‘Languor is not in your heart, Weakness is not in your word,
Weariness not on your brow.’
M. Arnold, ‘Rugby Chapel.’
A true history of the Cheltenham Ladies’ College would not be merely a faithful record of dated events, of building, enlargement, expansion, of the introduction of examinations, of distinctions gained; it must also suggest, if only in outline, the working of the spirit which informed the whole, that by which it grew and became, in spite of its size and the different elements it embraced, homogeneous in itself and full of force.
 
Photo. G. H. Martyn & Sons.
Ladies’ College and Garden 1908.
 
That she was but one worker among many, that she was only part of an ‘order’ which must be temporary, were facts ever before Miss Beale’s eyes. Those who remember their school-days at Cheltenham with love and gratitude think not only of the Principal, but of many others, some of whom passed out of sight before her, some of whom are still faithfully carrying out the ideas she inspired, but whose influence, like her own, left an abiding impression. One spirit, one aim, an equal strenuous effort were what she strove before all things to gain for her fellow-labourers, and did undoubtedly to a marvellous extent produce throughout the College. Though Miss Beale did occasionally make mistakes in her choice of workers, expecting too much, or perhaps taking too much for granted, this was very rarely the[255] case where class-teachers were concerned. These, who had the responsibility of forming character as well as of giving instruction, were always teachers whom she thoroughly knew and trusted, and had generally trained herself. By these, the thought and inspiration of the Head were handed on. But beyond this, all who passed through the College, even if they did not have the opportunity of knowing Miss Beale personally, came in contact with her in one way or another. Even the youngest heard her Scripture lessons; all the pupils in Division I. had their marks read by her, and thus came individually before her. Those who were confirmed while at school were brought into closer touch with her, and many through some incident in their school career, or through peculiar circumstances of home life, learned to know her as a friend. The highest class in College, and the pupils who were hopefully named B.A.’s, saw a good deal of her even to the end. And from first to last in her long headship, it was possible for any child, big or little, in any part of the College, to know the Principal,—by herself taking notice of her. Miss Beale’s fastidious honesty, which led her to dread even the least appearance of stealing hearts away from home, largely held her back from making personal friends among the girls still at College. ‘Yearned to be loved,’ she wrote once in her diary; but consistently brought to her work a special gift of self-sacrifice in never seeking affection for herself personally. She had, moreover, a horror of the unhealthy attachments which are often a source of danger in girls’ schools. In this connection may be read one of her many letters to Miss Clara Arnold:[67]—
‘Yes, you are right, that does point to a fatal error. If we make our children lean on us (broken reeds), they will not stand long. If they make an idol of any human being, when the idol[256] is broken their faith goes too. We must try to bid them fly upwards into the sunlight; they must not tumble about on the ground like those poor birds whose wings are clipped. They must look up, not to us, but with us, to our common Lord. What miserable, weak, sickly creatures many women are, who must always have a Pope. The children should give you respect and esteem, and you can give them sympathy and affection too, and as they are children they may have a helping hand, but make them give up, if possible, sentimental worship. They must not do right for love of you, but because it is right.
‘How fight against this? Well, tell the children some of these things, and talk it over with Miss —— and the other teachers. There must be harmony of action. I speak strongly, because I have seen this spirit eat away the higher life of one large school. I have such a dread of its getting in here.
‘I know there must be a certain amount of hero-worship in the young. They need help from parents and teacher, but we must train them out of dependence. This sort of thing, too, leads to injustice to those who are not worshipped. They are “puffed up for one, against another.” They waste time and strength in day-dreams about their idol. When a little older they are always fancying themselves in love, because they have got used to an excitement of feeling.
‘I feel inclined to say I wish I could help you more; always ask me if you think I can. But I advise you chiefly to make this a subject of prayer. I say daily that Collect for Whitsunday, about a “right judgment in all things.” Then I think I should see where the evil is most apparent, not speak to the whole class but to some few. Very likely, if you try to prevent this wrong worship, you will create an antagonism which will give you much trouble; such affection easily turns to hatred.... This sort of thing does make homes so unhappy because the wife takes “tiffs.” Try earnestly to brace them, my dear child.’
Miss Beale’s own shyness also stood in the way of her personal intimacy with her pupils. She liked to be met more than half-way. She liked the birthday-book brought to her to sign,[68] the rare wild-flower found[257] and gathered for her, the little note of sympathy or inquiry or thanks. A hundred reasons would keep most girls back from taking the simple steps which would have led them early to find a friend in Miss Beale. While they were reverencing in silence and at a distance there would come along some bright thing of quick perception, accustomed to society and to be welcome everywhere, untroubled by self-consciousness, who would approach the throne with no ‘unaccustomed awe,’ but stand, and chat, and smile, and be obviously acceptable to the lonely sovereign. ‘You know, A.,’ she said once to an old girl, ‘it was your freedom from shyness with me that first drew me to you.’ And, as a matter of fact, Miss Beale was really the most accessible of sovereigns. She longed to know all her children, and to help each personally. It was only a girl whose career was very short or wholly uneventful, and led in the lower classes of the school, who could remain wholly unacquainted with her. Even then, it would be found that the ten minutes’ individual talk which the Principal had with each as she left the College finally, impressed itself on the mind of the hearer. Her sympathies were ever most readily drawn out by those likely in after years to exercise influence—in some prominent, possibly Imperial position, or as teachers.
At all times a silent, strong, unconscious impression was produced upon most by Miss Beale’s rare absence from her post, her minute attention to her own share of the work of the College, her obvious self-devotion. ‘I can’t picture the College without her, she always seemed to be everywhere,’ one wrote after her death. Another said, ‘Although she might never speak to you, still the fact that she was not there on any day always made the College feel strange and empty.’
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Her memory for all who had passed through the College was simply extraordinary. A married pupil, visiting Cheltenham after many years’ interval, writes of her amazement at finding that Miss Beale could tell her of every girl she had been with in class, and in many cases by whom she had sat, whom she had liked, and so on. Another, who was for two years at the College, only spoke twice to the Principal during that period, and left without the least idea that Miss Beale could know her as an individual. Two years after leaving the first great sorrow of her life came, in the death of her class-teacher, Miss Aitken. ‘That friendship,’ she writes, ‘had never degenerated into any foolish or selfish attachment. I still count it as one of the strongest motives of my life.’ In the deep grief over her friend’s death came a letter from Miss Beale: ‘Just the fact that she remembered and understood was like a revelation. It was through that that I first realised the possibility of the individual love and care of God.’
Naturally, it was in the earliest days, when the first class was small and Miss Beale taught many subjects herself, that an intimate tie between the head and the pupil was most easily formed. But Miss Beale’s wonderful freshness of mind and heart enabled her to continue not only the old friendships so made, but yearly to make new ones. She had a wonderful way, too, of maintaining friendship. A girl might pass through the school knowing her but a little, but loyalty to College fostered by the Guild meetings would each year bring her into closer touch with the Principal. ‘I hope we may meet again,’ she wrote in 1876 to one who had had a deep love and reverence for her, but not much more than a slight acquaintance with her in College. Twenty years after, when events drew them together again, a close[259] mutual friendship which greatly brightened Miss Beale’s declining years grew out of the seed sown so long before.
Miss Beale herself held that the influence of the Principal on the school should be through the teachers. ‘She can do more with five hundred if she has a staff thoroughly in sympathy with her than if she brought direct personal influence to bear upon a school of a hundred. “If you want a thing done, do not do it yourself,” should be the motto of a ruler for everyday use. Act through others, educate them thereby to independence, and reserve your strength for things that none but a Head can do.’
In teaching, Miss Beale’s definite aim was to inspire. She sought but little to inform, but much to kindle a thirst for knowledge, a love of good and beautiful things, and to awaken thinking power. This she undoubtedly did, though the process was slow; working itself out quietly in the mind and character of those she taught, in nobler views of life, more refined appreciations, improved sense of proportion. When there was a question of preparation for examination, or of the definite knowledge such as was required in mathematical subjects, it was necessary to supplement the lessons of the Principal. Yet her teaching of the exact sciences was hardly less illuminative than of those which make a more direct appeal to the imagination. She would interest the class in a mathematical problem, induce the mind to work, leave it at the end of a lesson impressed and roused, but at the same time not clear about the subject she had been putting before it. Then afterwards the explanation up to which she had been leading would often come like a flash to the puzzling brain.
Naturally the teaching of history was a great opportunity[260] to one who could so clothe her subject with life. In this she was more than merely picturesque and vivid, she would allow her own delighted interest to show itself. Who that heard them could forget her lectures on the reign of George the Third, in which she and her whole class were transported to the old Parliament House, listening, it might be, to the younger Pitt’s maiden speech, or to some stirring debate between him and his rival, hearing the applause, the dissentient murmurs, even a joke under the breath of some listener? She would lead up to a climax with dramatic force. With what astonishment did her audience hear, as if it were a startling piece of political news of their own day, of the Coalition Ministry![69]
The study of history has now become organised and scientific. Miss Beale’s own methods were out of date long before her death; she ceased indeed to teach the subject herself about 1874, but she never lost the enthusiasm with which she first entered upon it. As an example she was always anxious that those who were lecturing on history should adopt the views she considered just about certain personages. Once, when the Tudor period was being studied in the College, she summoned the teachers, as the school hours ended at one o’clock, into a classroom to hear what she believed to be the truth about Cranmer—with a few words making a terrible picture of time-serving and cowardice. On the other hand, she was always anxious that what was great in Elizabeth should be recognised; that every possible excuse should be made for her faults.
But if Miss Beale’s methods of teaching history have been to some extent superseded, it should be remembered[261] that she was among the first to insist on the importance of general history. Though assured of the value of detailed and special knowledge, she was not content to let one period stand alone unlinked with its context. She would not cut off the history of England as a thing by itself, but showed its place in the stream of time, in the lives of the nations. So almost every class was obliged to learn something of outline and general history, and here it was that the Chart and Textbook played so important a part.
Miss Beale’s English literature lessons may, more than any others she gave, be described as sui generis. ‘Miss Beale gives literature lessons of a peculiar kind,’ was the appreciation of a new pupil who had studied the subject before coming to Cheltenham. Her literature lesson, indeed, had many functions. The subject became the vehicle of much teaching that it was not convenient to give in a Bible lesson. She sought to interest her class in books, in reading, in noble thoughts, in fine prose and poetry. But this was by no means all. She sought primarily to give views of life, conduct, and character such as would enable her hearers to go from school into a larger world, already prepared to know what to find. Under the names of friend and friendship much was said which might apply equally to the choice of a husband and to marriage. Knowledge of character, she would often say, is so important for women. Hence she liked, if possible, once a year to read and lecture upon one of Shakspere’s great plays to the first class. Though ever fresh and interesting, and herself as interested as ever in these readings, though the lectures were constantly brightened and enriched by new books and thoughts brought to bear upon them, there was very little variation in the treatment of the main theme. At[262] certain crises in the story, over certain characters, hearers of long standing knew what to expect. Ophelia, to take an instance, was for all the generations of girls who read Hamlet at Cheltenham the woman who failed a man because she could not dare to be true. A matter like this was vital to Miss Beale. Could any class-teacher in the College have represented Ophelia in any other light, the Lady Principal would have spared no pains to point out the error of the treatment, both to her and to those she had misled. Desdemona, again, was always marked as the wife who not unnaturally roused the suspicions of a jealous-minded husband, because he knew that in marrying him she had deceived her father. The misery that may follow a secret wilful marriage was always hinted at when this story was told.
But there were other and less weighty considerations than influence and marriage in these lectures. They supplied opportunity for suggestions on simple affairs such as the choice of books, ways of spending time and money, manners, conversation, and the like. Often questions of the day, politics in a very general sense, and social problems were led up to.
Miss Beale might be unacademic to a fault in these lectures, but she had that power of inspiration which made every poem she prized, every character she admired, live immortally for those who heard her speak of them. The actual reading—specially of poetry—was a delight to both reader and hearers. Miss Beale had a strong dramatic instinct, a keen enjoyment of poetry and the right use of words. She had also a wonderful voice, which she managed well, and though always quiet and restrained in manner carried her audience with her unweariedly. The literature lesson was long, specially in the early days when, owing to[263] short distances and small numbers, no time was occupied by arrangements for prayers. For thirty or forty minutes corrected notes were returned and criticised, then the lecture proper would begin and go on for a full hour. Sometimes the whole time, an hour and a half, was taken up by the lecture. It was certainly very unusual for any one to find it too long.
A further interest in these lectures lay in an effort to make them language lessons. As a matter of fact, though much interested in language herself, Miss Beale did little more than inspire a wish to study it further. Perhaps this was her aim in touching upon it at all. She would often bring to her lesson a table of Grimm’s Law, explain it very rapidly, and appear to expect that it should be as rapidly remembered.
Miss Beale’s literature was by no means confined to Shakspere’s plays. All the greatest and many lesser works in the English tongue were taken in their turn. But she would seldom take the works of any whose thought seemed to her inferior; would have little, for instance, to do with Dryden and Pope. Style in itself had no attraction, and the growth of literary form, unless accompanied by the development of noble thought, was of little interest. No subject, perhaps, was more after her own choice than the poems of Spenser. She would dwell with unfailing delight on the complicated allegories of the Fa?ry Queene, or on the Hymns to ‘Heavenly Love’ and ‘Heavenly Beauty.’ Nor was a school year ever allowed to pass without her introducing the higher classes in the College to some of Browning’s works. How many must have learned to know his greater short poems by hearing her read them.[70]
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But the subject with which the name of Dorothea Beale as a teacher will ever be associated is that of Holy Scripture. For this her greatest force was reserved. This was the soul of her work, as any who listened to her lessons with a hearing ear, or who marked the deep reverence prevailing in her class, could not fail to observe. Trammelled she was in many ways, at first by the narrowness which had almost prevented her coming to Cheltenham; increasingly, as time went on, by the numbers of her hearers who held opposing views on religion or who had no views at all; much always by her own dread of ‘offending’ or of hindering an earnest seeker for truth by a positive assertion. These causes made it inevitable that her teaching should seem to many vague or insufficient, since she could not bear to miss putting herself beside those who were as babes, unable to venture a step into the untried. An old pupil has well described this attitude:—
‘She did not go very much into every sort of detail, but I wonder what use can be made of doctrinal details by people whose general scheme of things is one into which they don’t fit? and that, I suppose, is the trouble of most people who are puzzled by such things at all. Whereas Miss Beale, in anticipation of this difficulty, always seemed to me to set forth a spiritual construction of the universe, into which no spiritual truth learned afterwards could possibly fail to fit, supposing it to be a truth in very deed. I do not see how any teacher can possibly do a greater work; though I do not say for a moment that she did no more.’
Certainly in the weekly lesson to the whole First Division of the school she did a great deal more. Another old pupil may be quoted here:—
‘Speaking for myself, I can say without hesitation that it was from her that I learned the truth of the sacramental life. One thing she said to me, and she repeated it with emphasis at the time of my Confirmation, is as fresh in my mind to-day as the[265] day she said it. Again, I can say for myself, and my reading has been fairly wide, that her influence has been entirely against any weakening of faith. Knowing something at least of her character and intellectual power, it was natural to feel that where she was steadfast one need not be afraid. More than that, her direct teaching by its sympathetic insight into the deepest aspects of life was always, and always will be inspiring. If it is true that there was something vague in her utterances, I believe it was because she had reached a plane of thought where the words which have become the current thought of everyday life are inadequate forms of expression.’
If, in order to seek some erring spirit, Miss Beale did at times seem to neglect others, it must be remembered that in teaching the Bible, more than at any other time, she really took up the humble position of simply bringing her hearers to think and listen for themselves. This was the intention which lay below the reverent behaviour exacted from a Scripture class. By means of this she strove to impress the importance to the hearer of being still, ready, attentive, free from selfish or idle thought. She prepared not only the lesson, but also herself to give it, with a devotion and self-denial which she never allowed to become relaxed by pressing business, age, or infirmity.
Not only was Friday evening strictly kept for the final preparation of the lesson, but the ordinary details of school business attended to before prayers were put aside on the day it was given. No one in the College would have thought on those days of speaking to Miss Beale beforehand except on some urgent matter. Writing to a young teacher in 1880, she said: ‘I used to prepare my lessons on my knees, (don’t say this to others). You would find it a help, I think, to do this sometimes.’
This earnestness and diligence were shared by many of the class-teachers. In a short account of Miss Belcher, which appeared in the College Magazine of 1898, Miss[266] Beale said: ‘Only those who knew her intimately were aware of the long study and extreme pains she took with her Scripture lessons. Every Friday at Cheltenham we used to meet and go over the Saturday lesson together.’
The annual midsummer examination was no mere test of knowledge gained, but, like the weekly notes, a real exercise of thought. In this matter Miss Beale received the full sympathy and co-operation of the Rev. E. Worsley, who for many years examined the upper classes of the College in Scripture.[71]
The subject of Miss Beale’s Scripture lessons was generally a Gospel or an Epistle. Occasionally she would take the book of Genesis, from which she would draw much instruction on Sin, Freewill, Faith. Perhaps her favourite subject was the Gospel of St. John. Remembering the Saturday class, the awe with which she would speak of the Logos, or with passionate devotion follow the sublime teaching of the later chapters of that book, the glowing ardour with which she would heap up fact and proof concerning the Resurrection, occur at once to the memory.
Letters to old pupils who had become teachers in other schools show Miss Beale’s reasons for dwelling on certain points. To Miss Wolseley Lewis, head-mistress of the Graham Street Church High School, she wrote in 1897 concerning 1 Cor. vii.:—
‘Yes—I have taken it. There is no need to insist on every word. In reading one’s Bible some things are not suitable for[267] children, but the teaching of those chapters regarding the sacredness of the body is extremely valuable. Robertson on Corinthians is very helpful.
‘I will see if I can find my notes, they would be useful to you; but you need not be afraid to take it, you will like it.’
And again in January 1898 on the same subject:—
‘I have looked in vain for my notes on Corinthians. I think Robertson will give you much useful help in working out the more difficult chapters. It is very important with elder girls not to leave out the teaching which comes naturally out of the Epistle, on the sacredness of marriage, and the responsibility of choice,—on the certain promises that if we ask guidance it will be given. The example of Abraham in choosing a wife for his son may be cited,—the necessity of waiting for guidance,—praying for light until it comes, when we are called on to decide the most important question of our whole lives. One may insist on the duty of being so equipped that we can earn our own living, and not be tempted into the disgrace of a mercenary marriage. One may just touch upon the detestable teaching of some modern works, that our affections and acts are beyond our control. I feel sure you will find you can do much to help girls thus.’
To Miss Arnold at Truro she wrote:—
‘As regards Acts: I should say not; because one is so much drawn aside to history and geography; but one may work in Epistles, etc., if there is an examination required. I made up my mind I would not take it again.’
And again, in 1891, on the use of Scripture teaching:—
‘I think what we should do is to make it come home to the children in their daily life as a clergyman hardly can. We know their faults and temptations. I often take the baptismal vow. I really can’t find time to write much, and it is so impossible to suggest much. I am sure you will find things easier when you begin.’
The immense detail of the teaching, following as it did the innumerable suggestions that one text might give, was sometimes confusing to a new class. A term’s lessons might be occupied with a few verses only. Then[268] there is no doubt that Miss Beale’s large way of thinking and comprehensive form of expression was difficult to follow. This did not lessen with age. New pupils, particularly of late years, were often filled with despair at the prospect of having to write out the lessons. Many felt the Sunday work it involved to be a strain. This was less the case at first, when perhaps intellectual interests had more undisputed sway. The life in College, as in other spheres, has become more full and offers fewer spaces for uninterrupted thought. Sometimes a whisper that her Scripture lessons were too difficult reached the Lady Principal. It grieved her, but she never quite believed it. She wrote of it to Miss Arnold:—
‘I like you to tell me what is said, but then I do not like to know more.... There are others much older to whom I address myself, and I see they do enter more and more as the year goes on, and I am teaching more now for the future. I do think I fortify some more for the trials of their future life than I did when you were here. Those who cannot follow, ought to be put into a class where the teaching is less difficult. They do not say this, I hope, about my Monday lessons, only the Saturday....’
The patient correction and explanation of the pupils’ essays on the lessons was not the least part of the Scripture work. How full, elaborate, and diligent this correction was will not readily be understood by any who do not know the Cheltenham system. But though Miss Beale wrote a great deal in the girls’ books, her corrections were often framed on the Socratic method so much prized by her. To take an example. A vague use of the word infinitely has written against it, ‘Do you mean from eternity?’ ‘The universe,’ writes one pupil lightly, to have the word underlined and with ‘Meaning’ written above it. And she had a wonderful eye for thought[269] and effort. No writer, however poor, whose work showed signs of these was discouraged. One writes of this:—
‘I have one of my old Scripture books, and on looking it over, for the first time for many years, I am most struck by her power of seeing good in the very crude attempts of a girl of sixteen. It seems to me marvellous that she, with her great intellect, could have put herself on our level, so as to see when we had thought, and to encourage us with the “s” and “g” that we valued so highly. I am afraid I used to look out more for the “g’s” than for the comments and corrections that showed how much pains she took herself with each attempt of ours.’
A good deal of enthusiastic drudgery was needed for the corrector of twenty or thirty Scripture books every week. Even Miss Beale found it hard at times, and would write:—
‘Much idle time again. At 10 p.m. Thursday not touched a correction. Thus unfaithful while I am so much helped.’
And:—
‘Tired, but terribly negligent. Put off books in a really unpardonable way, and felt irritable at work.’
In dealing with individual character, faults, and weakness Miss Beale showed no common tact, and often surpassing astuteness. To begin with, she was herself so well disciplined, so well attuned to the highest thought of work for others, that probably she did not even feel irritated by the errors and mistakes of her children. Certainly she never showed annoyance. It is impossible even to think of her being satirical or sarcastic either in teaching or in dealing with faults of manner or character. She would have considered it unpardonable in an under-teacher to be so, almost as reprehensible as to treat or speak of a child as stupid. She had indeed a special love for ‘ugly ducklings,’ in whom she would frequently perceive and draw out a latent swanhood.
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Some things—such as what she termed the ‘petty larceny of her time’ by those who prolonged an interview by aimless small talk—did irritate her; but she would no more have been annoyed by the shortcomings of a child than a doctor would be at the illness of a patient. Though able to adapt herself spontaneously to individual characteristics, she had certain distinct lines along which she worked. Dealing with ordinary childish faults she would make no appeal on high religious grounds, used no set or stock phrases. Always, in big and............