Part 6

In those days persons guilty of serious crime, who were not condemned to death, were sent as convicts to some of the distant colonies. They were taken to the docks through the streets in open waggons, shouting to the crowd as they passed and behaving with the utmost disorder. This, too, Mrs. Fry set herself to change. She asked that the women might be taken in covered carriages, and promised them that if they would behave quietly she and some of the ladies would come to see them off. Her own carriage followed the long line of coaches which took the women, 128 in number, with their children to the docks. When she reached the ship she was dismayed at the miserable arrangements made for the convicts, who were herded together with no one to care for them and nothing to do. She succeeded in dividing them into classes of twelve with a monitor to keep order over each, and found a corner of the ship where a school could be arranged for the children, with one of the convicts as teacher. To get occupation for the women she collected great quantities of scraps of cloth of all kinds, and set them to make patchwork quilts, which she heard would easily be sold in the colonies. In this way they were able to earn a little money to help them when they came to settle in a new land. She gave Bibles and prayer-books to the monitors for the use of their classes, and made arrangements for those who wished, to learn to read. When the day came for the ship to sail, Mrs. Fry was there to say a last good-bye. She stood at the door of the cabin with her friends and the captain; the women were gathered in front of her, many of the sailors had climbed into the rigging so as to see better what was going on, even the crews in neighbouring ships leant over the sides to watch. Mrs. Fry opened her Bible and amidst profound silence read some verses in her beautiful clear voice. Then she paused for a moment, knelt down on the deck and prayed for God’s blessing, whilst many of the women wept. After this a boat carried her to the shore, and the women strained their eyes to see her as long as possible.

Mrs. Fry’s work at Newgate was talked about everywhere. People of all kinds—bishops, ministers of religion, great nobles, and smart ladies, even members of the royal family—came to Newgate to hear Mrs. Fry teach and pray with the prisoners. It became a fashionable amusement, but the solemn scene could not fail to affect even the most frivolous. As they listened to Mrs. Fry’s winning voice, with its beautiful silvery tones, they forgot to think of the prisoners and thought only of the way in which the words she had spoken touched their own lives. The silence that followed used to be broken by sobs from prisoners and visitors alike.

Mrs. Fry gave her mind not only to teaching the prisoners and trying to lessen their sufferings, but to studying the whole question of prison reform. She wished to see things so changed that prisons might become places where criminals should not only be punished but helped to become better. She travelled all over the country, sometimes with her husband, sometimes with her brothers, who were also zealous workers in prison reform, visiting the different prisons. Journeys were sometimes undertaken also to visit Friends’ Meetings and speak at them; but wherever she went she always tried to inspect the prison, to form ladies’ committees to visit the prisons, and to persuade the authorities to improve their arrangements. She tried to be of use to other people also. There was a great deal of smuggling in those days, and there had to be many stations of coastguards to watch for smugglers. Mrs. Fry was sorry for the dull and lonely lives led by many of these men, and with the help of her friends provided for their use libraries of books at all the coastguard stations.

She went to Ireland also to visit the prisons with her brother, who was deeply interested in the same work, and later they visited Jersey. Whenever she was in London, she paid a weekly visit to Newgate, and she sometimes visited the men as well as the women. The Prime Minister, Lord Melbourne, was full of admiration for her work, and helped her to get improvements made in the care of the women and children on the convict ships.

Mrs. Fry’s fame had spread over Europe, and when she was already fifty-nine, with many grandchildren growing up around her, she decided to visit France and study French prisons. Wherever she went she was received with much enthusiasm. Some of the prisons that she saw she admired very much, but in others she noticed much to criticise, and she always freely expressed her opinions. In some towns in France she was able to form committees of ladies to visit the prisons. After a second visit she prepared a long report for the French government about the prisons she had seen, and the reforms she thought desirable. Repeated requests came to her to visit new places, and she made a third journey to the continent with her brother, when they got as far as Berlin. In Prussia she was treated with much honour by the king and queen, and by many members of the royal family. The following year the King of Prussia came to England, and one of the things he was most anxious to do whilst in London was to be present at one of Mrs. Fry’s visits to Newgate. He came to the prison accompanied by the Lord Mayor and many gentlemen. There in one of the wards Mrs. Fry and some of the ladies were gathered with about sixty of the poor women. She told them that the presence of such distinguished visitors must not be allowed to distract their attention, and she read the Bible and prayed with them as usual. The same day the king drove out to see her at her own house in the country, and she presented to him her large family, sons and daughters, with their wives and twenty-five grandchildren. She writes of the day: “Our meal was handsome and fit for a king, yet not extravagant, everything most complete and nice. I sat by the king, who appeared to enjoy his dinner, perfectly at his ease and very happy with us.”

Once more after this Mrs. Fry visited France, but she was growing feeble and tired out with her many labours. She had to suffer some months of illness, during which her daughters tended her with the greatest devotion. She wrote herself that she was much struck in this illness with the manner in which her children had been raised up as her helpers. Many sorrows came to her in her last years from the death of her relations, but suffering and sorrow did not shake her faith. She had the comfort during the last years of her life, of hearing of all the improvements that were being made in the prisons, to reform which she had done so much. To the last she shared all the joys and sorrows of her children and of the other members of her large family. For about two years she led more or less the life of an invalid, and died in October 1845, at the age of sixty-five.

It has only been possible to tell a very little of all the work she did for others during the years of her busy life. But whilst she did all this public work, and influenced kings and governments in favour of reforms, and ministered herself to the needs of the sinful and the suffering, she never forgot her duties as a devoted wife and the mother of a large family of children, who loved her with the deepest tenderness. Neither did she neglect her brothers and sisters and their children. Her public work, though it absorbed much time and thought, did not take her away from her other duties. She remains an example of what a woman can do who feels the call to serve others, and who does not believe that she can refuse to obey that call even though she has a family and a husband to care for.

VII

MARY SOMERVILLE

MARY FAIRFAX, who grew up to be the most learned woman of her day, was born in Scotland in 1780. Her father was a captain in the navy, and whilst he was away with his ship, her mother, who was not at all well off, lived quietly with her children at Burntisland, a small seaport on the coast of Fife. She did not take much trouble about Mary’s education. In those days it was not thought necessary that girls should learn much; Mary was taught to read the Bible and to say her prayers morning and evening, but otherwise was allowed to grow up a wild creature. As a little girl of seven or eight she pulled the fruit for preserving, shelled the peas and beans, fed the poultry, and looked after the dairy. She did not care for dolls, and had no one to play with her, for her only brother was some years older; but she was very happy in the garden, and loved to watch the birds and learnt to know them by their flight.

When her father came home from sea, he was shocked to find Mary, who was then nearly nine years old, such a savage. She had not yet been taught to write, but she used to read the “Arabian Nights,” “Robinson Crusoe,” and the “Pilgrim’s Progress.” He was horrified too at her strong Scotch accent, and made her read aloud to him that he might correct it. This she found a great trial, but she delighted in helping her father in the care of his garden, to which he was devoted. He at last felt that something more must be done to educate her, and said to her mother: “Mary must at least know how to write and keep accounts.” So at ten years old she was sent to a boarding school. The change from her wild, free life made her wretched, and she spent her days in tears. They were very particular in those days that a girl’s figure should be straight, and used strange means to ensure this. Mary was perfectly straight and well-made, but she was enclosed in stiff stays with a steel busk; bands were fastened over her frock to make her shoulder-blades meet at the back, and a sort of steel collar was put under her chin, supported on a rod which was fastened to the busk in her stays. Under these uncomfortable conditions, she and the other girls of her age had to do their lessons. These lessons were far from interesting. The chief thing she had to do was to learn by heart a page of Johnson’s Dictionary, so as to be able, not only to spell all the words and give their meaning, but to repeat the page quickly. She also learnt to write, and was taught a little French and English grammar.

A year at this school was supposed to finish her education, and it is not surprising that when she got home again at the age of eleven she could not write a tidy letter. She was reproached with not having profited better by the money spent on keeping her at an expensive school; her mother said that she would have been content had she only learnt to write well and to keep accounts, as that was all a woman was expected to know. Mary was delighted to be free again, and felt like a wild animal escaped out of a cage. She spent hours on the seashore studying the shells and the stones, and watching the crabs and jelly-fish. When bad weather kept her indoors, she read every book she could find, and especially delighted in Shakespeare, but an aunt who visited them found fault with her mother for letting her spend so much time in reading, and she was sent to the village school to learn plain sewing. She soon made a fine linen shirt for her brother so well that she was taken away from school and given the charge of all the house linen, which she had to make and to mend. But she was vexed that people should find fault with her reading, and thought it unjust that women should have been given a desire for knowledge, if it were wrong for them to acquire it. Every opportunity for study was used by her, and when a cousin lent her a French book, she set to work, with the help of a dictionary and the little grammar she had learnt at school, to make out the sense of it. There were two small globes in the house, and her mother allowed the village schoolmaster to come during a few weeks in the winter evenings to teach her how to use them. She loved to watch the stars from her bedroom window, and to find out their names on the celestial globe.

When Mary was thirteen, her mother spent a winter in Edinburgh, and then at last Mary went to a school where she learnt a little arithmetic and to write properly. An uncle gave her a piano, and she had lessons in playing it. When they got back to Burntisland she used to spend four or five hours daily at her piano. She also began to teach herself Latin, but did not dare to tell this to any one till she went to stay with an uncle who was very kind to her. She told him what she was doing, and he encouraged her by telling her about learned women in the past, and what was more, read Virgil with her in his study every morning for an hour or two. Whilst staying with another uncle in Edinburgh, she attended a dancing school, and learnt to dance minuets and reels. Party politics were violent in those days, and Mary’s father and uncle were strong Tories. She heard such bitter abuse of the Liberals that her sense of justice was revolted, and she adopted Liberal opinions, which she stuck to all her life.

Mary Fairfax was probably about fifteen when one day a friend showed her a monthly magazine containing coloured pictures of ladies’ dresses and puzzles. She was surprised to see strange lines mixed up with letters in the puzzles in a way that she could not understand, and asked her friend what they were. She was told that they were a kind of arithmetic called algebra, but her friend could not tell her what algebra was. On going home she looked amongst the family books to see if there was one which would explain algebra. She could only find one about navigation, which she studied, though she could but dimly understand it. She had no one of whom she could ask questions, and knew that she would only be laughed at if she spoke of her desire for knowledge, so that she often felt sad and forlorn. But she managed to teach herself enough Greek to read Xenophon and Herodotus. The next winter she spent in Edinburgh again and was sent to a drawing school, and got on well with drawing; but it was not till the following summer, when her youngest brother was studying with a tutor, that she ventured to ask the tutor to get her books about algebra and Euclid, and she was able to begin the studies which were to make her famous as a mathematician. She worked very hard, for she had many household duties to perform, and to spend much time on music and painting, which were the only studies of which her mother approved. She could only study mathematics by sitting up late at night, and burnt so many candles that the servants complained to her mother, and her candle was ordered to be taken away when she went to bed. Then she used to keep up her studies by going over in the dark what she had already learnt.

By this time Mary was grown up, and was a remarkably pretty girl, very small and delicate-looking. She began to go out to parties in Edinburgh, which she much enjoyed, and where she was much admired; but all the time she never lost sight of what she felt to be the main object of her life, the pursuit of her studies. She painted at the art school, she practised her piano for five hours every day, she made all her own dresses, even her ball dresses, she spent her evenings working and talking with her mother. To get time for her other studies, she used to rise at daybreak, and, after dressing, wrapt herself in a blanket to keep warm, and read algebra or classics till breakfast time. So amidst difficulties of all kinds she struggled on with her studies; no one, except her uncle Dr. Somerville, ever gave her any help or encouragement.

When she was twenty-four, Mary Fairfax married her cousin, Samuel Grieg, and went to live in London. Her husband was out at his work all day and she had plenty of time for her studies. But though he did not interfere with what she did, he gave her no help or encouragement. He knew nothing of science himself, and did not believe that women were capable of intellectual work. She struggled on as best she could and took lessons in French so as to learn to speak it. After three years her husband died, leaving her with two little boys, one of whom did not live to grow up. Mary went back to live with her parents; she cared for her children with the utmost tenderness, but she still devoted herself to her mathematical studies, and she was able to get advice and help from a professor in Edinburgh. To get time to study she still rose early, for during most of the day she was busy with her children, and the evening she devoted to her father. People thought her queer and foolish, because she did not go into society; but she did not care for their criticisms, and made real progress in her studies.

She had several proposals of marriage, but refused them all till, in 1812, she agreed to marry her cousin, Dr. William Somerville, son of the uncle who had been the only person to help her in her studies when she was a girl. When her engagement was known, one of Dr. Somerville’s sisters, who was younger than herself and unmarried, wrote to her saying she “hoped she would give up her foolish manner of life and studies and make a respectable and useful wife to her brother.” This made Dr. Somerville very indignant, and he wrote a severe and angry letter to his sister. After this none of his family dared to interfere with his wife again. His father was delighted with his choice, for he understood and loved his niece. Some of the family were much astonished, when in the summer after the marriage they were staying together in the lakes, and one of them fell ill and expressed a wish for currant jelly, to find that Mrs. Somerville, in spite of her learning, was able at once to make some excellent jelly.

The marriage was an absolutely happy one. Dr. Somerville loved and admired his wife and was very proud of her learning. For the first time she had encouragement to pursue her studies instead of having obstacles thrown in her way. At first they lived in Edinburgh, but, in 1816, Dr. Somerville received an appointment in London, and they moved there and settled in Hanover Square. Many friends gathered round them, and Mrs. Somerville enjoyed intercourse with other learned people, especially with Sir William Herschel, the great astronomer. She not only went on with her scientific studies, but she took lessons in painting. She and her husband enjoyed making together a collection of minerals. They added to it on their travels in France and Italy, which were an immense delight to her. Several children were born to Mrs. Somerville, but only one son of her first marriage and two daughters of her second marriage lived to grow up. She was a devoted mother, and gave much time to the care of her children. She gave her morning hours to domestic duties, and was determined that her daughters should not suffer as she had done from want of a good education. She taught them herself all the subjects she was able to teach, giving three hours to their lessons every morning. Her house was carefully managed, and she used to read the newspapers diligently as she was keenly interested in politics; she read, too, all the most important new books on all kinds of subjects. Science was her special study, but she loved poetry and read all the great authors in Latin and Greek as well as in French and Italian. She was very fond of music and devoted to painting, and was very clever and neat with her needle, and she also enjoyed society very much. Miss Edgeworth, the novelist, after meeting her in 1822, described her as small and slight, with smiling eyes and a charming face, quiet and modest in her ways, with a very soft voice and a pleasant Scotch accent. She said of her: “While her head is among the stars her feet are firm upon the earth.”

Mrs. Somerville never herself introduced learned subjects into general talk, but when others did she spoke of them simply, and naturally without assuming any superior knowledge. Yet, of course, other learned people soon found out how much she knew. When she was in Edinburgh, she had written, at the request of the editor, a learned article on comets for the _Quarterly Review_, but she had no idea of writing any book till, in 1827, a letter came from Lord Brougham to Dr. Somerville asking whether Mrs. Somerville would write, for a series he was interested in, a book on a very important French work about the stars written by the famous astronomer, La Place. Mrs. Somerville had met La Place in Paris; he had said of her that she was the only woman who could understand his works, and Lord Brougham wrote that she was the only person who could write the book he wanted, and if she would not write it, it must be left undone. Mrs. Somerville writes herself that she was surprised beyond expression by this letter. She thought Lord Brougham must be mistaken as to her powers, and that it would be very presumptuous in her “to attempt to write on such a subject or indeed on any other.” However, Lord Brougham called in person to press his request, and at last she agreed, on condition that no one should know what she was trying to do, and that if she failed the manuscript should be put into the fire.

She had now to try to make time for more work in her busy life. This she did by getting up earlier to see to her household duties, but she was much disturbed by interruptions. People did not think that a woman was like a man and could have any real work to do. Frequently friends or relations would arrive when she was in the midst of a difficult problem and say, “I have come to spend a few hours with you.” She had no other room to work in but the drawing-room, and as soon as the bell warned her of a visitor, she used to cover up her books and papers with a piece of muslin so that no one should know what she was doing. She learnt by habit to put up with interruptions, and to go back at once when alone again, to the point where she had left off. She did her work in the same room where her children prepared their lessons after she had taught them, and she was never impatient when they brought their little difficulties to her, but answered them quickly and quietly and went back to her own work. She could so abstract her mind that even talking or practising on the piano did not disturb her.

When the book was finished and sent to be looked at, Mrs. Somerville felt very nervous as to what might be thought of it. It made her very happy and proud when the great astronomer, Sir John Herschel, wrote to say that he had read it with the highest admiration, and added: “Go on thus and you will leave a memorial of no common kind to posterity; and, what you will value far more than fame, you will have accomplished a most useful work.” Her book was received with immense praise. The scientific societies hastened to show her honour; her bust was ordered to be executed by the great sculptor, Chantrey, and placed in the hall of the Royal Society of London, and at the prime minister’s request, the king granted her a pension of £200 a year. The relations who had found fault with her ways were now astonished at her success, and were loud in her praise; but most of all she valued the deep delight of her husband, who had always encouraged her, and whose pride in her knew no bounds.