1835-41
While the Minto family were still on their way home from Germany a
startling incident occurred in English politics. One morning a paragraph
appeared in the Times announcing the fact that the King had dismissed Lord
Melbourne.
We have no authority (it ran) for the important statement which follows,
but we have every reason to believe that it is perfectly true. We give it
without any comment or amplification, in the very words of the
communication, which reached us at a late hour last night. "The King has
taken the opportunity of Lord Spencer's death to turn out the Ministry, and
there is every reason to believe the Duke of Wellington has been sent for.
The Queen has done it all."
(The authority upon which the _Times_ was relying was that of the Lord
Chancellor.)
So on coming down to breakfast that morning the Ministers, having received
no private communication whatever, read to their amazement that they had
been already dismissed. Brougham had surreptitiously conveyed the
information in order to embarrass the Court. The general trend of political
gossip at the time was expressed by Palmerston, who wrote:
It is impossible to doubt that this has been a preconcerted measure and
that the Duke of Wellington is prepared at once to form a Government. Peel
is abroad; but it is not likely he would have gone away without a previous
understanding one way or the other with the Duke, as to what he would do if
a crisis were to arise.
As a matter of fact there had been no concerted plan. It was the first and
last independent step William IV ever took, and a most unconstitutional
instance of royal interference. The Duke, summoned by the King, expressed
his willingness to occupy any position His Majesty thought fit, but
considering the Liberal majority in the House of Commons was two to one,
and it was but two years since the Reform Bill passed, he did his best to
dissuade the King from dismissing all his Ministers. During the interview
the King's secretary entered and called the attention of the King to the
paragraph in the _Times_ that morning, which concluded with the
statement that the Queen had done it all. "There, Duke, you see how I am
insulted and betrayed; nobody in London but Melbourne knew last night what
had taken place here, nor of my sending for you: will your Grace compel me
to take back people who have treated me in this way?"
Thereupon the Duke consented to undertake a provisional Government, while
Mr. Hudson was sent off to Italy in search of Sir Robert Peel. He reached
Rome in nine days; at that time very quick travelling. "I think you might
have made the journey in a day less by taking another route," is said to
have been Peel's only comment upon receiving the Duke's letter. He returned
at once to England to relieve the temporary Cabinet, and formed a Ministry
in December. The same month Parliament was dissolved, and the Conservative
party went to the country on the policy of "Moderate Reform" enunciated in
Peel's Tamworth manifesto. "The shameful report" referred to by Lady Fanny
in the last chapter, and immediately contradicted by Lord Minto on his
return to Scotland, was that he had joined the Peel Ministry.
Thus Lady Fanny came home to find the country-side preparing for a
mid-winter election. Her uncle, George Elliot, was standing for the home
constituency against Lord John Scott, whom he just succeeded in defeating.
In most constituencies, however, the Liberals triumphed more easily, and
when the new Parliament met they were in a majority of more than a hundred.
In April Lord John Russell carried his motion for the appropriation of the
surplus revenues of the Irish Church to general moral and religious
purposes, so Peel resigned. Melbourne again became Prime Minister, and in
the autumn of the same year, 1835, Lord Minto was appointed First Lord of
the Admiralty.
This meant a great change in Lady Fanny's life; henceforward for the next
eight years more than half of every year was spent by her in London. There
is a change, too, in the spirit of her diaries. Her nature was the reverse
of introspective and melancholy, but at this time she was often unhappy and
dissatisfied for no definite reason; her diaries show it. It is not likely
that others were aware of this private distress. She was leading at the
time a busy life both at home and in society, and there were many things in
which she was keenly interested. The troubles confided to these private
pages were not due to compunction for anything she had done, nor were they
caused by any particular event; they expressed simply a general discontent
with herself and a kind of _Weltschmerz_ not uncommon in a young and
thoughtful mind. For the first time she seems glad of outside interests
because they distract her.
The months in London were broken by occasional residence at Roehampton
House and by visits to Bowood. At Bowood with the Lansdowne family she was
always happy. There she heard with delight Tom Moore sing his Irish
melodies for the first time. There was much, too, in London to distract and
amuse her: breakfasts with Rogers, luncheons at Holland House, and
dinner-parties at which all the leading Whig politicians were present. But
society did not satisfy her; she wanted more natural and more intimate
relations than social gatherings usually afford.
LONDON, _May_ 9, 1835
We went to Miss Berry's in the evening. I thought it very tiresome,
but was glad to see Lord John Russell and his wife.
BOWOOD, _December_ 26, 1835
The evening was very quiet, there was not much to alarm one, and
the prettiest music possible to listen to. Mr. Moore singing his
own melodies--it was really delightful, and a kind of singing I
never heard before. He has very little voice, but what he has is
perfectly sweet, and his real Irish face looks quite inspired. The
airs were most of them simply beautiful, and many of the words
equally so.
_January_ 31, 1836, ADMIRALTY
I am reading "Ivanhoe" for the first time, and delighted with it,
but things cannot be as they should be, when I feel that I require
to forget myself in order to be happy, and that unless I am taken
up with an interesting book there never, or scarcely ever, is a
moment of real peace and quiet for my poor weary mind. What is it I
wish for? O God, Thou alone canst clearly know--and in Thy hands
alone is the remedy. Oh let this longing cease! Turn it, O Father,
to a worthy object! Unworthy it must now be, for were it after
virtue, pure holy virtue, could I not still it? Dispel the mist
that dims my eyes, that I may first plainly read the secrets of my
wretched heart, and then give me, O Almighty God, the sincere will
to root out all therein that beareth not good fruit....
_February_ 4, 1836, ADMIRALTY
The great day of the opening of Parliament. Soon after breakfast we
prepared to go to the House of Lords--that is to say, we made
ourselves great figures with feathers and finery. The day has been,
unfortunately, rainy and cold, and made our dress look still more
absurd. The King did not come till two, so that we had plenty of
time to see all the old lords assembling. Their robes looked very
handsome, and I think His Majesty was the least dignified-looking
person in the house. I cannot describe exactly all that went on.
There was nothing impressive, but it was very amusing. The poor old
man could not see to read his speech, and after he had stammered
half through it Lord Melbourne was obliged to hold a candle to him,
and he read it over again. Lord Melbourne looked very like a Prime
Minister, but the more I see him and so many good and clever men
obliged to do, at least in part, the bidding of anyone who happens
to be born to Royalty, the more I wish that things were
otherwise--however, as long as it is only in forms that one sees
them give him the superiority one does not much mind. After the
debate, several of Papa's friends came to dine here. Lord
Melbourne, Lord Lansdowne, Lord Glenelg, and the Duke of Richmond,
who has won my heart--they talked very pleasantly.
_March_ 9, 1836, ADMIRALTY
I wonder what it is that makes one sometimes like and sometimes
dislike balls, etc. It does not always depend on whom one meets. I
am sure it is not, as most books and people seem to think, from
love of admiration that one is fond of them or else how should I
ever be so, when it is so impossible for anybody ever to admire my
looks or think me agreeable? I sometimes wish I was pretty. And I
do not think it is a very foolish wish: it would give me courage to
be agreeable.
All through this year there are many troubled entries:
_March_ 28, 1836, ADMIRALTY
Youth may and ought to have--yes, I see by others that it
has--pleasures which surpass those of unthinking though lovely
childhood: but have I experienced them? ... What makes the same sun
seem one day to make all nature bright, and the next only to show
more plainly the dreariness of the landscape? Oh wicked, sinful
must be those feelings that make me miserable--selfish and
sinful--and I cannot reason them away, for I do not understand
them. Prayer has helped me before now, and I trust it will still do
so. O Lord, forsake me not--take me into Thy own keeping.... Mama
fifty to-day [March 30, 1836]. Oh the feelings that crowd into my
heart as if they must burst it when I look to this day three years
ago. I cannot write or think clearly of it yet. I can only
feel--but what, I do not myself know--at one moment agony, doubts,
and fears, as if it was still that fearful day; then joy almost too
great to bear. When I think of her as she now is, then everything
vanishes in one overpowering feeling of intense thankfulness. I
have several times to-day seen her eyes fill with tears--every
birthday of those one loves gives one a melancholy feeling, and the
more rejoicings there are the stronger that feeling is.
_June_ 27, 1836, ADMIRALTY
It was decided that we should go to the Duchess of Buccleuch's
breakfast. My horror of breakfasts is only increased by having been
to this one, though I believe it was particularly pleasant.
Certainly the day was perfect, and the sight and the music pretty;
but I scarcely ever disliked people more or felt more beaten down
by shyness. My only thoughts from the moment we went in were: How I
wish it was over, and how I wish nobody would speak to me.
_September_ 6, 1836, ROEHAMPTON
Mama and I went to dine at Holland House.... The rooms are just
what one would expect from the outside of the handsome old house,
with a number of good pictures in the library, where we sat, all
portraits. Lord Holland is perfectly agreeable, and not at all a
man to be afraid of, in the common way of speaking, but for that
very reason I always am afraid of him--much more than of her, who
does not seem to me agreeable. I was very sorry Lord Melbourne did
not come, as he would have made the conversation more general and
agreeable.
The impression she made on others in her girlhood will be seen by this
passage in the "Reminiscences of an Idler," by Chevalier Wyhoff: "I had the
honour of dancing a quadrille with Lady Fanny Elliot, the charming daughter
of the Earl of Minto. Her engaging manners and sweetness of disposition
were even more winning than her admitted beauty."
In July it was decided that her brother Henry should go out to Australia
with Sir John Franklin. The idea of parting troubled her extremely, and,
moreover, the project dashed all the castles in the air she had built for
him. August 21st was the day fixed for his sailing. The 20th came--"dismal,
dismal day, making things look as if they understood it was his last." Long
afterwards, whenever she saw the front of Roehampton House, where she said
good-bye to him, the scene would come back to her mind--the waiting
carriage and the last farewells. The autumn winds had a new significance to
her now her brother was on the sea. She was troubled too about religious
problems, but she found it difficult, almost impossible, to talk about the
thoughts which were occupying her. Writing of her cousin Gilbert Elliot,
afterwards Dean of Bristol, for whom she felt both affection and respect,
she says: "In the evening Cousin Gilbert talked a great deal, and not only
usefully but delightfully, about different religious sects and against the
most illiberal Church to which he belongs--but how could I be happy? The
more he talked of what I wished to hear, the more idiotically shy I felt
and the more impossible it became to me to ask one of the many questions or
make one of the many remarks (foolish very likely, but what would that have
signified?) which were filling my mind."
_December_ 24, 1836, BOWOOD
Mr. Moore sang a great deal, and one song quite overcame Lady
Lansdowne. At dinner I sat between Henry [11] and Miss Fazakerlie,
who told me that last year she thought me impenetrable. How sad it
is to appear to every one different from what one is.
I like both her and Henry better than ever, but oh, I dislike
myself more than ever--and so does everybody else--almost. Is it
vain to wish it otherwise?--no, surely it is not. If my manner is
so bad must there not be some real fault in me that makes it so,
and ought I not to pray that it may be corrected?
[11] Afterwards Lord Lansdowne and the father of the present Marquis.
She read a great deal at this time; Jeremy Taylor, Milton, and Wesley,
Heber, Isaac Walton, Burnet; Burns was her favourite on her happiest days.
She thought that work among the poor of London might help her; but her time
was so taken up both with looking after the younger children and by society
that she seems to have got no further than wondering how to set about it.
On June 20th, 1837, William IV died, and in July Parliament was dissolved.
On the 4th they were back again at Minto.
Her uncle John Elliot was successful in his candidature of Hawick.
"Hawick," she writes, "has done her duty well indeed--in all ways; for the
sheriff's terrible riots have been nothing at all. Some men ducked and the
clothes of some torn off. We all felt so confused with joy that we did not
know what to do all the evening." These rejoicings ended suddenly: Lady
Minto was called to the death-bed of her mother, Mrs. Brydone.
_August_ 19, 1837, MINTO
I feel this time as I always do after a great misfortune, that the
shock at first is nothing to the quiet grief afterwards, when one
really begins to understand what has happened.
I cannot help constantly repeating over and over to myself that she
is gone, and sometimes I do not know how to bear it and however to
be comforted for not having seen her once more.
When the new Queen's Parliament met after the General Election the strength
of the Conservatives was 315 and of the Liberals 342. The Melbourne
Ministry was in a weaker position; they could only hold a majority through
the support of the Radical and Irish groups, and troubles were brewing in
the country. On the other hand, Peel's position was not an easy one; the
split among the Conservatives on Catholic Emancipation had left bitterness
behind, and in addition to this complication, his followers in the Commons
included both men like Stanley, who had voted for Parliamentary reform, and
its implacable opponents. But in spite of this flaw in the solidarity of
the Opposition, the Ministers were far from secure. There were the troubles
in Canada, which Lord Durham had been sent out to deal with (the Canadian
patriots had a great deal of Lady Fanny's sympathy), and in England the
grievances of the poor were in the process of being formulated into the
famous People's Charter. During the parliamentary sessions the Mintos
remained in London, with only occasional very short absences.
ADMIRALTY, _December_ 26, 1837
People all seem pleased with the news from Canada because we are
beating the poor patriots--let people say what they will I must
wish them success and pity them with all my heart.
EASTBOURNE, _April_ 14, 1838
It is not only the out of doors pleasures, the sea, the air, etc.,
that we find here, but the way of living takes a weight from one's
mind, of which one does not know the burden till one leaves London
and is freed from it. "I love not man the less" from feeling as I
do the great faults, to us at least, of our London society. It is
because I love man, because I daily see people whose thoughts I
long to share and profit by, that I am so disappointed in being
unable to do so. Oh, why, why do people not all live in the
country--or if towns must be, why must they bring stiffness and
coldness on everybody?
ADMIRALTY, _May_ 10, 1838
Court Ball.... Beautiful ball of beautiful people dancing to
beautiful music. Queen dancing a great deal, looking very happy.
ADMIRALTY, _June_ 22, 1838
Evening at a Concert at the Palace--all the good singers.... All
the foreigners there, Soult and the Duke of Wellington shaking
hands more heartily than any other two people there.
ADMIRALTY, _June_ 28, 1838
Day ever memorable in the annals of Great Britain! Day of the
coronation of Queen Victoria! ... We were up at six, and Lizzy,
Bob'm, and I, being the Abbey party, dressed in all our grandeur.
The ceremony was much what I expected, but less solemn and
impressive from the mixture of religion with worldly vanities and
distinctions. The sight was far more brilliant and beautiful than I
had supposed it would be. Walked home in our fine gowns through the
crowd; found the stand here well filled, and were quite in time to
see the procession pass back. Nothing could be more beautiful, the
streets either way being lined with the common people, as close as
they could stand, and the windows, house-tops, balconies, and
stands crowded with the better dressed. Great cheering when Soult's
carriage passed, but really magnificent for the Duchess of Kent and
the Queen. The carriages splendid. Did not feel in the Abbey one
quarter of what I felt on the stand.
MINTO, _November_ 4, 1838
This morning brought us the sad, sad news of the death of Lady John
Russell. God give strength to her poor unhappy husband, and watch
over his dear little motherless children.
The only event of importance which occurred in the family during 1838 was
the marriage of the eldest daughter, Mary, to Ralph Abercromby, son of the
Speaker and afterwards Lord Dunfermline. It was a very happy marriage, but
Lady Fanny missed her sister very much, and her accounts of the wedding and
the last days before it are mixed with regrets. She speaks of it as "an
awful day," though it seems to have ended merrily enough in dancing and
rejoicings.
In May, 1839, the Government resigned in consequence of the opposition to
the Jamaica Bill. The object of the Bill was to suspend the constitution of
Jamaica for five years, since difficulties had been made by the Jamaica
Assembly in connection with the emancipation of slaves. The Radicals voted
with the Conservatives against the Government and the Bill was lost.
ADMIRALTY, _May_ 7, 1839
We are all out!!!!
Papa was summoned to a Cabinet at twelve this morning. Mama and I
in the meantime drove to some shops, and when we came home found
him anxiously expecting us with this overpowering news. We bore,
and are still bearing it with tolerable fortitude; but we are all
very, very sorry, and every moment find something new to regret.
Mama, notwithstanding all she has said, is not better pleased than
the rest of us. Papa looks very grave, or else tries to joke it
off.
FRIDAY, _May_ 10, 1839, ADMIRALTY
Agitating morning--one report following another every hour. Sir
Robert Peel refused to form a Ministry unless the Queen would part
with some of her household. To this she would not consent. To-day
she sent for Lord Melbourne.... We went to the first Queen's ball,
very anxious to see how she and other people looked, and to try to
foresee coming events by the expression of faces.... I spoke to
scarcely one Tory, but our Whig friends were in excellent
spirits--the Queen also seemed to be so.
TUESDAY, _May_ 14, 1839, ADMIRALTY
Papa and Bill [12] came from the House of Lords quite delighted
with Lord Melbourne's speech in explanation of what has
passed--manner, matter, everything perfect.
[12] Her brother, Lord Melgund, afterwards third Earl of Minto.
Thus, within the week, the Whig Ministry had resigned and accepted office
again: this is what had happened.
On his return from Italy to take office Sir Robert Peel requested the Queen
to change the ladies of her household, and on her refusal to do so, the
Melbourne Ministry had come in again. Their return to power has been
generally considered a blunder, from the party point of view; but their
action in this case was not the result of tactical calculations. The young
Queen was strange as yet to the throne, and she could not bear to be
deprived of her personal friends. When Peel made a change in her household
the condition of accepting office, she turned to the Whigs, who felt they
could not desert her. "My dear Melbourne," wrote Lord John, "I have seen
Spencer, who says that we could not have done otherwise than we have done
as gentlemen, but that bur difficulties with the Radicals are not
diminished...."
They were, indeed, hard put to it to carry on the Government at all, and
they only succeeded in passing their Education Bill by a majority of two.
On August 12th the Mintos were still kept in London. "Oh for the boys and
guns and dogs, a heathery moor, and a blue Scotch heaven above me!" she
writes. When they did get away home, they remained there until the
beginning of the new year. At home she seems to have been much happier. She
taught her young brothers and sisters, she visited her village friends, and
rambled and read a great deal. In short, it was Minto!--all she found so
hard to part from when marriage took her away.
Many of the extracts from the diaries quoted in this chapter must be read
in the light of the reader's own recollections of the process of getting
used to life. They show that if Lady Russell afterwards attained a happy
confidence in action, she was not in youth without experience of
bewilderment and doubts about herself. Following one another quickly, these
extracts may seem to imply that she was gloomy and self-centred during
these years; but that was never the impression she made on others. Like
many at her age, when she wrote in a diary she dwelt most on the feelings
about which she found it hardest to talk. Her diary was not so much the
mirror of the days as they passed as the repository of her unspoken
confidences. "Looked over my journals, with reflections," she writes later;
"inclined to burn them all. It seems I have only written [on days] when I
was not happy, which is very wrong--as if I had forgotten to be grateful
for happy ones."
Mrs. Drummond, Lord John Russell's stepdaughter (who was then Miss Adelaide
Lister), has recorded, in a letter to Lady Agatha Russell, her
recollections of the Minto family at that time.
I think (she writes) my first visit to the Admiralty, where I was
invited to children's parties, must have been in the winter before
my mother's death. I have no distinct first impressions of the
grown-up part of the family, except perhaps of your grandmother,
Lady Minto. Although children exaggerate the age of their elders,
and seldom appreciate beauty except that of people near their own
age, I did realize her great good looks. She had very regular
features and a beautiful skin, with a soft rose-colour in her
cheeks. Her hair was brown, worn in loops standing out a little
from the face, and she always wore a cap or headdress of some kind.
Her manner was most kind and winning, and she had a pleasant voice.
I am sure she must have been very even-tempered; and as I recall
her image now, and the peace and serenity expressed in her
beautiful face, I think she must have had a happy life. I never saw
her otherwise than perfectly kind and gentle and quite unruffled by
the little contretemps, which must have befallen her as they do
others. With this gentleness there was something that made one feel
she was capable and reliable, that there was a latent strength on
which those she loved could lean and be at rest. But in speaking of
these things I am going far beyond the impressions of the small
child skipping about the large rooms of the Admiralty.
There came a time when I not only went to parties and theatricals
at the Admiralty, but went in the afternoons to play with the
children. One great game was the ghost game. To the delightful
shudders produced by this was added some fear of the butler's
interference, for it took place on the large dining-room table. The
company was divided into two parties--the ghosts and the owners of
the haunted house. At four o'clock in the afternoon (so as to give
plenty of time to pile up the horror) the inmates of the house got
into bed--that is, on to the table. The ghosts then walked solemnly
round and round, while at intervals one of them imitated the
striking of the clock; as the hours advanced the ghosts became more
demonstrative and the company in bed more terror-stricken, and as
the clock struck twelve the ghosts jumped on to the table! Then
ensued a frightful scrimmage with ear-splitting squeals, and the
game ended. I imagine it was this climax which used to bring the
butler. We also had the game of giant all over the house. The yells
in this case sometimes brought Lady Minto on the scene, who was
always most good-natured. We were quieter when we got into
mischief; as when we made a raid on Lord Minto's dressing-room, and
each ate two or three of his compressed luncheon tablets and also
helped ourselves to some of his pills. This last exploit _did_
rather disturb Lady Minto; but, as it happens, neither luncheons
nor pills took any effect on the raiders.
There were often delightful theatricals at the Admiralty. The best
of the plays was a little operetta written by your mother, called
"William and Susan," in which Lotty and Harriet[13] sang
delightfully in parts; but this must have been later on than the
game period.
I come now to my first distinct impression of your mother. It is as
clear as a miniature in my mind's eye, and it belongs to a very
interesting time. I think her engagement to Papa [14] must just
have been declared. She came with Lord and Lady Minto to dine with
him at 30, Wilton Crescent, the house he owned since his marriage
to my mother. As she passed out of the room to go down to dinner,
"Lady Fanny's" face and figure were suddenly photographed on my
brain. Her dark and beautiful smooth hair was most becomingly
dressed in two broad plaited loops, hanging low on the back of the
neck; the front hair in bands according to the prevailing fashion.
Her eyes were dark and very lustrous. Her face was freckled, but
this was not disfiguring, as a rich colour in her cheeks showed
itself through them. Her neck, shoulders, and arms were most
beautifully white, and her slim upright figure showed to great
advantage in the neat and simple dress then worn. Hers was of blue
and silver gauze, the bodice prettily trimmed with folds of the
stuff, and the sleeves short and rather full. I think she wore an
enamelled necklet of green and gold. Mama [15] long afterwards told
me that at this dinner she went through a very embarrassing moment;
Papa asked her what wine she would have, and she, just saying the
first thing that came into her head, replied, "Oh, champagne."
There was none. Papa was sadly disconcerted, and replied humbly,
"Will hock do?" I used to take much interest at all times in Papa's
dinner-parties, and sometimes suggested what I considered suitable
guests. I was much disappointed when I found my selection of Madame
Vestris and O'Connell did not altogether commend itself to Papa.
[13] Lady Harriet Elliot, sister of Lady John Russell.
[14] Lord John Russell.
[15] The second Lady John Russell.
Mrs. Drummond, in another letter to Lady Agatha Russell, alluding to a
visit to Minto before Lord John Russell's second marriage, writes:
Mama [then Lady Fanny Elliot] was very kind to me even then, and I
took to her very much. I used to admire her bright eyes and her
beautiful and very abundant dark hair, which was always exceedingly
glossy, and her lovely throat, which was the whitest possible--also
her sprightly ways, for she was very lively and engaging.
The winter of 1840 was spent between the Admiralty and Putney House, which
the Mintos had taken. Lady Fanny's description of Putney sounds to us now
improbably idyllic:
Out almost till bedtime--the river at night so lovely, so calm,
still, undisturbed by anything except now and then a slow,
sleepy-looking barge, gliding so smoothly along as hardly to make a
ripple. The last few nights we have had a little crescent moon to
add to the beauty. Then the air is so delightfully perfumed with
azalea, hawthorn, and lilac, and the nightingales sing so
beautifully on the opposite banks, that it is difficult to come in
at all.
PUTNEY HOUSE, _April 30, 1840_
Finished my beloved "Sir Samuel Romilly." It is a book that
everybody, especially men, should immediately read and meditate
upon.
It was during the summer of this year, 1840, that she began to see more of
Lord John Russell. She had met him a good many times at "rather solemn
dinner-parties," and he had stayed at Minto. She had known him well enough
to feel distress and the greatest sympathy for him when his wife died,
leaving him with two young families to look after--six children in all,
varying in age from the eldest Lister girl, who was fourteen, to Victoria,
his own little daughter, whose birth in 1838 was followed in little more
than a week by the death of her mother. Lord John was nearly forty-eight.
Hitherto he had been a political hero in her eyes rather than a friend of
her own; but, as the following entries in her diary show, she began now to
realize him from another side.
_June 3, 1840,_ PUTNEY HOUSE
Lord John Russell and Miss Lister [16] came to spend the afternoon
and dine. All the little Listers came. All very merry. Lord John
played with us and the children at trap-ball, shooting, etc.
[16] Miss Harriet Lister was the sister of Lord John's first wife.
The next time they met was at the Admiralty: "Little unexpected Cabinet
meeting after dinner. Lords John Russell and Palmerston, who talked _War
with France_ till bedtime. I hope papa tells the truth as to its
improbability." Two days later she writes: "Lord John Russell again
surprised us by coming in to tea. How much I like him." The next evening
she dined at his house: "Sat between Lord John and Mr. E. Villiers. Utterly
and for ever disgraced myself. Lord John begged me to drink a glass of
wine, and I asked for champagne when there was none!"
On August 13th they left London for Minto:
We had two places to spare in the carriage, which were taken by
Lord John Russell and little Tom [his stepson, Lord Ribblesdale].
We had wished it might be so, though I had some fears of his being
tired of us, and of our being stupefied with shyness. This went off
more than I expected, and our day's journey was very pleasant.
MINTO, _August_ 14, 1840
Actually here on the second day! From Hawick we had the most lovely
moonlight, making the river like silver and the fields like snow.
Oh Scotland, bonny, bonny Scotland, dearest and loveliest of lands!
if ever I love thee less than I do now, may I be punished by living
far from thee.
MINTO, _August_ 30, 1840
A great party to Church. Many eyes turned on Lord John as we walked
from it. He was much amused by the remark of one man: "Lord John's
a silly [17] looking man, but he's smart, too!"--which he, of
course, would have understood as an Englishman. In the evening he
gave me a poem he had composed on the subject of my letter from
Lancaster to Mrs. Law [18] announcing ourselves for the next
day.... In the morning [September 1] Lord John begged to sit in our
sitting-room with us.... I told him the library would be more
comfortable, and we were established there (he very kindly reading
the "Lay" aloud), when two Hawick Bailiffs arrived to present him
with the freedom of the town.... After dinner, Miss Lister asked me
so many questions chiefly relating to marrying, that I began to
believe that Lord John's great kindness to us all, but especially
to me, meant something more than I wished. I lay awake, wondering,
feeling sure, and doubting again.
[17] Delicate.
[18] Housekeeper.
MINTO, _September_ 2, 1840
Lord John, Miss Lister, Addy and I went to Melrose Abbey and
Abbotsford.... It was his last evening, and in wishing me good-bye
he said quite enough to make me tell Mama all I thought.... I could
see that she was very glad I did not like him in that way. I am
sure I do in every other.
MINTO, _September_ 3, 1840
Lord John set off before seven this morning. I dreamed about him
and waked about him all night.... Mama gave me a note from Lord
John to me which he had left.... I wrote my answer immediately,
begging him not to come back; but also telling him how grateful I
feel. Had a long talk and walk with Miss Lister, whose _great_
kindness makes it all more painful to me.
Lady Fanny wrote to her sister, Lady Mary Abercromby:
A proposal from Lord John Russell is at this moment lying before
me. I see it lying, and I write to you that it is there, but yet I
do not believe it, nor shall I ever.... Good, kind Miss Lister
positively worships him.
MINTO, _September_ 4, 1840
Went to the village with Mama and my darling Addy [Lord John's
stepdaughter], to whom I may show how I love her now that he is
away.
MINTO, _September_ 7, 1840
Received a very, very sad note from Lord John in answer to mine--so
kind, but oh! so sad.
The note ran as follows:
_September_ 5, 1840
DEAR LADY FANNY,--You are quite right. I deceived myself, not from
any fault of yours, but from a deep sense of unhappiness, and a
foolish notion that you might throw yourself away on a person of
broken spirits, and worn out by time and trouble. There is nothing
left to me but constant and laborious attention to public business,
and a wretched sense of misery, which even the children can never
long drive away. However, that is my duty, and my portion, and I
have no right to murmur at what no doubt is ordained for some good
end. So do not blame yourself, and leave me to hope that my life
may not be long.
Yours truly, J. RUSSELL
Miss Lister wrote to Lord John on September 9, 1840:
Sad as your letters are, it is still a relief to have them. I
_will_ hope for you though you cannot for yourself.... I
cannot thank you as I wish and feel for all you are with regard to
the children, for all you have been to them. I never can think of
it without tears of gratitude.... You have been more than even an
own father could have been. And by your example--an example of all
that is good and pure and great in mind and conduct--you are doing
for them more than any other teaching can do.
For a few days Lady Fanny seems to have felt that the matter was
irrevocably settled: "The more I think of what has happened, the more I
bewilder myself--I therefore do not think at all."
But on the following day she writes: "Though I do not think, I dream. I
dreamt of him last night on some of Catherine's bride cake, and that Miss
Lister wrote to me of him as one whose equal could not be found in the
whole world."
Of one thing she was certain, she did not want to leave her home: "The west
hills looking beautiful as we walked round the church. What a pleasure it
is to have a church in such a situation! One worships God the better from
seeing His beauty so displayed around.... Walked in the glen and wandered
about the burn and top of Mama's glen, wondering how anybody could ever ask
me to leave all that is so much too dear.
"Yesterday [October 23] received a letter from Miss Lister. Tells me a
great deal about him--the way in which he first named me since, and his
keeping the book, and much more that is very, very touching; but I will not
sentimentalize even to my journal, for fear of losing my firmness again."
Meanwhile, gossip was busy coupling her name with Lord John's, and the
Press published the rumour.
_Lady Minto to Lady Mary Abercromby_
MINTO, _November_ 9, 1840
... You will see in the papers the report of Fanny's marriage to
Lord John Russell. It is very annoying to her, and I had a few
lines (very touching) from him begging me to have it contradicted,
which I had already done. If you ask me my reasons why, I cannot
tell you, but I have a sort of feeling that she will marry him
still. Gina says certainly not, and neither Lizzy nor I think her
opinions or feelings changed, but I feel it _in my skin_!!!
Still, these feelings are not infallible.... Will you tell me if
I wish it or not? For I have now thought so much about it I don't
know my own mind. If I knew that she would not marry _at all_,
if she did not marry _him_, then I should most miserably
lament that she refused him; but I also know as certainly, that if
she told me that upon second thoughts she had accepted him, I
should be too unhappy to be able to look as I ought to do. In
short, dearest Mary, I heartily wish it had never happened. I was
obliged to tell John [Elliot] of it, as the report was going to be
made a subject of joking, which would have been very unpleasant for
Fanny. He was very much surprised, and notwithstanding his great
dislike to disparity of years, he regretted her refusal deeply. He
is a great admirer of Lord John's, and was delighted with him when
he was here. He says that in spite of the drawbacks he is clearly
of the opinion that she has made a great mistake, and hopes that it
may take another turn still. You may fancy how I am longing to talk
to your Father about it. He says in his last letter that his eyes
were only just opened to Lord John's being an old man, when he
looked on him in this new light....
MINTO, _November_ 15, 1840
My birthday--it frightens me to be twenty-five. To think how days,
months, and years have slipped away and how unfulfilled resolutions
remain to reproach me. Long walk with Papa--talked to me about Lord
John very kindly. Had a long letter from Miss Lister--tells me a
good deal about him, and the more I hear the more I am forced to
admire and like. Then why am I so ungrateful? Oh! why so obstinate?
I can only hope for the sake of my character that Dryden is right
that "Love is not in our choice but in our fate."
At the beginning of the new year the family moved up to London. The next
entry, dated from the Admiralty, expressive in its brevity, runs: "A
surprising number of visitors, one very alarming, no less than Lord
John--and I saw him." Then, a week later, on February 8: "The agitation of
last Monday over again.... After all, perhaps he only wished to show that
he is friendly still. It is like his kindness, but he did not look merry."
In March she wrote to her married sister, Lady Mary Abercromby, an account
of her feelings and perplexities.
ADMIRALTY, _March_ 16, 1841
DEAREST MARY,--Tho' it is not nearly my day for writing, a long
letter from you to Mama, principally about myself, has determined
me to do so--and to do so this minute, while I feel that I have
courage for the great effort (yes, you may laugh, but it is a
terrible effort) of saying to you all that you have the best right
to abuse me for not having said before. If it was really
_saying_, oh how happy I should be! but there is something so
terribly distinct in one's thoughts as soon as they are on paper,
and I have longed each day a thousand times to have you by my side
to help me to read them and to listen to all my nonsense. I felt it
utterly impossible to write them, altho' I also felt that my
silence was most unfair upon you and would have made me, in your
place, either very suspicious or very angry. It _has_ made you
suspicious, but now let it only make you angry--as angry as you
please--for I have _not_ changed and I do not suppose I ever
shall. When we first came to town, nothing having taken place
between us since my positive refusal from Minto, except the
contradiction sent by us to the report in the papers, Miss Lister
asked me if I was the same as ever; and when I said yes, and
forbade her the subject for the future, she only begged that I
would see him and allow myself to know him better. I said I would
do so, provided she was quite sure he was ready to blame himself
alone for the consequences, which she said he would. Accordingly,
wherever we met I allowed him to speak to me. I begged Lizzy always
to join in our talk, if she could, as it made me much happier, but
this she has not done nearly as much as I wished. Whenever I knew
we were to meet him, I also took care to tell Lizzy that it would
be no pleasure to me, and that if it was at dinner, I hoped I
should not sit next to him. I said these things to her oftener than
I should naturally have done, because I saw that in her wish to
disbelieve them she really did so, and I wished to make her
understand me, in case either Papa or Mama or the boys should be
speaking of it before her. You will say, why did I not speak more
to Mama herself?--partly because I was afraid of bringing forward
the subject, partly because I knew what I had to say would make her
sorry, and partly because I was not at times so _very_ sure as
to have courage to say it must all come to an end. However, after a
dinner at Lady Holland's last week, when he was all the evening by
me, I felt I _must_ speak--that it would be very wrong to
allow it to go on in the same way, and that we had no right to
expect the world to see how all advances to intimacy, since we came
to town, have been made by him in the face of a refusal. I do not
despise the gossip of the world where there is so much foundation
for it, and I have felt it very disagreeable to know that busy eyes
were upon us several times. It must therefore stop, but do not
imagine that I have been acting without thought. I am perfectly
easy about _him_--I mean that he will blame nobody but
himself, as I have taken care never to understand anything that he
has said that he might mean to be particular, and the few times
that he ventured to approach the subject he spoke in so perfectly
hopeless and melancholy a way as to satisfy me. I am also easy
about Miss Lister, as only a week ago she said how sorry she was to
see that I was happier in society without than with him; but both
he and they must see that it cannot go on so. What a stone I
am--but it is needless to speak of that. Only when I think of all
his goodness and excellence, above all his goodness in fixing upon
me among so many better fitted to him, I first wonder and wonder
whether he really can be in earnest, then reproach myself bitterly
for my hardness--and then the children: to think of rejecting an
opportunity of being so useful--or at least of trying to be so! All
these thoughts, turned over and over in my mind oftener than I
myself knew before we left Minto, _did_ make me think that
perhaps I had decided rashly. Now do not repeat this, dear Mary; I
have said more to you than to anybody yet--but I am sorry it is
time to stop, I have so much more to say. I cannot say how grateful
I am to Papa and Mama for leaving me so free in all this, and to
you for writing.
Ever your most affectionate sister, FANNY
The day after this letter was written she saw Lord John again. "He called
and had a long conversation with Mama.... Mama liked him better than
ever."
_Lady Minto to Lady Mary Abercromby_
ADMIRALTY, _March_ 18, 1841
... I must now return to _the_ subject. I told you of the
conversation I had with Fanny when she spoke so openly and so
sensibly of her feelings.... She said she was too old to think it
necessary to be what is called desperately in love, and without
feeling that his age was an objection or that the disparity was too
great, yet, she said, if he had been a younger man she would have
decided long ago. And that is the truth. It is his age alone that
prevents her at once deciding in his favour. It prevents those
feelings arising in her mind, without which it would be a struggle
to accept him, and this she never will do. She was therefore
desirous that he should know the state of her feelings, that she
might be again at her ease. He had seen her manner cold towards
him, and wrote to say that he would call upon me yesterday. I was
_horribly_ frightened, as I hate lovers, and you must allow
that it was a difficult task to go through.... However, he put me
so completely at my ease by his sensible, open, gentle manner, that
my task was less difficult than I expected--except that I fell in
love with him so desperately, he touched my heart so deeply that I
could scarcely refrain from promising him Fanny whenever he chose.
There is a depth of feeling and humility about him, and a candour
and generosity in his judgments, that I never saw so strongly in
anyone before, and every word that he spoke made me regret more and
more the barrier that prevents him from becoming one of us. I said,
of course, Fanny's wish and ours could only be for him to do what
he considered best for his own happiness, and that half-measures
did not answer; that he now knew the whole truth and it was for him
to judge how to act. He said then, "I cannot have a doubt; I will
visit you less frequently; I will speak very little to you in
public, but I cannot, unless you positively forbid me, renounce the
intimacy now established with your family." I said, of course, that
it would be a great happiness to us all not to lose him, but that I
was very doubtful of the wisdom of his decision, as it might only
be rendering himself more unhappy. "That," he said, "is my affair,
and I am willing to run the risk." ... Fanny, to whom I told
everything, says she is now quite happy, and her mind at ease.
He seems, however, to have made up his mind to keep away from them for some
weeks. The next mention of him is on May 7th, more than a month later:
Morning visit from Lord John. Said he had a great speech to make
this evening on sugar.... Billy came to dinner full of admiration
of the speech. Honest, noble, clever. Well, we shall go out with
honour.
This speech on sugar was made at a crisis of particular difficulty. The
debate was the first important discussion in Parliament on the new
principle of Free Trade. Greville describes Lord John's speech as an
"extraordinarily good one," and Lord Sydenham [19] wrote from Canada:
I have read your speech upon opening the debate on the sugar
question with feelings of admiration and pleasure I cannot
describe. The Free Traders have never been orators since Mr. Pitt
in early days. We have hammered away with facts and figures and
some argument, but we could not elevate the subject and excite the
feelings of the people. At last you, who can do both, have fairly
undertaken it, and the cause has a champion worthy of it.
[19] Lord Sydenham said later, "Lord John is the noblest man it has ever
been my fortune to follow" (Spencer Walpole's "Life of Lord John Russell").
Mr. Baring, the Chancellor of the Exchequer, proposed to lower the import
duty on foreign and colonial timber and sugar. Lord John, before the Budget
speech, announced his intention of moving the House into a committee on the
Corn Laws. During the course of the eight days' debate he admitted that the
proposal of the Ministry would be a fixed duty of 8s. a quarter on wheat.
It was on the occasion of this proposal being discussed in the Cabinet that
Melbourne, at the close of the meeting, made his famous remark, "By the by,
there is one thing we haven't agreed upon; what are we to say? Is it to
make our corn dearer or cheaper, or to make the price steady? I don't care
which; but we had better all say the same thing."
On June 4th, the very evening Lord John had intended to introduce his
measure, the Government was just defeated on Peel's motion of a want of
confidence: "Bill woke me at four this morning with the sad words, 'Beaten
by one! Oh dear, oh dear! To expect a triumph and see it won by the enemy.
Never mind; our friends deserve success if they cannot command it.... Party
at Lady Palmerston's. He was there."
Four days later her hesitations came to an end, and they were engaged to be
married.
Miss Lister wrote to Lord John on June 8th from Windsor Castle:
Oh! I am happier than I can tell you. God knows you have deserved
all the good that may come to you, and I always felt it must be
because of that. I long to be with you and to see her. ... Oh! I am
so happy, but I can scarcely believe it yet. I hope Lady Fanny will
write and then I think I shall believe it.
Ever yours affectionately, Harriet Lister
* * * * *
June 9, 1841 Could not write on Monday or Tuesday. Saw him on
Monday morning ... it was a strange dream all that day and is so
still.... As soon as he had left me Mama came in. Oh my own
dearest and best Mama, bless your poor weak but happy child. Then I
saw Papa. What good it did me to see his face of real
happiness!--then my brothers and sisters--I never saw William so
overcome.
ADMIRALTY, _June_ 10, 1841
Tried to be busy in the morning ... but nothing would do. Must
think and be foolish. He came in the afternoon and evening--brought
me an emerald ring.... Miss Lister came--both of us stupid from
having too much to say, but it was a great pleasure. Children
here to tea with ours (all but Victoria) and very merry and kind
to me. Dear precious children.
_Lady Minto to Lady Mary Abercromby_
ADMIRALTY, June 11, 1841
You must be longing so ardently for post-day that I hate to think
of the uncomfortable letter this is likely to be; but as Fanny is
writing to you herself, my letter will be of less consequence. Oh
the volumes and volumes I could write and long to write and the wee
miserable things that I do write! I must at once begin by saying
that Fanny's happy face would, more than all I can write, convince
you how perfectly satisfied and proud she is of the position she
has put herself in; how it delights her to think of the son-in-law
she has given to your Father, and the friend she has given your
brothers. To me he is everything that my proudest wishes could have
sought out for Fanny. You know as well as me that it was not an
ordinary person that could suit her; and it really is balm to my
heart to see the way in which he treasures every word she says, and
laughs at the innocence and simplicity of her remarks, and looks at
her with such pride when he sees her keen and eager about the great
and interesting events of the day, which most girls would neither
know nor care about. I don't mean that he is absurd in his
admiration of her, but it is evident how fully he appreciates the
singular beauty of her character. In short, to sum up all I can say
of him, he is in many respects a counterpart of herself. She is
very open and at her ease with him, and I am quite as much at my
ease with him as I was with Ralph....
_From Lady Mary Abercromby to Lord John Russell_
GENOA, _June_ 19, 1841
... You will every day discover more the great worth of what you
have won. You cannot have known her long without admiring the
extreme truth and purity of her mind; it is sensitive to a degree
which those with more of worldly experience can scarcely
understand, yet I feel sure you will watch over it, for it has a
charm to those who can appreciate it which must make them dread to
see it disturbed. It is a great privation to me to be so little
acquainted with you, but believe me I cannot think of you as a
stranger now that you belong to my dearest Sister, and that I look
to you for her happiness. If you could think of me as a sister and
treat me as such it would be a delight to me.
ADMIRALTY, _June_ 18, 1841
Very happy day--every day now happier than the one before. Oh will
it--can it last? O God, enable me to thank Thee as I ought--to live
a life of gratitude to Thee.