CHAPTER XVILETTERS

‘I am so glad I was able to be present. It was a most interesting meeting; and very glad to see your beautiful school....‘Lord Aberdeen [once] complimented me on not suffering from “train fever”; I am afraid I seemed to do so at lunch. It was well that we allowed a little spare time to be run into. One needs to allow for motors!’

‘I am so glad I was able to be present. It was a most interesting meeting; and very glad to see your beautiful school....

‘Lord Aberdeen [once] complimented me on not suffering from “train fever”; I am afraid I seemed to do so at lunch. It was well that we allowed a little spare time to be run into. One needs to allow for motors!’

It was the year of the Guild meetings. A very large number of old pupils, larger than ever before, came to Cheltenham in June, for every year saw additions to the roll of members and no falling off among the elder ones, who felt each time might be the last occasion on which the beloved Principal would preside. The subject chosen for the play was the very unusual one of a story from Egyptian history. No pains were spared to render it truthfully; Dr. Budge was consulted, the Book of the Dead studied; Miss Beale herself gave a lecture on the history of Egypt, a subject she had never worked up before. The story of the great queen whose life was given up to her country, ordered wholly for their good, with no private interests; whose marriage was an act of sacrifice; who ruled her people with large-minded beneficence, and under whom they prospered; who finally, as age came upon her, resigned for their sake, seemed strangely appropriate for the close of Miss Beale’s long work for Cheltenham. The very remoteness of the story, its gravity, the absence from it of such didacticism as abounded in Miss Beale’s interpretation of Britomart and Griselda, made it all the more forcible. It was in no way premeditated. Miss Beale herself said she did not much care for it, as it contained so little spiritual teaching. But as the curtain fell upon Hatshepset’s resignation and death, the crowded audiences of past and present pupils palpably realised that for them the inevitable change awaiting the College had been, if unconsciously, foreshadowed.

The Guild arrangements, which generally included an address from Miss Beale on Saturday morning and a closing one on Monday from some speaker invited for the purpose, were altered in 1906 to suit the convenience of the Bishop of Stepney. The earlier address was given by the Bishop after the College prayers, which Miss Beale herself read as usual. His subject was the work of St. Hilda’s East and the needs of East London. He held his hearers enthralled as he spoke to them of those other girls and women whom they were meant to help. But even more striking than the strong words of the young Bishop was the sight of the frail and aged form of her, so long their teacher and inspirer, to whom most of those present were consciously and deeply indebted for much that was best in their lives. Miss Beale, with the familiar smile which marked her enthusiastic approval, stood the whole time close to the Bishop, straining to hear every word, her eye alert to trace the effect of what he was saying on his audience. Many who saw her thus saw her for the last time, as they had to leave Cheltenham when the morning Guild meetings were over. Miss Beale herself left before the end, unequal to the long strain they involved.

On Sunday the usual admission of new members took place. On Monday Miss Beale addressed the Guild for the last time. It was not unnatural that she should speak on this occasion as one who looked back on the changes and progress of fifty years. Miss Beale conveyed to her hearers the suggestion that it was not with unmixed satisfaction that she surveyed matters from this standpoint. In the midst of advantages, such as the last generation could not know, their eyes opened to the needs of others, needs they could supply, many women remained not serious, not devoted. She appealed formore earnestness in all, that there might be none wearing the Guild badge who should not be able to use the motto of St. Hilda’s, Oxford:Non frustra vixi.

So passed this great gathering of friends. It was only afterwards that it came to be known that below her joyous affectionate welcome, her ready sympathy and quick memory for her children and their concerns, lay a deep reason for personal anxiety, that she was beginning to suspect herself to be the victim of a serious malady. Only once was there a sign of uneasiness, when she seemed much distressed not to have seen again an old pupil and Guild member, Dr. Aldrich-Blake, who had been obliged to leave Cheltenham without saying good-bye to her.

The summer holidays were again spent at Oeynhausen. She wrote in the course of them that she was deriving benefit from the treatment, but certainly it was far less effective than before. Nor did she give herself a chance of throwing off the cares of work. In the ordinary sense of the word, indeed, Miss Beale could never rest, and though physically less strong her brain seemed inexhaustibly active. She corrected the Magazine proofs, engaged new teachers, and wrote many letters to the College secretary, going as usual into all kinds of details about arrangements for new pupils. Nor did she even rest from study. She wrote to Cheltenham for a table of German genders; while from Mr. Worsley she asked the Scripture examination papers, which he had as usual undertaken. Her letter shows this continued activity of mind:—

‘September 12, 1906.‘Thanks for your note. I think I should like to have all the papers; we can better show the girls where they have failed to enter into the full meaning. I looked at mine, and thought they had kept to very outside things.‘Have you seen Montague Owen’s record of the Sewell family? It is privately printed, but I can lend you my copy. They certainly were a wonderful and original people. Now Elizabeth is gone at the age of ninety-one. You were, I think, at Radley.‘We re-open next week with one hundred and fifty new pupils to fill our vacancies.’

‘September 12, 1906.

‘Thanks for your note. I think I should like to have all the papers; we can better show the girls where they have failed to enter into the full meaning. I looked at mine, and thought they had kept to very outside things.

‘Have you seen Montague Owen’s record of the Sewell family? It is privately printed, but I can lend you my copy. They certainly were a wonderful and original people. Now Elizabeth is gone at the age of ninety-one. You were, I think, at Radley.

‘We re-open next week with one hundred and fifty new pupils to fill our vacancies.’

She was glad to get back to Cheltenham, but those who knew her best saw that it was only by a stern effort of will that she nerved herself to begin her work in the ordinary way. They began to hope that she might not much longer be called upon to make what was visibly a tremendous effort. Nothing was left undone.

School began on September 22. Miss Beale, as usual on the first day of term, gave a short address after prayers to the assembled teachers and children. She spoke, as often before, of the parable of the Talents, but mainly of the joy of the Lord—the joy and reward of being fellow-workers with God. Strangely fitting did her words afterwards seem for the last time she addressed the College as a body.

In the month which followed only a few saw signs of the weakness and illness which had really begun. She had undertaken the usual courses of lectures, and missed none. The College numbers were very large, the life as full and vigorous as ever. There was even a new department started for the first time that term, in the arrangement—the revolution of Time’s wheel having been made—of courses of lessons in cookery.

On October 16 the annual Council meeting was held in London. In order to spare herself fatigue, Miss Beale did not as usual accompany Miss Alice Andrews to the Oxford meeting on the previous evening, but went up alone from Cheltenham the next morning. Itmeant a long day and an early start, earlier than ever before, as the time of departure had been altered. This Miss Beale only learned the same morning, but with her habit of being ready long beforehand she was able to catch the train. This, by the new arrangement, did not wait for the Oxford train by which Miss Andrews went up. Consequently, when Miss Andrews arrived at the Paddington Hotel, Miss Beale had already gone to see her doctor, Miss Aldrich-Blake. Probably she preferred to make this visit alone.

To Miss Aldrich-Blake she owned that she was tired, that she felt her much impaired hearing and sight to be a hindrance to work; but she made light of the malady which was her real and undefined dread. Miss Aldrich-Blake, however, advised an immediate operation, in spite of the annual general meeting fixed for November 16,[99]on account of which Miss Beale wished to put it off for the present. On leaving the doctor’s house Miss Beale went on alone to keep one or two appointments. At the Council meeting in the afternoon she showed no fatigue, but read her report with animation. Miss Andrews then joined her for St. Hilda’s committee meeting. They left this meeting in time to catch the afternoon train back to Cheltenham. Miss Beale generally slept for part of this journey; that day she was wakeful and tired, but she said nothing then to Miss Andrews of what the doctor had told her. She did, however, shortly tell Miss Rowand, who persuaded her to see Dr. Cardew. He confirmed Dr. Aldrich-Blake’s opinion, and Miss Beale then made up her mind to enter a nursing home, hard by the College, on Monday, October 22. During these intervening days she went on with her usual work, and silently made preparationfor what might be a final parting from it. On Sunday, which she spent alone but for a visit from Fräulein Grzywacz, she wrote a large number of letters. One was to the Vice-Principal, Miss Sturge:—

‘I have been feeling very unwell since my return from Germany, and two doctors whom I have consulted say I must have a few weeks away. I am sorry to throw any of my work on others, but I thought the week in which our half-term holiday comes my absence would be less felt. Also, as the Bishop gives five lectures, these would take the place of mine on Saturdays.... I thought some one who has taught the Fairy Queen could take [my literature lesson]. The doctor who knows me best fixed three weeks as the date of my return.’

One to Miss Gore:—

‘I have not told any one but Miss Rowand the reason why I shall have to be absent, perhaps for a few weeks—perhaps for ever—from my beloved College. I want you to come and stay in the house till we see which way things will go. I hope you will manage to come, and that you will put on a cheerful countenance and not let any one suspect that there is so serious a cause for my absence. I am very grateful for having been allowed to do so many years of work, very grateful for the loyal and affectionate support of my colleagues and our Council, specially the Chairman. I think I feel content whichever way things may be ordered for me by Him who doth not willingly afflict, but chastens for our profit.—Yours affectionately,D. Beale.’

D. Beale.’

On Monday, October 22, Miss Beale read prayers as usual, choosing a hymn by Miss Fermi from the collection of school hymns she herself had made:—

‘All the way our Father leadeth,Whether dark or bright.’

‘All the way our Father leadeth,

Whether dark or bright.’

After prayers she gave her last Scripture lesson—the usual Monday lesson to the assembled First Division. The subject was the Healing of the Body, in connection with thoughts suggested by St. Luke’s Day, and theGospel for the Nineteenth Sunday after Trinity. It was a remarkable lesson. One who had not been present said that, when she entered the Hall after it was over, people were talking of Miss Beale’s wonderful Scripture lesson. In it she dwelt, as often before, on the duty of the care of health; and yet it was not to be the first consideration. She showed why sickness of the body is often for our profit. Then, having touched on wrong teachings about the body, as, for instance, those of Buddhism, she showed that the Incarnation brought unity of the whole being, at-one-ment of body, soul, and spirit. She concluded with the words: ‘The Body of our Lord Jesus Christ preserve thy body and soul unto everlasting life.’

After the lesson Miss Beale read the weekly class marks, as usual on Mondays. In the course of the morning she discussed a paper she had written, for the American National Educational Association, with Miss Alice Andrews. Miss Andrews told her that a member of the staff had lost her mother, and during the day Miss Beale wrote a note of sympathy. In a second interview that morning Miss Beale told Miss Andrews that the doctor had told her she must lie up for some weeks. ‘But I am not going away, I shall be amongst you all.’

Miss Sturge noticed that Miss Beale lingered in the Hall when school was over, as if unwilling to leave. She seemed pathetically anxious to leave nothing undone. Finally, after discussing several small matters, she said, ‘Good-bye; I hope to come back in three weeks, and you can just say I am resting. I will not tell you where, and then if you are asked you will not know.’ Then she added wistfully, ‘Perhaps I may never come back.’ On that afternoon, accompanied by Miss Rowand, she went to the nursing home.

The operation took place next day. Miss Beale found it hard just at first to reconcile herself to the position of patient, and the absolute obedience and dependence it involved. But in the charge of Miss Lane and her staff she was surrounded with loving care, to which she was most responsive, once pointing out to a friend the nurse who was standing by as ‘the one who spoils me so.’ Miss Gore and Miss Rowand saw her from time to time. The mid-term holiday was approaching, and she spoke of arrangements for it, and begged Miss Rowand to send her party for their usual expedition in charge of the house-governesses, and to remain at home herself.

Up to the morning of Sunday the 28th all seemed to go well. Very early that day she seemed ill, and wandering in mind, getting up and saying she must go to early service. In the afternoon she was quiet and calm, and saw one or two friends. To Miss Gore she spoke of the coming All Saints’ Day, saying how much the Communion of Saints meant to her.

On this day also, by the hand of Miss Lane—but she signed it herself—she wrote a last letter to Miss Amy Giles[100]:—

‘I went up to a Council Meeting, and afterwards consulted Dr. Aldrich-Blake. I had had my suspicions for some time, and she at once confirmed them. I went on to Paddington, as we had a meeting of our Council, and returned at three o’clock. Then after a few days we decided to enter a Home, and here I am.... They say I am going on very well, but I had to leave my work. My doctor says I can come back probably at the end of three weeks, which I am anxious to do, as I have a General Meeting (annual) on the 16th November. I am very contented, and the Head of the Home takes great care of me. The only people I allow to know are Miss Rowand and Miss Gore, who are coming to see me to-day. I have had a not very cheerful Sunday, and I wonderwhether I shall get right, sometimes I hope not. I wonder if we shall meet again. I hope some day. I need not say how dear you are to me. We have lost many friends this last year. At least, I ought not to say that, they have passed out of sight. I think you have not heard that both Mr. and Mrs. Rix, who came to our first Retreat, have passed away within the month, so those three friends have met once more.[101]... I have been talking to the Head of this Home, who is very anxious to have a Home for six ladies, I have promised her £100. What do you think of a site? I know your father built one in the Isle of Wight, but it is an expensive place. There, I don’t think I have any more to say.—Yours very affectionately,Dorothea Beale.’

Dorothea Beale.’

On Monday came the change for the worse; nervous prostration, from which she never rallied, although one day there seemed a gleam of hope, and during the brief improvement she dictated to Miss Lane, at the doctor’s request, some details of the days before the operation:—

‘On Tuesday (the 16th October) I went up to London hurriedly at 6.37, full of the thought of what was before me. I went straight to Dr. 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, and those who were to dine together to attend the meeting of our Council, and next a meeting of our St. Hilda’s Council, and then came down to Cheltenham, thinking of course of what I should do. The following Tuesday you know I decided and you arranged for the operator to come from Birmingham, and you can report further. I gave all my lessons as usual, and corrected all my exercises until the evening of Monday. Whatever my work was I did it. My last lesson was on Monday morning. I had planned to give a Confirmation lesson on Tuesday, but this the doctor forbade.’

Once after this she recognised the doctor. Once she asked for her Prayer-book and spectacles, but before they could be brought she had lapsed again into unconsciousness. When her sister addressed her by name, sheturned her head, but did not open her eyes. Then on November 8 appeared more alarming bulletins, and on the 9th the fatal notice, ‘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, 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.’

‘A power is passing from the earth

To breathless Nature’s dark abyss.’

Miss Beale died on Friday, November 9, at 12.15, during 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 fair,And what may quiet us in a death so noble.”

“Nothing is here for tears, nothing to wail

Or knock the breast; no weakness, no contempt,

Dispraise, or blame; nothing but well and fair,

And 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 believethat love lasts 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.

Of the days immediately following Miss Beale’s death, Miss Sturge wrote: ‘Many of the staff and elder pupils were privileged to see the beloved form as it lay in the peace and majesty of death. Though not one of the thousand workers at College can have been unconscious of the mighty change that had come for all, the work went on as usual, and the College was closed only on November 16, the day of the funeral.’

The paper which Miss Beale intended should be read at College prayers on her death was not found at the time. This was well. She certainly had not weighed what the effect of her words, written with calm deliberate detail years before, would be if read to assembled numbers at the very moment of shock and loss.

In this paper she first explained the directions she had left in her will about the funeral:—

‘First let me say I have put in my will two things, which have to do with the disposal of this perishable body.‘(1) I desire that it should be cremated. It seems so wrong to place in the ground the disease germs which may injure others, when they could be destroyed. No feeling of sentiment should hinder our doing what is reasonable or right.‘(2) I have asked, and I hope my wish may be respected by all, that no flowers should be bought for my funeral. They are beautiful emblems, and if any could gather a few wild flowers or bring a few from their own gardens, it would be good, but I should not like any wholesale destruction, any waste of life,even with wild flowers, and it seems to me quite wrong to spend large sums in decking a grave, when there is so much to be done for the living. If the present pupils and teachers were to give only sixpence each it would come to about £30, and if we take in old pupils and friends, and those who give much more, I fear a large sum would be wasted, which, wisely spent, would not perish like cut flowers, but bear real fruit. Still, flowers are all beautiful things, and gifts of our Father to teach and cheer us: they are patterns of things in the heavens, and flowers speak to us of ἀνάστασις, rising. I often said to you I do not like the word resurrection because it means rising again, and gives the impression that the body that rises is the same that was buried; whereas St. Paul has taught that we sow not that body that shall be.’

‘First let me say I have put in my will two things, which have to do with the disposal of this perishable body.

‘(1) I desire that it should be cremated. It seems so wrong to place in the ground the disease germs which may injure others, when they could be destroyed. No feeling of sentiment should hinder our doing what is reasonable or right.

‘(2) I have asked, and I hope my wish may be respected by all, that no flowers should be bought for my funeral. They are beautiful emblems, and if any could gather a few wild flowers or bring a few from their own gardens, it would be good, but I should not like any wholesale destruction, any waste of life,even with wild flowers, and it seems to me quite wrong to spend large sums in decking a grave, when there is so much to be done for the living. If the present pupils and teachers were to give only sixpence each it would come to about £30, and if we take in old pupils and friends, and those who give much more, I fear a large sum would be wasted, which, wisely spent, would not perish like cut flowers, but bear real fruit. Still, flowers are all beautiful things, and gifts of our Father to teach and cheer us: they are patterns of things in the heavens, and flowers speak to us of ἀνάστασις, rising. I often said to you I do not like the word resurrection because it means rising again, and gives the impression that the body that rises is the same that was buried; whereas St. Paul has taught that we sow not that body that shall be.’

But this was only a preface. She spoke chiefly of rising through death to fuller and higher life,—of the purification which all who would see God must desire. Finally she asked:—

‘Shall I pray for my children who are now on earth, for this College which I have loved, and which has, I dare hope, been a means of blessing to some? Has it through my fault hidden the spiritual instead of revealing it, like the trees of Paradise? Will you see that the sunshine of Heaven, the love and holiness which can dwell only in souls, may light up the school-rooms and boarding-houses, and kindle hearts and send forth many light-bearers? And will you ask sometimes for me that I may be purified of the evil that obscured the heavenly light that yet burned feebly within the earthly pitcher? May He send you a worthier teacher! May you, above all things, hear the Voice of Him who stands at the door and knocks, may you open your eyes to the Blessed Spirit, the Paraclete!’

On Monday, November 12, the body was cremated at Perry Barr, the Reverend Dr. Magrath reading the committal service. Next day came the offer from the Dean and Chapter of Gloucester of ‘a tomb in the Cathedral to Dorothea Beale,’ and on the 16th the funeral took place. Everything that could lend dignity and honour to the occasion was done. Those who were present can never forget the impression of that day.The sombre beauty of the Cathedral in the November rain, the music, the well-ordered procession, the crowds, produced a sense of fitness for an occasion which was not merely one of grief. Rather was it an act of solemn thanksgiving for the long, faithful labours ended, an act of resignation through the heart and will of thousands of the life which had blessed them, to the continuous love of a merciful Creator. Many were there who held high position, in educational or municipal life, many friends and parents of pupils, many former teachers, and of course the whole staff. But the crowd which filled the great nave from end to end was made up for the most part of pupils past and present. Eight hundred girls still at the College came voluntarily, walking in grave silence in pairs from the station to the Cathedral. Only a small proportion of this crowd could be present in the Lady Chapel for the latter part of the service, but all when it was over filed quietly past the open grave surrounded by its home-made wreaths of flowers and laurel.

Meanwhile, in Cheltenham, those who were unable to come to Gloucester filled St. Matthew’s Church, where a service was held simultaneously with that in the Cathedral. At St. Paul’s Cathedral at the same time the dome was filled for a memorial service, which included a short address from the Bishop of Stepney. An old pupil present wrote of this:—

‘A memorial service in St. Paul’s Cathedral is an honour accorded to very few women, and befitting but very few. But to the great throng assembled in the wide spaces of the dome on November 16, there was a profound sense of congruity in this mourning for a woman whose real distinction was described on that occasion by the Bishop of Stepney when he called Miss Beale “great.”‘Miss Beale’s greatness—that indefinable, unmistakable, inestimable quality so rare in her sex—gave her a right to be commemoratedthere, at the very heart of the world of the living, in presence of the memorials of the nation’s mighty dead. Listening to the mysterious, hope-inspiring sentences, and to the lesson from 1 Corinthians xv., so often chosen by her at College prayers, it seemed that but a very slight veil divided us from that eager, unquenchable, quickening spirit, then exploring the “vasty halls of Death.” And the reverberating thunders of the “Dead March in Saul” have an appropriateness for every strenuous life. Effort in growth and development, conflict with difficulties, the surmounting of obstacles, were certainly of the very essence of Miss Beale’s nature.’

‘Miss Beale’s greatness—that indefinable, unmistakable, inestimable quality so rare in her sex—gave her a right to be commemoratedthere, at the very heart of the world of the living, in presence of the memorials of the nation’s mighty dead. Listening to the mysterious, hope-inspiring sentences, and to the lesson from 1 Corinthians xv., so often chosen by her at College prayers, it seemed that but a very slight veil divided us from that eager, unquenchable, quickening spirit, then exploring the “vasty halls of Death.” And the reverberating thunders of the “Dead March in Saul” have an appropriateness for every strenuous life. Effort in growth and development, conflict with difficulties, the surmounting of obstacles, were certainly of the very essence of Miss Beale’s nature.’

Services were also held at Bowdon Parish Church and at Sunderland. At Bakewell, on the Sunday after she died, thanks were offered for the life and work of Dorothea Beale.

There was widespread appreciation both spoken and written of Miss Beale’s life and work, with barely a discordant note. Many of the notices[102]gave a really striking impression both of herself and of what she had done for the cause of education. Apart from that work she did not care to be known; it is but an obvious truth that its greatness was dependent on the greatness of her character.

A number of old Cheltenham pupils were once asked what they considered the special result of the teaching they had received at the College. Their replies were to the most part to the effect that they had learned the worth of the strenuous life. They would perhaps have been nearer a complete statement of the truth had they said ‘an idea of Duty.’ For it was surely this—a consciousness of responsibility, a sense of stewardship, some perception of the ‘thanks and use’[103]owing for eachexcellence that had been lent out to them—which was brought home by the teaching, both of word and life, of Dorothea Beale to all, even the youngest and least clever, who came within the circle of her influence. Through such knowledge of duty Miss Beale’s own idea of the ‘strenuous life’ might be perceived. Among the words most often on her lips, especially when speaking to teachers, were such as vivifying, energising, quickening, inspiration. She did not hesitate to say that to her all forms of life were a manifestation of God. Work was to her mind a privilege,—the active will, a Divine gift,—slothfulness was death. It was the defect of a great quality that she sometimes hasted overmuch, that she found it hard to wait in trifling matters, that she seemed even to exaggerate the importance of the College. She was not spared—she would not have asked to be spared—the inevitable sacrifice demanded of all genius, of all lives devoted to a cause. It was the sign of her self-consecration that in any great emergency, before any important decision, she was calm and full of patience. It should be remembered also that each generation has its own mission. To that of Dorothea Beale belonged especially the duty of crying to the careless daughters of England, ‘Rise up ye women that are at ease.’ To another it may be given to serve by waiting.

What, it is often asked, was the secret of her really marvellous influence? Personal magnetism she undoubtedly possessed, and that of a rare and abiding quality, a quick eye to perceive, and a touch which could evoke the best even in the most unlikely. But her influence and power for good came surely as much from what she would not do as from what she actually did for her children. Her strength lay in what she would herself call ‘passive activity.’ It was her claimnot to teach them so much as to lead them to the One Teacher, to bring them into such relationship with Him that they could hear His Voice. For that inner Voice which must at all costs be obeyed she bade them listen, with pure and undefiled conscience,—the ear of the soul. Thus each who tried to follow her teaching left the College not merely as a devoted pupil of Miss Beale, possibly even indifferent to her, but with a clearer consciousness of the ‘Light that lighteth every man,’ and the paramount necessity of walking in it.

Was the strenuous life all they learned at Cheltenham? It was doubtless not easy to tell the whole. The strength and greatness of their Head lay not alone in devising and carrying out important and detailed work. It lay also—though this was less readily seen—in an unwearied watchfulness of affection, in a sympathy never estranged, in active thoughtfulness, in a memory for all that was hopeful and fair in the lives and characters which came under her care. Remembering these, there comes ultimately to the mind the thought of how little she really cared for human judgment, just or unjust; how she would say that there was but one Voice to listen for, one word of approval worth earning, since the Lord Himself had said about a woman’s work, ‘She hath done what she could.’

‘The living record of your memory.’Shakspere,Sonnetlv.

‘The living record of your memory.’

Shakspere,Sonnetlv.

Miss Beale enjoyed both receiving and writing letters. She kept a very large number, especially of those from old pupils. A letter which told of help or inspiration gained through the life at College would be put away, labelled in her own peculiar and favourite abbreviated way: ‘Sent 2 chēr me.’ She was a very ready and at times a very voluminous correspondent. She attended to all her letters herself, and answered all to which she intended to reply, not merely by return of post, but often the moment she received them. If her answer was of some importance she would keep it by her for a time, and often rewrite it before finally sending it. Her papers include a very large number of drafts and copies of letters which she sent. The chief part of her correspondence was done before the school hours began each morning, and she generally came to her place at 9A.M.with her morning letters already answered. Where she found she could help by means of letters she would spare no pains nor time over them.

Perhaps Mrs. Charles Robinson received more than any one else. In 1878 Mrs. Robinson, then Miss Arnold, left Cheltenham to become a teacher at the Dulwich High School. She was at that time in a stateof great religious perplexity; dissatisfied with the teaching of the Plymouth Brethren, among whom she had been brought up, unable to accept that of the Church, she would not attend the services of either. During this time of gloom Miss Beale wrote every week to Miss Arnold a letter she might receive on Sunday morning, and all her life remained a constant correspondent. It is fitting that this chapter of letters should begin with some of those written to the ‘best-beloved child.’[104]

To Miss Arnold:—

‘July 1880.‘It seems to me you have failed in trying to keep the first commandment, and so of course in the others. “Thou shalt worship the Lord Thy God and Himonlyshalt Thou serve.” You see it is notwhenwe feel inclined;whenwe can realise His presence,whenwe have plenty of spare time.‘Then in your life and work has it not been that you have thought more of pleasing others, of doing work, of being so laborious, so useful, etc. etc., instead of serving Him, too much of being well thought of yourself. This often leads to greed of work: we do not say: “Lord, what wouldst Thou have me to do?” but, “I want to do this or that.”‘Then as regards your public worship. Do not you think, if you told your father that you felt Church services more helpful, he would be less grieved that you should go to Church than go in deadness. He chose the Brethren because he felt his religious life quickened with them; would he not wish you to act in the same spirit? Could you not frankly talk it over with him?’

‘July 1880.

‘It seems to me you have failed in trying to keep the first commandment, and so of course in the others. “Thou shalt worship the Lord Thy God and Himonlyshalt Thou serve.” You see it is notwhenwe feel inclined;whenwe can realise His presence,whenwe have plenty of spare time.

‘Then in your life and work has it not been that you have thought more of pleasing others, of doing work, of being so laborious, so useful, etc. etc., instead of serving Him, too much of being well thought of yourself. This often leads to greed of work: we do not say: “Lord, what wouldst Thou have me to do?” but, “I want to do this or that.”

‘Then as regards your public worship. Do not you think, if you told your father that you felt Church services more helpful, he would be less grieved that you should go to Church than go in deadness. He chose the Brethren because he felt his religious life quickened with them; would he not wish you to act in the same spirit? Could you not frankly talk it over with him?’

In 1881 Miss Beale wrote to urge Miss Arnold to attend some addresses Mr. Wilkinson was about to give:—

‘You will make some effort and some sacrifices, if necessary, to come, will you not, my dear child? Even the love of Miss —— for which you should give thanks, is a danger too,lest you should learn to look at yourself with the indulgence that we give to those we love, and do not see clearly the faults and failings. Mr. Wilkinson does help to show how much ground there is for humility.’

To the same:—

‘1882.‘Your letter grieves me very much, just as the painful illness of one I love would; because you have to go through it; but it is right, if you go through it rightly, seeking the truth. Only one cannot in a letter, nor in a little while, nor off-hand deal with these difficulties. As in every science, thought, and earnest labour, and aspiration, and desire are necessary if we would find truth; so in religion, the knowledge of absolute wisdom and goodness, which transcends all we can know, there must be a deep devotion to truth, which spares no pains in the search.‘Will you begin with a simple and clear book first,—I noticed it in the last Magazine,—by Godet. It is translated by Canon Lyttelton. I think it shows conclusively the fact of our Lord’s resurrection, and with that goes the testimony of miracles, not as wonders but as signs. When you have got thus far, you will find, I trust, the repulsion to the supernatural element diminished, if it exists in you. Don’teverlet yourself say, “We can’t know.” We can know enough to believe and trust in God’s goodness, and one must go on seeking byprayer,thought,obedience, very, very patiently, and then through eternity one will draw nearer and nearer.‘As regards your conception of inspiration, I think it requires correction; claims have been made for the Bible which it never made for itself. Holy men spake as they were moved by the Holy Spirit; but theliteral dictationof every word we are not taught.‘But I cannot attempt to answer piecemeal. I have gone through all these questionings, but I think my faith strengthens from year to year,—if I dare say so. So that it seems to me marvellous that any one can fail tofeelthe divine, underlying all the superficial, the phenomenal which men verily call realities. Do you remember how Browning makes Lazarus feel “marvel that they too see not with his opened eyes!” That objection to the Israelites destroying the Canaanites seems to me so frightfully superficial. Are there not evils far worse than death? Would it not be enormously preferable to die than to live as many do? What should we say if we could seebeyond the grave? We judge knowing only one side of the grave. And if God saw well that these people should die at once, would it not be part perhaps of the education of a nation chosen to do a particular work, that God should make them burn with indignation against the detestable, unspeakable, moral evils, and make them the executioners of His justice? It would not degrade them to do this, if they did it as a judge condemns the guilty, with no personal hatred. We cannot sit in judgment thus. In the world’s history we see God ever employing men to do the work He has to do. There may be necessities for this, of which we know nothing; I mean in the nature of things: certainly there is good as regards the moral training of men.‘Go on wishing and praying and seeking all your life, never saying anything which you do not believe, and then the God of truth will hear you as you say, “Open Thou mine eyes, that I may see the wondrous things of Thy law.” “Lighten our darkness, we beseech Thee!”Feelingmust come in, as the Brethren rightly say. We must love, and desire, and know Him to be our Father; we must trust Him. We can’t understand even an earthly friend without trust, but we must use the powers He has given us, we dare not bury them. We shall have to wait for the solution of much hereafter; but we shall grow in grace and in the knowledge of our Lord and Saviour.‘My poor child, would I could help you more, but God will help you. “Though He tarry, wait.” Use the means natural and supernatural. Tell me from time to time how you are getting on, and I will try to put you on acourseof reading.’

‘1882.

‘Your letter grieves me very much, just as the painful illness of one I love would; because you have to go through it; but it is right, if you go through it rightly, seeking the truth. Only one cannot in a letter, nor in a little while, nor off-hand deal with these difficulties. As in every science, thought, and earnest labour, and aspiration, and desire are necessary if we would find truth; so in religion, the knowledge of absolute wisdom and goodness, which transcends all we can know, there must be a deep devotion to truth, which spares no pains in the search.

‘Will you begin with a simple and clear book first,—I noticed it in the last Magazine,—by Godet. It is translated by Canon Lyttelton. I think it shows conclusively the fact of our Lord’s resurrection, and with that goes the testimony of miracles, not as wonders but as signs. When you have got thus far, you will find, I trust, the repulsion to the supernatural element diminished, if it exists in you. Don’teverlet yourself say, “We can’t know.” We can know enough to believe and trust in God’s goodness, and one must go on seeking byprayer,thought,obedience, very, very patiently, and then through eternity one will draw nearer and nearer.

‘As regards your conception of inspiration, I think it requires correction; claims have been made for the Bible which it never made for itself. Holy men spake as they were moved by the Holy Spirit; but theliteral dictationof every word we are not taught.

‘But I cannot attempt to answer piecemeal. I have gone through all these questionings, but I think my faith strengthens from year to year,—if I dare say so. So that it seems to me marvellous that any one can fail tofeelthe divine, underlying all the superficial, the phenomenal which men verily call realities. Do you remember how Browning makes Lazarus feel “marvel that they too see not with his opened eyes!” That objection to the Israelites destroying the Canaanites seems to me so frightfully superficial. Are there not evils far worse than death? Would it not be enormously preferable to die than to live as many do? What should we say if we could seebeyond the grave? We judge knowing only one side of the grave. And if God saw well that these people should die at once, would it not be part perhaps of the education of a nation chosen to do a particular work, that God should make them burn with indignation against the detestable, unspeakable, moral evils, and make them the executioners of His justice? It would not degrade them to do this, if they did it as a judge condemns the guilty, with no personal hatred. We cannot sit in judgment thus. In the world’s history we see God ever employing men to do the work He has to do. There may be necessities for this, of which we know nothing; I mean in the nature of things: certainly there is good as regards the moral training of men.

‘Go on wishing and praying and seeking all your life, never saying anything which you do not believe, and then the God of truth will hear you as you say, “Open Thou mine eyes, that I may see the wondrous things of Thy law.” “Lighten our darkness, we beseech Thee!”Feelingmust come in, as the Brethren rightly say. We must love, and desire, and know Him to be our Father; we must trust Him. We can’t understand even an earthly friend without trust, but we must use the powers He has given us, we dare not bury them. We shall have to wait for the solution of much hereafter; but we shall grow in grace and in the knowledge of our Lord and Saviour.

‘My poor child, would I could help you more, but God will help you. “Though He tarry, wait.” Use the means natural and supernatural. Tell me from time to time how you are getting on, and I will try to put you on acourseof reading.’

To the same:—

‘1882.‘My poor child, I do indeed feel for you in your loneliness, but remember him whose eyes were opened spiritually and he wasthereforecast out of the synagogue,—but Jesus found him. Do not fear that because the disciples call down fire that the Lord will [send it]. “Come unto Me all that are heavy-laden,” He says to us now as then. To those who are “without guile,”i.e.sincerely seeking truth, He still promises that they shall see greater things than they have ever done.... No; we cannot and we would not believe that He who is infinitely wiser than man can be less good. He is not a Pharaoh to bid us make bricks without straw. He does not tell us to do what we cannot and then punish us for not doing it. “She hath donewhat she could” was the sentence of the Lord when others found fault. God is love, and ifwepity and long to draw to our hands any suffering child of earth, must not He? If we pity those who suffer in alessdegree, must not He those who are suffering the sorrow greatest of all, the loss in any degree of His presence, of that faith which makes all things possible? Go on, my poor child, looking up to Him, and trusting in His utter love who will not leave us, not when we cry, “Depart from me, for I am a sinful man, O Lord.” It is hard sometimes to believe we are not wrong, when we see the disciples, those who really want to do right, acting so differently from the way in which He acted. But we know that in all ages some of the most unchristian things have been done by those who thought they were doing God’s will.‘I do not think from what you tell me that you can go on at the Meeting. If your father wishes it you might for a while abstain from going to church; but if so, let the time you would have spent in public worship be passed in private prayer and studying; just looking up with childlike spirit to the Father, feeling His presence, His love.‘I do not think you should, however, absent yourself long from communion with some body of believers. All Scripture and our spiritual experience is against this. If you decide for St. Peter’s, I think I can tell you of a friend’s house where you would be welcome most Sundays; and we must have you among us for the Quiet Days at Christmas.‘You know I do not want to proselytise; if with the Brethren you had found spiritual nourishment, I would have had you rest there; but now you are starving it is different, like that poor dove who found no rest for the sole of her feet, you need to be taken into an ark.‘I do not want you to be dependent on man, but it is the order of God’s providence that He sends disciples to lead others to Him, and so we are to help one another. And you have a period of trouble before you, outward and inward, until you are able to stand upon the rock once more. Trust God if you should have to walk through that dark valley where you cannot see Him. Each trial will one day result in joy,—the joy of being able to help other troubled souls especially. He descended into Hades, He rose again! I shall remember you in prayer, and I shall ask prayers for you at St. Peter’s, of course without their knowing the least who you are, but that you are suffering and in darkness. Be patient and I think your father’s heart will come back.’

‘1882.

‘My poor child, I do indeed feel for you in your loneliness, but remember him whose eyes were opened spiritually and he wasthereforecast out of the synagogue,—but Jesus found him. Do not fear that because the disciples call down fire that the Lord will [send it]. “Come unto Me all that are heavy-laden,” He says to us now as then. To those who are “without guile,”i.e.sincerely seeking truth, He still promises that they shall see greater things than they have ever done.... No; we cannot and we would not believe that He who is infinitely wiser than man can be less good. He is not a Pharaoh to bid us make bricks without straw. He does not tell us to do what we cannot and then punish us for not doing it. “She hath donewhat she could” was the sentence of the Lord when others found fault. God is love, and ifwepity and long to draw to our hands any suffering child of earth, must not He? If we pity those who suffer in alessdegree, must not He those who are suffering the sorrow greatest of all, the loss in any degree of His presence, of that faith which makes all things possible? Go on, my poor child, looking up to Him, and trusting in His utter love who will not leave us, not when we cry, “Depart from me, for I am a sinful man, O Lord.” It is hard sometimes to believe we are not wrong, when we see the disciples, those who really want to do right, acting so differently from the way in which He acted. But we know that in all ages some of the most unchristian things have been done by those who thought they were doing God’s will.

‘I do not think from what you tell me that you can go on at the Meeting. If your father wishes it you might for a while abstain from going to church; but if so, let the time you would have spent in public worship be passed in private prayer and studying; just looking up with childlike spirit to the Father, feeling His presence, His love.

‘I do not think you should, however, absent yourself long from communion with some body of believers. All Scripture and our spiritual experience is against this. If you decide for St. Peter’s, I think I can tell you of a friend’s house where you would be welcome most Sundays; and we must have you among us for the Quiet Days at Christmas.

‘You know I do not want to proselytise; if with the Brethren you had found spiritual nourishment, I would have had you rest there; but now you are starving it is different, like that poor dove who found no rest for the sole of her feet, you need to be taken into an ark.

‘I do not want you to be dependent on man, but it is the order of God’s providence that He sends disciples to lead others to Him, and so we are to help one another. And you have a period of trouble before you, outward and inward, until you are able to stand upon the rock once more. Trust God if you should have to walk through that dark valley where you cannot see Him. Each trial will one day result in joy,—the joy of being able to help other troubled souls especially. He descended into Hades, He rose again! I shall remember you in prayer, and I shall ask prayers for you at St. Peter’s, of course without their knowing the least who you are, but that you are suffering and in darkness. Be patient and I think your father’s heart will come back.’

To the same:—

‘1882.‘Now, my dear child, do not fret about this trial. Just try to look up and wait. I believe your father’s heart will come back. You see he has obeyed his opinions before, and truth is like the sun which ever rises higher upon our earthly day, and does not sink as the natural sun. We need sometimes to remember the words, “Call no man your father upon earth.” I mean that there is the all-embracing Fatherhood, in which we see all earthly relations: we do not, must not, cast those off, but they must be swallowed up in the greater. Write to me whenever you feel it would comfort you, I will try to help you, until you feel again that you need not outward help.... One feels more and more how slowly one learns and how infinite is God’s truth; how one need’s patience and deep humility, and utter faith in Him who is the Light.’

‘1882.

‘Now, my dear child, do not fret about this trial. Just try to look up and wait. I believe your father’s heart will come back. You see he has obeyed his opinions before, and truth is like the sun which ever rises higher upon our earthly day, and does not sink as the natural sun. We need sometimes to remember the words, “Call no man your father upon earth.” I mean that there is the all-embracing Fatherhood, in which we see all earthly relations: we do not, must not, cast those off, but they must be swallowed up in the greater. Write to me whenever you feel it would comfort you, I will try to help you, until you feel again that you need not outward help.... One feels more and more how slowly one learns and how infinite is God’s truth; how one need’s patience and deep humility, and utter faith in Him who is the Light.’

To the same:—

‘January 1883.‘My poor child, you must not grieve thus. Since God loves your father, He is giving to him only that discipline, whatever it be that is necessary. Yes, believe this, even though the suffering has come through you, for we must believe ituniversally. I do not say you will not suffer for it, or that there may not have been some wrong in it on your part. But if, as you know, he does wish you to know and serve God more perfectly, then through this God is leading him on to know and serve Him better, and you must trust God to knowwhatHe is about. Youmustgo on for your own sake (and for the sake of the children God has given you), seeking for light.’

‘January 1883.

‘My poor child, you must not grieve thus. Since God loves your father, He is giving to him only that discipline, whatever it be that is necessary. Yes, believe this, even though the suffering has come through you, for we must believe ituniversally. I do not say you will not suffer for it, or that there may not have been some wrong in it on your part. But if, as you know, he does wish you to know and serve God more perfectly, then through this God is leading him on to know and serve Him better, and you must trust God to knowwhatHe is about. Youmustgo on for your own sake (and for the sake of the children God has given you), seeking for light.’

To the same:—

‘January 1883.‘I always feel as if I must write by return. Your letters draw out my heart to you so. I am glad you went and felt the love shining in on you.‘Now, as regards thea prioriargument; it is just the fundamental thing. Did you read my Browning paper? See, it is justthethought that comes out in “Saul.” We, if we love ourselves, wemustbelieve in God’s love. He must be better if He is greater in every other way; it cannot be that we excel Him in the power of love, which is the highest gift of all. Wecan’t think that He does not care for His children, that He has left them orphans.‘I think one can see too that He in whom dwelt the Divine Spirit without measure, yet who was truly man, and who therefore grew as man in insight as we do, felt that utter faith grow, tower up, as that intense love, that utter self-devotion which He felt within,toldHim of His oneness with God; as He prayed that we might be one, even as He was one with the Father.‘And He, trusting the Father, knew He couldnotbe deceived by that Father; and we knowing Him, know He could not deceive us.... So I comea priorito belief in the story of that Life, and when I get to it by inward reasons, I am able first to look at the outward [reasons], which to many are enough without the inward, but are not to me. It was in this way too Kant got back to belief in Christianity. I read it was the moral law within which taught him, and all St. John’s teaching seems to me to be that we must feel the Spirit within ere we can recognise the Christ without. But then He does give freely of His Spirit,—if we seek, we shall find. He knocks at the door of man’s heart, “Ifany onewill hear He will come in.”‘My child, do remember those comforting words, “If ye were blind ye should haveno sin, but now ye say, we see; therefore your sin remaineth.” So blindness is no sin in itself, if is lazy, conceited ignorance that is sin.‘I wish you could be in the House of Rest from Friday to Monday, and have all Saturday of the Quiet Days. I wish you could have one talk with Mr. Wilkinson before he leaves.’

‘January 1883.

‘I always feel as if I must write by return. Your letters draw out my heart to you so. I am glad you went and felt the love shining in on you.

‘Now, as regards thea prioriargument; it is just the fundamental thing. Did you read my Browning paper? See, it is justthethought that comes out in “Saul.” We, if we love ourselves, wemustbelieve in God’s love. He must be better if He is greater in every other way; it cannot be that we excel Him in the power of love, which is the highest gift of all. Wecan’t think that He does not care for His children, that He has left them orphans.

‘I think one can see too that He in whom dwelt the Divine Spirit without measure, yet who was truly man, and who therefore grew as man in insight as we do, felt that utter faith grow, tower up, as that intense love, that utter self-devotion which He felt within,toldHim of His oneness with God; as He prayed that we might be one, even as He was one with the Father.

‘And He, trusting the Father, knew He couldnotbe deceived by that Father; and we knowing Him, know He could not deceive us.... So I comea priorito belief in the story of that Life, and when I get to it by inward reasons, I am able first to look at the outward [reasons], which to many are enough without the inward, but are not to me. It was in this way too Kant got back to belief in Christianity. I read it was the moral law within which taught him, and all St. John’s teaching seems to me to be that we must feel the Spirit within ere we can recognise the Christ without. But then He does give freely of His Spirit,—if we seek, we shall find. He knocks at the door of man’s heart, “Ifany onewill hear He will come in.”

‘My child, do remember those comforting words, “If ye were blind ye should haveno sin, but now ye say, we see; therefore your sin remaineth.” So blindness is no sin in itself, if is lazy, conceited ignorance that is sin.

‘I wish you could be in the House of Rest from Friday to Monday, and have all Saturday of the Quiet Days. I wish you could have one talk with Mr. Wilkinson before he leaves.’

To the same:—

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