Fifty-One Years of Victorian Life
by Countess of Margaret Elizabeth Leigh Child-Villiers Jersey · English · Gutenberg #38569 · 708,086 chars · public domain (US)
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Title: Fifty-One Years of Victorian Life
Author: Countess of Margaret Elizabeth Leigh Child-Villiers Jersey
Release date: January 14, 2012 [eBook #38569]
Language: English
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FIFTY-ONE YEARS OF VICTORIAN LIFE
All Rights Reserved
[Illustration: Margaret Countess of Jersey]
FIFTY-ONE YEARS OF VICTORIAN LIFE
by
THE DOWAGER COUNTESS OF JERSEY
London
John Murray, Albemarle Street, W.
1922
DEDICATED TO MY CHILDREN AND GRANDCHILDREN
Printed in Great Britain by
Hazell, Watson & Viney, Ld., London and Aylesbury.
"What is this child of man that can conquer
Time and that is braver than Love?
Even Memory."
LORD DUNSANY.
Though "a Sorrow's Crown of Sorrow"
Be "remembering happier things,"
Present joy will shine the brighter
If our morn a radiance flings.
We perchance may thwart the future
If we will not look before,
And upon a past which pains us
We may fasten Memory's door.
But we will not, cannot, banish
Bygone pleasure from our side,
Nor will doubt, beyond the storm-cloud,
Shall be Light at Eventide.
M. E. J.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I
AN EARLY VICTORIAN CHILD
The Duke of Wellington--Travelling in the Fifties--
Governesses--"Mrs. Gailey"--Queen Victoria at
Stoneleigh--A narrow escape--Life at Stoneleigh--Rectors
and vicars--Theatricals pp. 1-22
CHAPTER II
A VICTORIAN GIRL
Mentone--Genoa--Trafalgar veterans--Lord Muncaster and
Greek brigands--The Grosvenor family--Uncles and aunts--
Confirmation--"Coming out"--Ireland--Killarney--The
O'Donoghue--Myths and legends--The giant Benadadda pp. 23-50
CHAPTER III
MARRIAGE
Fanny Kemble--An old-fashioned Christmas--A
pre-matrimonial party--Fonthill Abbey--Engagement--
Married to Lord Jersey pp. 51-64
CHAPTER IV
EARLY MARRIED LIFE
Lord Jersey's mother--In London--Isola Bella, Cannes--
Oxfordshire neighbours--Caversfield Church--Life at
Middleton--Mr. Disraeli--Froude and Kingsley--James
Russell Lowell--T. Hughes and J. R. Lowell--Mr. Gladstone
on Immortality--Thought-reading--Tom Hughes and Rugby,
Tennessee--Cardinal Newman pp. 65-93
CHAPTER V
BERLIN AND THE JUBILEE OF 1887
Sarah Bernhardt--Death of Gilbert Leigh--In Italy, 1884--
Court Ball in Berlin--The Crown Prince Frederick--Prince
Bismarck--Conversation with Bismarck--Bismarck and Lord
Salisbury--Thanksgiving Service--Trials of Court
Officials--The Naval Review--Knowsley--Apotheosis of the
Queen pp. 94-121
CHAPTER VI
GHOST STORIES AND TRAVELS IN GREECE
Lord Halsbury's ghost story--The ghostly reporter--A
Jubilee sermon--Marathon--Miss Tricoupi--Nauplia--The
Laurium Mines--Hadji Petros--Olympia--Zante pp. 122-140
CHAPTER VII
VOYAGE TO INDIA--HYDERABAD
Mr. Joseph Chamberlain--Departure for India--Colonel
Olcott and Professor Max Mueller--Sir Samuel Baker--
Mahableshwar--H.H. the Aga Khan--Races at Hyderabad--
H.H. the Nizam of Hyderabad--Purdah ladies--Breakfast in
a zenana pp. 141-161
CHAPTER VIII
MADRAS, CALCUTTA, AND BENARES
Brahmin philosophers--Faith of educated Hindus--
Theosophists at Adyar--The Ranees of Travancore--The
Princesses of Tanjore--"The Heart of Montrose"--The
Palace of Madura--Rous Peter's Sacred Door--Loyalty of
native Indians--Passengers on the _Pundua_--The Brahmo
Somaj--Maharajah of Benares--Marriages of infants and
widows pp. 162-187
CHAPTER IX
NORTHERN INDIA AND JOURNEY HOME
The Relief of Lucknow--View from the Kotab Minar--
Sekundra and Futtehpore Sekree--The legend of Krishna--
The Jains--The Maharajah of Bhownuggar--Baroda--English
as Lingua Franca--Meditations of a Western wanderer--An
English plum-pudding--The Greek Royal Family--Original
derivations pp. 188-211
CHAPTER X
WINDSOR--EGYPT AND SYRIA
Dinner at Windsor--Voyage up the Nile--Choucry Pasha,
Princess Nazli--The Pigmies--Inn of the Good Samaritan--
The Holy City--Balbec--Damascus, Lady Ellenborough--
Oriental methods of trade--Smyrna--Constantinople--The
Selamlik--The Orient Express--Story of a picture pp. 212-239
CHAPTER XI
FIRST IMPRESSIONS OF AUSTRALIA
War Office red tape--Balmoral--Farewell to England--
Voyage on the _Arcadia_--The Federation Convention--The
delegates--The Blue Mountains--Sir Alfred Stephen--
Domestic Conditions--Correspondence with Lord Derby--
Labour Legislation--The Ex-Kaiser--Lord Derby's poem pp. 240-265
CHAPTER XII
FURTHER IMPRESSIONS OF AUSTRALIA--NEW ZEALAND
AND NEW CALEDONIA
Yarrangobilly Caves--Dunedin--The New Zealand Sounds--
Hot Springs of New Zealand--Huia Onslow--Noumea--The
Governor of New Caledonia--The Convict Settlement--
Convicts in former days--Death of Lord Ancram pp. 266-286
CHAPTER XIII
TONGA AND SAMOA
Tongan ladies--Arrival at Apia--German plantations--R. L.
Stevenson--King Malietoa--The Enchanted Forest--King
Mataafa--The Kava Ceremony--A native dance--
Missionaries--Samoan mythology--Desire for English
protection--Visit from Tamasese--_An Object of Pity_--
Courage of R. L. Stevenson pp. 287-318
CHAPTER XIV
DEPARTURE FROM AUSTRALIA--CHINA AND JAPAN
Bushrangers--Circumstantial evidence--The Great Barrier
Reef--Coloured labour--Hong-Kong--Canton--The Viceroy of
Canton--Japanese scenery--Interview with the Empress--
The Sacred Mirror of the Sun Goddess--Christianity in
Japan--Daimios of old Japan--Japanese friends pp. 319-345
CHAPTER XV
JOURNEY HOME--THE NILE--LORD KITCHENER
The well-forged link of Empire--Columbus discovers
America--The Mayor cuts his hair--The pageant "America"--
Back at Osterley--The dahabyah _Herodotus_--Escape of
Slatin Pasha--How a King and an Arab evaded orders--The
Dervishes--Lord Kitchener pp. 346-368
CHAPTER XVI
DIAMOND JUBILEE AND DEATH OF QUEEN VICTORIA
Mr. Chamberlain, Colonial Secretary--The Queen at Temple
Bar--The South African War--Indian princesses--Lord and
Lady Northcote--The Victoria League--Mr. Chamberlain's
letter pp. 369-383
INDEX pp. 385-392
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
MARGARET, COUNTESS OF JERSEY (photogravure) _Frontispiece_
_After the portrait by Ellis Roberts at Osterley Park._
FACING PAGE
STONELEIGH ABBEY 18
THE LIBRARY, MIDDLETON PARK 68
_From a photograph by the present Countess of Jersey._
MIDDLETON PARK 68
_From a photograph by the present Countess of Jersey._
OSTERLEY PARK 238
_From a photograph by W. H. Grove._
GROUP AT MIDDLETON PARK, CHRISTMAS, 1904 370
FIFTY-ONE YEARS OF VICTORIAN LIFE
CHAPTER I
AN EARLY VICTORIAN CHILD
I was born at Stoneleigh Abbey on October 29th, 1849. My father has told
me that immediately afterwards--I suppose next day--I was held up at the
window for the members of the North Warwickshire Hunt to drink my health.
I fear that their kind wishes were so far of no avail that I never became
a sportswoman, though I always lived amongst keen followers of the hounds.
For many years the first meet of the season was held at Stoneleigh, and
large hospitality extended to the gentlemen and farmers within the Abbey
and to the crowd without. Almost anyone could get bread and cheese and
beer outside for the asking, till at last some limit had to be placed when
it was reported that special trains were being run from Birmingham to a
neighbouring town to enable the populace to attend this sporting carnival
at my father's expense. He was a splendid man and a fearless rider while
health and strength permitted--rather too fearless at times--and among the
many applicants for his bounty were men who based their claims to
assistance on the alleged fact that they had picked up Lord Leigh after a
fall out hunting. It was always much more difficult to restrain him from
giving than to induce him to give.
My mother, a daughter of Lord Westminster, told me that from the moment
she saw him she had never any doubt as to whom she would marry. No wonder.
He was exceptionally handsome and charming, and I believe he was as prompt
in falling in love with her as she confessed to having been with him. An
old relative who remembered their betrothal told me that she knew what was
coming when Mr. Leigh paid L5 for some trifle at a bazaar where Lady
Caroline Grosvenor was selling. The sole reason for recording this is to
note that fancy bazaars were in vogue so long ago as 1848.
My mother was only twenty when she married, and very small and pretty. I
have heard that soon after their arrival at Stoneleigh my father gave
great satisfaction to the villagers, who were eagerly watching to see the
bride out walking, by lifting his little wife in his arms and carrying her
over a wet place in the road. This was typical of his unfailing devotion
through fifty-seven years of married life--a devotion which she returned
in full measure.
I was the eldest child of the young parents, and as my grandfather,
Chandos Lord Leigh, was then alive, our home for a short time was at
Adlestrop House in Gloucestershire, which also belonged to the family; but
my grandfather died and we moved to Stoneleigh when I was far too young to
remember any other home. In those days we drove by road from one house to
the other, and on one occasion my father undertook to convey my cradle in
his dog-cart, in the space under the back seat usually allotted to dogs.
In the middle of a village the door of this receptacle flew open and the
cradle shot out into the road, slightly embarrassing to a very young man.
About the earliest thing I can recollect was seeing the Crystal Palace
Building when in Hyde Park. I do not suppose that I was taken inside, but
I distinctly remember the great glittering glass Palace when I was driving
with my mother. Of course we had pictures of the Great Exhibition and
heard plenty about it, but oddly enough one print that impressed me most
was a French caricature which represented an Englishman distributing the
prizes to an expectant throng with words to this effect: "Ladies and
Gentlemen, some intrusive foreigners have come over to compete with our
people and have had the impertinence to make some things better than we
do. You will, however, quite understand that none of the prizes will be
given to these outsiders." It was my earliest lesson in doubting the
lasting effects of attempts to unite rival countries in any League of
Nations.
[Sidenote: THE DUKE OF WELLINGTON]
Somewhere about this time I had the honour of being presented to the great
Duke of Wellington in the long Gallery (now, alas! no more) at Grosvenor
House. I do not remember the incident, but he was _the_ Hero in those
days, and I was told it so often that I felt as if I could recall it. My
father said he kissed me, but my mother's more modest claim was that he
shook hands.
My parents were each endowed with nine brothers and sisters--i.e. my
father was one of ten who all lived till past middle life, my mother was
one of thirteen of whom ten attained a full complement of years. Indeed,
when my parents celebrated their golden wedding they had sixteen brothers
and sisters still alive. As almost all these uncles and aunts married and
most of them had large families, it will be readily believed that we did
not lack cousins, and the long Gallery was a splendid gathering-place for
the ramifications of the Grosvenor side of our family. Apart from the
imposing pictures, it was full of treasures, such as a miniature crystal
river which flowed when wound up and had little swans swimming upon it. It
was here, later on in my girlhood, that I saw the first Japanese Embassy
to England, stately Daimios or Samurai in full native costume and with two
swords--a great joy to all of us children.
To go back to early recollections--my next clear impression is of the
Crimean War and knitting a pair of red muffetees for the soldiers. Plenty
of "comforts" were sent out even in those days. Sir George Higginson once
told me that when boxes of miscellaneous gifts arrived it was the custom
to hold an auction. On one occasion among the contents were several copies
of Boyle's Court Guide and two pairs of ladies' stays! So useful! The
latter were bestowed upon the French vivandiere. No W.A.A.C.s then to
benefit.
After the Crimean War came the Indian Mutiny, and our toy soldiers
represented English and Sepoys instead of English and Russians. Children
in each generation I suppose follow wars by their toys. Despite the
comradeship of English and French in the Crimea, I do not believe that we
ever quite ceased to regard France as the hereditary foe. A contemporary
cousin was said to have effaced France from the map of Europe; I do not
think we were quite so daring.
In all, I rejoiced in five brothers and two sisters, but the fifth brother
died at fourteen months old before our youngest sister was born. His death
was our first real sorrow and a very keen one. Long before that, however,
when we were only three children, Gilbert, the brother next to me, a baby
sister Agnes, and myself, our adventurous parents took us to the South of
France. I was four years old at the time and the existence of a foreign
land was quite a new light to me. I well remember running into the nursery
and triumphantly exclaiming, "There is a country called France and I am
going there!"
[Sidenote: TRAVELLING IN THE FIFTIES]
My further recollections are vague until we reached Lyons, where the
railway ended and our large travelling carriage brought from England was
put on a boat--steamer, I suppose--and thus conveyed to Avignon. Thence we
drove, sleeping at various towns, until we reached Mentone, where we spent
some time, and I subsequently learnt that we were then the only English in
the place. I think that my parents were very brave to take about such
young children, but I suppose the experiment answered pretty well, as a
year later they again took Gilbert and me to France--this time to
Normandy, where I spent my sixth birthday, saw the great horses dragging
bales of cotton along the quays at Rouen, and was enchanted with the ivory
toys at Dieppe.
I think that people who could afford it travelled more in former days than
is realised. Both my grandparents made prolonged tours with most of their
elder children. My grandfather Westminster took my mother and her elder
sisters in his yacht to Constantinople and Rome. My mother well remembered
some of her experiences, including purchases from a Turkish shopkeeper who
kept a large cat on his counter and served various comestibles with his
hands, wiping them between each sale on the animal's fur. At Rome she told
me how she and one of her sisters, girls of some twelve and thirteen years
old, used to wander out alone into the Campagna in the early morning,
which seems very strange in view of the stories of restraint placed upon
children in bygone days. As to my grandfather Leigh, I believe he
travelled with his family for about two years, to Switzerland, France and
the North of Italy. They had three carriages, one for the parents, one for
the schoolroom, and one for the nursery. A courier escorted them, and an
avant-courier rode on in front with bags of five-franc pieces to secure
lodgings when they migrated from one place to another. On one occasion on
the Riviera they met the then Grand Duke Constantine, who thrust his head
out of the window and exclaimed "Toute Angleterre est en route!"
[Sidenote: GOVERNESSES]
After our return from Normandy we were placed in charge of a resident
governess, a young German, but as far as I can recollect she had very
little control over us. We discovered that the unlucky girl, though of
German parentage, had been born in Russia, and with the unconscious
cruelty of children taunted her on this account. Anyhow her stay was
short, and she was succeeded about a year later by an Englishwoman, Miss
Custarde, who kept us in very good order and stayed till she married when
I was fourteen. Her educational efforts were supplemented by masters and
mistresses during the London season and by French resident governesses in
the winter months, but I do not think that we were at all overworked.
I doubt whether Miss Custarde would have been considered highly educated
according to modern standards, but she was very good in teaching us to
look up information for ourselves, which was just as useful as anything
else. Her strongest point was music, but that she could not drive into me,
and my music lessons were a real penance to teacher and pupil alike. She
would give me lectures during their progress on such topics as the
Parable of the Talents--quite ignoring the elementary fact that though I
could learn most of my lessons quickly enough I had absolutely no talent
for music. She was, however, a remarkable woman with great influence, not
only over myself, but over my younger aunts and over other men and women.
She was very orderly, and proud of that quality, but she worked too much
on my conscience, making me regard trivial faults as actual sins which
prevented her from kissing me or showing me affection--an ostracism which
generally resulted in violent fits of penitence. She had more than one
admirer before she ended by marrying a schoolmaster, with whom she used to
take long walks in the holidays. One peculiarity was that she would give
me sketches of admirers and get me to write long stories embodying their
imaginary adventures. I suppose these were shown as great jokes to the
heroes and their friends. Of course she did not think I knew the
"inwardness" of her various friendships, equally of course as time went on
I understood them perfectly. Miss Custarde is not the only governess I
have known who acquired extraordinary influence over her pupils. In Marcel
Prevost's novel _Anges Gardiens_, which represents the dangers to French
families of engaging foreign governesses, he makes the Belgian, Italian,
and German women all to a greater or less extent immoral, but the
Englishwoman, though at least as detestable as the others, is not immoral;
the great evil which she inflicts on the family which engages her is the
absolute power which she acquires over her pupil. The whole book is very
unfair and M. Prevost seems to overlook the slur which he casts on his own
countrymen, as none of the men appear able to resist the wiles of the
sirens engaged to look after the girls of their families; but it is odd
that he should realise the danger of undue influence and attribute it only
to the Englishwoman. Why should this be a characteristic of English
governesses--supposing his experience (borne out by my own) to be typical?
Is it an Englishwoman's love of power and faculty for concentration on the
object which she wishes to attain?
We liked several of our foreign governesses well enough, but they
exercised no particular influence--and as a rule their engagements were
only temporary. I do not think that Miss Custarde gave them much
opportunity of ascendancy. With one her relations were so strained that
the two ladies had their suppers at different tables in the schoolroom,
and when the Frenchwoman wanted the salt she rang the bell for the
schoolroom-maid to bring it from her English colleague's table. However, I
owed a great deal to Miss Custarde and know that her affection for all of
us was very real. She died in the autumn of 1920, having retained all her
faculties till an advanced age.
After all no human being could compete with our mother in the estimation
of any of her children. Small and fragile and often suffering from
ill-health, she had almost unbounded power over everyone with whom she
came in contact, and for her to express an opinion on any point created an
axiom from which there was no appeal. As middle-aged men and women we have
often laughed over the way in which we have still accepted "mama said"
so-and-so as a final verdict. As children our faith not only in her wisdom
but in her ability was unlimited. I remember being regarded as almost a
heretic by the younger ones because I ventured to doubt whether she could
make a watch. Vainly did I hedge by asserting that I was certain that if
she had learnt she could make the most beautiful watch in the world--I
had infringed the first article of family faith by thinking that there was
anything which she could not do by the uninstructed light of nature. She
was a good musician, and a really excellent amateur artist--her
water-colour drawings charming. Her knowledge of history made it
delightful to read aloud to her, as she seemed as if the heroes and
heroines of bygone times had been her personal acquaintance. Needless to
say her personal care for everyone on my father's property was untiring,
and the standard of the schools in the various villages was maintained at
a height uncommon in days when Education Acts were not so frequent and
exacting as in later years.
[Sidenote: "MRS. GAILEY"]
Another great character in our home was our old nurse. For some reason she
was never called Nanna, but always "Mrs. Gailey." The daughter of a small
tradesman, she was a woman of some education--she had even learnt a little
French and had been a considerable reader. Though a disciple of Spurgeon,
she had lived as nurse with my mother's cousin the Duke of Norfolk in the
days when the girls of the family were Protestants though the boys were
Roman Catholics. When the Duchess (daughter of Lord Lyons) went over to
the Roman Church the Protestant nurse's position became untenable, as the
daughters had to follow their mother. She told us that this was a great
distress at first to the eldest girl Victoria (afterwards Hope-Scott), for
at twelve years old she was able to feel the uprooting of her previous
faith. The other sisters were too young to mind. Gailey's idol, however,
was Lord Maltravers (the late Duke), who must have been as attractive a
boy as he became delightful a man.
Gailey came to us when I was about four, my first nurse, who had been my
wet-nurse, having married the coachman. Our first encounter took place
when I was already in my cot, and I announced to her that if she stayed a
hundred years I should not love her as I had done "Brownie." "And if I
stay a hundred years," was the repartee, "I shall not love you as I did
the little boy I have just left"--so we started fair. Nevertheless she was
an excellent nurse and a fascinating companion. She could tell stories by
the hour and knew all sorts of old-fashioned games which we played in the
nursery on holiday afternoons.
The great joy of the schoolroom children was to join the little ones after
tea and to sit in a circle while she told us either old fairy tales, or
more frequently her own versions of novels which she had read and of which
she changed the names and condensed the incidents in a most ingenious
manner. On Sunday evenings _Pilgrim's Progress_ in her own words was
substituted for the novels. Miss Custarde could inflict no greater
punishment for failure in our "saying lessons" than to keep us out of the
nursery. Gailey stayed with us till some time after my marriage and then
retired on a pension.
The Scottish housekeeper, Mrs. Wallace, was also a devoted friend and a
great dispenser of cakes, ices, and home-made cowslip and ginger wine.
Rose-water, elder-flower water, and all stillroom mysteries found an
expert in her, and she even concocted mead from an old recipe. Few people
can have made mead in this generation--it was like very strong rather
sweet beer. We all loved "Walley"--but she failed us on one occasion.
Someone said that she had had an uncle who had fought at Waterloo, so we
rushed to her room to question her on this hero's prowess. "What did your
uncle do at Waterloo?" The reply was cautious and rather chilling: "I
believe he hid behind his horse." She looked after all our dogs and was
supposed to sleep with eight animals and birds in her room.
[Sidenote: QUEEN VICTORIA AT STONELEIGH]
In the summer of 1858 a great event occurred in the annals of Stoneleigh.
Queen Victoria stayed at my father's for two nights in order to open Aston
Hall and Park, an old Manor House and property, which had belonged to the
Bracebridge family and had been secured for the recreation of the people
of Birmingham. Naturally there was great excitement at the prospect. For
months beforehand workmen were employed in the renovation and redecoration
of the Abbey and its precincts. Many years afterwards an ex-coachpainter
met one of my sons and recalled to him the glorious days of preparation
for Her Majesty's visit. "Even the pigsties were painted, sir," said he.
Stoneleigh is a large mass of buildings--parts of the basement remain from
the original Abbey of the Cistercian monks. On these was built a
picturesque house about the beginning of the seventeenth century, early in
the eighteenth century a large mansion was added in the classical Italian
style, and about a hundred years later a new wing was erected to unite the
two portions. The old Abbey Church stood in what is now a lawn between the
house and the ancient Gateway, which bears the arms of Henry II. To put
everything in order was no light task. The rooms for the Queen and Prince
Consort were enclosed on one side of the corridor leading to them by a
temporary wall, and curtained off where the corridor led to the main
staircase. In addition to every other preparation, the outline of the
gateway, the main front of the house, and some of the ornamental
flower-beds were traced out with little lamps--I think there were
22,000--which were lighted at night with truly fairy-like effect. By that
time we were five children--the house was crowded in every nook and corner
with guests, servants, and attendants of all kinds. Somehow my brother
Gilbert and I were stowed away in a room with two or three maids, but the
"little ones," Agnes and two small brothers Dudley and Rupert, were sent
to the keeper's house in the Deerpark. That house was a delightful
old-world building standing on a hill with a lovely view, and we were
occasionally sent there for a day or two's change of air, to our great
joy.
On the occasion of the Royal Visit, however, Gilbert and I quite realised
our privilege in being kept in the Abbey and allowed to stand with our
mother and other members of the family to welcome the Queen as the
carriage clattered up with its escort of Yeomanry. My father had, of
course, met Her Majesty at the station. The Queen was more than gracious
and at once won the hearts of the children--but we did not equally
appreciate the Prince Consort. Assuredly he was excellent, but he was very
stiff and reserved, and I suppose that we were accustomed to attentions
from our father's guests which he did not think fit to bestow upon us,
though the Queen gave them in ample measure.
We were allowed to join the large party of guests after dinner, and either
the first or the second evening witnessed with interest and amusement the
presentation of the country neighbours to the Queen. Having been carefully
instructed as to our own bows and curtsies, we naturally became very
critical of the "grown-up" salutations, particularly when one nervous lady
on passing the royal presence tossed her head back into the air by way of
reverence. I think the same night my father escorted the Queen into the
garden in front of the house, which was separated from part of the Park by
a stone balustrade. In this park-ground several thousand people had
assembled who spontaneously broke into "God save the Queen" when she
appeared. Fortunately the glorious hot summer night (July) was ideal for
the greeting.
One morning our small sister and brothers were brought to the Abbey "to be
presented." Agnes made a neat little curtsy, though we unkindly asserted
that it was behind the Queen's back, but the baby boys were overcome by
shyness and turned away from the Queen's kisses. Unfortunate children!
they were never allowed to forget this!
[Sidenote: THE PRINCE CONSORT]
Poor Prince Consort lost his last chance of good feeling from Gilbert and
myself when he and the Queen went to plant memorial trees. We rushed
forward to be in time to see the performance, but he sternly swept us from
the royal path. No doubt he was justified in bidding us "stand back," but
he might have remembered that we were children, and his host's children,
and done it more gently.
I shall refer to our dear Queen later on, but may here insert a little
incident of her childhood which came to my knowledge accidentally. In the
village belonging to my married home, Middleton Stoney, there was a
middle-aged policeman's wife who cultivated long ringlets on either side
of her face. She once confided to me that as a child she had had beautiful
curls, and that, living near Kensington Palace, they had on one occasion
been cut off to make "riding curls" for Princess (afterwards Queen)
Victoria, who had lost her own hair--temporarily--from an illness. The
child had not liked this at all, though she had been given some of the
Princess's hair as an equivalent. I imagine that her parents received more
substantial payment.
Our childhood was varied by a good deal of migration. We were regularly
taken each year about May to our father's London house, 37 Portman Square,
where we entertained our various cousins at tea-parties and visited them
in return. We were generally taken in the autumn to some seaside place
such as Brighton, Hastings, Rhyl, or the Isle of Wight. We estimated the
merits of each resort largely according to the amount of sand which it
afforded us to dig in, and I think Shanklin in the Isle of Wight took the
foremost place in our affections.
[Sidenote: A NARROW ESCAPE]
Two years, however, had specially delightful autumns, for in each of these
our father took a moor in Scotland--once Kingairloch and the second time
Strontian. On each occasion I accompanied my parents; to Kingairloch,
Gilbert (Gilly he was always called) came also--the second year he spent
half the time with us and then returned to his tutor and Agnes, and Dudley
took his place for the remainder of our stay. How we enjoyed the fishing,
bathing in the loch, and paddling in the burns! Everyone who has spent the
shooting season in Scotland knows all about it, and our experiences,
though absolutely delightful, did not differ much from other people's.
These visits were about 1860 and 1861. The railroad did not extend nearly
so far as at present and the big travelling-carriage again came into play.
One day it had with considerable risk to be conveyed over four ferries and
ultimately to be driven along a mountainous road after dark. As far as I
remember we had postilions--certainly the charioteer or charioteers had
had as much whisky as was good for them, with the result that the back
wheels of the heavy carriage went right over the edge of a precipice. The
servants seated behind the carriage gave themselves over for lost--we
children were half-asleep inside and unconscious of our peril, when the
horses made a desperate bound forward and dragged the carriage back on to
the road. We were taken later to see the place with the marks of the
wheels still plain on the rocky edge--and young as we were could quite
realise what we had escaped. Both shooting lodges were situated in the
midst of the lovely mountain scenery of North Argyllshire, possibly
Kingairloch was the more beautiful of the two. One day from dawn to eve
the mountains echoed and re-echoed with the plaintive bleating of flocks,
and we were told that it was because the lambs were taken from their
mothers. I still possess some verses which my mother wrote on that
occasion, and transcribe them to show that she had a strong poetic as well
as artistic vein:
"Far over the mountains and over the corries
Echoed loud wailings and bleatings the day
When from the side of the mothers that loved them
The lambs at Kingairloch were taken away.
"Vainly, poor mothers, ye watch in the valley
The nook where your little ones gambolled before,
Vainly ye climb to the heights of the mountains--
They answer you not, and shall answer no more!
"Never again from that stream-silvered hill-side,
Seeking fresh grass betwixt harebell and heather,
Shall you and your lambkins look back on Loch Corry,
Watching the flight of the sea-bird together.
"No more, when the storm, striking chords on the mountains,
Drives down the thick mists their tall summits to hide,
Shall you give the sweet gift of a mother's protection
To the soft little creatures crouched down by your side.
"Past the sweet peril! and gone the sweet pleasure!--
Well might the echoes tell sadly that day
The plaint of the mothers that cried at Kingairloch
The day that the lambs were taken away."
Visits to Scotland included sojourns at Ardgowan, the home of our uncle
and aunt Sir Michael and Lady Octavia Shaw-Stewart on the Clyde. Aunt
Occy, as we called her, was probably my mother's favourite sister--in any
case her children were our favourite cousins on the Grosvenor side, and we
loved our many visits to Ardgowan both when we went to the moors and in
after years. There were excursions on the hills and bathing in the
salt-water of the Clyde, fishing from boats, and shells to be collected on
the beach. Also my uncle had a beautiful yacht in which he took us
expeditions towards Arran and to Loch Long from which we were able to go
across the mountain pass to Loch Lomond.
My grandmother Lady Leigh died in 1860, before which time she used to pay
lengthened visits to Stoneleigh accompanied by three or four unmarried
daughters. She was a fine handsome old lady. Her hair had turned white
when she was about thirty-two, but, as old ladies did in those days, she
wore a brown front with a black velvet band. She had a masterful temper
and held her daughters in considerable awe, but, after the manner of
grandparents, was very kind to us. I fancy that so many unmarried
sisters-in-law may have been a slight trial to my mother, but we regarded
our aunts as additional playfellows bound to provide us with some kind of
amusement. The favourite was certainly "Aunt Georgy," the youngest
daughter but one. She had an unfailing flow of spirits, could tell stories
and join in games, and never objected to our invasion of her room at any
time. Poor "Aunt Gussie" (Augusta) was less fortunate: she had bad health
and would scold us to make us affectionate--an unsuccessful method to say
the least of it--the natural result was, I fear, that we teased her
whenever opportunity offered. Aunt Georgie was very good-looking and I
believe much admired. She did not, however, marry till she was about
forty. A Colonel Newdigate, whose runaway horse she had stopped when quite
a girl, had fallen in love with her and wanted to marry her. She
persistently refused and he married someone else. When his wife died, he
returned to his first affection and ultimately melted my Aunt's heart. She
had no children of her own, but was a good stepmother to his only son--now
Sir Frank Newdegate, Governor of West Australia.
[Sidenote: LIFE AT STONELEIGH]
Stoneleigh offered every possible amusement to children--long galleries
and passages to race up and down, a large hall for battledore and
shuttlecock and other games, parks and lawns for riding and cricket, and
the River Avon at the bottom of the garden for fishing and boating, not to
mention skating in hard winters. People are apt to talk and write as if
"Early Victorian" and "Mid-Victorian" children were kept under strict
control and made to treat their elders with respectful awe. I cannot
recall any undue restraint in our case. As I have already said, our mother
was an influence which no one would have attempted to resist, but she
never interfered with any reasonable happiness or amusement. Our father
was the most cheerful of companions, loving to take us about to any kind
of sights or entertainments which offered, and buying us toys and presents
on every possible occasion. The only constraint put upon us, which is not
often used with the modern child, concerned religious observance. We had
to come in to daily Prayers at 10 o'clock even if it interfered with
working in our gardens or other out-door amusement--and church twice on
Sundays was the invariable rule as soon as we were old enough to walk to
the neighbouring villages of Stoneleigh and Ashow, or to attend the
ministrations of the chaplain who generally officiated once each Sunday in
the chapel in the house. We had to learn some "Scripture lesson" every day
and two or three on Sundays, and I being the eldest had not only to repeat
these Sunday lessons to my mother, but also to see in a general way that
my younger brothers and sisters knew theirs. I was made to learn any
number of chapters and hymns, and Scripture catechisms--not to speak of
the Thirty-nine Articles! At last when mother and governess failed to find
something more to learn by heart I was told to commit portions of Thomas a
Kempis to memory. Here, I grieve to confess, I struck--that is to say, I
did not venture actually to refuse, but I repeated the good brother's
words in such a disagreeable and discontented tone of voice that no one
could stand it, and the attempt to improve me in this way was tacitly
abandoned.
[Illustration: STONELEIGH ABBEY.]
[Sidenote: RECTORS AND VICARS]
On the whole I feel sure that the advantages of acquiring so many great
truths, and generally in beautiful language, far outweighed any passing
irritation that a young girl may have felt with these "religious
obligations." If it is necessary to distinguish between High and Low
Church in these matters, I suppose that my parents belonged to the
orthodox Evangelical School. I have a vague recollection of one Vicar of
Stoneleigh still preaching in the black silk Geneva gown. At Ashow--the
other church whose services we attended--the Rector when I was small was
an old Charles Twisleton, a cousin of my father's. He, however, had
discarded the black gown long before my day. My father told me that when
the new Oxford School first took to preaching in surplices Mr. Twisleton
adopted this fashion. Thereupon the astonished family at the Abbey
exclaimed, "Oh, Cousin Charles, are you a Puseyite?" "No, my dears," was
the confidential reply, "but black silk gowns are very expensive and mine
was worn out." Probably many poor clergymen were glad to avail themselves
of this economical form of ritual. I have an idea that Rudyard Kipling's
Norman Baron's advice to his son would have appealed to my parents had it
been written in their day:
"Be polite but not friendly to Bishops,
And good to all poor Parish priests."
I feel that they were "friendly to Bishops" when they met, and they were
certainly good to all the Rectors and Vicars of the various villages which
belonged to my father or of which the livings were in his gift, but they
had no idea of giving their consciences into ecclesiastical keeping. In
fact my grandmother Westminster once said to my mother, "My dear, you and
I spend much of our lives in rectifying the errors of the clergy"; those
excellent men often failing in business capacity.
The church services at both our churches were simple to a degree. At
Stoneleigh the organ was in the gallery and the hymns were sung by the
schoolchildren there. The pulpit and reading-desk were part of what used
to be called a "three-decker" with a second reading-desk for the clerk.
This was exactly opposite our large "Squire's Pew" across the aisle. There
had from time immemorial been a Village Harvest Home with secular
rejoicings, but at last there came the great innovation of service with
special decoration and appropriate Psalms and Lessons in church. I do not
know the exact year, but think that it must have been somewhere in the
sixties, after my Uncle James--my father's youngest brother--became Vicar
of Stoneleigh, as it must have been his influence which induced my father
to consent to what he considered slightly ritualistic.
However, all went well till it came to the Special Psalms. The choir had
nothing to do with leading responses--these pertained to the clerk--old
Job Jeacock--and when the first "special" was given out he utterly failed
to find it. The congregation waited while he descended from his
desk--walked across the aisle to our pew and handed his Prayerbook to me
that I might help him out of his difficulty!
Decorations in the churches at Christmas were fully approved, and of
course the house was a bower of holly, ivy and mistletoe--these were
ancient customs never omitted in our home. Christmas was a glorious time,
extending from the Villagers' Dinner on S. Thomas's Day to the Ball on our
father's birthday, January 17th--a liberal allowance. The children dined
down on both Christmas Day and New Year's Day, and there was always a
Christmas Tree one evening laden with toys and sweetmeats. Among other
Christmas customs there was the bullet-pudding--a little hill of flour
with a bullet on the top. Each person in turn cut a slice of the pudding
with his knife, and when the bullet ultimately fell into the flour whoever
let it down had to get it out again with his mouth. Snap-dragon was also a
great institution. The raisins had to be seized from a dish of burning
spirits of wine, presided over by "Uncle Jimmy" (the clergyman) dressed
as a ghost in a sheet, who had regularly on this occasion to thrill us
with a recitation of "Alonzo the Brave and Fair Imogene"--the faithless
lady who was carried off from her wedding feast by the ghost of her lover.
Of course her fate was inextricably mixed up in our minds with the flame
of the snap-dragon.
[Sidenote: THEATRICALS]
Twelfth Night, with drawing for characters, was duly honoured--nor were
private theatricals forgotten. Like all children we loved dressing-up and
acting. The first "regular" play with family and household for audience in
which we performed was _Bluebeard_, written in verse by my mother, in
which I was Fatima. After that we had many performances--sometimes of
plays written by her and sometimes by myself. I do not think that we were
budding Irvings or Ellen Terrys, but we enjoyed ourselves immensely and
the audiences were tolerant.
More elaborate theatricals took place at Hams Hall, the house of Sir
Charles Adderley (afterwards Lord Norton), who married my father's eldest
sister. They had a large family, of whom five sons and five daughters grew
up. These young people were devoted to acting and some of us occasionally
went over to assist--at least I recollect performing on one occasion--and
we often saw these cousins either at Hams or at Stoneleigh, the houses
being at no great distance apart. The youngest son, afterwards well known
as Father Adderley, was particularly fond of dressing up--he was a
well-known actor--and I am not sure that he did not carry his histrionic
tastes into the Church of which he was a greatly esteemed prop. Another
numerous family of cousins were the children of my father's fifth sister,
married to the Rev. Henry Cholmondeley--a son of Lord Delamere--who held
the living of my father's other place--Adlestrop. Uncle Cholmondeley was
clever and devoted enough to teach all his five sons himself without
sending them to preparatory schools; and between his teaching and their
abilities, most, if not all, of them won scholarships to aid their careers
at public schools. With their four sisters they were a noisy but amusing
set of companions, and we always enjoyed their visits. My father's
youngest sister was not old enough for her children to be our actual
contemporaries, but when she did marry--Mr. Granville Leveson-Gower of
Titsey--she had twelve sons and three daughters--a good record.
My mother's sisters rivalled my father's in adding to the population--one,
Lady Macclesfield, having had fifteen children, of whom twelve were alive
to attend her funeral when she died at the age of ninety. So I reckoned at
one time that I had a hundred _first_ cousins alive, and generally found
one in whatever quarter of the globe I chanced to visit.
Speaking of theatrical performances, I should specially mention my
father's next brother, Chandos Leigh, a well-known character at the Bar,
as a Member of the Zingari, and in many other spheres. Whenever
opportunity served and enough nephews and nieces were ready to perform he
wrote for us what he called "Businesses"--variety entertainments to follow
our little plays--in which we appeared in any capacity--clowns, fairies,
Shakespeare or Sheridan characters, or anything else which occurred to him
as suited to our various capacities, and for which he wrote clever and
amusing topical rhymes.
CHAPTER II
A VICTORIAN GIRL
The Christmas festivities of 1862 had to be suspended, as my mother's
health again obliged my father to take her to the South of France. This
time I was their sole companion, the younger children remaining in
England.
We travelled by easy stages, sleeping at Folkestone, Boulogne, Paris,
Dijon, Lyons, Avignon, and Toulon. I kept a careful journal of our travels
on this occasion, and note that at Lyons we found one of the chief silk
manufactories employed in weaving a dress for Princess Alexandra, then
engaged to the Prince of Wales. It had a gold rose, shamrock and thistle
combined on a white ground. There also we crossed the Rhone and saw in the
hospital at Ville Neuve, among other curious old paintings, one by King
Rene d'Anjou. It represented the Holy Family, and my childish eyes carried
away the impression of a lovely infant patting a soft woolly lamb. So
completely was I fascinated that, being again at Lyons after my marriage,
I begged my husband to drive out specially to see the picture of my dream.
Alas! ten years had changed my eyesight, and instead of the ideal figures,
I saw a hard stiff Madonna and Child, with a perfectly wooden lamb. I
mention this because I have often thought that the populace who were so
enraptured with a Madonna like Cimabue's in S. Maria Novella at Florence
_saw_ as I did something beyond what was actually there. Grand and
stately it is, but I think that unsophisticated eyes must have endowed it
with motherly grace and beauty, as I gave life and softness to the baby
and the lamb.
[Sidenote: MENTONE]
We went on by train from Toulon as far as Les Arcs and then drove to
Frejus, and next day to Cannes. Whether the train then only went as far as
Les Arcs or whether my parents preferred the drive through the beautiful
scenery I do not know--anyhow we seem to have thoroughly enjoyed the
drive. I note that in April we returned from Cannes to Toulon by a new
railroad. Cannes was a little seaside country town in those days, with few
hotels and villas such as have sprung up in the last half-century; but
even then it attracted sufficient visitors to render hotel accommodation a
difficulty, and we had to shorten our intended stay. We went to pay our
respects to the ex-Lord Chancellor Brougham, already King of Cannes. He
was then eighty-five, and I have a vague recollection of his being very
voluble; but I was most occupied with his great-nephew, a brother of the
present Lord Brougham, who had a little house of his own in the garden
which was enough to fascinate any child. From Cannes we drove to Nice,
about which I record that "the only thing in Nice is the sea." We had
considerable difficulty in our next stage from Nice to Mentone, as a rock
had in one place fallen from the top of a mountain to the valley below and
filled up part of the road with the debris of its fall. At Mentone we
spent over three weeks, occupied in walks with my father and drives with
him and my mother, or sometimes he walked while I rode a donkey up the
mountains. There was considerable political excitement at that time,
Mentone having only been ceded by Italy to France in 1861 and the natives
being by no means reconciled to French rule. There was a great local
feeling for Garibaldi, and though the "Inno Garibaldi" was forbidden I
fear that my mother occasionally played it in the hotel, and any listener
(such as the waiter) who overheard it beamed accordingly. I happened to
have a scarlet flannel jacket for outdoor wear, and remember women in the
fields shouting out to me "Petite Garibaldi."
My mother often sat on the beach or among olive trees to draw while I
read, or looked at the sea, or made up stories or poems, or invented
imaginary kingdoms to be shared with my sister and brothers on my
return--I fear always reserving supreme dominion for my own share.
When we left England the idea had been to continue our travels as far as
Rome, but my mother's health forbade, as the doctor said that the
cold--particularly of the Galleries--would be too much for her. It was a
great disappointment, above all to her, but she was very good in
submitting. As so long a tranquil sojourn anywhere had not been
contemplated, our library was rather restricted, but two little volumes
which she had brought, one of Dryden, and Milton's "Paradise Regained,"
afforded me happy hours. Also I perpetrated an Epic in six Cantos on the
subject of Rienzi! From Mentone we went to San Remo for a week, returning
to Mentone February 17th, when preparations began for a Fete to be given
by the English and Danish to the inhabitants of the town on the occasion
of the Prince of Wales's marriage. Old Lord Glenelg was, I believe,
nominal President, but my father was the moving spirit--entertaining the
populace being for him a thoroughly congenial task.
Many years afterwards in Samoa Robert Louis Stevenson told me that he was
at Mentone with his father at the time of the festivities, but he was a
young boy, and neither he nor I knew under what circumstances we were
ultimately to make acquaintance. There were all sorts of complications to
be overcome--for one thing it was Lent and my father had to obtain a
dispensation from M. le Cure for his flock to eat meat at the festal
dinner. This was accorded on condition that fish was not also consumed.
Then there appeared great questions as to who would consent to sit down
with whom. We were told that orange-pickers would not sit down with
orange-carriers. As a matter of fact I believe that it was against
etiquette for women to sit down with the men, and that in the end 300
workmen sat down in the garden of the Hotel Victoria (where we were
staying) and I can still recollect seeing the women standing laughing
behind them while the men handed them portions of food. Posts were
garlanded with heath and scarlet geraniums, and decorated with English,
French, and Danish flags and portraits of Queen Victoria and the Prince
and Princess of Wales. The festivities included a boat-race and other
races, and ended with illuminations and fireworks at night. All went off
splendidly, though the wind rather interfered with lighting the little
lamps which decorated some of the buildings.
In connection with the Prince's wedding I heard one story which I believe
was told by my aunt Macclesfield--(appointed Lady-in-Waiting to the
Princess) to my mother, which as far as I know has never appeared in
print.
The present ex-Kaiser, then little Prince William aged four, came over
with his parents for the wedding. He appeared at the ceremony in a
Scottish suit, whereupon the German ladies remonstrated with his mother,
saying that they understood that he was to have worn the uniform of a
Prussian officer. "I am very sorry," said his mother; "he had it on, but
Beatrice and Leopold" (the Duke of Albany) "thought that he looked so
ridiculous with tails that they cut them off, and we had to find an old
Scottish suit of his uncle's for him to wear!" An early English protest
against militarism!
[Sidenote: GENOA]
Two days after the excitement of these royal festivities we again left
Mentone by road for Genoa, which we reached March 16th, having stopped on
the way at San Remo, Alassio, and Savona. At Genoa we joined my mother's
sister Agnes and her husband, Sir Archibald Campbell (of Garscube), and
saw various sights in their company.
I knew very little of my Uncle Archibald, as he died comparatively young.
At Genoa he was certainly very lively, and I fear that I contrived
unintentionally but naturally to annoy him--it only shows how Italian
politics excited everyone, even a child. He had seen some map in which the
Italians had marked as their own territory, not only what they had lately
acquired, but all to which they then aspired; I hardly imagine the
Trentino, but certainly Venice. Uncle Archy scoffed at their folly--with
precocious audacity, and I suppose having heard such Italian views at
Mentone, I asserted that they would ere long have both Venice and Rome! He
was quite indignant. It was impertinent of me, as I knew nothing of their
power or otherwise, but it was a good shot!
I have heard that Sir Archibald's mother was a stately old Scottish lady
who thought a great deal of family, and precedence, and that one day he
scandalised her by asking, "Well, mother, what would be the precedence of
an Archangel's eldest son?"
Aunt Aggy was broken-hearted when he died, and always delicate, fell into
very ill-health. When the Franco-German War broke out she set to work
undauntedly for the sick and wounded, and positively wanted to go abroad
to nurse in some hospital--probably in Germany. A certain very clever Dr.
Frank, of German-Jewish descent, was to make arrangements. The whole
Grosvenor family and all its married connections were up in arms, and my
father was dispatched to remonstrate with her. With much annoyance and
reluctance she gave in--and soon after married Dr. Frank! The family were
again astounded, but after all when they knew him they realised that he
made her happy and took to him quite kindly. My aunt and Dr. Frank lived a
great deal at Cannes, where they had a nice villa--Grandbois--and many
friends, and he had a tribe of admiring patients. Aunt Aggy was very
charming and gentle and lived to a good age.
From Genoa we drove in easy stages to Spezia, noting towns and villages on
the way. It was a delightful means of travelling, walking up the hills and
stopping at little townships for luncheon in primitive inns. Motors have
somewhat revived this method of travel, but whirling along at a great pace
can never allow you to see and enjoy all the lesser beauties which struck
you in the old leisurely days. I have duly noted all sorts of trivial
incidents in my journal, but they are much what occur in all such
expeditions and I need not dilate on the beauties of mountain, sea, and
sky which everyone knows so well. At Spezia we saw the scene of Shelley's
shipwreck, and on one coast of the Gulf the prison where Garibaldi had
been interned not very long before. I record that it was a large
building, and that his rooms, shown us by a sailor, were "very nice." I
trust that he found them so. After returning to our old quarters we left
Mentone on April 15th, evidently with great regret and with a parting sigh
to the voiturier who had driven us on all our expeditions, including those
to Genoa and Spezia--also to my donkey-man and to the chambermaid. Looking
back, I feel that these southern weeks were among the happiest of my life,
and that something of the sunlight and mountain scenery remained as
memories never effaced.
[Sidenote: TRAFALGAR VETERANS]
We returned to England by much the same route as our outward journey, only
the railroad being now open from Cannes to Toulon a night at Frejus was
unnecessary. I cannot remember whether it was on our outward or our
homeward journey, but on one or the other we met at the Palace of the
Popes at Avignon an old custodian who had fought at Trafalgar and been for
some years prisoner in England. He showed with some pride an English book,
and it amused my mother to recognise a translation from a German work of
which she did not hold a high opinion. I do not suppose that the French
soldier read enough of it to do him much harm.
It is rather curious that my father on two or three occasions took us to
see at Greenwich Hospital an old servant of Nelson's who was with him at
Trafalgar, so I have seen both a Frenchman and an Englishman who took part
in that battle. Nelson's servant had a little room hung all round with
pictures of the hero. My father asked him whether the Admiral said the
prayer which one print represents him as reciting on his knees before the
battle. The man said he did not know what words he used, but he saw him
kneel down to pray. On our way to Paris we spent a night at
Fontainebleau--and finally reached Stoneleigh on May 1st, 1863.
Speaking of my mother's numerous brothers and sisters, I ought not to omit
the eldest, Eleanor, Duchess of Northumberland, who was a very great lady,
handsome and dignified till her death at an advanced age. She had no
children, but was admired and respected by many nephews and nieces. I
believe that her country neighbours regarded her as almost royal,
curtsying when she greeted them. I remember her telling me that she could
not go and hear some famous preacher in London because she would not have
her carriage out on Sunday and had never been in any sort of cab. What
would she have thought of the modern fashion of going in omnibuses?
However, a year or two before her death the late Duke of Northumberland
(grandson of her husband's cousin and successor) told me with great glee
that they had succeeded in getting Duchess Eleanor into a taxi and that
she had enjoyed it very much. I cannot think how they managed it. She
lived during her widowhood at Stanwick Park, and my youngest sister
Cordelia had a rather comical experience when staying with her there on
one occasion. My aunt, among other tabooed innovations, altogether
objected to motors and would not allow any through her Lodge gates.
Previous to her visit to Stanwick, Cordelia had stayed with the Lawsons at
Brayton in Cumberland and while there had been stopped by a policeman for
riding a tricycle after dark without a light. She left her address with
the Lawson family, and while at Stanwick the local policeman appeared,
absolutely trembling at having been forced to enter these sacred
precincts, to summon her in that she "drove a carriage, to wit a tricycle,
between the hours, etc." The household managed to keep it dark from Aunt
Eleanor, and Cordelia sent authority to the Lawson family to settle the
case and pay the fine--but what would the aunt have said had she known of
her niece's crime and penalty?
[Sidenote: LORD MUNCASTER AND GREEK BRIGANDS]
Lady Macclesfield, the second daughter, I have already mentioned. The
surviving sister (one having died young) next above my mother in age was
Elizabeth Lady Wenlock, who was very clever and, among her nine children,
had charming daughters to whom I may refer later on. Then after my mother
came Octavia and Agnes--and then Jane, married to Lord Muncaster, who died
seven years later at Castellamare, leaving her with one little girl of
about two years old. Margaret or Mimi, as we called her, was a great
interest when the young widowed mother brought her to stay with us, soon
after her father's death. She was a dear little girl, and we were told
that she was a great heiress, and somehow in the hands of the Lord
Chancellor. Her father had died without a will, and all the property,
including the beautiful Muncaster Castle in Cumberland, went to the child
though her uncle succeeded to the title. However, poor little Mimi died
when she was eleven years old, so her uncle succeeded to the property
after all. He was the Lord Muncaster who was captured by the brigands near
Marathon in 1870 with his wife and her sister, Miss L'Estrange, Mr. Vyner,
Mr. and Mrs. Lloyd, and two other men. The brigands let the ladies go
without injury--Lady Muncaster had hidden her rings in her mouth to
protect them--but they would only let one man go to get ransom for the
rest. The men drew lots and it fell to Vyner, but he absolutely refused to
take the chance, saying that he was a bachelor and Lord Muncaster a
married man. Instead of ransom the Greek Government sent troops. The
brigands were annihilated, but they first killed Vyner and his companions.
It was said that the Government stood in with the brigands, but I have
never quite understood why, if so, the former did not prefer the money to
the death of their allies--unless they thought that they would have to
produce the ransom. Lord Muncaster always had his head hanging a little to
one side, and in my youth I had a floating idea that it was from permanent
grief at the tragedy. Meantime my Aunt Jane married a second time, a
brother of Lord Crawford's. She was pretty, with green eyes and a nervous
manner. She was a beautiful needlewoman and I believe a true musician.
[Sidenote: THE GROSVENOR FAMILY]
One more Grosvenor aunt must be remembered, my mother's youngest sister
Theodora. I have heard that my grandmother was greatly distressed at the
loss of her fourth daughter, Evelyn, who died as a child, although there
were seven surviving sisters, therefore when another girl-baby arrived she
called her Theodora--the gift of God. Certainly she was greatly attached
to the child, and I fancy that the little Theodora was given much more
spoiling and freedom than her elder sisters. She was very lively and
amusing, and being the only daughter left unmarried when my grandfather
died--in 1869--she became her mother's constant companion. When she
ultimately married a brother of Lord Wimborne's she and Mr. Merthyr Guest
continued to live with my grandmother, who endowed them with a large
fortune. Mr. Guest died some years ago, but Aunt Theodora still lives--and
has one daughter.
My grandfather was a quiet old gentleman as far as I recollect him--he is
somehow associated in my mind with carpet slippers and a diffident
manner. He was what they call of a "saving" disposition, but I really
believe that he was oppressed with his great wealth, and never sure that
he was justified in spending much on himself and his family. When he
became a thorough invalid before his death he was ordered to take certain
pills, and in order to induce him to do so my grandmother would cut them
in two and take half herself. After his death his halves were discovered
intact done up with red tape!
During his lifetime I stayed with my parents once or twice at the old
Eaton Hall, before my uncle (the first Duke) built the present Palace. It
was a nice, comfortable house. I have heard, from a neighbour who
recollected the incident, that when it was being built the workmen
employed would chisel rough representations of each other's features in
the gargoyles which formed part of the decoration. I suppose that was done
in ancient times by the men who built the churches and colleges of those
days.
My grandparents besides these numerous daughters had four sons--two, both
named Gilbert, died, one as a baby, the other, a sailor, as a young man.
The late Duke was my godfather and always very kind to me, particularly
when, after my marriage, I stayed on more than one occasion at the new
Eaton. I never knew a man more anxious to do all he could for the people
about him, whether in the country or on his London property. He had very
much the feeling of a patriarch and loved nothing better than to have
about him the generations of his family. It was a complicated family, as
he married first his own first cousin, Constance Leveson-Gower, and after
her death the sister of his son-in-law Lord Chesham, husband of his
second daughter Beatrice. I cannot quite unravel it, but somehow he was
brother-in-law to his own daughter. The youngest son, Richard, a quaint,
amusing man, was created Lord Stalbridge.
Having said so much of my mother's family, I think I should mention the
two sisters of my father whom I have hitherto omitted. One was his second
sister, Emma--a typical and excellent maiden aunt. She was principally
noted for being my sister Agnes's godmother and feeling it her duty to
hear her Catechism--but neither Agnes nor any of us minded; in fact I
remember--I suppose on some wet Sunday--that we all insisted on sharing
the Scripture lesson and were given figs in consequence. The third sister
was Caroline, twin with Augusta, but very different, for whereas Aunt
Gussie was delicate and nervous, not to say irritable, Aunt Car was slow
and substantial. She ended with marrying when no longer very young an old
cousin of my father's, a clergyman, Lord Saye and Sele, who had actually
baptized her early in life. She made him an excellent wife; she had
numerous step-children, though none of her own. Looking back on these
Early Victorian uncles and aunts with their various wives and husbands, I
cannot but claim that they were good English men and women, with a keen
sense of duty to their tenants and neighbours rich and poor. Of course
they varied immensely in character and had their faults like other people,
but I cannot recall one, either man or woman, who did not try to act up to
a standard of right, and think I was fortunate to have been brought up
among them.
[Sidenote: UNCLES AND AUNTS]
In my younger days I had also living several great-uncles and aunts on
both sides, but the only one whom I can spare time and space to mention
here is my Grandfather Leigh's sister, Caroline Lady East. When she was
young Mr. East fell in love with her and she with him, but he was an
impecunious youth and my great-grandparents would not permit the marriage.
Whereupon he disguised himself as a hay-maker and contrived an interview
with his lady-love in which they exchanged vows of fidelity. Then he went
to India, where he remained eleven years, and returned to find the lady
still faithful, and having accumulated a sufficient fortune married her.
They had a nice little country house on the borders of Oxfordshire and
Gloucestershire, and, though they had no children, were one of the
happiest old couples I ever knew. My great-aunt died in 1870, but Uncle
East lived till over ninety and went out hunting almost to the end--so
eleven years of India had not done him much harm. He stayed with us at
Middleton after my marriage when old Lord Abingdon was also a guest. Lord
Abingdon must have been over seventy at the time, but a good deal younger
than Sir James. They had known each other in youth and were quite
delighted to meet again, but each confided separately to my husband and
myself that he had thought that the other old fellow was dead. However,
they made great friends, and in token of reunion Lord Abingdon sent his
servant to cut Uncle East's corns!
To return to my recollections of my own girlhood. I think that it must
have been in 1864 that I had a bad attack of chicken-pox which temporarily
hurt my eyes and left me somewhat weak. Either in that autumn or the
following one my parents took me to the Isle of Arran and left me there
for a time with a maid--while they accompanied my brother Gilbert back to
school. I loved the Isle of Arran, and was only disturbed by the devotion
of a child-niece of the landlady's who would follow me about everywhere.
The only way of escape was to go--or attempt to go--into the mountains of
which she was afraid, knowing that there were giants there.
I must not omit one honour which I enjoyed in 1865. My mother took me to
see my Aunt Macclesfield, who was in Waiting at Marlborough House when His
present Majesty was born. My aunt welcomed us in the Princess of Wales's
pretty sitting-room hung with a kind of brocade with a pattern of roses.
The baby was then brought in to be admired, and to my gratification I was
allowed to hold the little Prince in my arms. I did not then realise that
in after years I could claim to have nursed my King.
Shortly afterwards we used to hear a good deal of the American Civil War.
We were too young to have much opinion as to the rival causes, but there
was a general impression conveyed to our minds that the "Southerners were
gentlemen." Some time after the war was over, in December 1868, Jefferson
Davis, the Southern (Confederate) President, came to stay at Stoneleigh.
He was over in Europe on parole. We were told that he had been in prison,
and one of my younger brothers was anxious to know whether we "should see
the marks of the chains." We had a favourite old housemaid who was
preparing his room, and we imparted to her the thrilling information of
his former imprisonment. Her only response was "Umph, well, I suppose he
won't want these silver candlesticks." A large bedroom was being prepared
for him, but she considered that silver candlesticks were only for ladies,
and that presidents and prisoners were not entitled to such luxuries.
He proved to be a benevolent old gentleman who impressed my cousins and
myself by the paternal way in which he addressed any elder girl as
"daughter."
After this--but I cannot remember the particular years--we went in the
autumn to Land's End, The Lizard, and Tintagel, and also had villas at
Torquay and Bournemouth respectively, but our experiences were too
ordinary to be worthy of record. I think I was about seventeen when I went
with my parents to Vichy, where my father drank the waters--and we went on
to some beautiful Auvergne country. This was my last excursion abroad with
my parents before I married.
[Sidenote: CONFIRMATION]
In 1867 I was confirmed. The church which we attended was in Park Street.
It has since been pulled down, but was then regarded as specially the
church of the Westminster family. My grandparents sat in a large pew
occupying the length of the gallery at the west end of the church. We had
a pew in the south gallery with very high sides, and my early
recollections are of sitting on a dusty red hassock from which I could see
little but the woodwork during a very long sermon. One Sunday when I was
approaching years of discretion the clergyman gave out notice of a
Confirmation, with the usual intimation that Candidates should give in
their names in the Vestry. My mother told me to do this accompanied by my
younger brother (Gilbert) as chaperon. The clergyman seemed a good deal
surprised, and I rather fancy that I was the only Candidate. He was an old
man who had been there for a long time. He said that he would come and see
me at my parents' house, and duly arrived at 37 Portman Square. I was sent
in to my father's sitting-room for the interview, and I believe that he
was more embarrassed than I was, for I had long been led to regard
Confirmation as the proper sequence to learning my Catechism and a fitting
step in religious life. The clergyman somewhat uneasily remarked that he
had to ascertain that I knew my Catechism, and asked me to say it. This I
could have done in my sleep, as it had for years formed part of my Sunday
instruction. When I ended he asked after a slight pause whether I knew why
the Nicene Creed was so called. This was unexpected pleasure. I had lately
read Milman's _Latin Christianity_ to my mother, and should have enjoyed
nothing better than delivering to my pastor a short lecture on the Arian
and Athanasian doctrines. When I began it, however, he hastily cut me
short, saying that he saw that I knew all about it--how old was I?
"Seventeen and a half." "Quite old enough," said he, and told me that he
would send me my ticket, and when I went to the church someone would show
me where to sit. This ended my preparation as far as he was concerned. I
believe he intimated to my parents that he would see Miss Leigh again, but
in practice he took care to keep clear of the theological _enfant
terrible_.
I was duly confirmed on May 31st, by Dr. Jackson, Bishop of London. I feel
sure that my mother amply supplied any lacunae left by the poor old
clergyman. No doubt in those days Preparation for Confirmation was not
regarded as seriously as at present, but I do not think that mine was
quite typical, as some of my contemporary cousins underwent a much more
serious course of instruction.
[Sidenote: "COMING OUT"]
That autumn I began to "come out" in the country. We went to a perfectly
delightful ball at the Shaw-Stewarts' at Ardgowan, where the late Duke of
Argyll--then Lord Lorne--excited my admiration by the way he danced reels
in Highland costume. Thence my brother and I went to Hans Hall to the
coming-of-age of my cousin Charles Adderley, now Lord Norton. The whole
country-side swarmed to the festivities, and one party unable to obtain
any other conveyance chartered a hearse. Miss Ferrier, in her novel _The
Inheritance_, makes one of her female characters arrive at a country
house, where she was determined to be received, in a hearse--but she was
even more gruesome than my cousin's guests as she accompanied the corpse!
The following year (1868), May 12th, I was presented--Princess Christian
held the Drawing-Room on behalf of the Queen, who still lived in
retirement as far as social functions were concerned. She, however,
attended this Drawing-Room for about half an hour--receiving the entree.
Her devotion to the Prince Consort and to his memory was unparalleled. No
doubt the fact that she had practically never had anyone with whom she
could associate on equal terms until her marriage had a good deal to do
with it. I know of a lady whom she summoned to sit with her when the
Prince Consort was being carried to his funeral on the ground that she was
a widow and could feel for her, and she said that her shudders when the
guns went off were dreadful, and that she seemed unable to realise that
here for the first time was something that she could not control.
To return to my entry in the world. Naturally I went during 1868 and the
three or four succeeding years to the balls, dinners, and garden parties
usual in the course of the season. The "great houses" then existed--they
had not been pulled down or turned into public galleries and offices.
Stafford House, Grosvenor House, Northumberland House, and others
entertained in royal style, and there were Garden Parties at Argyll Lodge
and Airlie Lodge on Campden Hill, at Syon, and at Chiswick, then in
possession of the Duke of Devonshire.
In those days there was still a sort of question as to the propriety of
waltzing. Valses and square dances were danced alternately at balls, and a
few--but very few--girls were limited to the latter. Chaperones were the
almost invariable rule and we went back to them between the dances.
"Sitting-out" did not come in till some years later. In the country,
however, there was plenty of freedom, and I never remember any restriction
on parties of girls and young men walking or rowing together without their
elders. By the time I came out my brother Gilbert (Gilly) was at Harrow
and Dudley and Rupert at Mr. Lee's Private School at Brighton. My special
charge and pet Rowland was still at home, and the youngest of the family
Cordelia a baby.
Dudley and Rupy were inseparable. Duddy delicate, Rupy sturdy and full of
mischief into which he was apt to drag his elder brother. I had to look
after them, and see that they accomplished a few lessons in the
holidays--no light task, but I was ready for anything to keep off holiday
tutors and, I am afraid, to retain my position as elder sister. Love of
being first was doubtless my besetting sin, and my good-natured younger
brothers and sisters accepted my rule--probably also because it was easier
than that of a real grown-up person. My mother had bad health, and my
father took it for granted that it was my business to keep the young ones
as far as possible out of mischief. As for my sister Agnes, she was always
a saint, and I am afraid that I was a tyrant as far as she was concerned.
Cordelia was born when I was over sixteen and was always rather like my
child. Rowland was just seven when her arrival delighted the family, and
his first remark when he heard that he had a little sister was "I wonder
what she will think of my knickerbockers"--to which he had lately been
promoted. Boys wore little tunics with belts when they first left off baby
frocks, and sailor suits were not introduced when my brothers were
children.
[Sidenote: IRELAND]
My next special recollection is of a visit to Ireland which I paid in
company with my parents, Gilbert, and Agnes in August 1869. We crossed in
the _Leinster_ and duly lionised Dublin. I kept a journal during this tour
in which the sights of the city are duly noted with the remark, after
seeing the post office, that we "made the various observations proper to
intelligent but tired travellers."
The country--Bray, Glendalough, and the Seven Churches seem to have
pleased us much better. I do not know whether the guides and country
people generally are as free with their legends now as they were fifty
years ago, but they told us any amount of stories to our great
satisfaction. Brough, the guide at the Seven Churches, was particularly
voluble and added considerably to the tales of St. Kevin given in the
guide-book. St. Kevin, as recounted by Moore in his ballad, pushed
Kathleen into the Lake when she would follow him. I remember that Brough
was much embarrassed when I innocently asked _why_ he did this. However,
he discreetly replied: "If your honourable father and your honourable
mother want you to marry a gentleman and you don't like him, don't push
him into the water!" Excellent advice and not difficult to follow in a
general way. When St. Kevin was alive the skylark used to sing early in
the morning and waken the people who had been up late the night before at
a wedding or merrymaking. When the Saint saw them looking so bad he
asked, "What's the matter?" On hearing that the lark would not let them
get any sleep, he laid a spell that never more should lark sing above that
lake. This encouragement of late hours seems rather inconsistent with his
general asceticism. St. Kevin was more considerate to a blackbird than to
the laverock. The former once laid her eggs on his extended hand, and he
kept it held out until she had had time to build her nest in it and hatch
her young.
Brough was even better acquainted with fairies than with saints. He knew a
man at Cork named Jack M'Ginn, a wool-comber, who was carried away by the
fairies for seven years. At the end of that time he accompanied them to a
wedding (fairies like weddings). There was present a young lady whom the
fairies wanted to make sneeze three times, as if they could do so and no
one said "God bless her" they could take her away. So they tickled her
nose three times with horse-hair, but as they were withdrawing it the
third time Jack cried out in Irish "God bless her." This broke the spell,
and Jack fell crashing down amongst the crockery, everyone ran away, and
he arose retransformed to his natural shape.
Another acquaintance of Brough's--a stout farmer--met one evening three
fairies carrying a coffin. Said one, "What shall we do for a fourth man?"
"Switch the first man who passes," replied the second. So they caught the
farmer and made him carry it all night, till he found himself in the
morning nearly dead not far from his own door. Our guide enjoined us to be
sure, if fairies passed us in the air, to pick some blades of grass and
throw them after them, saying "Good luck to you good folk": as he sagely
remarked, a civil word never does harm. As more prosaic recollections,
Brough told us of the grand fights at Glendalough, when the young men were
backed up by their sisters and sweethearts. The etiquette was for a young
woman to take off her right stocking, put a stone in it and use it as a
weapon, "and any woman who fought well would have twenty young farmers
wanting to marry her."
[Sidenote: KILLARNEY]
We stopped at Cork, whence we drove to see Blarney Castle and its stones.
In those days, and probably still, there were two, one called the Ladies'
Stone, which we three children all kissed, and another suspended by iron
clamps from the top of the Castle, so that one had to lie down and hold on
to the irons with one's body partly over an open space--rather a
break-neck proceeding, particularly in rising again. Only Gilly
accomplished this. The railway to Glengariff then went as far as
Dunmanway, whence it was necessary to drive. We slept at the Royal Hotel
where we arrived in the evening, and to the end of my life I never shall
forget the beauty of Bantry Bay as we saw it on waking next morning with
all its islands mirrored in purple shadows. But the whole drive to
Killarney, and above all the Lakes as they break upon your sight, are
beyond description. We saw it all in absolutely glorious weather--possibly
rare in those regions, but certainly the Lakes of Killarney impressed me
then as more beautiful than either the Scottish or the English Lakes
because of their marvellous richness of colour. After fifty years, and
travels in many lands, I still imagine that they are only excelled in
_colour_ by the coral islands of the Pacific; but of course the Irish
Lakes may dwell in my memory as more beautiful than they really are, as I
saw them first when I had far fewer standards of comparison. Anyhow, they
were like a glorious dream. We spent some enchanting days at Killarney and
saw all the surrounding beauties--the Gap of Dunloe with the Serpent Lake
in which St. Patrick drowned the last snake in Ireland (in a chest into
which he enticed the foolish creature by promising to let it out again),
Mangerton, the highest mountain in Ireland but one, and Carrantuohill, the
highest of all, which my brother and sister and I were allowed to ascend
on condition that the guide would take good care of us. However, when out
of our parents' sight he found that he was troubled with a corn, and lay
down to rest, confiding us to a ponyman who very nearly lost us in a fog.
The ponies could only approach the base, the rest was pretty stiff
climbing.
[Sidenote: THE O'DONOGHUES]
The Upper, the Middle, and the Lower Lake are all lovely, but the last was
particularly attractive from its connection with the local hero--the Great
O'Donoghue, whose story we gleaned from our guides and particularly a boy
who carried our luncheon basket up Mangerton. He was a magician and had
the power of taking any shape he pleased, but he ended by a tremendous
leap into the Lake, after which he never returned to his home. Once every
seven years, however, between six and seven on May Day morning, he rides
from one of the islands in the Lower Lake to the opposite shore, with
fairies strewing flowers before him, and for the time his Castle also
reappears. Any unmarried man who sees him will marry a rich wife, and any
unmarried woman a rich husband. Our boatman pointed out an island where
girls used to stand to see him pass, but no one ever saw him except an old
boatman, and he had been married a long time, so the apparition did not
help him. No O'Donoghue has ever been drowned since the hero's
disappearance. We heard two different versions of the cause of the
tragedy. Both attributed it to his wife's want of self-control. One
related that the husband was in the habit of running about as a hare or a
rabbit, and as long as she did not laugh all went well, but when he took
this flying leap into the water she burst into a fit of laughter and
thereby lost him permanently. Our boy guide's story was more
circumstantial and more dramatic. According to him, the O'Donoghue once
turned himself into an eel, and knotted himself three times round Ross
Castle, where he lived (a super-eel or diminutive castle!). This
frightened the lady dreadfully, and he told her that if she "fritted"
three times on seeing any of his wonders she would see him no more. Some
time after he turned himself into a goose and swam on the lake, and she
shrieked aloud, thinking to lose him. Finally he brought out his white
horse and told her that this was her last chance of restraining her fears.
She promised courage and kept quiet while he rode straight up the Castle
wall, but when he turned to come down she fainted, whereupon, horse and
all, he leapt into the water. The boy also declared that in the previous
year he was seen by two boatmen, a lady and a gentleman, another man, and
some "company," whereupon the lady fainted--recalling the lady of
O'Donoghue, it was the least she could do. In the lower Lake may still be
seen rocks representing the chieftain's pigeons, his spy-glass, his books
containing the "Ould Irish," and his mice (only to be seen on Sundays
after prayers). In the Bitter Lake, which was pointed out to us from a
distance, is the fairy-island where he dances with the fairies.
[Sidenote: MYTHS AND LEGENDS]
The O'Donoghue in his lifetime had his frivolous moments. He once changed
a number of fern fronds into little pigs, which he took to the fair at
Killarney and sold to the jobbers. They looked just like other pigs until
the purchasers reached some running water. As we all know, running water
dissolves any spell, and the pigs all turned back into little blades of
fern. As testimony to the authenticity of this tale the water was duly
shown to us. The O'Donoghue, however, knew that the jobbers would not
remain placid under the trick, so he went home and told his maid to say,
if anyone asked for him, that he had gone to bed and to sleep and could
only be wakened by pulling his legs. The jobbers arrived, received the
message, went in and pulled his legs, which immediately came off! Off they
ran in alarm, thinking that they had killed the man, but the good
O'Donoghue was only having his fun with them, so called them back and
returned their money. We picked up a good deal of fairy-lore during our
sojourn in the south of Ireland, and I record it as it may have passed
away during the past half-century. The driver who took us to the Gap of
Dunloe told me that in his mother's time a woman working in the fields put
down her baby. While she was out of the way the steward saw the fairies
change it for a fairy-baby who would have been a plague to her all her
life. So as the child was crying and shrieking he stood over it and
declared that he would shoot the mother or anyone else who should come
near it, and as no one came to comfort it the fairies could not leave
their baby to cry like that, so they brought back the stolen child and
took away their own. That steward was such a man of resource that one
cannot help wishing that he were alive to deal with the Sinn Feiners of
the present day. Another piece of good advice which we received was, if
we saw a fairy (known by his red jacket) in a field to keep an eye fixed
on him till we came up with him--then to take away his purse, and each
time we opened it we should find a shilling. I regret to say that I never
had the opportunity, but the guide, remarking my father's tendency to give
whenever asked, observed that he thought his lordship had found a fairy
purse. It is a commonplace to notice the similarity of folk-lore in many
lands pointing to a common origin, but it is rather curious to compare the
tale of the O'Donoghue with that of the Physicians of Myddfai in South
Wales. Only in that the husband, not the wife, caused the final tragedy.
The fairy-wife, rising from the Lake, warns her mortal husband that she
will disappear for ever if he strikes her three times. Long years they
live in happiness, but thrice does he give her a slight blow to arouse her
from unconventional behaviour at a christening, a wedding, and a funeral
respectively. Thereupon she wends her way to the Lake and like a white
cloud sinks into its waters. She leaves her sons a legacy of wisdom and
healing skill, and from time to time a shadowy form and clear voice come
to teach them still deeper knowledge.
From the south of Ireland we went to the north, but I regret to say were
not nearly so fascinated by the loyal Ulsterman as by the forthcoming sons
of the south. Nevertheless we enjoyed the wild scenery of Lough Swilly and
the legends connected with Dunluce Castle and the Giant's Causeway. Among
the tales of Dunluce was that of a banshee whose duty it is (or was) to
keep clean one of the rooms in the ruin. The old man who showed us over
declared that she did not always properly fulfil her task. She is supposed
to be the spirit of a cook who fell over the rocks into the water and
reappears as a tall woman with red hair. The place of cook must have been
a rather trying one in ancient days, for the kitchen pointed out to us was
on the edge of a precipice and we were told that once when a good dinner
was prepared the attendants let it all fall into the sea! It was not,
however, explained whether this was the occasion on which the like fate
befell the cook. Possibly she died in a frantic effort to rescue it.
[Sidenote: THE GIANT BENADADDA]
The Giant's Causeway was very interesting. We first entered Portcorn Cave,
which has fine colours and a great deal of froth said to have been caused
by the giant's washerwoman washing a few collars there. The giant in
question was called Fin MacCoul, and at the same time there lived another
Giant in Scotland called Benadadda. Wishing to pass backwards and
forwards, the two agreed that Fin should pave a way of columns and
Benadadda should work it. Hence Fingal's Cave--_gal_ or _gael_ meaning
"the stranger"--presumably the name was given in compliment to the future
guest. But the two champions found the work harder than they had expected,
and Benadadda sent to tell Fin that if he did not make haste he must come
over and give him a beating. Fin returned that he was not to put himself
out, but to come if he pleased. Soon after Fin rushed in crying out to his
wife, "Goodness gracious! he's coming. I can't face that fellow!" And he
tumbled into bed.
Soon Benadadda walked in. "Good day, ma'am. Ye're Mrs. McCoul?"
"Yes, sir; I percave you are Benadadda?"
"I am ma'am. Is Fin at home?"
"He's just gone into the garden for a few vegetables, but he'll be back
directly. Won't ye take a cheer?"
"Thank you kindly"--and he sat down.
She continued: "I've got a little boy in that cradle and we think he's
taything, fer he won't give the fayther nor me any raste. Just put your
finger along his gums."
Benadadda, unable to refuse a lady, put his fingers into Fin's mouth, who
promptly bit them off, and then jumping up called on Benadadda to come on.
The Scottish giant, unable to fight with his wounded hand, told them, "I
wish I'd never come among you craters," and walked off. Mrs. MacCoul ran
after him with an oatcake, but having tasted it he said, "Very good
outside, but give the rest to your goodman"; for she had baked the tin
girdle inside the cake. This is how I recorded the tale, which I suppose I
picked up locally, but I have somewhere heard or read another account in
which, without waiting for his fingers to be bitten off, Benadadda
exclaimed, "Begorra, is that the baby? then I'll be but a mouthful to the
fellow himself," and made off.
I am unable to say which version is authentic, but neither seems to
attribute undaunted valour to either champion, and both agree that Irish
wit got the better of superior Scottish strength. I record these tales
rather than attempt description of the Caves and other beauties of the
coast, as the physical features remain and the legends may be forgotten.
The great rocks shaped like columns are called the Giant's Organs, and are
(or were) supposed to play every Christmas morning. The tune they play is
"St. Patrick's day in the morning," upon hearing which the whole Causeway
dances round three times.
We left Ireland at the end of August, having thoroughly enjoyed our
travels there. It was then a peaceful country. The Queen had given her
name to Queenstown Harbour in 1849, and I suppose had visited Killarney on
the same occasion. Anyhow, memories of her stay still lingered there. I
recollect even now the enthusiasm with which a boatman who had been one of
those who had taken her on the Lake said, "I passed a long day looking at
her." It was a thousand pities that she did not often revisit Ireland.
CHAPTER III
MARRIAGE
Next year--1870--all thoughts were to a large extent taken up with the
Franco-German War. It does not seem to me that we took violent sides in
the struggle. Naturally we were quite ignorant of the depths of cruelty
latent in the German nature, or of the manoeuvres on the part of Bismarck
which had led to the declaration of war. We were fond of our sister's
French governess Mdlle. Verdure, and sorry for the terrible collapse of
her country, but I think on the whole that the strongest feeling in our
family was amazement at the revelation of inefficiency on the part of the
French, mingled with some admiration for the completeness of German
organisation. Anyhow, everyone was set to work to provide comforts for the
sick and wounded on both sides--medical stores which I fancy would have
been to a large extent condemned wholesale if submitted to the medical
authorities during the late War, but which I am sure were very useful and
acceptable in '70-71. As is well known, that winter was an exceptionally
hard one--we had fine times skating, and I remember a very pleasant visit
to old Lord Bathurst at Cirencester--but it must have been terrible in
Paris. Our French man-cook had some refugee sisters quartered in the
neighbourhood who were employed by my mother in dressmaking work for our
benefit, but I do not know whether refugees were numerous in England.
What did really excite us in common with all England were the excesses of
the Commune. Never shall I forget the papers coming out with terrific
headlines: "Paris in Flames--Burning of the Tuileries," and so on. I
passed the morning in floods of tears because they were "burning history,"
and had to be rebuked by my mother for expressing the wish that the
incendiaries could be soaked in petroleum and themselves set on fire.
The year 1871 was rendered interesting to our family by the marriages of
our two Leigh uncles--Chandos, commonly known among us as "Uncle Eddy,"
married an amiable and good-looking Miss Rigby, who inherited money from a
(deceased) Liverpool father. Uncle Eddy was a great character. A fine,
athletic man, successful in every walk of life which he entered, a good
horseman, cricketer and actor, he did well at the Bar and seemed to know
practically everybody and to be friends with them all. He was blessed with
supreme self-confidence and appeared innocently convinced that everyone
was as much interested in his affairs as he was himself. This childlike
disposition was really attractive, and quite outweighed the boyish conceit
which endured to the end of a long and useful life.
His love affairs with Miss Rigby were naturally very public property. I
heard all about them from the beginning, and have no doubt that anyone of
age to listen and capable of sympathising was similarly favoured. He
originally proposed to the young lady after a few days' acquaintance, and
she turned pale and said "You have no right to speak to me in this way."
Ups and downs followed, including a consultation with planchette, which
quite properly wavered and shook and spoke with an uncertain voice. This
was all in 1870. Some time in January we acted a small farce which I had
perpetrated called _The Detective_. When it was over my uncle informed me
that failing his marriage he intended to leave me a thousand pounds in
recognition of this play. Fortunately I founded no hopes on that thousand
pounds, for I think that it was the following morning when Uncle Eddy came
shouting along the top corridor where we slept. "Margaret--you've lost
your thousand pounds!" The post had come in and the fair lady had
relented.
[Sidenote: FANNY KEMBLE]
James, my father's youngest brother, called "Uncle Jimmy," had travelled
in the United States and been entertained on her plantation in Georgia by
a charming Southern lady--a Miss Butler, daughter of the descendant of an
old Irish family who had married the well-known actress Fanny Kemble. Mr.
and Mrs. Pierce Butler had separated--not from any wrong-doing, but from
absolute incompatibility of temper. For one thing the wife took up a
violent anti-slavery attitude--a little awkward when (as she must have
known when she married) the husband owned a cotton plantation worked by
slave labour. However, the two daughters remained on friendly terms with
both parents, and Mr. Butler died during--or shortly after--the war. One
daughter married a Dr. Wister and became the mother of the well-known
author, Owen Wister; the younger, Frances, married my uncle and was
adopted into the family as "Aunt Fanny." Though some ten or eleven years
older than myself, she and I became the greatest friends, and I much liked
her somewhat erratic, though withal stately, mother, who was called "Mrs.
Kemble." Both Uncles were married (on different days) in June 1871, my
sister Agnes being bridesmaid to Miss Butler and I to Miss Rigby.
Both marriages were very happy ones, though my Uncle Chandos ended his
life in a dark cloud cast by the late War--in which he lost his only two
sons, and his wife was killed in a motor accident not long after his
death.
Since I wrote above I have found an old journal from May 18th, 1868, to
November 3rd, 1869. I do not extract much from it, as it largely consists
of records of the various balls and entertainments which we attended--but
it is rather amusing to note what circumstances, social and otherwise,
struck the fancy of a girl in her first two seasons. Politically the Irish
Church Bill seems to have been the burning question. We went to part of
the Debate on the Second Reading (June 17th, 1869) in the House, and I not
only give a summary of Lord Salisbury's speech, but when the Bill was
carried, devote over two pages of my journal to a full description of the
details of the measure. The _causes celebres_ of Madame Rachel, the Beauty
Doctor, and of the nun, Miss Saurin, against her Mother Superior, Mrs.
Starr, appear also to have been topics of conversation.
[Sidenote: AN OLD-FASHIONED CHRISTMAS]
One visit is perhaps worth recording. My father's mother was a Miss Willes
of an old family living on the borders of Northamptonshire and
Oxfordshire--regular country people. One of her brothers, Charles, was
married to a certain Polly--I think she was a Miss Waller, but anyhow they
were a plump, old-fashioned pair. She was supposed to keep a book in which
were recorded the names of over a hundred nephews and nieces, and to sell
a pig to give a present to any one of the number who married. On the last
day of 1868 my brother Gilly and I went with our Aunt Georgiana to stay
with this charming old couple at King-Sutton Manor House near Banbury.
This is how I describe the New Year festivities of fifty years ago: "It is
a queer old house like one in a storybook, full of corners. My wash-stand
was in a recess with a window, separated from the rest of the room by
doors so that it looked like a chapel. We had dinner between six and
seven, a real Christmas dinner with nearly twenty people--great-uncle
Charles, great-aunt Martha, great-aunt Sophy, George Willes, Willie
Willes, Stany Waller, the clergyman Mr. Bruce, Aunt Polly herself beaming
at the head of the table, turkey and beef stuck with holly, and the
plum-pudding brought in, in flaming brandy.... Almost everyone seemed
related to all the rest. A few more people came after dinner while we were
in the drawing-room and the dining-room was being cleared for dancing. Two
fiddlers and a blowing-man were then perched on a table in a corner and
dancing began--quadrilles, lancers, jig, reel, and valse carried on with
the utmost energy, by Aunt Polly in particular, till about half-past
eleven, when muffled bells began to ring in a church close by and the
dancing was stopped that we might all listen. At twelve o'clock the
muffles were taken off, Aunt Polly charged with Xmas cards into the midst
of her company, punch was brought in in great cups, silver, I believe;
everyone kissed, shook hands, and wished everyone else a Happy New Year,
the bells rang a joy-peal, and we had supper, and then began dancing again
till between one and two in the morning. After many efforts Gilly
succeeded in catching Aunt Polly under the misletoe and kissing her." I do
not know what a "blowing-man" may have been, but have a vivid recollection
of Aunt Polly trying to dance everyone down in a perpetual jig, and of
the portly figure of Uncle Charles, who had to be accommodated with two
chairs at dinner.
We had other very pleasant visits--and amongst them we stayed with my
uncle and aunt Wenlock for my cousin Carry Lawley's wedding to Captain
Caryl Molyneux. This marriage was particularly interesting to all the
cousinhood, as it was brought about after considerable opposition. Carry
was an extraordinarily pretty, lively, and attractive girl rather more
than a year older than myself. She had brilliant eyes and auburn hair and
was exceedingly clever and amusing. Her family naturally expected her to
make a marriage which would give all her qualities a wide sphere. However,
at the mature age of eleven she won the affections of Lord Sefton's
younger brother and he never fluctuated in his choice. I do not know at
what exact moment he disclosed his admiration, but he contrived to make
the young lady as much in love with him as he was with her. Vainly did her
mother refuse consent. Carry stuck to her guns, and I believe ultimately
carried her point by setting up a cough! Anyhow the parents gave in, and
when they did so, accepted the position with a good grace. Somehow what
was considered sufficient provision for matrimony was made and Caryl and
Carry were married, on a brilliant spring day in April 1870.
[Sidenote: A PRE-MATRIMONIAL PARTY]
It was at the Wenlocks' London house, in the following year, that I made
the acquaintance of Lord Jersey. We had unknowingly met as children at an
old inn on Edgehill called "The Sunrising"; at that time his parents, Lord
and Lady Villiers, lived not far off at Upton House, which then belonged
to Sarah, Lady Jersey. While my brother and I were playing outside, a boy
with long fair hair looked out of the inn and smilingly lashed his whip at
us, unconscious that it was his first salutation to his future wife! I
discovered in after years that George Villiers, as he then was, used to
ride over for lessons to a neighbouring clergyman and put up his pony at
the inn.
At the dinner-party at Berkeley Square Lord Jersey did not take me in, and
I had not the slightest idea who he was, but when the ladies left the
dining-room I was laughed at for having monopolised his attention when he
was intended to talk to his partner. He was reckoned exceedingly shy, and
I thought no more of the matter till the following season, to which I
shall return in due course.
After our return to Stoneleigh, though I do not recollect in which month
(I think August), we had a large and gay party including a dance--it was
distinctly a pre-matrimonial party, as three of the girls whom it included
were either engaged or married before twelve months were over, though none
of them to the men present. The three girls were Gwendolen (then called
Gwendaline) Howard, who married Lord Bute; Maria Fox-Strangways, married
to Lord Bridport's son Captain Hood; and myself. Rather oddly, a much
older man and a widower, Lord Raglan, who was also of the party, caught
the matrimonial microbe and married his second wife in the ensuing autumn.
Among others my cousin and great friend Hugh Shaw-Stewart was there and
immortalised our doings in verse. At Christmas time I managed to get
slight congestion of the lungs and soon after went to spend some time with
my kind uncle and aunt Sir Michael and Lady Octavia Shaw-Stewart at
Fonthill, and Hughie, who had also suffered from chest trouble, stayed
with his parents there while preparing for Oxford.
[Sidenote: FONTHILL ABBEY]
Fonthill, as is well known, belonged to the eccentric Beckford and was
full of his traditions. After his death the property was divided and my
grandfather Westminster bought the portion which included Beckford's old
house, of which the big tower had fallen down, and built himself a modern
house lower down the hill. Another part was bought--I do not know when--by
Mr. Alfred Morrison. When my grandfather Westminster died in the autumn of
1869 he left the reversion of Fonthill Abbey to Uncle Michael. Perhaps he
thought that the Shaw-Stewarts should have an English as well as a
Scottish home. However that might have been, Fonthill is a delightful
place--and I benefited by their residence there at this time. I think that
they were only to come into actual possession after my grandmother's
death--but that she lent it to them on this occasion as my aunt was
delicate and it was considered that she would be the better for southern
air.
The modern house was a comfortable one with good rooms, but had a
peculiarity that no room opened into another, as my grandfather objected
to that arrangement--dressing-rooms, for instance, though they might open
into the same lobbies, might not have doors into the bedrooms.
Part of Beckford's old house higher up the hill was preserved as a sort of
museum. The story was that he insisted on continuous building, Sundays and
weekdays alike. The house had a very high tower which could be seen from a
hill overlooking Bath, where he ultimately went to live. Every day he used
to go up the hill to look at his tower, but one morning when he ascended
as usual he saw it no longer--it had fallen down. It used to be implied
that this was a judgment on the Sunday labour. Also we were told that he
made the still-existing avenues and drove about them at night, which gave
him an uncanny reputation. Probably his authorship of that weird tale
_Vathek_ added to the mystery which surrounded him. He had accumulated
among many other treasures a number of great oriental jars from the Palace
of the King of Portugal, and when these were sold after his death my
grandfather, to the best of my recollection, purchased three.
Mr. Morrison had secured a good many of the others, which I saw in after
years when I stayed at the other Fonthill House which he had built on his
part of the property. Many of the other treasures passed, as is well
known, into the possession of Beckford's daughter who married the 10th
Duke of Hamilton. Alas--most of them must have been dispersed ere now!
Mr. Alfred Morrison, when I was at Fonthill with my uncle and aunt, was a
subject of much interest, as it was rumoured that he wanted to emulate
Beckford. I do not quite know in what way beyond trying to collect the
oriental jars. He was a distinctly literary man, and was reported to have
married his wife because he found her reading a Greek grammar in the
train. Whether or no that was the original attraction I cannot say, but
she proved a delightful and amusing person when I met her in after years.
Meantime we used to hear of the beautiful horses which he sent to the
meets of the local hounds, though he did not ride, and other proofs of his
wealth and supposed eccentricity.
My uncle as well as my aunt being far from strong, we led a quiet though
pleasant life. Hughie and I shared a taste for drawing and painting of
very amateur description and Hughie used to help me with Latin verses, in
which I then liked to dabble.
After my return to Stoneleigh I had yet another treat. My Uncle James and
his new wife "Aunt Fanny" were kind enough to ask me to share in the
spring their first trip abroad after their marriage. We went via Harwich
to Rotterdam and thence for a short tour in Holland and Belgium with which
I was highly delighted. The quaint canals, the cows with table-cloths on
their backs, the queer Jewish quarter in Amsterdam, and still more the
cathedrals and picture galleries in Belgium gave me infinite pleasure, but
are too well known to describe.
Even the copyist in the Antwerp Gallery who, being armless, painted with
his toes was an amusement, as much to my uncle, who loved freaks, as to
myself. Ghent and Bruges were a revelation; and I was much entertained by
the guide who took us up the Belfry of St. Nicholas (I think it was) at
the former city and pointed triumphantly to the scenery as "bien beau,
tout plat, pas de montagnes." He shared the old Anglo-Saxon conception of
Paradise.
"Nor hills nor mountains there
Stand steep, nor strong cliffs
Tower high, as here with us; nor dells nor dales,
Nor mountain-caves, risings, nor hilly chains;
Nor thereon rests aught unsmooth,
But the noble field flourishes under the skies
With delights blooming."
In the Cathedral of St. Nicholas, over the high altar, was an image of the
saint with three children in a tub. My uncle asked a priest what he was
doing with the children, but all the good man could say was that "St.
Nicolas aimait beaucoup les enfants," quite ignorant of the miracle
attributed to his own saint, namely, that he revived three martyred boys
by putting them into a barrel of salt.
Shortly after our return to England we moved to Portman Square for the
season. At a dinner-party--I believe at Lord Camperdown's--I again met
Lord Jersey, but fancied that he would have forgotten me, and subsequently
ascertained that he had the same idea of my memory. So we did not speak to
each other. Later on, however, my father told my mother that he had met
Lord Jersey and would like him asked to dinner. The families had been
friends in years gone by, but had drifted apart. My mother agreed, sent
the invitation, which was accepted. In arranging how the guests were to
sit I innocently remarked to my mother that it was no good counting Lord
Jersey as a young man--or words to that effect--as "he would never speak
to a girl"--and I was rather surprised when in the drawing-room after he
came across to me and made a few remarks before the party broke up.
After this events moved rapidly for me. Jersey, unexpectedly to many
people, appeared at balls at Montagu House, Northumberland House (then
still existing), and Grosvenor House. Also he came to luncheon once or
twice in Portman Square. He did not dance at balls, but though
"sitting-out" was not then the fashion we somehow found a pretext--such as
looking at illuminations--for little walks. Then Lord Tollemache drove my
mother and me to a garden-party at Syon, where I well recollect returning
from another "little walk" across a lawn where my mother was sitting with
what appeared to me to be a gallery of aunts.
[Sidenote: ENGAGEMENT]
We went to a last ball at the Howards of Glossop in Rutland Gate, and
discovering that we were about to leave London Jersey took his courage in
two hands and came to Portman Square, July 18th, and all was happily
settled.
I went next morning--it may have been the same evening--to tell Aunt
Fanny, who was then laid up at a house not far from ours. I had been in
the habit of paying her constant visits, so she had an idea of what might
happen, and I found her mother, Mrs. Fanny Kemble, with her. One word was
enough to enlighten my aunt, who then said, "May I tell my mother?" I
assented, and she said, "This child has come to tell me of her
engagement." Whereupon Mrs. Kemble demanded, with a tragical air worthy of
her aunt Mrs. Siddons, "And are you very happy, young lady?" I cheerfully
answered, "Oh yes"--and she looked as if she were going to cry. My aunt
said afterwards that any marriage reminded her of her own unfortunate
venture. Aunt Fanny was much amused when I confided to her that finding
immediate slumber difficult the first night of my engagement I secured it
by attempting the longest sum which I could find in Colenso's arithmetic.
My brothers and sisters accepted the news with mixed feelings--but poor
little Cordelia, who had been left at Stoneleigh, was quite upset. I wrote
her a letter in which I said that Lord Jersey should be her brother and
she should be bridesmaid. The nurse told me that she burst into tears on
receiving it and said that he should not be her brother, and not take away
Markie. She quite relented when she saw him, because she said that he had
nice smooth light hair like Rowly--and as time went on, she suggested that
if Aggy would only "marry or die" she should be "head girl and hear the
boys their lessons." As the youngest "boy" was seven years older than
herself this may be regarded as an exceptional claim for woman's supremacy
in her family.
My future mother-in-law, Jersey's mother, and his brothers welcomed me
most kindly. As for his sisters, Lady Julia Wombwell and Lady Caroline
Jenkins, I cannot say enough of their unvarying friendship and affection.
[Sidenote: MARRIED TO LORD JERSEY]
I was engaged about the middle of July, and shortly we returned to
Stoneleigh. My mother was terribly busy afterwards, as my brother Gilbert
came of age on the first of September and the occasion was celebrated with
great festivities, including a Tenants' Ball, when the old gateway was
illuminated as it had been for the Queen's visit. The ivy, however, had
grown so rapidly in the intervening years that an iron framework had to be
made outside it to hold the little lamps. There was a very large family
party in the house, and naturally my affairs increased the general
excitement and I shared with my brother addresses and presentations. As my
mother said--it could never happen to her again to have a son come of age
and a daughter married in the same month. She was to have launched the
_Lady Leigh_ lifeboat in the middle of September, but my sister was
commissioned to do it instead--and we returned to Portman Square for final
preparations. Like most girls under similar circumstances I lived in a
whirl during those days, and my only clear recollections are signing
Settlements (in happy ignorance of their contents) and weeping bitterly
the night before the wedding at the idea of parting from my family, being
particularly upset by my brother Dudley's floods of fraternal tears.
However, we were all fairly composed when the day--September 19th, 1872,
dawned--and I was safely married by my Uncle Jimmy at St. Thomas's Church,
Orchard Street. It was not our parish, but we had a special licence as it
was more convenient. My bridesmaids were my two sisters, Frances
Adderley, one of the Cholmondeleys, Minna Finch (daughter of my father's
cousin Lady Aylesford), and Julia Wombwell's eldest little girl
Julia--afterwards Lady Dartrey.
When all was over and farewells and congratulations ended, Jersey and I
went down for a short honeymoon at Fonthill, which my grandmother lent us.
So ended a happy girlhood--so began a happy married life. I do not say
that either was free from shadows, but looking back my prevailing feeling
is thankfulness--and what troubles I have had have been mostly of my own
making.
My father was so good--my mother so wise. One piece of advice she gave me
might well be given to most young wives. "Do not think that because you
have seen things done in a particular way that is the only right one." I
cannot resist ending with a few sentences from a charming letter which
Aunt Fanny wrote me when I went to Stoneleigh after my engagement:
"I have thought of you unceasingly and prayed earnestly for you. I
could not love you as I do, did I not believe that you were true and
good and noble--and on that, more than on anything else, do I rest my
faith for your future. Oh, Marky my darling child, _cling_ to the good
that is in you. Never be false to yourself. I see your little boat
starting out on the sea of life, anxiously and tremblingly--for I know
full well however smooth the water may be now there must come rocks in
everyone's life large enough to wreck one. Do you call to mind, dear,
how you almost wished for such rocks to battle against a little time
ago, wearying of the tame, even stream down which you were floating?
God be with you when you do meet them."
CHAPTER IV
EARLY MARRIED LIFE
It is more difficult to write at all consecutively of my married life than
of my girlhood, as I have less by which I can date its episodes and more
years to traverse--but I must record what I can in such order as can be
contrived.
We did not stay long at Fonthill, and after a night or two in London came
straight to our Oxfordshire home--Middleton Park.
My husband's grandfather and father had both died in the same month
(October 1859) when he was a boy of fourteen. He was called "Grandison"
for the three weeks which intervened between their deaths, having been
George Villiers before, so when he returned again to Eton after his father
died, the boys said that he came back each time with a fresh name. His
grandmother, however, the well-known Sarah, Lady Jersey, continued to
reign at Middleton, for the largest share of the family fortune belonged
to her as heiress of her grandfather Mr. Child--and, I suppose, in
recognition of all he had enjoyed of hers, her husband left her the use of
the Welsh property and she alone had the means to keep up Middleton. She
was very fond of my husband, but when she died, soon after he came of age
and inherited the place, he did not care to make many changes, and though
his mother paid lengthened visits she had never really been mistress of
the house. Therefore I seemed to have come straight upon the traces of a
bygone generation. Even the china boxes on my dressing-table and the
blotters on the writing-tables were much as Lady Jersey had left them--and
there were bits of needlework and letters in the drawers which brought her
personally vividly before me. The fear and awe of her seemed to overhang
the village, and the children were still supposed to go to the Infant
School at two years old because she had thought it a suitable age. She had
been great at education, had built or arranged schools in the various
villages belonging to her, and had endowed a small training school for
servants in connection with a Girls' School at Middleton. Naturally the
care of that school and other similar matters fell to my province, and I
sometimes felt, as I am sure other young women must have done under
similar circumstances, that a good deal of wisdom was expected from me at
an age which I should have considered hardly sufficient for a second
housemaid. Some of the schools of that date must have been quaint enough.
An old lame woman still had charge of the Infant School at the
neighbouring hamlet of Caulcot, whom we soon moved into the Almshouses. In
after years one of her former pupils told me that she was very good at
teaching them Scripture and a little reading, but there was no question of
writing. If the old lady had occasion to write a letter on her own account
she used a knitting-needle as a pen while my informant held the paper
steady. If a child was naughty she made him or her stand crouched under
the table as a punishment. She never put on a dress unless she knew that
Lady Jersey was at the Park, and then, she being crippled with rheumatism,
her pupil had to stand on a chair to fasten it up, lest the great lady
should pay a surprise visit.
[Sidenote: LORD JERSEY'S MOTHER]
Sarah, Lady Jersey, had a great dislike to any cutting down or even
lopping of trees. She had done much towards enlarging and planting the
Park, and doubtless trees were to her precious children. Therefore the
agent and woodmen, who realised the necessity of a certain amount of
judicious thinning, used to wait until she had taken periodical drives of
inspection amongst the woods, and then exercised some discretion in their
operations, trusting to trees having branched out afresh or to her having
forgotten their exact condition before she came again.
In one school, Somerton, I was amused to find a printed copy of
regulations for the conduct of the children, including injunctions never
to forget their benefactress. But she was really exceedingly good to the
poor people on the property and thoughtful as to their individual
requirements. One old woman near her other place, Upton, told me how she
had heard of her death soon after receiving a present from her, and added,
"I thought she went straight to heaven for sending me that petticoat!"
Also she built good cottages for the villagers before the practice was as
universal as it became later on. The only drawback was that she would at
times insist on the building being carried on irrespective of the weather,
with the result that they were not always as dry as they should have been.
Lady Jersey was well known in the world, admired for her beauty and lively
conversation, and no doubt often flattered for her wealth, but she left a
good record of charity and duties fulfilled in her own home.
As for her beautiful daughter Lady Clementina, she was locally regarded
as an angel, and I have heard that when she died the villagers resented
her having been buried next to her grandmother, Frances Lady Jersey, as
they thought her much too good to lie next to the lady who had won the
fleeting affections of George IV.
I soon found home and occupation at Middleton, but I confess that after
being accustomed to a large and cheerful family I found the days and
particularly the autumn evenings rather lonely when my husband was out
hunting, a sport to which he was much addicted in those days. However, we
had several visitors of his family and mine, and went to Stoneleigh for
Christmas, which was a great delight to me.
Soon after we went abroad, as it was thought desirable after my chest
attack of the previous winter that I should not spend all the cold weather
in England. We spent some time at Cannes, and I fancy that it really did
my husband at least as much good as myself--anyhow he found that it suited
him so well that we returned on various occasions.
Sir Robert Gerard was then a great promoter of parties to the Ile Ste
Marguerite and elsewhere, and the Duc de Vallombrosa and the Duchesse de
Luynes helped to make things lively.
[Sidenote: IN LONDON]
I will not, however, dwell on scenes well known to so many people, and
only say that after a short excursion to Genoa and Turin we returned in
the early spring, or at the end of winter, to superintend a good deal of
work which was then being done to renovate some of the rooms at Middleton.
At the beginning of May we moved to 7 Norfolk Crescent--a house which we
had taken from Mr. Charles Fane of Child's Bank--and my eldest son was
born there on June 2nd, 1873. He had come into the world unduly
soon--before he was expected--and inconveniently selected Whit Monday
when the shops were shut and we were unable to supply certain deficiencies
in the preparations. Nevertheless he was extremely welcome, and though
very small on his arrival he soon made up for whatever he lacked in size,
and, as everyone who knows him will testify, he is certainly of stature
sufficient to please the most exacting.
[Illustration: THE LIBRARY, MIDDLETON PARK.]
[Illustration: MIDDLETON PARK. _From photographs by the present Countess
of Jersey._]
My mother-in-law and her second husband, Mr. Brandling, were among our
frequent visitors. Mr. Brandling had a long beard and a loud voice, and a
way of flinging open the doors into the dining-room when he came in in the
morning which was distinctly startling. Apart from these peculiarities he
did not leave much mark in the world. He was very fond of reading, and I
used to suggest to him that he might occupy himself in reviewing books,
but I do not think that he had much power of concentration. My
mother-in-law was tactful with him, but he had a decided temper,
especially when he played whist. As I did not play, this did not affect
me.
My younger sister-in-law, Caroline, and I were great friends. She had
married Mr. Jenkins, who was well known as a sportsman and an amiable,
genial man. His chief claim to fame, apart from his knowledge of horses
and their training, was an expedition which he had made to avenge his
sister's death in Abyssinia. His sister had married a Mr. Powell and she
and her husband had been murdered by natives when travelling in that
country. Mr. Jenkins and Mr. Powell's brother went to Egypt, collected
followers, went into the territory where the murder had taken place,
burned the village which sheltered the aggressors, and had the chief
culprits handed over to them for execution. It was said that the fact
that a couple of Englishmen would not leave their relatives' death
unavenged produced more effect than the whole Abyssinian expedition.
[Sidenote: ISOLA BELLA, CANNES]
The winter after my boy's birth Caroline lost hers, who was a few months
older than mine, and was herself very ill, so we invited her and Mr.
Jenkins to join us at Cannes, where we had this season taken a
villa--Isola Bella. We were the first people who inhabited it. It has
since been greatly enlarged and its gardens so extended that it is now one
of the finest houses in the place. Even then it was very pretty and
attractive, and we enjoyed ourselves greatly.
There was a quaint clergyman at that time who had known Caroline when she
had been sent as a girl to Hyeres, where he then ministered, and where he
had been famous for a head of hair almost too bushy to admit of being
covered by a hat. He was anxious to re-claim acquaintance, but though
civil she was not effusive. He was noted for paying long visits when he
got into anyone's house. I heard of one occasion on which his name was
announced to a young lady who was talking to a man cousin whom she knew
well. The youth on hearing the name exclaimed that he must hide, and crept
under the sofa. The visitor stayed on and on till the young man could
stand his cramped position no longer and suddenly appeared. The parson was
quite unmoved and unmovable by the apparition of what he took to be a
lover, and merely remarked "Don't mind me!"
We found this house so charming that we sent our courier back to England
to bring out our boy. My aunt, Lady Agnes, and her husband, Dr. Frank,
with their baby girl, lived not far off--they had found Isola Bella for us
and were pleasant neighbours. My husband, Caroline, and myself found
additional occupation in Italian lessons from a fiery little patriot whose
name I forget, but who had fought in the war against the Austrians. Among
other things he had a lurid story about his mother whose secrets in the
Confessional had been betrayed by a priest, resulting in the arrest and I
believe death of a relative. After which though the lady continued her
prayers she--not unnaturally--declined to make further confessions.
Our sojourn on this visit to Cannes was further brightened by Conservative
triumphs in the 1874 elections. We used to sit after breakfast on a stone
terrace in front of the villa, Mr. Jenkins smoking and Jersey doing
crochet as a pastime--being no smoker; and morning after morning the
postman would appear with English papers bringing further tidings of
success.
The Jenkinses returned to England rather before ourselves--we travelled
back towards the end of April in singularly hot weather, and when we
reached Dover Jersey left me there for a few days to rest while he went
back to Middleton. Unfortunately the journey, or something, had been too
much for me, and a little girl, who only lived for a day, appeared before
her time at the Lord Warden Hotel. It was a great disappointment, and I
had a somewhat tedious month at the hotel before migrating to 12
Gloucester Square--the house which we had taken for the season.
I have no special recollections of that season, though I think that it was
that year that I met Lord Beaconsfield at the Duke of Buccleuch's. It is,
however, impossible to fix exactly the years in which one dined in
particular places and met particular people, nor is it at all important.
[Sidenote: OXFORDSHIRE NEIGHBOURS]
I would rather summarise our life in the country, where we had garden
parties, cricket matches, and lawn tennis matches at which we were able to
entertain our neighbours. Now, alas! the whole generation who lived near
Middleton in those days has almost passed away. Our nearest neighbours
were Sir Henry and Lady Dashwood at Kirtlington Park with a family of sons
and daughters; Lord Valentia, who lived with his mother, Mrs. Devereux,
and her husband the General at Bletchington; and the Drakes--old Mrs.
Drake and her daughters at Bignell. Sir Henry's family had long lived at
Kirtlington, which is a fine house, originally built by the same
architect--Smith, of Warwick--who built the new portion of Stoneleigh
early in the eighteenth century. Sir Henry was a stalwart, pleasant man,
and a convinced teetotaller. Later on than the year of which I speak the
Dashwoods came over to see some theatricals at Middleton in which my
brothers and sisters and some Cholmondeley cousins took part. After the
performance they gave a pressing invitation to the performers to go over
on a following day to luncheon or tea. A detachment went accordingly, and
were treated with great hospitality but rather like strolling players.
"Where do you act next?" and so on, till finally Sir Henry burst out:
"What an amusing family yours is! Not only all of you act, but your uncle
Mr. James Leigh gives temperance lectures!" Sir Henry's son, Sir George
Dashwood, had a large family of which three gallant boys lost their lives
in the Great War. To universal regret he was obliged to sell Kirtlington.
It was bought by Lord Leven, whose brother and heir has in turn sold it to
Mr. Budgett. Not long before I married, the then owner of another
neighbouring place--Sir Algernon Peyton, M.F.H., of Swift's House, had
died. Lord Valentia took the Bicester hounds which he had hunted, for a
time, rented Swift's from his widow, and ultimately did the wisest thing
by marrying her (1878) and installing her at Bletchington. They are really
the only remaining family of my contemporaries surviving--and, though they
have occasionally let it, they do live now in their own house. They had
two sons and six daughters--great friends of my children. The eldest son
was killed in the Great War.
Another neighbour was a droll old man called Rochfort Clarke, who lived at
a house outside Chesterton village with an old sister-in-law whose name I
forget (I think Miss Byrom)--but his wife being dead he was deeply
attached to her sister. Soon after our marriage he came to call, and
afterwards wrote a letter to congratulate us on our happiness and to say
that had it not been for the iniquitous law forbidding marriage with a
deceased wife's sister we should have seen a picture of equal domestic
felicity in him and Miss ----. He was very anxious to convert Irish Roman
Catholics to the ultra-Protestant faith, and he interpreted the Second
Commandment to forbid _all_ pictures of any sort or kind. None were
allowed in his house. Once he wrote a letter to the papers to protest
against the ritualism embodied in a picture in Chesterton Church--an
extremely evangelical place where Moody and Sankey hymns prevailed. Later
on the clergyman took me into the church to show me the offending idol. It
consisted of a diminutive figure--as far as I could see of a man--in a
very small window high up over the west door. The most appalling shock was
inflicted upon him by a visit to the Exhibition of 1851, where various
statuary was displayed including Gibson's "Tinted Venus." This impelled
him to break into a song of protest of which I imperfectly recollect four
lines to this effect:
"Tell me, Victoria, can that borrowed grace
Compare with Albert's manly form and face?
And tell me, Albert, can that shameless jest
Compare with thy Victoria _clothed and dressed_?"
The sister-in-law died not long after I knew him, and he then married a
respectable maid-servant whom he brought to see us dressed in brown silk
and white gloves. Shortly afterwards he himself departed this life and the
property was bought by the popular Bicester banker Mr. Tubb, who married
Miss Stratton--a second cousin of mine--built a good house, from which
pictures were not barred, and had four nice daughters.
I cannot name all the neighbours, but should not omit the old Warden of
Merton, Mr. Marsham, who lived with his wife and sons at Caversfield. The
eldest son, Charles Marsham, who succeeded to the place after his death,
was a great character well known in the hunting and cricket fields. He was
a good fellow with a hot temper which sometimes caused trying scenes.
Towards the end of his life he developed a passion for guessing Vanity
Fair acrostics, and when he saw you instead of "How d'ye do?" he greeted
you with "Can you remember what begins with D and ends with F?" or words
to that effect. There was a famous occasion when, as he with several
others from Middleton were driving to Meet, one of my young brothers
suggested some solution at which he absolutely scoffed. When the hounds
threw off, however, Charlie Marsham disappeared and missed a first-class
run. It was ultimately discovered that he had slipped away to a telegraph
office to send off a solution embodying my brother's suggestion!
[Sidenote: CAVERSFIELD CHURCH]
Caversfield Church was a small building of considerable antiquity standing
very close to the Squire's house. The present Lord North, now an old man,
has told me that long ago when he was Master of Hounds he passed close to
this church out cub-hunting at a very early hour, when the sound of most
beautiful singing came from the tower, heard not only by himself but by
the huntsmen and whips who were with him--so beautiful that they paused to
listen. Next time he met the clergyman, who was another Marsham son, he
said to him, "What an early service you had in your church on such a day!"
"I had no weekday service," replied Mr. Marsham, and professed entire
ignorance of the "angelic choir." I have never discovered any tradition
connected with Caversfield Church which should have induced angels to come
and sing their morning anthem therein, but it is a pretty tale, and Lord
North was convinced that he had heard this music.
One thing is certain, the tiny agricultural parish of Caversfield could
not have produced songsters to chant Matins while the world at large was
yet wrapped in slumber.
Thinking of Caversfield Church, I recollect attending a service there when
the Bishop of Oxford (Mackarness, I believe) preached at its reopening
after restoration. In the course of his sermon he remarked that there had
been times when a congregation instead of thinking of the preservation and
beautifying of the sacred building only considered how they should make
themselves comfortable therein. This, as reported by the local
representative, appeared in the Bicester paper as an episcopal comment
that in former days people had neglected to make themselves comfortable in
church. However, my old Archdeacon uncle-by-marriage, Lord Saye and Sele,
who was a distinctly unconventional thinker, once remarked to my mother
that he had always heard church compared to heaven, and as heaven was
certainly the most comfortable place possible he did not see why church
should not be made comfortable. The old family pew at Middleton Church had
been reseated with benches to look more or less like the rest of the
church before I married, but was still a little raised and separated by
partitions from the rest of the congregation. Later on it was levelled and
the partitions removed. From the point of view of "comfort," and apart
from all other considerations, I do think that the square "Squire's
Pew"--as it still exists at Stoneleigh--where the occupants sit facing
each other--is _not_ an ideal arrangement.
At Broughton Castle--the old Saye and Sele home--one of the bedrooms had a
little window from which you could look down into the chapel belonging to
the house without the effort of descending. Once when we stayed there and
my mother was not dressed in time for Morning Prayers she adopted this
method of sharing in the family devotions.
Broughton Castle, and Lord North's place, Wroxton Abbey (now for sale) are
both near Banbury, which is about thirteen miles from Middleton--nothing
in the days of motors, but a more serious consideration when visits had to
be made with horses.
[Sidenote: LIFE AT MIDDLETON]
Mr. Cecil Bourke was clergyman at Middleton when I married and had two
very nice sisters, but he migrated to Reading about two years later, and
was succeeded by the Rev. W. H. Draper, who has been there ever since. He
is an excellent man who has had a good wife and eleven children. Mrs.
Draper died lately, to the sorrow of her many friends. Some of the
children have also gone, but others are doing good work in various parts
of the Empire. Old Lord Strathnairn, of Mutiny fame, was once staying with
us at Middleton. He was extremely deaf and apt to be two or three periods
behind in the conversation. Someone mentioned leprosy and its causes at
dinner, and after two or three remarks that subject was dropped, and
another took its place, in which connection I observed that our
clergyman's wife had eleven children. Lord Strathnairn, with his mind
still on "leprousy," turned to me and in his usual courteous manner
remarked, "It is not catching, I believe?"
Among other neighbours were Mr. and Mrs. Hibbert at Bucknell Manor, who
had six well-behaved little daughters whom, though they treated them
kindly, they regarded as quite secondary to their only son. On the other
hand, Mr. and Mrs. Dewar at Cotmore were perfectly good to their four
sons, but the only daughter distinctly ruled the roost. Moral: if a boy
baby has any choice he had better select a family of sisters in which to
be born, and the contrary advice should be tendered to a female infant.
To return to our own affairs. The little girl whom we lost in April 1874
was replaced, to our great pleasure, by another little daughter born at
Middleton, October 8th, 1875, and christened Margaret like the baby who
lay beneath a white marble cross in the churchyard. The new little
Margaret became and has remained a constant treasure. Villiers' first
words were "Hammer, hammer," which he picked up from hearing the constant
hammering at the tank in the new water-tower. He was very pleased with his
sister, but a trifle jealous of the attentions paid her by his nurse. A
rather quaint incident took place at the baby's christening. When
Villiers was born, old Lord Bathurst, then aged eighty-two, asked to come
and see him as he had known my husband's great-grandmother Frances, Lady
Jersey (the admired of George IV), and wanted to see the fifth generation.
We asked him to stay at Middleton for the little girl's christening, and
after dinner to propose the baby's health.
He asked her name, and when I told him "Margaret" he murmured, "What
memories that brings back!" and fell into a reverie. When he rose for the
toast he confided to the family that her great-grandmother on my
side--Margarette, Lady Leigh--had been his first love and repeated,
"Maggie Willes, Maggie Willes, how I remember her walking down the streets
of Cirencester!" He was a wonderful man for falling in love--even when he
was quite old he was always fascinated by the youngest available girl--but
he died unmarried. Perhaps one love drove out the other before either had
time to secure a firm footing in his heart.
Lord Bathurst told me that when he was a middle-aged man and friend of the
family Sarah Lady Jersey was very anxious to secure Prince Nicholas
Esterhazy for her eldest daughter Sarah (a marriage which came off in due
course). She had asked him to stay at Middleton, and it was generally
believed that if he accepted the match would be arranged. Lord Bathurst in
November 1841 was riding into Oxford when he met Lady Jersey driving
thence to Middleton. She put her head out of the carriage and called to
him, "We have got our Prince!" At that time the Queen was expecting her
second child, and Lord Bathurst, more occupied with Her Majesty's hopes
than with those of Lady Jersey, at once assumed that this meant a Prince
of Wales, and rode rapidly on to announce the joyful tidings. These were
almost immediately verified, and he gained credit for very early
intelligence. He was a gallant old man, and despite his years climbed a
fence when staying at Middleton. He died between two and three years
later.
On a visit to the Exeters at Burghley, near Stamford, we had met Mr. and
Mrs. Finch of Burley-on-the-Hill, near Oakham, and they asked us to stay
with them soon after little Margaret's birth. I mention this because it
was here that I met Lady Galloway, who became my great friend, and with
whom later on I shared many delightful experiences. She was a handsome and
fascinating woman a few months younger than myself.
[Sidenote: MR. DISRAELI]
It was in this year, May 18th, 1875, that Disraeli wrote to Jersey
offering him the appointment of Lord-in-Waiting to the Queen--saying, "I
think, also, my selection would be pleasing to Her Majesty, as many
members of your family have been connected with the Court." On May 28th he
notified the Queen's approval. (It is rather quaint that the first letter
begins "My dear Jersey"--the second "My dear Villiers." My husband was
never called "Villiers," but Disraeli knew his grandfather and father, who
were both so called.) Jersey used to answer for Local Government in the
House of Lords. The Queen was always very kind to him, as she had known
his grandmother so well, and told me once that Lady Clementina had been
her playfellow. She was his godmother; she records it if I remember
rightly in the Life of the Prince Consort, or anyhow in a letter or Diary
of the period, and says there that she became godmother as a token of
friendship to Sir Robert Peel--his mother's father. She declared to us
that she had held him in her arms at his christening, and of course it was
not for us to contradict Her Majesty: but I think that she officiated by
proxy. She gave him two or three of her books in which she wrote his name
as "Victor Alexander," and again we accepted the nomenclature. As a matter
of fact he was "Victor Albert George" and always called "George" in the
family. He had, however, the greatest respect and affection for his royal
godmother, and valued her beautiful christening cup. As Lord-in-Waiting he
had to attend the House of Lords when in session, and spoke
occasionally--he always sat near his old friend Lord de Ros, who was a
permanent Lord-in-Waiting.
I used to go fairly often to the House during the years which followed his
appointment and before we went to Australia, and heard many interesting
debates. Jersey and I always considered the late Duke of Argyll and the
late Lord Cranbrook as two of the finest orators in the House. The Duke
was really splendid, and with his fine head and hair thrown back he looked
the true Highland Chieftain. Several much less effective speakers would
sometimes persist in addressing the House. I remember Lord Houghton
exciting much laughter on one occasion when he said of some point in his
speech "and that reminds me," he paused and repeated "and that reminds
me," but the impromptu would not spring forth till he shook his head and
pulled a slip of paper, on which it was carefully written, out of his
waistcoat pocket.
I was told, though I was not present, of a house-party of which the Duke
of Argyll and Lord Houghton both formed part. One evening--Sunday evening,
I believe--Lord Houghton offered to read to the assembled company
Froude's account of the "Pilgrimage of Grace" in his _History of England_.
Most of them seem to have submitted more or less cheerfully, but the Duke,
becoming bored, retired into the background with a book which he had taken
from the table. Just when Lord Houghton had reached the most thrilling
part and had lowered his voice to give due emphasis to the narrative, the
Duke, who had completely forgotten what was going on, threw down his book
and exclaimed, "What an extraordinary character of Nebuchadnezzar!"
Whereupon Lord Houghton in turn threw down Froude and in wrathful accents
cried, "One must be a Duke and a Cabinet Minister to be guilty of such
rudeness!"
Froude was rather a friend of ours--a pleasant though slightly cynical
man. I recollect him at Lady Derby's one evening saying that books were
objectionable; all books ought to be burnt. I ventured to suggest that he
had written various books which I had read with pleasure--why did he write
them if such was his opinion? He shrugged his shoulders and remarked, "Il
faut vivre." When Lady Derby told this afterwards to Lord Derby he said
that I ought to have given the classic reply, "Je n'en vois pas la
necessite," but perhaps this would have been going a little far.
[Sidenote: FROUDE AND KINGSLEY]
Froude and Kingsley were brothers-in-law, having married two Misses
Grenfell. On one occasion the former was giving a Rectorial Address at St.
Andrews and remarked on the untrustworthiness of clerical statements.
About the same time Kingsley gave a discourse at Cambridge in which he
quoted a paradox of Walpole's to the effect that whatever else is true,
history is not. Some epigrammists thereupon perpetrated the following
lines. I quote from memory:
"Froude informs the Scottish youth
Parsons seldom speak the truth;
While at Cambridge Kingsley cries
'History is a pack of lies!'
Whence these judgments so malign?
A little thought will solve the mystery.
For Froude thinks Kingsley a divine
And Kingsley goes to Froude for history."
The Galloways when we first made their acquaintance lived at 17 Upper
Grosvenor Street. In 1875 we occupied 17_a_ Great Cumberland Street--and
in 1876 a nice house belonging to Mr. Bassett in Charles Street--but in
1877 we bought 3 Great Stanhope Street, being rather tired of taking
houses for the season. My second (surviving) daughter Mary was born here
on May 26th--a beautiful baby, god-daughter to Lady Galloway and Julia
Wombwell. My third and youngest daughter, Beatrice, was born at Folkestone
October 12th, 1880, and the family was completed three years later by
Arthur, born November 24th, 1883, to our great joy, as it endowed us with
a second son just before his elder brother went to Mr. Chignell's
school--Castlemount--at Dover.
In the same month, but just before Arthur was born, our tenant at
Osterley, the old Duchess of Cleveland (Caroline), died. She was a fine
old lady and an excellent tenant, caring for the house as if it had been
her own. She had most generous instincts, and once when part of the
stonework round the roof of Osterley had been destroyed by a storm she
wrote to my husband saying that she had placed a considerable sum with his
bankers to aid in its restoration. This was unexpected and certainly
unsolicited, which made it all the more acceptable. We should never have
thought of disturbing her during her lifetime, and even when she died our
first idea was to relet the place to a suitable tenant. I had never lived
there (though we once slept for a night during the Duchess's tenure), so
had no associations with, and had never realised, the beauty of, the
place. However, after her death we thought we would give one garden-party
before reletting, which we did in 1884. The day was perfect, and an
unexpected number of guests arrived. We were fascinated with the place and
decided to keep it as a "suburban" home instead of letting, and it became
the joy of my life and a great pleasure to my husband.
[Sidenote: JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL]
I will speak of some of our guests later on, but I must first mention some
of those whom we knew at Great Stanhope Street and Middleton during the
earlier years of our married life. One of our great friends was the
American Minister Mr. Lowell. Looking through some of his letters, I
recall his perfect charm of manner in speaking and in writing. The
simplest occurrence, such as changing the date of a dinner-party in 1882,
gave him the opportunity of words which might have befitted a courtier of
old days:
"Her Majesty--long life to her--has gone and appointed Saturday, June
3rd, to be born on. After sixty-three years to learn wisdom in, she
can do nothing better than take my Saturday away from me--for I must
go to drink her health at the Foreign Office! 'Tis enough to make a
democrat of any Tory that ever was except you. I have moved on my poor
little dinner to 5th. I can make no other combination in the near
future, what with Her Majesty's engagements and mine, but that. Can
you come then? Or is my table to lose its pearl? If you can't, I shall
make another specially for you."
Before I knew Mr. Lowell personally I was introduced to his works by Mr.
Tom Hughes ("Tom Brown" of the "Schooldays") who stayed with us at
Middleton at the beginning of 1880 and gave me a copy of Lowell's poems
carefully marked with those he preferred. Four years later in August
Lowell stayed with us there. It was a real hot summer, and he wrote into
Hughes' gift these verses which certainly make the volume doubly precious:
"Turbid from London's noise and smoke,
Here found I air and quiet too,
Air filtered through the beech and oak,
Quiet that nothing harsher broke
Than stockdoves' meditative coo.
"So I turn Tory for the nonce
And find the Radical a bore
Who cannot see (thick-witted dunce!)
That what was good for people once
Must be as good for evermore.
"Sun, sink no deeper down the sky,
Nature, ne'er leave this summer mood,
Breeze, loiter thus for ever by,
Stir the dead leaf or let it lie,
Since I am happy, all is good!"
[Sidenote: T. HUGHES AND J. R. LOWELL]
This poem was afterwards republished under the title "The Optimist" in a
collection called _Heartsease and Rue_. Lowell added four additional
stanzas between the first and the last two, elaborating the description
and the underlying idea. I think, however, that the three original ones
are the best, particularly the gentle hit at the "Tory"--with whom he
loved to identify me. The "stockdoves" were the woodpigeons whose cooing
on our lawn soothed and delighted him. Mr. Hughes told me that he had
first made Mr. Lowell's acquaintance by correspondence, having written to
him to express his admiration of one of his works. I have just discovered
that in an Introduction to his Collected Works published 1891 Hughes says
that Truebner asked him in 1859 to write a preface to the English edition
of the _Biglow Papers_ which gave him the long-desired opportunity of
writing to the author. He also told me--which he also describes in the
Introduction--how nervous he was when about at last to meet his unknown
friend lest he should not come up to the ideal which he had formed, and
how overjoyed he was to find him even more delightful than his letters. In
a fit of generosity Hughes, quite unasked, gave me a very interesting
letter which Lowell wrote him on his appointment to England in 1880. It is
a long letter, some of it dealing with private matters, but one passage
may be transcribed:
"I have been rather amused with some of the comments of your press
that have been sent me. They almost seem to think I shall come in a
hostile spirit, because I have commented sharply on the pretension and
incompetence of one or two British bookmakers! It is also more than
hinted that I said bitter things about England during our war. Well, I
hope none of my commentators will ever have as good reason to be
bitter. It is only Englishmen who have the happy privilege of speaking
frankly about their neighbours, and only they who are never satisfied
unless an outsider likes England _better_ than his own country. Thank
God I have spoken my mind at home too, when it would have been far
more comfortable to hold my tongue. Had I felt less kindly toward
England, perhaps I shouldn't have been so bitter, if bitter I was."
Mr. Hughes records, again in the Introduction, that Lowell said in one of
his letters during the American War, "We are all as cross as terriers with
your kind of neutrality"--but he rejoices in the gradual increasing
warmth of his feeling for England as he grew to know her better during the
last years of his life.
While I knew him he was always most friendly, and it is pleasant to recall
him sitting in the garden at Osterley on peaceful summer evenings enjoying
specially that blue haze peculiar to the Valley of the Thames which
softens without obscuring the gentle English landscape.
One more letter, including a copy of verses, I cannot resist copying. In
July 1887 he endowed me with Omar Khayyam, and some months later I
received this--dated "At sea, 2nd November 1887":
"Some verses have been beating their wings against the walls of my
brain ever since I gave you the Omar Khayyam. I don't think they will
improve their feathers by doing it longer. So I have caught and caged
them on the next leaf that you may if you like paste them into the
book. With kindest regards to Lord Jersey and in the pleasant hope of
seeing you again in the spring,
Faithfully yours,
J. R. LOWELL."
"With a copy of Omar Khayyam.
"These pearls of thought in Persian gulfs were bred,
Each softly lucent as a rounded moon:
The diver Omar plucked them from their bed,
Fitzgerald strung them on an English thread.
"Fit rosary for a queen in shape and hue
When Contemplation tells her pensive beads
Of mortal thoughts for ever old and new:
Fit for a queen? Why, surely then, for you!
"The moral? When Doubt's eddies toss and twirl
Faith's slender shallop 'neath our reeling feet,
Plunge! If you find not peace beneath the whirl,
Groping, you may at least bring back a pearl."
He adds beneath the lines: "My pen has danced to the dancing of the
ship."
The verses (of course not the covering letter) appeared in _Heartsease and
Rue_.
Mr. Lowell stayed with us at Osterley in the two summers following his
return. He died in America just before we went to Australia.
We knew Robert Browning pretty well, and I recollect one interesting
conversation which I had with him on death and immortality. Of the former
he had the rather curious idea that the soul's last sojourn in the body
was just between the eyebrows. He said that he had seen several people
die, and that the last movement was there. I cannot think that a quiver of
the forehead proves it. For immortality, he said that he had embodied his
feelings in the "Old Pictures in Florence" in the lines ending "I have had
troubles enough for one." No one, however, can read his poems without
realising his faith in the hereafter.
[Sidenote: MR. GLADSTONE ON IMMORTALITY]
How diverse are the views of great men on this mystery! Lady Galloway
wrote to me once from Knowsley of a talk she had had with Mr. Gladstone
which I think worth recording in her own words:
"The theory of Mr. Gladstone's that mostly interested me last night
was--that every soul was not _of necessity immortal_--that all the
Christian faith of the immortality of the soul and resurrection of the
body was a new doctrine introduced and revealed by our Lord in whom
alone, maybe, we receive _immortal life_. This he only _suggests_, you
understand--does not lay it down--but I don't think I have quite
grasped his idea of the mystery of death, which as far as I can
understand he thinks Man would not have been subject to but for the
Fall--not that Death did not exist before the Fall--but that it would
have been a different kind of thing. In fact that the connection
between Sin and Death meant that you lost immortality thro' Sin and
gained it thro' Christ."
I might as well insert here part of a letter from Edwin Arnold, author of
_The Light of Asia_, which he wrote me in January 1885 after reading an
article which I had perpetrated in _The National Review_ on Buddhism. I
had not known him previously, but he did me the honour to profess interest
in my crude efforts and to regret what he considered a misconception of
Gautama's fundamental idea. He continues:
"I remember more than one passage which seemed to show that you
considered _Nirvana_ to be annihilation; and the aim and _summum
bonum_ of the Buddhist to escape existence finally and utterly. Permit
me to invite you not to adopt this view too decidedly in spite of the
vast authority of men like Max Mueller, Rhys David, and others. My own
studies (which I am far from ranking with theirs, in regard of
industry and learning) convince me that it was, in every case, _the
embodied life_; _life_ as we know it and endure it, which Gautama
desired to be for ever done with.... I believe that when St. Paul
writes 'the things not seen are eternal,' he had attained much such a
height of insight and foresight as Buddha under the Bodhi Tree. I even
fancy that when Professor Tyndall lectures on the light-rays which are
invisible to our eyes, and the cosmical sounds which are inaudible to
ears of flesh and blood, he _approaches_ by a physical path the
confines of that infinite and enduring life of which Orientals dreamed
metaphysically."
After this Mr. Arnold--afterwards Sir Edwin--became numbered among our
friends, and was very kind in giving us introductions when we went to
India, as I will record later.
[Sidenote: THOUGHT-READING]
Meantime I may mention a quaint bit of palmistry or thought-reading
connected with him. We had a friend, Augusta Webb of Newstead, now Mrs.
Fraser, who was an expert in this line. She was calling on me one day
when I mentioned casually that I had met Mr. Arnold, whose _Light of Asia_
she greatly admired. She expressed a great wish to meet him, so I said,
"He is coming to dine this evening--you had better come also." She
accepted with enthusiasm. He sat next to me, and to please her I put her
on his other side. In the course of dinner something was said about
favourite flowers, and I exclaimed, "Augusta, tell Mr. Arnold his
favourite flower." She looked at his hand and said without hesitation, "I
don't know its name, but I think it is a white flower rather like a rose
and with a very strong scent." He remarked, astonished, "I wish I had
written it down beforehand to show how right you are. It is an Indian
flower." (I forget the name, which he said he had mentioned in _The Light
of Asia_), "white and strong-smelling and something like a tuberose." It
is impossible that Augusta could have known beforehand. Her sister told me
later that she did occasionally perceive a person's thought and that this
was one of the instances.
To return to Thomas Hughes, who originally gave me Lowell's poems. He was
an enthusiast and most conscientious. On the occasion when, as I said
before, he stayed at Middleton he promised to tell my boy Villiers--then
six and a half years old--a story. Having been prevented from doing so, he
sent the story by post, carefully written out with this charming letter:
"_February 1st, 1880._
"MY DEAR LITTLE MAN,
"I was quite sorry this morning when you said to me, as we were going
away, 'Ah, but you have never told me about the King of the Cats, as
you promised.' I was always taught when I was a little fellow, smaller
than you, that I must never 'run word,' even if it cost me my knife
with three blades and a tweezer, or my ivory dog-whistle, which were
the two most precious things I had in the world. And my father and
mother not only told me that I must never 'run word,' for they knew
that boys are apt to forget what they are only told, but they never
'ran word' with me, which was a much surer way to fix what they told
me in my head; because boys find it hard to forget what they see the
old folk that they love do day by day.
"So I have tried all my long life never to 'run word,' and as I said I
would tell you the story about Rodilardus the King of the Cats, and as
I can't tell it you by word of mouth because you are down there in the
bright sunshine at Middleton, and I am up here in foggy old London, I
must tell it you in this way, though I am not sure that you will be
able to make it all out. I know you can read, for I heard you read the
psalm at prayers this morning very well; only as Mama was reading out
of the same book over your shoulder, perhaps you heard what she said,
and that helped you a little to keep up with all the rest of us. But a
boy may be able to read his psalms in his prayer book and yet not able
to read a long piece of writing like this, though I am making it as
clear as I can. So if you cannot make it all out you must just take it
off to Mama and get her to look over your shoulder and tell you what
it is all about. Well then, you know what I told you was, that I used
to think that some people could get to understand what cats said to
one another, and to wish very much that I could make out their talk
myself. But all this time I have never been able to make out a word of
it, and do not now think that anybody can. Only I am quite sure that
any boy or man who is fond of cats, and tries to make out what they
mean, and what they want, will learn a great many things that will
help to make him kind and wise. And when you asked me why I used to
think that I could learn cat-talk I said I would tell you that story
about the King of the Cats which was told to me when I was a very
little fellow about your age. And so here it is."
The story itself is a variant, very picturesquely and graphically told, of
an old folk-tale, which I think appears in Grimm, of a cat who,
overhearing an account given by a human being of the imposing funeral of
one of his race, exclaims, "Then I am King of the Cats!" and disappears up
the chimney.
[Sidenote: TOM HUGHES AND RUGBY, TENNESSEE]
Tom Hughes, at the time of his visit to Middleton, was very keen about the
town which he proposed to found on some kind of Christian-socialist
principles, to be called "New Rugby," in Tennessee. It was to have one
church, to be used by the various denominations, and to be what is now
called "Pussyfoot." What happened about the church I know not, but I have
heard as regards the teetotalism that drinks were buried by traders just
outside the sacred boundaries and dug up secretly by the townsmen. Anyhow,
I fear that the well-meant project resulted in a heavy loss to poor
Hughes. I recollect that Lord Galloway's servant suggested that he would
like to accompany Mr. Hughes to the States--"and I would valet you, sir."
Hughes repudiated all idea of valeting, but was willing to accept the man
as a comrade. All he got by his democratic offer was that the man told the
other servants that Mr. Hughes did not understand real English
aristocracy. Which reminds me of a pleasing definition given by the Matron
of our Village Training School for Servants of the much-discussed word
"gentleman." She told me one day that her sister had asked for one of our
girls as servant. As we generally sent them to rather superior situations,
I hesitated, though I did not like to refuse straight off, and asked,
"What is your brother-in-law?" "He is a gentleman," was the answer.
Observing that I looked somewhat surprised, the Matron hastened to add,
"You see, my sister keeps a temperance hotel, and in such a case the
husband does not work, only cleans the windows and boots and so on."
Whereby I gather that not to work for regular wages is the hall-mark of a
gentleman! But a girl was not provided for the place.
I believe that Henry James was first introduced to us by Mr. Lowell, and
became a frequent visitor afterwards. He was an intimate friend of my
uncle the Dean of Hereford and of his mother-in-law Mrs. Kemble.
Under the name of Summersoft he gives a delightful description of Osterley
in his novel _The Lesson of the Master_. "It all went together and spoke
in one voice--a rich English voice of the early part of the eighteenth
century." The Gallery he calls "a cheerful upholstered avenue into the
other century."
[Sidenote: CARDINAL NEWMAN]
One dinner at Norfolk House lingers specially in my memory; it was in the
summer of 1880 and was to meet Dr. Newman not long after he had been
promoted to the dignity of Cardinal--an honour which many people
considered overdue. A large party was assembled and stood in a circle
ready to receive the new "Prince of the Church," who was conducted into
the room by the Duke. As soon as he entered a somewhat ancient lady, Mrs.
W-- H--, who was a convert to "the Faith," went forward and grovelled
before him on her knees, kissing his hand with much effusion, and I fancy
embarrassing His Eminence considerably. My aunt, the Duchess of
Westminster, who was very handsome but by no means slim, was standing next
to me and whispered, "Margaret, shall we have to do that? because I should
never be able to get up again!" However, none of the Roman Catholics
present seemed to consider such extreme genuflections necessary. I think
they made some reasonable kind of curtsy as he was taken round, and then
we went in to dinner. Somewhat to my surprise and certainly to my
pleasure, I found myself seated next to the Cardinal and found him very
attractive. I asked him whether the "Gerontius" of the poem was a real
person, and he smiled and said "No," but I think he was pleased that I had
read it. I never met him again, but in October 1882 I was greatly
surprised to receive a book with this charming letter written from
Birmingham:
"MADAM,
"I have but one reason for venturing, as I do, to ask your Ladyship's
acceptance of a volume upon the Russian Church which I am publishing,
the work of a dear friend now no more. That reason is the desire I
feel of expressing in some way my sense of your kindness to me two
years ago, when I had the honour of meeting you at Norfolk House, and
the little probability there is, at my age, of my having any other
opportunity of doing so.
"I trust you will accept this explanation, and am
"Your Ladyship's faithful servant,
"JOHN H. CARDINAL NEWMAN."
The book was _Notes of a Visit to the Russian Church_ by Lord Selborne's
brother, Mr. W. Palmer, edited and with a Preface by Cardinal Newman. I
have never been able to understand what he considered my kindness, as I
thought the Great Man so kind to me, a young female heretic.
CHAPTER V
BERLIN AND THE JUBILEE OF 1887
I find it difficult to recall all our foreign travels. In 1876 I
paid--with my husband--my first visit to Switzerland, and three years
later we went again--this time making the doubtful experiment of taking
with us Villiers aged six and Margaret (called Markie) aged three. Somehow
we conveyed these infants over glaciers and mountains to various places,
including Zermatt. We contrived a sort of awning over a _chaise a
porteurs_ carried by guides--but they did a good bit of walking also. I
was really terrified on one occasion when we drove in a kind of dog-cart
down precipitous roads along the edge of precipices. The children sat on
either side of me--their little legs too short to reach the floor of the
carriage. I had an arm round either, feeling--I believe justly--that if I
let go for a moment the child would be flung into space. Jersey was
walking--the maid, I suppose, with courier and luggage--anyhow I had sole
responsibility for the time being. Our courier was excellent, and no
matter where we arrived contrived to produce a rice-pudding on which the
children insisted. It is unnecessary to describe the well-known scenes
through which we passed. Switzerland impressed me, as it does all
travellers, with its grandeur and beauty--but I never loved it as I did
the South and, later on, the East.
[Sidenote: SARAH BERNHARDT]
Another winter we went--after Christmas--with Villiers only--to Biarritz;
again I did not think it southern enough in sky and vegetation to rival
the Riviera, though the pinewoods, and great billows rolling in from the
sea, were attractive. Soon afterwards we embarked in a governess--a clever
young woman called Ada Mason, who was recommended by Lady Derby. She had
been a show pupil at the Liverpool Girls' College, and before we engaged
her permanently she went to complete her French education in Paris. She
stayed with us till she married in Australia. In March 1883 we took
Villiers, Markie, and Miss Mason to the Riviera, Florence, and Venice. I
do not know that there is anything exceptional to record. I observe in a
short journal which I kept on this occasion that Jersey and I while in
Paris went to the Vaudeville to see Sarah Bernhardt in _Fedora_. My
comment is: "She acted wonderfully but I did not think much of the play.
The great coup was supposed to be when the hero gave her a bang on the
head, but as that used to make the ladies faint he contented himself with
partially throttling her when we saw it." I suppose French ladies are more
susceptible than English. Once in after years I went with a friend to see
the divine Sarah in _La Tosca_. I thought the torture part horrid enough,
but when La Tosca had killed the wicked Governor my companion observed
plaintively, "We did not see any blood," as if it were not sufficiently
realistic.
On this same journey abroad we visited, as on various other occasions, the
Ile St. Honorat and Ste Marguerite, a picnic party being given on the
former by Lord Abercromby and Mr. Savile. The Duchesse de Vallombrosa
brought Marshal McMahon, and special interest was excited on this occasion
since Bazaine had lately escaped from what had been formerly the prison
of the Masque de Fer. Jersey went with some of the party to Ste
Marguerite, and Marshal McMahon told Mr. Savile that he did not connive at
Bazaine's escape, but that Madame Bazaine came to him and asked when he
would let her husband out. He replied, "In six years, or six months, if he
is a _bon garcon_"; so she went out saying, "Then I shall know what to
do," and slammed the door after her, with the evident purpose of unlocking
another door, which she accomplished.
Marshal McMahon must have been a fine fellow, but hardly possessed of
French readiness of speech if this story which I have heard of him is
true. He was to review the Cadets at a Military College--St. Cyr, I
think--and was begged beforehand to say a special word of encouragement to
a young Algerian who was in training there. When it came to the point the
only happy remark which occurred to him was, "Ah--vous etes le negre--eh
bien continuez le!"
From Cannes we went to several other places, including Spezzia, Genoa,
Venice, and Florence. We saw all the orthodox sights in each place and at
Florence dined with Mr. John Meyer and his first wife, who, if I remember
rightly, was a Fitzgerald. He was in the exceptional position of having no
nationality--he was somehow connected with Germany and Russia (not to
speak of Judaea) and had been in South America and Switzerland. He had been
a Russian, but had lost that nationality as having been twenty-five years
absent from that country. He wanted to become an Englishman, as his wife
wanted to send her boy to school in England, but it would mean a
lengthened residence or a private Act of Parliament costing L3,000. In the
end the nice Mrs. Meyer who entertained us on this occasion died, and he
bought an Italian Marquisate and turned into an Italian! He married as his
second wife a beautiful Miss Fish, and I last saw them in their charming
villa near Florence.
The Meyers were pleasant hosts, and it was at the dinner which I have
mentioned that I first made the acquaintance of a telephone. They had
asked some people to come in after dinner, and to show how the instrument
worked telephoned to invite an additional guest. I never encountered a
telephone at a private house in London till long afterwards.
Our younger children, Mary and Beatrice, stayed during our absence at our
little Welsh home--Baglan House, near Briton Ferry--a place which all our
children loved.
[Sidenote: DEATH OF GILBERT LEIGH]
In 1884 a great sorrow befell our family. My brother Gilbert, then M.P.
for South Warwickshire, went in August of that year to America with Mr. W.
H. Grenfell--now Lord Desborough--with the object of getting some
bear-shooting in the Rockies. Towards the end of the month they began
camping--but the hunting was not good, as Indians had previously driven
the part of the country which they visited with the view of getting game
for their side. Mr. Grenfell's journal records frost at the end of August
and heavy snow on the night of September 1st. On September 12th they
pitched a camp in the Big Horn Mountains on a charming spot close to a
clear, rocky river with trees and high walls on either side. On Sunday the
14th, a boiling hot day, they had an hour's wash in the river, and after
luncheon Gillie started off down the Ten Sleeper canyon alone on his
horse--he was never seen alive again. For a whole week Mr. Grenfell and
the three men whom they had with them searched in every possible
direction, and at last, on the 21st, they found my brother lying dead at
the foot of a precipice from which he had evidently fallen and been
instantaneously killed--"a terrible way," writes Mr. Grenfell, "to find a
friend who had endeared himself to all--always cheery and ready to make
the best of everything--nothing put him out"--"his simplicity, absence of
self-assertion, and quaint humour made him a general favourite--whatever
happened he never complained and did not know what fear was."
The news did not reach England till some three days later, and it is
impossible to dwell on the terrible sorrow of all who loved him so dearly.
My brother Dudley was mercifully in the States at the time of the fatal
accident, and my uncle James Leigh set off at once to bring the body home;
but the long wait--till October 20th--was unspeakably trying most of all
for my poor parents, who were broken-hearted. My mother put a bunch of
white rosebuds on his coffin, for when a little boy he had said one day
that his "idea of love was a bunch of roses."
I will only add her verses on her firstborn son:
"He is gone, and gone for ever,
'Coming home again' now never--
If 'tis cold he feels it not,
Recks not if 'tis scorching hot,
But by children circled round
Roams the happy hunting-ground,
Pure in heart and face as they,
Gladsome in God's glorious day.
"If I see him once again
Will he tell me of his pain?
Did he shout or cry or call
When he saw that he must fall?
Feel one pang of mortal fear
When the fatal plunge was near?
Or to the last--to fear a stranger--
Think to triumph over danger?
"I think so--on his marble face
Fright and terror left no trace--
Still--as if at Stoneleigh sleeping,
There he lay--all the weeping
Broke in streams from other eyes
Far away.
But to him come not again
Cold or heat or grief or pain."
Gilly was truly "to fear a stranger." He had, as Mr. Grenfell recounts,
been six times before to the Rocky Mountain country and always had
extraordinary adventures--once he rode his horse along a ledge till he
could neither go forward nor turn, and had to slip over its tail and climb
out, leaving the animal to shift for itself. Two cowboys roped and got the
saddle and bridle off and left the horse, which somehow backed out and got
down without injury.
[Sidenote: IN ITALY, 1884]
Earlier in the year 1884 Jersey, Lady Galloway, and I made a pleasant tour
among the Italian Lakes, including a run to Milan for Easter Sunday, where
we heard some of the splendid service in the Cathedral. We took with us
Villiers, his last trip abroad before his regular schooldays. He had
attended Miss Woodman's classes during two or three London seasons, and
had had a visiting tutor from Oxford--Mr. Angel Smith--for the past year
or so at Middleton; but on May 1st, after our return from the Lakes, he
went to Mr. Chignell's, Castlemount, Dover, where he remained till he went
to Eton three years later. He had an unvaryingly good record both for the
lessons and conduct while at Castlemount.
I have no special recollection of the two following years, so pass on to
1887. That winter Lady Galloway was in Russia and was to stay in Berlin
with the Ambassador, Sir Edward Malet, and his wife, Lady Ermyntrude, on
her return. The Malets very kindly invited me to meet her and to spend a
few days at the Embassy. I arrived there on February 21st, and found Lady
Galloway and her sister-in-law Lady Isabel Stewart already installed. The
following afternoon the routine of German court etiquette--now a thing of
the past--began. Lady Ermyntrude took us to leave cards on the various
members of the Corps Diplomatique and then proceeded to present Mrs.
Talbot (now Lady Talbot) and myself to Graefin Perponcher, the Empress's
Obermeisterin. She was a funny old soul in a wig, but regarded as next
door to royalty, and it was therefore correct to make half a curtsy when
introduced to her. It was a great thing to have anyone so kind, and yet so
absolutely aware of all the shades of ceremonial, as Lady Ermyntrude, to
steer us through the Teutonic pitfalls.
[Sidenote: COURT BALL IN BERLIN]
In the evening we were taken to the Carnival Court Ball, where we stood in
a row behind Lady Ermyntrude to be presented to the Crown Prince and
Princess as they came round. The Diplomatic people were on the left of the
royal seats. The Weisser Saal was lighted partly with candles and partly
with electric lights; one felt that either one or the other would have had
a better effect, but no doubt that was all rectified in later years. We
were presently taken into an outer room or gallery to be presented to the
Empress Augusta, who was seated in a chair with a sort of Stonehenge of
chairs in front. She was attired in what appeared to be royal robes heavy
with gold embroidery and gigantic diamonds, but she looked almost like a
resurrected corpse, except that her eyes were still large and wonderfully
bright and glittering as if they had little torches behind them. I fancy
that she had some preparation of belladonna dropped into them on these
occasions. Her mouth was always a little open, giving the impression that
she wanted to speak but could not; really, however, she talked fast
enough, and was very gracious in sending messages to my grandmother
Westminster. After our presentation we had to sit in Stonehenge for a few
minutes. We had heard that when the Empress was a girl, her governess
would place her in front of a circle of chairs, and make her go round and
address a polite remark to each. We recognised the utility of the practice
as Her Majesty made a neat little sentence to each of the circle seated
before her this evening. Sir Edward and Lady Ermyntrude went home early,
as they were in mourning, but when we tried to go in to supper with the
Embassy Staff, we were seized on by Count Eulenberg and told to go into
the royal supper-room. The Crown Prince and Princess came and talked to us
very kindly, but I could not help thinking the latter rather indiscreet,
as when I made a futile remark as to the fine sight presented by the
Palace she returned, "A finer sight at Buckingham Palace," then, lowering
her voice, "and prettier faces!" True enough, but a little risky addressed
to a stranger with possible eavesdroppers.
The old Emperor William was not at this ball, as he was not well
enough--which distressed him, as he liked society; but two days later we
were invited to a small concert at his own Palace. When we had made our
curtsies to the Empress she desired that we should go round and be
presented to His Majesty. I had been told previously that he was
interested in the idea of seeing me, as he had been a great friend of my
grandmother Westminster and they used to interchange presents on their
birthdays. When we were taken up to him Graefin Perponcher reminded him of
Jersey's grandmother and Lady Clementina Villiers, but he immediately
asked if I were not also related to Lady Westminster. When I said that I
was her granddaughter he asked, "Et etes-vous toujours en relation avec
elle?" and on hearing that I wrote to her charged me with messages which
she was afterwards very pleased to receive.
During the singing we sat round little tables covered with red velvet
table-covers, which seemed a funny arrangement, as it meant that some of
the audience had their backs to the performers. There were five
which--joining each other--ran down the centre of the room. The Empress
sat at the head of the end one, and the Crown Princess presided at a round
one in the middle of the room, at which Lady Galloway and I were seated.
Princess Victoria (afterwards Schaumburg Lippe) sat between us--we found
her lively, though not pretty. When the performance was over the Emperor
came and talked to us again; he seemed very cheerful, though he put his
hand on the back of a chair for, as he said, "un petit appui"! I told him
that I had been with the crowd to see him when he looked out at the
soldiers as he did every morning. "Quoi, Madame, vous avez fait la
curieuse?" he said, and proceeded to tell us that he was now "devenu la
mode," though formerly no one came to look at him. Finally some supper was
brought and put on the tables where we had been sitting.
[Sidenote: THE CROWN PRINCE FREDERICK]
The following day we were invited to breakfast (or rather 12.30 luncheon)
with the Crown Prince and Princess--only their three unmarried daughters
besides Lady Galloway, Lady Isabel, and myself. The Crown Prince was a
most fascinating man and particularly impressed us by his devotion to his
wife, having even consulted a lady dentist by her desire! The three
Princesses each had in front of her place at table a large collection of
little silver objects given them on their respective birthdays. The
parents again reverted to my grandmother, and on hearing of her immense
number of children and grandchildren the Prince remarked, "What a number
of birthday presents that must mean!"--which amused me, as with all
grandmamma's kindness to me personally, she was far from troubling about
the identity of all her grandchildren--life would not have been long
enough.
The Princess talked much of the hospitals at Berlin, and of her trouble in
introducing anything like decent nursing into them. She said when she
first married a Children's Ward would be shut up at night without any
nurse whatever in charge, and several children found dead in the morning.
I believe she did great things for the hospitals, but fear that discretion
was not always the better part of her valour, and that she more than once
gave offence by comparison with the superior method in England. After
luncheon the Princesses departed and the parents took us through their own
rooms, which were very pretty and comfortable. When we reached her Studio
the Crown Princess did not want to take us in, as she said she must go off
to see Princess William (the late ex-Kaiserin), but the Prince said, "You
go, I shall take them"--for he was determined that we should see, and duly
admire, his wife's artistic talents. We saw the Crown Princess again in
the evening at the theatre, as she sent for Lady Galloway and me into her
box and put Mary through a searching catechism about Russia.
Saturday 26th till the following Tuesday we spent at Dresden, which we
greatly admired. We saw the Galleries and Museums, and attended a Wagner
opera--_Siegfried_; but I need not record sights and sentiments shared
with so many other travellers. I had some experience at Dresden of the
dangers of "Verboten." I ventured out for a short time alone and felt the
risk of being arrested at least twice--once for walking on the wrong side
of the bridge, once for standing in the wrong place in the principal
church. I committed a third crime, but forget its nature.
Two evenings after our return to Berlin we were invited to another royal
concert, and on this occasion I sat at Prince William's table quite
unconscious that he would be hereafter England's greatest foe! What
impressed me most about him was the way in which he asked questions.
Someone told him that I held a position in the Primrose League, and he at
once wanted to know all about it. The impression left on my mind was that
he thought that it brought women too prominently forward.
Next day we visited the various palaces at Potsdam--the Crown Princess had
kindly sent word to her gardener Mr. Walker, to meet us, and he proved an
amiable and efficient guide. At the Stadt Schloss Frederick the Great's
bedroom, with a silver balustrade, was being prepared for the baptism of
Prince William's fourth son. We had been warned at the Embassy that this
expedition would be one of difficulty if not of danger, but we
accomplished all successfully save our return from the Wild Park Station
at Berlin. Of course this was before the days of motors, so our journey to
and from Potsdam was by train, and somehow we missed the Embassy carriage
at the station. Innocently we took a fly, but at the Embassy it was
discovered that this was a _second-class_ fly, which was considered a most
disreputable proceeding. We had not known the various categories of Berlin
vehicles.
[Sidenote: PRINCE BISMARCK]
We had one real piece of good fortune, due to Herbert Bismarck, whom we
had known in England and met several times at Berlin. His father had not
been present at the opening of the Reichstag which we attended, so we had
asked Herbert if he were likely to speak on any following day, for we were
anxious to see him and he did not often appear at entertainments or
such-like gatherings.
Herbert promised to let us know, but he did better, for he coached his
mother what to do should we call, and Lady Ermyntrude took us to see the
Princess on Saturday afternoon. Princess Bismarck was most gracious, said
Herbert had asked every day if we had called; he was devoted to England
and to his collection of photographs of English ladies, which he expected
her to distinguish one from the other.
[Sidenote: CONVERSATION WITH BISMARCK]
Her sister, Countess Arnim, was also in the room. When we had been talking
with them for a few minutes the Princess rang, and beckoned to the servant
who answered to come close that she might whisper. Lady Galloway overheard
her say in German, "Tell the Prince that the English ladies are here."
After a short interval an inner door opened slowly, and the tall form of
the Chancellor appeared. We all jumped up as the Princess announced "Mon
Mari." He shook hands with Lady Ermyntrude, who introduced us each in
turn. Hearing that Lady Galloway was "la soeur de Lord Salisbury," he was
anxious to investigate whether she resembled him in face, but decided not
very much, as "Lord Salisbury avait les traits tres masculins and le
visage plus carre," which he emphasised rather in action than in words.
Mary had to sit on one side of him facing the light in order that he might
the better make these comparisons. I was at the end of a sofa on his other
hand. Lady Galloway then remarked that he had been very kind to her nephew
Lord Edward Cecil, who had been in Berlin in the spring of the previous
year. Curiously enough, though he had had him to dinner, he did not seem
to remember him, though he perfectly recollected Lord Cranborne, who had
been with his father at the time of the Congress. Being informed that Lord
Edward had been abroad in order to study German, he asked, "Eh bien,
a-t-il eu de succes?" and remarked that German was a difficult language
but less so for the English than for some other people, and that while the
English often spoke French more fluently they grasped the German
construction better as being more akin to their own. Mary agreed, saying
we were of the same race, whereupon he politely thanked her for having
recalled and acknowledged the fact. I then remarked that it had been
suggested that he wished to change "les caracteres allemands," meaning the
letters. He misunderstood me to mean the characters of the people, and
said that he should hardly be capable of that, but added: "On m'accuse
d'avoir change une nation de poetes en nation de politiques militaires,
mais c'est parce que nous avons ete si longtemps l'enclume qu'il fallait
le faire. Il faut toujours etre l'enclume ou le marteau, maintenant nous
sommes le marteau. Nous etions l'enclume jusqu'a Leipzig et Waterloo." I
suggested that at Waterloo "nous etions deux marteaux," and he answered,
bowing, "J'espere que nous les serons encore ensemble." Little did he or I
look on twenty-seven years! Bismarck then asked for the English of
"enclume"--"car je ne suis pas forgeron," and when we told him he said
that he only knew "l'anglais pour voyager, le russe pour la chasse et le
francais pour les affaires," and went on to speak of his son, who, as we
all agreed, knew English so well. Like the Princess, he said that Count
Herbert was much attached to our country, and added that if he continued
to do well and "si je peux guider sa destinee j'ai l'intention qu'il aille
quelque jour en Angleterre": meantime he thought that Count Hatzfeldt was
getting on all right. Lady Galloway said that he was very popular.
Bismarck considered that he did better as Ambassador than in affairs at
home, as though he could work well he lacked the power of sticking to his
work. I then referred to Mr. Deichmann, a country neighbour of ours who
had built a house near Bicester and married a Miss de Bunsen, widow of
another German, who had been his friend. Mr. (afterwards Baron) Deichmann
and his wife were undoubtedly friends (or henchmen?) of the Bismarcks, and
Mr. Deichmann was very proud of a tankard which the Prince had given him.
"He gave me a very good horse," returned the Prince, when I mentioned
this, and described him as "bon enfant." In the light of after experience
I feel sure that the Deichmanns were employed to report to the Prince on
social matters in England and particularly in diplomatic circles. I do not
at all mean that they were anti-English, but that they were "utilised."
They were very intimate friends of the Muensters, and somehow kept in with
the Crown Princess and her family, although the Princess certainly did not
love Bismarck! I well recollect a dinner which (in years later than that
of our interview with the great man) the Deichmanns gave at their house
in London to reconcile the French and German Embassies. What had been the
exact cause of friction I do not know, but the _ostensible_ one was that
the then Ambassadress, Madame Waddington, had not worn mourning when some
German princelet died. Anyhow, Madame Deichmann had Madame Waddington to
dinner, and Marie Muenster to a party afterwards, and they were made to
shake hands and be friends. It was clever of Madame Deichmann, and she
well deserved the title of Baroness afterwards conferred upon her.
However, I am not altogether sure that Bismarck appreciated the reference
to his friends on this occasion--he may not have wished to be thought too
intimate! He did not resent it though, and when we rose to take leave gave
Lady Galloway many messages for Lord Salisbury, hoping to see him again in
Germany or when he, Bismarck, came to England, which he seemed to regard
as quite on the cards. He also asked Lady Ermyntrude affectionately after
Sir Edward, whom he thought looking rather unwell when he last saw him,
though quite himself again when he became excited.
[Sidenote: BISMARCK AND LORD SALISBURY]
Just as we were going away the Prince asked if we would like to see the
room where the Congress had been held. Of course we were delighted, so
that he took us in and showed us where they all sat, Lord Beaconsfield on
his right hand, and Lord Salisbury, as he particularly pointed out to Lady
Galloway, just round the corner. Then Gortschakoff, who, he said, did not
take much part, next Schouvaloff, on whom the work fell, but he added in
English, "Lord Salisbury _squeezed_ him." And there, he said, pointing to
the other side of the table, "sat the victim of the Congress, the Turk."
So little impression had the victim made upon him that he could not even
remember his name--he thought, however, that it was Mehemet--Mehemet
something--at last Princess Bismarck helped him out--Mehemet Ali. I
believe the head Turk was Karatheodori Pasha, but presume that he was a
nonentity; at all events neither Prince nor Princess Bismarck referred to
him. Bismarck rather apologised for the bareness of the room, a fine,
large, long apartment, and wished that he were equal to giving balls in
it--this, with Emperor William's desire to go to balls, gave a cheerful
impression of these old men.
Little did we then realise what our feelings with regard to Germany would
be twenty-seven years later! Though I feel ashamed now of the impression
made upon me by Prince Bismarck, I cannot help recording that I was
foolish enough to write some verses comparing him to Thor, the
Scandinavian war-god, with his hammer and anvil, and to add them to my
account of our interview.
After our return to England Lord Salisbury told Lady Galloway that he
should like to see this account, and when I met him again he said to me
with great amusement, "So you have seen Thor?"
Prince Bismarck had an undoubted admiration for Lord Salisbury. Not long
after Sir Edward Malet's appointment to Berlin poor Lady Ermyntrude had a
child who did not survive its birth. She was very ill. Some little time
afterwards her father, the Duke of Bedford, told me that she had been very
anxious to come over to England to be with her parents for her
confinement. This was arranged, and then Sir Edward, anxious about her
health, wanted to join her. He did not know whether he could rightfully
leave his diplomatic duties, but Bismarck reassured him, telling him that
so long as Lord Salisbury was in power he need have no apprehension as to
the relations between England and the German Empire.
I confess also to having been fascinated by the Crown Prince--afterwards
the Emperor Frederick; but he was not in the least like a Prussian--he was
like a very gentle knight. Poor man! He had already begun to suffer from
the fatal malady to his throat. The last time I spoke with him he came
into the box in which we were sitting at the theatre and said, "I cannot
talk to you much, my throat is so bad."
The next event which made a great impression on me in common with every
other subject of the British Empire was the first Jubilee of Queen
Victoria. Its excitements, its glories, have been told over and over
again, but no one who did not live through it can grasp the thrill which
ran from end to end of the nation, and no one who did live through it can
pass it on to others. The Queen became a tradition while yet alive. When
ten thousand children from the elementary schools were entertained in Hyde
Park the proceedings concluded by the release of a balloon bearing the
word "Victoria." As it ascended one child was heard gravely explaining to
another that "that was the Queen going up to Heaven." A man (or woman)
wrote to the paper that in the evening he had observed that the sunset
colours had formed themselves into a distinct arrangement of red, white,
and blue! I chanced the week before the Jubilee celebrations to express to
a girl in a shop a hope for fine weather. In a tone of rebuke she replied,
"Of course it will be fine: it is for the Queen!"--a sentiment more
poetically expressed by the French Ambassador Baron de Courcel, who said
to me on one rather doubtful day in the week preceding the Diamond
Jubilee, "Le bon Dieu nettoie les cieux pour la Reine!" This confidence
was fully justified: the weather was glorious. When traffic was stopped in
the main thoroughfares, and all streets and houses had their usual
dinginess hidden in glowing decorations, London looked like a fairy
city--a fitting regal background for an imperial apotheosis--only
perchance excelled by the Diamond Jubilee ten years later. "Mother's come
home," I heard a stalwart policeman say on the day when the Queen arrived
in Buckingham Palace. That was just it--Mother had come back to her joyous
children.
[Sidenote: THANKSGIVING SERVICE]
The Dowager Lady Ampthill, one of her ladies-in-waiting, recounted an
incident which I do not think appeared in any of the papers. When the
royal train was coming down from Scotland Lady Ampthill awoke in the early
summer dawn, and looked out of the carriage in which she had been
sleeping. The world was not yet awake, but as the train rushed through the
country amongst fields and meadows she was astonished to see numbers of
men and women standing apparently silently gazing--simply waiting to see
the passing of the Great Queen to her Jubilee. Perhaps the climax was the
Thanksgiving Service in Westminster Abbey.
I cannot refrain from inserting here my mother's lines describing the
final scene on that occasion:
"It was an hour of triumph, for a nation
Had gathered round the Monarch of their pride;
All that a people held of great or lovely,
The wise, the world-renowned, stood side by side.
"Lands famed in story sent their Kings and chieftains,
Isles scarcely recked of came our Queen to greet,
Princesses lent the tribute of their beauty,
And laid the flowers of welcome at her feet.
"The organs pealed, the trumpets gave their challenge,
A stormy shout of gladness rent the air,
All eyes beamed welcome, and all hearts bowed with her
When low she bent her royal head in prayer.
"She bent amid a haughty nation, knowing
No sun e'er set upon its widespread towers,
Though right and good had
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