CHAPTER XXIV.
THE SEVENTY-FIFTH YEAR; NOTES AND INCIDENTS, IN THE YEARS 1845-46; DEATHS OF MR. J. J. GURNEY AND OF DR. CHALMERS; LETTER FROM CROMER; DEATH OF MRS. E. ALDERSON; MRS. OPIE’S VISIT TO LONDON IN THE SPRING OF 1848; LETTER FROM THENCE.
Mrs. Opie was now entering upon her seventy-fifth year; confinement and pain were her portion during a large part of her remaining days; and yet, on the whole, she was remarkably free from most of the infirmities, bodily and mental, usually attendant upon such an advanced age. Her sight was perfect, and even excelled in keenness; so that she read without difficulty the finest print, and wrote in the same minute and delicate characters to the last. Her sense of hearing, too, though less acute, was not perceptibly impaired; and her carriage was as erect, and indicative of vigour and energy, as of yore. But it was her soul—the mind within her—that never felt the frosts of age. Her heart beat warm, her eye kindled with living joy, her spirit responded like a well-tuned lyre, to every breath that passed over it; and she was, too, such a very woman in all her sympathies and antipathies. Such quick sensibilities and vivid perceptions, such appreciation of little attentions, and cordial interest in that which touched the hearts of others—no wonder the young loved her! Perhaps, never were so many young and fair faces seen clustering around an old one, as were to be found in her room, week after week. They came, and made her their confidante;—and she liked so well to hear the tales, and to enter into the hopes and pleasures of youth!
Her love of fun,[[44]] too, her merry laugh, her ready repartee, made one forget that she had numbered three-score years and ten. If we should ask, whence came this bright and joyous old age? we may trace it partly to natural temperament; her nature was genial, her temper sweet, and, until a late period, her health was excellent. But, great as these natural advantages were, more yet was owing to religious principle, and self-discipline. She was not kind and forbearing merely because her temper was sweet: she was so on principle; in obedience to the great command of the gospel, “Love one another.” Her readiness to pass by an unkind or slighting action, did not spring from easy indifference; none was more keenly sensitive to these things. When she was deeply wounded on one occasion, and could find no excuse for the offender, she looked sad and disquieted, and at length said, “I hope I shall be able in time to forget this.” It pained her to think otherwise than well of any one; it was a real pang to be obliged to believe that he had acted unworthily. She wept over the misdeeds of others, and rejoiced when they acted well and nobly. She was “tender-hearted” towards the failings of others, and would not believe an evil report. There was really nothing which roused her anger so much as for any one to spread a report to the disadvantage of another; it seemed an offence done to herself: and is not this the spirit of Christianity, akin to the “mind that was in Jesus?”
It were easy to give instances proving these to be no exaggerated statements. It may be permitted to mention one illustration of her humble-minded ingenuousness in acknowledging herself to have done wrong. The writer of these lines was one day calling on Mrs. Opie, when some one who was very deaf, and talked in a loud, harsh voice, was visiting her. After he had left the room, chancing to refer to something that had passed, she repeated the words of her visitor in his dissonant tones—in fact, mimicked him to the life! Almost immediately after reaching home, the writer received a note from Mrs. O., saying how much self-reproach she was suffering, in the thought of the “unchristian and vulgar action” of which she had been guilty, and begging it might be forgiven.
We have seen that the loneliness of her lot was felt increasingly, as her years multiplied, but happily, most happily for her, she was sustained by the consciousness of the Divine presence; and it was this which cheered her lonely hours, and inspired the sentiment with which we find her entering upon the new year; she thus writes:—
(2nd mo., 4th, 1845.) I can say with truth that I am never less alone than when alone: home is becoming daily more and more the place that suits me best. I have many cares and some trials; but I feel, in the depths of my heart, that all is right; and that all has been, and will be, for my good. “Shall not the Judge of all the earth do right?”
This month occurred the death of Sir T. F. Buxton, causing another gap in the circle of Mrs. Opie’s intimate friends. She had been long and greatly attached to him, and all his family; and cordially united in his views for the abolition of slavery, and in his desires and plans for the improvement of Africa.
During the storms of the winter, great inroads had been made at Cromer by the sea, and referring to this she wrote to her friend at Northrepps, at this time, saying:—
I am very sorry for that dear West Cliff,
“Where once my careless childhood strayed, a stranger yet to pain.”
There used to be, I am sure, a field before one comes to S. Hoare’s field, where I used to gather the blue bugloss, and deck myself out in it. Such is my love of Cromer, I sometimes think, when I lost my dear father, I should have settled myself there, or very near it, (on the West Cliff, most probably,) had I not joined Friends.
In the same letter she speaks of several books she was reading, and says:—
* * * I have read two volumes, (the last two, I think,) of Lord Malmesbury’s Diaries, and with intense interest. I knew so many of the men he writes about, and lived on the spot where they acted. But, be not angry, as well as surprised, when I tell thee, that, of the fourth volume, William Pitt is my hero, and eke George III; their characters and powers come out there in such high relief! * * I am also reading Carlyle’s history of the French Revolution—full of genius, pathos, and pictures; with all its faults, (and it has great ones,) still, I can hardly lay it down!
Shortly after, recurring to the subject of the weather, she wrote:—
I try not to be impatient of the duration of this winter, and I rejoice at the belief, (probably, however, an erroneous one,) that my only tree, an elm, in my south garden, into which my sitting room looks, is budding! It is a pain to me to think of the sufferings of inanimate nature, as well as of human nature. I grieve for the cruel sea’s inroads at Cromer! But, as almost all things “work together” for some “good,” these dangers give rise to circumstances, honourable to one’s species; for instance, the pious child that would not be saved till his father’s safety was secured. Generally speaking, I have long thought that in these days filial piety was at a low ebb; but, in this instance, assuredly, the high tides have floated it into my good opinion again. I am just returned from Earlham, where I have been passing a happy day and a half, with J. J. Gurney and Eliza; no other guest there but myself. We called at dear W. Forster’s door on our way home.
Mrs. Opie made frequent visits, in the course of this year, to her friends; and mentions with peculiar pleasure meeting Mr. Hallam, during her stay at Ketteringham. Although occasionally suffering from accesses of her old disorder, she was, upon the whole, free from pain. Her notes refer to the great enjoyment she felt in attending various religious meetings, and also the course of lectures at the Museum, delivered by Professor Sedgwick.
On the return of the autumnal season her malady distressed her much, and during her stay at Northrepps she was quite confined to the house; “never quitting it after I entered it, till I got into the carriage which took me away; but though unwell during the eighteen days I spent there, I had much enjoyment.” In October of the following year, writing to her friend there, she said:—
Oh! how sorry I am that I cannot come to thee next week, even in a carrier’s cart; but I cannot. Dr. Hull says “it would be madness;” and Mr. Crosse says, “he hopes my finger may allow me to go to Keswick;” but I have so much cold and cough besides, that I fear I shall not be able to leave the house at all. It is a disappointment to me not to have paid my usual visit to Cromer, and to feel there the gratitude due to Him who has in unmerited mercy spared me, that I might have been enabled once more to enjoy the society of my dear friends at that place, so full to me of early and pleasant recollections.
In the course of the summer of 1846 she was cheered by a visit from Mrs. Backhouse, the daughter of Mr. J. J. Gurney, (whom Mrs. Opie always called her grandchild,) bringing with her her infant son, who was greeted as great-grand-child, and pronounced a darling. “I love all babies,” she said, “but this one excels them all in my eyes.” Her cousin, Mr. R. Woodhouse, also visited her in the month of August. But amid all her cheerful and sympathizing enjoyment, she suffered grievously. A sorrowful note, written about this time, tells how much.
* * * You will be glad to hear I am better. This day week I was in great pain for hours! How thankful I ought to be; nothing can have exceeded Dr. Hull’s attention; he came twice every day to me; and I am sure his medicines have done me much good.
P.S. Sir R. Peel’s heart has stolen mine; that exquisite self-oblivion, and that prompt sympathy with poor Haydon’s sorrows, even only four days before his death: and then the feeling and immediate reply to the hopes of the poor suicide in his letter in his dying moments; and the prompt help, and the promised succour of his purse and influence at a future time, and when he (Sir Robert) was not himself lying on a bed of roses! Oh! he is a good, as well as a great man, and God’s blessing must rest on him.
On the 4th of January, 1847, died Mr. J. J. Gurney. Three weeks before, he had been thrown from his pony, while crossing Orford Hill. At first he appeared not to have sustained much injury; and, with thoughtful love, he hastened to Lady’s Lane to inform his dear friend of the accident, saying that he could not bear she should hear of it from any other but himself, that he might assure her with his own lips of his safety. Alas! how little did either of them imagine that ere that moon had waned he would be sleeping the sleep of death! but so it was. This was indeed a heart-blow; and, shortly after, his beloved daughter, Anna Backhouse, followed him to the grave. It was an entire breaking-up of the much and long-loved circle at Earlham. Mrs. Opie attended the funeral of her friend. She saw him laid low in the midst of his usefulness; cut down while there was, as yet, no shadow o’er his path to tell of coming night. Honoured and beloved he was, and a blessing to thousands. Doubtless in her heart she said, “would God I had died for thee!” but she remembered her favourite text, “shall not the judge of all the earth do right;” and bowed, and worshipped in silence and submission.
There is no dwelling on these things. Each one, as he passes along on the road of life, experiences like sorrows, and learns from his own trials to realize the feelings of his fellow sufferers.
The following note, written shortly after this event, shews her state of mind.
Norwich, 1st mo., 29th, 1847.
My dear C. L.,
* * * * Thanks for thy kind inquiries, and still more for thy graphic description of the Cambridge show; it made me long to have been there! thy account of the behaviour of the students carried me back to 1810, when I was at Oxford, at Lord Grenville’s installation, and was excessively amused by the thundering and hissing of the students for some time; but the third day I grew tired of the noise. The Proctors there were treated, one excepted, with great indignity. How I did rejoice in the first wrangler’s success; when I found he was a boy of obscure birth, educated by a benevolent individual on whom he had no claims, and that he had been enabled to repay his benefactor!
The dear Bishop came yesterday afternoon, and was so kind and sympathizing! I could see him, for I was in my drawing-room again. My doctors are just gone. I hope I am improving, and expect to be allowed to get out next week to see my aunt; but I shall be slow in returning my calls, and slower still in paying any visits. I do so dread the convincing myself, when I go out, that there is one whom if I look for him, I shall never, never find! But no more of that, I can’t bear it.
Believe me, thy ever attached friend,
A. Opie.
Her grief did not, however, prevent her taking an active interest in the sorrows and sufferings of others. She was engaged in collecting for the relief of the poor Irish, and says:—
Oh! the horrible state of things in that country; without our aid they say the poor people must perish! I am collecting for the Ladies’ Committee at Dunmanaway, near Cork; a very distressed district, but small and with few rich residents in it, therefore the more needing help. I let no day pass without having, in the course of it, begged of some one. I take sixpence or a shilling with thanks; and I have accepted twopence from a little boy, who sent it to me because he knew what it was to be hungry himself. I have a humble agent at work to procure small sums, as my Irish ladies advise; and have a little money still in hand, which I hope to make more. We shall one day perhaps know scenes here like those in Ireland, and trials which wealth cannot help us to avoid or remove, but “shall not the judge of all the earth do right?”
In the spring of this year Mrs. Opie paid her usual visit to Cromer. While there, the tidings of Dr. Chalmers’ death reached her. She wrote home requesting to have the lines she had addressed to him in 1833 sent to her; and acknowledged the receipt of them in the following letter:—
TO MRS. BRIGHTWELL.
Cromer, 6th mo., 5th, 1847.
My dear Friend,
* * * I do not exactly know to whom I was indebted for the great kindness of copying for me my lines to poor dear Dr. Chalmers,[[45]] but perhaps the same pen (it was thine I think) would do me the same favour again. I am very desirous of having them, though ashamed of troubling thee.
Poor dear man! on his way home to Edinburgh he could not be easy without going to Darlington, to see dear J. J. Gurney’s daughter once more. In his letter to me he said that he hoped one day “to see him before the throne,” or words to that effect; how soon (as I trust) the hope has been fulfilled.
I am here in such a lovely lodging! my sitting-room has a bay-window that looks on the sea and up the shore and on the jetty and the breakwater. I am at Randall’s bath house, and the hot bath is delightful indeed! I think I am better, in spite of visitors. I have had eleven callers already, since ten o’clock!
When I came, the sea was beautiful! yesterday it was awful to look at! the white horses, the cavalry of the sea, were all out yesterday. Alas! their appearance was signalized by death; a boat was capsized, and a poor old man drowned, in sight almost of my window. At twilight I looked on the sea, which appeared terribly sublime! The hue grew darker and darker, as the mass of waters seemed sloping upwards as they went, till they looked like a dark mountain bounding forth to engulph us—and I retreated almost in fear. I hope this evening to see the sun set from the western cliff. How beautiful, in my eyes, were the hedges as I came! such a profusion of germander, bright red bachelor’s buttons, the golden furze, and broom, in luxuriant blossom, and the may, only too much laden with flowers; Farewell; with love to thy spouse and bairn,
Thy attached friend,
A. Opie.
Mrs. Opie returned from Cromer in the middle of June; in her notes we find the following entries:—
I am come home, not the better for the sea and baths, though much so in mind and feelings for the great attentions and kindnesses I received. A lame old woman is, however, best at home. Poor dear Dr. Chalmers! he passed four or five as happy days as he could pass there, with the daughter of J. J. G.; he would not rest without going, and was so charming! he died two days after. He left Darlington well, but went home as it proved—to die! He was every day, when there, going to write to me, and I was just about to write to him, from Cromer, when he died. (6th mo., 18th.) In the year 1809 I began to write lines to Mrs. Lemaistre, on her birthday, and ever since, from 1809 to the fifth of this month, 1847, I have never omitted writing the accustomed verses. I wonder whether any king’s laureat ever wrote so many to one potentate; perhaps Colley Cibber did to George III. (19th.) I have been reading the life of Sarah Martin; it made me shed many tears, from the sense of her superior virtue, and my own inferiority. What an example she was, and how illustrative her life, of what that of a humble, but real, and confiding Christian should be! and her end was one of intense bodily suffering! as Pope says of some one:—
“Heav’n, as its purest gold, by torture tried—
The saint sustain’d it, but the woman died!”
W. Allan’s admirable Life I have read quite through, with delight, and, I hope, instruction.
Mrs. Opie visited her friends at Brooke in the following month, and writing shortly after to Miss Gurney, she says:—
* * * I received, before I went to Brooke, a very valuable present from Lord Brougham, which he had ordered to be sent two months ago, and I expected. It arrived at last, and is a folio volume, two nails thick, containing the evidence before the select committee of the House of Lords, appointed to inquire into the execution of the criminal law, especially respecting juvenile offenders and transportation. It interests me, and I daresay I shall read it through. When I came home I found a very interesting letter from Lord B.—that letter I am answering to-day. I am glad he has renewed correspondence with me; he often wrote during last autumn, and he is one of the pleasantest recollections of my early days, when I was first in London society.
My head is full of this horrible, most horrible of murders, at Paris! I am glad I do not know the parties concerned. I earnestly hope that if he must die, he will be allowed no privileges on account of his rank; the people would not bear it! and the Most High “is no respecter of persons.” We purse-proud English are a sadly aristocratic nation, and want humbling. * * * If my aunt’s health allow, I intend to go to the Birkbecks’ ere long for a few days, but yesterday I conceived an alarm concerning her, poor dear, and I must talk to her medical man on the subject.
This alarm proved to be well grounded. Mrs. E. Alderson sank gradually, and at length expired on the 10th of January, 1848. Mrs. Opie says:—
When I looked upon my dear aunt, just after I had closed her eyes, she was, to me, the image, almost, of my father.
The time was now come, when Mrs. Opie was able to carry into effect an intention she had long entertained. She felt very desirous to have a house of her own; it had become, indeed, necessary to her comfort; and, after long consideration, at length she fixed upon the house on Castle Meadow, which she inhabited during the remainder of her life. Before removing, or rather preparatory to doing so, she went up to London, to spend some months there, according to her old usage. Four years had elapsed since she visited the Metropolis, and the present occasion proved one of much enjoyment. She bade adieu to Lady’s Lane on the 6th of April, and journeyed to town, availing herself there of the cordial invitations given her by her friends in Russell Square and Langham Place. Much occurred, during her stay, to interest and cheer her, of which she wrote accounts to her friends at home. She made short excursions to Hampstead, Hornsey, Wandsworth, and Tottenham, and went to hear the speeches at Harrow. She also attended all the Friends’ Meetings, and was present as well at the Missionary and Bible Meetings, in all which she took a lively interest. Her letters shew that she still retained much of her wonted energy, and interested herself in the stirring events going on around her. In one of them she refers, very characteristically, to the alarm excited by the threatened outbreak of the Chartists—
I would come home (she says) from Wandsworth on the Sabbath day night, because I could not bear the anxiety I should feel while being six miles from the scene of action on the Monday. How agreeably disappointed every one was who was not disaffected! Nothing ever was better managed: and I hear that the Duke of Wellington was so delighted because all was effected without a single soldier’s having been seen! but great was the alarm, particularly of the Ministers. It is now clear that the respectable middle classes are not with the ultra chartists. It was an interesting sight to see noblemen and their sons, artizans, and men of all grades in society, sworn in as special constables, and patrolling the streets.
The following letter is selected from among others, written at this time, as being of most general interest:—
TO THOMAS BRIGHTWELL.
Russell Square, 5th mo., 22nd, 1848.
My dear Friend,
I have been intending to write to thee for some time past, but was prevented. My career has been a very pleasant one, spite of occasionally great lameness; but though I always limp, I am not always in pain; and I find it possible to bear, with patience, the ill which can’t, I fear, be ever cured.
I will, as briefly as possible, give thee a sketch of my goings on; a dinner at Lord Denman’s was my pleasantest; I met Lady C. L., Lord N.’s daughter, a dear old friend of mine; Mr. Justice Earle, the new judge; and Mr. Warren, the author of “Ten Thousand a Year.” These gentlemen and my host talked across the table and most pleasant were the dinner hours, as well as those which succeeded. * * * More of this when we meet, if I am permitted to return in health and safety. The next prosperity, was, my going to a private view at the Society of Arts and Sciences, in the Adelphi, where Barry’s pictures were lighted up, and the rooms opened to receive so many and no more; that is, twenty noble Ladies got leave to have so many tickets each, to give, in order that the wonderful and beautiful specimens of new English arts and manufactures, might be seen and known, to those able and willing to purchase; and it was to be, that unusual thing, an evening private view, beginning at ten o’clock. My kind friend, Lady C. B., gave me a ticket, and after hours at the Bible Meeting, and a dinner at Baron Alderson’s, I went to the place of rendezvous; I was the first person there, so I could survey all the lovely things, and exquisite pictures, long and well known to me, before any one came: but the room filled at length, and the Bishop of Norwich told me he never saw more of the nobility assembled. I saw many old acquaintances and made many new * * *
Once, as I was walking round the room, the Duchess of S., leaning on a gentleman’s arm, curtsied to me, (for the first time in her life,) with a most sweet smile. I acknowledged her curtsey, regardless of the gentleman with her, and, indeed, not seeing him; but he said, “what! do you not choose to see and acknowledge an old friend?” I started, and beheld Lord Morpeth! Surprized, and thrown off my guard, I exclaimed, “Oh! dear Lord Morpeth! how glad I am to see thee!” eagerly accepting his proffered hand. “Then you have not forgotten old times?” * * * I then told him I had heard him speak in the morning, and we talked of the meeting, as very interesting: “but,” I said, “I thought it was rather venturesome, if I may so say, to allude so much to the state of affairs in France.” He gave me a look I did not quite understand, but replied, “perhaps there was somewhat too much of that;” and I was told by the Bishop of Winchester, (with whom I dined the next day) that Lord M. in his speech, had given the tone to the other speeches; but Lord M.’s speech was not such, as to have drawn forth what I disapproved,—the speeches of La Harpe, and others; however, everything was approved by the meeting, and the French goings-on delighted in, as leading to an increased spread of the Bible! We then talked a little more, and parted. Lord M. insisting on it, that I used to be at Milcham School with Mathews, the great ventriloquist, and I saying, “no, no, I disown Mathews entirely!” Long have I wished to renew acquaintance with this good man, and at last I have, under pleasant circumstances. At the B. and F. School Meeting, where he was chairman, I sat nearly under the chair, and had a most kind bow from him, which I as cordially returned.
Last sixth day (yesterday week) I dined at Sir J. Boileau’s, and met Guizot, the American Ambassador, and our Bishop. After dinner, we all went to the Royal Institution, to hear a Lecture on the Greek Anthology, by a Mr. Newton, and I had the pleasure of taking the Bishop with me, in my carriage.
Lady C. B. and I sat on a form near the lecturer; in front of him was another chair, for the President, the Duke of Northumberland; and on a chair, placed on his right hand, was Guizot; on his left the American Ambassador—par conséquent, we conceived this was meant as a compliment to Guizot, who seems much noticed. The private view of the Exhibition I rejoiced in, till the people came, (but I believe I wrote an account of all this to Lucy,) Sir R. Inglis followed up his kindness to me there, by calling; and Lady Gurney, myself, and Russell, were there this day week; a most pleasant evening to me, for I met old friends, and among them, the British Minister, Morier, and his family, whom I first knew at Paris, as Consul-General, and afterwards, as our Envoy at Berne.
Now, to finish with my visit at Claremont. The ex-Queen fixed the day and hour, by Madame de Montjoye, her Lady; I hired a clarence and two horses, and borrowed J. Bell’s servant; and, in a broiling day, set off on my fifteen miles’ journey! Madame de M. came to me first, and said the Queen would soon come to me; she did, and I cannot express my feeling, when I thought of the change in her position since we met! I could scarcely speak, while she pressed my hands most affectionately, and called me “ma chère, bonne Opie, que vous êtes bonne, de venir me voir!” at last, she sat, and desired I would do the same. Madame de M., had previously told me they had heard of the Duchess of Orléans that day, and that she was in Germany. I can’t now tell you all the conversation. The first question was, “I hope you are writing? you know I read and like all you write.” I replied that I did not write, and so on. * * * After half an hour, she rose, and said she was very sorry to go, but she must, because she had letters to write, which were to go to Paris that morning; again she took my hands and pressed them to her heart; I not being able to speak, from rising tears. At length I got out, that “les paroles me manquoient et que je ne pouvais pas exprimer les sentiments que j’eprouvois;” and I almost wished to kiss, as well as press the hand I held; as she disappeared, she said, “souvenez vous, et ecrivez encore, ecrivez toujours!” Madame de Montjoye gave me her arm, to the other room, and we parted most cordially. * * *
Thy attached friend,
A. Opie.
Mrs. Opie’s stay in London was cut short by her increasing indisposition. She had prepared to go on a visit to Mr. S. Gurney, when (on the 7th July) she had a severe access of her disorder, and Sir Benjamin Brodie recommending rest and quiet, after a week’s nursing, she returned to Norwich.
| [44] | She patronized the old custom of sending valentines, (which is much kept up in Norwich,) and on one occasion, wrote some droll verses, which she got copied and sent to some young friends, who, presently after, hastened with their puzzling billet-doux to her, that she might help them to guess who could possibly have sent them! She did so enjoy the fun of mystifying them with her guesses! |
| [45] | The lines alluded to in this letter are given in chapter XX. Mrs. O. had forgotten that she had written them until reminded of them by her friend. |