Part 7

The aged mother had also meanwhile been placed under arrest, but, having her grandchildren about her, the scene of confusion which arose rendered her insensible. Her daughter Emilie having been arrested and brought by another company of soldiers, and seeing her mother apparently lifeless on the ground, broke from her guard, and kneeling beside her mother begged for medical aid to be summoned to her. The sickness which followed also in the case of Madame Kossuth rendered it impracticable for her to be removed, and she was accordingly allowed to remain in the house with Emilie and the grandchildren, though all remained under strict guard.

Madame Meszlenyi herself was kept in confinement on this occasion for a period of five months, day and night exposed to the eyes of the guard. What she suffered during this period none may know. Rigorous means were taken to prevent any communication with the outer world.

At length proposals were made by the Austrian Government that they should all be set at liberty on condition that they should forthwith leave the Continent, proceeding in secrecy and disguise. Had the determination of Madame Meszlenyi affected herself alone she would have refused to accept freedom on such terms, but for the sake of her children, as well as that of her sister, she determined to accept the terms of banishment from her native country, which she loved so well, and for which she had suffered so much. Without having the opportunity of bidding farewell to many whom they loved, the exiled party proceeded as far as Brussels, where they were obliged to wait in consequence of the condition of Madame Kossuth. Meanwhile, on it becoming known that the mother and sisters of Kossuth intended to proceed to America, it was suggested to Kossuth (who was then in New York) that he should deliver a lecture to raise funds on their behalf. This resulted in about 1,000 dollars.

Emilie and part of her family only, however, proceeded forthwith, Madame Meszlenyi and Madame Ruttkai, with their children, remaining behind at the risk of being given up to the Austrian Government.

While in Brussels, in writing to a friend in England she concludes as follows: "I can write but little and seldom; of our country I cannot; of foreign affairs I shall not; of myself--what could I write of my own self? My head and my spirits have grown grey! My heart is become old, decrepit, and age is sterile! You must not make any mention of even these short epistles.

"My sick mother, Louise, and myself will stay here. Emily will in a short time leave for America with her whole family. My children have grown in these adverse circumstances, with less favourable developments than I once expected. The loss may, however, be still recovered; there is as yet time for it. They, too, send you their love. How could you have supposed of me that I could have loved my children to forget my friend? You say you are not changed. God be praised for it! I, too, can say that I am not changed in anything--no not even in respect to my faith in mankind. I have a strong will, in spite of so many bitter disappointments. And so I address you in the open-hearted voice of old friendship, and I expect your letters written in the same spirit. Let me not wait long for them. God bless you, and may He extend over your life all the good which is contained in the best wishes of your dear friend,

"MESZLENYI."

During her enforced stay at Brussels Madame Meszlenyi sought amongst the lace manufacturers to obtain work as a means of support of herself and those dependent upon her. She set about learning to make the lace, and, having learnt, worked with such constant industry that she was not only able to maintain the family, but at the end of about eighteen months, when her mother died, she had saved a small sum of money, which she invested in lace to be used when she arrived in the New World.

With the death of her mother the necessity for any longer stay in Brussels came to an end. Madame Meszlenyi, and her sister, Madame Ruttkai, accordingly proceeded to the land of their exile.

Arriving at New York, Madame Meszlenyi found it necessary at once to take steps for the maintenance of the party. Her reply to an enquiry whether anything could be done for her was, "Give me work." And in her endeavours she was as fertile as in her labours she was indefatigable. She not only started a store for the sale of lace, which she superintended and took a place at the desk, but finding further exertion necessary, added to her business that of dressmaking, which she had also, with a thoughtful eye to the future of the children, learnt at Brussels.

But while carrying on business in the manner in which her sense of duty required it, Madame Meszlenyi's days were numbered. Never strong, the trials and exposure of the night of her last arrest had effected their work of ravage in her constitution. Had she been able to have succeeded the leisure and refreshment of the sea voyage by rest and care, the course of disease might have been arrested and her life spared for many years. But she felt that necessity was laid upon her for work, for immediate and constant work. And having undertaken any duty, she would perform it at whatever cost to herself. The requirements of her dressmaking business would often, in the absence of sufficient help, find this heroic and high-born lady burning the midnight oil, to herself finish a dress which had been promised by a certain time.

The knowledge of her condition no doubt stimulated her exertion. She knew that her days were numbered; and she had an object to accomplish. She wished to leave behind her sufficient means to provide a good education for her little girls, so that they might thus be put into the way of earning their own livelihood as teachers. And although it was often represented to Madame Meszlenyi that in the event of her dying her children would be taken care of, the independence of her spirit would flash into her face while she declared that she only desired that her children should have the opportunity of working as she had done herself.

As may, however, be imagined, the difficulties and trials of these Hungarian women were many. But, notwithstanding all discouragements, the growing feebleness of the moving spirit of all, the spark of life burning but dimly, the well-being of her children kept the flickering flame alive. But the finely-strung spirit was strained to the utmost. Friends were not wanting; but, like many another whose soul has been touched to its finest issues, Madame Meszlenyi could not endure the thought of either herself or her children being dependent on charity. Upon her physician saying that she must have rest and change apart from the scene of her labours, a lady, who had been her friend from the first, offered her an old family mansion. Other friends came to her with offers of money, and provided a fund for a period of rest. It went much against her inclination to accept help so willingly offered. She said with a flood of tears: "We did not come to this country counting upon sympathy, but to work, as we heard everybody here could do. Heretofore in no distressing circumstances have I lost my courage, nor have I lost it now. But this illness is the hand of God; to Him I now yield in accepting charity."

Madame Meszlenyi endeavoured vainly to recruit her strength sufficiently to enable her to make a voyage to Belgium in order to engage lace workers, and to found a permanent and prosperous business, in which she might before her own death obtain a partner who might provide the means of accomplishing what lay so near her own heart, the completion of the education of her daughters when she should be taken from them.

As the winter of 1853 thus passed, and the succeeding spring opened, difficulties arose which had not been anticipated, while the exertion which was attendant upon explanations and negotiations was more than the feeble spirit was able to bear. Even after arrangements had been made for her voyage to Europe in the hope that success in her endeavours might stimulate her energies, and yet prolong her life, it became evident that nothing in this world could avail further--that if her earthly hopes were to be brought to fruition it would be by other hands than hers.

It is some satisfaction for us to know that when Madame Meszlenyi learnt at last that it would be impossible for her to accomplish the desire of her heart, the friend in whose house she had resided during the winter cheered her by an assurance that her children would be provided for, and that the education so wisely begun under the eye of the mother would be completed according to her desire. As this desire was fully known to her beloved sister Emilie, this assurance proved to be a great consolation to the dying mother.

The last scene should be told in the words of one who speaks with authority.

"In the course of June she called for the administration of the Lord's Supper, which she took for the last time from the hands of the Lutheran clergyman, and continually afterwards expressed that she was ready and anxious to go. On the afternoon of the 28th of that month she said to those around her that the hour was approaching, and summoned her sister Ruttkai and the children to the leave-taking, at which was also present one of her family physicians, the sister of her heart and soul being far away.

"Having said the last tender words, and embraced them, she looked at the doctor earnestly, and inaudibly pronounced the words 'How long?' 'Not long,' he replied gently, and she brilliantly smiled. She breathed some hours after, but said nothing more except to give a negative when asked if she were in pain. A humble Hungarian friend who sat by her bedside, watching her last breath, and at last closed her eyes, has said that an hour before she died so brilliant a look came into her face she thought she was going to rally, and perhaps recover. She then attempted to give her a message to Emilie, of which she uttered not words enough to be wholly understood by the auditor; then the wonderful expression faded, and hardly had done so when the last breath came. It was on the 29th June, 1854, when this noble and gifted being, at the early age of thirty-four, ascended to the Father of Spirits."

The aged brother and patriot yet lives in the neighbourhood of Turin, where his last years are being spent in the society of his surviving sister, Madame Ruttkai.

CAROLINE LUCRETIA HERSCHEL.

The heights by great men reached and kept Were not attained by sudden flight; But they, while their companions slept, Were toiling upward in the night.

LONGFELLOW.

Georges Sand has somewhere said that the only virtue is the eternal sacrifice of self--a remark which will bear careful consideration. If we do well because it is pleasant to do so, or for a reward to be obtained, there does not seem to be much merit in so doing. But if, to our own sacrifice and discomfort, we follow the right for the sake only of duty, then, whether the motive be love to God or man, the thorny road will at last lead to the sunny tableland--to the home of content. The remark is commonplace; but it is the common that needs most to be remembered.

Among instances of self-abnegation we have that of Caroline Herschel--brave, loving, and unwearying, following with unwavering devotion the path of patient duty until it became one of abounding pleasure. But it was not with thoughts of self; self-love moved not the tender heart, the strong will, the willing hand. Love of her brother set in motion the will of a whole-souled woman; and while she sought only to be his humble helper, she was destined to share in his greatness.

Caroline Lucretia Herschel was a member of a Hanoverian family, many of whom, if not born to greatness, signally achieved it. She was born in the month of March, 1750, having a sister many years older and several brothers, one of whom--William--became the famous astronomer. Her father--Isaac Herschel--was the master of a military band, and took delight in encouraging the cultivation of music in his children. In this as well as his devotion to his other studies, William displayed unusual talent and perseverance. It is stated that although his brother Jacob was four years older, William "mastered the French language in half the time needed by the elder."

In the large family of the Herschels the lot of the little Caroline does not seem to have been over bright, or her education much cared for. They were, however, an intelligent household, the elder ones attaining considerable proficiency in music, William by no means limiting his desires in that direction. In her diary, in which Caroline afterwards noted reminiscences of her early days, she mentions the enlivening conversations on musical and philosophical subjects which frequently kept her father and brothers engaged until morning. "Often," she says, "I would keep myself awake that I might listen to their animating remarks, _for it made me so happy to see them so happy_."

Caroline for some time attended with her brothers the garrison school; but her mother's ambition for her seems only to have been that she should learn domestic duties and needlework. This arose from no disregard on the part of the excellent mother as to her daughter's well-being, but from the idea that much book-learning was not desirable in girls. Her father, however, found opportunities for instructing his little daughter in music. He would himself have given her, according to her own desire, a superior education, had it not been for the opposition of her mother. So little Caroline was in danger of growing up a household drudge in a straitened home. But _L'homme propose, et Dieu dispose_. A visit to England of the regiment to which they were attached resulted in William settling in Bath as a musician. He had always been to Caroline the dear brother. While her inability to satisfy the dainty tastes of her "gentleman" brother Jacob had earned her many a whipping, the considerate love of William had come into her young life as a soothing balm, a stimulating power. And, like good seed, it brought forth fruit a hundredfold.

The loss of her father, when she was seventeen years old, was to Caroline a source of great sorrow. In him she lost the one whom, next to her now absent brother, she loved. With his death all hope of further education for Caroline came to an end, and for some years further her life as maid of all work continued.

A change, however, as unexpected as it was decisive, came into her life when she was about twenty-two years old. Her brother William being over on a visit from England, suggested that she should return with him to Bath, which proved to be the opening of a new era.

Being settled at Bath Miss Herschel entered with ardour into her brother's career as musician and his studies as astronomer. He toiled hard in his profession for the purpose of gaining a livelihood, at the same time reading and working for the object nearest his heart. In both his pursuits his sister became his ready and laborious helper--his constant and sympathising companion. For this purpose she acquired a considerable proficiency in music, and for many years assisted her brother, not only by copying musical scores for large orchestras, but also in taking part in lessons and rehearsals, and herself singing in oratorios conducted by him.

The industry of both brother and sister at this period of their joint labours seems, indeed, to have been almost without parallel. While, their days were given to musical work to such an extent as would have sufficed for an ordinary occupation--and that a busy one--their nights were devoted to the heavens, and to the manufacture of telescopes and telescopic appliances on a scale hitherto unknown.

William Herschel's fame as an astronomer, inventor, and discoverer having become established, in 1782 he gave up his attention to music, in order to devote himself entirely to astronomical research, and was appointed Royal Astronomer. In this year he removed to Datchet, and, a few years after, to Slough. Absorbing as was their pursuit, it was carried on at an enormous self-sacrifice and hardship, and was not by any means free from danger. Miss Herschel writes in her diary: "That my fears of danger and accidents were not wholly imaginary I had an unlucky proof on the night of the 31st December. The evening had been cloudy, but about ten o'clock a few stars became visible, and in the greatest hurry all was got ready for observing. My brother, at the front of the telescope, directed me to make some alteration in the lateral motion, which was done by machinery, on which the point of support of the tube and mirror rested. At each end of the machine or trough was an iron hook, such as butchers use for hanging their joints upon, and having to run in the dark on ground covered a foot deep with melting snow, I fell on one of these hooks, which entered my right leg above the knee. My brother's call, 'Make haste!' I could only answer by a pitiful cry, 'I am hooked!' He and the workman were instantly with me, but they could not lift me without leaving nearly two ounces of my flesh behind. The workman's wife was called, but I was afraid to do anything, and I was obliged to be my own surgeon by applying aquabusade and tying a kerchief about it for some days, till Dr. Lind, hearing of my accident, brought me ointment and lint, and told me how to use them. At the end of six weeks I began to have some fears about my poor limb, and asked again for Dr. Lind's opinion. He said if a soldier had met with such a hurt, he would have been entitled to six weeks' nursing in a hospital. I had, however, the comfort to know that my brother was no loser through the accident, for the remainder of the night was cloudy, and several nights afterwards afforded only a few short intervals favourable for sweeping, and until the 16th of January there was no necessity for my exposing myself for a whole night to the severity of the season."

"It would be impossible for me," she also writes, "if it were required, to give a regular account of all that passed around me in the lapse of the two following years, for they were spent in a perfect chaos of business. The garden and workrooms were swarming with labourers and workmen, smiths and carpenters going to and fro between the forge and the forty-foot machinery, and I ought not to forget that there is not one screw-bolt about the whole apparatus but what was fixed under the immediate eye of my brother. I have seen him lie stretched many an hour, in a burning sun, across the top beam whilst the iron-work for the various motions was being fixed. At one time no less than twenty-four men (twelve and twelve relieving each other) kept polishing day and night; my brother, of course, never leaving them all the while, taking his food without allowing himself time to sit down to table."

Miss Herschel's services to her brother, as well as to science as an independent discoverer, were recognised, when, in 1787, she was appointed assistant to her brother at a salary of £50 per annum.

In the following year, after she had enjoyed the closest companionship and identity with her brother for sixteen years, Mr. Herschel's marriage brought a considerable change in the life of the sister. Her devotion to his interests and pursuits became no less, but the supreme place by his side was gone.

Although Miss Herschel seems to have felt keenly the separation from her brother in domestic life, her zeal in the objects to which he had devoted himself never waned. Having entered upon them from a sense of grateful love, she became passionately attached to the work. Although living apart from him, she continued to the end of his life to be his indefatigable assistant, as well as an independent observer of the heavens. In this character she came into contact from time to time not only with members of the Royal families of England and Germany, but with the leading astronomers of the age, who acknowledged in her an honoured comrade. A celebrated astronomer, referring to one of the many comets she was the first to discover, says in a letter to her: "I am more pleased than you can well conceive that you have made this discovery. You have immortalised your name, and you deserve such a reward from the Being who has ordered all these things to move as we find them, for your assiduity in the business of an astronomer, and for your love for so celebrated and deserving a brother."

As all the world knows, Mr. Herschel (then Sir William) was long recognised as the most celebrated astronomer of the time. And while none rejoiced more in his proud position than his sister, he was ever ready to acknowledge his indebtedness to her, as his companion in his herculean toils. The marvel is that the constant and exhausting strain of many long years did not prematurely wear out the strength and brain of both. They, however, grew old together, and alike lived to a remarkable old age. Sir William, who was twelve years the senior, was the first whose splendid constitution gave way. He died in the year 1822.