Читать книгу The Life of Sophia Jex-Blake - Graham Travers - Страница 8

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It will surprise no one who has read the extracts from Sophy’s diary on page 32 to learn that, at the end of the summer term, Miss X. announced her inability to keep her any longer in the school. The culprit evidently declined to manifest any proper sense of sin or even of humiliation; and the distress of her parents may be imagined. They recognized no other standard by which to judge her than the standard by which poor Sophy had so egregiously failed.

In any case their kindness never faltered: they could not face having the child at home, and for some months they did not even see her; but some “kind ladies” were found to take charge of her until she could be put temporarily in the care of her old schoolmistress, Mrs. Teed.

Very soon a reassuring report came to relieve the anxious parents. On July 10th, 1854, Mrs. Jex-Blake writes:

“I delight to think that my dear child is availing herself of this great opportunity of redeeming her character. The past is so sad, so disappointing, and the thinking of it is so sure to make me ill, that I endeavour with my utmost power to forget it. I will not dwell upon it, but look forward to a bright future when my own dear child … will see that determination and self-willedness can only cause misery and discomfort to herself, and wellnigh shorten, certainly embitter my old age.

I do feel greatly comforted by Mrs. Teed’s giving a favourable account of you. She would like you to be less idle. Why do not you write out some papers about your natural philosophy subjects and zoology?”

“Well, darling,” her Father writes (July 17th), “I was very glad to get your letter, though I should like you to write more wisely. I don’t at all mind your writing about ‘unkind lectures’ for I know I never am and cannot be unkind to my own child; but I do earnestly wish that you saw (as others do) how exceedingly foolish your conduct has been, and that by nothing but a complete change can you ever be comfortable.”

Meanwhile arrangements were being made for the child to go to another school, and one is thankful to record that it was at least a great improvement on its predecessors. On July 21st, 1854, Mr. Jex-Blake writes:

“We have had a letter from Mrs. H. this morning, and it is now settled that G.W. you go to her the beginning of next month and Mrs. T. will take you and kindly give you the benefit of her introduction. You will go under the most advantageous circumstances possible, and it will be solely and entirely your own fault, my darling child, if everybody about you does not love you.”

A month later he writes again:

“My sweet Child,

I have just read your letter to the dear Mother. … Your letter gives me great pleasure, it is so sensible, and the tone throughout so like that of a dear dear child, who will never knowingly again give a minute’s pain to the very best of Mothers, that I felt I could not be happy without writing to my darling at once to tell her how I look forward to her being a real comfort to dearest Mummy, and a constant ‘sunbeam’ to me. … I believe the happy feeling of confidence she has about you now is doing more for her than all the doctors in the world.”

A fortnight later he paid the child a visit, to which she refers in the following letter:

“11th Sept. 1854.

Darling Father,

You know what immense pleasure I had on Friday. I often think of it even now it is past, I feel so glad to have seen you; but Daddy I am so sorry about the boat. I cannot forget it and I am very sorry—will you forgive me?

Do come down tomorrow just to say goodbye. You know you can come down by the omnibus you took on Friday and just sit for an hour or so and then go back. You can be back by luncheon time or nearly and it would be such a pleasure. I cannot get an answer to this by letter but hope to secure one by ocular demonstration. I saw Miss B. and gave your message, but I fear unless you do as I hope you will that its fulfilment will be rather distant. We could just go in the Crescent Gardens or even sit still together in the drawing-room for one hour (just one) and it would be so enjoyable. I have so many things yet to say. You know we had so much walking and eating and shopping to get through on Friday that I was not able to tell you half the things I had to say.

If you have arranged for me to come home in 3 weeks time I will try to reconcile myself to not seeing you if it is really impossible or very inconvenient in joyful hope, but in that case I shall hope for a nice long letter (but even then I should not be sorry to see your darling face for an hour or so) on Wednesday. If not (but I hope no ‘not’ will be in the question) I think you will yourself think that considering that I have not seen you since about Jan. 26th, except for 3½ hours and should not see you till Christmas that really one hour would not be lost on your youngest little one. I am hourly experiencing the comfort of your last visit (I am now writing with some of the paper and a pen of your gift) and your face was like a sunbeam in the way. I want to feel your rough cheek once more, though I hope your Missis won’t let you come so unshaven and unshorn as you did last time. I did delight in your beautiful flowers which are even now on the chimney-piece—one flower I prized above all the rest—I could almost fancy Mother picked it—a little tiny bit of jasmine (I don’t know if that’s spelt right). It is so nice. Will you remember to bring some stamps tomorrow.

Darling Father I am so anxious to see you again. About 11½ I shall be on the tiptoe of hope. You won’t disappoint Sody? You didn’t say it was impossible to come, and if it is possible you will. Do bring a few more flowers please. Those stones of Cousin Jane’s were lovely. Oh, I was so delighted with them.

Hoping very very soon to see you, I need not write a very long letter but please give my best love to my darling darling Mother.

I am just taxing my small brain to make up a story of a martyrdom in Pagan Rome—a sort of martyrdom at least; it is meant to be very affecting, but I don’t know if it is. I will show it you tomorrow I hope.

Best best love,

Sophy.

If you have got leave for me to come home it will be so much more if you come by yourself to tell me, and if not, if not it will certainly need all your presence to comfort me.”

Among other little gifts, on the occasion of this visit, her Father had given her a tiny note book, which she utilises at once as a diary: