Chapter II

FIRST SORROW; THE ASSIZES; SIR HENRY GOULD; THE USURY CAUSE;
“CHRISTIAN;” MR. BRUCKNER; GIRLISH DAYS; HER FRIENDSHIP WITH
MRS. TAYLOR; MRS. T.’s MEMOIR OF HER.

In one of his letters to a friend, Southey remarks:—

“Few autobiographies proceed much beyond the stage of boyhood.
So far all our recollections of childhood and adolescence,
though they call up tender thoughts, excite none of the deeper
feeling with which we look back upon the time of life when
wounds heal slowly, and losses are irreparable. This is, no
doubt, the reason why so many persons who have begun to write
their own lives have stopped short when they got through the
chapter of their youth.”

The poet elsewhere observes, that the wounded spirit, which shrinks from such a record of past griefs, finds solace in breathing out its regret in the tender strains of verse. And so it was in the present instance. The loss of her mother was deplored in pathetic numbers; and no other record of this event is given.

Another passage in the history of her earlier days is found in her note book, a few pages after the former, shewing how early she manifested a predilection, in the gratification of which she found so much enjoyment in after life. It should be mentioned before we proceed further, that the house in which Mrs. Opie was born was situated in Calvert Street, immediately opposite a handsome mansion, once the residence of an individual of note in his day, and after whom the street was named. This house Dr. Alderson afterwards inhabited for some years; but in the interim, he removed from the one in which his daughter was born, to another, opposite St. George’s church, and in which they were living at the time referred to in the following pages:—

To a girl fond of excitement it will easily be believed that the
time of Assizes was one of great interest. As soon as I was old
enough to enjoy a procession, I was taken to see the judges come
in; and, as youthful pages in pretty dresses ran, at that time
of day, by the side of the high sheriff’s carriage in which the
judges sat, while the coaches drove slowly, and with a solemnity
becoming the high and awful office of those whom they contained,
it was a sight which I, the older I grew, delighted more and
more to witness: with reverence ever did I behold the judges’
wigs, the scarlet robes they wore, and even the white wand of
the sheriff had an imposing effect on me.

As years advanced, I began to wish to enter the assize court;
and as soon as I found that ladies were allowed to attend
trials, or causes, I was not satisfied till I had obtained leave
to enjoy this indulgence. Accordingly some one kindly undertook
to go with me, and I set off for court: it was to the _nisi
prius_ court that I bent my way, for I could not bear the
thoughts of hearing prisoners tried, as the punishment of death
was then in all its force; but I was glad to find myself hearing
counsel plead and judges speak where I had no reason to
apprehend any fearful consequences to the defendants. By some
lucky chance I also soon found myself on the bench, by the side
of the judge. Although I could not divest myself of a degree of
awful respect when I had reached such a vicinity, it was so
advantageous a position for hearing and seeing, that I was soon
reconciled to it, especially as the good old man, who sat then
as judge, seemed to regard my fixed attention to what was going
forward with some complacency.

Sir Henry Gould was the judge then presiding, and he was already
on the verge of eighty; but the fire of his fine eye was not
quenched by age, nor had his intellect as yet bowed before it;
on the contrary, he is said while in Norwich to have delivered a
charge to the jury, after a trial that had lasted far into the
night, in a manner that would have done credit to the youngest
judge on the bench.

This handsome and venerable old man, surprised probably at
seeing so young a listener by his side, was so kind at last as
to enter into conversation with me. Never, I think, had my
vanity been so gratified, and when, on my being forced to leave
the court, by the arrival of my dinner hour, he said he hoped I
was sufficiently pleased to come again, I went home much raised
in my own estimation, and fully resolved to go into court again
next day. As I was obliged to go alone, I took care to wear the
same dress as I wore the preceding day, in hopes that if the
judge saw me he would cause way to be made for me. But being
obliged to go in at a door where the crowd was very great, I had
little hopes of being seen, though the door fronted the judge;
at last I was pushed forward by the crowd, and gradually got
nearer to the table. While thus struggling with obstacles, a
man, not quite in the grade of a gentleman, pushed me back
rather rudely, and said, “there miss, go home—you had better go
away, what business have you here? this is no place for you; be
advised—there go, I tell you!” But miss was obstinate and stood
her ground, turning as she did so towards the judge, who now
perceived and recognized her, and instantly ordered one of the
servants of the court to make way for that young lady;
accordingly way was made, and at his desire I took my place
again by the judge’s side. It was not in nature, at least not in
my weak nature, to resist casting a triumphant glance on my
impertinent reprover, and I had the satisfaction of seeing that
he looked rather foolish. I do not remember that on either of
these days I heard any very interesting causes tried, but I had
acquaintances amongst the barristers, and I liked to hear them
plead, and I also liked to hear the judge sum up: in short, all
was new, exciting, and interesting. But I disliked to hear the
witnesses sworn. I was shocked at the very irreverent manner in
which the oath was administered and repeated; and evidently the
Great Name was spoken with as much levity as if it had been
merely that of a brother mortal, not the name of the great King
of kings. This was the drawback to my pleasure, but not a
sufficient one to keep me from my now accustomed post, and a
third time, but early enough to have my choice of places, I
repaired to court, and seated myself near the extremity of the
bench, hoping to be called to my accustomed seat when my
venerable friend arrived. It was expected that the court would
be that day crowded to excess, for the cause coming on was one
of the deepest interest. One of our richest and oldest aldermen
was going to be proceeded against for usury, and the principal
witness against him was a gentleman who owed him considerable
obligation. The prosecutor was unknown to me; the witness named
above I knew sufficiently to bow to him as he passed our house,
which he did every day; and he was reckoned a worthy and
honourable man. These circumstances gave me an eager desire to
be a witness of the proceedings, and I was gratified at being
able to answer some questions which the judge asked me when, as
before, he had beckoned me to sit by him.

The cause at length began, and it was so interesting that I
listened with almost breathless attention, feeling, for the
first time, what deep and agitating interest a court of justice
can sometimes excite, and what a fearful picture it can hold up
to the young of human depravity; for, as this cause went on, the
witness for the accused, and the witness for the accuser, both
swore in direct opposition to each other! One of them therefore
was undoubtedly perjured! and I had witnessed the commission of
this awful crime!

Never shall I forget that moment; as it seemed very soon to be
the general conclusion, that my acquaintance was the person
perjured. I felt a pain wholly unknown before, and though I
rejoiced that my friend, the accused, was declared wholly
innocent of the charge brought against him, I was indeed sorry
that I should never be able to salute my old acquaintance with
such cordiality in future, when he passed my window, as this
stain rested on his reputation; but that window he was never to
pass again!

The next morning before I was up, (for beginning influenza
confined me to my bed,) the servant ran into the room to inform
me that poor —— had been found dead in his bed, with strong
suspicions of suicide by poison!

Instantly I dressed myself, forgetting my illness, and went in
search of more information. Well do I remember the ghastly
expression of the wretched man’s countenance as he left the
court. I saw his bright grey eye lifted up in a sort of agony to
heaven, with, as I supposed, the conviction that he was retiring
in disgrace, and I had been told what his lips uttered, while
his eyes so spoke. “What! are you going,” said a friend to him.
“Yes; why not? What should I stay for now?” and his tone and
manner bore such strong evidence of a desponding mind, that
these words were repeated as confirming the belief that he had
destroyed himself.

I never can forget with what painful feelings I went back to my
chamber, the sensation of illness forgotten, by the sufferings
of my mind!

What would I not have given to hear that the poor man who had
thus rushed unbidden into the presence of his heavenly judge,
urged by the convictions of having been condemned in the
presence of an earthly one, was innocent of this second crime!
It had been terrible to believe him guilty of the first.

My mind was so painfully full of this subject, that it was
always uppermost with me; and, to increase my suffering, the
unhappy man’s grave was dug immediately opposite our windows;
and although I drew down the blinds all day long, I heard the
murmuring voices of the people talking over the event, some
saying he was an injured man, and venting curses on the heads of
those who had brought him to that pass. The verdict having been
that “he was found dead in his bed,” the interment took place in
the usual manner; and it did so early in the morning. I took
care to avoid the front of the house till all was over; and when
the hour in the following morning arrived, at which I used to go
to the window, and receive the bow and smile of our neighbour, I
remembered with bitter regret that I should see him no more, as
he lay beneath the wall before me.

Even while I am writing, the whole scene in the court, and the
frightful results, live before me with all the vividness of
early impressions; and I can scarcely assert, that, at any
future stage of life, I ever experienced emotions more keen or
more enduring.

Judge Gould came to Norwich again the next year, and as I heard
he had inquired for me, I was not long in going to court. One of
his first questions was concerning the result of the Usury
cause, which he had found so interesting, and he heard with much
feeling what I had to impart. I thought my kind friend seemed
full a year older; and when I took leave of him I did not expect
to see him again. Perhaps the invitation which he gave me, was a
proof of a decay of faculties; for he said that if ever I came
to London, he lived in such a square, (I forget the place,) and
should be pleased to introduce me to his daughter Lady Cavan. I
did go to London before he died, but I had not courage enough to
call on Sir Henry Gould; I felt it was likely that he had
forgotten me, and that he was unlikely to exclaim, like my
friends at the bedlam, “Oh! here’s the young girl from St.
George’s!”

It may be remembered that in the short memorial of her earlier days, given in the preceding chapter, Mrs. Opie says that her attention was drawn away from an interest that was becoming too absorbing in the unhappy inmates of the bedlam, by new sources of occupation and interest. “Dancing and French school,” she says, “soon gave another turn to my thoughts, and excited in me other views and feelings.” The master who first instructed her to thread the gay mazes of the dance was one, “Christian,” a man well skilled in his art, and who attained such celebrity in it, that the room in which he taught is still called after him, “Christian’s room.” Here the young Amelia received her first lessons in dancing; and in after years she was wont to refer to those days, and would close her recollections of the worthy Christian, by telling how on one occasion, when she and her husband were in Norwich, they accompanied a friend to see the Dutch Church. “The two gentlemen were engaged in looking around and making their observations; and I, finding myself somewhat cold, began to hop and dance upon the spot where I stood. Suddenly, my eyes chanced to fall upon the pavement below, and I started at beholding the well-known name of ‘Christian,’ graved upon the slab; I stopped in dismay, shocked to find that I had actually been dancing upon the grave of my old master—he who first taught me to dance!”

The gentleman who gave her instruction in the French language was a remarkable man, and one for whom she entertained an affectionate respect which continued during the remainder of his life. As he is frequently referred to in her letters and elsewhere, it may not be irrelevant here to give some particulars respecting him, which are principally gathered from an article in “the Monthly Magazine,” written by the late Mr. Wm. Taylor. It appears that in 1752, Mr. Colombine, one of a French refugee family, then residing in Norwich, was entrusted by the members of the Walloon church, in that city, on occasion of his going over to Holland, to seek out for them a suitable pastor. In the execution of this commission, he applied to Mr. Bruckner, then holding a pastorship at Leyden. This gentleman, who had been educated for the theological profession, was of eminent literary acquirements; he read the Hebrew and the Greek, composed correctly, and was able to preach in four languages: Latin, Dutch, French, and English. He listened favourably to the invitation of the Norwich church; and in 1753 settled amongst them, and continued to officiate during 51 years with increasing satisfaction: about the year 1766, Mr. B. also undertook the charge of the Dutch church, of which the duties had become almost nominal, in consequence of the diminished numbers of Dutch families, and the gradual disuse of that language.

The French was Mr. Bruckner’s favourite tongue; and in it he gave lessons, both public and private, to the young people of his adopted city, for many years: he also cultivated music, and delighted in practising upon the organ. He was, besides, an author, and published a work entitled “Théorie du Systême Animal,” and, under an assumed name, a pamphlet entitled “Criticisms on the Diversions of Purley.” His death took place in the month of May, 1804; at his house in St. Benedict’s street. Mr. Opie painted an admirable likeness of him, which appeared in the London Exhibition of 1800. This picture was in the possession of Mrs. Opie at the time of her death, and is the subject of one of her “Lays.” There was a very singular expression in the eyes, and on one occasion a visitor who was calling upon her, gazing on the picture, remarked, that he was painfully affected by this look, as he remembered to have seen the same strange appearance in the countenance of a person who committed suicide. This remark forcibly struck Mrs. Opie, and no wonder, as it was the fact that her poor master died by his own hands! A gradual failure of spirits overtook him in his old age; sleep forsook his eyelids, and the fatal stroke terminated his existence, to the regret of all who had known him; for he was much beloved for his kindliness and affability, and his society was courted to the last, as his conversation shewed good sense, humour, and information. A small piece of paper, written in her delicate and minute characters, and found among her letters, proves that his friend and pupil continued to think of him after the lapse of more than half a century.

Lines, addressed to me by my dear friend and French master, John
Bruckner, a Flemish Clergyman, on my requesting him to let my
husband paint a portrait of him for me.

Pourquoi me demander, aimable Amélie
De ce front tout ridé, le lugubre portrait?
Pour être contemplé jamais il ne fut fait,
Assez il a déplu—Permettez qu’ on l’oublie!

_John Bruckner, 1800._

Translation in prose:—

Why do you ask of me, amiable Amelia, the gloomy portrait of
this wrinkled brow? It was never meant to be contemplated. It
has enough displeased—Let it now be forgotten.—_A. O. 1852._

To this amiable man and accomplished scholar Mrs. Opie was indebted, not only for instruction in French, but for much general information, which he was well qualified to impart.

The premature death of Mrs. Alderson occasioned (as we have seen) the introduction of her daughter into society at a very early age. Her father delighted to make her his constant companion, and introduced her to the company of the friends with whom he visited, and whom he welcomed to his house. Hence, at a time when girls are usually confined to the school room, she was presiding as mistress of his household, and mingling in the very gay society of the Norwich circles of that day. The period of which we write was shortly before the breaking out of the French revolution, and was one of great commercial prosperity, in which the merchant-manufacturers of the old town shared, in an extraordinary degree. This state of things lasted until the troubles consequent upon that event disturbed the commercial relations of the continent; when the trade declined, and a season of unparelleled depression ensued. But at the time of which we speak, it was a thriving and prosperous city, and abounded in gaiety and amusements of various sorts.

A young girl placed in such circumstances must have greatly needed the counsel and friendship of a wise female friend; and such an one Miss Alderson happily found in Mrs. John Taylor, a lady distinguished for her extensive knowledge and many excellencies. She was living at that time in Norwich, not far from Mr. Alderson’s, and an intimacy was early formed between the two ladies, which appears to have lasted uninterruptedly through life. After Mrs. Opie’s marriage, she continued to correspond with this friend of her early days, and happily many of her letters to Mrs. T. have been preserved.

Frequent mention is made of Mrs. Taylor in Sir James Mackintosh’s life, and she is spoken of as one of the principal attractions amid the circle of friends whose society he sought, when carried by his professional duties to Norwich. Mr. Montague, his companion on some of these occasions, says:—

“N. was always a haven of rest to us, from the literary society
with which that city abounded. Dr. Sayers we used to visit, and
the high-minded and intelligent Wm. Taylor; but our chief
delight was in the society of Mrs. John Taylor, a most
intelligent and excellent woman, mild and unassuming, quiet and
meek, sitting amidst her large family, occupied with her needle
and domestic occupations, but always assisting, by her great
knowledge, the advancement of kind and dignified sentiment and
conduct.

Manly wisdom and feminine gentleness were in her united with
such attractive manners, that she was universally loved and
respected. In ‘high thoughts and gentle deeds’ she greatly
resembled the admirable Lucy Hutchinson, and in troubled times
would have been equally distinguished for firmness in what she
thought right. In her society we passed every moment we could
rescue from the court.”[4]

How dear must such a friend have been to one whom she so tenderly loved! When some years later a portrait of Mrs. Opie was brought out in “The Cabinet,” a periodical of the day, Mrs. Taylor drew up a short notice of her friend, to accompany this likeness. This paper was written about the time of Mr. Opie’s death, but it principally refers to the early part of Mrs. Opie’s life. After speaking of the circumstances of her birth, of the early death of her mother, and of the proofs she gave, even in childhood, of poetical genius and taste, the writer continues:—

“Mrs. Opie’s musical talents were early cultivated. Her first
master was Mr. Michael Sharp, of Norwich, who possessed a degree
of love for his profession which comparatively few, employed in
the drudgery of teaching, evince. Mrs. O. never arrived at
superiority as a player, but she may be said to have been
unrivalled in that kind of singing in which she more
particularly delighted. Those only who have heard her can
conceive the effect she produced in the performance of her own
ballads; of these, ‘The poor Hindoo’ was one of her chief
favourites, and the expression of plaintive misery and
affectionate supplication which she threw into it, we may safely
say has very seldom been equalled. She may fairly be said to
have created a style of singing of her own, which, though
polished and improved by art and cultivation, was founded in
that power, which she appears so pre-eminently to possess, of
awakening the tender sympathies and pathetic feelings of the
mind.”

After enumerating some further accomplishments possessed by her friend, Mrs. Taylor closes her tribute of affectionate regard, by speaking of the excellencies of a heart and mind “distinguished by frankness, probity, and the most diffusive kindness;” and appeals to the many who could bear witness from experience, to those sympathies which “made the happiness of her friends her own, and to the unremitting ardour with which she laboured to remove the miseries that came within her knowledge and influence.”

-----

[4] See Life of Sir James Mackintosh.