AT HOME.
Hawarden Park, in the centre of which stands Hawarden Castle, is one of
the finest country seats in the three kingdoms. Visitors who arrive at
Hawarden for the first time are surprised at the extent of the grounds
and the beauty of the park. Hawarden Park, with Hawarden Castle, came to
Mr. Gladstone with his wife. When Mr. Gladstone married he had no
intention of making his seat in Wales, but finding that Sir Stephen
Glynne was in circumstances which rendered it disadvantageous to the
family for him to live in the Castle, Mr. Gladstone bought some of the
land, and took up his quarters with his father-in-law in the Castle,
which had been temporarily closed. This arrangement lasted for many
years, and was attended with none of the disagreeable consequences which
so often happen when two generations live under one roof. The two
families lived side by side, and nothing could exceed the harmony of the
united households. Sir Stephen Glynne always sat at the head of the
table, while Mrs. Gladstone sat at the other end; Mr. Gladstone sat
between. This arrangement continued down to the death of Sir Stephen
Glynne, and it was rather curious to see a statesman whose name and whose
fame were familiar throughout the world always taking the second place in
his own house. But for the somewhat embarrassed circumstances of Sir
Stephen Glynne, which led Mr. Gladstone to buy some of the Glynne estate,
it was his intention to have bought a seat in Scotland, to which, as his
native country, Mr. Gladstone was always strongly attached. The
accident, therefore, of a temporary financial embarrassment on the part
of his father-in-law made Hawarden famous throughout the world, and
supplied Mr. Gladstone with a very much more convenient country seat than
any which he could have procured north of the Tweed.
The Castle is situated on the summit of a range of hills overlooking
Chester and the river Dee. The village contains the remains of a castle
which dates back almost to the Conqueror, and the ancient mound
fortification, the ditch and drawbridge, and the keep, are proof to-day
of its power in the past. The old Castle standing in the grounds is
scarce more than a relic now. The modern Castle in which the Gladstone
family resides was built over a hundred years ago, and has been
considerably added to from time to time, so that it is a comparatively
new seat. It has a splendid appearance; the stone battlements and walls,
which are well grown with ivy, look especially striking. The grounds
contain several points of interest, and are exceedingly well wooded,
_even now_, much to the surprise of many visitors, who have heard no
little of Mr. Gladstone's powers with his axe.
The new buildings of the Library, which stand not far from the church,
have a neat entrance-gate leading to them, with a well-kept lawn on each
side. It is in no sense a public institution, but is intended to afford
to clergymen and others an opportunity of quiet study. Here are gathered
thousands of volumes, carefully selected, representing an eclectic field
of thought, including the whole area of human interest. By the side of
an erudite Churchman like Pusey you will discover a book by a
Nonconformist like Dale. The volumes were in many cases brought to the
library by Mr. Gladstone's own hands, and on many an afternoon he was to
be seen walking through the park with a bundle of books, to be arranged
on the shelves by his own hands or under his superintendence. Not far
off in the village street stands the substantial building called the
Hawarden Institute. Upstairs in the library are to be seen volumes with
characteristic inscriptions by Mr. Gladstone. On the flyleaf of one of
the Waverley Novels is written, for instance: 'No library should be
complete without a set of Sir Walter Scott's novels in full.
Accordingly, I present this set to the Hawarden Institute.' Attached to
the institute is a capital billiard-room, a bath-room, and a
reading-room. The gymnasium, which was given by Mr. Herbert Gladstone,
is not patronized quite so much as that gentleman, it is understood,
desires.
The library at Hawarden is one of the finest private libraries in the
country. It consists of more than twenty thousand volumes, and
considerable curiosity existed as to what Mr. Gladstone intended to do
with this collection of books after his death. Contrary to the usual
practice obtaining in magnificent private libraries, Mr. Gladstone
allowed his books to be lent out to almost anyone in the neighbourhood
who wished to read them. At one time this liberty was unlimited; anyone
could take a book out and keep it an indefinite period, provided that he
simply left an acknowledgment of having borrowed the book. This
privilege, however, was so much abused by some persons that a few years
ago a rule was laid down limiting the time for which a book might be kept
to one month. With that exception, however, the Hawarden Library is
still the free loan library of the countryside.
'Within, Hawarden Castle,' says a writer in the _World_, 'though not
ambitiously large, contains more than one roomy cell for its
scholar-recluse. At every corner the signs of taste and culture abound.
The pictures have been only slightly thinned by the handsome contribution
to the Wrexham Exhibition, and curious china is not entirely absent.
Oriental jars and costly cabinets of Japanese lacquer are scattered about
the handsome rooms with tasteful carelessness, and here and there are
specimens of art needlework, in the revival of which Mrs. Gladstone is
known to take great interest. But the peculiarity of the house is the
vast flood of books, which no one apartment can contain. Out of one
library into another, and into drawing-room and dining-room, books have
flowed in a resistless stream, pushing other things aside, and
establishing themselves in their place. There are books new and old,
rare and common, choice editions and ordinary manuals of reference,
ponderous tomes of controversial theology and snappish little pamphlets
on the currency, with other equally light and pleasant subjects. Over
all reigns that air of easy and natural luxury which forms the principal
charm of the English country-house proper, as distinguished from the
comfortless vastness of foreign _chateaux_ and the pretentious splendour
of the suburban villa of the _nouveau riche_. The castellan, however, is
no admirer of nooks and snuggeries, loving most to get through his
morning reading in an especially large apartment, garnished with movable
bookshelves--a transparent hive for a working bee--amid abundant air and
floods of sunshine. "Air and light," and plenty of them, are among his
prime conditions of existence.'
'Mr. Gladstone's study,' says another visitor, 'is rather curiously
arranged. The walls are covered with books, and volumes are also massed
on large shelves jutting out from the walls into the room. Between each
partition of books there is room to walk; thus the saving of space in
arranging the library in this manner is enormous. The stock of books
perhaps exceeds fifteen thousand volumes, and notwithstanding this large
number, Mr. Gladstone has little difficulty in placing his hand upon any
volume that he may require. There are three writing-desks in the room;
one is chiefly reserved for correspondence of a political nature and
another is used by Mrs. Gladstone. Looking out of the study window, the
flower-beds facing the Castle present a picturesque appearance, while the
heavy-wooded grounds beyond stand out in bold relief.'
The village itself is only one street, and a small one; but no village
has become more famous and has been more visited by savants, politicians,
famous individuals, foreign or English, and deputations consisting of
working men, either to watch the great statesman felling trees or to hear
him talk.
In a magazine known as the _Young Man_ appeared a few years since an
interesting account of Mr. Gladstone's home life, which may claim to be
quoted here. The writer, who was one of Mr. Gladstone's nearest
neighbours and most intimate friends, said that there was no home in the
United Kingdom where there was more freedom of opinion or more frankness
in expressing disagreement than in the home of Mr. Gladstone.
'His daily life at home is a model of simplicity and regularity, and the
great secret of the vast amount of work he accomplishes lies in the fact
that every odd five minutes is occupied. No man ever had a deeper sense
of the preciousness of time and the responsibility which everyone incurs
by the use or misuse he makes of it. To such a length does he carry this
that at a picnic to a favourite Welsh mountain he has been seen to fling
himself on the heather, and bury himself in some pamphlet upon a question
of the day, until called to lighter things by those who were responsible
for the provision basket. His grand maxim is _never to be doing
nothing_.
'Although Mr. Gladstone's daily routine is familiar to some, yet many
inaccurate accounts have been circulated from time to time. In bed about
twelve, he sleeps like a child until called in the morning. Not a
moment's hesitation does he allow himself, although, as we have heard him
say, no schoolboy could long more desperately for an extra five minutes.
He is down by eight o'clock, and at church (three-quarters of a mile off)
every morning for the 8.30 service. No snow or rain, no tempest, however
severe, has ever been known to stop him. Directly after breakfast a
selection of his letters is brought to him.
'Excepting before breakfast, Mr. Gladstone does not go out in the
morning. At 2 p.m.,' continues the _Young Man_, 'he comes to luncheon,
and at the present time he usually spends the afternoon arranging the
books at his new library. To this spot he has already transported nearly
twenty thousand books, and every volume he puts into its place with his
own hand. To him books are almost as sacred as human beings, and the
increase of their numbers is perhaps as interesting a problem as the
increase of population. It is real pain to him to see a book badly
treated--dropped on the floor, unduly squeezed into the bookcase,
dog's-eared, or, worst crime of all, laid open upon its face.
'A short drive or walk before the social cup of tea enables him to devote
the remaining hour or so before post-time to completing his
correspondence. After dinner he returns to his sanctum--a very temple of
peace in the evening, with its bright fire, armchair, warm curtains, and
shaded reflecting candle. Here, with an occasional doze, he reads until
bedtime, and thus ends a busy, fruitful day. Mr. Gladstone has often
been heard to remark that had it not been for his Sunday rest, he would
not now be the man he is. Physically, intellectually, and spiritually,
his Sunday has been to him a priceless blessing. From Saturday night to
Monday morning Mr. Gladstone puts away all business of a secular nature,
keeps to his special Sunday books and occupations, and never dines out
that day unless to cheer a sick or sorrowful friend.'
Hawarden Castle was much improved after passing into Mr. Gladstone's
hands. In commemoration of the golden wedding the porch in front of the
Castle was erected, a building that adds much to its appearance. A
writer in _Harper's Magazine_ says: 'A glance over the tables in the
drawing-room at Hawarden Castle leads one to the conviction that Mr.
Gladstone is the most photographed man in the world. The tables are
literally covered with photographs presenting the well-known face and
figure in all habitual circumstances and attitudes. Mr. Gladstone
submits to the photographer much upon the same principle that he endures
many other of the experiences that sadden life. He recognises a certain
amount of possession that the public have in him, and if they insist upon
taking it out in photography, that is their affair. He is not only
photographed often, but happily, having, indeed, by this time acquired so
much skill that he always comes out well. But,' continues the writer,
'no photograph, or the fine oil painting of Millais, comes up to the
interest possessed by a little ivory painting which lies in the
drawing-room at Hawarden. It represents a little boy some two years of
age sitting on the knee of a little girl in nymph-like costume, and
fondly supposed to be learning his letters. He has, in truth, one chubby
little finger pointed towards the book which rests on his sister's knees,
but his face is raised, and two great brown eyes look inquiringly into
those of the beholder. This is the child--the father of the man who sits
in the other room, though beyond the measurement of the floor there
stretches between them the long span of seventy years. The little girl
is Mr. Gladstone's sister, who died. The portrait was taken in
Liverpool, while Mr. John Gladstone lived in Rodney Street.
'Mr. Gladstone has recently disposed of the question of his hobbies. He
has none. Before the day of his retirement into private life, however,
the public took a partially proprietary interest in what they were
pleased to consider his hobby of cutting down trees.
'It became so notorious that foreigners got to suppose that Mr. Gladstone
did little else in his spare time but fell timber, and Americans who
visited Hawarden Castle were disappointed at not finding the park a
desolation of tree-stumps.
'That Mr. Gladstone should often have gone out, axe in hand, to assist
his woodmen was really the most natural thing imaginable. Wood-cutting
was just the kind of Titanic exercise in which he delighted to let out
the flood of his energy. Again, the park being one of the best timbered
in England, it was to be expected that Mr. Gladstone, with a keen eye to
the improvement of the property, should take a personal interest in the
removal of those trees whose growth, position or decay marred the
splendour of their neighbours.
'Mr. Gladstone is now a very old man--older than many who remember him in
his vigorous Parliamentary days quite realize. It is many years since
his wood-cutting exploits. But, three summers ago, on a special
occasion, he went out for the last time on his favourite pastime. The
axe that he used--a new one, and lighter than those he usually
wielded--is now stored away in a cupboard in Mr. Herbert Gladstone's room
at the Castle. "To the end of the handle," says a writer in _Pearson's
Magazine_ for March, "is pasted a little label with the brief
inscription:
'"Used by W. E. G. on a beech in the North Garden, 1895."
'Mr. Gladstone's favourite implement was the ordinary wedge-shaped
American axe. But one that he used a great deal in later days still
stands in a corner of his study. Its long, thin blade made it a
difficult weapon to handle skilfully; yet the shape or size of the axe
made little difference to so experienced a craftsman. In an outdoor room
at Hawarden, now chiefly devoted to the storage of bicycles and
fishing-baskets, are between thirty and forty axes piled together--long
axes and short axes, thick and thin, plain and varnished, new and worn.
These represent only a small portion of the collection that Mr. Gladstone
once had. In bygone days admirers were constantly sending him axes as
marks of their esteem, and now other admirers quite as constantly smuggle
them away as treasured mementoes of their visits.
'Besides these workaday axes one may see several with silver heads, and
among them one, especially valued, that was presented to Mr. Gladstone in
1884 by the workmen on the Forth Bridge. There are, too, miniature axes
beautifully modelled in solid gold, kept among the jewels in the
drawing-room; and a silver pencil, axe-shaped, which was presented to the
G. O. M. by the Princess of Wales "for axing questions."'
In 1870 Hayward writes: 'I had an immensity of talk on all subjects with
Gladstone. I strolled about with him for some hours yesterday. He takes
whatever work he has to do easily enough here, and finds time for general
reading into the bargain.' In 1871 the same writer says: 'Gladstone as
he always is as a companion--conversation singularly rich and varied.'
Such seems to have been the common testimony of all who had the honour of
spending a brief time with Mr. Gladstone at home.
It is idle, and would be tiresome, to give the history of the deputations
of working-men who went to Hawarden. As an illustration, let me say that
one December day a number of the working-men of Derby went to Hawarden to
present Mr. Gladstone with a dessert-service of Derby china, specially
manufactured at the Derby Crown Works for the occasion. When in 1882 Mr.
Gladstone celebrated his political jubilee, addresses and telegrams came
to him at Hawarden from all parts of the country. When in 1877 Hawarden
was invaded by fourteen hundred members of the Bolton Liberal Club, he
refused to see them, but quietly informed them that he and his son were
about to fell a tree in the course of the day in the park, and thither
the crowd repaired, where, after Mr. Gladstone had performed his task, he
gave them an address. One of his great wood-cutting feats that year was
his felling an enormous beech-tree--a task he performed in three hours.
It was a tough job, considering that it measured thirteen feet in
circumference, and was a good proof of the aged statesman's muscular
strength and activity. Hercules alone seems to have been his equal.
Perhaps one of the most enormous deputations ever received at Hawarden
was in 1886, when the Irish deputations came over in great strength to
Hawarden, one of them bearing an address signed by 600,000 Irish women.
The others brought to him the freedoms of Cork, Limerick, Waterford, and
Clonmel. In acknowledging the addresses received, Mr. Gladstone dwelt
upon the moderation with which the Home Rule agitation was carried on.
He declared that it would ultimately succeed, and denied that the Irish
demand involved separation. Yet at one time there were fears for
Hawarden and Mr. Gladstone. In 1882 Lord Houghton, while staying there,
wrote to his son:
'DEAR ROBERT,
'You may be easy about my personal security. We have two
detectives--one engaged to the cook; and Lord Spencer brought three
more yesterday.'
Of the Hawarden Post-office a volume might be written. There could
scarcely have been one more filled with important correspondence in all
the empire. Everyone deemed it to be his duty to pester Mr. Gladstone
with letters, and his replies in the shape of postcards were to be found
carefully preserved everywhere. Even illness severe and protracted was
no excuse. 'One of the most painful incidents connected with Mr.
Gladstone's illness,' writes the London correspondent of the _Birmingham
Daily Post_, 'is the persistence of uninvited spiritual advisers in
addressing him. I am told that not a day, and scarcely a post, passes
without some of these personages intruding themselves.
'Chapters from the Old and New Testaments, the lives of Scriptural
personages, isolated texts, hymns and religious books--in some cases the
advice coming from the unknown authors themselves--have all been
suggested for the veteran statesman's "edification."
'In not a few instances poems on the same theme have been sent for his
perusal, and, as the authors have generally put it, for his spiritual
comfort and relief. I need hardly say that these effusions have never
reached Mr. Gladstone, but they have in not a few instances, by their
very suggestiveness of impending disaster, caused distress to his
family.'
A representative of the _Daily Mail_ added more on this subject: 'Among
people in touch with the Hawarden household it is being discussed with a
good deal of indignant comment, and more than one well-known name is
mentioned as having been appended to some of this correspondence. It is
not so much the gratuitous impertinence of the amateur spiritual consoler
which occasions the annoyance Mr. Gladstone's relatives feel.
'Mr. Gladstone has throughout his life loomed so large in the eyes of the
religious public that he has always been a favourite target for the
controversialists of every sect. He long ago grew accustomed to being
bombarded with controversial pamphlets, and to being assailed with texts
of Scripture bearing more or less obliquely upon some political question
of the day. And whenever he has been suffering from some trifling
indisposition, or has sustained any family loss or affliction, sackfuls
of letters quoting texts of Scripture have been sent to him. It
occasions neither surprise nor any great amount of annoyance, therefore,
now that the sympathy of everyone is turned towards him, that in the case
of fervid religionists it should find expression in passages of Scripture
and extracts from devotional works from which the senders have
themselves, in times of sorrow and affliction, derived comfort and
consolation.
'But there are other classes of correspondents. There are people who
urge him for his soul's sake to see the error of his ways while there is
yet time; there are people who see occasion in his present illness to
hasten to say that they forgive him for holding theological views
differing from their own; there are people who invite him to send a
subscription to something with a view to insuring to himself posthumous
satisfaction, as well as the advantage of grateful prayer and
intercession.
'But, worst of all, and most painful to the relatives to bear, are the
frantic efforts of the testimonial hunters in a hurry. One patent
medicine has made strenuous endeavours to foist itself upon him, with an
obvious view to subsequent advertisement.
'Of course, there is another side to the picture. The kindly and
sympathetic messages and inquiries which have come from people of all
ranks, from her Majesty the Queen downwards, have been of great comfort.'
* * * * *
I conclude this rapid survey with a quotation from Mr. G. W. E. Russell's
'Gladstone': 'In order to form the highest and truest estimate of Mr.
Gladstone's character, it is necessary to see him at home. But to do
this is a privilege accorded necessarily to the few. The public can only
judge him by his public life; and from this point of view it may be that
the judgment of one of his colleagues may be accepted when he said: "The
only two things Mr. Gladstone really cares for are the Church and
finance."' What may be the verdict of history on him as a statesman it
is impossible to foretell. In England, at any rate, no man has been a
power so long. To most of us, to borrow from Shakespeare, he seems to
bestride this narrow world like a Colossus. He has done much to help the
advent of the new democracy, but it is as a commercial reformer,
apparently, that Mr. Gladstone will be best known to future ages. In
that capacity he produced marvellous changes. By making paper cheap he
gave an impulse to the publishing trade, of which we have not yet seen
the end. By the Methuen Treaty it was deemed a heavy blow was struck at
Portugal. Under Mr. Gladstone, with the aid of Richard Cobden, that
treaty was got rid of, the light wines of France were introduced, the
social habits of the country were changed for the better, and the
commerce of the country largely increased. The anomalies of the
navigation laws were perhaps more marvellous than those of the commercial
treaties. Mr. Gladstone had much to do with removing those anomalies,
and the result was a marvellous increase in the growth of British
shipping and foreign commerce, and the revenue increased, as Mr.
Gladstone stated, by leaps and bounds; and while the working man has
secured better wages, his power of purchase has been largely increased.
Alas! poverty, selfishness, ignorance are still at work in our midst, and
Utopia seems as far off as ever.
* * * * *
On May 19 the end came, and all over the world, to the grief of the
nation, it was known that Mr. Gladstone was no more.
Parliament unanimously voted him a Public Funeral in Westminster Abbey,
where he was laid to rest May 28, 1898.
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