THE GREAT WAR
I was very busy with oil brush and water-colour brush during the summer
of 1913, and the succeeding winter, in Ireland, accomplishing a large
oil, “The Cuirassier’s Last _Reveil_, Morning of Waterloo,” and a number
of drawings, all of that inexhaustible battle, for my next “one-man
show” held on its centenary, 1915. I left no stone unturned to get true
studies of dawn twilight for that _reveil_, and I got them. At the
pretty house of my friends, the Egerton Castles, on a steep Surrey hill,
I had my chance. The house faced the east. It was midsummer; an alarm
clock roused me each morning at 2.30. I had modelled a little grey horse
and a man, and set them up on my balcony, facing in the right direction,
and there I waited, with palette spread, for the dawn. Time was short;
the first ray of sunrise would spoil all, so I could only dab down the
tones, anyhow; but they were all-important dabs, and made the big
picture run without a hitch. Nothing delays a picture more than the
searching for the true relations of tone without sufficient data. But
this is a truism.
The Waterloo water colours were most interesting to work out. I had any
amount of books for reference, records of old uniforms to get from
contemporary paintings; and I utilised the many studies of horses I had
made for years, chiefly on the chance of their coming in useful some
day. The result was the best “show” I had yet had at the Leicester
Galleries. But ere that exhibition opened, the World War burst upon us!
First my soldier son went off, and then the Benedictine donned khaki, as
chaplain to the forces. He went, one may say, from the cloister to the
cannon. I had to pass through the ordeal which became the lot of so many
mothers of sons throughout the Empire.
“_Lyndhurst, New Forest, September 22nd, 1914._--I must keep up the old
Diary during this most eventful time, when the biggest war the world has
ever been stricken with is raging. To think that I have lived to see it!
It was always said a war would be too terrible now to run the risk of,
and that nations would fear too much to hazard such a peril. Lo! here we
are pouring soldiers into the great jaws of death in hundreds of
thousands, and sending poor human flesh and blood to face the new
‘scientific’ warfare--the same flesh and blood and nervous system of the
days of bows and arrows. Patrick is off as A.D.C. to General Capper,
commanding the 7th Division. Martin, who was the first to be ordered to
the front, attached to the 2nd Royal Irish, has been transferred to the
wireless military station at Valentia. That regiment has been utterly
shattered in the Mons retreat, so I have reason to be thankful for the
change. I am here, at Patrick’s suggestion, that I may see an army under
war conditions and have priceless opportunities of studying ‘the real
thing.’ The 7th Division[18] is now nearly complete, and by October 3rd
should be on the sea. I arrived at Southampton to-day, and my good old
son in his new Staff uniform was at the station ready to motor me up to
Lyndhurst where the Staff are, and all the division, under canvas. I was
very proud of the red tabs on Patrick’s collar, meaning so much. I saw
at once, on arriving, the difference between this and my Aldershot
impressions. This is _war_, and there is no doubt the bearing of the men
is different. They were always smart, always cheery, _but not like
this_. There is a quiet seriousness quite new to me. They are going to
look death straight in the face.
“_September 23rd._--I had a most striking lesson in the appearance of
men after a very long march, _plus_ that look which is quite absent on
peace manœuvres, however hot and trying the conditions. What
surprises and telling ‘bits’ one sees which could never be imagined with
such a convincing power. A team of eight mammoth shire horses drawing a
great gun is a sight never to be forgotten; shapely, superb cart horses
with coats as satiny as any thoroughbred’s, in polished artillery
harness, with the mild eyes of their breed--I must do that amongst many
most _real_ subjects. But I see the German shells ploughing through
these teams of willing beasts. They will suffer terribly.
“_September 25th._--Getting hotter every day and not a cloud. I brought
this weather with me. Patrick waits on me whenever he is off duty for an
hour or so, and it is a charming experience to have him riding by the
side of the carriage to direct the driver and explain to me every
necessary detail. The place swarms with troops for ever in movement, and
the roll of guns and drums, and the notes of the cheery pipes and fifes
go on all day. The Gordons have arrived.
[Illustration: NOTES ON THE EVE OF THE GREAT WAR.]
“_September 26th._--Signs of pressure. They may now be off any hour.
The ammunition has all arrived, and there wants but one battery of
artillery to complete the division. General Capper won’t wait much
longer and will be off without it if it delays and make up a battery _en
route_ somehow. It is sad to see so many mere boys arriving at the hotel
fresh from Sandhurst. They are given companies to command, captains
being killed, wounded or missing in such numbers. As to Patrick’s
regiment, the old Royal Irish seem to have been so shattered that they
are all _hors de combat_ for the present.
“_September 27th._--What a precious Sunday this has been! First, Patrick
accompanied me to Mass, said by Father Bernard Vaughan, in a secluded
part of the camp, where the heather had not been ploughed up by men,
horses and guns, as elsewhere, and where the altar was erected in a
wooded glen. The Grenadier and Scots Guards were all on their knees as
we arrived, and the bright green and gold vestments of the priest were
relieved very vividly in the sunshine against the darker green
background of the forest beyond. Quite a little crowd of stalwart
guardsmen received Holy Communion, and two of them were sheltering with
their careful hands the candles from the soft warm breeze, one at each
end of the altar. We sit out in the leafy garden of the hotel and have
tea there, we parents and relatives, with our boys by us at all spare
moments. To-day, being Sunday, there have been extra crowds of relatives
and friends who have motored over from afar. There is pathos here, very
real pathos. How many of these husbands and sons and brothers I see
sitting close to their dear ones, for the last time, perhaps! Who knows?
The voices are low and quiet--very quiet. Patrick and I were
photographed together by M. E. These little snapshots will be precious.
We were nearly all day together to-day as there was a rest. All this
quiet time here our brave soldiers are being shattered on the banks of
the Aisne. Just now must be a tremendously important period of the
fighting. We may get great news to-morrow. Many names I know beginning
to appear in the casualty lists.
“_September 28th, 1914._--Had a good motor run with the R.’s right
through the field of ‘battle’ in the midst of the great forest--a
rolling height covered with heather and bracken. Our soldiers certainly
have learnt, at last, how to take cover. One can easily realise how it
is that the proportion of officers killed is so high. Kneeling or
standing up to give directions they are very conspicuous, whereas of the
men one catches only a glimpse of their presence now and then through a
tell-tale knapsack or the round top of a cap in the bracken; yet the
ground is packed with men--quite uncanny. The Gordons were a beautiful
sight as they sprang up to reach a fresh position. I noticed how the
breeze, as they ran, blew the khaki aprons aside and the revealed tartan
kilts gave a welcome bit of colour and touched up the drab most
effectively. One ‘gay Gordon’ sergeant told us, ‘We are a grand
diveesion, all old warriors, and when we get out ‘twill make a
deeference.’”
The most impressive episode to me of that well-remembered day was when
Patrick took me up to the high ground at sunset and we looked down on
the camp. The mellow, very red sun was setting and the white moon was
already well up over the camp, which looked mysterious, lightly veiled
by the thin grey wood-smoke of the fires. Thousands of troops were
massed or moving, shadowy, far away; others in the middle distance
received the blood-red glow on the men’s faces with an extraordinary
effect. They showed as ruddy, vaporous lines of colour over the scarcely
perceptible tones of the dusky uniforms. Horses stood up dark on the
sky-line. The bugles sounded the “Retreat”; these doomed legions,
shadow-like, moved to and fro. It was the prologue to a great tragedy.
“_September 30th._--There was a field day of the whole of one brigade.
The regiments in it are ‘The Queen’s,’ the Welsh Fusiliers, Staffords,
and Warwicks, with the monstrous 4·7 guns drawn by my well-loved mighty
mammoths. The guns are made impossible to the artist of modern war by
being daubed in blue and red blotches which make them absolutely
formless and, of course, no glint of light on the hidden metal is seen.
Still, there is much that is very striking, though the colour, the
sparkle, the gallant plumage, the glinting of gold and silver, have
given way to universal grimness. After all, why dress up grim war in all
that splendour? My idea of war subjects has always been anti-sparkle.
“As I sat in the motor in the centre of the far-flung ‘battle,’ in a
hollow road, lo! the Headquarter Staff came along, a gallant group, _à
la_ Meissonier, Patrick, on his skittish brown mare ‘Dawn,’ riding
behind the General, who rode a big black (_very_ effective), with the
chief of the Staff nearly alongside. The escort consisted of a strong
detachment of the fine Northumberland Hussars, mounted on their own
hunters. They are to be the bodyguard of the General at the Front.
Several drivers of the artillery are men who were wounded at Mons and
elsewhere, and, being well again, are returning with this division to
the Front. All the horses here are superb. Poor beasts, poor beasts! One
daily, hourly, reminds oneself that the very dittoes of these men and
animals are suffering, fighting, dying over there in France. Kitchener
tells our General that the 7th Division will ‘probably arrive after the
first phase is over,’ which looks as though he fully expects the
favourable and early end of the present one.
“_October 2nd._--The whole division was out to-day. I was motored into
the very thick of the operations on the high lands, and watched the men
entrenching themselves, a thing I had never yet seen. Most picturesque
and telling. And the murderous guns were being embedded in the yellow
earth and covered with heather against aeroplanes, especially, and their
wheels masked with horse blankets. There they lay, black, hump-backed
objects, with just their mouths protruding, and as each gun section
finished their work with the pick and shovel, they lay flat down to hide
themselves. How war is waged now! Great news allowed to be published
to-day in the papers. The Indian Army has arrived, and is now at the
_Front!_ It landed long ago at Marseilles, but how well the secret has
been kept! How mighty are the events daily occurring. Late in the
afternoon I saw the Northumberland Hussars, on a high ridge, _practising
the sword exercise!_ With the idea that the sword was obsolete
(engendered by the Boer War experience), no yeomanry has, of late, been
armed with sabres, but, seeing what use our Scots Greys, Lancers,
Dragoon Guards and Hussars have lately been making of the steel, General
Capper has insisted on these, his own yeomen, being thus armed. I felt
stirred with the pathos of this sight--men learning how to use a new
arm on the eve of battle. They were mounted and drawn up in a long,
two-deep line on that brown heath, with a heavy bank of dark clouds like
mine in ‘Scotland for Ever!’ behind their heads--a fine subject.
[Illustration: THE SHIRE HORSES: WHEELERS OF A 4·7,
A HUSSAR SCOUT OF 1917.]
“Who will look at my ‘Waterloos’ now? I have but one more of that series
to do. Then I shall stop and turn all my attention and energy to this
stupendous war. I shall call up my Indian sowars again, but _not_ at
play this time.
“_October 3rd_.--Sketched Patrick’s three beautiful chargers’ heads in
water colour. Still the word ‘Go!’ is suspended over our heads.
“_October 4th_.--The word ‘Go!’ has just sounded. In ten minutes Patrick
had to run and get his handbag, great coat and sword and be off with his
General to London. They pass through here to-morrow on their way to
embark.
“_October 5th_, 1914.--I was down at seven, and as they did not finally
leave till 8.15 I had a golden half-hour’s respite. Then came the
parting....”
I left Lyndhurst at once. It will ever remain with me in a halo of
physical and spiritual sunshine seen through a mist of sadness.
On November 2nd, 1914, my son Patrick was severely wounded during the
terrible, prolonged first Battle of Ypres, and was sent home to be
nursed back to health and fighting power at Guy’s Hospital, where I saw
him. He told me that as he lay on the field his General and Staff passed
by, and all the General said was, “Hullo, Butler! is that you?
Good-bye!”[19] General Capper was as brave a soldier as ever lived,
but, I think, too fond for a General of being, as he said he wished to
be, _in the vanguard_. Thus he met his death (riding on horseback, I
understand) at Loos. Patrick’s brother A.D.C., Captain Isaac, whom I
daily used to see at Lyndhurst, was killed early in the War. The poor
fellow, to calm my apprehensions regarding my own son, had tried to
assure me that, as A.D.C., he would be as safe as in Piccadilly.
Towards the end of 1914 London had become intensely interesting in its
tragic aspect, and so very unlike itself. Soldiers of all ranks formed
the majority of the male population. In fact, wherever I looked now
there was some new sight of absorbing interest, telling me we were at
war, and such a war! Bands were playing at recruiting stations; flags of
all the Allies fluttered in the breeze in gaudy bunches; “pom-pom” guns
began to appear, pointing skywards from their platforms in the parks,
awaiting “Taubes” or “Zeppelins.” I went daily to watch the recruits
drilling in the parks--such strangely varied types of men they were, and
most of them appearing the veriest civilians, from top to toe. Yet these
very shop-boys had come forward to offer their all for England, and the
good fellows bowed to the terrible, shouting drill-sergeants as never
they had bowed to any man before. What enraged me was the giggling of
the shop-girls who looked on--a far harder ordeal for the boys even than
the yells of the sergeants. One of the squads in the Green Park was
supremely interesting to me one day, in (I am bound to say) a semi-comic
way. These recruits were members and associates of the Royal Academy.
They were mostly somewhat podgy, others somewhat bald. When resting,
having piled arms, they played leap-frog, which was very funny, and
showed how light-heartedly my brothers of the brush were going to meet
the Boche. Of the maimed and blind men one met at every turn I can
scarcely write. I find that when I am most deeply moved my pen lags too
far behind my brush.
On getting home to Ireland I set to work upon a series of khaki water
colours of the War for my next “one-man show,” which opened with most
satisfactory _éclat_ in May, 1917. One of the principal subjects was
done under the impulse of a great indignation, for Nurse Cavell had been
executed. I called the drawing “The Avengers.” Also I exhibited at the
Academy, at the same time, “The Charge of the Dorset Yeomanry at Agagia,
Egypt.” This was a large oil painting, commissioned by Colonel Goodden
and presented by him to his county of Dorset. That charge of the British
yeomen the year before had sealed the fate of the combined Turks and
Senussi, who had contemplated an attack on Egypt. One of the most
difficult things in painting a war subject is the having to introduce,
as often happens, portraits of particular characters in the drama. Their
own mothers would not know the men in the heat, dust, and excitement of
a charge, or with the haggard pallor on them of a night watch. In the
Dorset charge all the officers were portraits, and I brought as many in
as possible without too much disobeying the “distance” regulation. The
Enemy (of the Senussi tribe) wore flowing _burnouses_, which helped the
movement, but at their machine guns I, rather reluctantly, had to place
the necessary Turkish officers. I had studies for those figures and for
the desert, which I had made long ago in the East. It is well to keep
one’s sketches; they often come in very useful.
The previous year, 1916, had been a hard one. Our struggles in the War,
the Sinn Fein rebellion in Dublin, and one dreadful day in that year
when the first report of the Battle of Jutland was published--these were
great trials. I certainly would not like to go through another phase
like that. But I was hard at work in the studio at home in Tipperary,
and this kept my mind in a healthy condition, as always, through
trouble. Let all who have congenial work to do bless their stars!
On July 31st my second son, the chaplain, had a narrow escape. It was at
the great Battle of Flanders, where we seem to have made a good
_beginning_ at last. Father Knapp and Dick were tending the wounded and
dying under a rain of shells, when the old priest told Dick to go and
get a few minutes’ rest. On returning to his sorrowful work Dick met the
fine old Carmelite as he was borne on a stretcher, dying of a shell that
had exploded just where my son had been standing a few minutes before.
I see in the Diary: “_December 11th, 1917_.--To-day our army is to make
its formal entry into Jerusalem. I can scarcely write for excitement.
How vividly I see it all, knowing every yard of that holy ground! Dick
writes from before Cambrai that, if he had to go through another such
day as that of the 30th November last, he would go mad with grief. He
lost all his dearest friends in the Grenadier Guards, and he says
England little knows how near she was to a great disaster when the enemy
surprised us on that terrible Friday.”
Men who have gone through the horrors of war say little about them, but
I have learnt many strange things from rare remarks here and there. To
show how human life becomes of no account as the fighting grows, here is
an instance. A soldier was executed at dawn one day for “cowardice.” An
officer who had acted at the court-martial met a private of the same
regiment as the dead man’s that day, who remarked to his officer that
all he could say about his dead “pal” was that he had seen him perform
an act of bravery three times which would have deserved the V.C. “My
good man,” said the officer, “why didn’t you come forward at the trial
and say this?” “Well, I didn’t think of it, sir.” After all, to die one
way or another had become quite immaterial.
One of the most important of my water colours at the second khaki
exhibition, held in London in May, 1919, was of the memorable charge of
the Warwick and Worcester Yeomanry at Huj, near Jerusalem, which charge
outshone the old Balaclava one we love to remember, and which differed
from the Crimean exploit in that we not only captured all the enemy
guns, but _held_ them. I had had all details--ground plans, description
of the weather on that memorable day, position of the sun, etc.,
etc.--supplied me by an eye-witness who had a singularly quick eye and
precise perception.[20] I called it “Jerusalem delivered,” for that
charge opened the gates of the Holy City to us. “The Canadian Bombers on
Vimy Ridge” was another of the more conspicuous subjects, and this one
went to Canada.
But I must look back a little: “_Monday, November 11th,
1918_.--Armistice Day! I have been fortunate in seeing London on this
day of days. I arrived at Victoria into a London of laughter, flags,
joy-rides on every conceivable and inconceivable vehicle. I had hints on
the way to London by eruptions of Union Jacks growing thicker and
thicker along the railway, but I could not let myself believe that it
was the end of all our long-drawn-out trial that I would find on
arrival. But so it was. I went alone for a good stroll through Oxford
Street, Bond Street, and Piccadilly. People meeting, though strangers,
were smiling at each other. _I_ smiled to strange faces that were
smiling at me. What a novel sensation! The streets were thronged with
the _true_ happiness in the people’s eyes, and there was no
“_mafficking_” no horse-play, but such _fun_. The matter was too great
for rowdyism and drunkenness. The crowd was allowed to do just as it
pleased for once, yet I saw no accidents. The police just looked on, and
would have beamed also, I am sure, if they had not been on duty. They
had, apparently, thrown the reins on the public’s neck. I saw some sad
faces, but, of course, such as these kept mostly away.”
In deepest gratitude I felt I could be amongst the smilers that day, for
both my own sons, who faced death to the very end in so many of the
theatres of war to which our armies were sent, had survived.
The boat that took me back to Ireland eventually had no protecting
airship serpentining above us. We could breathe freely now!
[Illustration: A POST-CARD, FOUND ON A GERMAN PRISONER, WITH “SCOTLAND
FOR EVER” TURNED INTO PRUSSIAN CAVALRY, TYPIFYING THE VICTORIOUS ON-RUSH
OF THE GERMAN ARMY IN THE NEW YEAR, 1915.]
INDEX
Abbas II., Khedive, 228.
Aberdeen, Marchioness of, 308.
Agostino (cook), 5.
Aix-la-Chapelle, Germany, 29.
Albaro, Italy, 6, 54, 230.
Aldershot, review at, 236.
Alexandra, Queen, launches _Queen_, 288 _seq._
Alexandria, Egypt, 202 _seq._
Alma Tadema, Sir L., 154.
Amalfi, Italy, 255.
Amboise, France, 300.
Amélie (nurse), 2, 3, 5, 10.
“An Eviction in Ireland,” 199.
Angers, France, 300.
Antonelli, Cardinal, 74.
Arcole, Italy, 224.
Armistice Day, 1918, 332.
Atfeh, Egypt, 216.
Avignon, France, 178.
Bagshawe, Father, 105.
“Balaclava,” composition, 138;
copyright sold, 151;
exhibited, 152.
Bâle, Switzerland, 179.
_Barberi_ races, 85.
Beatrice, Princess, 301.
Bellucci, Giuseppe, 60, 66, 148.
Beresford, Lord Charles, 221.
Birmingham, 126.
Blois, France, 300.
Bonchurch, Isle of Wight, 12.
Bonn, Germany, 19.
Boppart, Germany, 24.
Broome Hall, Kent, 265.
Browne, Colonel, 120.
Bruges, Belgium, 16, 270.
Brussels, Belgium, 31.
Buller, Sir Redvers, 284.
Burchett, Mr., 39, 41, 42, 44, 48, 50, 101.
Butcher, Dean, 232.
Butler, Elizabeth, Lady, birth and education, 1;
visits to Italy, 3, 54 _seq._, 147 _seq._, 159 _seq._, 252 seq.,
279 _seq._, 306, 311 _seq._;
taste for drawing, 4;
early sketches, 7;
commences Diary, 7;
artistic training, 10, 14, 39 _seq._, 60 _seq._, 77;
German experiences, 19 _seq._, 179 seq.;
visits Waterloo, 31;
taste for military subjects, 46;
early exhibits, 50;
sells water-colours, 96;
first military drawings, 98;
conversion to Catholicism, 99;
first Academy picture, 99;
photographs, 114;
at Lord Mayor’s banquets, 122, 139, 153, 193;
present from Queen Victoria, 125;
visits Paris, 127 _seq._;
proposed election as R.A., 153;
marriage, 168, Irish experiences, 169 _seq._, 199, 304;
tour in Pyrenees, 175;
paints “Rorke’s Drift” for Queen Victoria, 187 _seq._;
life at Plymouth, 191;
Tel-el-Kebir picture, 194;
residence in Egypt, 196, 202 _seq._;
in Brittany, 198;
paints 24th Dragoons, 199;
tour in Palestine, 221;
Aldershot life, 234 _seq._;
residence at Dover, 260;
in South Africa, 275;
at Devonport, 277;
tour in France, 298;
“one-man” shows, 303, 318, 321, 329, 331.
----, Martin, 321.
----, Patrick, 321 _seq._
----, Richard (Urban), at Downside, 297;
enters Benedictine Order, 302;
ordained as priest, 311;
presented to Pius X., 315;
as army chaplain, 321;
war experiences, 330.
Butler, General Sir William, marriage, 168;
German tour, 179 _seq._;
Zulu War, 183;
friendship with Empress Eugénie, 185, 241, 257;
at Plymouth, 191;
at Lord Mayor’s banquet, 193;
Egyptian campaign (1882), 193;
Gordon expedition, 194;
Wady Halfa command, 196;
receives K.C.B., 199;
Alexandria command, 200;
Aldershot command, 234, 284;
Dover command, 260;
South African command, 275;
attacks on, 276;
Devonport command, 277;
tour in France, 298;
asked to stand for Parliament, 303;
on Royal Commission, 303;
speeches in Ireland, 309;
death, 310.
CAIRO, Egypt, 196.
Cambridge, Duke of, 131, 218, 235.
“Canadian Bombers on Vimy Ridge,” 331.
Canterbury, opening of church in, 132.
Cap Martin, France, 251, 257.
Capper, General, 327.
Capri, Italy, 254.
Carcassonne, France, 178.
Castagnolo, Italy, 161.
Cette, France, 177.
Chapman, Sir F., 110.
“Charge of the Dorset Yeomanry at Agagia, Egypt,” 329.
Chatham, Kent, 120.
“Cistercian Shepherd,” 305.
Coblenz, Germany, 21.
Collier, Mortimer, 192.
Cologne, Germany, 19.
Connaught, Duke of, 235.
Corpus Christi procession, 119.
Cruikshank, George, 123.
“Cuirassier’s Last Réveil, Morning of Waterloo,” 320.
D’ARCOS, Madame, 258.
“Dawn of Sedan,” 111.
“Dawn of Waterloo,” 244.
“Defence of Rorke’s Drift,” 187 _seq._
Delgany, Ireland, 199, 225.
Denbigh, Earl of, 117.
“Desert Grave,” 198.
Devonport, 277.
Deyrout, Egypt, 217.
Diamond Jubilee, 1897, 266.
Dickens, Charles, 9.
Dinan, France, 198.
Dordrecht, Holland, 181.
Dover, Kent, 38, 260.
Du Maurier, George, 107, 154.
Dufferin, Marquis of, 140.
Durham, 144.
Düsseldorf, Germany, 180.
EDENBRIDGE, Kent, 4, 185.
Edinburgh, 145.
Edkou, Egypt, 205.
Edward VII., King (formerly Albert Edward, Prince of Wales),
approves of “Roll Call,” 113;
accession, 286;
at launch of _Queen_, 289 _seq._;
lays keel of battleship, 295;
postponed coronation, 297.
_Edward VII._ (battleship), 295.
Elizabeth, Empress of Austria, 271.
Eugénie, Empress, interview with General Butler, 185;
friendship with the Butlers, 234, 251;
devotion to her son, 237;
recollections of Egypt, 241;
at Cap Martin, 257.
FARNBOROUGH, Hants., 235.
Ferguson, Sir William, 110.
“Floreat Etona!” 193.
Florence, Italy, 57 _seq._, 147 _seq._, 161.
Fort St. Julian, Egypt, 217.
Frederick, Emperor, 245.
----, Empress. _See_ Victoria, Empress Frederick.
GABRIEL, Virginia, 152.
Gallifet, Marquise de, 242.
Galloway, Mr., 111, 131.
Garibaldi, Giuseppe, 6.
Gave, River, 176.
Genoa, Italy, 5, 54, 230.
George V., King, 261.
Gladstone, W. E., 266.
Glendalough, Ireland, 199.
Gormanston, Viscountess (formerly Miss Eileen Butler), 317.
Gormanston, Ireland, 318.
Grant, Sir Hope, 115, 116.
_Graphic_, 99, 125.
HADEN, Seymour, 110.
Hadrian’s Villa, Rome, 280.
“Halt!” 119.
“Halt on a Forced March: Retreat to Corunna,” 225.
Hastings, Sussex, 9.
Heidelberg, Germany, 179.
Henley-on-Thames, 15, 97.
Henry of Battenberg, Princess. _See_ Beatrice, Princess.
Herbert, J. R., 105.
IMPERIAL, Prince. _See_ Napoleon, Prince Imperial.
“Jerusalem Delivered,” 331.
KITCHENER, Lord, 221, 272 _seq._
Koenigswinter, Germany, 19.
LANE, Richard, 11, 42.
Le Breton, Madame, 257.
Leman, Lake (Lake of Geneva), 179.
Leo XIII., Pope, 257, 280, 281, 315.
_Letters from the Holy Land_, 278.
“‘Listed for the Connaught Rangers,” 169, 184.
Lothian, Marchioness of, 118.
Louis Napoleon, Prince, 247.
Louise, Princess, Duchess of Argyll, 250.
Lourdes, France, 176.
Luchon, Bagnères de, France, 177.
Luxor, Egypt, 197.
Lyndhurst, Hants., 321.
MCKINLEY, William, 288.
“Magnificat,” 83, 97.
Magro (cook), 219.
Mahmoudich Canal, Egypt, 207.
Malmaison, France, 245.
Manning, Cardinal, 113, 133, 137.
Mareotis, Lake, 203.
Mayence, Germany, 180.
Medmenham Abbey, 15.
Metubis, Egypt, 217.
Meynell, Mrs., 10, 51, 79, 99, 119, 155.
Millais, Sir J. E., 11, 106, 107, 132, 138, 264.
“Missed!” 125.
“Missing,” 168.
Missionary College, Mill Hill, 119.
Monte Carlo, 258.
Monte Cassino, Monastery, 313.
“Morrow of Talavera,” 271.
Mulranny, Ireland, 305.
Mundy, Sergeant-Major, 31.
NAPLES, Italy, 229, 252.
Napoleon, Prince Imperial, 185, 237.
Naval Review, 1897, 269.
Nervi, Italy, 2, 4.
Newcastle-on-Tyne, 143.
_Newcomes_, illustrations to, 45.
Nîmes, France, 178.
ŒCUMENICAL COUNCIL, opening of, 79.
PAGET, Lord George, 118.
Paray-le-Monial, pilgrimage to, 99.
Patti, Adelina, 123.
Perugia, Italy, 70, 283.
Pietri, Franceschini, 243, 257.
Pisa, Italy, 161.
Pius IX., Pope, 76, 82, 90, 92, 94.
---- X., Pope, 307, 314, 316.
Podesti, Signor, 85.
Pollard, Dr., 101, 102, 104, 120, 186.
Pompeii, Italy, 253.
Porto Fino, Italy, 159, 230.
”QUATRE BRAS,” studies for, 112, 130;
models for, 120;
copyright sold, 124;
correctness of uniforms, 125;
where hung, 133;
success of, 135;
Ruskin’s approval, 146.
_Queen_, launching of, 288 _seq._
RAMLEH, Egypt, 204.
Ras-el-Tin, Egypt, 228.
“Remnants of an Army,” 184.
“Rescue of Wounded,” 278.
“Return from Inkermann,” preparations for, 153, 157, 165;
exhibited, 168.
“Réveil in the Bivouac of the Scots Greys on the Morning of Waterloo,” 232.
“Review of the Native Camel Corps at Cairo,” 230.
Rhodes, Cecil, 296.
_Riding Together_, illustrations to, 48.
“Right Wheel,” 250.
Ristori, Adelaide, 7.
Roberts, Earl, 287.
“Roll Call,” models for, 101;
methods of work, 102;
attention to details in, 103;
success of, 104;
private view, 107;
sale of copyright, 111;
bought by Queen Victoria, 111;
taken to Windsor, 116;
question of horse’s steps in, 118.
Rome, Lady Butler’s visits to, 71 _seq._, 256, 279, 306, 311 _seq._
Rosetta, Egypt, 205, 216.
Ross, Mrs. Janet, 148, 161, 165.
Rotterdam, Holland, 181.
Ruskin, John, 51, 146, 153.
Ruta, Italy, 3, 230.
ST. ETHELDREDA’S Church, London, High Mass in, 154.
St. Peter’s, Rome, functions in, 75, 280, 283.
St. Sauveur, France, 176.
Salisbury, Marquis of, 199, 262 _seq._
Salvini, Tommaso, 136.
Savennières, France, 299.
“Scotland for Ever,” 186, 187, 191.
Sestri Levante, Italy, 56.
Severn, Joseph, 78, 84, 107.
Shahzada of Afghanistan, 246.
Siena, Italy, 162.
Sistine Chapel, Rome, 281, 307.
Sori, Italy, 3.
Sorrento, Italy, 254.
South Kensington Art School, 10.
“Steady, the Drums and Fifes!” 261.
Stone, Marcus, 154.
Strettell, Rev. Alfred, 6.
Stufa, Marchese delle, 147, 161.
Super-Bagnère, France, 177.
Syndioor, Egypt, 217.
TENNYSON, Alfred, Lord, 155 _seq._
“Tenth Bengal Lancers at Tent-pegging,” 278, 287, 297.
Tewfik, Khedive, 208, 226.
“The Avengers,” 239.
“The Colours,” 271.
Thompson, Miss Alice. _See_ Meynell, Mrs.
----, Miss Elizabeth. _See_ Butler, Elizabeth, Lady.
----, Mr. T. J., 1, 2, 14, 49, 84, 191.
----, Mrs. T. J., 2, 3, 9, 12, 51, 58, 83, 84, 143, 310.
Thomson, Dr., Archbishop of York, 117.
Toulouse, France, 177.
VALENTIA Island, 174.
Vatican Gardens, Rome, 282.
Vecchii, Colonel, 6.
Venice, Italy, 200, 211, 308.
Ventnor, Isle of Wight, 12, 97.
Verona, Italy, 224.
Vesuvius, Mount, ascent of, 255.
Victor Emmanuel, King of Italy, 6.
Victor Napoleon, Prince, 247.
Victoria, Queen, buys “Roll Call,” 111;
commissions “Rorke’s Drift,” 187;
reviews troops at Aldershot, 235, 250;
death, 285.
----, Empress Frederick, 244, 286.
Vyvyan, Miss, 42.
WADY Halfa, Egypt, 197.
Wallace, Sir D. Mackenzie, 248.
Waterloo, field of, 31.
Wellington, Duke of, 33.
Westmoreland, Countess of, 110.
William II., German Emperor, 238.
“Within Sound of the Guns,” 278, 301.
Wolseley, Viscount, 194, 265.
Woolwich, review at, 117.
PRINTED IN GREAT BRITAIN BY THE WHITEFRIARS PRESS LTD. LONDON AND
TONBRIDGE.
Since I closed these Memoirs my sister, Alice Meynell, has passed away.
I feel that it is not out of place to record here the fact of her desire
that I should reduce the mention of her name throughout the book. In the
original text it had figured much oftener alongside of my own. Her wish
to keep her personality always retired prevailed upon me to delete many
an allusion to her which would have graced the text, greatly to its
advantage.
ELIZ^{TH.} BUTLER.
_31st December, 1922._
FOOTNOTES:
[1] The cattle plague was raging in England.
[2] William I., afterwards German Emperor.
[3] The severe Lady Superintendent.
[4] Whose son, Mr. Alfred Pollard, C.B., became the head of the British
Museum Printed Book Department.
[5] Manning.
[6] Poor young Inman, who was killed at the fight of Laing’s Nek, S.
Africa.
[7] “From Sketch-Book and Diary,” A. & C. Black.
[8] I have just been told by an Irishman that the Valentia breed are
trained for _racing!_
[9] “The Campaign of the Cataracts.”
[10] The late Lord Kitchener.
[11] Now King George V.
[12] Our eldest daughter Elizabeth, now Mrs. Kingscote.
[13] Some one has explained to me, with what authority I cannot tell,
that “The Sailor King” gave this order to his officers with Royal tact,
being well aware that they could no more stand, at that period of the
dinner, than he could himself. So we sit.
[14] To die during the World War.--E. B., 1921.
[15] Our second son.
[16] My daughter, Lady Gormanston, who completed and edited her father’s
autobiography, has recorded in the After-word the circumstances of his
passing.
[17] Since dead.
[18] Only a few survivors of the original division which I saw are left.
(1916.)
[19] In his little book, “A Galloper at Ypres” (Fisher Unwin), my son
gives a clear account of his own experience of that battle.
[20] Colonel the Hon. Richard Preston, whose book, “The Desert Mounted
Corps,” is a masterpiece.
* * * * *
Typographical error corrected by the etext transcriber:
Italian friend in a duett=> Italian friend in a duet {pg 3}