Yesterday we dined at the Prussian Minister’s, Chevalier Bunsen’s. He
met your father in Rome twenty years since, and has received us with
great enthusiasm. Yesterday at dinner he actually rose in his seat and
made quite a speech welcoming him to England as historian, old friend,
etc., and ended by offering his health, which your father replied to
shortly, in a few words. Imagine such an outbreak upon routine at a
dinner in England! Nobody could have done it but one of German blood,
but I dare say the Everetts, who know him, could imagine it all.
_To W. D. B. and A. B._
LONDON, December 19, 1846.
MY DEAR SONS: . . . Yesterday we dined at Macready’s and met quite a new,
and to us, a most agreeable circle. There was Carlyle, who talked all
dinner-time in his broad Scotch, in the most inimitable way. He is full
of wit, and happened to get upon James I., upon which topic he was
superb. Then there was Babbage, the great mathematician, Fonblanc, the
editor of the _Examiner_, etc., etc. The day before we dined at Mr.
Frederick Elliott’s with a small party of eight, of which Lady Morgan was
one, and also a brother of Lord Normanby’s, whom I liked very much. Lady
Morgan, who had not hitherto much pleased me, came out in this small
circle with all her Irish wit and humor, and gave me quite new notions of
her talent. She made me laugh till I cried. On Saturday we dined at Sir
Roderick Murchison’s, the President of the Geological Society, very great
in the scientific way.
[Picture: George Bancroft. From the painting by C. C. Ingham in the
possession of William J. A. Bliss]
We have struck up a great friendship with Miss Murray, the Queen’s Maid
of Honor, who paid me a visit of three hours to-day, in the midst of
which came in Colonel Estcourt, whom I was delighted to see, as you may
suppose. Miss Murray is to me a very interesting person, though a great
talker; a convenient fault to a stranger. She is connected with half the
noble families in England, is the grand-daughter of the Duchess of Athol,
who governed the Isle of Man as a queen, and the descendant of Scott’s
Countess of Derby. Though sprung of such Tory blood, and a maid of
honor, she thinks freely upon all subjects. Religion, politics, and
persons, she decides upon for herself, and has as many benevolent schemes
as old Madam Jackson.
I returned the visit of Mr. and Mrs. Leslie, the painter, this week, and
saw the picture he is now painting for the Vice-Chancellor. It is a
sketch of children, a boy driving his two little sisters as horses. One
of the little girls is very like Susie, {37} her size, hair, and
complexion. How I longed to be rich enough to order a copy, but his
pictures cost a fortune. I paid also a visit this week to the Duchess of
Inverness, whom I found in the prettiest, cosiest morning boudoir looking
onto the gardens of the Palace. In short, I do, or see, every hour,
something that if I were a traveller only, I could make quite a story of.
_To W. D. B. and A. B._
LONDON, January 1, 1847.
MY DEAR SONS: . . . I wrote my last sheet on the 19th and your father
went on that day to Cambridge to be present at the tri-centennial
celebration of Trinity College . . . He went also the day after the
anniversary, which was on our 22nd December, to Ely, with Peacock, the
great mathematician, who is Dean of Ely, to see the great cathedral there
. . . While he was at Cambridge I passed the evening of the 22nd at Lady
Morgan’s, who happened to have a most agreeable set . . . Lady Morgan’s
reunions are entertaining to me because they are collections of lions,
but they are not strictly and exclusively fashionable. They remind me in
their composition from various circles of Mrs. Otis’s parties in Boston.
We have in this respect an advantage over the English themselves, as in
our position we see a great variety of cliques.
For instance, last evening, the 31st, I took Louisa, at half-past seven,
to the house of Mr. Hawes, an under Secretary of State, to see a
beautiful children’s masque. It was an impersonation of the “Old Year”
dressed a little like _Lear_ with snowy hair and draperies. _Old Year_
played his part inimitably, at times with great pathos, and then
introducing witty hits at all the doings of his reign, such as exploding
cotton, the new planet, a subject which he put at rest as “_far beyond
our reach_,” etc., etc. He then introduced one by one the children of
all ages as “Days” of the coming year. There was _Twelfth Day_, crowned
as Queen with her cake in her hands; there was _Christmas_, covered with
holly and mistletoe; there was _April Fool’s Day_, dressed as Harlequin;
there was, above all, _Shrove Tuesday_, with her frying-pan of pancakes,
dressed as a little cook; there was a charming boy of fourteen or
fifteen, as _St. Valentine’s Day_ with his packet of valentines addressed
to the young ladies present; there was the _5th of November_, full of wit
and fun, etc.; the longest day, an elder brother, of William’s height,
with a cap of three or four feet high; and his little sister of five, as
the shortest day. This was all arranged to music and each made little
speeches, introducing themselves. The _Old Year_, after introducing his
successors, and after much pathos, is “going, going—gone,” and falls
covered with his drapery, upon removing which, instead of the lifeless
body of the _Old Year_, is discovered a sweet little flower-crowned girl
of five or six, as the _New Year_. It was charming, and I was so pleased
that, instead of taking Louisa away at nine o’clock as I intended, I left
her to see “Sir Roger de Coverly,” in the dress of his time.
[Picture: Elizabeth Davis Bancroft. From the painting by C. C. Ingham in
the possession of William J. A. Bliss]
Last night at Mr. Putnam’s, I met William and Mary Howitt, and some of
the lesser lights. I have put down my pen to answer a note, just brought
in, to dine next Thursday with the Dowager Countess of Charleville, where
we were last week, in the evening. She is eighty-four (tell this to
Grandmamma) and likes still to surround herself with _beaux_ and _belles
esprits_, and as her son and daughter reside with her, this is still easy
. . . The old lady talks French as fast as possible, and troubles me
somewhat by talking it to me, forgetting that a foreign minister’s wife
can talk English . . . Your father likes to be here. He has copying
going on in the State Paper Office and British Museum, and his heart is
full of manuscripts. It is the first thought, I believe, whoever he
sees, what papers are in their family. He makes great interest with even
the ladies sometimes for this purpose. Upon the whole, I love my own
country better than ever, but whether I shall not miss, upon my return,
some things to which I am gradually getting accustomed, I have yet to
learn. The gratification of mixing constantly with those foremost in the
world for rank, science, literature, or all which adorns society is
great, but there is a certain yearning toward those whose habits,
education, and modes of thought are the same as our own, which I never
can get over. In the full tide of conversation I often stop and think,
“I may unconsciously be jarring the prejudices or preconceived notions of
these people upon a thousand points; for how differently have I been
trained from these women of high rank, and men, too, with whom I am now
thrown.” Upon all topics we are accustomed to think, perhaps, with more
latitude, religion, politics, morals, everything. I like the English
extremely, even more than I expected, and yet happy am I to think that
our own best portions of society can bear a comparison with theirs. When
I see you I can explain to you the differences, but I think we need not
be ashamed of ourselves.
_To I. P. D._
LONDON, January 2, 1847.
MY DEAR UNCLE: . . . I refer you to my letters to my boys, for all the
new persons and places we may have seen lately, while I give you for
Aunty’s amusement a minute account of my visit into the country at Mr.
Bates’s, where things are managed in a scrupulously English manner, so
that it will give her the same idea of country life here, as if it were a
nobleman’s castle. Our invitation was to arrive on Thursday, the day
before Christmas, to dine, and to remain until the following Tuesday
morning. His place is at East _Sheen_, which receives its name from the
Anglo-Saxon word for _beauty_. It adjoins Richmond Park, beyond which is
the celebrated Richmond Hill, Twickenham, Kew, etc., etc. . . . We
arrived at East Sheen at half-past five; but I ought first to mention the
_preparations_ for a country excursion. Our own carriage has, of course,
no dickey for my maid, or conveniences for luggage, so we take a
travelling carriage. The imperials (which are large, flat boxes,
covering the whole top of the carriage, _capital_ for velvet dresses, and
smaller ones fitting into all the seats _in_ the carriage, and _before_
and _behind_) are brought to you the day before. I am merely asked what
dresses I wish taken, and that is all I know of the matter, so thoroughly
does an English maid understand her business. We were shown on our
arrival into a charming room, semi-library.
In a few minutes a servant came to show me to my apartment, which was
very superb, with a comfortable dressing-room and fire for Mr. Bancroft,
where the faithful Keats unpacked his dressing materials, while I was in
a few moments seated at the toilet to undergo my hair-dressing,
surrounded by all my apparatus, and a blazing fire to welcome me with a
hissing tea-kettle of hot water and every comfort. How well the English
understand it, I learn more and more every day. My maid had a large room
above me, also with a fire; indeed, a “lady’s” maid is a _very great_
character _indeed_, and would be much more unwilling to take her tea
with, or speak familiarly to, a footman or a housemaid than I should. My
greatest mistakes in England have been committed toward those high
dignitaries, my own maid and the butler, whose grandeur I entirely
misappreciated and invaded, as in my ignorance I placed them, as we do,
on the same level with other servants. She has her fire made for her,
and _loaf_ sugar in her tea, which she and Cates sip in solitary majesty.
However, she is most conscientious and worthy, as well as dignified, and
thoroughly accomplished in her business. As all these things are
pictures of English life, I mention them to amuse Aunty, who likes to
know how these matters are managed.
After I am dressed, I join the circle in the library, where I am
introduced to Mr. and Madam Van de Weyer, and Louis Buonaparte, the son
of Louis, the ex-King of Holland, and of Hortense, Josephine’s daughter.
He was a long time imprisoned in the fortress of Ham, and has not long
been free. There was also Napoleon, son of Jerome Buonaparte, and the
Princess of Wurtemberg. They were most agreeable, intelligent, and
amiable young men, and I was glad to meet them. Lord and Lady Langdale
(who have a place in the neighborhood) were invited to dine with us. He
is Master of the Rolls and was elevated to the peerage from great
distinction at the bar. Lady Langdale is a sensible and excellent
person. At dinner I sat between Mr. Bates and Lord Langdale, whom I
liked very much.
The next morning we assembled at ten for breakfast, which was at a round
table, with a sort of circular tray, which turns at the least touch in
the centre, leaving only a rim round the table for plates and cups. This
was covered also with a white cloth and on it were placed all the
breakfast viands, with butter, sugar, cream, bread, toast-rack and
preserves. You need no servants, but turn it round and help yourself. I
believe the Van de Weyers introduced it, from a visit in Wales. Tea and
coffee are served from a side-table always, here. Let me tell Aunty that
our simple breakfast _dress_ is unknown in England. You come down in the
morning dressed for the day, until six or seven in the evening, when your
dress is low neck and short sleeves for dinner. At this season the
morning dress is a rich silk or velvet, high body quite close in the
throat with handsome collar and cuffs, and _always_ a cap. Madam Van de
Weyer wore every day a different dress, all very rich, but I adhered to a
black watered silk with the same simple cap I wore at home.
I took a drive through Richmond Park (where Henry the Eighth watched to
see a signal on the Tower when Anne Boleyn’s head fell, and galloped off
to marry Jane Seymour) to Richmond Terrace, which is ravishingly
beautiful even at this season. . . . The next day the gentleman all went
to town, and Madam Van de Weyer and I passed the day _tête-à-tête_, very
pleasantly, as her experience in diplomatic life is very useful to me. . . .
Her manners are very pleasing and entirely unaffected. She has
great tact and quickness of perception, great intelligence and amiability
and is altogether extremely well-fitted for the _rôle_ she plays in life.
Her husband is charming. . . . They have three children, very lovely.
The eldest, Victor, a fine boy of seven years old, Victoria, a girl of
four, for whom the Queen was sponsor, and Albert, to whom Prince Albert
performed the same office. This was, of course, voluntary in the royal
parties, as it was not a favor to be asked. . . . Madam Van de Weyer is
not spoiled, certainly, by the prominent part she was called to play in
this great centre of the world at so early an age, and makes an excellent
courtier. I could not help pitying her, however, for looking forward to
going through, year after year, the same round of ceremonies, forms, and
society. For us, it is a new study, and invaluable for a short time; but
I could not bear it for life, as these European diplomatists. Besides,
we Americans really enjoy a kind of society, and a much nearer
intercourse than other foreigners, in the literary, scientific, and even
social circles.
On Saturday evening Lord William Fitzroy and daughter joined our party
with Sir William Hooker and Lady Hooker. . . . Sir William Hooker is one
of the most interesting persons I have seen in England. He is a great
naturalist and has the charge of the great Botanical Gardens at Kew. He
devoted a morning to us there, and it was the most delightful one I have
passed. There are twenty-eight different conservatories filled with the
vegetable wonders of the whole world. Length of time and regal wealth
have conspired to make the Kew gardens beyond our conceptions entirely. . . .
Sir William pointed out to us all that was very rare or curious,
which added much to my pleasure. . . . He showed us a drawing of the
largest _flower_ ever known on earth, which Sir Stamford Raffles
discovered in Sumatra. It was a parasite without leaves or stem, and the
flower weighed fifteen pounds. Lady Raffles furnished him the materials
for the drawing. I dined in company with her not long ago, and regret
now that I did not make her tell me about the wonders of that region. At
the same dinner you may meet so many people, each having their peculiar
gift, that one cannot avail oneself of the opportunity of extracting from
each what is precious. I always wish I could sit by everybody at the
same time, and I could often employ a dozen heads, if I had them, instead
of my poor, miserable one. From Sir William Hooker _I_ learned as much
about the _vegetable_ world, as Mr. Bancroft did from the Dean of Ely on
_architecture_, when he expounded to him the cathedral of Ely; pointing
out the successive styles of the Gothic, and the different periods in
which the different parts were built. Books are dull teachers compared
with these gifted men giving you a lecture upon subjects before your
eyes.
On Sunday we dined with out own party; on Monday some diplomatic people,
the Lisboas and one of Mr. Bates’s partners, and on Tuesday we came home.
I must not omit a visit while we were there from Mr. Taylor (Van
Artevelde), who is son-in-law of Lord Monteagle, and lives in the
neighborhood. He has a fine countenance and still finer voice, and is
altogether one of those literary persons who do not disappoint you, but
whose whole being is equal to their works. I hope to see more of him, as
they spoke of “_cultivating_” us, and Mr. Taylor was quite a _protégé_ of
our kind and dear friend, Dr. Holland, and dedicated his last poem to
him. This expression, “I shall _cultivate_ you,” we hear constantly, and
it strikes me as oddly as our Western “_being raised_.” Indeed, I hear
improper Anglicisms constantly, and they have nearly as many as we have.
The upper classes, here, however, do _speak_ English so roundly and
fully, giving every _letter_ its due, that it pleases my ear amazingly.
On Wednesday I go for the first time to Westminster Abbey, on Epiphany,
to hear the Athanasian Creed chanted. I have as yet had no time for
sight-seeing, as the days are so short that necessary visits take all my
time. No one goes out in a carriage till after two, as the servants dine
at one, and in the morning early the footman is employed in the house. A
coachman never leaves his box here, and a footman is indispensable on all
occasions. No visit can be paid till three; and this gives me very
little time in these short days. Everything here is inflexible as the
laws of the Medes and Persians, and though I am called “Mistress” even by
old Cates with his grey hair and black coat, I cannot make one of them do
anything, except _by_ the person and _at_ the time which English custom
prescribes. They are brought up to fill certain situations, and fill
them perfectly, but cannot or will not vary.
I am frequently asked by the ladies here if I have formed a household to
please me and I am obliged to confess that I have a very nice household,
but that I am the only refractory member of it. I am always asking the
wrong person for coals, etc., etc. The division of labor, or rather
ceremonies, between the butler and footman, I have now mastered I believe
in some degree, but that between the _upper_ and _under_ house-maid is
still a profound mystery to me, though the upper has explained to me for
the twentieth time that she did only “the top of the work.” My cook
comes up to me every morning for orders, and always drops the deepest
curtsey, but then I doubt if her hands are ever profaned by touching a
poker, and she _never_ washes a dish. She is cook and _housekeeper_, and
presides over the housekeeper’s room; which has a Brussels carpet and
centre table, with one side entirely occupied by the linen presses, of
which my maid (my vice-regent, only _much_ greater than me) keeps the key
and dispenses every towel, even for the kitchen. She keeps lists of
everything and would feel bound to replace anything missing. I shall
make you laugh and Mrs. Goodwin stare, by some of my housekeeping
stories, the next evening I pass in your little pleasant parlor (a word
unknown here).
_To W. D. B. and A. B._
LONDON, January 10, 1847.
MY VERY DEAR CHILDREN: . . . Yesterday we dined at Lady Charleville’s,
the old lady of eighty-four, at whose house I mentioned an evening visit
in my last, and I must tell you all about it to entertain dear Grandma.
I will be minute for once, and give you the _little_ details of a London
dinner, and they are all precisely alike. We arrived at Cavendish Square
a quarter before seven (very early) and were shown into a semi-library on
the same floor with the dining-room. The servants take your cloak, etc.,
in the passage, and I am never shown into a room with a mirror as with
us, and never into a chamber or bedroom.
We found Lady Charleville and her daughter with one young gentleman with
whom I chatted till dinner, and who, I found, was Sir William Burdette,
son of Sir Francis and brother of Miss Angelina Coutts. I happened to
have on the corsage of my black velvet a white moss rose and buds, which
I thought rather youthful for _me_, but the old lady had [them] on her
cap. She is full of intelligence, and has always been in the habit of
drawing a great deal. . . . Very soon came in Lord Aylmer, [who] was
formerly Governor of Canada, and Lady Colchester, daughter of Lord
Ellenborough, a very pretty woman of thirty-five, I should think; Sir
William and Lady Chatterton and Mr. Algernon Greville, whose grandmother
wrote the beautiful “Prayer for Indifference,” an old favorite of mine,
and Mr. MacGregor, the political economist. Lord Aylmer took me out and
I found him a nice old peer, and discovered that ever since the death of
his uncle, Lord Whitworth, whose title is extinct, he had borne the arms
of both Aylmer and Whitworth. Mr. Bancroft took out Lady Colchester, and
the old lady was wheeled out precisely as Grandma is.
At table she helped to the fish (cod, garnished round with smelts) and
insisted on carving the turkey herself, which she did extremely well. By
the way, I observe they never carve the breast of a turkey
_longitudinally_, as we do, but in short slices, a little diagonally from
the centre. This makes many more slices, and quite large enough where
there are so many other dishes. The four _entrée_ dishes are always
placed on the table when we sit down, according to our old fashion, and
not one by one. They have [them] warmed with hot water, so that they
keep hot while the soup and fish are eaten. Turkey, even _boiled_
turkey, is brought on _after_ the _entrées_, mutton (a saddle always) or
venison, with a pheasant or partridges. With the roast is always put on
the _sweets_, as they are called, as the term dessert seems restricted to
the last course of fruits. During the dinner there are always long
strips of damask all round the table which are removed before the dessert
is put on, and there is no brushing of crumbs. You may not care for all
this, but the housekeepers may. I had Mr. Greville the other side of me,
who seemed much surprised that I, an American, should know the “Prayer
for Indifference,” which he doubted if twenty persons in England read in
these modern days.
It is a great mystery to me yet how people get to know each other in
London. Persons talk to you whom you do not know, for no one is
introduced, as a general rule. I have sometimes quite an acquaintance
with a person, and exchange visits, and yet do not succeed for a long
time in putting their name and the person together. . . . It is a great
puzzle to a stranger, but has its conveniences for the English
themselves. We are endeavoring to become acquainted with the English
mind, not only through society, but through its products in other ways.
Natural science is the department into which they seem to have thrown
their intellect most effectively for the last ten or fifteen years. We
are reading Whewell’s “History of the Inductive Sciences,” which gives
one a summary of what has been accomplished in that way, not only in past
ages, but in the present. Every moment here is precious to me and I am
anxious to make the best use of it, but I have immense demands on my time
in every way.
_To W. D. B. and A. B._
Tuesday night, January 19, 1847.
To-day we have been present at the opening of Parliament, but how can I
picture to you the interest and magnificence of the scene. I will begin
quite back, and give you all the preparations for a “Court Day.” Ten
days before, a note was written to Lord Willoughby d’Eresby, informing
him of my intention to attend, that a seat might be reserved for me, and
also soliciting several tickets for American ladies and gentlemen. . . .
I cannot take them with me, however, as the seat assigned to the ladies
of Foreign Ministers is very near the throne. This morning when I awoke
the fog was thicker than I ever knew it, even here. The air was one
dense orange-colored mass. What a pity the English cannot borrow our
bright blue skies in which to exhibit their royal pageants!
Mr. Bancroft’s court dress had not been sent home, our servants’ liveries
had not made their appearance, and our carriage only arrived last night,
and I had not passed judgment upon it. Fogs and tradesmen! these are the
torments of London. Very soon came the tailor with embroidered dress,
sword, and chapeau, but, alas! Mr. Isidore, who was to have dressed my
hair at half-past ten was not forthcoming, and to complete my perplexity,
he had my head-dress in his possession. At last, just as Russell had
resumed her office at the toilet, came Isidore, a little before twelve,
coiffure and all, which was so pretty that I quire forgave him all his
sins. It was of green leaves and white _fleur-de-lis_, with a white
ostrich feather drooping on one side. I wear my hair now plain in front,
and the wreath was very flat and classical in its style. My dress was
black velvet with a very rich bertha. A bouquet on the front of
_fleur-de-lis_, like the coiffure, and a Cashmere shawl, completed my
array. I have had the diamond pin and earrings which you father gave me,
reset, and made into a magnificent brooch, and so arranged that I can
also wear it as a necklace or bracelet. On this occasion it was my
necklace.
Miss Murray came to go with me, as she wished to be by my side to point
out everybody, and her badge as Maid of Honor would take her to any part
of the house. At half-past twelve she and I set out, and after leaving
us the carriage returned for your father and Mr. Brodhead. But first let
me tell you something of our equipage. It is a _chariot_, not a coach;
that is, it has but one seat, but the whole front being glass makes it
much more agreeable to such persons as have not large families. The
color is maroon, with a silver moulding, and has the American arms on the
panel. The liveries are blue and red; on Court Days they have blue plush
breeches, and white silk stockings, with buckles on their shoes. Your
father leaves all these matters to me, and they have given me no little
plague. When I thought I had arranged everything necessary, the
coachman, good old Brooks, solicited an audience a day or two ago, and
began, “Mistress, did you tell them to send the pads and the fronts and
the hand-pieces?” “Heavens and earth! what are all these things?” said
I. “Why, ma’am, we always has pads under the saddle on Court Days,
trimmed round with the colors of the livery, and we has fronts made of
ribbin for the horses’ heads, and we has white hand-pieces for the
reins.” This is a specimen of the little troubles of court life, but it
has its compensations. To go back to Miss Murray and myself, who are
driving through the park between files of people, thousands and thousands
all awaiting with patient, loyal faces the passage of the Queen and of
the State carriages. The Queen’s was drawn by eight cream-colored
horses, and the servants flaming with scarlet and gold. This part of the
park, near the palace, is only accessible to the carriages of the foreign
ministers, ministers, and officers of the household.
We arrive at the Parliament House, move through the long corridor and
give up our tickets at the door of the chamber. It is a very long,
narrow room. At the upper end is the throne, on the right is the seat of
the ambassadors, on the left, of their ladies. Just in front of the
throne is the wool-sack of the Lord Chancellor, looking like a
drawing-room divan, covered with crimson velvet. Below this are rows of
seats for the judges, who are all in their wigs and scarlet robes; the
bishops and the peers, all in robes of scarlet and ermine. Opposite the
throne at the lower end is the Bar of the Commons. On the right of the
Queen’s chair is a vacant one, on which is carved the three plumes, the
insignia of the Prince of Wales, who will occupy it when he is seven or
nine years old; on the left Prince Albert sits.
The seat assigned me was in the front row, and quite open, like a sofa,
so that I could talk with any gentleman whom I knew. Madam Van de Weyer
was on one side of me and the Princess Callimachi on the other, and Miss
Murray just behind me. She insisted on introducing to me all her noble
relatives. Her cousin, the young Duke of Athol; the Duke of Buccleuch;
her nephew the Marquis of Camden; her brother the Bishop of Rochester.
There were many whom I had seen before, so that the hour passed very
agreeably. Very soon came in the Duke of Cambridge, at which everybody
rose, he being a royal duke. He was dressed in the scarlet kingly robe,
trimmed with ermine, and with his white hair and whiskers (he is an old
man) was most picturesque and scenic, reminding me of King Lear and other
stage kings. He requested to be introduced to me, upon which I rose, of
course. He soon said, “Be seated,” and we went on with the conversation.
I told him how much I liked Kew Garden, where he has a favorite place.
When I first entered I was greeted very cordially by a personage in a
black gown and wig, whom I did not know. He laughed and said: “I am Mr.
Senior, whom you saw only Saturday evening, but you do not know me in my
wig.” It is, indeed, an entire transformation, for it reaches down on
the shoulders. He is a master in chancery. He stood by me nearly all
the time and pointed out many of the judges, and some persons not in Miss
Murray’s line.
But the trumpets sound! the Queen approaches! The trumpet continues, and
first enter at a side door close at my elbow the college of heralds
richly dressed, slowly, two and two; then the great officers of the
household, then the Lord Chancellor bearing the purse, seal, and speech
of the Queen, with the macebearers before him. Then Lord Lansdowne with
the crown, the Earl of Zetland, with the cap of maintenance, and the Duke
off Wellington, with the sword of State. Then Prince Albert, leading the
Queen, followed by the Duchess of Sutherland, Mistress of the Robes, and
the Marchioness of Douro, daughter-in-law of the Duke of Wellington, who
is one of the ladies in waiting. The Queen and Prince sit down, while
everybody else remains standing. The Queen then says in a voice most
clear and sweet: “My lords (rolling the r), be seated.” Upon which the
peers sit down, except those who enter with the Queen, who group
themselves about the throne in the most picturesque manner. The Queen
had a crown of diamonds, with splendid necklace and stomacher of the
same. The Duchess of Sutherland close by her side with her ducal coronet
of diamonds, and a little back, Lady Douro, also, with her coronet. On
the right of the throne stood the Lord Chancellor, with scarlet robe and
flowing wig, holding the speech, surrounded by the emblems of his office;
a little farther, one step lower down, Lord Lansdowne, holding the crown
on a crimson velvet cushion, and on the left the Duke of Wellington,
brandishing the sword of State in the air, with the Earl of Zetland by
his side. The Queen’s train of royal purple, or rather deep crimson, was
borne by many train-bearers. The whole scene seemed to me like a dream
or a vision. After a few minutes the Lord Chancellor came forward and
presented the speech to the Queen. She read it sitting and most
exquisitely. Her voice is flute-like and her whole emphasis decided and
intelligent. Very soon after the speech is finished she leaves the
House, and we all follow, as soon as we can get our carriages.
[Picture: The Duke of Wellington. From the portrait by Count Alfred
D’Orsay; photograph copyright by Walker & Cockerell, London]
Lord Lansdowne told me before she came in that the speech would be longer
than usual, “but not so long as your President’s speeches.” It has been
a day of high pleasure and more like a romance than a reality to me, and
being in the very midst of it as I was, made it more striking than if I
had looked on from a distant gallery.
_To W. D. B. and A. B._
LONDON, February 7, 1847.
MY DEAR SONS: . . . On Friday we dined with two bachelors, Mr. Peabody
and Mr. Coates, who are American bankers. Mr. Peabody is a friend of Mr.
Corcoran and was formerly a partner of Mr. Riggs in Baltimore. Mr.
Coates is of Boston. . . . They mustered up all the Americans that could
be found, and we dined with twenty-six of our countrymen.
Monday Morning.
Last evening we were at home to see any Americans who might chance to
come. . . . I make tea in the drawing-room, on a little table with a
white cloth, which would not be esteemed _comme il faut_ with us. There
is none of the parade of eating in the largest evening party here. I see
nothing but tea, and sometimes find an informal refreshment table in the
room where we put on our cloaks.
I got a note yesterday from the O’Connor Don, enclosing an order to admit
me to the House of Commons on Monday. . . . You will be curious to know
who is “The O’Connor Don.” He is Dennis O’Connor, Esq., but is of the
oldest family in Ireland, and the representative of the last kings of
Connaught. He is called altogether the O’Connor Don, and begins his note
to me with that title. You remember Campbell’s poem of “O’Connor’s
Child”?
Sunday, 14th February.
. . . Yesterday morning was my breakfast at Sir Robert Inglis’s. The
hour was halfpast nine, and as his house is two miles off I had to be up
wondrous early for me. The weather has been very cold for this climate
for the last few days, though we should think it moderate. They know
nothing of extreme cold here. But, to return to or breakfast, where,
notwithstanding the cold, the guests were punctually assembled: The
Marquis of Northampton and his sisters, the Bishop of London with his
black apron, Sir Stratford Canning, Mr. Rutherford, Lord Advocate for
Scotland, the Solicitor-General and one or two others. The conversation
was very agreeable and I enjoyed my first specimen of an English
breakfast exceedingly. . . . Our invitations jostle each other, now
Parliament has begun, for everybody invites on Wednesday, Saturday, or
Sunday, when there are no debates. We had three dinner invitations for
next Wednesday, from Mr. Harcourt, Marquis of Anglesey, and Mrs.
Mansfield. We go to the former. The Queen held a levée on Friday, for
gentlemen only. Your father went, of course.
[Picture: Sir Stratford Canning. From the drawing by Richmond, make
about 1848, by permission of the Hon. Louisa Canning]
Sunday, February 21st.
I left off on Sunday, on which day I got a note from Lady Morgan, saying
that she wished us to come and meet some agreeables at her house. . . .
There I met Sir William and Lady Molesworth, Sir Benjamin Hall, etc., and
had a long talk with “Eōthen,” who is a quiet, unobtrusive person in
manner, though his book is quite an effervescence. . . . On Wednesday we
dined with Mr. Harcourt, and met there Lord Brougham, who did the talking
chiefly, Lord and Lady Mahon, Mr. Labouchere, etc. It was a most
agreeable party, and we were very glad to meet Lord Brougham, whom we had
not before seen.
Lord Brougham is entertaining, and very much listened to. Indeed, the
English habit seems to be to suffer a few people to do up a great part of
the talking, such as Macaulay, Brougham, and Sydney Smith and Mackintosh
in their day. . . . On Saturday evening, at ten o’clock, we went to a
little party at Lady Stratheden’s. After staying there three-quarters of
an hour we went to Lady Palmerston’s, where were all the _great_ London
world, the Duchess of Sutherland among the number. She is most noble,
and at the same time lovely. . . . We had an autograph note from Sir
Robert Peel, inviting us to dine next Saturday, and were engaged. I hope
they will ask us again, for I know few things better than to see him, as
we should in dining there. I have the same interest in seeing the really
distinguished men of England, that I should have in the pictures and
statues of Rome, and indeed, much greater. I wish I was better prepared
for my life here by a more extensive culture; mere fine ladyism will not
do, or prosy bluism, but one needs for a thorough enjoyment of society, a
healthy, practical, and extensive culture, and a use of the modern
languages in our position would be convenient. I do not know how a
gentleman can get on without it here, and I find it so desirable that I
devote a good deal of time to speaking French with Louisa’s governess.
Your father uses French a great deal with his colleagues, who, many of
them, speak English with great difficulty, and some not at all. . . .
Lady Charlotte Lindsay came one day this week to engage us to dine with
her on Wednesday, but yesterday she came to say that she wanted Lord
Brougham to meet us, and he could not come till Friday. Fortunately we
had no dinner engagement on that day, and we are to meet also the Miss
Berrys; Horace Walpole’s Miss Berrys, who with Lady Charlotte herself,
are the last remnants of the old school here.
_To I. P. D._
February 21st.
MY DEAR UNCLE: . . . I wrote [J. D.] a week or two before I heard of his
death, but was unable to tell him anything of Lord North, as I had not
met Lady Charlotte Lindsay. I have seen her twice this week at Baron
Parke’s and at Lord Campbell’s, and told her how much I had wished to do
so before, and on what account. She says her father heard reading with
great pleasure, and that one of her sisters could read the classics:
Latin and, I think, Greek, which he enjoyed to the last. She says that
he never complained of losing his sight, but that her mother has told her
that it worried him in his old age that he remained Minister during our
troubles at a period when he wished, himself, to resign. He sometimes
talked of it in the solitude of sleepless nights, her mother has told
her.
On Tuesday morning we were invited by Dr. Buckland, the Dean of
Westminster, to go to his house, and from thence to the Abbey, to witness
the funeral of the Duke of Northumberland. The Dean, who has control of
everything in the Abbey, issued tickets to several hundred persons to go
and witness the funeral, but only Lord Northampton’s family, the Bunsens
(the Prussian Minister), and ourselves, went to his house, and into the
Dean’s little gallery.
After the ceremony there were a crowd of visitors at the Dean’s, and I
met many old acquaintances, and made many new ones, among whom were Lady
Chantrey, a nice person. After the crowd cleared off, we sat down to a
long table at lunch, always an important meal here, and afterward the
Dean took me on his arm and showed me everything within the Abbey
precincts. He took us first to the Percy Chapel to see the vault of the
Percys. . . . From thence the Dean took us to the Jerusalem chamber where
Henry IV died, then all over the Westminster school. We first went to
the hall where the young men were eating their dinner. . . . We then went
to the school-room, where every inch of the wall and benches is covered
with names, some of them most illustrious, as Dryden’s. There were two
bunches of rods, which the Dean assured me were not mere symbols of
power, but were daily used, as, indeed, the broken twigs scattered upon
the floor plainly showed. Our ferules are thought rather barbarous, but
a gentle touch from a slender twig not at all so. These young men looked
to me as old as our collegians. We then went to their study-rooms,
play-rooms, and sleeping-rooms. The whole forty sleep in one long and
well-ventilated room, the walls of which were also covered with names.
At the foot of each bed was a large chest covered with leather, as
mouldering and time-worn as the Abbey itself. Here are educated the sons
of some of the noblest families, and the Archbishop of York has had six
sons here, and all of them were in succession the Captain of the school. . . .
On Wednesday evening we went first to our friends, the Bunsens, where we
were invited to meet the Duchess of Sutherland with a few other persons.
Bunsen is very popular here. He is learned and accomplished, and was so
much praised in the Biography of Dr. Arnold, the late historian of Rome,
that he has great reputation in the world of letters. . . . Although we
have great pleasure in the society of Chevalier and Madam Bunsen, and in
those whom we meet at their house. On this occasion we only stayed half
an hour, which I passed in talking with the Bishop of Norwich and his
wife, Mrs. Stanley, and went to Lady Morgan’s without waiting till the
Duchess of Sutherland came. There we found her little rooms full of
agreeable people. . . . The next day, Thursday, there was a grand opera
for the benefit of the Irish, and all the Diplomatic Corps were obliged
to take boxes. Lady Palmerston, who was one of the three patronesses,
secured a very good box for us, directly opposite the Queen, and only
three from the stage.
We took with us Mrs. Milman and W. T. Davis, to whom it gave a grand
opportunity of seeing the Queen and the assembled aristocracy, at least
all who are now in London. “God save the Queen,” sung with the whole
audience standing, was a noble sight. The Queen also stood, and at the
end gave three curtsies. On Friday Captain and Mrs. Wormeley, with Miss
Wormeley, dined with us, with Mr. and Mrs. Carlyle, Miss Murray, the Maid
of Honor, Mr. and Mrs. Pell of New York, with William T. and Mr.
Brodhead. William was very glad to see Carlyle, who showed himself off
to perfection, uttering his paradoxes in broad Scotch.
Last evening we dined at Mr. Thomas Baring’s, and a most agreeable dinner
it was. The company consisted of twelve persons, Lord and Lady
Ashburton, etc. I like Lady Ashburton extremely. She is full of
intelligence, reads everything, talks most agreeably, and still loves
America. She is by no means one of those who abjure their country. I
have seen few persons in England whom I should esteem a more delightful
friend or companion than Lady Ashburton, and I do not know why, but I had
received a different impression of her. Lord Ashburton, by whom I sat at
dinner, struck me as still one of the wisest men I have seen in England.
Lady Ashburton, who was sitting by Mr. Bancroft, leant forward and said
to her husband, “_We_ can bring bushels of corn this year to England.”
“Who do you mean by _we_?” said he. “Why, we Americans, to be sure.”
[Picture: Lord Ashburton. After Sir T. Lawrence, R. A.]
Monday Evening.
Yesterday we dined at Count St. Aulair’s, the French Ambassador, who is a
charming old man of the old French school, at a sort of amicable dinner
given to Lord and Lady Palmerston. Lord John Russell was of the party,
with the Russian Ambassador and lady, Mr. and Madam Van de Weyer, the
Prussian and Turkish Ministers. The house of the French Embassy is fine,
but these formal grand dinners are not so charming as the small ones.
The present state of feeling between Lord Palmerston and the French
Government gave it a kind of interest, however, and it certainly went off
in a much better spirit than Lady Normanby’s famous party, which Guizot
would not attend. It seems very odd to me to be in the midst of these
European affairs, which I have all my life looked upon from so great a
distance.
_To Mrs. W. W. Story_
LONDON, March 23, 1847.
MY DEAR MRS. STORY: I should have thanked you by the last steamer for
your note and the charming volume which accompanied it, but my thoughts
and feelings were so much occupied by the sad tidings I heard from my own
family that I wrote to no one out of it. The poems, which would at all
times have given me great pleasure, gave me still more here than they
would if I were with you on the other side of the Atlantic. I am not
cosmopolitan enough to love any nature so well as our American nature,
and in addition to the charm of its poetry, every piece brought up to me
the scenes amidst which it had been written. . . . How dear these
associations are your husband will soon know when he too is separated
from his native shores and from those he loves. . . . I shall look
forward with great pleasure to seeing him here, and only wish you were to
accompany him, for your own sake, for his, and for ours. His various
culture will enable him to enjoy most fully all that Europe can yield him
in every department. My own regret ever since I have been here has been
that the seed has not “fallen upon better ground,” for though I thought
myself not ignorant wholly, I certainly lose much that I might enjoy more
keenly if I were better prepared for it. I envy the pleasure which Mr.
Story will receive from music, painting, and sculpture in Europe, even if
he were destitute of the creative inspiration which he will take with
him. For ourselves, we have everything to make us happy here, and I
should be quite so, if I could forget that I had a country and children
with very dear friends 3,000 miles away. . . . There are certain
sympathies of country which one cannot overcome. On the other hand I
certainly enjoy pleasures of the highest kind, and am every day floated
like one in a dream into the midst of persons and scenes that make my
life seem more like a drama than a reality. Nothing is more unreal than
the actual presence of persons of whom one has heard much, and long
wished to see. One day I find myself at dinner by the side of Sir Robert
Peel, another by Lord John Russell, or at Lord Lansdowne’s table, with
Mrs. Norton, or at a charming breakfast with Mr. Rogers, surrounded by
pictures and marbles, or with tall feathers and a long train, making
curtsies to a queen.
[Picture: Miss Berry, at the age of 86. From a crayon drawing by J. R.
Swinton (1850); from a picture owned by Elizabeth B. Bliss]
_To W. D. B. and A. B._
LONDON, April 2 [1847].
Here it is the day before the despatches leave and I have not written a
single line to you. . . . On Friday we dined at Lady Charlotte Lindsay’s,
where were Lord Brougham and Lady Mallet, Mr. Rogers and the Bishop of
Norwich and his wife. In the evening Miss Agnes Berry, who never goes
out now, came on purpose to appoint an evening to go and see her sister,
who is the one that Horace Walpole wished to marry, and to whom so many
of his later letters are addressed. She is eighty-four, her sister a few
years younger, and Lady Charlotte not much their junior.
These remnants of the _belles-esprits_ of the last age are charming to
me. They have a vast and long experience of the best social circles,
with native wit, and constant practice in the conversation of society. . . .
On Wednesday, we dined at Sir Robert Peel’s, with whom I was more
charmed than with anybody I have seen yet. I sat between him and the
Speaker of the House of Commons. I was told that he was stiff and
stately in his manners, but did not think him so, and am inclined to
imagine that free from the burden of the Premiership, he unbends more.
He talked constantly with me, and in speaking of a certain picture said,
“When you come to Drayton Manor I shall show it to you.” I should like
to go there, but to see himself even more than his pictures. Lady Peel
is still a very handsome woman.
The next morning we breakfasted with Mr. Rogers. He lives, as you
probably know, in [a] beautiful house, though small, whose rooms look
upon the Green Park, and filled with pictures and marbles. We stayed an
hour or more after the other guests, listening to his stores of literary
anecdote and pleasant talk. In the evening we went to the Miss Berrys’,
where we found Lord Morpeth, who is much attached to them. Miss Berry
put her hand on his head, which is getting a little gray, and said: “Ah,
George, and I remember the day you were born, your grandmother brought
you and put you in my arms.” Now this grandmother of Lord Morpeth’s was
the celebrated Duchess of Devonshire, who electioneered for Fox, and he
led her to tell me all about her. “Eothen” was also there, Lady Lewis
and many of my friends. . . . Aunty wishes to know who is “Eothen.” She
has probably read his book, “Eothen, or Traces of Travel,” which was very
popular two or three years since. He is a young lawyer, Mr. Kinglake,
the most modest, unassuming person in his manners, very shy and
altogether very unlike the dashing, spirited young Englishman I figured
to myself, whom nothing could daunt from the Arab even to the plague,
which he defied.
[Picture: A. W. Kinglake (“Eothen”). From a photograph]
_To I. P. D._
DEAR UNCLE AND AUNT: On Thursday [the 25th] we were invited to Sir John
Pakington’s, whose wife is the Bishop of Rochester’s daughter, but were
engaged to Mr. Senior, who had asked us to meet the Archbishop of Dublin,
the celebrated Dr. Whately. He had come over from Ireland to make a
speech in the House of Lords upon the Irish Poor Law. He is full of
learning [and] simplicity, and with most genial hearty manners. Rogers
was also there and said more fine things than I have heard him say before
at dinner, as he is now so deaf that he does not hear general
conversation, and cannot tell where to send his shaft, which is always
pointed. He retains all his sarcasm and epigrammatic point, but he
shines now especially at breakfast, where he has his audience to himself.
We went from Mr. Senior’s to Mr. Milman’s, but nearly all the guests
there were departed or departing, though one or two returned with us to
the drawing-room to stay the few minutes we did. Among the lingerers we
found Sir William and Lady Duff Gordon, the two Warburtons, “Hochelaga”
and “Crescent and Cross,” and “Eothen.” Mrs. Milman I really love, and
we see much of them.
On Saturday was the dreaded Drawing-Room, on which occasion I was to be
presented to the Queen. . . . Mr. Bancroft and I left home at a quarter
past one. On our arrival we passed through one or two corridors, lined
by attendants with battle-axes and picturesque costumes, looking very
much like the supernumeraries on the stage, and were ushered into the
ante-room, a large and splendid room, where only the Ministers and Privy
Councillors, with their families, are allowed to go with the Diplomatic
Corps. Here we found Lady Palmerston, who showed me a list she had got
Sir Edward Cust, the master of ceremonies, to make out of the order of
precedence of the Diplomatic Corps, and when the turn would come for us
who were to be newly presented. The room soon filled up and it was like
a pleasant party, only more amusing, as the costumes of both gentlemen
and ladies were so splendid. I got a seat in the window with Madam Van
de Weyer and saw the Queen’s train drive up. At the end of this room are
two doors: at the left hand everybody enters the next apartment where the
Queen and her suite stand, and after going round the circle, come out at
the right-hand door. After those who are privileged to go _first_ into
the _ante-room_ leave it, the general circle pass in, and they also go in
and out the same doors. But to go back. The left-hand door opens and
Sir Edward Cust leads in the Countess Dietrichstein, who is the eldest
Ambassadress, as the Countess St. Aulair is in Paris. As she enters she
drops her train and the gentlemen ushers open it out like a peacock’s
tail. Then Madam Van de Weyer, who comes next, follows close upon the
train of the former, then Baroness Brunnow, the Madam Bunsen, then Madam
Lisboa, then Lady Palmerston, who, as the wife of the Minister for
Foreign Affairs, is to introduce the Princess Callimachi, Baroness de
Beust, and myself. She stations herself by the side of the Queen and
names us as we pass. The Queen spoke to none of us, but gave me a very
gracious smile, and when Mr. Bancroft came by, she said: “I am very glad
to have had the pleasure of seeing Mrs. Bancroft to-day.” I was not [at]
all frightened and gathered up my train with as much self-possession as
if I were alone. I found it very entertaining afterward to watch the
reception of the others. The Diplomatic Corps remain through the whole,
the ladies standing on the left of the Queen and the gentlemen in the
centre, but all others pass out immediately. . . . On Sunday evening Mr.
Bancroft set off for Paris to pass the Easter recess of Parliament. . . .
I got a very interesting letter yesterday from Mr. Bancroft. It seems
that the Countess Circourt, whose husband has reviewed his book and
Prescott’s, is a most charming person, and makes her house one of the
most brilliant and attractive in Paris. Since he left, a note came from
Mr. Hallam, the contents of which pleased me as they will you. It
announced that Mr. Bancroft was chosen an Honorary Member of the Society
of Antiquaries, of which Lord Mahon is president, Hallam, vice-president.
Hallam says the society is very old and that he is the first citizen of
the United States upon whom it has been conferred, but that he will not
long possess it exclusively, as his “highly distinguished countryman, Mr.
Prescott, has also been proposed.”
_To W. D. B. and A. B._
Tuesday.
MY DEAR SONS: . . . On Monday morning came the dear Miss Berrys, to beg
me to come that evening to join their circle. They have always the best
people in London about them, young as well as old.
The old and the middle-aged are more attended to here than with us, where
the young are all in all. As Hayward said to me the other evening, “it
takes time to make _people_, like cathedrals,” and Mr. Rogers and Miss
Berry could not have been what they are now, forty years ago. A long
life of experience in the midst constantly of the highest and most
cultivated circles, and with several generations of distinguished men
gives what can be acquired in no other way. Mr. Rogers said to me one
day: “I have learnt more from men that from _books_, and when I used to
be in the society of Fox and other great men of that period, and they
would sometimes say ‘I have always thought so and so,’ then I have opened
my ears and listened, for I said to myself, now I shall get at the
treasured results of the experience of these great men.” This little
saying of Mr. Rogers expresses precisely my own feelings in the society
of the venerable and distinguished here. With us society is left more to
the crudities of the young than in England. The young may be interesting
and promise much, but they are still _crude_. The elements, however
fine, are not yet completely assimilated and brought to that more perfect
tone which comes later in life.
[Picture: Samuel Rogers. From the drawing by G. Richmond (1848);
photograph copyright by Walker & Cockerell, London]
Monday, April 12th.
. . . On Saturday I went with Sir William and Lady Molesworth to their
box in the new Covent Garden opera, which has been opened for the first
time this week. There I saw Grisi and Alboni and Tamburini in the
“Semiramide.” It was a new world of delight to me. Grisi, so statuesque
and so graceful, delights the eye, the ear, and the soul. She is
sculpture, poetry, and music at the same time. . . . Mr. Bancroft has
been received with great cordiality in Paris. He has been three times
invited to the Palace, and Guizot and Mignet give him access to all that
he wants in the archives, and he passes his evenings with all the eminent
men and beautiful women of Paris. Guizot, Thiers, Lamartine, Cousin,
Salvandi, Thierry, he sees, and enjoys all. They take him to the salons,
too, of the Faubourg St. Germain, among the old French aristocracy, and
to innumerable receptions.
Wednesday.
To-morrow I go to the Drawing-Room alone, and to complete the climax, the
Queen has sent us an invitation to dine at the Palace to-morrow, and I
must go _alone_ for the _first time_. If I live through it, I will tell
you all about it; but is it not awkward in the extreme?
Friday Morning.
At eight o’clock in the evening I drove to the Palace. My dress was my
currant-colored or grosseille velvet with a wreath of white Arum lilies
woven into a kind of turban, with green leave and bouquet to match, on
the bertha of Brussels lace. I was received by a servant, who escorted
me through a long narrow corridor the length of Winthrop Place and
consigned me to another who escorted me in his turn, through another
wider corridor to the foot of a flight of stairs which I ascended and
found another servant, who took my cloak and showed me into the grand
corridor or picture gallery; a noble apartment of interminable length;
and surrounded by pictures of the best masters. General Bowles, the
Master of the Household, came forward to meet me, and Lord Byron, who is
one of the Lords in Waiting. I found Madam Lisboa already arrived, and
soon came in Lord and Lady Palmerston, the Duke of Norfolk, the Marquis
and Marchioness of Exeter, Lord and Lady Dalhousie, Lord Charles
Wellesley, son of the Duke of Wellington, Lady Byron, and Mr. Hallam. We
sat and talked as at any other place, when at last the Queen was
announced. The gentlemen ranged themselves on one side, and we on the
other, and the Queen and Prince passed through, she bowing, and we
profoundly curtseying. As soon as she passed the Marquis of Exeter came
over and took Madam Lisboa, and Lord Dalhousie came and took me. The
Queen and Prince sat in the middle of a long table, and I was just
opposite the Prince, between Lord Exeter and Lord Dalhousie, who is the
son of the former Governor of Nova Scotia, was in the last ministry, and
a most agreeable person. I talked to my neighbors as at any other
dinner, but the Queen spoke to no one but Prince Albert, with a word or
two to the Duke of Norfolk, who was on her right, and is the first peer
of the realm.
The dinner was rather quickly despatched, and when the Queen rose we
followed her back into the corridor. She walked to the fire and stood
some minutes, and then advanced to me and enquired about Mr. Bancroft,
his visit to Paris, if he had been there before, etc. I expressed, of
course, the regret he would feel at losing the honor of dining with Her
Majesty, etc. She then had a talk with Lady Palmerston, who stood by my
side, then with all the other ladies in succession, until at last Prince
Albert came out, soon followed by the other gentlemen. The Prince then
spoke to all the ladies, as she had done, while she went in succession to
all the gentlemen guests. This took some time and we were obliged to
stand all the while.
At last the Queen, accompanied by her Lady in Waiting, Lady Mount
Edgcumbe, went to a sofa at the other end of the corridor in front of
which was a round table surrounded by arm-chairs. When the Queen was
seated Lady Mount Edgcumbe came to us and requested us to take our seats
round the table. This was a little prim, for I did not know exactly how
much I might talk to others in the immediate presence of the Queen, and
everybody seemed a little constrained. She spoke to us all, and very
soon such of the gentlemen as were allowed by their rank, joined us at
the round table. Lord Dalhousie came again to my side and I had as
pleasant a conversation with him, rather _sotto voce_, however, as I
could have had at a private house. At half-past ten the Queen rose and
shook hands with each lady; we curtsied profoundly, and she and the
Prince departed. We then bade each other good-night, and found our
carriages as soon as we chose.
_To W. D. B. and A. B._
LONDON, May 16, 1847.
MY DEAR SONS: My letters by this steamer will have very little interest
for you, as, from being in complete retirement, I have no new things to
related to you. . . . We have taken advantage of our leisure to drive a
little into the country, and on Tuesday I had a pleasure of the highest
order in driving down to Esher and passing a quiet day with Lady Byron,
the widow of the poet. She is an intimate friend of Miss Murray, who has
long wished us to see her and desired her to name the day for our visit.
[Picture: Lady Byron. From the portrait in the possession of Sir J.
Tollemache Sinclair, Bart.]
Esher is a little village about sixteen miles from London, and Lady Byron
has selected it as her residence, though her estates are in
Leicestershire, because it is near Lord and Lady Lovelace, her only
child, the “_Ada_” of poetry. We went in our own carriage, taking Miss
Murray with us, and as the country is now radiant with blossoms and
glowing green, the drive itself was very agreeable. We arrived at two
o’clock, and found only Lady Byron, with the second boy of Lady Lovelace
and his tutor. Lady Byron is now about fifty-five, and with the remains
of an attractive, if not brilliant beauty. She has extremely delicate
features, and very pale and finely delicate skin. A tone of voice and
manner of the most trembling refinement, with a culture and strong
intellect, almost masculine, but which betrays itself under such sweet
and gentle and unobtrusive forms that one is only led to perceive it by
slow degrees. She is the most modest and unostentatious person one can
well conceive. She lives simply, and the chief of her large income (you
know she was the rich Miss Milbank) she devotes to others. After lunch
she wished me to see a little of the country round Esher and ordered her
ponies and small carriage for herself and me, while Mr. Bancroft and Miss
Murray walked. We went first to the royal seat, Claremont, where the
Princess Charlotte lived so happily with Leopold, and where she died.
Its park adjoins Lady Byron’s, and the Queen allows her a private key
that she may enjoy its exquisite grounds. Here we left the pedestrians,
while Lady Byron took me a more extensive drive, as she wished to show me
some of the heaths in the neighborhood, which are covered with furze, now
one mass of yellow bloom.
Every object is seen in full relief against the sky, and a figure on
horseback is peculiarly striking. I am always reminded of the beginning
of one of James’s novels, which is usually, you know, after this manner:
“It was toward the close of a dull autumn day that two horsemen were
seen,” etc., etc. Lady Byron took me to the estate of a neighboring
gentleman, to show me a fine old tower covered with ivy, where Wolsey
took refuge from his persecutors, with his faithful follower, Cromwell.
Upon our return we found the last of the old harpers, blind, and with a
genuine old Irish harp, and after hearing his national melodies for half
an hour, taking a cup of coffee, and enjoying a little more of Lady
Byron’s conversation, we departed, having had a day heaped up with the
richest and best enjoyments. I could not help thinking, as I was walking
up and down the beautiful paths of Claremont Park, with the fresh spring
air blowing about me, the primroses, daisies, and wild bluebells under my
feet, and Lady Byron at my side, that it was more like a page out of a
poem than a reality.
On Sunday night any Americans who are here come to see us. . . . Mr.
Harding brought with him a gentleman, whom he introduced as Mr. Alison.
Mr. Bancroft asked him if he were related to Archdeacon Alison, who wrote
the “Essay on Taste.” “I am his son,” said he. “Ah, then, you are the
brother of the historian?” said Mr. Bancroft. “I am the historian,” was
the reply. . . . An evening visitor is a thing unheard of, and therefore
my life is very lonely, now I do not go into society. I see no one
except Sunday evenings, and, occasionally, a friend before dinner.
_To W. D. B. and A. B._
LONDON, May 24, [1847].
MY DEAR SONS: . . . On Friday we both went to see the Palace of Hampton
Court with my dear, good, Miss Murray, Mr. Winthrop and son, and Louise.
. . . On our arrival, we found, to our great vexation, that Friday was
the only day in the week in which visitors were not admitted, and that we
must content ourselves with seeing the grounds and go back without a
glimpse of its noble galleries of pictures. Fortunately for us, Miss
Murray had several friends among the persons to whom the Queen has
assigned apartments in the vast edifice, and they willingly yielded their
approbation of our admission if she could possibly win over Mrs. Grundy,
the housekeeper. This name sounded rather inauspicious, but Mr. Winthrop
suggested that there might be a “Felix” to qualify it, and so in this
case it turned out. Mrs. Grundy asserted that such a thing had never
been done, that it was a very dangerous precedent, etc., but in the end
the weight of a Maid of Honor and a Foreign Minister prevailed, and we
saw everything to much greater advantage than if we had 150 persons
following on, as Mr. Winthrop says he had the other day at Windsor
Castle. . . . On our way [home] we met Lady Byron with her pretty little
carriage and ponies. She alighted and we did the same, and had quite a
pleasant little interview in the dusty road.
Sunday, May 30th.
Your father left town on Monday. . . . He did not return until the 27th,
the morning of the Queen’s Birthday Drawing-Room. On that occasion I
went dressed in white mourning. . . . It was a petticoat of white crape
flounced to the waist with the edges notched. A train of white glacé
trimmed with a ruche of white crape. A wreath and bouquet of white
lilacs, without any green, as green is not used in mourning. The array
of diamonds on this occasion was magnificent in the highest degree, and
everybody was in their most splendid array. The next evening there was a
concert at the Palace, at which Jenny Lind, Grisi, Alboni, Mario, and
Tamburini sang. I went dressed in [a] deep black dress and enjoyed the
music highly. Seats were placed in rows in the concert-room and one sat
quietly as if in church. At the end of the first part, the royal family
with their royal guests, the Grand Duke Constantine of Russia, and the
Grand Duke and Duchess of Saxe-Weimar went to the grand dining-room and
supped by themselves, with their suites, while another elegant
refreshment table was spread in another apartment for the other guests. . . .
Jenny Lind a little disappointed me, I must confess, but they tell me
that her songs were not adapted on that evening to the display of her
voice.
On Sunday evening your father dined with Baron Brunnow, the Russian
Minister, to meet the Grand Duke Constantine. It so happened that the
Grand Duke and Duchess of Saxe-Weimar appointed an audience to Baron and
Baroness Brunnow at seven, and they had not returned at half-past seven,
when the Grand Duke and their other guests arrived. The Baroness
immediately advanced to the Grand Duke and sunk on her knees before him,
asking pardon in Russian. He begged her to rise, but she remained in the
attitude of deep humiliation, until the Grand Duke sunk also on _his_
knees and gently raised her, and then kissed her on the cheek, a
privilege, you know, of royalty.
. . . On Monday evening we both went to a concert at Mr. Hudson’s, the
great railway “king,” who has just made an immense fortune from railway
stocks, and is now desirous to get into society. These things are
managed in a curious way here. A _nouveau riche_ gets several ladies of
fashion to patronize their entertainment and invite all the guests. Our
invitation was from Lady Parke, who wrote me two notes about it, saying
that she would be happy to meet me at Mrs. Hudson’s splendid mansion,
where would be the best music and society of London; and, true enough,
there was the Duke of Wellington and all the world. Lady Parke stood at
the entrance of the splendid suite of rooms to receive the guests and
introduce them to their host and hostess. On Tuesday morning I got a
note from Mr. Eliot Warburton (brother of “Hochelaga”) to come to his
room at two o’clock and look at some drawings. To our surprise we found
quite a party seated at lunch, and a collection of many agreeable persons
and some lions and lionesses. There was Lord Ross, the great astronomer;
Baroness Rothschild, a lovely Jewess; Miss Strickland, the authoress of
the “Queens of England”; “Eōthen,” and many more. Mr. Polk, _Chargé_ at
Naples, and brother of the President, dined with us, and Miss Murray, and
in the evening came Mr. and Mrs. McLean, he a son of Judge McLean, of
Ohio.
[Picture: George Hudson, the “Railway King”. From the engraving after F.
Grant]
June 17th.
On Friday evening we went to the Queen’s Ball, and for the first time saw
Her Majesty dance, which she does very well, and so does the Duchess of
Sutherland, grandmother though she be.
On Monday evening we went to a concert given to the Queen by the Duke of
Wellington at Apsley House. This was an occasion not to be forgotten,
but I cannot describe it. On Tuesday I went for the first time to hear a
debate upon the Portugal interference in the House of Lords. It brought
out all the leaders, and I was so fortunate as to hear a most powerful
speech from Lord Stanley, one from Lord Lansdowne in defence of the
Ministry and one from the Duke of Wellington, who, on this occasion,
sided with the Ministers. On Wednesday was the great _fête_ given by the
Duchess of Sutherland to the Queen. It was like a chapter of a fairy
tale. Persons from all the courts of Europe who were there told us that
nowhere in Europe was there anything as fine as the hall and grand
staircase where the Duchess received her guests. It exceeded my utmost
conceptions of magnificence and beauty. The vast size of the apartment,
the vaulted ceilings, the arabesque ornaments, the fine pictures, the
profusion of flowers, the music, the flourish of trumpets, as the Queen
passed backward and forward, the superb dresses and diamonds of the
women, the parti-colored full dress of the gentlemen all contributed to
make up a scene not to be forgotten. The Queen’s Ball was not to be
compared to it, so much more effective is Stafford House than Buckingham
Palace. . . . We were fortunate to be present there, for Stafford House
is not opened in this way but once in a year or two, and the Duke’s
health is now so very uncertain, that it may be many years before it
happens again. He was not present the other evening.
_To Mr. and Mrs. I. P. D._
LONDON, June 20, 1847.
MY DEAR UNCLE AND AUNT: On the 19th, Saturday, we breakfasted with Lady
Byron and my friend, Miss Murray, at Mr. Rogers’. He and Lady Byron had
not met for many, many years, and their renewal of old friendship was
very interesting to witness. Mr. Rogers told me that he first introduced
her to Lord Byron. After breakfast he had been repeating some lines of
poetry which he thought fine, when he suddenly exclaimed: “But there is a
bit of American _prose_, which, I think, had more poetry in it than
almost any modern verse.” He then repeated, I should think, more than a
page from Dana’s “Two Years Before the Mast,” describing the falling
overboard of one of the crew, and the effect it produced, not only at the
moment, but for some time afterward. I wondered at his memory, which
enabled him to recite so beautifully a long prose passage, so much more
difficult than verse. Several of those present with whom the book was a
favorite, were so glad to hear from me that it was as _true_ as
interesting, for they had regarded it as partly a work of imagination.
Lady Byron had told Mr. Rogers when she came in that Lady Lovelace, her
daughter (Ada) wished also to pay him a visit, and would come after
breakfast to join us for half an hour. She also had not seen Rogers, I
_believe_, ever. Lady Lovelace joined us soon after breakfast, and as we
were speaking of the enchantment of Stafford House on Wednesday evening,
Mr. Rogers proposed to go over it and see its fine pictures by daylight.
He immediately went himself by a short back passage through the park to
ask permission and returned with all the eagerness and gallantry of a
young man to say that he had obtained it. We had thus an opportunity of
seeing, in the most leisurely way and in the most delightful society, the
fine pictures and noble apartments of Stafford House again.
. . . On Tuesday Mr. Hallam took us to the British Museum, and being a
director, he could enter on a private day, when we were not annoyed by a
crowd, and, moreover, we had the advantage of the best interpreters and
guides. We did not even enter the library, which requires a day by
itself, but confined ourselves to the Antiquity rooms. . . . As I entered
the room devoted to the Elgin marbles, the works of the “divine Phidias,”
I stepped with awe, as if entering a temple, and the Secretary, who was
by my side, observing it, told me that the Grand Duke Constantine, when
he came a few days before, made, as he entered, a most profound and
reverential bow. This was one of my most delightful mornings, and I left
the Antiquities with a stronger desire to see them again than before I
had seen them at all.
Sunday, June 27th.
. . . I went on Wednesday to dine at Lord Monteagle’s to meet Father
Mathew, and the Archbishop of Dublin (Dr. Whately) also dined there.
Father Mathew spoke with great interest of America and of American
liberality, and is very anxious to go to our country. He saw Mr. Forbes
at Cork and spoke of him with great regard. . . . On [Saturday] Mr.
Bancroft went to the palace to see the King of the Belgians, with the
rest of the Diplomatic Corps. After his return we went to Westminster
Hall to see the prize pictures, as Lord Lansdowne had sent us tickets for
the private view. The Commission of Fine Arts have offered prizes for
the best historical pictures that may serve to adorn the new Houses of
Parliament, and the pictures of this collection were all painted with
that view. One of those which have received a prize is John Robinson
bestowing his farewell blessing upon the Pilgrims at Leyden, which is
very pleasing. It was to me like a friend in a strange country, and I
lingered over it the longest.
July 2d.
Wednesday [evening] we went to Lady Duff Gordon’s, who is the daughter of
Mrs. Austin, where was a most agreeable party, and among others,
Andersen, the Danish poet-author of the “Improvisatore.” He has a most
striking poetical physiognomy, but as he talked only German or bad
French, I left him to Mr. Bancroft in the conversation way.
The next morning before nine o’clock we were told that Mr. Rogers, the
poet, was downstairs. I could not imagine what had brought him out so
early, but found that Moore, the poet, had come to town and would stay
but a day, and we must go that very morning and breakfast with him at ten
o’clock. We went and found a delightful circle. I sat between Moore and
Rogers, who was in his very best humor. Moore is but a wreck, but most a
interesting one.
_To Mr. and Mrs. I. P. D._
NUNEHAM PARK, July 27, 1847.