Читать книгу The Life of Sophia Jex-Blake - Graham Travers - Страница 4

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Sophia Jex-Blake was born on the 21st January, 1840. “How happy I was with my Baby this time two and twenty years ago!” writes Mrs. Jex-Blake on the 21st January, 1862, and, if she had greater cause than some mothers for the plaintive note that one seems to hear through the words, she was the first to rejoice in her great compensations.

Certainly no baby ever had a warmer welcome into the world. At the time of her birth, her father, Mr. Thomas Jex-Blake, a proctor of Doctors’ Commons, was living the life of a retired gentleman with his wife at 3 Croft Place, Hastings. Both parents, though no longer young, and in some ways older than their years, were devotedly fond of children, and a number of disappointments had shadowed their married life. In January, 1840, their son, Thomas William, was eight years of age, and their daughter, Caroline, a staid little maiden of six. The home was crying out for a real baby, and all were prepared to treat the newcomer as a little queen.

And most royally did the little queen step into the position lying at her feet. There was no doubt at all that she meant to live. She was vital to the finger-tips, a thoroughly wholesome little animal, with a pair of great luminous eyes, too mature for a baby, though they retained the child look for three score years and ten.

The Baby came of an excellent stock.^[1] On both sides she was descended from well-known Norfolk families, whose lineage will be found in Burke’s Landed Gentry. Her father was the son of William Jex-Blake of Swanton Abbots, and her mother the daughter of Thomas Cubitt of Honing Hall. It sounds old-world and picturesque, like Trollope’s novels or a landscape by Constable.

On the other hand, the Baby—as in later years she never tired of saying—“came in with the penny post.” New ideas were surging up on every side. When one thinks of her parentage, her heredity, and the tendencies of the world outside, one can scarcely imagine a more varied lot of elements from which to build up a life. Of the fairies who came to her christening, some brought great gifts, and some great opportunities, and, when the cradle was full, one can almost hear them say—“What now, little girl, will you make of that?”

Of all the gifts we know well which she considered the greatest. “No child ever had better parents than I!” “How I wish you had known my Mother!” Such words were constantly on her lips. Throughout life, when she was making holiday, she loved to go back to old Hastings, to point out to some intimate friend the house where she was born, the church—St. Clement’s—where she was baptised; to wander about the old castle, and note the very rocks which had afforded the most delightful scrambling-ground when she was a child. There was a special point in some country walk associated with the picture of her Father bending his tall figure to hold her hand, while he talked to her of “the terrible things people were doing in France.”

“No one ever had a happier childhood than I.”

In many ways she was extraordinarily fortunate in her parents. One cannot go through the long series of carefully preserved letters written to their youngest child without feeling tempted to say that better people never lived. Absolutely upright in all their dealings, devoted and unselfish in their affection, single-heartedly religious, regarding themselves strictly as stewards of the wealth Providence had bestowed on them, they really were the fine flower of old Evangelical Anglicanism. One seldom sees a husband and wife so entirely of one mind as to what are the things that matter. And if the Mother—Maria Emily Cubitt—was the one to bring to the union the keen wit, the happy humour, which her children inherited and loved to recall, her husband was the first to acknowledge and rejoice in her gifts. He was her proud lover to the day of his death. Family tradition made it a matter of course that they should have a luxurious home, and that all the appointments of their life should be good, but the note of self-denial was always telling resolutely and unobtrusively. It was her younger daughter’s boast in later years that Mrs. Jex-Blake “would have made a splendid poor man’s wife;” and the vulgar criticism was significant of their whole attitude towards life, that “the Jex-Blake’s carriage was as fine as any in the place, but there was always a poor person in it”.

What made this attitude all the finer was the fact that neither husband nor wife was ever tempted to undervalue social distinctions. It was noblesse oblige always—the noblesse of family as much as the noblesse of Christ.

Surely better people never lived, and yet, as human standards go, the world which they built around them was scarcely a spacious world. “I have learnt far more from my children than they ever learned from me,” Mrs. Jex-Blake used to say with characteristic generosity in her old age, and hers was one of the minds that grow and develop up to the last: but in some ways the Evangelicalism of her middle life—even with the advantage of her most gracious representation of its tenets—was a cramping thing. While Caroline and Sophia were still in the nursery, their parents had resolved, from the best of motives, to deny them the social advantages which their mother had enjoyed before them. Dancing and theatre-going were wrong; novels were mainly trash; Punch was “vulgar”. “Christ’s kingdom” was the one thing worth considering—Christ’s kingdom as represented by the popular preachers of the day. “The mission field” was the great object of enthusiasm. After reading much contemporary correspondence one is tempted to say that the making of pen-wipers and book-markers for missionary bazaars was the work fitly to be expected of a Christian gentleman’s daughter.

From her cradle the elder sister seems to have accepted this view of life. Her fine and massive intellect bowed to the limitations imposed upon it. Her strong character asserted itself in many ways, but never so as to give her parents the proverbial “hour’s anxiety”.

And, for better or worse, into this atmosphere Sophia Jex-Blake was born. One can scarcely wonder that she came as a little queen. “Brother” was already at school, his foot on the first step of a brilliant career; “Sweet Carrie” was all that loving parents expected her to be; the new thing came as a complete surprise. The freshness, the wilfulness, the naughtiness of her were as the wine of life to these staid, law-abiding people. It took their breath away sometimes, but it was all on so small a scale, and were not all the forces of religion in reserve to check any undue waywardness as soon as she was old enough to understand?

The earliest samples of her handwriting are two letters addressed to her brother—undated, but written laboriously in “half-text” between double lines. The quotation and punctuation marks are added by another hand.

“dear Brother,

Your note was much ‘amiss,’

But as you sent sixpence,

I pardon the offence,

And kindly send you this.

S. L. J. B.”

and again:

“dear Brother,

I must say I think you very impertinent, however I condescend to write to you. If you write a word more nonsense your head shall be off. I am your humble servant grand mogul.”

“Entirely her own composition” is the postscript added in her father’s handwriting.

No doubt they spoilt her, and she must still have been very young when her audacity and wilfulness began to cause her parents real anxiety. In January, 1847, her Mother writes:

“Dear Sophy,

I am very pleased with your marker, I think it nicely done for you. I wish you many happy returns of your birthday—now you are seven years old I hope you will pray for the Holy Spirit to keep you from sin, from disobedience, and from violence of temper. I send you as a text for your birthday 16 Proverbs 32, and I trust you will try hard to act upon it. … I hope you take all the care you can of dear Papa—he says you are very good. Brother sends love.

I am your affectionate Mother,

Maria Emily Jex-Blake.”

A day or two later she writes again:

“I am very glad to hear you had such a happy birthday—how kind in Mary to give you that nice tea-pot. I hope you remember to thank God for giving you so many kind friends. Be sure to take all the care you can of dear Papa, and if he takes you for a walk do not let him talk.

I miss Papa’s nice explaining God’s word every morning at prayers, you must tell me what it has been about.

We like Brighton and I think I am stronger, but we shall be very glad to be home again. I hope Mary takes care about the poor people’s broth and the puddings for the sick children. I long to see all my poor friends again, but I trust some one visits them and that they do not miss me. Papa must go and read with Mrs. P. when he is able and with Mrs. C. … Ask Mr. Macleane to bring you back with him in his pocket, when he returns on Monday. Show him how quiet you can be.”

It is clear the teaching of religion had already begun, if indeed there was ever a time when it had not—the teaching of such genuine heartfelt religion!—under symbols that never were suited to the mind of a sensitive child. So it is not surprising that she was not always the Grand Mogul, poor little soul! The next papers that survive are in a totally different vein. They are written when she was seven or eight years old, and the handwriting, though far from beautiful, is much better formed.

“Dear Mrs. Blake,

I wish you would be so kind as to come and see me every night in Bed-ford-shire at least tonight on Sunday Monday Tuesday Wednesday Thursday Friday Saturday and next Sunday after tomorrow. I require an answer to this note (letter) even if you do come tonight. There are now so many railroads that you can get to Bedfordshire in one minute. Please send ‘Madam Mary’ with this and then come up.

Grandaflorer.”

The true inwardness of this request appears in a private paper probably of an earlier date, folded up and labelled on the outside, “A Prayer to be Said After an unhappy Night.”

“Oh Lord I beseech Thee take away my fears of a night, for Thou alone knowest what miseries I this night have suffered. O Lord, I beseech Thee this day enable me to behave as I ought. O Lord, I beseech Thee to make me a Christain child … take away my doubts and fears. …”

In the next letter—endorsed by her Mother, “7th May, 1848”—she says,

“I whant to tell you that I feel so much less fear of a night. …

“I will never say again (as I fear I often have) that God does not hear my prayer or that I do not derive comfort from it. … Please (for you say please wins everything) do not show this to anybody not even to dear Papa.

S. L. B.”^[2]

Clearly the child at this time was learning to read and write. Of any formal teaching no record has been kept, but, if anything of the kind existed, it can have made no great demand on her brain power, which began at this time to find expression in a somewhat unusual way.

In common with most children, she dreamed dreams, but her dreams were not the random visions of an hour. They were singularly coherent and consecutive, aiming at nothing less than the construction of an ideal state ruled by a “despotic emperor” in some wonderful islands lying in an unknown sea. She was unable to throw the creations of her brain into anything like literary form, but numberless papers have been preserved, varying from large official-looking blue foolscap sheets giving the “constitution” of the state, down to tiny scraps about the minutest detail connected with it.

There are many maps of the islands, of which the largest, Sackermena, gave its name to the group; and these are supplemented by numberless poems in which she strove to give expression to the feelings her Utopia aroused in her mind. Poetry never came easy to her, dearly as she loved it.

She begins gallantly many times: (We all know the experience.)

“See how pretily the sunbeams dance

Upon the fair waves of Speed-the-lance

See the Waters of Gold!”

and again,

“See Lord Grandaflora brave

Fighting his country and life to save. …”

and again,

“See how gently Mordisca rules

O’er Sackermena and her pooles. …”

or is it “fooles”?—The writing is very bad.

On the whole the most delightful stanza is the one that was probably the first,

“Sweet Sackermena and her isles

See how many yards and miles

It takes to go round Sackermena!”

No, poetry never came easy to her.

When she tackles the constitution of the state, however, her work is on a totally different level. She gives us the officers, “Military, Civil, and Judicial,” the standing army, standing navy, Men of War and frigates, and vessels “in rest, ready to be raised.” From this we go on to Prisons, Castles, Laws, Parliament, Guards, etc. The population varies greatly in different schemes. In one, by a stroke of genius, all innocent of that terrible Woman Question in which she was to play so prominent a part, she says:—Men, 7,000,000; Women, 5,000,000. Truly an ideal state!

There are many codes of laws, drawn up to meet one contingency after another. The following are picked out almost at random:

“The Despotic Emperor has authority that none may dispute and none may appear in his presence without his gracious permission save his sons and Lord Field Marshall, also the chief general the high Admiral the high Treasurer, high Chancellor, Secretary of state and the Chief Justice.”

“Succession to the Crown. It is at the option of the Reigning Despotic Emperor to name his successor but if he dies without making any choice it descends to the eldest son but if he has no son the crown is placed on the head of the eldest daughter unless 12 strong reasons can be urged to the contrary and accepted by Parliament. If he has no offspring it does not descend to the next relation but it is in the power of the parliament to give it to whoever it pleases.”

“Robery shall always be punished by the culprits restoring fourfold or if utterly unable to pay this as many days imprisonment as there are shillings in the forfeit.”

“Intentional murder and personal injury shall be punished by injuries precisely similar.”

“If any man conceals the persons mentioned in the preceding laws he is punished half as much as the offender.”

“That every English or Scotchman that is travelling with a passport shall be supplied with provisions cost free. And every Frenchman shall have things for half and every Dutchman quarter price. Any one infringing this law is liable to be forced into the army with the possibility of advancement or to be imprisoned for two years.”

“No judge shall ever condemn a man to death without the knowledge of Lord Trican. An infringement of this law shall be visited by confiscation of all his estates except (if he have it) 250 to his wife and 300 to each of his children; besides his being degraded from office and receiving 30 stripes in the public square of St. Anhola.”

“All disobedience to officers shall be punished by flogging. 1st offence 20 strokes, 2nd. 34, 3rd. 40, 4th. imprisonment 4 months, 5th. 14 months, 6th. Death.”

“If any sentinel be found asleep in the camp he shall be shot with blank cartridges and imprised 15 months. The second offence he shall be shot really.”

“Spirits or strong drink not being allowed in either army or navy any person having any shall be shot with blank cartridges and the second offence he shall receive 20 strokes and 1 months imprisonment, 3rd. 32 strokes and 4 months imprisonment. 4th. Death.”

“In time of war when the standing army is not sufficient to resist the enemy’s forces 350 soldiers and 4 captains and 10 lieutenants shall be sent to raise the ready militia to the amount required; if this is not enough every man above 20 and under 80 compose the Possiblees which is raised in great danger, but 2,500,000 must be left (all able bodied men) to take care of the kingdom.”

In many respects this state was a primitive one. When certain announcements were to be made, “a large bell is rung which is heard to the distance of 23 miles,” or “an enormous bonfire is made in the palace gardens of Mt. Gilbow [!] which is perhaps seen to a greater distance.”

This is fine:

“The Despotic Emperor is the grand Law-giver General Judge Sage Physician and in short the Father of his vast dominions.”

In spite of the mass of prosaic detail as to dress, provisions, etc., there is sometimes a hint of the supernatural about the whole thing. The dotted lines between the islands in one of the maps indicate “invisible bridges”, and in a request to “Victoria and Prince Albert” that a governor may be sent from England to “controll the foreigners who wilfully destroy the peace and comfort of this happy and well-governed realm,” we are told that “if this wish is complied with, the Most Gracious Despotic Emperor, Phrampton Omail Grandiflora,^[3] will stand the friend of your kingdoms on earth and admit 20 of your subjects to his unearthly Kingdom.”

A great impetus to the whole conception may possibly have been given by a tour which the child was fortunate enough to make with her parents and sister to Warwickshire and thence to Scotland in June, 1850, a tour of which further particulars will be found in the next chapter. In the course of her very conscientiously kept diary, she says, “We read the Lady of the Lake aloud,” and she herself is reading “Ivanhoe, one of the Waverley novels.”

There is no proof, however, that any part of her Utopia was sketched after this tour, and a great part of it was certainly written before.

On the whole, perhaps, the most remarkable thing in connection with “Sackermena and her Isles” is the staying power shown by the writer in developing her idea, and her determination to get everything down on paper. In this more than in anything else the child was father of the man.

S. J.-B. was a born chronicler.

As regards Sackermena, the idea certainly afforded no lack of scope and variety. What with drawing maps, writing poetry, framing laws, adding up the totals of her army and reserves, devising for the soldiery “A dark red long coat with silver falcons, and thick leather buskins studden with iron,” and many another guise equally picturesque—she certainly did not suffer from monotony in her self-chosen occupation. And the above examples by no means exhaust its possibilities. On a stray slip of paper we come upon a formal complaint from a “justice,” who, “passing in disguise through Pe,” was supplied with a loaf deficient in weight; and a tiny booklet (laboriously stitched together by the writer’s hot little hands) has the following title page:

THE SACKERMENEE’S

POCKET BOOK

Containing many Little Accounts

of their Customs

Published by S. L. Blake & Co.

Hastings 1848

Jan. 1850

The two dates seem to indicate that Sackermena flourished for perhaps two years; but the Pocket Book itself was not a hardy plant. The big foolscap sheets were clearly more stimulating to the imagination.

The thing is child’s work throughout. From first to last it bears no trace of grown-up criticism; nor is there then or afterwards any note by her parents, teachers or friends, referring in even the most distant way to the faerie region in which the little girl must have spent so much of her time.

Another thing strikes one incidentally—considering the atmosphere in which the child was brought up—as rather curious. There is no mention of clergy at Sackermena, nor of any form of church. We are not even told that nothing of the kind existed.

Note again that the Despotic Emperor was the grand Lawgiver, General, Judge, Sage, Physician, and, in short, the Father, of his vast dominions.