, woodpeckers, bullfinches." At
Meschra-el-Req the party halted some time,
awaiting further supplies of provisions from
Khartoum, also the necessary bearers for
their projected journey, and the country was
thoroughly explored meantime. Both natu
ralist and botanist found plenty of scope for

AlexandHne Tinnd. 6y
observation, even the swamp regions offering
a great diversity of fauna and flora. Dr.
Heughlin found in the islands near Meschra
fine soap-trees (Balanites), and a variety of
Euphorblaceae, also, growing between the
reeds and rushes, a tall, beautiful white
Silene, Medicago, and numerous Legumi-
noscC, besides great varieties of flowering
water-plants. Tired at length of waiting for the promised
bearers, the gentlemen set out for the land
of Djur and Dor in search of them, leaving
Alexandrine Tinne and her companions at
Meschra. Their journey was a deeply in
teresting one, but the deadly climate was doing
its work. Both had suffered by turns from
fever and dysentery, as indeed had most of
the party, and this journey proved even more
fatiguing than their former ones had been.
They pushed on, however, as best they could,
alternately on foot and on muleback, through
F 2

68 Alexandrine Tinnd.

the desert grass, and under the burning sun,
reaching after several days a park-like wilder
ness as they describe it, known as Schet-Abu-
Sebrum. Here they found wells, fresh herb
age and lofty trees, sycamores, figs, acacias,
spreading their shadow over wide glades
wherein sported the giraffe and the antelope.
Soon also they saw stately specimens of the
Doleb palm ; but on the vision of one of these
spectators, all earthly scenes were soon to
close for ever. Dr. Steudner, true martyr of
science, for his journeys are made simply
and purely as a naturalist, succumbed to
African fever at Wau, and was burled by his
companion on a hillside beneath stately trees,
" in the midst of that magnificent nature
whose true servant and reverer he was."
Dr. Heughlin now made the best of his
way to Bongo, In the country of Dur, where
he succeeded at last in hiring bearers at
an exorbitant price — 500/. — for the trans-

Alexandrine Tiftnd. 69
port of baggage twenty-five miles ! Six
weeks after his departure he returned to
the ladies at Meschra, to find them all
suffering more or less from fever. The
necessary provisions, however, appeared from
Khartoum, and undismayed by so many mis
haps, the party set off" for Bongo, halting
at the park-like wilderness before named,
and reaching their destination In June. This
journey was a most painful and tedious
one, on account of the rains. The ladies,
mounted on sumpter mules, got drenched
to the skin without any possibility of drying
their clothes, and a large quantity of pro
visions were spoiled on the way by the soak
ing received. As soon as they reached
Bongo, matters improved. The rains ceased,
the tropic vegetation burst forth on a sudden
in all its luxuriance and splendour, flowers
and birds appeared in abundance, and the
p.nrty regaled on fresh vegetables, fruit, and

70 Alexandrine Tinnd.
wild honey. Huts were built under the
direction of Alexandrine, and in a kind of
fortified encampment, the ladies settled down,
as it was hoped to recruit their strength and
enjoy the beauty of the season. Madame
Tinn6, however, and her trusty woman-
servant, could not recruit their forces. Both
died a few days after their arrival at Bongo.
The younger Dutch maid sickened also,
chiefly of home-sickness, and Dr. Heughlin,
as well as several of the men, were ill with
fever. He narrates how after the death of
Madame Tinn6 and her maid, he used to go
every day from the zeeribah, or fortified
encampment, Avhere he AA'as staying, to visit
Alexandrine, a considerable distance, and
often accomplished with the utmost painful-
ness and difficulty. " It was afl I could do,"
he writes, " and frequently my strength failed
me on the way, so that I had to rest, some
times not reaching home till midnight, some-

Alexandrine Tinnd. 71
times falling down on the way with an attack
of fever. The Dutch girl. Alexandrine's
maid, was often beside herself with home
sickness, bewailing her unlucky fate, to die
so young, so lonely, and so far from
home." In this trying time nevertheless, and in
spite of the anxieties and grief weighing
upon their spirits, Alexandrine Tinn^ and
Dr. Heughlin, made the most of their
opportunities of studying the country and
the people, that unhappy, harmless, slave-
driven population for whom both felt such
warm sympathy. These Djur and Dor
folks are extremely musical, and their music
is described as being in the highest degree
harmonious, and chiefly of a pensive cha
racter. Their melodies are, for the most
part, in a minor key. In correct time and
rhythm, and are arranged both as solos and
part-songs. Their favourite instrument is a

'J2 Alexandrine Tinnd.
kind of mandoline, with five strings, one over
laying the other. They are great dancers,
very superstitious on the subject of ghosts,
fortune-telling, and the evil eye, but of any
kind of religion have not a trace.
Dr. Heughlin's account of their life amid
this strange people and grandiose nature is
delightful reading, especially to lovers of
natural history.
He gives a striking account of the Doleb
palm, the majestic butter-tree (Butyrospermum
Parkii), also of the wild bees and the native
method of trapping the honey, and describes
the flowers, plants, birds, and animal life gene
rally with accuracy as well as enthusiasm.^
Unfortunately, the scheme of penetrating
as far as the land of the Nyam-Nyam had to
be abandoned, to the great mortification of
- A list of plants found in these journeys, under the
title of "Plantae Tinneance," was published in 1S67 at
Vienna.

Alexandrine Tinnd. 73
Alexandrine Tinn6 and himself. Everything
was against them. The only persons who
could further their plans, the noted slave-
traffickers at Bongo, at whose caravanserai or
zeeribah they had stayed, put every possible
obstacle in their way, asking the unheard-of
sum of 1500 Austrian thalers for the trans
port of their baggage to the Kosanga river,
a bare three days' journey. Even a sum so
exorbitant would have been willingly paid, but
there were other hindrances ; it was the
wrong season of the year, and the general
health of the party was not in a condition for
further enterprise. It was decided to start
homewards, that is to say, towards Khartoum,
taking with them the bodies of Madame
Tinne and her maid. On the way they met
with not a few misadventures. As soon as
the Lake Nu had been traversed, and they
were fairly on the White Nile, they were
stopped by one of those huge Aveed drifts

74 Alexandrine Tinnd.
that often obstruct navigation in these
channels, a Avail of reeds, grass, papyrus, and
other water-plants, Avhich it took two days
and the combined labour of 150 men to clear
away. Further on they had an encounter with
pirates, i. e. slave-captors ; shots were ex
changed, some natives were wounded, and
one of the pirate boats was disabled. A
slave family, moreover, was rescued by Alex
andrine and carried to Egypt.
At last Khartoum was reached, after
an absence of a year and a half. The
Baroness van Capellan, Alexandrine's aunt,
had died there during her absence. We can
hardly wonder that even the intrepid spirit of
this remarkable j'oung lady should quail
before such accumulated misfortunes. Just
as at Bongo, in the solitudes of the Gazelle
river, she had shut herself up In her fortified
encampment to mourn the death of her

Alexandiine Tinnd. 75

mother, she now retired to a village a little
removed from Khartoum, refusing to see any
one or enter the town. When her grief was
spent she returned to Cairo.
This journey, so fatal and luckless as far as
its main object was concerned, must by no
means be regarded as a failure. It was
fruitful not only in geographical, but botanical
and ornithological results. The gallant
Steudner and his friend Heughlin, who, be it
remembered, could not have pursued their
journeys but for the generous invitation of
Alexandrine to join her party, made exten
sive observations on the natural history, as
well as manners and customs, of the countries
they passed through, and also added in no
considerable degree to our geographical
knowledge of remote regions.
They gave tidings of a river, hitherto
unknown, the Sena, which flows towards the
Nyam-Nyam country in a westerly direction.

Alexandrine Tinnd.

and is navigable ; also of a vast lake with flat
shores to the south of this part of the White
Nile. Alexandrine had now passed three entire
years in Soudan, and in spite of the pri
vations and sufferings she had gone through,
was more wedded to the life of an African
explorer than ever. Freedom, adventure,
even danger, had unspeakable charms for
her, and the grandiose aspect of nature in
the East, its vast solitudes, its picturesque
population, the glory of the desert — all these
things filled her mind with delight, and were
in harmony with her aspirations and tastes.
Conventional life became more and more
unpleasing to her. By degrees she discarded
European habits, adopting the graceful Arab
dress, which well became her stately figure ;
she was served by Arab and negro attendants
only, and her Cairene villa was entirely
furnished after Oriental fashion

Alexandrine Thmd. 'jj
Four years she spent quietly at Cairo and
in yachting. Smyrna, Naples, Rome, Tunis,
Algiers, and Tripoli, were visited by turns,
an incident occurring at the latter place
which led to her last and fatal expedition.
Just whilst her yacht happened to be lying
off Tripoli, vast caravans arrived from the
Sahara, laden with spoils of those marvel
lous lands whence Barth, Rohlfs, and other
recent travellers had borne such glowing
tales. The enthusiastic girl wanted no other
stimulus. She immediately prepared for a
journey, which in cost, splendour, and daring-
ness was to throw her former achievements
Into the shade. Had she succeeded, she
would have done what no other European
traveller had hitherto accomplished, and
would assuredly have secured a foremost
place among African discoverers. Her plan
was to travel from Tripoli to the capital
of Fezzan, thence to Kuka in Bornu, and

78 Alexandrine Tinnd.
taking a westerly direction, make her way
by Tschadsee and Wadai, Darfur, and Kor-
dofan to the Nile. A glance at the map wfll
show the extent of country, to be traversed
in such a journey, though a word of expla
nation is necessai;y for the full comprehension
of its daringness.
The country of the Touaregs, aptly called
the Gate of the Sahara, has ever been the
barrier between North African caravans and
the rich spoils in gold-dust, ivory, and skins
of Soudan. Veritable pirates of the desert,
levying blackmail alike on the caravans that
come or go, the Touaregs, though possessed
of fine physical qualities, being handsome,
strong, and brave, have the reputation also of
being the most faithless tribe of Africa.
"Courageous, patient, cunning like all ani
mals of prey," says one who knew them,
" never trust yourself to their tender mercies.
If you receive the hospitality of a Touareg,

Alexandrine Tinnd. 79
you have nothing to fear whilst in his tent ;
but he will send word to his nearest neigh
bour to assassinate you, and will share the
plunder with him." Oddly enough these
cruel tribes are said to have much clearer
notions on the subject of domestic morality
than most of their neighbours. Polygamy
is almost unknown, and women enjoy a
greater amount of liberty than among other
savage races. But the Touareg is, both by
nature and habit, pirate and bandit, lying in
wait for a caravan like a beast of prey, on
its approach rushing forth to slay and pillage
with horrible cries. It is on this account
that the journey from Al'geria to Timbuctoo
is so rarely attempted, and most generally
with tragic results. Only a few years back,
a learned and distinguished traveller, a
Jewish rabbi named Mardochee, versed alike
in natural science. Oriental language, and
literature, started from Algiers for Timbuctoo

8o Alexandrine Tinnd.
with a numerous caravan. This remarkable
man was bent not only upon scientific ex
plorations of the country, but also upon
establishing direct commercial relations be
tween the French-African colony and Soudan.
He had everything in favour of his enter
prise, being supported by the Algerian
learned societies, and peculiarly fitted by
virtue of his own acquirements for trans
actions with the natives. Month after month,
year after year, have passed without tidings
of Mardochee, and there can be little doubt
that he and his band have shared the fate of
so many other travellers, and have fallen
victims to the perfidy of the Touaregs.^
It must not be supposed that an experi
enced traveller like Alexandrine Tinne under
took a journey through the territory of the
Touaregs without all possible precautions.
^ Since this went to press news has been heard of the
gallant rabbi.

Alexandrine Tinnd. 8i
On the 29th of January, 1869, her caravan,
composed of fifty souls — only three of the
number being Europeans besides herself —
and seventy camels, started from Tripoli, reach
ing Sokna in Fezzan on the ist of March.
Here she found, as she believed, a trusty
ally in a certain Touareg chief, to whom she
had been recommended, named Ik-nu-ken,
who promised to escort her himself as far
as Ghat. An insurrection breaking out just
then in his dominions, he was obliged to
absent himself, promising, however, to send
her a proper substitute. From all that she
had seen and heard of this man, there
seemed no reason to accredit him with
treacherous intentions ; but instead of one
escort, two Touareg chiefs appeared, both
deputed, so they said, from her friend ; both
promising to see her in all security to Ghat,
and without doubt, one having planned to
murder her beforehand. This man was an
G

82 Alexandrine Tinnd.
enemy of Ik-nu-ken, not an ally as he pre
tended to be, and it is supposed that the
massacre and pillage of the caravan were
determined as much by revenge as by
cupidity. We may conceive with what high spirits
Alexandrine set out. She saw herself on the
eve of making a wholly unique and important
journey, every step of the way being fraught
with marvel and novelty. Her brain was
doubtless busy with all kinds of grand
schemes for the future, the realization of
long-nursed dreams and projects, having not
only in view the satisfaction of her own
curiosity, but scientific and philanthropic
ends. She had chiefly at heart, be it re
membered, the amelioration of the slave-
driven population of Africa, and always
hoped to achieve something on their be
half. A few days after her departure the mur-

Alexandrine Tinnd. ^i^,
derous scheme was put into execution.
Early in the morning a quarrel broke out —
as it is supposed, intentionally — among the
camel-drivers, and hearing the noise, the
young mistress of the caravan hastily quitted
her tent to see what she could do in the
way of pacification. Her appearance was
the signal agreed upon for the massacre.
One Touareg first disabled her right hand
by a sabre-thrust, in order to prevent her
from using her revolver; then with a rifle
ball in the breast, achieved his deadly work.
The others rushed on to the slaughter.
The three Dutch sailors, her sole European
attendants, were next assassinated, and then
the plundering of the rich caravan began.
The faithful negroes, who adored their kind
young mistress, were carried off" with the
spoil, and the bodies of the victims left un-
buried on the sands. Thus perished, in the
flower of her youth, one of the most enter-
G 2

84 Alexandrine Tinnd.
prising lady travellers, and one of the most
courageous women who ever lived.
It is easy to criticize such a career, to
urge that much she attempted was visionary
and impracticable, that she risked her life
and those of her companions inconsiderately
and to little purpose ; in fine, that it was one
at variance with common sense and ex- '
pediency. Judged according to ordinary
standards, so indeed it appears, but in such
cases the usual tests are inappropriate ; for
if prudence and deliberation were the first
points consulted in framing our existences,
then, indeed, there would be no more voyages
of discovery undertaken. If, moreover, ex
istence, for itself, ought to be valued beyond
aU else, then little could be adduced In favour
of one hazarded, like hers, a thousand times
for what may appear very inadequate motives.
But is it so ? and what favour, in that case,
could personal courage find at all when called

Alexandrine Tinnd. 85
forth not by duty and philanthropy, but by
scientific ardour and craving for adventure ?
The truth is that there is no more splendid
possession than courage, whether moral or
physical ; and it is for this reason that young
and old, learned and simple, delight in deeds
of daring, no matter in what may be their
field. The same intrepid spirit that leads
women like Alexandrine Tinne to expose
their lives to the deadly African fever and
the knife of the Touareg, leads them, under
other conditions and circumstances, to en
counter the perils of a hospital and the
pestilential haunts of the sick poor. It is
courage of one kind that impels the brave
spirit to speak out when the whole world is
against the truth ; and of another, that urges
the tiger-slayer to the Indian jungle, or the
Arctic explorer to the North Pole. True
heroism, like the chameleon, wears many
colours ; and when we admire the humble

86 Alexandrine Tinnd.
telegraph clerk,^ who, at the risk of being
immediately shot by the enemy, cut the wires
of which she had the control ; the noble
English princess who lately sacrificed her
own life to maternal duty, or the French nun
who threw herself upon a mad dog to shield
the children entrusted to her care, we are
but admiring the same quality which marks
Alexandrine Tinne among the noteworthiest
of her sex.
* We allude to an incident in the Franco-German war.
This heroic nun, a peasant woman, was also French, and
the incident alluded to happened quite recently.

CAROLINE HERSCHEL,
ASTRONOMER AND MATHEMATfCfAN.

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CAROLINE HERSCHEL.
Few thoughtful minds have not, perhaps,
been moved to wonder at the insensibility of
mankind to the attractions of star-gazing.
People are ready to sacrifice time, money,
and health in search of pleasure and excite
ment, but how rare is it to find the pursuit of
scien:e taking the place of these, and such
studies as that of astronomy occupying even
the cultured and the leisurely ? Yet, when
we consider the marvellous beauty of the
heavens at night, and the intense interest of
the problems they open to us, we can but feel
astonishment at an indifference so unaccount
able and so widely spread. We have here, if

90 Caroline Herschel.

anywhere, a remedy against the disasters
and sorrows of life ; in these sublime contem
plations, the most troubled can forget his own
perplexities for a while, the most heavy-
hearted his grief, Avhilst the careless is lifted
into a better and deeper mood, and all are
moved to awe and admiration. We gaze,
we ponder, we are straightway transported to
another world. " I doubt not," writes a
French author,^ "that if only one spot existed
on the earth's surface, whence we could sur-
A^ey the mysterious structure of the heavens,
people would flock from the most remote
regions towards that privileged place ; whereas
in our present condition, the constant habit
' " Je ne doute pas que s'il n'existait dans ce monde
qu'une seule ouverture par ou Ton put ainsi plonger ses
regards dans le mysterieux Edifice de I'univers, on
affluerait des contrees les plus dloigndes vers ce lieu
privildgid, tandis que I'habitude de voir les e'toiles finit
par dmousser chez la plupart d'entre nous cette noble
curiosite." — Terre et Ciel, par Jean Reynaud.

Caroline Herschel. 91
of seeing the stars overhead, ends in blunt
ing with most of us this noble curiosity."
Truly and beautlfuHy is this said by one
whose deepest enjoyment was the study of
the heavenly bodies, and who longed to kindle
the same enthusiasm in the minds of others.
If we cannot easily catch the glow, we can at
least realize what delight, serenity, and lofti
ness of purpose, such pursuits impart to
individual lives, none of which teaches a more
beautiful lesson than thatof Caroline Herschel.
She may be said to have merged herself In
her favourite study, to have lived, indeed, not
for any individual purpose, but for the glorious
task of " minding the heavens," and aiding
the great astronomer, her brother, whose life
was dearer than her own. Modest, laborious,
and uneventful, such a career is ennobled by
aspiration and endeavour, and richly coloured
by the intensity of inner existence.
In the words of her biographer, " Great

92 Caroline Herschel.
men and great causes have always some
helper, of whom the outside world knows
but little. Of the noble company of un
known helpers, Caroline Herschel was one.
She stood beside her brother, William Her
schel, sharing his labours, helping his life.
She loved him, and believed in him, and
helped him with all her heart and with all h^
strength. She might have become a distin
guished woman on her own account, for with
the 'seven-foot Newtonian sweeper' given her
by her brother, she discovered eight comets
first and last. But the pleasure of seeking
and finding for herself was scarcely tasted.
She ' minded the heavens ' for him."
Caroline Lucretia Herschel was born at
Hanover in 1750. The Herschels were Pro
testants, a fact by no means to be lost sight
of, when we survey the scientific achievement
of the illustrious family. Isaac, the father of
Caroline and William Herschel, who was a

Caroline Herschel.

musician, gave great attention to the musical
education of his boys, as was usual in those
days. The girls were chiefly occupied with
domestic duties. The little Caroline, youngest
daughter of the house, became an early
proficient in the art of stocking-knitting, and
described in after-life, how her first pair
touched the floor as she stood up finishing
them off". Her father, however, did desire to
give his daughter something more than the
mere elements of instruction, and it was
mainly owing to his efforts — for her mother'
always opposed it — that she learned a little
music. It was a family of born musicians.
The three elder sons, Jacob, Wflliam, the
famous astronomer, and Alexander, soon
showed extraordinary musical talent, and the
two former, in Caroline's childhood, started
for England, there to pursue the career of
professional musicians. They returned after
twelve months on a visit, Jacob bringing home

94 Caroline Herschel.
a quantity of English clothes made according
to the latest fashion, William only a copy of
" Locke on the Human Understanding."
Jacob — the selfish one of the family — returned
to Hanover for the second time in 1759, and
obtained the place of violinist in the court
orchestra. William stayed in England till
the declining health of his father recaUed him
five years later, when his appearence threw
the family into a " tumult of joy." It is touch
ing to see how Caroline adored this brother,
and how tremblingly she contemplated another
separation from him. She writes, " Of the
joys or pleasures which all felt at this lono-
wished- for meeting with my — let me say
dearest brother— but a small portion could
fall to my share ; for with my constant at
tendance at church (she was being prepared
for confirmation) and school, besides the time
I was employed in doing the drudgery of the
scullery, it was but seldom I could make one

Caroline Herschel. 95

in the group when the family were assembled
together. In the first week, some of the
orchestra were invited to a concert, at which
several of my brother William's compositions,
overtures, &c., and some of my eldest brother
Jacob's were performed, to the great delight
of my dear father, who hoped and expected
that they would be turned to some profit by
publishing them, but there was no printer who
bid high enough. Sunday was the — to me —
eventful day of my confirmation, and I left home
not a little proud and encouraged by my dear
brother William's approbation of my appear
ance in my new gown." The favourite brother
was obliged to go soon after, and on the heel of
that painful separation came a terrible do
mestic calamity. Isaac Herschel, who seems
in every way to have set his children a noble
example of self-denial, energy, and resigna
tion under misfortune, had a paralytic stroke,
and only survived it a few years. Himself

96 Caroline Herschel.
an accomplished musician, and a man of no
mean attainments, he had evidently long
recognized the brilliant talents of his children,
especially William, foreseeing for him no
ordinary career. Caroline, owing chiefly to
her mother's prejudices against book-learning
for women, grew up to womanhood in com
parative ignorance, which afterwards she
deeply regretted. " My father," she says,
"wished to give me something like a polished
education, but my mother was particularly
determined that it should be a rough, but at
the same time a useful one ; and nothing
further she thought was necessary but to send
me two or three months to a sempstress to
be taught to make and mend household linen.
All that my father could do was to indulge me
(and please himself) sometimes with a short
lesson on the violin, when my mother was
either in good humour or out of the way. .
But sometimes I found it scarcely possible to

Caroline Herschel. 97
get through the work required, and felt very
unhappy, that no time at all AAtas left for im
proving myself in music or fancy work. . . .
I could not bear the idea of being turned into
an Abigail or housemaid, and thought that
with the above and such like acquirements I
might cbtain a place as governess in some
family." A proposal came about this time
from William, then settled at Bath as a
teacher of music, that Caroline should join
him there, a plan which remained for some
time In abeyance. The girl nursed the darling
scheme in secret, but Jacob, who seems to
have been a very disagreeable character, set
his face against it, and it was only William's
appearance in 1772 that settled the matter.
Caroline returned with him to Bath, and this
step formed the turning-point in her career.
William Herschel was at this time an
eminently successful professor of music. He
had large numbers of pupils, he was organist
H

98 Caroline Herschel.
to the Octagon chapel at Bath, and also di
rector of the public concerts. But every avail
able moment of leisure, and every spare
shining were devoted to the pursuit of
astronomy. He, indeed, already gave les
sons in that science, and was recognized as
an authority on scientific subjects in the
place. Caroline thus found him, on her
arrival, absorbed In work, study, and specula
tion, and became at once his fellow-worker
and helper. The least selfish of mortals, the
most unsparingly devoted of women, she
nevertheless lets a plaintive word or tAvo
escape on the forced Inferiority and subordi-
nateness of her position. " The time when I
could hope to receive a little more of my
brother's instruction and attention was now
drawing near," she writes, " for after Easter,
Bath becomes very empty ; only a few of his
scholars, whose families are resident in the
neighbourhood, remain. But I was greatly

Caroline Herschel. 99
disappointed ; for, in consequence of the ha
rassing and fatiguing life he had led during
the winter months, he used to retire to bed
with a basin of milk or glass of water, and
Smith's ' Harmonies of Nature,' or Ferguson's
' Astronomy ; ' and his first thoughts on rising
were how to obtain instruments for viewing
those objects himself of which he had been
reading. ... I Avas much hindered in my
musical practice by my help being continually
wanted in the execution of the various con
trivances, and I had to amuse myself with
making the tube of pasteboard for the glasses
which were to arrive from London, for at that
time no optician had settled at Bath." This
mood of disenchantment was but transitory.
She soon threw heart and soul into her
brother's pursuits, and was pleased to find
herself indispensable to him. Preparations
were made for erecting a twenty-foot tele
scope behind the house, and she describes how
H 2

lOO Caroline Herschel.
constantly she was in attendance upon William
Avhen polishing mirrors for it, sometimes even
" keeping him alive by putting the victuals
by bits into his mouth." We can easily
understand that such ardour as his was in
fectious. Upon one occasion, whilst engaged
upon a seven-foot mirror, he did not remove
his hands from it for sixteen hours together.^
Even his meal-times were not hours of re
laxation, for he was then always engaged in
contrivances of some kind, or in making
drawings of whatever came into his mind.
Whilst he was turning the lathe, or polishing
¦¦' " The grinding of specula used to be performed by
the hand, no machinery having been deemed sufficiently
exact. The tool in which they were shaped having been
turned to the required form, and covered Avith coarse
emery and water, they were ground in it to the necessary
figure, and afterwards polished by means of putting in
oxide of tin, or pitch spread as a covering to the same
tool in the place of the emery. To grind a speculum of
six or eight inches in diameter was a work of no ordinary
labour." — " Lord Rosse's Telescope." 1844.

Caroline Herschel. i o i

mirrors, she used to read to him Don
Quixote, The Arabian Nights, Fielding,
or Sterne ; even this occupation, like all
others, being subject to constant Interrup
tions. She soon became, as she modestly
confesses, as useful to her brother as a boy
might be to his master in the first year of his
apprenticeship. Meantime, under a singing
mistress, she dcA'eloped considerable gifts as
a vocalist, and her biographer is of opinion,
that she would doubtless have won reputation
in that line, had she persevered, or rather
had the fates been more propitious. Her
laboriousness was tremendous. In prepara
tion for the Lenten oratorios In Avhich she
was to appear, she copied rhe scores of the
"Messiah," and "Judas Maccabseus," into
parts for an orchestra of nearly a hundred per
formers, besides instructing the treble singers,
of which she was one. She was offered an
engagement at the Birmingham Festival, but

I02 Caroline Herschel.
declined, because she would not sing in public
when her brother was not conductor. " Be
sides the regular Sunday services," narrates
her biographer, " concerts and oratorios had
to be prepared for, and performed in steady
routine ; sometimes at Bristol, also, while the
poor prima donna housekeeper ' hobbled on,'
with one dishonest servant after another (in
efficient domestics had no little disturbed
the peace of Caroline) tfll Whit Sunday,
1782, when both brother and sister per
formed for the last time In public ; on this
occasion, the anthem selected was composed
by William Herschel."
He was now, howcA'er, winning reputation,
not as a musician and composer, but as a
scientific Inventor and discoverer. The time
had arrived when the wish of his life was to
be accomplished, and he was free to give
himself up to astronomical Investigations.
His discoA^ery of the G.3crgiam Sidus in

Caroline Herschel.

I 78 1, of a volcanic mountain in the moon in
1783, and the erection of the forty-foot
telescope, had aroused the curiosity and
admiration of the scientific world. He was
elected Fellow of the Royal Society in 1781,
and was summoned to court in the following
year, and was thereupon appointed Royal
Astronomer ' at the modest salary of 200/. a
year. It was, however, a certainty, it procured
him leisure, and joyfully the brother and
sister entered upon a new epoch of existence
at Datchet in August, 1782. Their new life
was busier even than the old had been. We
shall gather from Caroline's own recollections
how her time was employed.
" In my brother's absence from home [the
new Royal Astronomer was constantly in
attendance at the Court], I was of course left
solely to amuse myself with my own thoughts,
Avhich were anything but cheerful." It must
^ Maskelyne was the Astronomer-Royal.

I04 Caroline Herschel.
be borne in mind that there still remained
some regret in the girl's independent mind
that she was not allowed to secure a com
petency for herself as a music-mistress. " I
found that I was to be trained as an assis
tant astronomer, and by way of encourage
ment a telescope adapted for ' sweeping '
was given me. I was to ' sweep for comets,'
and I see by my journal that I began in
August, 1782, to write down and describe
all remarkable appearances I saw in my
' sweeps,' which were horizontal. But it was
not till the last two months of that year that
I felt the least encouragement to spend the
starlight nights on a grass-plot, covered with
dew or hoar frost, without a human being
near enough to be within call. But all these
troubles were removed when I knew my
brother to be at no great distance making
observations with his various instruments on
double stars, planets, &c., and I could have

Caroline Herschel. 105
his assistance immediately Avhen I found a
nebula or cluster of stars, of Avhich I intended
to write a catalogue ; but at the end of 1 783
I had only marked fourteen when my SAveep-
ings were Interrupted by being employed to
write down my brother's observations with
the large twenty-foot. I had, however, the
comfort to see that my brother was satisfied
with my endeavours to assist him when he
wanted another person, either to run to the
clocks, write down a memorandum, fetch
and carry instruments, or measure the ground
with poles, &c., of which something of the
kind. would occur every moment. . . . The
summer months passed In the most active
preparations for getting the large twenty-foot
ready against the next winter. In the long
days many ten and seven-foot mirrors were
finished ; there was nothing but grinding and
polishing to be seen. In my leisure hours
I ground seven-foot and plain mirrors from

io6 Caroline Herschel.
rough to fining down, and was indulged with
polishing and the last finishing of a very
beautiful mirror for Sir William Watson."
The house and premises at Datchet proved
very insufficient for their increased astro
nomical requirements, and in 1786 the pair
removed to Slough, whither all their apparatus
and machinery were straightway carried.
It Is delightful to read of the inteUectual
activity of this wonderful brother and sister
under the most trying circumstances. Caro
line relates how even the bustle of movinsf
into the new abode did not hinder their
observations, every moment after dark being
devoted to star-gazing. If it had not been
for an obstruction in the shape of clouds or
moonlight, she says that they should have
had little sleep ; and the days were as
crowded with business as the nights. Some
times thirty or forty workmen were employed
at digging the foundation for the forty-foot

Caroline Herschel. 107
telescope, and all the tools required for the
Avork were manufactured on the spot. When
W^IUiam Herschel was deputed by the king,
George HI., to Gottingen with the present of
a ten-foot telescope to the observatory, Caro
line thus employed her thoughts and time : —
"July 3. — My brothers Wifliam and Alex
ander left Slough to begin their journey to
Germany. By way of not suffering too
much by sadness, I began with bustling work.
I cleaned all the brass-work for the seven- and
ten-foot telescopes, and put curtains before the
shelves to hinder the dust from settling upon
them again.
" July 4. — I cleaned and put the polishing
room in order, and made the gardener clear
the work-yard, put everything in safety, and
mend the fences.
"6th. — I put all the philosophical letters
in order, and the collection of each year in a
separate cover.

io8 Caroline Herschel.
" 1 8. — I spent the whole day in ruling
paper for the register, except that at break
fast I cut out ruffles for shirts. I tried to
' sweep,' but it was cloudy and the moon rose
at half-past ten.
" 19. — In the evening ' swept ' from eleven
tfll one."
During Wifliam Herschel's absence, he
wrote long letters to his sister, detailing his
astronomical observations, and this cor
respondence shows the pair in a very pleasing
light. Caroline's vigorous mind and force of
character had vanquished the system of re
pression exercised towards her in early days.
The great astronomer, then In the zenith of
his powers and on the threshold of fame,
now recognized In the devoted helper and
humble housewife of so many years, an in
tellectual equal and companion. " Dear
LIna," he writes, his letter taking the form of
a diary, "Aug. i.— I counted 100 nebulae

Caroline Herschel. 109
to-day, and this evening I saw an object
which I believe will prove to-morrow night
to be a comet. 2nd. — To-night I calculated
1 50 nebulae. I fear it will not be clear to
night. One o'clock. — The object of last
night is a comet!'
It seems, however, that Caroline had been
the first to discover the comet, for we find
several letters about it, in one of which an
astronomer writes to her thus : " I am more
pleased than you can well conceive thsitj/ou
have made this discovery. You have im
mortalized your name, and you deserve such
a reward from the Being who has ordered all
these things to move as we find them, for your
assiduity in the business of astronomy, and
for your love for so celebrated and deserving
a brother." The next tAvo years were spent as she de
scribes in " a perfect chaos of business." The
garden and workrooms were swarming with

no Caroline Herschel.
workmen, busy on the "forty-foot" machinery,
not a single bolt being fitted without the
supervision of the master. At one time
twenty-four men were kept polishing — twelve
and twelve relieving each other — day and
night, William Herschel never leaAang them
all the time. The discovery of the Georgian
Satellites marked the years 1786 and 1787;
and this brought many distinguished visitors
to Slough, and added lustre to the already
widely-known name of the Royal Astronomer.
A second sum of 2000/. was now granted by
the king, for completing the famous forty-
foot, and 200/. a year for the expense of re
pairs. The modest salary of 50/. a year was
also settled on Caroline Herschel as assistant
astronomer to her brother— an unprecedented
fact in the history of science— and in October,
1787, she narrates how she received the first
quarterly instalment of 12/. \os., "the first
money I ever in all my lifetime thought my-

Caroline Herschel. 1 1 1
self to be at liberty to spend to my own
liking." The foflowing year was a very sad
one in the quiet annals of this noble life,
for in May her brother married, and she lost
the first place in his heart and home, which
she had filled so devotedly for sixteen years.
Perhaps, indeed, this was the heaviest trouble
she ever knew. She now lived in lodgings,
going every day to her work, and " minding
the heavens " no less zealously because she
was sad and lonely.
During the next few years she announced
the discovery of eight comets, five of which
were unquestionably first seen by her. She
received many gratifying letters from cele
brated astronomers of the day at this time,
one of whom wrote to her brother thus : " I
beg you make my compliments to Miss
Herschel on her discovery (of her second
comet). She will soon be the great comet-
finder, and bear away the prize from

112 Caroline Herschel.
Messier and Mechain." A French astronomer,
addressing his letter to Mile. Caroline
Herschel, astronome cdlebre, Slough, wrote in
even more glowing terms. From German
savants also came congratulatory letters ;
and all the leading authorities recognized the
value of her scientific labours. Her fifth
comet was discovered in 1791, and the
seventh she thus simply announces in a letter
to Sir Joseph Banks in 1795: "Last night
in sweeping over a part of the heavens with
my five-foot reflector, I met with a telescopic
comet. ... It wfll probably pass between
the head of the Swan and the constellation
of the Lyre in its descent towards the sun.
The direction of its motion is retrograde."
Two years later, her eighth and last comet
was discovered.
The next few years seem to have been
quiet and cheerful, and only broken by occa
sional visits and changes of lodging. The

Caroline Herschel. 113
birth of a nephew, afterwards Sir John
Herschel, had been a source of great joy,
and we find frequent allusion to him in her
diary as time wore on. It is pleasant to
find that she was by no means neglected by
her brother's distinguished friends, as such
entries as these will testify : " My nephew,"
as she always called this nephew favourite,
was now fifteen years old.
"Aug. 13. — I went with Mrs. Herschel
and my nephew to pay a visit to our friends
at Cumberland Lodge. My brother, again
finding it necessary to recruit his strength
by absenting himself for a few days from his
workroom, had left Slough for Tunbridge
Wells just the day before, and on our return
we found the Duke of Kent, with the Dukes
of Orleans, &c., waiting for us, and my
nephew showed them Jupiter, the moon, &c.,
in the seven-foot.
" Aug. 29. — I dined at the Castle. The
I

114 Caroline Herschel.
Queen and Princess Elizabeth honoured me
with kind inquiries after the health of my
brother. The Princesses Augusta and Mary
also came to see me in Miss Beckerdorff's
room." A few years later she is gratified by the
intelligence that her nephew has obtained the
senior wranglership, which happened soon
after the celebration of his twenty-first birth
day. " I must not forget," she writes, " that
my nephew presented me with a very hand
some necklace, which I afterwards sent to
my niece Groskopf, when a bride, I being
too old to wear such ornaments."
All this time, though she mixed much more
in the world than she had done in former
days, she still aided her brother as zealously
as ever, besides placing herself at the dis
posal of other members of her family. "We
hear of her youngest brother Dietrich, the
ne'er-do-weel, coming to England, " ruined in

Caroline Herschel. 1 1 5
health, spirits, and fortune," and remaining
with Caroline to her great discomfort. His
stay lasted four years, during which she
writes that she had not a day's respite from
accumulated trouble and anxiety. Illness,
too, and a sprained ankle interrupted her
work, while we hear of several removals from
one lodging to another. When her brother,
now Sir William Herschel, quitted Slough
with his family, which he often did for months
at a time, Caroline took up her quarters in
the abandoned house, working for him all the
time. Then we read: "July 22nd. — My
brother with his family left Slough on a tour
to Edinburgh and Glasgow. I went to his
house till they returned." "Sep. i8th," upon
another occasion she writes, " I went to be
with my brother ; Mrs. H. went to town for
a month." Though she was always on
affectionate terms with her sister-in-law, we
can fancy with what delight she hailed such
I 2

1 1 6 Caroline Herschel.
brief reminders of the old charmed life. \ She
adored her brother. To be near him was
happiness. To be absent, banishment. Else
where, we find another touching record of
the same kind : " Sep. 15th, — I went to work
with my brother, which chiefly consisted of
calculations and constructing new tables for
the Georgian Satellites, &c. Nov. 29th. —
Mrs. H. returned, and I continued calculating
and copying at home."
We must not do more than glance at the
remaining years of her life in England. Sir
Wflliam Herschel's health had now begun to
give way. Incessant brain-work and Her
culean labours, both mental and physical,
were tefling upon his iron constitution at last.
He stifl took the keenest interest in all that
concerned astronomy, but capacity alike for
work and enjoyment was gone. On more than
one occasion he was believed to be dying, and
soon indeed the end came. Sir Wifliam

Caroline Herschel. 1 1 7

Herschel died at Slough in August, 1822.
This terrible blow at once decided Caroline
to return to Hanover. She had shared her
brother's labours, fame, and fortune ; she had
devotedly watched over his declining years.
She could not stay in England where all had
now become a blank and a solitude. Nothing,
no one, could replace what she had lost.
Having taken leave of her relations and
friends, she sailed for Rotterdam in October
of the same year, safely reaching her native
town after fifty years' absence.
She was seventy-two, and though she had
still almost half a life-time before her, for she
lived to be ninety-seven, her career was
ended, her work was nearly done. All that
now remained to her was a tranquil old
age, embellished by noble recollections, and
sweetened with friendships and domestic
affection. The growing fame of her illustrious
nephew gave her intense delight, and she

1 1 8 Caroline Herschel.

continued till the very last to take the keenest
interest in his astronomical achievements and
the progress of science generally. The re
turn to Hanover was of necessity a mournful
one. Everything was changed in her child
hood's home, and she found herself at first
unspeakably desolate and lonely amid the
famfliar scenes. "Why did I leave happy
England ? " was often her cry, and when she
heard of Sir John Herschel's projected scien
tific expedition to the Cape, she wrote : " Ja,
if I were thirty or forty years younger and
could go too ! — in Gottes Namen !" After a
time, however, she settled down, determined
to make the best of her new life. The fame of
her scientific attainments brought her no little
gratification in the graceful kindnesses of the
Hanoverian Royal Family, and the considera
tion of every distinguished man and woman
who from time to time visited the capital.
She entered Into the social amenities of the

Caroline Herschel. 1 1 9
place, constantly attended the theatre and
concert-room, writing with delight of the
enjoyments that Paganini's playing had
afforded her. " You will think me the mad
dest of the mad," she wrote, " when I tell
you that after spending three parts of each
day in pain and misery, I make one of the
audience twice a week, if possibly I can hold
up my head. On coming one evening out of
my box I found some gentleman waiting to
introduce him to me." She was past eighty
when thus enthusiastic about Paganini !
The presentation of the Royal Astronomical
Society's Gold Medal must have pleased her
greatly, coupled as it was with a very warm
tribute to her labours in the annual address.
"Who participated in the toils of Sir
William Herschel ? " said Mr. South, at the
Eighth General Meeting of the Astronomical
Society. " Who braved with him the in
clemency of the weather ? Who shared his

I20 Caroline Herschel.
privations ? A female. Who was she ?
His sister. Miss Herschel it was who acted
by night as his amanuensis ; she it was whose
pen conveyed to paper his observations as
they issued from his lips ; she it was who
noted the right ascensions and polar distances
of the objects observed ; she it was who,
having passed the night near the instrument,
took the rough manuscript to her cottage at
dawn, and produced a fair copy of the night's
work on the foflowing morning ; she it was
who planned the labours of each successive
night, who reduced every observation, made
every calculation ; she it was who arranged
everything in systematic order; and she it
was who helped him to obtain his imperish
able name. Many of the nebulae contained
in Sir W. Herschel's catalogues were de
tected by her. Indeed, in looking at the
joint labours of these extraordinary per
sonages, we scarcely know whether most to

Caroline Herschel. 121
admire the intellectual power of the brother
or the unconquerable industry of the sister."
A few years later, Caroline Herschel and
Mary Somerville were named honorary mem
bers of the Astronomical Society. She was
also made an honorary member of the Royal
Irish Academy. The celebrated Encke wrote
a charming letter to her, dwelling on the
valuable sevices she had rendered to astro
nomy ; and these were only a few of the
testimonies of recognition she received In her
old age. Consolatory and cheering though
they were, it was above all, the affection of
her nephew and his family which brightened
her downhill path. Her letters to England
are almost passionate in their expressions of
attachment and interest, and when on the
occasion of Sir John Herschel's arrival from
the Cape, he paid her a visit with his little
son, her joy knew no bounds. The intro
duction of the child to his great-aunt brings

12 2 Caroline Herschel.
tears to tl>e eyes. "Now let me tell you how
things fell out," writes his father home; " Dr.
Groskopf took Willie with him to aunty, but
vtlthout saying who he was. Says she, ' What
little boy is that ? ' Says he, ' The son of a
friend of mine. Ask him his name.' How
ever Willie would not tell his name. ' Where
do you come from, little fellow ? ' ' From the
Cape of Good Hope.' ' What's that he
says ?' 'He says he comes from the Cape
of Good Hope.' 'Aye^ and who is he?
What is his name?' 'His name is Her
schel' 'Yes,' says Willie, 'Wifliam James
Herschel' ' Ach, mein Gott ! das ist nicht
mogllch ; ist dieser meines Neffen Sohn ? '
(Ah! Heaven, it is not possible; is it my
nephew's son ?) And so it afl came out.
When I came to her all Avas understood, and
Ave sat down and talked as quietly as if we
had parted but yesterday."
Perhaps this is the brightest gleam of these

Caroline Herschel. 123
last years, although she retained her cheer
fulness and active interest in all that con
cerned her nephew's family and astronomical
science till the end. The final entry in her
day-book is these words, " Astronomischen
Nachrichten " (the title of a journal devoted
to astronomy), and bears date Sep. 3, 1845.
These were the last words she ever wrote,
and in January of the following year she died
peacefully at the goodly age of ninety-seven
years and ten months.
She is buried In the churchyard of the
Gartengemeinde at Hanover, and on the
stone is an inscription giving a few par
ticulars of her life, and these words : — "The
eyes of her who is glorified were here below
turned to the starry Heavens. Her own dis
coveries of Comets, and her participation in
the immortal labours of her brother, William
Herschel, bear witness of this to future ages."
A white rose was planted by the stone.

1 24 Caroline Herschel.
I The foregoing pages have only attempted
the briefest possible summary of a life re
markable for its unsparing self-devotion and
magnanimity of aim. Caroline Herschel lived
not. for herself but for her brother and the
glorious cause of science, and counted as
nothing the daily sacrifices and hardships of
her best years. The "Cinderella of the family,"
as she playfully called herself, she was obliged
to hasten from star-gazing to the homeliest
domestic duties, and at the time when she
most needed it, had no leisure even to attain
the instruction necessary for her work. (
Doubtless under more favourable circum
stances she would have achieved far greater
things, and as we read these memoirs, we
are lost in wonder at what was really aimed
at and accomplished. The mathematical
knowledge needed in her calculations she
had to gather at odd times, chiefly during
meals, when her brother could be freely

Caroline Herschel. 125
interrogated ; his answers were copied into
her commonplace-book, and thus she mas
tered just enough algebra and mathematics
to enable her to work with him. Her many
discoveries were made in such scant moments
of leisure as the duties of assistant-astronomer
permitted. Whilst Sir William Herschel was
making observations, it was her business to
note them down, this duty often occupying
a great part of the night, and in winter-time,
when the ink froze in the bottle ! She also
helped him regularly in his numerical calcu
lations and reductions, so that it was only
during his absence, or temporary suspension
of his labours from other reasons, that she was
enabled to use the Newtonian sweeper, which
afforded her such delight, and which she
used to such good purpose. Yet, in spite of
these hindrances, how much independent
work did she contrive to get through ? Her
" Catalogue of 860 Stars observed by Flam-

126 Caroline Herschel.
stead, but not included in the British Cata
logue," and her " General Index of Reference
to every observation of every Star in the
above-mentioned British Catalogue," pub-
Hshed by the Royal Society in 1798, give
evidence of her laboriousness ; and another
work was even more valuable, viz. " The
Reduction and Arrangement in the form of a
Catalogue in Zones of all the Star-Clusters
and Nebula observed by Sir VV. Herschel in
his Sweeps." She did not finish this Cata
logue till her return to Hanover, and Sir
David Brewster wrote of it "as a work of
immense labour and an extraordinary monu
ment of the unextinguished ardour of a lady
of seventy-five in the cause of abstract
science." Many nebulae contained in these
catalogues were detected by her during the
brief intervals of star-gazing snatched from
routine labours; and she discovered the
comet of 1786, of 1788, of 179 1, of 1793, and

Caroline Herschel. 127
that of 1795, afterwards rendered famous
by the further discoveries of Encke. This
goodly list of achievements, of course, can
only be appreciated by astronomers, but we
may all thereby gain some feeble notion of
her unremitting intellectual activity and
scientific ardour. iThe sublimity of her work
and daily contemplations ennobled her life,
homely although it was during its earlier
stages. We may search her letters and
diaries in vain for a trace of littleness,
egotism, or ungenerous sentiment. She was
lifted high above detraction or envy. She
lived in a world of thought and lofty en
deavour. That long-pursued daily task of
"minding the heavens " imparted something
of heavenly calm and repose to her solitary
but honoured old age.

Note.
[As no other sources exist for a biographical sketch of
Caroline Herschel but the delightful memoir published a

128 Caroline Hershel.
short time since, I am indebted to the kindness of Mr.
John Murray and the Herschel family for permission to
make such use as I should think fit of that work — " Me
moir and Correspondence of Caroline Herschel," by
Mrs. John Herschel. Murray : London, 1876. Those
who possess libraries will add this volume to the shelf
devoted to the classic biographies of our language, but
busy readers may be glad of a briefer summary of a good
and beautiful life devoted to the highest objects. I
must also acknowledge my indebtedness to Lady Her
schel for the use of a portrait lent especially for my
book.]

MARIE PAPE-CARPANTIER,
EDUCATfONAL REFORMER.

K

j:. '//r/'U.t'

r/U/y ay^y'^d. cr^.^zi/ian/^c'^

it'-m-^^z^.c^c^i.t^n^^j:' cr:^/iW^^z/,A

MARIE PAPE-CARPANTIER.
It happened to the present writer some seven
or eight years ago to be in Athens, and an
incident that occurred there may very aptly
open this memoir.
The season was May, and Athens, so
beautiful at all times, seemed then almost
unreal in its wonderful loveliness, recalling
the words of the poet —
" Through snow-like columns flowed
Tilt warm winds and the azure sether shone.
And the blue sea and shadowy hills were seen."
Any description, however, would be out of
place here — of the Parthenon, matchless relic
of a matchless age — of the Dionysiac Theatre,
where the plays of ^schylus, Sophocles, and
K 2

132 Marie Pape-Carpantier.
Euripides were performed in the bright spring
days ; of the Ceramlcus or burial-ground,
where Pericles pronounced that grand funeral
oration upon departed heroes, recalled by
Thucydides and Plato ; of the village of
Colonus, where CEdipus, before his disap
pearance, heard that solemn, mysterious
summons, " Hark, CEdipus, King CEdipus,
come hither, thou art wanted. Wanted for
what ? Was it for death ? was it for judg
ment ? was it for some wilderness of pariah
eternities ? No man ever knew. Chasms
opened in the earth ; dark gigantic arms
stretched out to receive the king; clouds
and vapours settled over the penal abyss."'
These things, to be realized, must be seen
and felt, and they are only alluded to now
because in the midst of such impressions a
pair of enthusiastic English travellers were
recalled from the fascination of mythic and
' De Quincey : The Theban Sphinx.

Marie Pape-Carpantier. 133
classic times to the world of every day and
the work of one good and heroic woman in it.
Some friends Invited us to visit the Arsaklon,
which is quite the noteworthiest educational
institution of modern Athens, being a girls'
school combining elementary and advanced
classes for all ages and ranks. In fact, the
Arsaklon has much in common with the twin
schools at Camden Town, under the admirable
and well-known direction of the celebrated
Miss Buss. The Arsaklon^ has been fully
described elsewhere, and only one feature of
it shall be mentioned here, namely, a Kinder
garten class for young children of the upper
ranks, an inspection of which delighted us
beyond measure. The children, little toddling
things in that . interesting but troublesome
stage between the nursery and the school
room, were charming to look at, and when
2 See " Holiday Letters," by M. Betham-Edwards.
Isbister and Co. 1872.

134 Marie Pape-Carpantier.
we happened to enter were just enjoying a
picture lesson. The teacher, a young F"rench
lady, stood on an estrade, holding before
them a large picture painted in bright colours,
and having a Scripture subject With the
aid of this she delivered a simple yet effective
lesson, her pupils listening attentively and
without effort from first to last.
" That young lady," said the head teacher,
acting as our cicerone, " has recently come
from Paris, and is a pupil of the famous
Madame Pape-Carpantier."
We already knew of Madame Pape's train
ing school for elementary teachers ; we had,
indeed, been privileged with an interview
years before, but this experience afforded a
new and convincing proof of the good work
she was doing in education.
Think of her young teachers being invited
from far-off Paris to teach little Greek boys
and girls " object-lessons " in the capital of

Marie Pape-Carpantier. 135
the modern Hellenes ! Such testimony
spoke volumes. There was the fact, and a
most cheering one, that Madame Pape's
natural and pleasant method of instructing
the very young had been introduced In this
remote kingdom of Greece.
In spite of the efforts of Pestalozzi, Oberlin,
and Frobel, doubtless much remains to be
effected in the field of primary education ; but
in order to appreciate their achievements
we have only to compare the past with the
present. Madame Pape is entitled to our
gratitude as one of the most zealous and
devoted disciples of these great and good men.
She was born at La Fl^che, a smafl tOAvn
in the department of La Sarthe, in 181 5,
posthumous daughter of a soldier killed in
fighting against the Chouans during the
struggle of the Cent Jours. Her early life
was one of laboriousness and privation. At
eleven years of age, having been prepared

1 3*6 Marie Pape-Carpantier.
for her first communion, she left school to
help her mother in domestic duties, having,
as she wrote, "neither instructors, nor books,
nor leisure, for I was obliged to sew twelve
hours a day." She seems to have been a
pensive, thoughtful child, with a precocity
of intellect that proclaimed itself in her four
teenth year, when she composed an ode to
glory, in commemoration of her father's
patriotic end. Let us give an outline of her
life in her own touching words : —
" I worked Avith my hands till I was nine
teen, a prey to the most ardent thirst after
knowledge, which there was no possibility of
satisfying. I do not believe it is possible for
any human being to be tormented with
stronger cravings. My mother now sought
for the post of directress of a salle d'asilc,
or infant-shool, which was to be founded at
La Fl^che by a literary and philanthropic
society. In consideration of my father's

Marie Pape- Carpantier. 137
patriotic death, we were conjointly named
directresses of it, and went to Le Mans in
order to acquire the system of teaching intro
duced there by M. and Madame Pape, whose
son became afterwards my husband. We re
turned to La Fldche, and pursued our duties
uninterruptedly for four years. Our efforts
excited considerable interest in the place.
My verses " (she continued to write poetry)
"became known, and brought me much
sympathy. They were published in the
local papers, and I became the spoiled child
of the little society. People called me la
Muse, la Gloire dtt Pays, but I could not
allow my head to be turned. I felt that I
was charged with the accomplishment of a
task, which as yet I had not clearly defined,
but which was the basing of education upon
affection and natural methods.
"After four years of indefatigable labour
I found my forces spent, and in fact, I believe

138 Marie Pape-Caipantier.
that I was at death's door. I trembled for
the future of my mother, and accepted the
situation of' companion to a widow lady in our
town, who undertook to maintain her in case
of my death. Thus I regained my strength,
and my marriage with M. Pape, the younger,
was decided upon, when a great sacrifice was
demanded of me. The city of Le Mans
needed a model salle d'asile, and as M. and
Madame Pape were now both dead, I was
asked to go thither and undertake the
direction of it. For a week I hesitated,
swayed alternately by love and duty. The
last carried the day, and I was installed as
directress at Le Mans with considerable
solemnity in 1842. There it was that I
wrote my works entitled ' Les Conseils ' and
' L'Enseignement Pratique.' My poems had
already appeared in Paris under the title of
'Prdudes,' and procured me many friends.
In 1847 I was summoned to the capital for

Marie Pape-Carpantier. 139
the purpose of organizing a teachers' training
school {dcole normale) for the salles d'asile, and
in 1849, M. Pape, officer in the African
army, having been able to exchange into the
republican guard of Paris, had now returned,
and we were at last married, after ten years
betrothal Family life now added its sweet
ness and its duties to those of my profession,
but I did not long enjoy such happiness.
My husband died in 1858, and I was left
with my two little girls to rear, as well as
three orphans, my brother's children, and a
fourth, left by our first mistress, who had died
some years before. I had to work hard in
order to bring up these children, every morsel
of bread being, I may say, fairly earned.
I have gained no fortune, but I have the
consciousness of having accomplished a work,
of having been an instrument of progress,
that is to say, of having moved one step for
ward in the way of God."

140 Marie Pape-Ca7''pantier.
We have here in the briefest possible
words, the story of a life, not particularly
eventful, but full of diversified interests and
activities. Some details remain to be added
which will show that Marie Pape-Carpantier
was not only a benignant and public-spirited,
but a remarkable woman in many ways ; she
had the good fortune, moreover, to be appre
ciated by leading spirits of her own age, so
that her influence was felt, and her authority
immediately recognized. A theorist, as well
as being eminently practical, she was instru
mental in applying the principles of the great
educationalists who had preceded her, bring
ing to bear upon them the force of much
originality both of intellect and character.
Her life was entirely consecrated to' educa
tion. She not only taught, she taught
others how to teach, she wrote, she invented
methods and educational appliances, and the
occupation of her early years was pursued
till within a few weeks of her death.

Marie Pape-Carpantier. 141
Madame Pape, if not the inventor, was at
least the adapter in France of the so-called
" object-lesson " for children, that delightful
method of teaching the young unforgetting
eye of childhood, what the thing is, rather
than what it is like. Her little manual on
the subject called " Lecons de Choses," the
first work of the kind pubHshed in France,
met with a very cordial reception, and was
crowned by the French Academy, not, how
ever, without some opposition, whereupon
Victor Hugo rising, read aloud some pages.
" I ask you, gentlemen," said the poet, " if a
work conceived and carried out in such a
manner, is not worthy of your suffrages ? "
The vote was passed, and a prize of
three thousand francs awarded to Madame
Pape. This was one work out of many dedicated
to elementary instruction, her " Lectures,"
" Zoologie des ecoles," " Manuel des Maitres,"
&c., being considered by competent author!-

142 Marie Pape-Carpantier.

ties as models in their way. It must be
remembered that afl these literary labours
were achieved in the midst of her active
duties as directress of a large training school
for teachers, the Ecole normale pour les direc
trices des salles d'asile, which she had been
asked to found by M. Carnot, then Minister
of Instruction, in 1848. For twenty-five
years Madame Pape remained at the he?d of
this famous Institution, whither flocked pupils
from all parts of France, also from Belgium,
England, Sweden, and other countries. Not
only lay-women, but nuns were admitted to
these " Cours pratiques de pedagogie," or prac
tical classes in the art of teaching, afterwards
to delight the heart and develope the intelli
gences of little children in all parts of France
by charming object-lessons, picture-lessons,
and the like.^ On the occasion of the great
Exhibition of 1867, a conference of teachers
was held at the Sorbonne, expressly for the

Marie Pape-Carpantier. 143
purpose of famfliarizing them with Madame
Pape's system. We must believe that this
was a proud and happy time for the ardent
educationalist, the adorer of little children.
She saw herself surrounded with young men
and women who had chosen the teacher's
career, and had come to learn something of
her methods long since famed throughout
France. She gave them the best possible
lesson in the world, namely, by summoning
a number of children and exemplifying before
their eyes what a veritable " object-lesson '
should be. But, in so far as possible, she
also indoctrinated them with her theories,
giving short lectures, from one of which we
extract the following suggestive passage.
" Do you knoAV," she said, and her words
apply not only to Paris, but to all cities and
large towns, " what is the great evil of the
capital warring against the health and lives of
little chjldren ? making them, as soon as

144 Marie Pape-Carpantier.
they quit their mothers' arms, wan and
hollow-eyed, slowly and secretly taking the
roundness from their cheeks, the brightness
from their eyes, the gaiety from their laugh,
bowing down their young frames with
langour ; this terrible evil — shall I tell you
what it is ? It is a kind of fever brought on
by want of freshness in the air and vegetable
influences, the almost fatal chastisement of
the shortsightedness of men who flock to
cities, leaving behind them the salubrious
influences of trees and flowers. The proof,
the incontestible proof, is to be found in the
fact that a month's sojourn in the country
suffices to reinvigorate children who seemed
on the point of perishing from inanition
and want of strength.
" Let the air, then, circulate about your
houses freely, and in the greatest possible
abundance. In the country, buildings are
often wanting, but space seldom, and fresh

Marie Pape- Carpantier. 145
air never. Surround yourselves as much as
possible with plants. Do all in your power
to obtain space, and if you succeed, try to
transform a part of your recreation-ground
into a garden also. Plant as much as possi
ble immediately about your house. Roses,
creepers, clematis, ivy, French beans, all
answer the desired purpose, provided that
your house is turned into a garden, that
flowers and verdure rejoice the hearts and
the eyes of your children and your own, that a
beneficent vegetation contributes to maintain
the health of both teachers and pupils."
Such advice as this, sorely needed in cer
tain rural districts of France, as well as in
crowded manufacturing towns everywhere,
gives the key to Madame Pape's teaching,
and that of her disciples. We all know fully
well what infant-schools formerly were in
this country, till, at last, sanitary science,
thanks to a few ardent propagandists, has

146 Marie Pape-Carpantier.
made way, and elementary education through
out the kingdom has been brought under
government inspection. In a stifling atmo
sphere, perched on high forms, without any
support for their backs and shoulders, ex
pected to listen attentively to monotonous les
sons, the rod awaiting the sluggish or restless ;
little children of a former epoch were made
martyrs from the moment of entering the
village school till quitting it.
A great reform has since been brought
about, not only in the matter, but the manner
of primary instruction, and it is to be hoped
that a Kinder-garten class, which has many
features in common with Madame Pape's
method, will soon be found in every village
in every kingdom. Children, like older
students, want life, variety, interest in their
studies, and also an unvitiated atmosphere and
physical comfort in the schoolroom. The
high backless benches of other days are fortu-

Marie Pape- Carpantier. 147
nately disappearing everywhere, and consider
able attention is being paid to the hygienic
condition of schools for all ranks, but much
remains to be done, especially in France.
Lay-instruction under government control
is graduafly superseding convent orphanages
there, but what there are, and what are the
sufferings of the unhappy little beings reared
within their walls, must be seen to be
realized.^ Doubtless in due time, high benches, bare
walls, and monotonous, mechanical tasks con
tinued for hours, will be banished from the
convent precincts also, and the happy por
tion of Madame Pape's former pupils become
that of all little French children.
It can be easily conceived with what en-
thusiasm these lessons were received by the
young teachers of both sexes who had flocked
' See for a full description of convent schools the
present writer's " A Year in Western France."
L 2

148 Marie Pape-Carpantier.
from all parts to hear their well-known head.
Madame Pape's influence was very great
during her lifetime, and it may be affirmed,
without exaggeration, that her career forms
an epoch in the history of French national
education. Theory was not wanting ; no
where had so much been thought and written
on the subject as in France. The great
Rabelais was the first to take up the theme,
giving in a single chapter, perhaps, as sub
lime a conception of ideal education as is to
be found in all literature. Montaigne, Rous
seau, Diderot, put forth elaborate theories ;
the Socialist writers, Fourier above all, con
tributed their share to the formation of a new
educational system based on rational prin
ciples. Pestalozzi, Oberlin, Frobel, devoted
their lives to the perfecting of elementary
instruction, considered as a moral, intel
lectual, and spiritual training, into a science ;
and others, too numerous to mention,

Marie Pape- Carpantier. 1 49
worked in the same field. But men and
women were wanting with the character and
intellect to put the philosophic conceptions
of these originators into practice. Madame
Pape was endowed with this happy aptitude.
She could not only put into practice but
popularize the views of great thinkers and
writers, bringing to bear upon them tact
and readiness, as well as much power and
originality of mind.
She was not satisfied, moreover, with
basing primary education upon broad and
scientific principles ; she most laboriously
and carefully went into every detail, never
resting till each part of her programme was
as perfect as lay within her power to make it.
Before her time, the teaching of elementary
science, drawing, and music, had not been
thought of, and the daily routine was of the
driest, barest, possible. She introduced these
new subjects, thus lending an infinite variety

150 Marie Pape-Carpantier.

to the young pupil's lessons ; and what was
more important still, a lively and intelligent
mode of imparting them. Abstract teaching
was utterly banished from her class-room.
By developing the faculty of observation and
the intellect generally, she made the first por
tion of a child's educational career what it
ought to be, namely, varied, interested, hapjDy,
instead of what it had formerly been, namely,
a time of dulness and tears. The teaching
of natural history came largely into her plan ;
and what is more delightful to children than
to be taught about birds, animals, and flowers,
pictures and diagrams making the lesson, a
lesson of the eye as well as of the memory ?
Madame Pape kncAV well enough that the
natural attitude of a child's mind is inquisitive-
ness, the desire of knowing all that may be
known, about every object he sees in this new^
to him, so wonderful world. She satisfied
this craving after knowledge, not by letting

Marie Pape-Carpantter. 1 5 1
them read about things, but by showing them,
holding up a lump of quartz, a wild flower, a
chrysalis, or pictures of volcanoes, glaciers, and
other wonderful natural phenomena. Thus
the mind was not burdened Avith a dry digest
of facts in black and white, but the eye had
learned a lesson not to be forgotten. As one of
Madame Pape's biographers has written, St.
"Vincent de Paul made it his mission to snatch
young children from desertli:)n and death,
Madame Pape devoted herself to the last In
developing their intellects by a wise, maternal
education. Twenty-five laborious, yet we must believe,
blissful years, were spent in this admirable
work, when there came, as comes to most
lives at some time or other, a sudden and
crushing blow. So useful, so single-minded,
so exemplary an existence as that of the
directress of the training school for national
teachers might, one should suppose, escape

152 Marie Pape-Carpantier.
detraction, even in a country divided by party
spirit as was France, a few years back. But
not so. Placed, so to say, at the head of
primary instruction, by one minister, M.
Carnot, supported by another, M. Dunoy,
she was summarily and inexplicably dismissed
by a third, M. Cumont. This happened in
the autumn of 1874, and we well remember
with what dismay and indignation the tidings
were received, not only among Madame
Pape's friends, but throughout all Liberal
sections of the country. The decree was,
however, irrevocable. Almost broken-hearted,
but too proud to utter a remonstrance, she
quitted the scene of her twenty-five years'
services in the public cause, and tried to con
sole herself by minor educational occupations
and literary work. Meantime, the Liberal
newspapers took up the subject, dwelling in
dignantly on the nominal pension with which
she had been dismissed, the loss inflicted on

Marie Pape- Carpantier. 153
the public generally by such a step, and
the injustice done to herself. Their stric
tures had so far effect, that by way of
reparation, Madame Pape was appointed
Inspectress-General of the Salles d'Asile
throughout France, with a salary. But the
mischief was none the less irreparable. The
life of the indefatigable educationalist was ship
wrecked. The great teachers' training school
Avas without its head. Madame Pape's direct
influence upon schoolmasters and school
mistresses was at an end.
We can imagine with what difficulty she
taught herself to live a wholly new existence.
Friends and admirers put many attractive
prospects in her way. She was invited to
go to Athens, and there found a model school
after her own heart. Means were placed at
her disposal for carrying out other schemes
equally in harmony with her tastes ; but she
had no heart to enter upon a new under-

154 Marie Pape-Carpantier.

taking, and preferred to live quietly with her
unmarried daughter. The last few months
of her life were spent in preparing her
contributions to the scholastic department
of the Paris Exhibition of 1878.
Few visitors to the brilliant Champs de
Mars found time, perhaps, to inspect the gal
leries devoted to education, but those who did
so, were amply rewarded for their trouble.
Proof was here aff"orded of the tremendous
efforts which have been made in France since
the war on behalf of national education, and
no section was more interesting than that fur
nished by the schoolmistresses from all parts
of the country. Among these Madame Pape
stood foremost. Not only were her numerous
educational works coflected here, but a multi
plicity of inventions and appliances for the
simplification of early teaching, many of
which are now found In every French infant
school, notably the " boulier numerateur," or

Marie Pape- Carpantier. 155
apparatus for making simple arithmetical
calculations by means of coloured balls.
More ambitious displays were found in
other parts of the gallery, but none bespeak
ing a truer insight, and, if v/e may so express
it, a deeper educational instinct, than that of
Madame Pape.
This was the last effort of a mind prema
turely worn out with over-work, a frame,
naturally robust, no longer able to recover Its
force as in former days. She died in July of
18/8, at the age of sixty- three, the greater
portion of her life having been devoted to
education. She was once in England on a visit, and
numbered several distinguished Englishwomen
among her closest friends. But her friends
were more than legion ; they were ubiquitous.
What philanthropist indeed, what befriender
of education, what lover of little children, was
not her friend 1 All knew that although

156 Marie Pape-Carpantier.
others might follow in her footsteps, none
were left who could fill her place ; and not
only in France and in England, but in far-off
countries, she was mourned as a personal
as well as a public loss.
She was best known, we might say, per
haps, only known, to those who saw her at
her work, and realized her sympathy alike
with pupils and teachers. She was here at
her best and happiest. This, indeed, was
her life, and if a sad one in some respects,
none the less was it noble, enviable, and, in the
best sense of the v^^ord, fortunate.
One of those who knew her wefl, has thus
described her to me : —
" No woman ever gave me a greater idea
of genius than Madame Pape. She seemed
my ideal of what a great woman teacher
should be in some modern Athens. It was
not in her writings, or even in her written
deeds, that you could find this out, but in

Marie Pape-Carpantier. 157
seeking her and hearing her discourse. Then
you saw what a true poet the woman was,
and what a greatness lay hidden under that
placid exterior. Never, indeed, did truer poet
live ; expressing herself in deeds, not words,
she gave forth the highest kind of poetry."
In reviewing Madame Pape's busy life, we
must take Into account her labours in the field
of juvenile literature, which occupied every
moment she could spare from her family and
professional duties. English readers may be
surprised at the popularity of her little
books, accustomed as they are to a literature
for the young of all ages that has no rival.
Our children, whether in the nursery or the
school-room, have generally too many good
books, and suffer rather from a surfeit than a
dearth of mental recreation. But in France
it is not so, and the fact is brought home to
us by the readiness with which children's
books find translators on the other side of

158 Marie Pape- Carpantier.
the channel. Not only our best novels, but
our story-books, by well-known authors,
speedfly appear in a French dress, and two-
thirds of the works in a library for the young
will be found to be translations, or adaptations
from the English. Madame Pape was one
of the first French writers who set herself the
task of writing books that appealed to chil
dren's reasoning faculties, sympathy, and
imagination. There were books for the young
in plenty, but not of a kind that answered
these ends, being chiefly theological tracts
and narratives, such as we are still accus
tomed to see in France at the prize distri
bution of convent schools. Nothing can be
drearier and more uninviting than these
books, and the poor little recipients who seize
on them with avidity, on account of their
pretty covers, blue or rose-pink, bedizened
with gold, make a wry face at finding out the
contents. It is, in fact, a well-known theo-

Marie Pape-Carpantier. 159
logical dose in disguise, nauseous powders
ifl-concealed under a thin layer of jam.
Madame Pape's pleasant, chatty pages
about birds, animals, flowers, and natural
objects generally, came like "Evenings at
Home," after the typical " Sunday books"
of former days for the nursery, to the evil of
which parents are now generally awakened.
As religious-minded as it was possible for
any human being to be, her religious
teaching consisted chiefly in training the
young mind to love, pity, and admire, and in
inculcating reverence, kindness, gratitude.
Not one, but twenty, passages, might be cited
from her most popular work, as instances of
her right method of reaching the hearts and
understandings of very young children. Take,
for example, the following extract from har
charming lesson on the caterpillar : —
" One day little Lucy perceived on a ripe
peach that she was going to gather for her

i6o Marie Pape-Carpantier.
grandmother, a caterpillar, and, disgusted, she
drew back, fleeing to the old gardener.
" What," said the old man, " you are afraid of
a pretty innocent creature like that ? "
" It is so ugly," said Lucy.
" Not all of them," answered the gar
dener, " come, let us look at it. See, my
little girl, how prettily this caterpillar is
clothed ! one might say, in a brown velvet
dress, with gold-coloured ribbons, and a
pearl necklace. Only the good God can give
us such a display of beautiful things ! "
" That is true," Lucy said, approaching
nearer ; and then, after examining the little
creature, added, " but it is going to devour
grandmamma's peach ! "
" No, my little girl, caterpillars do not eat
fruit, they only eat the leaves, and often the
shoots of trees."
" Then they are naughty," said Lucy.
" Not at all, my child. To be naughty, one

Marie Pape- Carpantier. 1 6 1
must have an inclination to do wrong, but the
caterpillar only eats because it is created in
order to live, and, like ourselves, it eats
what is its natural food."
" What do caterpillars do ? " asked Lucy.
" You don't know ? "
" Not at afl."
" They work."
" For their children ? "
" No ; caterpillars have no children."
" Then why do they work ? "
" For their second existence. Think of these
little creatures, and how they are deprived of
all enjoyment ; they have neither home, nor
family, nor even a little nest in which to take
shelter at night. Every one regards them
with detestation, and yet nothing discourages
them, and nothing takes them from their daily
task. They go on eating leaves and buds
without tiring, and when they have eaten
enough, they begin to spin." M

162 Marie Pape-Carpantier.
" To spin skeins of wool, as your wife
does ? "
" No, no, little ignoramus, but they spin
themselves a tiny house. First of all, they
very wisely select some quiet spot where they
are not likely to be disturbed during their
work, nor exposed to danger afterwards.
They hang to the underside of a branch or
a corner of a wall. Then they rofl them
selves up little by little in their spun thread,
and make of it a case, in which they soon
become completely hidden. Then it is no
longer a caterpillar but a chrysalis, a thing
without head or feet, yet moving when
touched." "And is that their reward for having worked
so well ? " asked the little girl
" No, indeed. When the cold weather is
over, and the sun has renewed life on the
earth, the chrysalis opens, and the former
caterpillar takes flight, transformed to a

Marie Pape-Carpantier. 163
beautiful butterfly ! Now it has the recom
pense of its patience and resignation. No
longer crawling on green leaves, it flies from
flower to flower, rejoicing in their sweets,
sipping their dew. For the caterpillar turned
into a butterfly, no more labour, no more soli
tude ! It hovers over the gardens and
flowery meadows ; every one follows it with
admiring eyes ; and, as if every happiness
was to reward it for former privations, it has
a family." " Then the little butterflies are the children
of the big butterflies ? "
" No, my child. The big butterflies are
different species to the little ones. The
butterfly's family consists of a number of
tiny eggs, which in due time become cater
pillars, and in their nests work as their
parents did, becoming afterwards beautiful
butterflies." " The history of the caterpillar is like what
M 2

164 Marie Pape-Carpantier.

mamma tells me about us," Lucy said. " She
says that after working in this world, we
must die, and after death comes another
life ! "
" Yes," said the gardener, " and if, like the
caterpillar, we have fulfilled our tasks well,
we shall also be amply rewarded."
By such artless teaching as this, Madame
Pape inspired in the minds of little children
not only a love of nature and of the humblest
created things, but the reverential feeling,
without which religion and notions of morality
cannot exist. We in England have abundance
of such works for the young ; none, however,
better adapted for their purpose than this ;
and seeing that it was a first effort after a
rationalistic method of primary instruction in
France, we cannot wonder at the success
accorded to it. All honour to the devoted
teacher, not only of children, but of teachers,
who consecrated her leisure to such a task !

Marie Pape-Carpantier . 165
It wifl be long before these " Legons de
Choses" will be superseded in French school
rooms. As often happens the honours due to
Madame Pape were not awarded till after
death, and no tribute could have been more
gratifying to her family or her friends than
that paid by the town of La Fleche, where
she was born. A public subscription was
raised, in order to defray the expense of a
portrait, and a meeting was held at which
an enthusiastic audience listened to the story
of her life. The speaker, M. A. Brossier,
briefly but eloquently summarized this noble
woman's life, and dwelt more especially on
the imaginative side of it, and on her claims
to be enrolled among French poets. Curiously
enough it was her poetic gift that led to her
first nomination as directress of the Salle
d'Asile. Whflst a mere child she had com
posed verses, and when serving her appren-

1 66 Marie Pape-Carpantier.
ticeship as glove-maker, she studied versi
fication. The fact came to the knowledge of
a professor of one of the public schools of
La Fleche, who aided her studies, and was
mainly instrumental in the direction of her
future career. There is much quiet grace
and pathos in these songs and lyrics, pub
lished under the title of "Preludes," every line
breathing tenderness, devotion, and deep re
ligious feeling. Take as a specimen the
foflowing verses to her native town : —
'' La Flfeche, oh ! mon doux nid ! 6 ma belle patrie,
Asile oil je re'cus du fruit de mon labeur,
Toi qui compris mes chants, qui prote'geas ma vie ;
Quel amour t'a voue mon coeur.
" Oh ! moi, je donnerais pour ta grace pudique.
Pour ton ciel nuageux, pour tes monts verdoyants,
Et la vieille Italie et la jeune Ame'rique,
Et I'Asie aux cieux flamboyants.
" Que me font les splendeurs des cites orgueilleuses ;
Athene et ses de^bris, Naples et sa volupte,
Au cceur de ton enfant sont bien moins pr^cieuses,
Que ta noble simplicity !

Marie Pape-Carpantier. 167
"Paris, ce vaniteux qui veut briller et plaire,
A mes yeux un instant sembla royal et beau ;
Mais bientot j'aper9us la fraude et la misfere,
Sous la pourpre de son manteau !
" Ces bruits, ces chants, ces cris de la foule empress^e.
Oil passe un ceil ami ne s'arretait sur moi,
D'un lourd penser d'exil oppressaient ma pensee,
Et me glagait d'un vague effroi 1
" Alors, oh ! mon pays, reveuse et ddsolde.
Loin de ces inconnus, je courais me cacher,
Pour songer doucement k ta fraiche valine,
A tes bois, a ton vieux clocher."
She always preserved an intense love for
the little town of La Fleche, and it is pleasant
to find her memory so affectionately preserved
there. And she made verses, and sang to the
end too, though no longer in order to pour
out the aspirations and tenderness of her
wonderfully maternal heart. Later on she
poetized and sang for the children, making
little verses Hke the following, to be sung
to the tune of B6ranger's famous Bonne
Aventure : —

1 68 Marie Pape-Carpantier.
" Tout petit, je ne sais rien
Que jouer et rire,
Mes parents me soignent bien,
Comane un petit sire,
Mais quand je travaillerai,
C'est moi qui les soignerai.
La bonne aventure
Oh gu^.
La bonne aventure ! "
The imaginative side of her character,
indeed, showed itself in her whole system of
educational reform. All that was poetic and
deepwithinherrose in rebeflion against themis-
chievous routine pursued throughout France
under the name of instruction. Her notion
of education was the Socratic one, namely, a
thoughtful understanding of things as they
are opposed to the conceit of knowledge
without the reality, and the unproductive
study of words only. As her biographer
says :—" Inspired with German ideas, and
aided by a few thoughtful men, above
all by the eminent M. Br^al, she showed

Marie Pape-Carpantier. 169
how to reach the intelligence of a child by
means of reasoning and example, and to
make him learn by means of things under
his eyes ; passing from the simple to the
complex, and always putting the pupil's
ideas, by means of his own observations and
replies, into definite shape. This, from more
than one point of view, is the reform that
Socrates had introduced into the world two
thousand years ago, when, so to say, he re
created the minds of his disciples and brought
under their observation the Ego, the human
understanding, up till that time lost in unin
telligible hypothesis. Socrates and Madame
Pape were equally gifted with good sense ;
and their contemporaries were very stupid."
Tfll the end of her successful and inde
fatigable career, Madame Pape worked, in
spired and hopeful. With the hopefulness
that only those who have laboured and
achieved, can know, she wrote not long

170 Marie Pape- Carpantier.
before her death, " L'avenir se montre tout-
a-fait en rose," the future is all rose-colour
— a fitting watchword to bequeath to her
successors !

ELIZABETH CARTER,
GREEfC SCHOLAR.

ELIZABETH CARTER.
To my thinking there is no more agreeable
biography in the language than the life of
Mrs. Elizabeth Carter by her nephew, the
Rev. Montagu Pennington. It is an old-
fashioned book, long since out of print, and
not likely, on account of its supernumerary
second volume, to be reprinted. But the
delightfulness of the life itself, and the naive,
affectionate spirit of the biographer, whose
pride in his subject crops up in every page,
makes it a book to be joyfully hailed when
ever found on a book-stall, and to be lent to
all our acquaintances, young and old, learned
and simple, ever after.

174 Elizabeth Carter.
Never was such an age of memoir-writing
as the present, and without doubt we cannot
have too many when alike style and subject
are admirable. We could, nevertheless, well
afford to turn from time to time to such re
cords of by-gone lives as these, forgotten for
the most part, wholly ignored indeed by the
great bulk of readers, yet full of entertainment
and instruction. People subscribe to libraries
now-a-days, but there are few readers of old
books. It suffices for a book to wear a shabby
cover and to belong to a past generation. It is
old, it is out of date, it must therefore be dull.
From one point of view the biography of
Elizabeth Carter has an especial interest in
our own country just now. She was a
scholar, " a good ripe one," and her scholar
ship was attained under disadvantages from
which Englishwomen do not suffer any more.
There was no Girton College, or Merton
Hall, in those days, where young women

Elizabeth Carter. 175
could pursue their classical and mathe
matical studies as freely and advanta
geously as men ; no classes open to them
at London University and King's College ;
no temporary homes in Cambridge where
they could stay during periods of systematic
study under university professors ; no educa
tional associations affording first-rate teaching
even in remote places ; lastly, there were no
Local Examinations for girls, and no Higher
Examinations for Women, thus granting
them precisely the same tests of knowledge
long enjoyed only by the other sex.
In the present day, indeed, it is rather
matter for astonishment that the number of
girl and women students in the higher fields
of knowledge should not be far greater than
that many are availing themselves of these
privileges. Perhaps it is too much to expect
that the enthusiasm of the projectors of any
scheme should be equafly shared by those it

176 Elizabeth Carter.
directly benefits. Yet it seems to us that our
young countrywomen require to be reminded
from time to time of the enormous sacrifices
in leisure, health, and money, that have been
made on their behalf, in order to obtain for
them these privlliges, and that it is well
to point out to them how different is
their position from that of women in former
generations. One exceptional woman here
and there, like Elizabeth Carter, was original-
minded and strong-minded enough to van
quish all the difficulties with which she was
surrounded. But how many of her sisters
equally devoted to knowledge, though less
happily endowed by nature, succumbed in the
struggle ? How many lives have been made
wretch'ed by that worst of all famines, the
hunger and thirst after knowledge, the crav
ing for intellectual light, the desire to learn
what is worth learning, left unsatisfied
from the cradle to the grave ! How many

Elizabeth Carter. 177
careers have been frustrated by reason
of the fragmentary education women received
in former days ! How many rare gifts were
wasted from want of proper training and
opportunity ! Instances in point are given
in the pages of this volume, but it is now
our pleasant task to record a life that was
wholly satisfactory, and which ended as it
began, in a noble spirit of gratitude and
cheerfulness — joyousness, indeed, we might
almost say — so uniformly hearty, genial, and
glad was the life of Elizabeth Carter from
early youth to the termination of a venerable
old age. It is in striking contrast with such
a biography as the foregoing of Alexandrine
Tinn6. The admirable translator of Epic-
tetus was, however, no recluse, and though
the best and happiest part of her days must
have been spent in her library, she lived also
in the world, mingling with kindred spirits
and congenial minds. N

178 Elizabeth Carter.
It is the lot of most of us either to suffer
from a lack or a redundance of society, to
have too much or too little of it, a glut of what
we cannot relish, a scarcity of the aliments
exactly suited to our taste. "Were the
quality of society compensated by quantity,
we might well afford to live in the world,"
wrote the great pessimist, Schepenhauer, and
uncharitable although the sentiment may
appear, many of us will echo it. We have,
generally speaking, little choice between
solitude and boredom — social intercourse un
congenial to us, or none at all. To Eliza
beth Carter fell the happy portion of having
about her just the men and women who
could appreciate, interest, and stimulate her,
Avhilst she Avas privileged with as much soli
tude as all brain-workers require, and as
much intercourse as was good in the inter
vals of repose. Thus she turned from her
books to her friends, and from her friends to

Elizabeth Carter. 179

her books, always finding refreshment and
satisfaction. A charming picture is here pre
sented to us. True woman, ripe scholar,
kindly neighbour, and devoted friend, Eliza
beth Carter is a figure in the history of litera
ture, all her sex should delight to honour.
She was born of an honourable and lettered
family at Deal, in 171 7. From her father,
the Rev. Dr. Carter, perpetual curate to the
chapel of Deal, rector of Woodchurch and
Ham, also one of the six preachers of Can
terbury Cathedral, she evidently inherited
scholarly tastes and intellectual gifts. He
gave all his children, girls and boys alike,
a learned education, though in her earliest
years Elizabeth gave no sign of especially
profiting by it. Indeed, so slow was her
progress in learning the rudiments of Latin
and Greek, that her father often entreated
her to renounce the notion of ever be
coming a scholar. She persevered, how-
N 2

i8o Elizabeth Carter-
ever, studied hard, later, taking snuff" at
night to keep herself aAvake, and finally over
came all impediments. There can be little
doubt that what was regarded as natural slow
ness in her case, was nothing of the kind, but
merely an inability to learn anything accord
ing to a bad method. Many of the most
gifted people who ever lived have been
unable to learn except in their own way, and
so it was with Elizabeth Carter. She could
not endure the study of Latin and Greek
grammars, and seeing what they were in
those days, it is small matter of astonishment ;
but she understood the principles of grammar
nevertheless, and became afterwards a sound
scholar. The great Johnson, as is well-
known, in speaking of some celebrated
scholar, said " he understood Greek better
than any one he had ever known except Mrs.
Carter." At seventeen she translated some
odes of Anacreon, and was so well versed in

Elizabeth Carter. i8i
Latin, that her brother, when at Canterbury
school, wrote to her, saying that he had
translated one of the Odes of Horace so well,
it was supposed to have been done by her.
At twenty she was a thorough Greek, Latin,
and Hebrew scholar, besides having taught
herself Italian, Spanish, and German.
French had been acquired in childhood, and
later in life, she learned Portuguese and
Arabic. Nor were the ordinary acquire
ments of young ladies of the upper- ranks of
society neglected. She was a first-rate house
wife and needlewoman, and also took lessons
in drawing and music ; she was an excel
lent dancer, had some dramatic taste, and
could play cards and share in any other
social amusement. Her affectionate biogra
pher with some hesitation admits that this
learned young lady was " when very young,
somewhat of a romp." There were no
gymnasiums for lady students in those days.

1 82 Elizabeth Carter.
and if Elizabeth Carter indulged in a game
of hide and seek, or blind man's buff, with her
brothers and sisters after four or five hours
work in the library, she was but following a
natural instinct. She writes to a friend in
these early days : — " I walked three miles
yesterday in a wind that I thought would
have blown me out of this planet, and after
wards danced nine hours, and then walked
back again. Did you ever see or hear of
anything half so wonderful ? And what is
still more so, I am not dead." We are more
inclined to wonder that excess of work
rather than play did not kill her, for she was
far from a model of prudence where her
studies were concerned. Throughout life
she remained an early riser, four or five
o'clock in youth, between six and seven in age,
being her hour of rising, but this invaluable
habit was counteracted by late hours at night.
She used various means to keep herself

.Elizabeth Carter. 183

awake, besides that of taking snuff; she
owned that she was in the habit of putting a
wet towel round her head and body, and
chewing green tea and coffee. To gratify
her father she once relinquished snuff-taking,
but seeing how much she suffered from the
deprivation, he begged her to continue it.
Her early life, indeed her life altogether,
was particularly uneventful. Handsome,
high-spirited, and accomplished, she had
many opportunities of marriage, but preferred
to retain her independence and leisure for
study. Once indeed she seemed inclined to
change this opinion ; she was perhaps In love,
but the gentleman had published some verses
which, " though not absolutely immoral, yet
seemed to show too light and licentious a
turn of mind." She Avavered and wavered,
finally deciding against him, from a feeling
of duty and religious principle. For Eliza
beth Carter was eminently religious alike in

184 Elizabeth CaT-ter.
the conventional and in the highest sense of
the word. She adored Socrates, Plato, and
Epictetus, but she remained a devout Chris
tian and good churchwoman throughout the
entire course of her existence, her piety being
of the right kind, infusing not only resigna
tion, and an unwavering sense of duty into
every action, but cheerfulness, nay, joyous
ness, from early youth till the last.
We all know what the life of a clergyman's
daughter is like, and the young scholar's out
wardly very much resembled that of the rest,
except that her attainments very soon got
spread abroad, and before she was fairly out
of her teens she found herself famous.
Some published translations from her pen
attracted general attention, and one, "Sir
Isaac Newton's Philosophy Explained, for the
use of ladies, in six dialogues, on Light and
Colour," translated from the Italian of Alga-
rotti, was thus spoken of by a contemporary

Elizabeth Carter. 185
writer of some authority. Dr. Birch. "This
work is now rendered into our language, and
illustrated with several curious notes by a
young lady (daughter of Dr. Nicholas Carter
of Kent), a very extraordinary phenomenon
in the republic of letters, and justly to be
ranked with the Sulpitias of the ancients, and
the Schurmans and Daciers of the moderns." '
Already too she was making some of thosa
acquaintances and friendships with eminent
men, which so agreeably diversified the even
. tenour of her existence, and so largely aided
her in her literary undertakings. It is de
lightful to see how men like the grand old
Johnson welcomed her into the noble fra
ternity of letters, and with what uniform re
spect and affection she was treated by all her
friends of the other sex. Never was a life
^ Sulpitia, Latin poetess in the time of Tiberias.
Schurman, Anna Maria, German scholar, died 1678.
Dacier, Anne, Greek scholar, died 1720.

1 86 Elizabeth Carter.
richer In friendship ; never Avas appreciation
and sympathy more cordially responded to.
The learned Seeker, Bishop of Oxford,
afterwards Archbishop of Canterbury, the
benevolent and accomplished Hayter, Bishop
of Norwich, and afterwards of London ;
Duncombe, the translator of Horace ; Cave,
the publisher ; Richardson, the novelist ; the
first Lord Lyttelton ; William Pulteney ; Earl
of Bath, all distinguished men in different
lines, — were among her closest friends ; and
during her occasional visits to London or
elsewhere, she met many other eminent per
sonages of the day, not only English, but of
various nationalities. Two very curious
letters from the unhajopy Savage appear in
this volume, unfortunately too long to re
print. Who has not read Johnson's life of
the most wretched poet that ever lived ? a
piece of biography unique for its picture of
dark, unmitigated misery. There is nothino-

Elizabeth Carter. 187
to break the general gloom and pitchy
darkness of these shifting scenes, all is
ruin, tears, curses, and despair. In one
of these two letters he speaks of a person
whp had cared for him in early chfldhood.
"Mrs. Lloyd, a lady that kept her chariot,
and lived accordingly. But alas ! I lost her
when I was but seven years of age." We all
know the story of Savage's life, the vindictive
hatred borne towards him by his mother ; the
privation and persecution of the foundling's
career ; its miserable end, and all other feel
ings are merged in compassion ; but it is easy
to understand that a woman of rigid religious
principles and well-regulated mind like Eliza
beth Carter, In the words of her biographer,
" thought very ill of his moral character, and
was not greatly delighted with his poetry."
With regard to the two Bishops, we have
the following amusing and characteristic anec
dote :

1 88 Elizabeth Carter.
" Such indeed was Dr. Seeker's attention
to Mrs. Carter, and so high his opinion
of her seemed to be, that it was supposed by
many of their friends, after he became a
widower, that he wished to marry her.
This, however, she always positively denied
to be the case, and was fully convinced that
he felt for her nothing more than friendship
and esteem. She always seemed, indeed, to
be hurt at this idea, and never liked to have
it mentioned or alluded to even by her re
lations. The same thing was also affirmed
with regard to that good and amiable prelate.
Dr. Hayter, first Bishop of Norwich, and
later of London, with whom she was much
acquainted, and some of their contem
poraries are not clear in this case that the
rumour was equally unfounded. Mrs.
Carter, however, never allowed it to be true,
and it is pretty certain that whatever the
Bishop's inclinations m.ight be, they never

Elizabeth Carter. 189
led him so far as to make her an offer of
marriage. Once, indeed, when the two
Bishops and Mrs. Carter were together. Dr.
Seeker jocularly alluded to this subject, and
said, " Brother Hayter, the world says that
one of us two is to marry Madame Carter (by
which name he was accustomed to address her
and speak of her) ; now I have no such inten
tion, and therefore resign her to you." Dr.
Hayter, with more gaflantry, bowed to her,
and replied, "that he would not pay his
Grace the same compliment, and that the
world did him great honour by the report."
It is curiously illustrative of the manners of
the times that such a conversation should
have taken place in the presence of the lady
herself. This friendship with Archbishop Seeker,
however, formed an era in Elizabeth Carter's
life, for it was mainly by reason of his sug
gestion and encouragement, that she set to

190 Elizabeth Carter.
work upon her opus magnum, the translation
of Epictetus. Many of her friends had long
before urged her to undertake some impor
tant literary work, but diffidence in her own
powers, perhaps also a press of domestic
duties, had hitherto prevented the attempt.
By her father's second marriage, moreover,
a numerous family of step-brothers and sisters
had grown up, to whose education Elizabeth
most self-sacrificingly devoted herself.
Henry, the youngest of these, was designed
for the church, and his preparatory studies
Avere made entirely under her supervision.
We may imagine with what delight she
received the following letter concerning him
from her father : —
" My Dear, — I imagine you will Avant to
know how your pupil went through his trial
at Cambridge. I suppose the apprehensions
he was under from the expected examination
had no small effect upon his spirits. He

Elizabeth Carter. 191

was examined first by two of the Fellows,
and last by the Master, who all well approved
of him. I only saw the Master and one of
the others, both of whom spoke in his praise."
To which her biographer appends the follow
ing reflection : — " Mr. Henry Carter is
perhaps the only instance of a student at
Cambridge who was indebted for his pre
vious education to the other sex ; and this
circumstance excited no small surprise there,
when it was inquired after his examination
at what school he had been brought up."
This was written in the early part of the pre
sent century, and most probably the writer
little foresaw what changes were to take place
in the matter -of women's education ere it
should close. At the present time, the fact
of a youth being prepared for his entrance
examination by women, would occasion very
little astonishment at Cambridge, or else
where, if indeed any at all, and a day is

192 Elizabeth Carter.
drawing near, when, without doubt, the classical
as well as general education of young boys
will be entirely in the hands of the other sex.
Whilst engaged upon her brother's educa
tion, indeed, Elizabeth Carter had already
begun her translation of Epictetus ; but the
work proceeded slowly till the. completion of
the former task. She was thirty-two when
she set about the book which was to win her
fame and fortune, and she was thirty-nine
when it was finished. Seven years, therefore,
were given to the interpretation of her beloved
author, and never surely were seven years of
a scholar's life more profitably spent. Since
the publication of Elizabeth Carter's Epictetus,
rivals have appeared in the field ; but it must
ever be remembered that, if since surpassed,
she led the way, and that her admirable trans
lation— -the first that appeared in English — ¦
has afforded instruction and delight to several
generations.

Elizabeth Carter. 193
In what we may call the standard edition
of our own day, Long's translation (just
added to Bohn's Library),^ the following high
testimony is accorded by a ripe scholar and
accomplished author to Mrs. Carter's achieve
ment : — " The translation of Mrs. Carter is
good ; and perhaps no Englishman at the
time would have made a better translation.
I intended at first to revise Mrs. Carter's,
and to correct any errors that I might dis
cover. I had revised about half of it when I
found that I was not satisfied with my work ;
and I was advised by a learned friend to
translate the whole myself. I have always
compared my translation with the Latin
version and with Mrs. Carter's. The text
of Epictetus is sometimes corrupted, and this
corruption causes not a few difficulties. These,
however, are not numerous enough to cause
" The Discourses of Epictetus, translated by George
Long. London : George Bell. 1877. O

194 Elizabeth Carter.
or to admit much variety or diversity in
the translations of the text. This remark
will explain why many parts of my translation
are the same or nearly the same as Mrs.
Carter's. When this happened I did not
think it necessary to alter my translation, in
order that it might not be the same as hers.
I made my translation first, and then com
pared it with hers and the Latin version."
Lovers of old books and quartos will prefer
such a copy of Mrs. Carter's work — ddition
de hixe — as may be occasionally found ; but
the accomplished author of " The Decline of
the Roman Republic," and well-known trans
lator of " The Thoughts of the Emperor M.
Aurelius Antoninus," has, without doubt, sup
plied a real want in this handy and scholarly
edition of the great Stoic philosopher.
Since Elizabeth Carter's day, scholarship and
philosophy have advanced with every other
branch of art and science, and none would

Elizabeth Carter. 195
have welcomed a more complete exposition
of her favourite writer with greater cordiality
than herself. She must, indeed, have foreseen
that at some time or other her labours would
be supplanted ; but of future fame, any more
than of actual reputation, she dreamed little.
How conscientiously, thoroughly, and
modestly the undertaking was begun, may
be gathered from the very interesting cor
respondence that took place on the subject
between Elizabeth and her learned friend,
Bishop Seeker. " Let me speak a word for
myself," writes the Bishop, by way of post
script to the letter of his friend and almost
adopted daughter, Miss Talbot. "Why would
you change a plain, homely, awakening
preacher into a fine, smooth, polished writer ?
Answer me that, dear Miss Carter." ' Else
where the bishop writes: — "With proper
' Elizabeth Carter was sometimes called Miss and
sometimes Mrs. though never married.
O 2

196 Elizabeth Carter,
exceptions, every ancient writer should, in
common justice, be laid before the modern
reader, if at all, such as he is. And Epic
tetus in particular should, because he will
make a better figure, and have more in
fluence in his own homely garb, than any
other into which he may be travestied.
Abruptness and want of ornament very often
add much force and persuasion to what is
said. They show the speaker to be in
earnest, which hath the greatest weight of
anything ; and the same sentiments delivered
in a smooth and polite, a florid and pane
gyrical, or a formal and professional style,
are no longer the same. These last were
the methods in vogue when Epictetus lived ;
and they had brought philosophy into dis
regard and disgrace. He saw it with grief,
and reproved the philosophers with an honest
zeal. Surely, then, we should be very care
ful to do nothing that may but seem

Elizabeth Carter. 197
to approach towards transforming him into
any one of these gentlemen. And I am
further persuaded that plain and homely ex
hortation and reproof, without studied periods
and regular connexion, in short, such as they
might be supposed to come extempore from the
fulness of the old man's good heart, will be
more attended to and felt, and consequently
give more pleasure, as well as do more good
than anything I know that can be substituted in
their room  I think a rough and almost
literal translation, if it doth but relish strongly
of that warm and practical spirit, which to me
is the characteristic of this book, infinitely pre
ferable to the most elegant paraphrase that lets
it evaporate and leaves the reader unmoved."
How admirable a piece of criticism is this !
Elizabeth Carter had not a touch of arro
gance or self-assertion in her nature, and
wrote back to Miss Talbot in the simplest
manner : — " I hope to make some improve-

198 Elizabeth Carter.
ment from the excellent instructions which
my Lord has been so good as to give me."
The translation being happily brought to an
end was left with the bishop for revision ;
and meantime he pressed her to write a life
of the philosopher, in order to make the
work more complete. This proposal at first
she rejected, urging in a letter to her friend.
Miss Talbot, " Whoever that somebody or
other is, who is to write the life of Epictetus,
seeing I have a dozen shirts to make, I do
opine, my dear Miss Talbot, that it cannot
be I."
A dozen shirts to make ! What would the
Girton students or the Mertonians or the lady
students at London University say to that!
Think of those precious eyes being wasted
and wearied over
" Hem, and gusset, and seam ;
Seam, and gusset, and band " —
those precious hours being spent upon the

Elizabeth Carter. 199
most monotonous and mechanical occupation
under the sun, when a substitute might have
been procured at eighteenpence a day ! But
it would never have occurred to Elizabeth
Carter to depute the making of her father's
shirts to a seamstress. Truth to tell, the
family was large, the circumstances were
narrow, she had not as yet earned a penny
by her industry and attainments ; the shirts
had to be made, and there was no one else
to make them. In these days we may con
fidently affirm that a young lady who makes
a dozen shirts for her father, is as rare a
phenomenon as a young lady who had all
the ancient Greek writers at her fingers'
ends was then. Things have changed for
the better ; the sewing-machine saves the
eyes of learned and simple, shirts are manu
factured, not made ; but it is charming
to see the cheerful, unconscious spirit of
self-sacrifice displayed by such a woman

200 Elizabeth Carter.
in the fulfilment of every-day domestic
duties, A good deal of correspondence took place
on the subject of notes and elucidations to
be appended to the translation. It was
suggested that unless proper helps were
given to the general reader in the form of
explanations, more harm than good might be
effected by such a work. The bishop and
Miss Talbot, herself a writer and no mean
critic, were of opinion that without these pre
cautions the book would be another weapon
in the hands of infidels. " Many per
sons," wrote the latter, "wifl study your
book who scorn to look at the Bible ; let
them, therefore, be frequently directed to the
true source from whence all they can admire
in the other is derived, and from which some
passages are plainly taken. You do not
believe that any but good persons will read
this book. Fine gentlemen wfll read it

Elizabeth Carter. 201

because it is neAV ; fine ladies because it is
yours ; critics because it is a translation out of
the Greek; and Shaftsburyan heathens be
cause Epictetus was an honour to heathenism,
and an idolater of the beauty of virtue. With
these precautions which I have hinted, the
English Epictetus will be a most excellent
book, whatever objections I have made to
the Greek one;" and elsewhere she says,
" do not grieve at the task ; for 'tis a noble
one to complete such a work, which, when
finished, will be of more use as entertainment
than most books I have read ; and will do
honour to Epictetus, yourself, your country,
and womankind."
The introduction and notes were added,
and the work published by subscription in
1758. So large was the demand for it that
the author gained one thousand pounds by
the transaction, only 67/. 'js. being paid for
the printing of the first 650 copies ; 250/.

202 Elizabeth Carter.
more were soon added, over a thousand
being subscribed for in all Subsequently to
this first quarto edition, others appeared, the
last bearing date 1807, with the translator's
latest additions and alterations.
I am not aware of any other important
translation till that of Mr. George Long just
alluded to, and in which frequent citations
are made from the work of Mrs. Carter.
The success was rapid and decisive, and
brought about a considerable change in
Elizabeth Carter's existence. From that
date her circumstances became easy. Many
things became possible which had hitherto
never been dreamed of, such as the luxury of
a library to herself, trips to London, glimpses
of foreign travel. A thousand pounds in
those days meant very much more than it
does now, and possessed of this sum Eliza
beth Carter found herself suddenly rich !
She spent some months of every year in

Elizabeth Carter. 203
London, always going to the same lodgings
in Clarges Street, and she purchased a house
at Deal, which she shared with her father
till his death. The stepmother, with whom
she had always lived on affectionate terms,
was now dead ; the young bro"thers and
sisters had all quitted the family nest.
Dr. Carter and his famous daughter were
therefore left alone, she keeping his house
in the practical sense of the word, each
enjoying a separate room for study. Natu
rally these altered circumstances, and the
increased reputation of the learned Madame
Carter, as she was called by her townsfolks,
made a great impression at Deal. She was
regarded not only with admiration, but awe ;
and all kinds of supernatural gifts were
attributed to her. She could foretell the
weather and future events ; she was supposed
to have a hand in the manufacture of alma
nacks ; but for the repeal of the Witch Acts,

204 Elizabeth Carter.
as she humorously observed, things might
have gone ill Avith her. Her biographer
gives an amusing instance of this popular
feeling. Whilst he was accidentally stroll
ing, accompanied by a friend, in Canterbury
Cathedral, they entered into conversation
with the verger's wife in attendance, and
upon some one remarking that it was very
cold, she replied, " Yes, it will be a dreadful
winter, and there will be a great scarcity of
corn, for the famous Miss Carter has foretold
it ! " Equally good is the story of the
puppet-show at Deal. Elizabeth Carter was
present, with some friends, and partly, per
haps, on account of her reputation for learn
ing, partly because of her well-known piety.
Punch was subdued to uncommon dulness
and seriousness, who was usually more jocose
than delicate. " Why, Punch," says the show
man, "what makes you so stupid?" "I
can't talk my own talk," answers Punch; "the
famous Miss Carter is here !"

Elizabeth Carter. 205
Learned and simple, young and old, are
so accustomed to foreign travel nowadays,
that it is hard to realize with what flutterings
of expectation a journey, however unpretend
ing, was thought of a hundred years ago. A
few years after the publication of her Epic
tetus, Elizabeth joined a party of friends in
a trip on the Rhine and in Belgium, which,
as her biographer informs us with praise
worthy candour, was attended with no ex
pense to herself. We shall see by and by
that, though particularly delicate in all busi
ness transactions, high-principled and in
dependent of character, she was always as
ready to receive as to bestow. Later in life,
when her friends wished to give more sub
stantial proof of their regard still, she accepted
their kind offices in the spirit with which they
were made. Simple, dignified, unaffected,
she could afford to be so largessed by those
who loved her, and their name was Legion !
The party, consisting, among others, of

2o6 Elizabeth Carter.
Lord Bath, Miss Montagu, the learned Dr.
Douglas, Bishop of Salisbury, with a large
retinue of servants, made a prosperous and
highly interesting journey, everything cap
tivating the quick mind of Elizabeth Carter.
Her letters from Spa are delightful reading,
for she saw much that was new, and well de
scribes the odd medley of society they found
there. " French, Dutch, Flemish, German,
English, are here " she writes ; " but the
manners of nations who have so much inter
course with each other have little variety,
and the language is the same, for everybody
"^eaks French." Then she amusingly de
scribes the~ visits they made to grand per
sonages. " We have dined with the Bishop
of Augsburg three times. C'est tme visile
fort illustre, et bien triste. One circumstance
is very awkward to little folks, that the at
tendants are all men of quality, and Ave must
either choke with thirst or employ a count

Elizabeth Carter. 207
or baron to bring us a glass of water. An
Excellence, with an embroidered star, comes to
us from his Highness when dinner is upon
the table, which is half an hour after 12 p.m.
.... Prince and Princess Ferdinand of
Prussia are to be here to-night, and every
body is preparing to pay their court to them ;
but with this I have nothing to do ; for I am
told a hoop is absolutely necessary, and no
hoop have I, and no hoop do I design to
have." Elsewhere she remarks, speaking of
the same, " There is something extremely
easy and sociable in the etiquette of the
German courts ; their attendants sit down to
table with the Prince and Princess, and share
their amusements. Their manners are un
affected and agreeable ; but their dress so
ridiculously stiff that the first ' time I saw
them all, they put me in mind of King
Pharaoh's court in a puppet-show. All the
acquaintances I have formed here is among

2o8 Elizabeth Carter.
the Germans ; there is something that
pleases me in their general character." The
animation and colour of outdoor Hfe also
enchanted her, and she descants enthu
siastically on the variety of costume to be
seen in the streets of Spa. " Priests and
hussars, beaux and hermits, nuns and fine
ladies, stars and crosses, cowls and ribbons,
all blended together in the most lively and
picturesque manner possible."
Many good things might be extracted from
these letters, which without doubt record one
of the happiest portions of her life. These
few months of foreign travel indeed formed
quite an epoch in an existence so uniformly
placid and uneventful. A few years later,
her great friend Lord Bath died ; his brother
and next heir did not long survive him ; and
the inheritors of the princely fortune, Mr.
and Mrs. Pulteney, settled a hundred a year
upon Elizabeth Carter. It seems that Lord

Elizabeth Carter. 209
Bath had expressed some such intention
during his lifetime, and the proposal, which
was made in the most delicate and friendly
terms, was accepted. Such additional means,
besides a handsome legacy inherited from an
uncle, in no small degree' contributed to the
ease and comfort of her middle age and
declining years.
She now spent every winter with a maid
in comfortable apartments in Clarges Street,
where she never dined at home, her friends'
chairs or carriages always being sent for her
at dinner-time, and conducting her home at
ten o'clock. Her habits of life were of the
simplest. She dressed as plainly as possible,
but was always, writes her nephew, delicately
clean and neat both in her clothes and in her
person. Cold waterwas her onlycosmetic from
youth, but of that she used a profusion. She
ate but little meat at dinner, but was fond of
pastry and vegetables; and never ate any
p

2IO Elizabeth Carter.
supper at all. She drank lemonade or milk-
and-water at her dinner, and one glass of
wine when she dined in company, as a
matter of civility, which quantity she never
exceeded. Sparing as she was with regard
to herself, she was exceedingly bountiful to
the poor, and those in better ranks of life
needing help. At Deal, too, where half her
year was always passed, she dispensed a good
deal of simple hospitality. " Beloved, ca
ressed, and even courted as she was by the
wise, the good, and the great, her genius and
acquirements seemed to sleep, when to have
displayed or given scope to them might have
made the company sensible of their own
deficiencies." A curious characteristic of Elizabeth Carter
— as she advanced in life — was her inability
to pursue any occupation long at a time.
She would take half-hours of her favourite
studies and recreations, half an hour at her

Elizabeth Carter.

211

spinet, half an hour in watering her pinks
and roses, half an hour at the globe and
astronomical maps, half an hour at her shirt-
making, half an hour at her polyglot studies,
and so on. Her general rule in middle life,
Avrites her nephew, was when in health to
read before breakfast two chapters in the
Bible, a sermon, some Hebrew, Greek, or
Latin. After breakfast she read some part
of every language with which she was ac
quainted, so that she never allowed herself to
forget what she had once known. In fine
weather she took long walks before breakfast,
deferring her studies to a later part of the
day. In the evening she often paid visits,
being of a genial and charitable-minded dis
position, which made her take all short
comings in the matter of society very philo
sophically. " I thank God," she writes, " that
I am not in such a situation as to be excluded
from all agreeable society. For though there
P 2

212 Elizabeth Carter.
is not a great deal of company in this place
(Deal), there are some people whom I sin
cerely love and esteem, and in whose con
versation I spend many very happy hours.
They are so good as to express a satisfaction
in my being among them ; and I feel a very
affecting pleasure in studying to oblige and
entertain them as well as I can."
It must be added to the credit of her
townspeople that they regarded her with
great reverence as well as affection, even the
rough seafaring population considering her
presence as an honour and blessing to the
town. " Indeed, not to mention her cha
racter in other respects," writes her bio
grapher, " the gentle civility of her manners,
and her extensive and well-applied charities
among them, justly entitled her to their
regard." About thirty-five years before she
died, she had planted in a little court before her
house an acorn which produced a tree now

Elizabeth Carter. 213
large and flourishing, and of which she used
to say with great pleasure that it was the
most eastern oak in his Majesty's dominions.
When, after her death, the house and court
were being enlarged for her nephew, several of
the seafaring neighbours applied to him, hoping
that he would not cut down that oak ; and
one of them added that it ought to go down
to posterity like Shakespeare's mulberry-tree.
When, moreover, it became known that Mr.
Pennington was erecting a monument to her
in Deal Chapel, several of the inhabitants
begged him to mention that she was a native
of their town. All this is pleasant to hear
of, and speaks as much for the discern
ment as the warm-heartedness of the Deal
folk. One of her most intimate friends in old
age was Mrs. "Vesey, a well-known leader of
society in those days, and at her house she
met the most noteworthy wits, beauties, and

2 14 Elizabeth Carter.
savants of the day, Burke, Johnson, Horace
Walpole, Garrick, Lord Lyttleton, Dr. Percy
of Dromore, Mason the poet, Dr. Beattle,
Mrs. Hannah More, Dr. Burney, Lord
Monboddo, and many others whose names
are equally familiar to us. What a delightful
company. Who does not envy the happy
Boswell, who was sure to be there noting
this witticism or that. What an event was
such an evening in the lives of young as
pirants to literary fame ! How they must
have trembled on the doorstep ! With what
a feeling of exultation they must have quitted
it, carrying away unforgetable recollections of
the famous men and women they had looked
at and listened to ! Unfortunately our author
gives us little in the way of reminiscences at
this stage in his work.
Not many years after the addition to her
fortune just mentioned, the husband of her
great friend Mrs. Montague died, and his

Elizabeth Carter. 2 1 5
widow immediately also settled a hundred a
year upon her. Nor was this the last sub
stantial proof of her friends' regard that she
was to receive. Later still, a further annuity
of forty pounds was bequeathed her by a
relative. Thus she enjoyed the utmost ease
and comfort in her old age, and what was
even more Important to her, was surrounded
with devoted friends tfll the last.
The record of Elizabeth Carter's life hence
forth reminds us of three other illustrious
country-women, who, like herself, attained a
large share of the poet's stimmum bomim of
earthly felicity, namely, —
"That which should accompany old age.
As honour, love, obedience, troops of friends. "
To Caroline Herschel, English by adoption,
Mary Somervifle, and Harriet Martineau
Avas alike granted the enviable portion of a
beloved and honoured old age. There is a
touch of sadness In the closing chapter of such

2i6 Elizabeth Carter.
biographies as these, but a touch only. Like
railway travellers who have started early in
the morning and do not reach their destina
tion till nightfall ; they find each stage of the
way marked by adieux and departures, and
when the train stops, and life's journey draws
to a close, they are alone. Except for such
mournfulness, all is bright, clear, and happy.
Fond retrospective and calm looking forward
throw a halo of enchantment ever around the
winter of life, making it hardly less delightful
than the spring.
As Elizabeth Carter advanced in life, her
oldest and closest friends dropped off one by
one. The grand old Johnson, the good
Archbishop, Miss Talbot and her mother,
and many others ; and though she made
many new and warm friendships, they could
of course 111 compensate for the old. Dr.
Johnson entertained a high opinion of Mrs.
Carter's scholarship, as we have seen, and

Elizabeth Carter. 217
they were firm friends to the last. She
always spoke admiringly of his fervent
piety, and unremitting fulfilment of religious
duties, and in one of their latest conversa
tions, when she was expressing the same
sentiments to himself, he took her by the
hand and said with great composure, " You
know this to be true, and will testify it to the
world. when I am gone."
It is a curious and noteworthy fact, that
though no woman ever enjoyed more numerous
and delightful friendship with fllustrious men,
she had an amiable partiality for writers of
her own sex. Whenever a book appeared
from a woman's pen, she seized upon it with
avidity, determined to discover beauties and
merits. She recognized the crushing dis
advantages under which her own sex la
boured, and though ultra-Conservative in all
her political and social notions, and old-
fashioned alike in her creeds and criticisms, she

2i8 Elizabeth Carter.
would fain have set about a Reformation here.
She was much inclined to believe, as her
biographer cautiously expresses himself, " that
women had not their proper station in so
ciety, and that their mental powers were not
rated sufficiently high ; " and though she
detested the principle displayed in Mary
Woolstonecraft's " Rights of Women," she
thought that " men exercised too arbitrary a
power over them, and considered them as too
inferior to themselves." Touching proof is
given of the esteem in which she was held by
her own sex in Sarah Fielding's preface to
her admirable translation of the " Memora
bilia of Socrates," a work worthy to be placed
beside Mrs. Carter's " Epictetus." " The
writer," she says, " takes shelter for herself
under the respectable names of Dr. Johnson
and Mrs. Carter."
Never was an old age busier, livelier, and
more feted than that of the translator of

Elizabeth Carter. 219
" Epictetus." She took an active part in the
so-called " Ladies' Charitable Society," an
organization based upon the principles of our
present Mendicity Societies, and which must
have been sorely needed in those days. She
never spent an evening at home unless fll-
health compelled her to do so ; and she was
showered with all kinds of favours and com
pliments. In the year 1791, when she was
seventy-five years of age, the Queen, wife of
George III., desired an introduction. This
happened at Lady Cremorne's house in
Chelsea ; but later, the Duke of Cumberland
belne at Deal, visited her in her own home.
Later still, the Princess of Wales happened to
be staying in the Isle of Thanet, and she sent
a message to Mrs. Carter saying that she
would go to Deal and drink tea with her at
her own house. The Princess arrived with
her ladies at six o'clock and stayed for two
hours, during which the conversation turned

2 20 Elizabeth Carter.
chiefly upon English and German litera
ture. Among the friendships made in extreme old
age, was that of Horace Walpole, who wrote
some charming letters to Elizabeth Carter.
The temptation of making a brief extract
from one of these is too strong to resist. It
is dated Strawberry Hifl, July 25, 1789. " I
have the pleasure of sending you a little pre
sent, that I venture to say will be very
agreeable to you. It was written by Miss
Hannah More.' At her late visit to the Bishop
of London, Mrs. Boscawen showed it to me,
and I was so charmed, that I wrote imme
diately to the authoress, and insisted on print
ing a few copies, to which, with meek
modesty, she consented, though she had not
any such intention. The more I read it, the
better I like it ; it is so perfect, that I do not
think a word could be amended, and yet it
' Bonner's Ghost.

Elizabeth Carter. 221
has all the ease and freedom of a sketch.
The sense, satire, irony, and compliments
have all their complete merit.
" As I love to extract some satisfaction out
of grievances, I hope that this bad summer
has been favourable to your headaches. I
hope, too, that the almost incessant rains have
not damaged the corn and hops in your
county. It ought to . be a consolation to us,
too, that the badness of the season has been
oiir greatest calamity, while such tragic scenes
have been acting in France, and perhaps may
continue to be extended in that country.
Were they to stop now, it would not be
without such a humiliation of the house of
Bourbon as must be astonishing. Their Go
vernment was certainly a very bad one, but I
cannot conceive that such a sudden and
tumultuary revolution can at once produce a
good and permanent constitution, when not
only all the principles and spirit of the nation

222 Elizabeth Carter.
must be changed, but the whole system of
their laws and usages too, and where the
rights and privileges of the various provinces
are so discordant and so different. The
military, though that is extraordinary, may
have been seized with this rapid enthusiasm,
but are as likely to come to their old spirit
— and if the royal power is in a manner
annihilated, will the nobility and clergy
escape? If they are preserved from fear,
wfll the people be much relieved ? and if
these two bodies are crushed, how long will
the popular Government be tranquil ? I
pretend to no authentic information on what
is passing, and less to penetration ; but I do
not conceive that the whole frame and
machine of a vast country can be overturned
and resettled by a coup de bagtiette, though
all the heads in it have been changed, as
much as when millions of Goths invaded
nations and exterminated the inhabitants."

Elizabeth Carter. 223
There is little more to add to this sketch.
Elizabeth Carter enjoyed these illustrious
friendships to the last, and, like the subject
of another memoir in this volume, Matilda
Betham, was as much sought after and
cherished In her old age as in the flower of
her youth. Like the three famous octoge
narians, Caroline Herschel, Mary Somer
ville, and Harriet Martineau also, she was
equally famous In another way, retaining the
vigour of her intellect, and the clearness of
her judgment unimpaired tifl the end. She
died at Clarges Street, in the midst of friends
and relations, on the 19th of February, aged
eighty-eight, and was buried in the parish
of St. George's, Hanover Square. A mural
monument, bearing the following inscription,
was erected to her memory at Deal : —
"Sacred to the memory of Mrs. Elizabeth
Carter, a native and inhabitant of this town,
where, her benevolence and virtues will

2 24 Elizabeth Carter.
be long remembered. She was eldest
daughter of the Rev. Nicolas Carter, D.D.,
for upwards of fifty years Perpetual Curate of
this chapel, by Margaret, sole daughter and
heiress of Richard Swayne, Esq., of Bere,
in the county of Dorset. In deep learn
ing, genius, and extensive knowledge, she
was equalled by few ; in piety and the prac
tice of every Christian duty, excelled by
none." The second volume of the work contains
Mrs. Carter's collected poems and miscel
laneous works, but as these, though possessed
of considerable merit, are hardly of sufficient
importance to justify reproduction, we pass
them by. Had she been unhindered by
domestic duties, and spurred on by ambition
or the need of money, she would doubtless
have added other valuable translations to that
she accomplished. As it is, she will be re
membered for her conscientious, able, and

Elizabeth Carter. 225
interesting interpretation of one great writer of
antiquity only. Although superseded by later
workers in the same field, Elizabeth Carter still
holds an honourable place beside the Daciers,
the Sarah Fieldlngs, and other women
scholars, and will ever remain in our memories
as the English translator of Epictetus. A
word must now be said about her biographer,
the nephew, whom she adored and partly
educated, and who, judging from his own
words, must have amply repaid alike her educa
tional care and affection. No son could be
prouder of a noble mother than the Rev. Mon
tagu Pennington of his aunt, and sweetly and
touchingly are their mutual relations indicated
in his own words : — "Of Mrs. Carter's general
character, little or nothing can be said ; If it
has not sufficiently appeared in the memoirs
of her life, the writer of them has executed
his office very ill Her letters will speak for
themselves. The editor of them is well
Q

2 26 Elizabeth Carter.
aware that to some of her friends he will
appear to have published too many of them,
and to others too few ; to both he can only
reply, that he has been solely guided by Avhat
he believes would have been permitted or
forbidden by herself. He is fully persuaded
that if her purified spirit could look down
upon this world, still partaking of mortal
feelings, it would find no cause for displeasure
in this volume. Few persons, indeed, can
know her opinions better than the author of
it. He always lived with her upon the most
affectionate and confidential terms. He had
the advantage of being partly educated by
her, and of residing a great deal with her at all
periods of his life, and for some years previous
to his marriage entirely. After that time he
lived very near her, and was happily enabled stfll
more effectually by that connexion to smoothe
the path of her increasing infirmities, and to
add to the comfort of her declining years."

Elizabeth Carter. 227
A fitting conclusion to the record of an
existence so eminently religious, simple, and
loving. If Elizabeth Carter sacrificed much
of her youth, her talents, and her leisure to
domestic duties and family life, at least she
had compensation. H er old age was honoured
and happy.

Q 2

MATILDA BETHAM,
LfTTERATEUR AND ART f ST,
THE FRIEND OF CHARLES AND MARY LAMB.

CT- /U^uMa- a^Sei

'ItZ^/^n

yi^z^t/i- .y /y /fu,.^'/cf;i;^

MATILDA BETHAM.
" I RETURN you by a careful hand the MSS.,"
wrote Charles Lamb to Matilda Betham.
" Did I not ever love your verses ? The
domestic half will be a sweet heirloom to
have in the family. 'Tis fragrant with cor
diality. What friends you must have had or
dreamed of having ! and what a widow's cruse
of heartiness you have doled among them ! "
" I remember," wrote Southey to the same in
1815, " that I did not say half as much about
your poem as I ought to have done ; but this
shall be made amends for in proper place,
for I like it so much that it wifl give me
very sincere pleasure to say how good it is

232 Matilda Betham.
in a manner that may be serviceable." From
Allan Cunningham came the following en
thusiastic eulogium of the same work (" The
Lay of Marie") : "How could you suspect my
admiration and love of poetry by apologizing
for gratifying me with the perusal of a poem
so full of fine feeling and fancy, beautiful
description and imagery, impressive morality,
and melting pathos ?"
Without being able to echo the high praise
just quoted, I have felt that much interest and
some instruction might be afforded by some
memorial of my aunt and god-mother, who was
a "strong-minded" Avoman, and in her prime
in the early part of this century, the intimate
friend, moreover, of Charles and Mary Lamb,
the Southeys, Mrs. Barbauld, and many
other noteworthy personages of that epoch.
There was literature in the famfly.^ Her
' The Bethams or De Bethams are an ancient West
morland family (see Burn's " History of Westmorland " for

Matilda Betham. 233

father, the Rev. William Betham, Rector
of Stoke Lacy, compiled the voluminous
"Genealogical Tables of the Sovereigns of
the World," also the " Baronetage of Eng
land," stfll to be found in libraries and on
bookstalls ; and her eldest brother, the late
Sir William Betham, wrote many interesting
and curious works on Irish archaeology,
"Etruria Celtica," "The Gael and the Cymri,"
also "The Parliamentary History of England,"
all of which still possess a real interest.
From a little girl brought up in an isolated
notice of the De Bethams of Betham), and in the little
church of Betham, near Kendal, are the recumbent figures
in stone of Sir Thomas De Betham and his wife, still in
tolerable preservation, though dating from the reign of
Richard III. For several hundred years the Bethams
have been baptized and buried in Morland Church, some
distance to the north of Betham ; and though the manor
of Betham has long since passed into other hands, small
estates still remain in the family dating from that early
period. The present writer is a daughter of the Httle
Barbara mentioned in these pages, who afterwards
married Mr. Edward Edwards, of Westerfield, near
Ipswich, where she was born.

2 34 Matilda Betham.
country parsonage, who at the age of fourteen
read Tom Paine and set herself to answer
his arguments seriatim, something remark
able might be expected. The promise of her
youth, partly owing to domestic circumstances
and illness, and chiefly to the lack of educa
tional opportunities then existing for women,
was never fulfilled ; yet Matilda Betham
attempted and achieved much more than was
usual in those days.
The story of her early life, as told by
herself, has a touching interest for all who
sympathize with that hunger and thirst of
her sex after knowledge then so seldom en
couraged, much less satisfied. She had no
education beyond that afforded by her father's
excellent library, and what teaching he found
time to give her. She thus acquired a pas
sionate love of history and anecdote, which,
coupled with the marvellous memory she had
inherited from him, made her conversation so
delightful in old age.

Matilda Betham. 235
" Many people have thought me naturally
a singular and perhaps imprudent person
because I rhymed and ventured into the
world as an artist," she wrote ; " but I
belonged to a large family, and dreaded
dependence. My mother's handsome for
tune was lessened by the expense of a Chan
cery suit of eleven years' standing. My
father's hopes of preferment were one by one
disappointed by death and. translation of
bishops, and once by having delayed a re
quest because he would not call about it on
a Sunday. The destination of his children,
therefore, became modified by existing cir
cumstances. I was sent to school as a child
to learn sewing, and to prevent my too strict
application to books. In my visits to London,
I had learned French. The desire of know
ing Italian had been kindled by reading
Hoole's ' Metastasio,' and I took advantage
of an invitation to Cambridge to have a half-

236 Matilda Betham.

year's instruction from Agostino I sola, a
delightful old man, who had been the pre
ceptor of Gray the poet, of Pitt, and others."
In those days women lived in terror of being
held " blue," and she relates how " foolishly
enough I felt it a disgrace to be thought
learned, when somebody told a bishop, sitting
next to me at dinner one day, that he must
talk Greek to that young lady." She studied
or rather taught herself miniature-painting,
with a view to making it a profession, and
had so much talent that her first efforts in
that line were hailed as full of promise. But
there were no art-schools for women, nothing
to be had in the way of thorough teaching ;
and charming as many of these likenesses
are, they often betray both inaccuracy of
drawing and unscientific handling of colour.
Her friends one and all encouraged her
aspirations, both literary and artistic, " I
tell you," said one, " for the thousandth time.

Matilda Betham. 237
that you are full of genius ; several paths to"
fame lie open to you, and if you don't con
trive to march through one of them, you
deserve to have your mental feet cut off."
The writer of these enthusiastic lines. Lady
Bedingfield, is one of the most endearing
figures in this memoir, and her warm admiring
friendship for Matilda Betham, begun in
early childhood, lasted till old age, when she
wrote, "You took me for better and for worse,
dear Matilda, fifty years ago." Lady Beding
field was the daughter of Sir C. Jerningham
of Cossy, and was afterwards the wife of Sir
Richard Bedingfield, and later she became one
of the ladies in waiting to the Queen Dowager,
widow of George IV. This large-hearted
and gifted woman, whose charming nature
bespeaks itself in every line of her long cor
respondence with Matilda Betham, was said
herself to be a born artist. Sir Joshua
Reynolds remarked when looking at her

238 Matilda Betham.
sketches, " It is a pity she cannot be brought
up as an artist," But in those days to do
more than toy with art or literature was not
considered becoming in ladies of position,
and in her early letters she says of herself,
" I feel something within me, certain latent
powers, that, had my destiny left me as you
are, single and independent of control, would,
I think, have made me enter the lists of fame
in the painting way ; but situated as I am,
my imagination works, but I have no time
or opportunity to acquire that method and
precision of design which, though the inferior
part of the art, are nevertheless necessary to
our defence, if once we outstep the privacy
of a family or friendly circle and expose our
selves to the cold criticism of the public."
Lady Bedingfield's letters are delightful com
positions, alike those written in girlhood
middle life, and old age.
Matilda went to London and had a brief

Matilda Betham. 239
brilliant period of literary and artistic success.
She wrote a " Biographical Dictionary of
Celebrated Women," a work of much useful
ness in its day, and compiled with consider
able taste and care. Her pictures were
exhibited at Somerset House, and besides
portrait painting, she found time to contribute
poetical pieces to the " Monthly " and other
magazines. She also gave Shakespearian
readings. It was at this time that her friend
ship commenced with the Lambs, Southeys,
Barbaulds, and others. She visited the
Southeys at Keswick, the celebrated Ladies
of Llangoflen, Mrs. Schimmelpenninck at
Bath, and was constantly a guest of the
Barbaiflds at Stoke Newlngton, and the
Lambs in the Temple. She met Madame
de Stael, and was much struck with the fine
eyes and audacious vanity of that remarkable
Avoman. Each day of this happy time in
London was marked by some pleasant event.

240 Matilda Betham.
as the following entries in her diary testify : —
" Supped with the Lambs." " Spent the
evening with the Barbaulds." " At the
Lambs', and with them to the play." " Had
a party, Mr. and Mrs. Lamb, Mr. Hazlitt,"
&c. " Dined with Barbara at the Lambs'."
The Barbara in question was her youngest
sister (afterwards Mrs. Edwards), the little
Barbara Betham to whom Mary Lamb wrote
one of the most charming letters ever written
to a child. It was printed for the first time
in the Pall Mall Gazette, by the present
writer's permission, a few years back ; but as
it is not generally accessible there, I give an
extract from it later on.
The following letters belong to this period.
Some are without dates.
From Mrs. Coleridge to Matilda Betham.
" I should long since have troubled you
with a few lines, if I had not waited for %

Matilda Betham. 241
letter from Mr. Coleridge, who, I hoped,
would be able to give me some account of
you during his visit to Mr. and Mrs. Mon
tague. Three months and more have elapsed,
and he has not once addressed any of his
northern friends, and we have heard very
little of him from other persons ; of course 1
have passed a very uneasy winter. Last
Sunday (having by chance heard that he was
at Mr. Morgan's at Hammersmith) I wrote a
letter to my friend Mrs. Morgan, who in
formed me (to my great surprise) that he had
been with them ever since the 3rd of Novem
ber, and is at this time in lodgings in South
ampton Bufldings with an intention of apply
ing for advice from Mr. Abernethy ; he had
left them about a week, had visited them
once since, and was in very good spirits.
When Mrs. Montague was here I ventured
to make the request of a few lines from her
if she found C. was not in the habit of
R

242 Matilda Betham.
writing. I now fear I made an improper
request, as I have not heard from her —
perhaps C. did not remain long under her
roof; but I am altogether in the dark about
C. and his affairs, excepting the slight
intelligence just received from kind Mrs.
Morgan. I think if you had seen C, you
would have written to me to tell me of it,
Mrs, M. in her letter hints about a disagree
ment between C. and Mr. Carlisle ; I heard
something of this before, but can make
nothing of it. I wish C. would write :
both Southey and myself have written often
to him, but can obtain nothing. You wfll
probably see Southey in town in the spring,
and perhaps my sister. My journey thither
is stifl in the distance. My brother and
sisters unite with me in kindest remembrances
to you ; and I remain, dear Miss Betham,
" Very affectionately yours,
" Sara Coleridge.

Matilda Betham. 243
" P.S. — This very day Coleridge left us four
months ago ; he had been here five months
in better health, spirits, and humour than I
had seen him for any great length of time for
years before. I fear he has been different
since he left us."
In another letter, not dated, from Mrs.
Coleridge occurs the following : —
"A few weeks after these events the
account reached us of Mrs. Coleridge's death
[mother of S. T. Coleridge]; he too was
greatly distressed that he could not take a
last farewell, but it was next to impossible.
We knew of her illness for some time, but I
opposed his going so strenuously, as well as
his Grasmere friends, knowing what an effect
such a scene would have upon his mind and
health, that it was given up."
The following are from Coleridge : —
R 2

244 Matilda Betham. Thursday Afternoon,
34, Southampton Buildings,
Chancery Lane.
" Dear Miss Betham, — True history wfll
be my sufficient apology. After my return
from Lady J.'s on Monday night or rather
morning, I awoke from my first short sleep
unusually indisposed, and was at last forced
to call up the good daughter of the house
at an early hour to get hot water and pro
cure me medicine. I could not leave my
bed till past six Monday evening, when I
crawled out in order to see Charles Lamb,
and to afford him such poor comfort as my
society might perhaps do in the present
dejection of his spirits and loneliness.
This did not mend the matter with me. I
became worse and kept my bed all Tuesday
and the greater part of yesterday. But
thinking myself a little better yesterday

Matilda Betham. 245
morning, I determined to keep my engage
ment with you, and accordingly got up
about four o'clock and attempted to dress
myself for an evening visit. Half an hour's
experience, however, was enough to show me
the imprudence of the attempt. To walk
would have been out of my power, and had I
gone and returned in a coach, I should only
have brought an alarm, instead of a visitor,
being too unAvell to have conversed, and
agitated by the apprehension of being taken
sick and giddy, in the presence of strangers
perhaps, and three miles from my lodgings.
It was too late to send you a note by the
twopenny post, and I have no servant. I
am a little, and only a little, better at pre
sent ; if it be possible I shall put myself in
the Hammersmith stage this evening, as I
am not fit to be in lodgings by myself. In
truth, I have had such a series of anxieties,
cruel disappointments, and sudden shocks.

246 Matilda Betham.
from the first week of my arrival in London,
that any new calamity suffices to overset me.
The tidings of George Burnet's death, with
its circumstances, told me in the most abrupt
manner, and then as abruptly, and before I
could prevent it, told to Mary Lamb, had
agitated me violently, and the extreme
efforts I made to suppress the bodily effects
of my agitation in her presence, injured me
still more. She dropped certain ominous
words at the time, and on Saturday night,
when I was somewhat recovering my spirits,
having received a cheerful and humourous
note from Charles Lamb, inclosing a scrap of
your letter with Lady Jerningham's address,
but informing my hospitable friends that he
and his sister would come and dine with
them — notwithstanding on the Saturday
night, as I was walking out with Mrs.
Morgan and her sister to meet Mr. Morgan
as he returned from town, and just as my

Matilda Betham. 247
whole tone of feeling was harmonized and
become genial by the mild vernal air and the
almost gay moonlight, Mr. Morgan replied
to our welcoming with the sad news that
Mary Lamb had been attacked with her
complaint at five o'clock that morning, and
taken off to the country by Charles at seven !
On the Sunday Wifliam Godwin cafled on
me, to inform me that Miss Lamb had been
at their house on FViday, and that her
manner of conversation had greatly alarmed
them (dear excellent creature ! such is the
restraining power of her love for Charles
Lamb over her mind, that he is always the
last person in whose presence any alienation
of her understanding betrays itself), that
she talked far more and Avith more agitation
concerning me than about G. Burnet,
and told Mrs. Godwin that she herself
had written to William Wordsworth exhort
ing him to come to town immediately, for

248 Matilda Betham.
that my mind was seriously unhinged.
After Mr. Godwin's departure Lamb came.
I had just time enough to have half an hour's
mournful conversation with him. He dis
played such fortitude in his manners, and
such a ravage of mental suffering in his coun
tenance, that I walked off, my head throbbing
with long weeping and the -unnecessary haste
I made in the fear of being too late, and the
having to act before the curtain as it were
afterwards ; for the more I force away my
attention from any inward distress the worse
it becomes after, and what I keep out of my
mind, or rather keep down in a state of under-
consciousness, is sure to act meanwhile with
its whole power of poison on my body.
This, my dear Miss Betham, waiving all
connexion of sentences, is the history of
my breach of engagement, of its cause, and
of the occasion of that cause. Remember
me to your brother, and be assured that

Matilda Betham. 249
I am, with unfeigned and affectionate
esteem, " Yours most respectfufly,
" S. T. Coleridge."
Monday, April 4, 1808,
348, Strand.
" Dear Miss Betham, — At the time the
little girl delivered me your letter and accom
panying present, an acquaintance was coming
upstairs who had business of importance,
and such as would require half an hour or
more to settle, and whose time was valuable ;
yet having, though hastily, read through
your note, I could not bear to send back
a mere cold acknowledgment of the receipt.
Though I had wholly forgotten the circum
stance to which I owe it, believe me (if you
knew me personally I venture to affirm that
even this ' believe me ' would have been
superfluous), I was more than pleased, I was

250 Matilda Betham.

much affected by the letter. It breathed a
spirit so unlike that of the letters one is in
the habit of receiving from people of the
world; in short, it reminded me of my
earliest letters from my dear friends at Gras
mere. The only word in it which a little
surprised me was that of ' fame.' I assure
myself, that your thinking and affectionate
mind will long ago have made a distinction
between fame and reputation — between that
awful thing ' which is a fit object of pursuit
for the good, and the pursuit of which is an
absolute duty of the great ; that which lives
and is a fellow-labourer of nature under God,
producing even in the minds of worldlings, a
sort of docility, which proclaims, as it were,
silefice in the court of noisy human passions,
and the reward of which without superstition
we may well conceive to be the conscious-
' The incoherence of this sentence is Coleridge's, and
I leave it as I find it.

Matilda Betham. 251
ness In a future state of each being In Avhose
mind and heart the works of the truly famous
have awakened the Impulses of schemes of
after-excellence. What joy would it not be
to you, or to me. Miss Betham, to meet a
Mflton in a future state, and with that rever
ence due to a superior, pour forth our deep
thanks for the noble feelings he had aroused
in us, for the Impossibility of many mean and
vulgar feelings and objects which his writings
had secured to us ! But putting fame out of
the question, I should have been a little sur
prised even at the word ' reputation,' having
only published a small volume twelve years
ao-o, which, as my bookseller well knows, had
no circulation ; and, in honest truth, did not
deserve any, though perhaps as much as
many that have attained it ; a volume given
'by me to the public, ' my poverty, and not
my Avill, consenting.' I should have been
surprised even at any publicity of my name.

252 Matilda Betham.
if I were less aware of that sad, sad stain of
the present very aniigallican but woefully
gallicising age, the rage for personality, of
talking and thinking ever about it, and B.
and L. names, names, always names ! The
alliteration, ' Names of Novelties,' would go
far in characterising the bad parts of the
present generation (for, with pleasure I say
it, it has many very good ones). Of me,
and of my scanty juvenile writings, people
know nothing ; but it has been discovered,
that I had the destiny of marrying the sister
of Mrs. Southey, that I am intimate with Mr.
Southey, and that I am in a more especial
manner the friend and admirer of Mr. Words
worth." The following, like many of Coleridge's
letters, has no signature.
" Dear Miss Betham, — I sallied forth to
find you, at least your abode, unfortunately

Matilda Betham. 253

leaving your direction behind me. I went
to New Cavendish Street, and after many
vain inquiries was positively assured by a
man at the corner shop that you had removed
from Foley Street to Old Cavendish Street,
and that you did not reside in New Caven
dish Street. I knocked at every door in Old
Cavendish Street, not unrecompensed for the
present pain by the remembrances of the
different characters of voice and counte
nance with which my question was answered
in all gradations, from gentle and hos
pitable kindness to downright brutality.
I fafled, returned home, and in the
Exhibition Catalogue found your true
address. N.B. — I looked, when I was at
the Exhibition on Monday (the first open
day), at the numbers, in order that I might
not look at your works then. The crowd
was so great — the number of detestable
pushers so overpowering. But I shall go on

2 54 Matilda Betham.
Monday, the very moment the rooms are
open, in order that I may look at them singly,
and as much alone as possible. It is quite
shocking, that all that is good in the Exhibi
tion is absolutely extinguished by the glare
of raw colours put into wild shapes on
innocent much-injured canvas. I write now
to entreat that you would let me know what
day you wfll be at home and disengaged
next week, as I shall keep myself disengaged
till I hear from you, for I am most sin
cerely, " Your obliged,
"S. T. Coleridge."
Saturday, May 7, 1808,
348, Strand.
" Dear Miss Betham, — Your bearer waits,
and a gentleman is with me on business. I
can therefore only say, that I am pleased and
feel myself honoured by your intention, but
wfll in the course of to-morrow morning

Matilda Betham. 255
write a real answer to both your kind letters.
Be assured, it will not be one disappointment
that shall prevent me from seeing you, though
my poor face Is a miserable subject for a
painter (for in honest truth I am what the
world calls, and with more truth than usual, an
tigly fellow). Yet the mere pleasure of being
In your company for two or three hours will
be my compensation. " Sincerely yours,
"S. T. Coleridge."
" De.-vr Miss Betham, — Not my will, but
accident and necessity, made me a truant
from my promise. I was to have left
Merton, in Surrey, at half-past eight on
Tuesday morning with a Mr, Hafl, who
would have driven me in his chaise to town
by ten ; but having walked an unusual dis
tance on the Monday, and talked and exerted
myself in spirits that have long been unknown

256- Matilda Betham.
to me, on my return to my friend's house,
being thirsty, I drank at least a quart of
lemonade ; the consequence was that all
Tuesday morning, till indeed two o'clock in
the afternoon, I was in exceeding pain, and
incapable of quitting my room, or dismissing
the hot flannels applied to my body. How
ever, determining to be in town on that
night, I left Merton at five, walked stoutly
on till I was detained an hour and a half on
Clapham Common in an act of mere
humanity — indeed a most affecting one, and
not uninstructlve, if to know by facts the
dreadfully degraded and hardened hearts of
the inhabitants of cities and their suburbs
may be called instructive. At Vauxhall I
took a boat for Somerset House ; two mere
children were my Charons ; however, though
against tide, we sailed safely to the landing-
place, when, as I was getting out, one of the
little ones (God bless him !) moved the boat.

Matilda Betham. 257
On turning half-way round to reprove him,
he moved it again, and I fell back on the
landing-place. By my exertions I should
have saved my head but for a large stone
Avhich I struck against just under my crown,
and unfortunately in the very same place
which had been contused at Melton when I
fell backward after hearing suddenly and
most abruptly of Captain Wordsworth's
fate in the Abergavenny, a most dear friend
of mine. Since that time any great agitation
has occasioned a feeling of, as it were, a
shuttle moving from that part of the back of
my head horizontally to my forehead, with
some pain but more confusion. This sensa
tion the accident brought on with great vio
lence, but it is now abating. As soon as I
go out at all I will do myself the pleasure of
calling on you, for indeed I very much wish to
see you. " S. T. Coleridge."

258 Matilda Betham.

" Pray would it be possible, to draw the
following figures for a s'eal ? In the centre
(as of a coat-of-arms), a rose or myrtle in
blossom, on the right hand, a genius (or genie)
holding In the right hand two torches in
verted, and one at least recently extinguished ;
on the other side, a Love with a flaring torch
and head averted, the torch in the direction
of the head, as one gazing after something
going away. In the corner of the left part
of the composition a large butterfly flying off;
the motto under it, ' Che sara sara ' — What
will be, wfll be."
This letter has no date : —
From Mary Lamb.
" My dear Miss Betham, — My brother
and myself return you a thousand thanks for
you kind communication. We have read
your poem many times over Avith increased
interest, and very much wish to see you to

Matilda Betham,. 259
tell you how highly we have been pleased
with it. May we beg one favour ? I keep
the manuscript in the hope that you will
grant it. It is that, either now or when the
whole poem is completed, you wfll read it
over with us. When I say with tts, of course I
mean Charles. I know that you have many
judicious friends, but I have so often known
my brother spy out errors in a manuscript
which has passed through many judicious
hands, that I shall not be easy if you do not
permit him to look yours carefully through
with you ; and also you must allow him to
correct the press for you.
" If I knew where to find yo\x I would call
upon you. Should you feel nervous at the
idea of meeting Charles In the capacity of a
severe censor, give me a line and I will come
to you anywhere, and convince you in five
minutes that he is even timid, stammers, and
can scarcely speak for modesty and fear of
s 2

26o Matilda Betham.
giving pain when he finds himself placed in
that kind of office. Shall I appoint a time
to see you here when he is from home ? I
Avifl send him out any time you will name ;
indeed, I am always naturally alone till four
o'clock. If you are nervous about coming,
remember I am equally so about the liberty
I have taken, and shall be tfll we meet and
laugh off our mutual fears.
" Yours most affectionately,
" M. Lamb."
Letter fi'om Mary Lamb to Barbara
Betham {aged 14).'
Nov. 2, 1814.
"It is very long since I have met with
such an agreeable surprise as the sight of
your letter, my kind young friend, afforded
me. Such a nice letter as it is too ; and
what a pretty hand you write ! I congratu-
' Afterwards the wife of Mr. Edwards, of Westerfield,
Suffolk (parents of the present writer).

Matilda Betham. 261

late you on this attainment with great pleasure,
because I have so often felt the disadvantage
of my own wretched handwriting.
" You wish for London news. I rely upon
your sister Ann for gratifying you in this
respect, yet I have been endeavouring to re
collect whom you might have seen here, and
what may have happened to them since, and
this effort has only brought the image of
little Barbara Betham, unconnected with any
other person, so strongly before my eyes, that
I seem as if I had no other subject to write
upon. Now, I think I see you with your
feet propped upon the fender, your two hands
spread out upon your knees — an attitude you
always chose when we were in familiar con
fidential conversation together — telling me
long stories of your own home, where now
you say you are ' moping on with the same
thing every day,' and which then presented
nothing but pleasant recollections to your

262 Matilda Betham.
mind. How well I remember your quiet
steady face bent over your book. One day,
conscience-stricken at having Avasted so much
of your precious time in reading, and feeling
yourself, as you prettily said, 'quite useless to
me,' you went to my drawers and hunted out
some unhemmed pocket-handkerchiefs, and
by no means could I prevail upon you to re
sume your story-books till you had hemmed
them all. I remember, too, your teaching
my little maid to read, your sitting with her
a whole evening to console her for the death
of her sister, and that she in her turn en
deavoured to become a comforter to you, the
next evening, when you wept at the sight of
Mrs. Holcroft, from whose school you had
recently eloped because you were not partial
to sitting in the stocks. Those tears, and a
few you once dropped when my brother
teased you about your supposed fondness for
an apple-dumpling, Avere the only interrup-

Matilaa Betham. 263
tions to the calm contentedness of your
unclouded brow.
" We still remain the same as you left us,
neither taller, nor wiser, or perceptibly older,
but three years must have made a great alte
ration in you. How very much, dear Barbara,
I should like to see you !
" We still live in Temple Lane, but I am
now sitting In a room you never saw. Soon
after you left us we were distressed by the
cries of a cat, which seemed to proceed from
the garrets adjoining to ours, and only sepa
rated from ours by a locked door on the
farther side of my brother's bedroom, which
you know was the little room at the top of
the kitchen stairs. We had the lock forced,
and let poor puss out from behind a panel of
the wainscot, and she lived with us from that
time, for we were in gratitude bound to keep
her, as she had introduced us to four un
tenanted, unowned rooms, and by degrees

264 Matilda Betham.
we have taken possession of these unclaimed
apartments, first putting up lines to dry our
clothes, then moving my brother's bed into
one of these more commodious than his
own rooms ; and last winter, my brother
being unable to pursue a work he had begun
owing to the kind interruptions of friends
who were more at leisure than himself, I
persuaded him that he might write at ease
in one of these rooms, as he could not then
hear the door knock, or hear himself denied
to be at home, which was sure to make him
call out and convict the poor maid in a fib.
Here, I said, he might be almost really not
at home. So I put in an old grate, and made
him a fire in the largest of these garrets and
carried in his oaa'u table and one chair, and
bid him write away and consider liimself as
much alone as if he Avere in a lodging in the
midst of Salisbury Plain, or any other wide,
unfrequented place, where he could expect

Matilda Betham. 265
few visitors to break in upon his solitude. I
left him quite delighted with his new acqui
sition, but in a few hours he came down
again with a sadly dismal face. He could
do nothing, he said, with those bare, white
washed walls before his eyes. He could not
write in that dull, unfurnished prison !
" The next day, before he came home from
his office, I had gathered up various bits of
old carpeting to cover ,the floor, and to a
little break the blank look of the bare walls,
I hung up a few old prints that used to
ornament the kitchen ; and after dinner, with
great boast of what improvement I had made,
I took Charles once more into his new study.
A week of busy labours followed, in which I
think you would not have disliked to be our
assistant ; my brother and I almost covered
the walls with prints, for which purpose he
cut out every print from every book in his
old library, coming in every now and then

266 Matilda Betham.
to ask my leave to strip a fresh poor author,
which he might not do, you know, without
my permission, as I am elder sister. There
was such pasting, such consultation upon
these portraits, and where the series of pictures
from Ovld,^ Milton, and Shakespeare would
show to most advantage, and in what obscure
corner authors of humble rank should be
allowed to tell their stories. All the books
gave up their stores but one, a translation
from Arlosto, a delicious set of four-and-
twenty prints, and for which I had marked
out a conspicuous place ; when lo, we found
at the moment the scissors were going to
work, that a part of the poem was printed
at the back of every picture ! What a cruel
disappointment ! To conclude this long
story about nothing, the poor despised
garret is now called the print- room, and is
become our most familiar sittino-room.
° This Ovid, denuded of pictures, was presented by Mary
Lamb to Matilda Betham, and is in the author's possession.

Matilda Betham. 267
" The lions stfll live in Exeter Change.
Returning home through the Strand, I often
hear them roar about twelve o'clock at night.
I never hear them without thinking of you, be
cause you seemed so pleased with the sight of
them, and said your young companions would
stare when you told them you had seen a lion.
" And now, my dear Barbara, farewell, j
have not written such a long letter a long
time, but I am very sorry I had nothing
amusing to write about. Wishing you may
pass happily through the rest of your
schooldays, and every future day of your life,
" I remain,
" Your affectionate friend,
" M. Lamb.
" My brother sends his love to you. You
say you are not so tall as Louisa — you must
be — you cannot so degenerate from the rest
of your family.'
" "The measureless Bethams," Charles Lamb was
wont playfully to call them.

2 68 Matilda Betham.
" Now you have begun I shall hope to
have the pleasure of hearing from you again.
I shall always receive a letter from you with
very great delight."
From C. Lamb.
" Dear Miss Betham, — I have sent your
very pretty lines to Southey In a frank, as you
requested. Poor S., what a grievous loss he
must have had ! Mary and I rejoice in the
prospect of seeing you soon in town. Let us
be among the very first persons you come to
see. Believe me that you can have no
friends who respect and love you more than
ourselves. Pray present our kind remem
brances to Barbara, and to all to whom you
may think they will be acceptable.
" Yours very sincerely, " C. Lamb.
" Have you. seen ' Christabel ' since its
publication ? "
E. T. Yi.,June i, t8t6.

Matilda Betham. 269
From C. Lamb.
" Dear Miss Betham, — All this whfle I
have been tormenting myself with the
thought of having been ungracious to you,
and you have been all the while accusing
yourself. Let us absolve one another, and
be quiet. My head is in such a state from
incapacity for business, that I certainly know
it to be my duty not to undertake the veriest
trifle in addition. I hardly know how I can
go on. I have tried to get some redress by
explaining my health, but with no great suc
cess. No one can tell how ill I am, because
it does not come out to the exterior of my face,
but lies in my skull deep and invisible. I
wish I was leprous, and black jaundiced skin-
over, and that afl was as well within as my
cursed looks. You must not think me worse
than I am. I am determined not to be over
set, but to give up business rather, and get

270 Matilda Betham.
'em to allow me a trifle for services past. Oh,
that I had been a shoemaker or a baker, or a
man of large independent fortune. Oh, darling
laziness ! heaven of Epicurus ! Saint's Ever
lasting Rest ! that I could drink vast pota
tions of thee thro' unmeasured Eternity —
Otium cum vel sine dignltate. Scandalous,
dishonourable, any kind of repose. I stand
not upon the dignified sort. Accursed,
damned desks, trade, commerce, business.
Inventions of that old original busybody,
brain-working Satan — Sabbathless, restless
Satan. A curse relieves ; do you ever try it ?"
" A strange letter to write to a lady, but
more honeyed sentences will not distil. I
dare not ask who revises in my stead. I
have drawn you into a scrape and am
ashamed, but I know no remedy. My un-
wellness must be my apology. God bless
you (tho' He curse the India House, and fire
it to the grouftd), and may no unkind error

Matilda Betham. 271
creep into ' Marie.' May all its readers like
it as well as I do, and everybody about you
like its kind author no worse ! Why the
devil am I never to have a chance of scrib
bling my own free thoughts, verse or prose,
again ? Why must I write of tea and drugs,
and price goods and bales of indigo ?
Farewell. " C. Lamb.
" Mary goes to her place on Sunday, I
mean your maid, foolish Mary ; she wants a
very little brains only to be an excellent ser
vant ; she Is excellently calculated for the
country, where nobody has brains.'

" 4

From Southey to M. Betham.
YLe.s'wick, July 2, 1808.
" Your letter, my dear madam, has just
prevented some arrangements which I was
making for the conveyance of the picture to
* I think the date of this is 1815, but it is indistinct.

272 Matilda Betham.
Cumberland, and also for what I perceive
must not now be mentioned. Edith desires
Tne to express her thanks at present, and
hopes you will one day give her an oppor
tunity of expressing them herself at Keswick.
We have heard of the miniature from a friend
who saw it unexpectedly in the Exhibition,
and was much struck with the likeness. I
thank you likewise for your intentions with
respect to Coleridge. You would have found
him the most wonderful man living in con
versation, but the most impracticable one for
a painter, and had you begun the picture it is
ten thousand to one that you must have
finished it from memory. His countenance
is the most variable that I have ever seen ;
sometimes it is kindled with the brightest
expression, and sometimes all its light goes
out, and is utterly extinguished. Nothing
can convey stronger indications of power
than his eye, eyebrow, and forehead. No-

Matilda Betham. 273
thing can be more imbecile than all the rest
of the face ; look at them separately, you
would hardly think it possible that they could
belong to one head ; look at them together,
you wonder how they came so, and are puzzled
what to expect from a character whose out
ward and visible signs are so contradictory.
" I am sorry I should have expressed my
sense of Lady Bedingfield's kindness so
lamely that you were not certain I was grati
fied, and that in a very high degree. It has
been my lot. Miss Betham, to meet with
much injustice in the world, both as an indi
vidual and an author, and the effect it has
had upon me has been to make me more sen
sible of any act of kindness. I have taken
up a comfortable opinion that evil tongues
speak only for themselves, but that favourable
ones may be considered as speaking for pos
terity ; and this opinion is likely to be true,
because they who abuse me do it in their vo-
T

2 74 Matilda Betham.
cation, and have therefore an obvious motive
for so doing ; whereas, on the other hand, no
person can have any other motive for praising
me than the belief that I deserve praise. We
who write poetry have a double object in
view — to please ourselves and to please
others ; It is very gratifying to succeed in
either. Besides this general reason Avhy I
am greatly gratified in this instance, it will
give me particular pleasure to see my own
conceptions embodied, and set before me in a
visible and permanent form. It has been
always my wish to have my long poems ac
companied with prints, because so many pic
tures are lost to those readers who are not
familiar with the costume. I particularly de
sired this for ' Madoc,' but the difficulty of
getting designs was such that it was better to
give up the attempt, and what little was done
had better have been left undone. I got a
ship copied from the Bayeux tapestry, and

Matilda Betham. 275
sent it to Pococke to make a drawing from it ;
he, hearing that the subject of the poem was
the discovery of America by Madoc, chose to
think of Columbus, and accordingly laid the
right ship aside and put in its place one of
Columbus's age, that is, three hundred years
more modern than it ought to have been.
" More than once have I been on the point
of writing to you, and as often prevented by
some disquieting or distressing circumstance.
Within this week I have deposited in yonder
churchyard the little girl who was newly born
when you saw me. I had not ceased to thank
God for the preservation of my only boy, who
had been saved from the croup, when this visi
tation befefl us, and I do not cease to thank
Him now. Edith has happfly an infant at the
breast, a better comforter than I could be ;
still it will be long before she recovers from
the stroke, which was as unexpected as it was
severe. T 2

2/6 Matilda Betham.
I go on Thursday next to Durham, to visit
my brother, avHo is just married. My ab
sence from home will not exceed a fortnight.
The sooner you arrive after my return the
better, for the delight of the country is in the
long evenings at Midsummer, and I shall be
sorry if you miss them. The straight road
from London is to Penrith, one stage short
of Carlisle, and eighteen miles from Keswick.
From thence there is a stage which runs
through this place Mondays, Wednesdays,
and Fridays. But if you reach Penrith early
enough to come by chaise, it is less wearisome
to proceed to a house where you will feel your
self at home, than to pass a night at an Inn,
for this stage leaves Penrith in the morning.
If you come by way of Leeds or Manchester,
there is no stage nearer than Kendal, which
is thirty miles from hence. It is a long jour
ney, but if you start from London the least
fatiguing plan is to take the mail ; remember.

Matilda Betham. 277

not that which goes by Manchester to Car
lisle, for that takes in the unwary passengers
for some thirty additional miles, and for a
spell of two hours in the dead of the night at
a Manchester inn, waiting to be turned over
to another coach; but the Carlisle mail, which
goes by Newark and Doncaster. I enter
into these particulars, because some of my
friends have been deceived by book-keepers,
and sent the more circuitous route. Allen
was at school with me : I remember him well,
but never had any intimacy with him. John
Dolignon was one of my earliest playmates,
and while I was at Westminster his mother's
house was my home every Saturday and
Sunday. The chances and changes of the
world have thrown us far asunder, the more
so perhaps because ever since we ceased
to associate we must have grown more un
like each other. I used to shoot with him,
fish with him, and lay snares for rabbits.

278 Matilda Betham.
These things I could not do now. Were I,
however, to meet Dolignon (and I would turn
fifty miles from my way for the sake of meet
ing him), my first feeling would be like that
of a brother — we should both shed tears at
thinking of his dear mother and of his sister,
and when that sympathy Avas over I should
begin to feel a weight at my heart from per
ceiving how little other sympathy was left us.
I know what the feeling is by experience,
and there are few feelings more painful.
The Mr. Townsend of whom you speak
was to me a new name, for ' Cumberland's
Review ' has not travelled here, and I sup
pose will not long travel anywhere, some of
his assistants -having applied for employment
to the ' Quarterly.' I entreat you, read
Wordsworth's pamphlet upon the affairs of
Spain, just published by Longman. Only
Burke equals It in eloquence, and he only by
fits and flashes ; but there shines through this

Matilda Betham. 279
the light of truth and of nature and of God,
a light of which nothing more than the
dim, discoloured reflection ever shone upon
Burke. " God bless you. We shafl be glad to hear
you are coming, still more so when you arrive.
Edith desires to be remembered to you.
" Yours very truly, " R. Southey."
From the Same.
" My dear Miss Betham, — I ottght long
since to have written to you, and thanked you
for your verses.^ I felt them as you would
Avish me to feel them ; but I haven't yet ven
tured to put them into Edith's hand, and
perhaps she had better not see them till they
appear in print, when time shall have blunted
the edge of pain. Believe me, I thank you
sincerely for them, nor could you have grati-
^ On the death of Herbert Southey.

2 So Matilda Betham.
fied me more. They bear your stamp — the
stamp of the lawful mint of the muses.
There needs no apology about the " Lay of
Marie ;" rather, there does need one, but it is
on my part, and you will readily excuse me
for not having sooner executed my intention.
I will certainly write an account of it for the
number after that which is now far advanced
in the press, but I cannot answer for its
Insertion ; that must depend on the editor.
My influence and efforts shall not be wanting;
and, as I have some influence Avith one other
Review, I wifl lose no time in recommending
it there. That stanza in my lay which made
you sorry, will make others angry ; but the
occasion required it. I cannot forgive the
Dissenters for leaguing with the Catholics
against the Church, the original cause of dis
sent being that the Church retained too many
Popish ceremonies. They have no common
principle but that of hatred to the Establish-

Matilda Betham. 281
ment, and a union formed upon that principle
is abominable. But Church and State wifl be
overthrown before this generation pass away
unless the Government awaken to a sense of
its danger. I suppose I shall be called a
Methodist with just as much propriety as I
have formerly been called an atheist.
" Love from all. God bless you. "R. S."
June 24, Kesavick.
" The pictures have arrived.
" Dyer's picture Is a most happy likeness.
He does me wrong if he supposes that I do
not set great value upon It, for I have a great
regard for him, and so much respect for his
better part, that I never lose sight of it even
when his oddities and weaknesses provoke a
smfle. It is melancholy to see so many of
the ingredients both of genius and happiness
existing in that man's mind, and spoilt in the
mixing, and to think how trifling an alteration

282 Matilda Betham.

in his character would have made him as
useful as he is good, and as happy as useful.
The frames look well, but by no means so
well as they would have done if the gilding
had been broader. It was a little disappoint
ment not to find Moon's picture among them,
because we remembered it as the happiest
likeness ; the better way of sending it will be
in a frank, sufficiently enveloped. Dyer will
convey it to Rickman's, and then, no matter
what may be the weight, it is hardly possible
that he should lose a second charge of the
same kind.
" Kehama " has been finished this month, is
half transcribed, gone to the printer's, and
I expect the first proof in the course of the
week. Early in the spring I hope to send it
you. This is written hastily, merely to an
nounce the arrival of the box — alas ! that it
should not be the safe arrival. 1 must not
forget thanks from below stairs for the

Matilda Betham. 283
feathers. The children often talk of you.
' When will she come again ? ' is the constant
question. I shall be likely to see you in the
course of next year. My uncle has the living
of Streatham given him, and wifl reside there;
he gives up for it some Herefordshire prefer
ment, and I do not think the exchange in any
other degree advantageous than that his new
residence will be more conveniently situated
for my visits than his old one.
" God bless you. Very truly yours,
" R, Southey,
Dec. 27, 1809.
The following are from Southey.
" I am afraid my letter did not reach John
Dolignon, for it has received no answer ; and
It was such a letter concerning old times, and
remembered intimacy and friends who are
o-one, that I am sure he must have replied to
it had it reached him."

284 Matilda Betham. Keswick, May 15, 18x4.
" First to the first part of your letter.
Very glad should I be if I could point out
to you any profitable employment in litera
ture ; but they who know most of such
things best know how exceeding difficult
this is. Nothing is so likely to succeed as
a dramatic attempt, and I should think it
very possible you might adapt some of our
old plays to the stage. Of these the emolu
ment would be considerable. Next to this,
the most promising attempt would be to
versify some popular tale ; better still, to
manufacture one Avith a melodrama or grand
spectacle for the stage. These are things
Avhich may be talked over at leisure when
you come to us ; we shall all rejoice to see
you, and it is very likely that among my
books you may find something which will suit
your purpose. So bear in mind that you

Matilda Betham. 285
are expected here, and the sooner you come
the better. ... 1 have a fine square daughter
to show you, called Isabel, after her god
father. Dr. Bell, and who, live as long as she
wfll, 'wfll be a Belle stifl.' When shall we
see you ? " Yours truly,
" Robert Southey."
May 30, 1 8 14.
" What you have sent me promises well ;
and you may be assured that it will give me
great pleasure to see it in its progress, and
comment upon it as far as any remarks are
likely to be of use, or can be made without a
knowledge of the plan.
" I think I know whom you mean, a Marie
somewhat, whose name and history I will
look for. It would be very desirable that
you should see her lays ; the writing is likely
not to be difficult, as it probably was written

286 Matilda Betham.
in an age when scrawling was not common ;
but I dare say George Dyer would lend you
his eyes, if your own should be puzzled. Go
with him some day and reconnoitre them.
If they are not very numerous, you will
insure an antiquarian value to your book by
inserting them. Why have you not noticed
the most important part of my last note, that
wherein Edith asked when we might expect
you ? You must come and make rhyme
sketches from nature for your poem.
" Love from all, great and small.
" Yours most truly,
" R. Southey."
"Who was that lady who came with you
to Smith the sculptor's, and wanted to hear
more of " Roderick " than I had time to read ?
I like her face well enough to ask to whom
it belongs, for I did not catch her name."

Matilda Betham.

287

Keswick, y///v 23, 1815.
" I am the worst dealer in the world, and
therefore very unfit for an adviser in con
cerns of business. My own books are pub
lished upon no better terms than those of
sharing the profits with the publisher, and I
have never yet been successful enough in
the sale way to feel authorized in demanding
more. But there has been another cause
for this : my hands have been tied more,
perhaps, from a point of feeling on my own
part than from any actual necessity. You
see I am rambling from your concerns to my
own ; but my statement may serve to show
that an arrangement for sharing the eventual
profits is not an unfavourable one, and that
any bargain which secures to you half even
tually, and puts you in immediate possession
of any part in advance, may be considered a
good one.
" You must see more of the country than

288 Matilda Betham.
you did on your former visit, and therefore
I shall delay some purposed expeditions till
you arrive.
" Come as soon as you possibly can —
before the days begin to shorten too soon for
the day's business.
" Love from all,
" Yours most truly,
" R. Southey."
" Why do you make any sort of apologies
for what can stand in need of none ? You
know me fey this time well enough to know
that I am a plain speaker, and you ought
to believe me when I say that we were very
sorry to part with you, and shall be right
heartily glad to see you again. If any
apologies were needed it would be on our
part, that we did not amuse you better and
show you more of the country. When next
you come, we will hope for better weather ;

Matilda Betham. 289

and when my fortune improves, I may one
day afford to keep a cart. As for my hesi
tation or slowness at professions, do you not
know how I hate professors of fine feeling,
and how I suspect all sentimentalists ? I
dare not promise as much for Edith ; it is
her incurable fault that she scarcely on any
possible occasion can be induced to Avrite to
any person except her sister and me.
" I am too busy to fill the paper, so fare-
wefl. " God bless you. R. S."
The following is from Mrs. Coleridge : —
" My brother and sister Southey are just
returned from Durham ; they have left the
Lieutenant behind with the Doctor. Cole
ridge has been with us for some time past, in
good health, spirits, and humour, but the
' Friend ' for some unaccountable reason, or
u

290 Matilda Betham.
for no reason at all, is utterly silent. This,
you will easily believe, is matter of perpetual
grief to me ; but I am not only obliged to be
silent on the subject, although ever upper
most in my thoughts, but I am obliged to
bear about a cheerful countenance, knowing
as I do by sad experience that to expostulate,
or even to hazard one anxious look, would
soon drive him hence. Coleridge sends you
his best thanks for the elegant little book ;
I shall not, however, let it be carried over
to Grasmere, for there it would soon be
soiled, for the Wordsworths are woeful
destroyers of good books, as our poor
library will witness. Mrs. Wordsworth is
now confined of her fifth child, a son ; and
our friends the Lloyds have just lost one of
theirs by the croup. We expect another
little Southey in July. Have you ever heard
any tidings of the Indiaman ? I fear not;
I shall only distress you by asking. Cole-

Matilda Betham.. 291
ridge begs me to repeat to you his great
regret at not having seen you in this country ;
he likes the pictures of the two Ediths much;
nay, very, very much. I must at the same
time confess that he was a little disappointed
in his- daughter's little picture : he regretted,
he said, that you had not time to give it your
last hand ; this Is an equivocal phrase, but
you wifl understand it. My dear Miss
Betham, I wish you would favour me with
a few lines very soon, and tell me about your
sisters and brothers, your father and mother,
and of all that interests you and is proper
for me to hear. Southey, my husband and
sisters, with Mrs. Wilson, unite with me in
best remembrances ; and I remain, my dear
friend, " Yours very sincerely,
"S. Coleridge."
" Southey says he should have written to
you, but he has been so exceedingly busy."
u 2

292 Matilda Betham.
These are among the most interesting
letters belonging to this bright period. For
tune smiled upon the young artist and
poetess, and she was warmly welcomed in
literary and artistic circles. In vol. i. of the
" Retrospective Review," four women are men
tioned as having honourably distinguished
themselves in poetry, viz. Joanna Baillie,
Miss Mitford, Mrs. Hemans, and Matflda
Betham. Family circumstances and mis
fortunes, however, combined with a general
breakdown of health, cut off these fair pro
spects. She gave up her house, left London
for some years, and the promise of her youth
was never fulfilled.
She did not lose sight of the Lambs, for
many years after comes the following : —
" Dear Miss Betham, — I sit down, very
poorly, to write to you, being come to Mr.
Walden's, Church Street, Edmonton, to be

Matilda Betham. 293

altogether with poor Mary, who is very ill,
as usual, only that her illnesses are now as
many months as they used to be weeks in
duration — the reason your letter only just
found me. I am saddened with the havoc
death has made in your family. I do not
know how to appreciate the kind regard of
dear Anne ;^ Mary wifl understand it two
months hence, I hope ; but neither she nor I
would rob you, If the legacy will be of use
to, or comfort to you. My hand shakes so
that I can hardly write. On Saturday week
I must come to town, and will call on you in
the morning before one o'clock. Till when
I take kindest leave. " Your old friend, "C. Lamb."
The following touching letter, concluding
the series, was addressed to a sister of
" The Anne mentioned in this letter was a sister of
Matilda's, who had left the Lambs a small legacy.

294 Matilda Betham.
Matilda's concerning the self-same legacy.
It was communicated, for the- first time, to
the Academy, by Miss Amelia B. Edwards,
to whom it had been given as a precious
relic by the present writer. Miss A. B,
Edwards also adds a charming description
of Matilda Betham as she was in her old
age. " The letter," writes Miss Edwards, " is
curiously illustrative of the warmth, impul
siveness, and irresolution of the writer.
Touched even to tears, he begins by dis
claiming the legacy. At first he will none
of it — ' not a penny.' Next he proposes
to ' halve it ' with Matilda, who was the
least prosperous of her family. Lastly, as
the ink cools in his pen, he proposes that
his sister and he shall share it with Matilda
in three equal parts. The letter occupies
the first page of a sheet of foolscap. Had
he written a few more lines and turned the

Matilda Betham. 295
leaf, he would probably have ended by taking
the whole.
" ' Dear Mary Betham, — I remember you
all, and tears come out when I think on the
years that have separated us. That dear
Anne should so long have remember'd us
affects me. My dear Mary, my poor sister
is not, nor will be for two months perhaps,
capable of appreciating the kind old long
memory of dear Anne.
" ' But not a penny will I take, and I can
ansAver for my Mary when she recovers, if
the sum left can contribute in any way to the
comfort of Matilda.
" ' We will halve It, or we wfll take a bit of
it, as a token, rather than wrong her. So
pray consider it as an amicable arrangement.
I write in great haste, or you won't get it
before you go.
" ' We do not want the money ; but if dear

296 Matilda Betham.
Matilda does not much want it, why, we will
take our thirds. God bless you. "'C. Lamb.
" ' I am not at Enfield, but at Mr. Walden's,
Church Street, Edmonton, Middlesex.'
" The letter is not dated, but bears postmark
of June 5, 1833. It is addressed to ' Miss
Mary Betham, 27, King Street, Cheapside ; or
to the care of Sir Wm. Betham, Dublin.'
" My own recollection of Matilda Betham
is particularly vivid. When I was a very
young girl, she used to drop in occasionally
to my mother's tea-table on a summer even
ing, and charm us with talk about Madame
de Stael, Coleridge, Southey, and the days
of the great French Revolution. She lodged
at that time, I think, in Lamb's Conduit
Street, which she liked for its proximity to
the British Museum, where she was a con
stant student in the old Reading-rooms of

Matilda Betham. 297
dismal memory. She generally carried a
big basket and a Brobdignag umbrella.
From the depths of this basket (which be
sides the writing materials she had been
using at the Museum, contained her cap and
all kinds of miscellaneous marketings,) she
would sometimes bring out some magazine
of many years gone by, and read aloud, with
not ungraceful emphasis, a poem of her own.
She had a large, round, jovial face, bright
blue eyes, a mobile mouth, and somewhat
short grey hair, which strayed from under
her cap all round her neck ' In silvery slips,'
like a man's.
" In fact, she was not unlike the portraits
of Coleridge. Her eccentricities of dress were
proverbial. My father once met her in a fre
quented London thoroughfare, serenely walk
ing in crimson velvet slippers, and foflowed by
a train of little ragamuffins, to whose ' chaff'
she was good-humouredly indifferent."

2 98 - Matilda Betham.
The present writer, niece and goddaughter
of Matilda Betham, owes her a great debt of
gratitude. From earliest childhood my god
mother carried on a voluminous correspond
ence with me, and those letters, written micro
scopically on odd fragments of paper, and
always about books and authors, were posi
tive events in our country home, and always
directed my attention to worthy objects.
Matilda Betham, even in her ripe old age,
could rarely, if ever, bring herself to con
demn a book, from a literary point of view,
so dearly did she love all books ; but she
never tired of admiring the best. She
wrote to her eight-year-old godchild of
Dryden, Pope, Addison, and the noble
galaxy of writers that adorned the age of
Anne. She chatted to her on paper of the
great writers she had known, Madame de
Stael, Lamb, Coleridge, and Southey. Her
mind was saturated with literature, and she

Matilda Betham. 299

very early imbued her namesake — daughter
of her youngest and favourite sister, Barbara
— with the same taste. My first recollection
of her is vivid, despite the long interval of
years, for I was a mere child Avhen she died.
She was a ready wit, and nothing, neither
narrow means, nor checks, nor literary dis
appointments, nor the infirmities of age, could
embitter that smooth temper, nor subdue
those cheerful spirits. Bless her memory !
for the heedless child who did not even
preserve those letters she was at such pains
to write in her old age, could, as she reached
maturer years, realize the service thus ren
dered to her and the good seed thus sown in
her mind.
Her declining years were spent in London.
At certain literary gatherings of a past
generation, the oddly-dressed old woman,
who was wont to enter leaning on a stick,
her face beaming with animation and intelli-

Matilda- Betham.

gence, was usually surrounded by a little
court. " I would rather talk to Matilda
Betham than to the most beautiful young
woman in the world," said one of her youth
ful admirers of the other sex, in her old age ;
and those who listened to her bright sallies,
her piquant stories, her apt quotations, forgot
that she was no longer the Matilda of former
days. From her father, who lived to be
ninety-three, and possessed his faculties un
clouded to the last, she seems to have in
herited her ready wit. Almost the last
words he uttered were a witticisnio He was
walking up and down the room, leaning on
his youngest daughter's arm, the day before
he died, and said, smfling, " I am walking
slowly, yet I am going fast." " The wise
must die as well as the foolish, and I won't
be poisoned," said Matilda Betham in her
declining years, and no persuasion or en
treaty could ever induce her to touch physic.

Matilda Betham,. 301
She died in 1852, and was buried at High-
gate Cemetery.
Like the romantic poetry of Miss Landon,
the Lay of Marie belonged to a • fashion
which was destined to pass away ; but some
of the smaller pieces at the end of the volume
possess a touching grace and pathos, deserv
ing of a better fate; the following, for in
stance, which has been translated into
German.

How solemn is the sick man's room
To friends or kindred lingering near.
Poring on the uncertain gloom
In silent heaviness and fear !
How sad, his feeble hand in thine,
The start of every pulse to share ;
With painful haste each wish divine,
Yet feel the hopelessness of care ;
To turn aside the full fraught eye.
Lest those faint orbs perceive the tear ;
To bear the weight of every sigh,
Lest it should reach that wakeful ear.

Matilda Betham.

In the dread stillness of the night.
To lose the faint, faint sound of breath ;
To listen in restrain'd affright.
To deprecate each thought of death !
And, when a movement chased that fear.
And. gave thy heart's blood leave to flow,
In thrilling awe the prayer to hear
Through the closed curtain murmur'd low ;
The prayer of him whose holy tongue
Had never yet exceeded truth ;
Upon whose guardian care has hung
The whole dependence of thy youth ;
Who, noble, dauntless, frank, and mild,
Was, for his very goodness, fear'd :
Beloved with fondness like a child,
And like a blessed saint revered.
I have known friends, but who can fed
The kindness such a father knew !
I served him still with tender zeal.
But knew not then how much was due.
And did not Providence ordain
That we should soon be laid as low,
. No heart could such a stroke sustain.
No reason could survive the blow.

Matilda Betham. 303
Many of her miniatures are charming in
finish and sweetness of expression, but she
fafled in technical skill, from want .of proper
training. The historian of Celebrated Women may
never herself find a niche in future temples
accorded to her sex by hands as loving as
her own ; but she was the last person to
desire what she did not deserve, or to over
estimate the applause of the world. Mis
fortune and disappointment had no power to
sour that sweet temper or embitter that
genial mind. She was every whit as bright
and beaming in her lonely old age as in her
feted and flattered youth, and to the last
loved books so much that she could not bear
to hear even a bad one abused. In some of
these was written : " Matilda Betham, with
Charles Lamb's old love " — and such friend
ships were indeed her title of honour.

LONDON :
GILBERT AND RIVINGTON, PRINTERS
ST. JOHN'S SQUARE.

YALE UNIVERSITY

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