CHAPTER XI.ANOTHER JOURNEY.
“The King there in His beautyWithout a veil is seen:It were a well-spent journeyThough seven deaths lay between.”—“Hymn from the last words of Samuel Rutherford.”
To those whose life is extended to even the lower limit of the Psalmist, the world becomes rather sad and lonely. Gradually, one by one, friends and relations of their own generation pass away, and there are few left with the same memories and the same outlook. DorotheaBeale enjoyed perhaps one of the greatest blessings life can give, that of being able to work until the end. Like all energetic souls she wished to die “in harness,” and that wish was granted. But on the personal side her life had become very lonely, though it was brightened by the love of her “children”.
Some months before the end she was haunted by the suspicion of fatal disease, but of this others knew nothing. In the Guild meeting of 1906 there hovered the feeling that perhaps it was the last over which the loved Principal, now old and frail, would preside. “Old Girls” linger affectionately on her last speech; it was full of humorous touches, and ripples of laughter were continually passing through the audience. In it she made her appeal for greater earnestness, greater devotion, so that all the Guild members might be able to say—using the motto ofSt.Hilda’s, Oxford—Non frustra vixi.
In the holidays she did a good deal of work connected with the College and began term as usual, though some who knew her well realised that she was hardly fit for the strain of her work.
Her “Old Girls” linger lovingly on that last term. On the first day she gave, as she usually did, a short address to the teachers and children. She spoke on one of her favourite themes—the Parable of the Talents—and dwelt chiefly on the joy and privilege of being fellow-workers with God.
On October 16, Dorothea Beale had to go to a College Council Meeting in London. By accident, she missed Miss Alice Andrews whom she was to meet at Oxford and went up to London alone. As soon as she arrived in London she went to see her doctor, an “Old Girl,”Dr.Aldrich Blake. The doctor confirmed her worst suspicions and recommended an immediate operation. Later, she wrote about this visit:—
“On Tuesday (October 16) I went up to London hurriedly at 6.37, full of the thought of what was beforeme. I went straight toDr.Aldrich Blake, an old pupil. She condemned me. Then I saw, as I had arranged, a new attendant. I looked into shops and felt giddy, and went on to the place of meeting, where I saw two others, and lastly several friends.”
After this she proceeded to the Council meeting, where she read her annual report with no sign of fatigue. On her return to CheltenhamDr.Cardew confirmedDr.Aldrich Blake’s opinion, and it was arranged that she should enter a local nursing home on October 22. Up to the last moment she did her work, taking prayers, her Scripture lesson—which struck the girls as a most remarkable one—and doing her corrections until the end of that day. Some few friends knew of the trial that awaited her and to one or two others she expressed the doubt whether she would ever return. After the operation all went well, until Sunday, the 28th, when she became obviously worse. She rallied somewhat, however, but the day after nervous prostration set in and after that there was practically no hope. Mrs. Raikes tells very vividly the story of the morning at Cheltenham (November 9) when the bulletin was issued “Miss Beale is sinking”:—
“‘We went through the morning,’ says Miss Sturge, ‘feeling like Elisha, “Knowest thou that the Lord will take away thy master from thy head to-day? Yea, I know it, hold ye your peace!”’”
Not in Cheltenham only but far and wide her children were praying for her: watching for news, and remembering and repeating to each other things she had said. It was stormy weather, and more than one thought of Wordsworth’s lines—lines which she had often read to her class—written when he was expecting to hear of the death of Charles James Fox:—
A power is passing from the earthTo breathless nature’s dark abyss!
Dorothea Beale died on Friday, November 9, at 12.15during college hours. It was thought best that the girls should hear of her death before leaving. When all were assembled in the Princess Hall the Vice-Principal said:—
“It has pleased God to take from us our beloved Principal.” In a few words she told the history of the last few days, and then said: “We feel that it is what she would have desired—no long waiting in suffering or helplessness, but to go home straight from her work with her splendid powers scarcely impaired:—
Nothing is here for tears, nothing to wailOr knock the breast: no weakness, no contempt,Dispraise or blame: nothing but well and fairAnd what may quiet us in a death so noble.
‘The readiness is all.’ Let us bear our grief with calmness and dignity. We know that it would be her wish that work should go on as usual.... We believe that love lives on, and that the noble work she did for fifty years has done much for England and for womanhood, and that not only we who have been blessed by her gracious presence, but generations also to come shall reap the fruit of her toil and rise up and call her blessed. Let us pray.”
Then followed a thanksgiving adapted from the form of Memorial Service issued by authority in January, 1901, after the death of Queen Victoria.
Dorothea Beale had prepared for death as she had prepared for life and had left instructions that her “perishable body” should be cremated so as not to be a source of disease to others, and that those who loved her should not buy any flowers for her funeral, but could if they wished, bring a few wild flowers or some from their own gardens, but she did not wish any wholesale destruction of life.
Her body was buried in Gloucester Cathedral, where the funeral took place on November 16. Eight hundred girls then at the College came voluntarily and walkedsilently in twos from the station to the Cathedral, which was crowded largely with former pupils.
At the same time a Memorial Service was held inSt.Paul’s Cathedral.
In other churches in different parts of the country thanks were offered for the life and work of Dorothea Beale. Many newspapers published true and beautiful appreciations of her work, life, and character, and all felt that a great leader had gone from the earth.
So in honour passed away one whose work had small beginnings: who through difficulty, misunderstanding and prejudice pursued the vision she saw in youth and lived to see, as perhaps few do see, her dream realised. Such as Dorothea Beale can never die. She lives still in her College at Cheltenham, and in the great work carried on there: in her “children,” who in many lands and many spheres of work still live in the spirit of their great Head: and in the grateful remembrance of all women who have been able without hindrance to quench their thirst at the fount of knowledge.