CHAPTER VI

THE HOPE SCHOLARSHIP

The month of August brought some rest and refreshment, though S. J.-B. remained in Edinburgh to “coach” for the Matriculation Examination. Mrs. Burn Murdoch put her spacious and comfortable house for a little time at the solitary student’s disposal, and, to S. J.-B.’s great joy, Miss Du Pre came to visit her.

There were delightful excursions up the Forth, through the Trossachs, and even farther afield, and S. J.-B. spent what is now known as a week- end, at his country-place, with Mr. Findlay of the _Scotsman_, and his wife. One realizes by many little indications how her views on the whole question of women were becoming explicit. In the course of her visit, her host showed her letters he had received from a clever American woman—a journalist of sorts, apparently—in the course of which she asked him to “help the little woman,” “the wee bit thing.” “When _will_ women learn,” says S. J.-B., “if they claim to stand on common ground at all, to ‘stand upright,’ to ask _only_ ‘fair field and no favour’!”

On October 10th she moved into No. 15 Buccleuch Place, “the house nice, airy, wholesome, roomy,—rent, taxes and all probably £45,” and, on the following day Miss Pechey lunched with her. A week later S. J.-B. sums the new comrade up:

“I think her strong, ready-handed, with ‘faculty,’ great ability, resolution, judgment; great calmness and quiet of manner and action, and probably strength of feeling; good taste, good manner; very pleasant face; rather good feet and hands; considerable sense of humour; lots of energy and interest in things,—witness dissecting the slugs, keeping caterpillars, etc. In fine, as good an ally and companion as could well be had.”

She had occasion to add considerably to this estimate as life went on, but in no wise to subtract from it.

Meanwhile Mrs. Evans had resolved to throw in her lot with the little band, and S. J.-B. was coaching her in Arithmetic. Miss Chaplin (afterwards the wife of Professor Ayrton) had also joined their ranks, and it was a gallant and creditable little phalanx that made its way up to the University on October 19th to undergo the Matriculation Examination.

Of course they all passed, and passed far above the average, though there was one “narrow squeak” in Arithmetic. They were all cultivated women, all on their mettle, and the result was scarcely more than might reasonably have been anticipated. “We believe,—” as a local paper had occasion to say, after a similar result some ten months later,

“We believe that these results prove, not that women’s capacities are better than those of men,—a thing that few people would assert,—but that these women who are devoting themselves to obtain, in spite of all difficulties, a thorough knowledge of their profession, are far more thoroughly in earnest than most of the men are, and that their ultimate success is certain in proportion. Nor would we omit the inference that, this being so, those who wantonly throw obstacles in the way of this gallant little band, incur a proportionately heavy responsibility, as wanting not only in the spirit of chivalry, but even in the love of fair play, which we should be sorry to think wanting in any Briton.”[56]

Footnote 56:

_Daily Review_, Aug. 5, 1870.

It was natural, however, that friends and well-wishers should be not a little elated. Here is one of many delightful letters:

“Oct. 22, 1869.

MY DEAR MISS JEX-BLAKE,

This is just one word of warmest congratulation from us both to you and the other ladies. We are rejoicing more than I can tell you over the results of the examination. I have been a prisoner today with a severe cold, or I should have been unable to rest until I had shaken hands with you. Shall you be at home any time tomorrow after one o’clock? If so, I shall like to come and see you and Miss Pechey.

Do send me a line to tell me if you are as happy as I fancy you.

Yours faithfully, E. ROSALINE MASSON.

Mr. Masson was very much gratified by the papers of the ladies. They fully justified his highest hopes.”

From diary:

“Tuesday, Nov. 2nd. ‘The deed—of life—was done!’—This morning, 11.30 a.m., I, S. L. J.-B., first of all women, matriculated as ‘Civis Academiae Edinensis!’—Tonight for the first time 5 women are undergraduates!—Hurrah!

‘With exactness grinds He all.’”

“I do indeed congratulate you undergraduates with all my heart,” wrote Dr. Elizabeth Blackwell, who had now settled in London. “It seems to me the grandest success that women have yet achieved in England; it is the great broad principle established that conducts to every noble progress.

I feel as if I _must_ come up to Edinburgh in the course of the winter, to see and bless the class! Perhaps towards the close of the term would be best,—advise me.”

So began a winter’s work that for most, if not all, of the women students, was an experience of extraordinary interest and happiness. S. J.-B. and Edith Pechey had settled together in Buccleuch Place, and the house was a _rendezvous_ for a choice little circle. It would be difficult to say which of the two proved the greater attraction to their friends. Miss Pechey was younger, more adaptable, less obviously alarming, though possibly more critical really, in proportion as she had seen less of life. The reader is already aware that S. J.-B., though a most interesting person to live with, was not by any means always an easy person to live with, particularly when she was overworked and overstrained. For her friends as well as herself it was sometimes a question—in her own significant words—of, “Ware crash!” Moreover, although she often gave to others the advice,—“Glissez, mortels: n’appuyez pas!”, she not infrequently failed to act on it herself: she still, as when a child, staked her happiness too readily on matters that might better have been regarded as trifles: and this is a characteristic that becomes a more serious factor in domestic and social life as the years go on. On the other hand, when she really “let herself go” in her most intimate circle, there was no one like her. The diary and the letters give scarcely an indication of the sense of humour and fun that were so ready to bubble over into real whole-hearted laughter. The eyes so familiar with sorrow could still sparkle with merriment like a child’s, and, when anything struck her as irresistibly preposterous or comical, she had a way of “tossing them up to the ceiling and catching them again” that was a joy to behold. Increasingly as life went on, she was a touchstone on which to test the things that might be said, the stories that might be told. She could enjoy a joke that would have shocked many women of her generation; but, as her Mother had said long before, “anything impure ran off her mind like quicksilver,” and she was a past master in the art of calling home a conversation that was lingering too long in permissible bye-ways.

More than this,—even at the time of which we are writing, she was one of those with whom people know instinctively that it is safe to speak, not only of the great things of life, but of the disgraceful things, or the small disconcerting things that want to be looked at in an atmosphere of greatness. She was a Mother Confessor to many. “Now straight into the fire!” she says in her diary of certain letters she had received; and the smoke of that sacrifice meant something, for—born chronicler as she was—it was pain and grief to her to destroy a letter at any time.

She was particularly happy that winter term. On the last night of the year she writes in her diary:

“11.30 p.m. The long tangle of accounts unravelled at last!—‘after long travail, good repose!’

In more senses than one.

Nine years since that look from the window,—‘And may the New Year cherish.’

Since then I suppose no such (visibly) important year in my life. One very dear friend won,—one strong ally,—Edinburgh opened!—What if one _is_ a little tired? ‘After long travail good repose!’

I see that a year ago I thought there were no hopes ‘now bright,’—and ‘an hour of joy I knew not was winging its silent flight.’ Indeed the next six months did cut out their own work.

The year has been glorious in many ways.

The chief point of pain....”

The chief point of pain was the fear that she was fickle,—that the new interests and friendships were making her disloyal to the strange unearthly friendship for Octavia Hill. Whether this would have been blameworthy is a question that it is unnecessary to discuss, as the contingency never arose. The flame may have flickered and sunk low, but it continued to burn for another forty years. Then “after long travail good repose.”

And in any case she was very happy that winter term. Strangely enough,[57] her family were thoroughly sympathetic with her aims. Discussing the volume of Essays to which she had contributed, her brother wrote:

“Miss Cobbe was very vigorous and suggestive: might have been longer. So might yours without any risk of the interest flagging; and more details of fact would (I think) have driven the nail deeper in the Philistine’s understanding.... I should say that Mrs. Butler’s and yours will hit the public hardest; most dissimilar as they are.... On the main question, for you personally, I am very glad that you are on the medical rails. They are real and solid and really lead somewhere. There is more specialty about them than in the somewhat vague educational line. They belong to an old strong well-paid profession. They tend to the alleviation of intense human misery; and that for a large class of delicate cases women when properly trained are the right physicians I have felt for years and feel increasingly. Stick to them head and hands and feet. Don’t be drawn aside into tempting but irrelevant bye-ways. You will be very useful and very happy in your work: and to have helped to bring about the result that for the years to come girls shall not be without the pale of professional and University education,—shall not waste their best years in chafing at want of elbow room at home—will be a great and additional satisfaction. Nothing succeeds like success, and what you have got to do is to prove that a Lady Physician can be trustworthy and a success. Do nothing but your work, and you will do your work well. Of course get hold of the widest and deepest Professional education within reach.

Your aff. brother, T. W. J.-B.”

Footnote 57:

“Strangely” when compared with the families of her contemporaries. “When I told Mamma I had got my certificate,” said a former fellow- student, “she said ‘Have you?’ When I told Uncle, he said ‘What good is it?’ When I told Emily, she said, ‘I am very glad to hear it, but I am very much surprised.’”

This last point, on which the writer touches so lightly, was precisely the rub.

“Everything is just as we would have it,” wrote S. J.-B. at this time to Dr. Sewall, “but that Professors are not _compelled_ to lecture to us. We have already arranged for two courses for this winter,—5 lectures a week each,—Physiology and Chemistry; and we are now arranging for Anatomy, both in lectures and dissecting.

As we have to make entirely separate arrangements, the Anatomy will be very expensive,—about £100 probably for us five,—and of this I shall pay about one-third, as two of the students are not at all rich.

Still it is worth any money to get the thing done, and I am only thankful that I _can_ spend the money. Of course I borrow it from my Mother.[58] My fees for this year will be about £55 or £60,—about $400,—for the 6 months.

I have made up my mind to spend if needful £1000 on this business. I feel sure that one does more good in thus concentrating one’s energies and one’s funds to get one thing done thoroughly, than in frittering away lots of small sums in charity,—Don’t you think so? It _is_ a grand thing to enter the very first British University ever opened to women, isn’t it?

My darling, you _must_ come and see us this summer, for, as I tell the other students here, the whole thing is due to _you_ primarily;—when they say that they feel grateful to me for having worked for this, I say, ‘Thank Dr. Sewall,—she made me care for Medicine, and resolve that a _thorough_ education should be open to Englishwomen.’ So I told Dr. Blackwell too when she said something pretty to me. She is _very_ pleased about Edinburgh.

Well, dear child, I have settled down now for the winter in my little new house. It amuses me to hear of your expenses in furnishing. The _whole_ I have spent is under £35,—about $200,—and yet we are very comfortable!

Miss Pechey is very nice and very clever,—you will like her very much, and she is excellent company....

Our classes begin on Nov. 3rd. I am _very_ busy till then.

Your very aff. S. L. J.-B.”

Footnote 58:

Money borrowed from Mrs. Jex-Blake was refunded as strictly as if it had been borrowed from a banker.

Busy indeed she was with the great task of finding lecturers. The University of Edinburgh still stood foursquare, and the Professors sat in their comfortable chairs, lecturing to enormous classes of male students. Looking at the question as a sheer matter of business, one asks what inducement had these men to lecture to a handful of women students? S. J.-B., Mrs. Thorne and the others might struggle and pinch to raise the fees of a dozen or more, but what was that to men of assured wealth and position?—men who looked upon a Scots professorship as the topmost rung on the ladder of comfortable success,—men to whom leisure and peace seemed almost a matter of right, an essential part of the prize they had drawn in the lottery of life? Why should they double their work for the sake of this paltry pittance? It was not to be expected that they should have a great enthusiasm for the cause. How could they? They might, it is true, have been possessed of a high sense of the trust conferred on them by their position: but is such a sense in any sphere of life the possession of more than the choicest few?

As regarded the class in Chemistry, everything had gone with delightful smoothness. On July 10th, S. J.-B. had written in her diary, “Dr. Crum Brown agrees,—not a word of demur as to fees,—good fellow,” and a few days later she had received a letter from Dresden in which he said:

“I am convinced that the experiment must be made, and do not wish to place any unnecessary obstacles in the way. I therefore cordially agree to your proposal, on the understanding that the consent of the University Court is obtained, and that the course be conducted in the Chemical Class-room of the University, and be in all respects the same as the ordinary course of Chemistry.”

So far as the work was concerned, one is glad to think that his generosity met with its reward. All the teacher in him must have rejoiced in the mettle of the new students. Miss Pechey, in particular, simply fell upon Chemistry and proceeded to make it her own. In the house of which the furnishing had cost £35, she and S. J.-B. rigged up some kind of laboratory, and carried on experiments with a keenness that to the stern advocate of “limited liability” might well have endangered their success in class examinations.

When the winter session came to an end in March, however, it was found that Miss Pechey stood third in the entire list, and was really first of the first-year students,—two of the men having attended the class before. There would have been nothing calamitous in this state of affairs, had it not chanced that there were certain small scholarships involved. A previous Professor of Chemistry in the University—Dr. Hope— had made the experiment of delivering a course of lectures to ladies, and had devoted the proceeds—amounting to about £1000—to the founding of four Hope Scholarships, which entitled the winners to the free use of the College Laboratory. What this privilege would have meant to a born student like Miss Pechey one can easily imagine, but, as mixed classes were forbidden, there might have been a difficulty—scarcely insurmountable—about her making full use of it.

Hitherto, as we have seen, the Professor had treated the women generously. We know that he bore them no grudge; and it is absurd to suppose that he had any wish to be unjust to an engaging, deft-handed girl, with a calm strong face, and a brain which he must have already seen to be far above the average in either sex,—a girl, moreover, who was frankly appreciative of her good fortune in having so able a man as her teacher.

One can only conjecture the motives and the advice that must have influenced him in the decision to withhold even the name of Hope Scholar from this woman, and to give it to the man who stood beneath her on the list. In explaining his position, the Professor said that, having studied at a different hour, she was not a member of the Chemistry Class; but at the same time he awarded to her the official bronze medal of the University, to which she could only lay claim as a member of that class; and, in the published list of honours, he put her name and those of the other women in the place to which their marks entitled them.

It was a clumsy though well-meaning compromise, and only led to greater difficulties farther on. Having said that the women were not members of the Chemistry Class, how could he give them certificates of attendance on that class? It was obviously impossible, so he offered them written certificates of having attended “a ladies’ class in the University,”— certificates absolutely worthless from the point of view of professional examination. One is reminded of the strawberry jam labels which Mark Twain offered to the conductor of a continental railway when his ticket was worn out; but, unfortunately, the Registrar of a great University is not to be appeased with strawberry jam labels.

In truth the Professor had done the cause an incalculable service. A howl of indignation went up over the whole country. The _Times_, the _Spectator_,—a faithful supporter from the first,—even the _British Medical Journal_, were genuinely roused. The Universities and the Profession had been governed by a spirit of Conservatism, of Trades- unionism, of which this was but a mild example; but now at last that spirit had become explicit: here was the priceless desideratum of the tangible grievance: and it was just like life—just the irony of fate— that the man who provoked the outburst, the man who had to suffer, was not one of the bitter opponents: he was, in his own way, the friend and helper of the struggling cause. He had taught the women Chemistry, and he had taught them well; and that was the main thing, even though a bronze medal, and a few “strawberry jam labels” were—for five people in deadly earnest—to be the only outward and visible signs of six months’ hard work.

The matter was referred to the Senatus, who decided by a majority of one that Miss Pechey was not entitled to the Hope Scholarship, and (on the motion of Professor P. G. Tait) also by a majority of one, that the women should have the ordinary class certificates. So the women grasped the substance, if they did lose the shadow.

“I agree with you that the one vote stultifies the other,” wrote Professor Masson, “and I think people are seeing this. At the time I made up my mind that the first vote must carry the other unfavourably with it; but it was not for me to keep the Senatus consistent, and, when Tait announced his view, I grasped at the unexpected accident and seconded his motion.”

But the outcry was not stilled. In those days the general public knew little of the difference between one certificate and another; but they had some idea of what was meant by the losing of a scholarship, and Miss Pechey became the recipient of an amount of condolence that was positively embarrassing when compared with the extent of the injury inflicted. The skilled appreciation of the situation, however, was delightful. This was the tribute of the _British Medical Journal_:

“Whatever may be our views regarding the desirability of ladies studying medicine, the University of Edinburgh professed to open its gates to them on equal terms with the other students; and, unless some better excuse be forthcoming in explanation of the decision of the Senatus, we cannot help thinking that the University has done no less an injustice to itself than to one of its most distinguished students.”[59]

One can imagine the effect of criticism such as this on some of the professors. Here was a tiresome muddle from which it was difficult to see a dignified exit. What wonder if many took the cheap and obvious course of exclaiming, “The _woman_ that Thou gavest me!—she is at the bottom of it all?” So far as the explanation went, it was perfectly true: and of course only a few of the pundits saw today with the eyes of tomorrow; only a few realized that the difficulty that was worrying them was a part of a world-wide upheaval involving the whole human race.

Of course there were those who, without taking any extreme view, were admirably sane and dignified. Instance the following letter from Professor Fleeming Jenkin:

“April 5th, 1870.

DEAR MADAM,

I regret that I shall be unavoidably absent on Saturday next, or, as far as might have been possible, I should have supported Miss Pechey’s claims.

I regret my absence the less, however, as it seems to me that the legal question of a particular reward is of far less consequence than the fact of the position which you and Miss Pechey have taken in the class.

Accept my very hearty congratulations and

Believe me, Yours truly, FLEEMING JENKIN.

Miss Jex-Blake.”

Footnote 59:

_Brit. Med. Journal_, April 16th, 1870.

There was a question of referring the matter to the University Court, but one is glad to think that wiser counsels prevailed. Miss Pechey had gone to her home in the country, and was listening to the nightingales.

“Thank you for Masson’s letter,” she writes to S. J.-B. “He is a grand fellow. Wilson has sent me the minutes of the Senatus meeting about the scholarship. I suppose I ought to write to him. I wish you were here to tell me what to do.

You understand that I leave you to do as is thought best about the scholarship,—only remember that my own judgment—apart from personal feeling—is against appealing, and that I do not wish to do so unless our friends are very decisively of opinion that we ought to.”

Well might Miss Pechey say, “He is a grand fellow.” Professor Masson had taken up the cause of the woman as wholeheartedly as if it had been a matter of vital import to himself. At the next meeting of the General Council of the University, he moved (seconded by Professor Balfour) that, instead of having separate instruction, women should be admitted to the ordinary classes of the University. The original draft of the motion was as follows:

“That, as the present arrangements for the medical instruction of women in the University impose great and unnecessary inconveniences on the women who are students, and also on Professors, and may, if continued, even nullify the resolution of the University admitting women to the study of medicine [and as it will not be to the credit of the University that it should pretend to do a thing and not do it],[60] the General Council recommend to the University Court that women desiring to study medicine be admitted to the medical classes as other students are, and on the same terms, except in cases where the Court may see special reasons why the instruction should be separate.”

“The motion is longish,” he says, “but I thought it well to have something which, when printed, would explain itself and attract attention of members of Council.... I am the more convinced that we do right in moving the General Council as above, even if we should lose, because I distinctly perceive a relapse on the part of those who had merely acquiesced, and a kind of exulting feeling on the part of others that the experience of the session may be pleaded in proof that the University perpetrated a troublous blunder when it admitted Eve’s sex at all. This state of feeling will be but temporary; but it is time that the opposed forces should meet in full conflict on the mixed-classes question.”

Footnote 60:

The words in brackets were omitted from the resolution, but introduced in the speech supporting it.

“Full conflict,” indeed, it proved. The opponents brought forward arguments that called forth an indignant interruption from the Professor of Moral Philosophy (Dr. Calderwood); and the _Times_, while disapproving of mixed classes, stated in a leading article:

“We cannot sufficiently express the indignation with which we read such language, and we must say that it is the strongest argument against the admission of young ladies to the Edinburgh medical classes, that they would attend the lectures of Professors capable of talking in this strain.”[61]

The motion was lost by 47 votes to 58.

“No speaking on our side could have changed the vote,” wrote Professor Masson, “those present were all predetermined. Crum Brown did well, and administered a proper reproof to L. Struthers was present and voted with us; so did Nicolson (who was quite in earnest when the time came), and Dr. Craufurd, who avows himself a convert. On the other hand, Wilson, Bennett, Charteris and Tait, of our side, were absent, reducing our number somewhat. People today are consoling me—for I was really downcast—by saying the result was a success in its kind, and an omen of final success when the thing comes up again, as it must. All very well; but how shall I console _you_? What are _you_ to do this year? The only thing I disliked in Crum Brown’s speech was his opening statement that he thought the motion perhaps premature, the time not having elapsed for the experiment of the other method. Premature! This in face of his own refusal to continue, and in face of his subsequent declaration that the existing method is impracticable! Still he said and did well. What shall I say but that my heart is sore for your immediate discomfiture? Time—a year or two—will rectify the thing generally, here and elsewhere; but how you are to get on with us is the question. Christison, who draws Turner, Lister, and Sanders (L. is nothing) with him, seems determined to get rid of you, and trusts to effecting this by mere continuance of the present arrangement. Whether you can wriggle on with us by any ingenuity in the hope of beating him is for your consideration. Would it might be so!

Ever yours truly, DAVID MASSON.”

Footnote 61:

The _Times_, April 25th, 1870.

The view that the result of the motion was a success in its kind proved to be a general one, and the matter was discussed at great length by newspapers, lay, medical and religious.

“There is no possible reason,” said the _Guardian_,[62] “why a very large proportion of instruction may not be given with perfect propriety to men and women together; but there are clearly some parts in a medical course which cannot be so treated, and there ought to be no difficulty whatever in making arrangements for these. To provide separate lectures for a few special occasions is a very different thing, both in the matter of convenience and expense, from insisting on having two distinct and separate courses throughout in every department.... Professor Masson’s motion was defeated, but by a majority so small—eleven in a meeting of a hundred and five—that its success at some future time seems certain. Let the ladies only add to the exercise of one quality, with which the world credits them, that of patience, another, which is supposed to be a less common attribute of their sex, perseverance, and they will assuredly gain their point.”

“The female students almost deserve this rebuff,” said the _Spectator_,[63] “for making the concessions they have done to English prudery, concessions not made either in France, Austria, or the United States. The only safe ground for them to stand on is that science is of no sex, and cannot be indelicate unless made so of _malice prepense_, and that by the very conditions of the profession the modesty of ignorance must be replaced by the modesty of pure intent.”

Footnote 62:

April 27th, 1870.

Footnote 63:

April 23rd, 1870.

It is not to be supposed that the women students were fortified by a unanimous chorus of journalistic support: far from it: some six or seven months later the _Spectator_ strove to understand “the bitter and, so far as we know, the unprecedented malignity with which women who aspire to be Doctors are pursued by the literary class.”

One does not wish to dwell on this. It was simply bound to be. As Sir James Stansfeld said seven years later in reviewing the whole movement:

“It is one of the lessons of human progress that when the time for a reform has come you cannot resist it, though, if you make the attempt, what you may do is to widen its character or precipitate its advent. Opponents, when the time has come, are not merely dragged at the chariot wheels of progress—they help to turn them. The strongest force, whichever way it seem to work, does most to aid.”

It is the more pleasing, however, to record the sane and wholesome view taken from the first by the leading responsible papers, including _Punch_.

“I am very vexed about the General Council,” wrote Miss Pechey from her home; “but it’s no use worrying,—at least so the nightingale tells me. She sang two hours at my bedroom window last night, and said all sorts of pretty things. I wish I could bring her to Edinburgh with me, but she wouldn’t like it; besides they are a very old family, and have lived in the place from the time of the Britons, so she wouldn’t like to move.

Papa did not write to the _Scotsman_. I knew he wouldn’t unless someone told him what to say; and I believe, if the truth were told, he still has some lurking prejudice against mixed classes. He isn’t a bit scientific, never notices the butterflies and beetles in a walk unless I point them out to him, and there are lovely ones now, peacocks and brimstones and tortoiseshells.”

It is clear that just then Miss Pechey was having a very good time. She was the woman of the moment, a lion abroad as well as in her country home, and she had the courage and the sense to enjoy the position quietly and without making a fuss. Moreover both she and S.J.-B. were human enough to appreciate the situation all the more because, from the ordinary point of view, the heroine was a truly pretty girl, as disarming as heroine well could be.