A Lady of England 34

A Lady of England 34

Nor need it be supposed that Charlotte Tucker was a being all light, with

no shadows. She was thoroughly human. There were shadows of course,--what

else could one expect?--and she had many and many a hard fight, not in

girlhood only, but all through life, to overcome her faults.

 

Again, it is not claimed for Charlotte that everybody who crossed her

path loved her. We do read in certain little books, of a particular

calibre, about angelic heroines who were invariably worshipped by

everybody in their small world, without a single exception. This,

however, is, to say the least, uncommon; and with one of Charlotte

Tucker’s strong personality it would be all but impossible. A very wide

circle did most heartily esteem and admire her, did most dearly love

her. But of course there were exceptions. In the course of her life some

few with whom she was thrown failed ever to come within the grasp of her

affectionate influence. But this was only natural. Everybody is not made

to exactly suit everybody else.

 

Among some of her most marked features were an intense vigour and energy,

an extraordinary force and vitality, together with great eagerness in

whatever she undertook, and a burning desire to be useful in her age and

generation. She was very resolute; very persevering; very affectionate;

reserved, yet demonstrative; untidy, yet methodical; exceedingly anxious

for the happiness of all around; apt often to think people better than

they really were; generous to a fault; unselfishly ready at all times to

put her own wishes aside; vehement and impulsive, yet never in a hurry or

flurry; unyielding, yet tender; severe, yet frisky.

 

Of course there were other natural characteristics of a different kind;

weaknesses not wholly mastered; faults not entirely conquered. She was

not perfect,--who is? The strength of determination would occasionally

run into obstinacy; the resolute manner could be a trifle dictatorial;

the very wish to help and please others might be carried out in a way

which did not gratify. With all her exceeding kindness, hers could

hardly be described as the true sympathetic temperament. Opinions here

vary a good deal among the friends that knew her best; but those who at

different periods of her life lived for any length of time under the same

roof, will be able to recall certain instances of an absence of tact, a

lack of quick understanding of the feelings of others, which certainly

never arose from want of a desire to understand. She had any amount of

heart, of pity, of thought, to bestow; but while feeling fully _for_

others, she could not readily so place herself in the position of others

as to feel entirely _with_ them, to see matters from their standpoint and

not from her own. The highest form of sympathy is a rare and subtle gift;

and it can scarcely be said that Charlotte possessed this gift. Still, if

any one did bring a burden or a trouble to her, she would spare no pains

to help and to comfort to the utmost of her power.

 

One direction in which she showed through life a marked deficiency was

in the housekeeping line. Both early and late she had always an intense

dislike and dread of housekeeping. Whatever else she undertook, that

was if possible a thing to be avoided; and it seems to have been an

understood matter between her friends and herself that anybody rather

than Charlotte Tucker might be housekeeper. Probably she had an innate

sense of want of power, an innate consciousness that she could not do the

task efficiently. If compelled to attempt it as a duty, she would not

refuse; but she never took to the occupation, or overcame her dislike.

 

Moreover, the gift of nursing was not hers. Although in a threatening

case of scarlet fever she could be the first to offer herself as nurse,

with entire unconcern about the infection; although she shared with

others the watch beside Fanny’s dying bed, and later on the watch beside

Mr. Hamilton’s; yet she repeatedly speaks of herself as no nurse, and

alludes to her own want of experience. Experience no doubt she might

have had, before the age of fifty, had her natural bent lain at all in

the direction of nursing; but the necessary gifts were not hers. She had

not the reposeful air, the placid voice and manner, above all, the ready

tact, which for good nursing are essential. Self-indulgence, laziness,

cowardliness were unknown factors in her existence, and could never have

held her back; but here too there was probably an innate sense of lack

of power; and here too she never through life took to the occupation,

‘as to the manner born.’ It is noticeable also that, frequently as she

would offer her services in times of illness, these offers were seldom

accepted. Others doubtless knew as well as she knew it herself that

nursing was not in her line.

 

Somewhat late in life, when a friend, after hours of hard study, was

endeavouring to rest, with a severe headache, Charlotte would bring

her guitar, sit near, and sing and play to the sufferer. A gentle

protestation was of no avail; for so sure was she of her remedy, that

she only supposed her friend to shrink from giving her trouble, and the

music went on unchecked. This--which happened repeatedly--was done with

the kindest and most loving intentions. Charlotte was devotedly fond

of music, and she did not herself suffer from headaches. But it is an

instance of the want of tact occasionally shown in small matters. The

_will_ to do good and to help others was abundantly present; only she did

not always find the right mode.

 

It must not be forgotten, however, that, whatever her natural

disqualifications for the part of a nurse might have been, she did in

her old age so far overcome them as often to take a share in tending the

‘brown boys’ of the Batala High School when ill, in a manner which won

their loving gratitude, although she did not prove successful as a nurse

to English invalids.

 

One who knew her intimately has written the following short sketch, which

is well worth quoting _verbatim_:--

 

‘I think one marked point, physical and mental, in her, was

her tireless energy. Her very walk was indicative of this; the

elastic springiness of every step. Also of another point in her

character, stern determination,--the resolute folding in of

her arms and hands, as she paced along a road or up and down

a garden,--drawing herself up to her full height the while,

with sparkling eye and compressed lips. She was teeming with

life and energy;--whether it were over her favourite chess,

when she would wait patiently but eagerly, thinking out each

move; or enjoying the small-talk of society, watching faces and

reading characters, to treasure them up for painting in one of

her forthcoming volumes; or teaching a niece the beauties of

sound and thought in the Italian of Dante; or playing at some

game of thought with young people; or reading aloud one of her

two favourite dearly-loved and untiringly-studied authors,

Shakespeare and Boswell’s _Life of Johnson_. She was very

sociable, lively, and threw her whole heart into the kindly

entertaining of guests of all ages. Her eldest brother used to

be very much struck with the unselfish way in which she bore

any interruptions and calls upon her time. Even in the midst of

her literary work, she would at once rise, leave it, and give

her whole attention to any subject an incomer might wish to

speak to her about.

 

‘Clever and stern, she was not one to be trifled with. Purpose

seemed woven into all her liveliness; and she tried to keep

others up to her level.’

 

Another writes, in reference to the time when A. L. O. E. was living at

Birch Hall, Windlesham, with her brother and his family, in 1870:--

 

‘I had just arrived on a visit, and she came into the

drawing-room, kissed me, and said, “I am Aunt Charlotte.” She

was not good-looking, but was always full of life. Her ready

wit and charming conversational powers made her a welcome guest

everywhere, and made many a dinner-party at her brother’s house

go off well.... She was always thinking of others, and seemed to

count time spent on herself wasted.

 

‘I well remember a time when I longed to see Windsor and the

Queen; and Aunt Charlotte immediately said she was longing for

the same thing, and gladly undertook to pioneer an expedition.

I was far from strong, but could not wait for lunch in my

anxiety to have a good place at the railway station, to see

Her Majesty arrive. Having seen me and my young cousin safely

placed, Aunt C. disappeared, and after a while made her way

through the crowd, laden with cakes for us all, finally

producing a glass of claret for me from under her cloak, which

I was obliged to take then and there. Her enthusiastic loyalty

made her enjoy the sight, no novel one to her, of our dear

Queen, as much as any of us.

 

‘Our evenings owed much of their brightness to her presence.

She could sing,--sometimes lively little songs, accompanying

herself with the guitar. Her ear for music was so correct, that

on one occasion she came downstairs from her room, to tell me I

had played a wrong note in a chord of Beethoven, and the exact

note I should have played.

 

‘Sometimes she thought of games for us. One was called

“Statues.” We each had to pose as a statue, suggestive of

some subject, such as Melancholy, Joy, Fear, etc. Whilst she,

personating a visitor to the sculpture studio, would try to

upset our gravity by her amusing remarks on the statues....

She also invented a geography game for us, providing us

with skeleton maps, and small round counters, on which the

names of towns were printed. As these were drawn and the name

called out, we had to claim them and give them their places on

the map. Whoever had a map filled in first was the winner....

Sometimes we read Shakespeare together, each of us taking a

part....

 

‘I think things were only a trouble to her when she had to do

them for herself. Nothing was a trouble if it helped another....

Work for the Master whom she loved was her animating motive....