Those who never saw Miss Buss in real holiday mood could not be said to know her at all. As an educationalist she was instructive, admirable, awe-inspiring; but as a friend and companion attractive, captivating, lovable. She talked “education” where she thought her hearers were interested, and this subject always interested herself. Also, she often went on little educational missions of advice or instruction, and then poured out of her full stores very freely. But such occasions were not holidays. When she took holiday, she took it thoroughly1, and those who joined her holiday parties all speak of them as Miss Hickey speaks of one which we enjoyed together—
“I had met Miss Buss before, but the first time I really knew her was when we spent that Christmas at Clifton with her and you and Mrs. Bryant and Miss Emma Elford and Mr. Frank Buss. And since then I have even felt that no one could have truly known her who had never been with her ‘out of school,’ and I have been very glad to have then laid the foundation of a true friendship with so great and noble a woman.
“Most people know of her remarkable2 power as an organizer; of her intense interest in her work; of her high conscientiousness3; of her openness to new ideas, and readiness to give a fair test to 310new methods; but few people are aware of the power she had of throwing off the school-mistress, and of not only entering into interests completely apart from educational ones, but of entering into them with an unconsciousness of her position, and an ignoring of what she had done.”
This stay at Clifton was memorable4 to me in my discovery of Miss Buss as a housekeeper5. She managed for all the party—indeed, I do not think any one of us could possibly have ventured on arrangements or other management while she was there to do it. Her readiness, skill, and economy made a deep impression on us.
On another occasion, years later, she came as our guest to my sister and myself at Torquay. Up to Christmas we had revelled6 in sunshine, driving every day in an open carriage, and to this we invited her; also choosing for her the room with the finest view. But she came for a week of fog, such (so we were told) as Torquay had never before known. We had one or two misty7 drives, and the view was rarely visible. But she took it as it came with placid8 sweetness, working, reading, or talking, and was the least exacting9 guest we had ever known. And, afterwards, she could only recall the fact of complete restfulness, forgetting that there had been a fog.
Here is a note by Miss Crane to the same effect—
“Twice we all joined her summer holiday—once at La Bourboule, and another time at Schlangenbad. I remember how she used to enter into the pleasure and fun of our little afternoon teaparties, given alternately by her party and ours, each vying10 with the other in making the most of our limited paraphernalia11. And how she enjoyed the German custom of taking meals al fresco12 on every possible occasion, in spite of gnats13 and other buzzing insects! She was always quick to see and enter into fun, taking pains to enlighten those whose perceptions were less keen. Her hearty14 laugh filled one with joy.”
The same thing is given in greater detail by Miss Bird, who says—
311“I had known Miss Buss for years, and always felt attracted to her, but I never knew her in her unreserved moods until that visit to Kissingen, in 1882. We were all up in the morning betimes, and used to meet on the Parade to drink the waters. There were some wonderful bread-stalls, with an astonishing variety of fancy breads and innocent cakes, where we bought bread for our breakfast, and also laid in a stock for afternoon tea. We were a party of eight, and we used to take turns in giving each other tea. When it came to Miss Buss’ turn to entertain, she used to take pains to select her cakes, that we all felt eclipsed. We called her ‘ostentatious,’ and ‘vulgar,’ and ‘low,’ and she rippled15 with merriment, and seemed to enjoy being treated as an ordinary human being. She was taking ‘mud baths’—that look as formidable and ugly as they sound—a sort of peat mixture that is supposed to draw from the body all its aches and pains. I had seen in a window the picture of a woman emerging from her ‘mud,’ and when Miss Buss was fractious, and made excuses for not joining in the light frivolities of the place, I used to say, ‘Well, if you refuse, I will post that picture to the College to be exhibited, and the pupils will then see the degradation16 of Miss Buss!’ This threat acted like magic, and, laughing heartily17, she used to comply. She grew bright and light-hearted, and contributed her full share of amusing stories.”
Miss E. P. Hughes records another of these times of relaxation—
“I spent a Christmas holiday with her at Cannes. She knew that I had travelled little at that time, and she stopped at Avignon, N?mes, and Arles, to show me some of the old Roman antiquities18. Her energy and intense interest in everything was simply wonderful. I had chiefly seen the educational side of her life before this, and it was a revelation to me that she knew so much and cared so much for other things. I am a fairly good traveller myself, and keen about seeing new places, but I confess myself completely beaten over and over again. I do not think that many people realize the enormous amount of work she got through, so much of it being unknown except to a few.... She was always ready to enjoy a laugh. I can see her now, sitting in the great amphitheatre at N?mes, enjoying my discomfiture19 when I discovered that, through my ignorance of South French patois20, I had mistaken our guide’s description of a Sunday bull-fight for a meeting of the Salvation21 Army! At Arles I was severely22 bitten by the love of Roman 312antiquities, and while I was expressing this, in very Celtic fashion, Miss Buss said she must take me to Rome some day, and laughingly gave me permission to be as mad as I liked.
“I am glad to remember how happy she was at Cannes, how keenly she noticed all the beauties of nature, how warmly she enjoyed our delight in what was new to us, how sweetly gracious she was to acquaintances in the hotel. I learnt then for the first time to know what a wonderful power of description she had, as she told me about her visits to Italy, and much about modern Italian history, describing several eventful scenes witnessed by herself. I can see the pictures vividly23 now which she painted in words. I remember being surprised at the extent of her reading, and then realized that she herself was so humble24 that, until one knew her well, one was apt to underrate her.”
Miss Buss’ intimates all fell into the habit of keeping for her joke-book—a book from which she loved to read on any possible occasion—any choice bit of wit or humour, to reap double pleasure in so sharing it. She had that strong sense of the ridiculous which so often goes with the keenly sensitive temperament25, and which is so essential to perfect balance of character. Without this quick perception of the incongruous there must be a want of true perspective in life, with failure in the right adjustment of the claims of self and of others. Very great work can scarcely be done without this gift, since of all others it most tends to complete sanity—to the sound mind, if not to the sound body—without which no greatest work is ever done. The intense temperament, lacking this guiding sense, is almost certain to show some warp26 or twist fatal to the finest achievement.
To this most helpful power of turning from grave to gay Miss Buss certainly owed much of her power of sustained work. At the end of a term, she was able, as she so often said, “to lock all her worries up in a drawer, and leave them there.” She then gave herself up to her holiday with all her strength, enjoying with keen zest27 all new places and persons, and returning from her 313travels rested and refreshed. It is true that her notion of rest differed not a little from that of average mortals, who sometimes felt it something of a strain to keep pace with energy so inexhaustible. She would beguile28 a long railway journey with some stiff reading—very much of her reading was done in railway carriages—and, on reaching her destination, after a few hours’ sleep en route, be quite fresh for a day’s sight-seeing, in which little was left unseen that merited notice. She lived to the full in the present moment, and thus made the most of life, having learnt to leave the past behind her, and to wait in hope for the future.
Several members of the staff speak with the same interest of the holiday parties, and of the value attached by Miss Buss to the complete change of thought given by foreign travel, quoting her frequent saying: “Do not run in one groove29!” as she exhorted30 her young teachers “to save up for a trip abroad.”[19] She planned and arranged parties in France, Germany, and Italy, for her teachers and their friends, where they might take language lessons part of their time, and for the rest, go on expeditions for “thorough” sight-seeing. And here, Miss Elford adds—
19. Miss Hughes speaks to this point: “On two occasions I went with her to see some famous Roman schools, as well as by her advice to Naples, to see the wonderful school of Madame du Portugal. It was a great pleasure to accompany her; she saw so much, cared so much, and compared so admirably what she saw with other schools elsewhere, and she was so careful to utilize31 what she saw and heard. She was always anxious to help teachers to visit the schools of other countries, and did much to stir in me a great interest in foreign education. I believe she first started the idea of travelling scholarships for teachers, and she felt great interest in the Gilchrist Scholarship when it was founded.”
“Miss Buss was a delightful32 companion. I visited many places in France, Switzerland, and Italy with her, and she knew the history of every city and town. A stay of three weeks in the Maderanerthal 314will never be forgotten, as she was able to enter into all our expeditions.
“The young always—men or women—were attracted by her vivaciousness33 of manner and her delightful talk, so that our evenings in the hotel were bright and cheerful, though no one knew who she was till after her departure.”
She always became quite naturally the centre of any circle. I remember one day, when she and I were staying at Ben Rhydding, we were in a corner of an almost deserted34 reading-room, and she began to talk in a low tone about the book she was reading. It was not long before the nearest reader laid down his book and came nearer, to find appreciative35 listeners to his good stories of Ruskin—whose pupil he had been—and of other notabilities, as he and Miss Buss exchanged many an anecdote36 and bon-mot then crisp and new, though since worn threadbare. There was no more reading that morning, every one who came in being very willing to join the laughing circle. Many interesting persons came and went during our stay at Ben Rhydding, and it was curious to note how soon they found her out, and how eagerly all gathered round to join in the talks which she set going. She enjoyed it, too, as she writes of it to her sister—
“The crowds of people who know me in London wear me out, and I confess that in the holidays I do not want to make acquaintance recklessly. In a house like this there is no end to them, and I have literally37 no more time to myself than I get at home. Still, the experience is pleasant, and worth having, especially for Frank. Some day you must share it with me. It is a comfort to be without household cares, and a place like this gives one plenty of opportunity of studying life.”
In summer she generally went abroad, and her letters give very graphic39 accounts of her experiences. There is a very full description of Fécamp, in particular, most interesting, if space would allow. And also many 315peeps at German towns. Miss Crane tells how Miss Buss stopped on her way from La Bourboule to collect all the facts to be found in Orleans, for her lecture on Joan of Arc, afterwards given to girls; and Mrs. Offord, in speaking of the lecture, shows how, at that remote date, Miss Buss anticipated the present cult40 of the Maid, setting her in the place now accorded by a repentant41 country.
The entire change of life abroad made it very pleasant to Miss Buss. From Berlin she writes, in 1882—
“Our pleasant holiday is coming to an end! Like Sep, I seem to revive when out of my own country. Yet I would not change countries, if I could. Exchange climates? yes; but country? no, no, a hundred times no! I like to be able to kill myself, if I choose, by going across a road at my own will, instead of being taken care of by watchful42 police and soldiers at every turn. It is dreadful for a country to be over-governed, and that is the case with all the German towns I have seen, so far. We got here last night late; the Crown Prince and Princess were in our carriage (Frank and I started with Sara Bernhardt on her wedding-night!). At every point there are soldiers. The whole place bristles43 with the detestable military spirit; horrible war-pictures are on the walls of the galleries, and military trophies44 are everywhere.... I fear Prussia will have to pay—like France—largely for her ‘glory.’”
But a volume might be made from her letters in her frequent journeys at home and abroad. She knew her native land well, but wrote less about it. A few extracts may be given, especially of a visit to Charlotte Bront?’s home, during our stay at Ben Rhydding.
Miss Buss had a very keen love of colour, and to her the total absence of everything but dull drab in Haworth was specially38 depressing. Houses, stone walls instead of hedges, flat tombstones so thick that no blade of grass could grow between them, all of this same lifeless drab, give an effect of singular desolation. The Parsonage, with its unbroken walls, in which were set 316flat windows, and with its roof of slate45, closely adjoins the dreary46 churchyard. The only outlet47 for those passionate48 young lives must have been in the blue of the sky and in the changing tints49 of the expanse of moorland stretching into the far distance.
But it is of the church that Miss Buss has most to say in her notes of the day—
“August 18, 1879.
“A party of seven started at eleven, in a waggonette, for Haworth, a drive of eighteen miles through several villages and the town of Keighley. Haworth (pronounced Horth) consists of one long, straggling street, frightfully steep, so that one can neither drive up nor down, but must walk.
“We went to the Black Bull for lunch, and then visited the church and churchyard. Oh, what an abomination the church is! It is very old, dating from a very early period. It has only two naves50, and no chancel, nor transept, nor anything to break its hideous51 straightness. Where the communion-table stands is a window, small, and, on both sides, another window, very large. High, worm-eaten, rotten pews, a deep gallery at one end, and on one side, and broken or worm-eaten beams everywhere; narrow seats, on which it is impossible to sit; no ventilation, the whole place reeking52 with the accumulated foul53 air of centuries. Such is Haworth Church!
“Charlotte Bront? died twenty-five years ago—in 1855. In her time the organ stood over the communion-table, and over the rectory-pew! It seems impossible, but this is a fact. The successor to Mr. Bront? has moved the organ into the side gallery, and has taken away the pew, to leave room for some benches for the choir54. In this church Grimshaw, Wesley, and Whitfield preached.
“We, of course, saw Charlotte Bront?’s wedding-register. We wandered round the parsonage, which has been enlarged since the time of the Bront?s; we walked behind the house on the moors55, and entered the school where she and her sisters taught.
“All the houses are built of stone, and look cold and grey. Hundreds of English-speaking people visit the place yearly, through the interest in the home of those remarkable women, the Bront?s, and yet the church is to be pulled down in three weeks’ time. It seems a pity that no one can be found to build a new church, and let the old one be preserved that we and our successors may see 317how and in what places our fathers worshipped.... Poor Charlotte Bront?! After seeing the place, one understands how infinitely56 sad life must have been in it.”
In striking contrast with this desolate57 scene was another experience, when we spent a few very pleasant days in the last home of George Eliot, at Witley, which had been taken by our friend Mr. Neate. Miss Buss writes to her cousin—
“‘Daniel Deronda’ was written in her boudoir, now turned into a spare bedroom, in which I slept. What a crowd of thoughts come into one’s mind as one stands in that particular room. If walls could speak!
“The grounds are 3? acres, so they are extensive enough to afford variety. The house stands on the top of a hill, surrounded by trees and shrubs58. The sun is glorifying59 everything, and the distant landscape reminds me of one of the lower valleys in Switzerland. There are hills on hills, low, of course, in elevation60, but making the view very diversified61.
“Within a short distance lives Birket Foster, and nearer still that charming water-colour painter, Mrs. Allingham.
“But my mind is full of George Eliot, her books, her life, her struggles, aspirations——
Here is a letter telling of one of her summer trips—the meeting alluded63 to being that first important interview with the Endowed Schools Commission—
“Harwich, Aug. 8, 1873.
“My dear Alfred and Léonie,
“The sea is rolling in before my window; except for that pleasant sound, nothing else can be heard! The sun is shining on the opposite coast of the river Orwell, while on my right stretches out the German Ocean.
“Having leisure before service, and again, as I hope, after it, what better can I do with it than write a little acknowledgment of your loving letters....
“I left home last Thursday, met Sep at Kelvedon, stayed there till Saturday. The doctor, father, and I drove to Colchester, thence 318to Manningtree and here, where we are planted for a week. On Monday I go by train (the father and uncle drive up, taking three days), attend the meeting on Tuesday, and on Wednesday start for Dover, Ostend, and Brussels, where Sep will meet us. Miss Jeanie Ridley travels with us. On Saturday week Uncle Henry joins me in Brussels, and we go on to Cologne, thence sleeping at Mayence, and going next morning to Homburg, that I may, for the first and last time, see the gambling-tables. They are to be closed this year. At Heidelberg Miss J. Ridley leaves us, to remain with her friends there, and we go on to Zurich, over the Splügen, returning by Strasburg and Paris.
“This route will take us to Venice by way of the Brenner Pass, between Munich and Verona.
“My dear love to you all. I hope our Charlie boy is having some riding. A kiss to him and the girls from
“Your loving sister.”
At Heidelberg the party remained a few days, seeing something of the country, through the kindness of my sister’s friends, who lived in an old “schloss” outside the town. During this journey my sister first became really acquainted with Miss Buss, who wrote afterwards to me—
“I learned to care a good deal for your ‘child,’ and soon—well, not too soon—found out how much lay beneath that excessive reserve. Her flashes were very interesting to me, but my uncle’s companionship made it impossible for us to fuse, as you and I did in Edinburgh.”
In later years, a course of waters at a German bad became a necessity, and the letters give sketches64 of Spa, Ems, Kreuznach, Carlsbad, etc., which may be summed up, in brief, in extracts which also show the writer in relation to her own people—
“Kissingen, Aug. 20, 1885.
“Mein theuerster, allerliebster Franz,
“Ich liebe dich noch und immer. It is difficult not to drop into German; we have been in the midst of it so long, and 319we take a German lesson so often at the little theatre. Besides, it has such pretty expressions. The use of ‘thou’ to those with whom you are very intimate is charming! It is a loss to have dropped it in English.
“Father will be home on Saturday, I hear, and I hope he will go off to the ‘liebe mütterchen’ at Ilfracombe....
“To-day, for the first time, we have rain. But we have been to the Saliné, or salt springs, and are now going to the theatre. Last night we went to a ‘diabolisch spiritisch’ performance by a conjurer. The Duke of Cambridge sat very near us, so near that we could hear nearly all he was saying.”
“Marienbad, Aug. 16, 1886.
“... At six a.m. a fine band strikes up a lovely chorale, which wakes every one. Hundreds of people carrying tumblers go out on the promenade65, when the band plays, and walk about. There is so great a crowd at the Kreuzbrunnen that they form three lines, and walk slowly one after another till they get to the tap, at which a girl is waiting to serve. Some, I among them, go to a hot-water supply to mix with the icy mineral water, and then walk for twenty minutes. After this interval66, we again get into line for a second glass, and have another walk. By this time the band has performed five pieces, all good music and well played, and has gone to the other end of the promenade, where there is another stream, the Ferdinand’s quelle. I go here for a third tumbler and another walk. I get nearly two hours, and then, but only then, go back to breakfast, which all heartily enjoy.
“I have a lovely room, on the first floor, beautifully furnished, with two large windows looking out on the pine forest. Every window in Marienbad has a large cushion, the size of the sill, covered with white cotton. I find that these are to put your elbows on to look out of the window.
“To-day has been beautiful beyond description, cool and clear, with cloudless sky, and the loveliest gleams of light between the pines.
“We leave here on the 31st, go to Munich for three days, and stay to see the famous Gorge67 of Pfeffers, and then join Mrs. Hodgson at Serneus, Pr?ttigau, Switzerland.
“I write a card every day to mother or father. Please send this on. It is a great pleasure to me to have a card, dearest laddie, and to know what you are doing.”
320“Marienbad, Aug. 20, 1886.
“My very dear Sep and Maria,
“... I wish Sep could get a chaplaincy in some German spa, that would be so good for him and me, and that you and Arthur could join me in a visit to the same place. The only drawback is the long, wearisome journey. But one is repaid for the fatigue68 by the delightful air and the complete change of surroundings. One can live cheaply too. Our breakfasts cost—coffee, tea, or chocolate, one egg, and as many little rolls as one likes—about 9d.; dinner, 1s. 6d. or 1s. 8d.; and supper, 10d. or 1s. Afternoon tea we make in my room. I have the largest and handsomest room in the house for 25s., including everything. My room is the general sitting-room69, and where we receive visitors, of whom there are rather more than I care for. The chaplain, Mr. Thomas, of Jesus, Oxford70, and his sister, with whom I stayed in June, are here, with a fair number of English whom they know, and whom, consequently, I know. There are four members of Parliament, Sir Algernon Borthwick, Mr. Campbell Bannerman, Mr. Hoyle, a most delightful man, and Dr. Cameron, M.P. for Glasgow.
“After breakfast I return, and write or rest, while the others go to the hills and sit all the morning among the pines, and sometimes dine at one of the forest places.
“I go to a hot mineral bath at eleven, and at one we dine. We never know where we shall have our next meal, and very often have little or no idea of what a particular dish we order may turn out. So the life is so new and fresh, so delightful for a time that no one can fail to enjoy it. The band plays, there is a theatre, there are splendid concerts, two libraries, besides endless walks and views in the woods. The air is scented71 by the pines, and by the wonderful flowers. We could hardly be happier, in the quiet way that becomes our age.... An Italian professor said to one of our ladies, who was laughing, ‘Ah, I will tame you, you screw!’ She said, ‘What?’ He answered, ‘Why, you do not know your Shakspere!”...
“The Duke and Duchess of Edinburgh only stayed one or two nights, and had to go to the second floor. To-day we saw the Grand Duke and Duchess walking about: they are very tall and thin. Their children’s nurse is resplendent! She made me quite wild to have her dress for the next costume dance!”...
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thoroughly
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remarkable
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conscientiousness
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memorable
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housekeeper
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revelled
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misty
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placid
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exacting
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vying
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paraphernalia
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fresco
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gnats
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hearty
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rippled
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degradation
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heartily
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antiquities
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patois
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salvation
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severely
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vividly
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delightful
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vivaciousness
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appreciative
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| adv.特定地；特殊地；明确地 | |
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graphic
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| adj.生动的，形象的，绘画的，文字的，图表的 | |
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cult
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| n.异教，邪教；时尚，狂热的崇拜 | |
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repentant
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| adj.对…感到悔恨的 | |
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watchful
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| adj.注意的，警惕的 | |
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bristles
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| 短而硬的毛发，刷子毛( bristle的名词复数 ) | |
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trophies
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| n.（为竞赛获胜者颁发的）奖品( trophy的名词复数 )；奖杯；（尤指狩猎或战争中获得的）纪念品；（用于比赛或赛跑名称）奖 | |
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slate
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| n.板岩，石板，石片，石板色，候选人名单；adj.暗蓝灰色的，含板岩的；vt.用石板覆盖，痛打，提名，预订 | |
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dreary
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| adj.令人沮丧的，沉闷的，单调乏味的 | |
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outlet
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| n.出口/路；销路；批发商店；通风口；发泄 | |
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passionate
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，激昂的，易动情的，易怒的，性情暴躁的 | |
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tints
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| 色彩( tint的名词复数 )； 带白的颜色； （淡色）染发剂； 痕迹 | |
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naves
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| n.教堂正厅( nave的名词复数 )；本堂；中央部；车轮的中心部 | |
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hideous
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| adj.丑陋的，可憎的，可怕的，恐怖的 | |
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reeking
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| v.发出浓烈的臭气( reek的现在分词 )；散发臭气；发出难闻的气味 (of sth)；明显带有（令人不快或生疑的跡象） | |
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foul
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| adj.污秽的；邪恶的；v.弄脏；妨害；犯规；n.犯规 | |
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choir
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| n.唱诗班，唱诗班的席位，合唱团，舞蹈团；v.合唱 | |
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moors
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| v.停泊，系泊（船只）( moor的第三人称单数 ) | |
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infinitely
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| adv.无限地，无穷地 | |
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desolate
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| adj.荒凉的，荒芜的；孤独的，凄凉的；v.使荒芜，使孤寂 | |
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shrubs
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| 灌木( shrub的名词复数 ) | |
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glorifying
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| 赞美( glorify的现在分词 )； 颂扬； 美化； 使光荣 | |
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elevation
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| n.高度；海拔；高地；上升；提高 | |
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diversified
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| adj.多样化的，多种经营的v.使多样化，多样化( diversify的过去式和过去分词 )；进入新的商业领域 | |
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abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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alluded
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| 提及，暗指( allude的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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sketches
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| n.草图( sketch的名词复数 )；素描；速写；梗概 | |
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promenade
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| n./v.散步 | |
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interval
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| n.间隔，间距；幕间休息，中场休息 | |
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gorge
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| n.咽喉，胃，暴食，山峡；v.塞饱，狼吞虎咽地吃 | |
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fatigue
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| n.疲劳，劳累 | |
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sitting-room
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| n.（BrE）客厅，起居室 | |
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Oxford
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| n.牛津（英国城市） | |
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scented
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| adj.有香味的；洒香水的；有气味的v.嗅到(scent的过去分词) | |
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