Best of Friends: Fanny Prothero and Henry James

Non NPG Work - NPG Portrait Index

(C. W. Furse, 1898. Collection unknown; photograph © National Portrait Gallery, London)

She was, according to Henry James, “the minutest scrap of a little delicate black Celt that ever was – full of humour & humanity & curiosity & interrogation – too much interrogation”. In 1906 Fanny Prothero, 52, and her husband George Prothero, 58, the historian and editor of the Quarterly Review, took a weekend cottage in Rye in Sussex, close to where Henry James (63) lived in Lamb House. Although only part-time residents, both Protheros soon became part of James’s trusted innermost circle of friends there. However, it was with Fanny that he could talk most openly.

“James did like a yarn”, as the Irish writer John Banville wrote recently in the TLS.  “He was fortunate in having a large number of female friends who were lively, clever and inquisitive observers of the comédie humaine. It was mainly from these sharp-eyed and sharp-eared women, and most often at the dinner table, that he had many of the instances and ideas for stories that he recorded in his notebooks.” Sharp-eyed and sharp-eared as she was, Fanny Prothero was also excellent company. Over the next ten years James would write over a hundred letters to her, warmly addressing her as “Dearest Fanny” or “Best of Friends!” In 1912 he looked forward to inviting her to his new flat in Chelsea for tea “and perhaps another opium pill at (say) 4.30. Then there will be such tales to tell!”

Fanny was born Mary Francis Butcher in 1854, and grew up in County Meath, where her father was a Church of Ireland Bishop. Both of her brothers attended Trinity College in Cambridge and Fanny herself settled there in 1882 after her marriage to Prothero, a fellow of King’s College. (Caroline Jebb, who always denied being a matchmaker, was delighted to have introduced them). Fanny became good friends with Ida Darwin and in 1890 they were both invited to join the select discussion group, the Ladies’ Dining Society. In its early days at least, the group had strict rules about sticking to the set topic of the evening – champagne and personal conversations were forbidden – an approach that suited some more than others. “Fanny Prothero never really liked it,” the group’s organizer Louise Creighton recalled, ‘she at that time always wanted intimate talk with one person.”

Talking intimately was something that Fanny did very well, with both men and women. Horace Darwin, recovering from illness in 1889, told his sister Henrietta that “I honour a few ladies by allowing them to come and see me, the sprightly and vivacious Mrs Prothero and the gentle, charming and refined Mrs Sidgwick”. Fanny kept up her energetic nature well into her sixties, and when she became friends with Henry James she was useful to him in all sorts of practical ways – helping him to sort out furnishings for his London flat, finding him a reliable cook and popping into the kitchen at Lamb House to sit with her feet on a chair, chatting to his servants. “It was her way of keeping an eye on them,” James’s biographer Leon Edel writes – it seems likely that it was also because she was so interested in other people. She was as good at listening as she was at talking, although in 1913 Henry James confessed to his sister-in-law that Fanny’s vivid interest in what he was saying occasionally irritated him.

She has a tiresome little Irish habit (it gives at last on one’s nerves) of putting all her responses (equally), at first, in the form of interrogative surprise, so that one at first thinks one must repeat and insist on what one has said… It is her only vice!

When the First World War broke out in August 1914, both Henry James and Fanny (now Lady Prothero) threw themselves into charitable work for Belgian refugees and visiting wounded soldiers in hospital. By now, though, he was increasingly struck down by bouts of poor health, and Fanny became his devoted nurse. “She is as wonderful as ever in her indefatigability,” a grateful James told his niece Peggy on 1st December 1915. It was the last letter that he would ever write. The next morning, as he was dressing, his legs gave way beneath him and he fell to the floor. Although the doctor described it as a minor stroke, it seems that James had a premonition that his death was imminent. Later that day, he told Fanny that as he fell, he heard a voice distinctly say, “So here it is at last, the distinguished thing!” He knew that she would want to hear all about it: it was quite a tale to tell.

Ann Kennedy Smith, May 2018 (all rights reserved)

Sources: I am delighted that my entry on ‘ The Ladies Dining Society’ is now included in the Oxford Dictionary of National Biography (May 2018 update).

Henry James letters:  Dear munificent friends: Henry James’s letters to four women, ed. Susan E. Gunter (1999) 192, 228, 193; Horace Darwin, Cambridge University Library archives, Add. 9368.1.5204; Leon Edel, Henry James, A Life (1987); “So here it is at last…” Edith Wharton, A Backward Glance (1934)

Helen Gladstone’s vocation

Helen-Gladstone

“Rather a tall person, in black” was Helen Gladstone’s typically diffident description of herself, which, according to one former student of hers, was “not at all suggestive of that vivid and compelling personality with its alert and vigorous carriage and striking distinction of features and expression”. In 1877 she began her studies at Newnham Hall (later renamed Newnham College); at 28, she was possibly the oldest of the twenty-five students there. At first she worried that she was neglecting her “home duties” by choosing to study, but told herself that her presence at Cambridge would help to break down prejudices about women’s higher education. “The fact of a daughter of Papa… being sent here ought to have a good influence”, she wrote.

William Gladstone, who would become Prime Minister for the second time in 1880, had long been against university education for women (he complained about the “invasion” of women students at Oxford), but he made an exception in Helen’s case; after all, his unmarried older daughter Mary was at home to look after her parents.  Of the Gladstones’ seven surviving children, Helen was thought to resemble her father most, and at Newnham he often found his way into her thoughts and conversations: “certainly one could not be ten minutes in her company without knowing that he was her father”, a fellow student commented years later: ‘”Indeed I think one of the things that kept her such a very “unmarried” person was her ingrained attitude of daughter,” she recalled. “This went beyond her earthly father, through to God.”

Helen was deeply religious, and regularly attended services at Selwyn College – the Gladstones donated generously towards building the new chapel there – as Newnham had, from the outset, no religious affiliation. She had intended only to stay in Cambridge for a year, but ended up studying for three years, then took the higher local examination in political economy. After finishing her studies she became Secretary to the Principal, Nora Sidgwick, and in January 1882 she accepted the post of Vice-Principal of Newnham, with her father’s blessing.

Helen met Charles and Emma Darwin for the first time in Cambridge in 1880, introduced by Charles Darwin’s youngest son Horace and his wife Ida. They had moved to Cambridge after their marriage in January and were both active supporters of the new college at Newnham. When Charles and Emma came to visit them in August 1880 they were introduced to their new friend Helen Gladstone. They all got on famously, so much so that Helen was invited to the Darwins’ family home in Kent the following summer, and they all met again in Cambridge in October 1881.

Charles Darwin’s death six months later came as a shock. A week later, on Wednesday 26 April 1882, Helen Gladstone attended his funeral at Westminster Abbey. She went in the place of her father, who as Prime Minister was giving an important speech on the Irish question that day, as she explained to Ida. It was true that this was a time of crisis for the government: increasing political violence in Ireland had led to secret negotiations that, two weeks later, would see the Irish nationalist leader Charles Stewart Parnell released early from Kilmainham Gaol.

But there may have been other, more tactical reasons for Gladstone’s absence at Westminster Abbey. As a leading light in the Church of England, it might have been seen as inappropriate for him to attend the funeral of a great naturalist whose theory of natural evolution had nothing to do with God. Helen’s attendance at Darwin’s funeral was a personal expression of sorrow, and it was more sincere than her father’s would have been.

In 1886 Helen Gladstone was offered the post of Principal of the new Royal Holloway College for women in London. It was an acknowledgement of her contribution to women’s education, and Gladstone was deeply proud of his daughter. He wrote her a heartfelt letter urging her to accept the position. “Your life has a distinct purpose,” he told her. “After all we have heard and seen, there can be no doubt that you have upon you the marks of a distinct vocation. The call is from on high and I really do not think you have a right to overlook, or not to follow the marks of it.”

Helen was very touched by her father’s recognition of her work, and his growing respect for her much-loved college: Mr and Mrs Gladstone travelled to Newnham to plant a tree there in 1887. However, after much thought, Helen decided that her “home duties” had to take precedence over the offer of the London University principalship. Her sister Mary had recently married, so might be leaving Hawarden at any time. So Helen stayed on as Vice-Principal at Newnham for another ten years, with frequent trips back to care for her parents.

In 1896, just before she finally left Cambridge to move back permanently to her family home, Helen Gladstone did one last, significant thing. She asked her father to sign the official Memorial calling for women to be granted degrees “in some form” at Cambridge University. There is no evidence that Gladstone ever signed it, and the vote was heavily defeated in the Senate House in 1897 in any case. But for Helen Gladstone, it was perhaps enough that she felt that she could count on her father’s support, and the work that she had done at Newnham College for almost twenty years had meant something.

© Ann Kennedy Smith, all rights reserved. 

Sources: Photograph of Helen Gladstone by Barraud; reproduced with permission of the National Portrait Gallery, London. ‘Gladstone, Helen (1849-1925), educationist’ Oxford Dictionary of National Biography; Anne Isba, Gladstone and Women (Hambledon Continuum, 2006); Newnham College Roll ‘Letter’ Jan 1926; Janet Browne, Charles Darwin: The Power of Place (Pimlico, 2002); Emma Darwin’s diaries 242:44-7 and Ida Darwin’s Papers (Cambridge University Library); BBC Witness (9 mins, accessed 25/4/18). With thanks to the Manuscripts department at Cambridge University Library; Anne Thomson, Newnham College archivist and Elizabeth Stratton, Selwyn College archivist.

The Dining Club, 1890

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The husbands were left to fend for themselves for the evening. Some wandered off happily to college dinners, thinking about important matters to be discussed. Others were having solitary suppers in their studies, books piled up around them. Their wives had arranged the suppers, given instructions to cooks and servants, written letters and lists for the following day, and dressed for the evening.

Caroline Jebb glanced at her reflection and approved. Her black velvet dress set off her auburn hair and her creamy complexion seemed to glow. She could still pass for much younger than fifty, she thought. When she went to say goodbye to Richard in his study, he looked up from his papers and sighed.

‘Must you go?’

‘I must. You could still have dinner in college if you wanted to.’

‘Too much work to do here. Don’t be late, Carrisima.’

Outside, Melbourne waited by the carriage. He had squeezed into his navy blue coat and put on his top hat for the occasion. As he drove her to the Darwins’ house he told her some fascinating news about the cook’s marital problems until Maud climbed into the carriage, apologizing and explaining about children’s toothaches. Caroline shook her head impatiently.

‘Did you read the article I sent you, Maud? About this evening’s topic?’

‘Yes, well, most of it, you know. George had another bad head, so I had to sit with him, and he doesn’t like me to read. He says I rustle the pages too much.’

This was too vexing. If only Maud would follow her advice she would do quite well, Caroline thought. She was still a pretty girl, though since having children she had allowed her waist to thicken and it made her look positively matronly. She was wearing something in the new style from London, but Caroline suspected she had just come from the garden. Maud caught her look.

‘It’s real nice of Mrs Creighton to invite me, though of course, I should never have got a look-in if it hadn’t been for you, Aunt Cara.’

Caroline frowned.

‘Try not to say ‘real nice’ or ‘look-in’ when you meet Mrs Creighton, Maud, remember. That sort of language should stay in Philadelphia. Come to think of it, it might be best if you said as little as possible.’

The carriage swung into a wide driveway. The Creightons’ home was one of the newer Cambridge houses, rather square and featureless, but Louise had spent money on landscaping the garden, Caroline noted with approval. The maid showed them into a hall which had a new blue carpet on a freshly polished rosewood floor. As Louise came out to greet them, Caroline looked up to see a row of children in white nightgowns peering down at them, faces pressed against the banisters. One child said wonderingly,

‘Mama, mama! What are all these ladies doing here?’

Louise shooed them off to bed before ushering Caroline and Maud into the drawing room, explaining that she had asked the maid to prepare a fruit punch.

‘Mrs Lyttelton and I decided to have no champagne at our dinners, so that our minds are sharp for the discussion at hand,’ she explained, handing them each a glass.

The other women arrived in twos and threes, some walking, others by private carriage or rented hansom cab. A gong was sounded and they were shown into the dining room. Caroline surveyed the table. Dark-haired Ellen Darwin was whispering to her sister-in-law Ida. Louise had seated them together because Ida was good at putting Ellen at her ease. Fanny Prothero was sitting on the other side and saying little, as usual, but it was not Caroline’s job to draw anyone out this evening, thank goodness. Mary Marshall was on her left. Good, Mary always had something interesting to say. She was talking to Eleanor Sidgwick who looked flushed, her eyes shining. She loved these discussions and could not wait to address the group. Eliza von Hügel was looking gracious and spiritual, with her huge crucifix around her neck.

At the end of the table Kathleen Lyttelton shuffled a heap of papers in a business-like way. Dear me, Caroline thought, I hope she doesn’t speak for too long. Louise rang a small bell.

‘Welcome, ladies. May I introduce the topic for this evening? It is a subject which affects us all, and on which everyone here will have very different views. It is, of course, the marriage question.’

Ann Kennedy Smith

Coda: In August 1888 Mona Caird published an essay called ‘Marriage’ in the Westminster Review, stating that marriage as it existed in Victorian Britain was ‘a vexatious failure’. The Daily Telegraph took up the debate, asking its readers ‘Is Marriage A Failure?’. In the following two months over 27,000 readers replied, for and against. ‘The marriage question’, as it became known, continued to be debated in Britain throughout the 1890s. I think it is likely that Caroline Jebb and her friends would have discussed it.

Sources: Carolyn Christensen Nelson, A New Woman Reader: fiction, articles and drama of the 1890s (Letchworth: Turpin, 2001) pp.184-224.