CHAPTER VI

A SENSE OF LOSS

"When the fire is strong, it soon appropriates to itself the matter which is heaped on it, and consumes it, and rises higher by means of this very material."--MARCUS AURELIUS.

Bessie Gilbert, when she was about twenty, differed but little from the sisters around her. She could read Italian, French, and German, and her mental culture had been an education of the true and best kind. She had an open mind, an ardent desire for knowledge, and a warm interest in all the ways and works of humanity. The one accomplishment possible to her was music, and from her childhood her singing and playing had given pleasure to herself and others. "She never could sing out of tune:" says a musical friend.

She readily gained friends, for she was sympathetic and kind, and inspired others with confidence. A lady, very young and shy at that time, remembers calling in Queen Anne Street, and feeling alarmed at every one except Bessie. Sitting by her side, and talking to her, the shyest were at their ease.

No hardships in her lot had up to this time come home to her. Indeed, it is very doubtful if the want of sight to those born blind or those who have lost the memory of sight, is in youth a greater conscious privation than the want of wings. By degrees a different condition is conceivable, because it is known in a certain way from description; but as no person born blind can exactly realise what sight is, or what it does, there is no conscious sense of loss. No person born blind can comprehend the nature of the impression that sight conveys. Red may be as "the sound of a trumpet," blue as the outer air, and green a something connected with the meadows and the delight of flowers and shade; but except to those who remember, the sense of sight is only a name for the incomprehensible.

Bessie did not remember, and therefore she did not know the special hardship of blindness and that sense of irreparable loss, of "wisdom at one entrance quite shut out," which is so heavy an affliction.

As the years wore on she was, however, to learn the privations that resulted from her loss of sight, although the loss itself was not, and could not be, intelligible to her.

Some day a gifted creature may tell us of the possession of an organ and a sense revealing a dimension absolutely incomprehensible. We may come to bewail our lower condition; but how without the organ or the sense will it be possible to realise the nature of the loss or the advantage of possession?

Bessie by means of fingers or ears could get at the meaning of a book.

There is a third and quicker way, she is told, but how except through fingers and ears can she realise it? Up to a certain point she has gone hand in hand with sisters and brothers; if not indeed in advance of them. She reaches that point full of ardour and enthusiasm, eager to learn, to live, to work, and suddenly the way is barred. Blindness stands there as with a drawn sword, and she can go no farther.

The limitations of her condition touched her first on the side of pleasure. She could join in a quadrille at Chichester, could dine at the palace when there was a party, and "what she was to take" had been arranged in the morning. But in London there were no b.a.l.l.s for her, no dining out except with a few very old friends, no possibility of including her in the rapid whirl of London life. She had many disappointments, and tried hard to conceal them. Only once, says a sister, did she see a swift look of pa.s.sing pain, when telling Bessie about a ball from which in the early morning she had returned. It was there for an instant, recognised by the loving and beloved sister, but at once thrust away, and Bessie threw herself with more than ordinary interest into the account of the pleasures of the evening. Another sister tells how about this time Bessie began "to want to do impossible things," to go out alone in London, to go alone in a cab, and if she might not go alone, she wished to give her own orders to the cabman.

Reading and writing depended largely on the time that others could give her. Writing was a slow and laborious process. She could write in the ordinary way, but to do so she had to remember not the form of a letter but the movements of her own hand. Such writing had to be looked over in case a word should be unintelligible, and she could therefore have no private correspondents. Girls in Oxford and at Chichester had plenty of spare time, but when the family was divided, and those in London or at Chichester had the duties of their position as well as its pleasures to attend to, there grew up almost insensibly a different order of things.

In childhood and youth the blind daughter was the centre of all activity and pleasure; but the blind woman inevitably recedes more and more. She no longer leads; she can with difficulty follow; and at a distance which increases as the years go on.

The five or ten years that elapse after she is twenty, form the turning point in the life of a woman, whether married or unmarried. During that period, when she begins to tire of mere pleasure, there will come either the earnest and serious view of life which shows it all golden with promise, as a gift to be used on behalf of others; or a settled drift towards the current of levity, frivolity, and self-seeking, which may carry her down to age, dishonoured and unloved.

That which caused Bessie the keenest grief at this time was the impossibility of achieving what she wished to make her life, and not the loss of its pleasures. But it was the loss of pleasure which preceded all other privations. Her tendency was, as it always had been, towards things that were n.o.ble, and high, and good. Without any fault of her own, without any change in her own condition, she discovered that blindness would be a permanent bar to activity. Sisters began to marry and be sought in marriage. A home of her very own, a beautiful life, independent of the family life, and yet united to it; fresh interests and added joy to all; the hope of this, which was her ideal of marriage, she had to renounce.

Work in the world, even a place in the world, there seemed to be none for her. Blindness, which had been a name, was becoming a stern reality.

She asked about the blind around her, those who had to earn their bread; and the same answer came from all. She saw them led up to the verge of manhood and womanhood, and then, as it were, abandoned. They were set apart by their calamity, even as she was. Their sufferings were not less, but greater than her own. Poverty was added to them, and the enforced indignity of a beggar's life.

She bore her grief alone. She could not speak of it even to those she loved most dearly, and entirely trusted. She could not consciously add to the pain she knew they felt for her. But in those early years she would often sit silent and apart in the drawing-room at Queen Anne Street, tears streaming from her eyes. Sometimes she would spend hours together upon her knees, always silent; but the flowing tears spoke for her, and with an eloquence which she little realised. The sense of want and suffering was to be for her as it is for many, the great instrument of education. Whilst so many around her were craving for something to set them above their neighbours, some gift of fortune, some distinction, she was learning the need of that which should place the poor blind on the same level as others, learning to renounce for herself and for them any higher ambition than that of being like the rest of mankind.

The distress of her parents, who could only stand apart, watch and pray for her, was very great. They did not see how help was to come, but they continued in the old course. There was no aid for the blind, no invention which they did not eagerly inquire into, since it might be the appointed means of deliverance. Their sympathy was doubtless a great comfort to Bessie in this time of trial. They may not have been able to meet her in words, but she knew their hearts, knew that they never despaired; that their past, present, and future, were alike irradiated by hope for her, and, if for her, then for all those under like affliction. There were many, doubtless, who at this time would have justified the a.s.sertion of Mr. Maurice:[5] "The first impulse of most is to say, in such circ.u.mstances, 'Hold your peace. We are very sorry for you; but in the press and bustle of the world we have really not time to think about you. We are very fortunate in possessing our senses; we must use them. To be without them is no doubt a great calamity, but it has been appointed for you; you must make the best of it.' That appears to be a very natural and reasonable way of settling the question. If the votes of the majorities ruled the world, that would be the only way."

Bessie cannot have failed to meet and speak with many of the "majority,"

whose quiet acquiescence in a misfortune that did not come near them, would often "give her pause."

Social questions also attracted her attention at this time. A sister remembers reading Lord Ingestre's _Meliora_ to her, and the intense interest she took in the question of bridging over the chasm between the rich and the poor. It was not a new question to her, this bridging over a chasm. It was that which, under another aspect, was engrossing so much of her attention. The discovery of a method, or even the suggestion of the possibility of such a discovery, would be a sign of hope.

The first ray of light, however, came through a very small c.h.i.n.k, and not at all in heroic form.

During the Great Exhibition of 1851 her parents learnt that a Frenchman was showing a writing frame of his invention, and that by means of it the blind could write unaided. The inventor, M. Foucault, was invited to Queen Anne Street. Bessie learnt to use the frame, and soon found that it made her independent of supervision and a.s.sistance. She could write and address a letter herself; and here at last she stood in one respect on an equal footing with those around her.

She used in later years to date from the time she had the Foucault frame. A medal was awarded to the inventor, but owing to some mistake it was not sent to him. Bessie was instrumental in procuring and having it forwarded to a man whom she looked upon as her benefactor.

Her friendship with Miss Isabella Law, which lasted throughout her life, was inaugurated over the Foucault frame. A correspondence was carried on between them with regard to it, and Miss Law, blind daughter of the Vicar of Northrepps, who was preparing a volume of poetry for the press, found it very helpful, and at the same time found a dear and valued friend.

Another use which Bessie made of the frame was to write, in 1851, to a young blind man named William Hanks Levy, of whom she had heard at the St. John's Wood School for the Blind. He was an a.s.sistant teacher there, and in 1852 married the matron of the girls' school, with whom Mrs.

Gilbert had corresponded in Bessie's childhood, and who had sent embossed books to Oxford. Levy did all the printing for the St. John's Wood School, and Bessie wanted an explanation of the Lucas system in use there. She could read every kind of embossed printing, and when she heard of any new system, always inquired into it. She knew at this time the triangular Edinburgh in which the first books she possessed were printed, Moon, Braille, the American, and several shorthand types. She could read Roman capitals and the mixed large and small hands. She always considered the Edinburgh type the simplest; but when she found how many adults lose their sight, and how slowly their sense of touch is developed, whilst in some it is not developed at all, she thought that, on the whole, it might be best to use Roman capitals for the blind, that this would offer greater facility than any other system for those who had previously learnt to read, and would present no greater difficulty to those born blind. She made no effort for the advancement of her view on this subject, and in later years always advocated the use of Moon's type for those who lose sight as adults.

Her own keenness of touch was marvellous, but then it had been carefully trained from the time that the little child sat beside her father at dessert, and poured out his gla.s.s of wine. She always knew the hands of her sisters, could tell them apart by touch, and though they would sometimes try, they were never able to deceive her. She also remembered by touch people whom she had not met for years. But she recognised that her power and that of some of the born blind was exceptional, and the development of it due to careful training.

And so her letter written to inquire into a system which she did not understand, turned her thought for a time to a question which always interested, though it never engrossed her, that of deciding upon a uniform type for embossed printing.

All paths are right that lead to the mountain top, provided we remember that we are going up the hill and keep ascending.

Bessie had taken this very humble path of typewriting, and it led her upwards and onwards, showing her the possibility of giving aid to others through experiments and trials of her own.

It has already been mentioned that General Sir James Bathurst was an old friend of the family; and in London his children and the Gilberts saw much of each other. Sir James's eldest daughter, Caroline Bathurst, was one of the little band of so-called "advanced" women who, about this time, 1850, were interested in every movement having for its object the development and intellectual culture of women, and the throwing open to them of some career other than that of matrimony; since matrimony was seen to be not possible or even desirable for some women, such, for example, as Bessie Gilbert.

Miss Bathurst had taken part in the opening in 1848 of Queen's College for Women, Harley Street, by the Rev. F. D. Maurice and the Professors of King's College, London. She also gave hearty a.s.sistance and furtherance to the opening of a similar inst.i.tution in Bedford Square by the Professors of the University College, Gower Street. She was one of those who gave earnest and deep thought to the difficult problems of life, who was willing to work to the uttermost of her power, to give all that she had,--time, money, health, even life itself, if only she might aid in raising the condition of women and establishing them as "joint heirs of the grace of life."

No one has ever worked more ardently, more enthusiastically than she did. Over women younger than herself she exercised an irresistible fascination. Her courage, her hopefulness, her high and lofty aims, carried others as by a mighty wave over obstacles that had seemed insurmountable. She was a few years older than Bessie, had full experience of all the best that life can give, and also of the deepest sorrows. Those who have seen her will recall the slight graceful figure, broad low brow, and eyes youthful and beautiful like a child's; eyes, with love and trust and happiness looking out from them. And at this very time she was suffering from an incurable malady, and enduring martyrdom with heroic fort.i.tude and without one murmur.

Such a friend for Bessie and at such a time marks an epoch in her life.

The dear sister Mary was now married, and Mary had also seen with heart-felt sorrow that the condition of her blind sister was inevitably and painfully changed. On a subsequent visit to her old home it was she who first suggested that Bessie should give her time and money for the benefit of the blind. She urged that instead of being laid aside as useless it might be that G.o.d was preparing her for a great work on behalf of others.

Miss Bathurst was at the same time laying before Bessie the duty and the privilege of a career of some kind, telling of her own labours amongst the poor, and doing all that was possible to loving sympathy in order to stimulate and encourage her.

By degrees the dark cloud of depression pa.s.sed away. It was to gather again and again during the course of her life, to blot out sun and sky and present happiness, but never to settle down into despairing incurable gloom.

Bessie heard from Miss Bathurst much of the poor in London, of their troubles, and of their poverty. Her own sympathies naturally led her to consider the condition of the blind poor. She began to make inquiry as to their number, the places they lived in, the work they did, their homes and social condition. Note-books full of facts and dates and numbers testify to the activity of this time. And then once again her attention was directed to the blind teacher in the Avenue Road School.

In the autumn of 1853, she was then twenty-seven years old, she wrote to ask Mr. W. Hanks Levy to call upon her in Queen Anne Street. She said she had been told that he could give her the information she wanted as to the condition and requirements of the blind.

FOOTNOTE:

[5] MS. Sermon on the Blind, Rev. F. D. Maurice.

CHAPTER VII

THE BLIND MANAGER

"While thou livest, while it is in thy power, be good."

MARCUS AURELIUS.

The interview in Queen Anne Street was one of the most important events in Bessie's life.

Her feeble health, her limited opportunities of ascertaining the condition of the poor, her imperfect knowledge of their requirements and their powers, made it imperative that she should find an ally with health and energy, with experience that might supplement her own, and with equal devotion to the cause she had at heart.