"Our young friend Cary has published his translation of Dante's
Inferno. It is thought the best which has appeared, and the sale
goes on well. He presents a copy to yourself and Lady Eleanor, and I
trust you will receive it soon."
After some literary disquisitions on the Inferno, the Lay of the Last
Minstrel, and Madoc; and an allusion to King George's visit to Lichfield,
the letter thus concludes:--
"Present me devoutly to your beloved Lady Eleanor. Most interesting
is your description of that visit, mutually paid to that desolate and
silent Dinbren. How worthy of yourselves that hour of consecration,
with all its tributary sighs! Too happy were the days and weeks
which I passed beneath its roof, and in its beautiful and sublime
environs, to permit such revisitation from me.
"It would break my heart amid its present consciousness, spread over
with a dark and impervious pall, which can never be drawn away.
"Dear, and amiable Miss Ponsonby, farewell."
From Lichfield, October 31st, 1805, we have another letter to Miss
Ponsonby, with the following tremendous opening:--
"Nothing, my dear Madam, is so common as hypocrisy and treachery
where property is concerned; but a greater excess of them never
poured their dark currents from the vulgar heart, than in those
circumstances which your last letter narrates.
"Thus ever be extortionate villany baffled--and long unclouded be the
peace which succeeds to that attempted injury. I cannot express how
much I am obliged that you took the kind trouble of retracing the
road of peril, which had so nearly engulfed a scene, whose beauties
rise perpetually in my sleeping and waking dreams."
What ever could have happened at Plas Newydd to excite so grand a burst
of tragic passion: here _is_ matter for curious speculation! Then Miss
Seward runs into a not very wise dissertation on politics; then reverts
to literary subjects, of which Horace Walpole's genius is the chief
topic; bemoans her own dizziness of the head; has another touch at Mr.
Pitt; and finally ejaculates "Adieu, dearest Madam! Your beloved Lady
Eleanor will accept my affectionate devoirs!" Why did not Miss Seward go
to Llangollen, to end her days in peace?
In the lively Memoirs of that celebrated Comedian, the late Mr. Charles
Matthews, we have the following humourous letters, descriptive of the
"Ladies of Llangollen:"--
"Oswestry, Sept. 4th. 1820.
"The dear inseparable inimitables, Lady Butler and Miss Ponsonby,
were in the boxes here on Friday. They came twelve miles from
Llangollen, and returned, as they never sleep from home. Oh, such
curiosities! I was nearly convulsed. I could scarcely get on for
the first ten minutes after my eye caught them. Though I had never
seen them, I instantaneously knew them. As they are seated, there is
not one point to distinguish them from men: the dressing and
powdering of the hair; their well-starched neckcloths; the upper part
of their habits, which they always wear, even at a dinner-party, made
precisely like men's coats; and regular black beaver men's hats.
They looked exactly like two respectable superannuated old clergymen;
one the picture of Boruwlaski. I was highly flattered, as they never
were in the theatre before.
"The packets now sail at seven in the morning; all _day_-work instead
of night, which is delightful; and the weather is heavenly. People
are here extremely hospitable; but, of all days in the year, Mr.
Ormsby Gore went to Carnarvon assizes (being high sheriff) the day
before I arrived. He only returned yesterday; and almost forced me
away from the inn. I, however, could not conveniently go there, but
have been to call this morning. Such a place!
"By the by, have you any magnolias in the grounds? if not, get me one
or two. I saw a Portugal laurel, only four years old, full half the
size of that great beauty at Lord Mansfield's; pray have one or two
of them placed by themselves on our new lawn.
"I have to-day received an invitation to call, if I have time as I
pass, at Llangollen, to receive in due form, from the dear old
gentlemen called Lady Butler and Miss Ponsonby, their thanks for the
entertainment I afforded them at the theatre."
"Porkington, Oct. 24th.
"Well, I have seen them, heard them, touched them. The pets, "_the
ladies_," as they are called, dined here yesterday--Lady Eleanor
Butler and Miss Ponsonby, the curiosities of Llangollen mentioned by
Miss Seward in her letters, about the year 1760. I mentioned to you
in a former letter the effect they produced upon me in public, but
never shall I forget the first burst yesterday upon entering the
drawing-room: to find the dear antediluvian darlings, attired for
dinner in the same manified dress, with the Croix de St. Louis, and
other orders, and myriads of large brooches, with stones large enough
for snuff-boxes, stuck in their starched neckcloths! I have not room
to describe their most fascinating persons. I have an invitation
from them, which I much fear I cannot accept. They returned home
last night, fourteen miles, after twelve o'clock. They have not
slept one night from home for above forty years. I longed to put
Lady Eleanor under a bell-glass, and bring her to Highgate for you to
look at."
In August 1825, Sir Walter Scott visited Llangollen, and the account of
his interview with the famed "ladies of the vale," is given with much
humour and smartness by Mr. Lockhart, in his interesting Memoirs of the
immortal "Author of Waverley."--
"Our progress through North Wales produced nothing worth recording,
except perhaps the feeling of delight which everything in the aspect
of the common people, their dress, their houses, their gardens, and
their husbandry, could not fail to call up in persons who had just
been seeing Ireland for the first time; and a short visit (which was,
indeed, the only one he made) to the far-famed "ladies" of
Llangollen. They had received some hint that Sir Walter meant to
pass their way; and on stopping at the inn, he received an invitation
so pressing, to add one more to the long list of the illustrious
visitors of their retreat, that it was impossible for him not to
comply. We had read histories and descriptions enough of these
romantic spinsters, and were prepared to be well amused; but the
reality surpassed all expectation.
"An extract from a gossiping letter of the following week will
perhaps be sufficient for Llangollen.
"'Elleray, August 24.
* * * "'We slept on Wednesday evening at Capel Curig, which Sir W.
supposes to mean the Chapel of the Crags; a pretty little inn in a
most picturesque situation certainly, and as to the matter of toasted
cheese, quite exquisite. Next day we advanced through, I verily
believe, the most perfect gem of a country eye ever saw, having
almost all the wildness of Highland backgrounds, and all the
loveliness of rich English landscape nearer us, and streams like the
purest and most babbling of our own. At Llangollen your papa was
waylaid by the celebrated 'Ladies'--viz. Lady Eleanor Butler and the
Honourable Miss Ponsonby, who having been one or both crossed in
love, forswore all dreams of matrimony in the heyday of youth,
beauty, and fashion, and selected this charming spot for the repose
of their now time-honoured virginity. It was many a day, however,
before they could get implicit credit for being the innocent friends
they really were, among the people of the neighbourhood; for their
elopement from Ireland had been performed under suspicious
circumstances; and as Lady Eleanor arrived here in her natural aspect
of a pretty girl, while Miss Ponsonby had condescended to accompany
her in the garb of a smart footman in buckskin breeches, years and
years elapsed ere full justice was done to the character of their
romance. {26} We proceeded up the hill, and found everything about
them and their habitation odd and extravagant beyond report. Imagine
two women, one apparently seventy, the other sixty-five, dressed in
heavy blue riding habits, enormous shoes, and men's hats, with their
petticoats so tucked up, that at the first glance of them, fussing
and tottering about their porch in the agony of expectation, we took
them for a couple of hazy or crazy old sailors. On nearer inspection
they both wear a world of brooches, rings, &c., and Lady Eleanor
positively _orders_--several stars and crosses, and a red ribbon,
exactly like a K.C.B. To crown all, they have crop heads, shaggy,
rough, bushy, and as white as snow, the one with age alone, the other
assisted by a sprinkling of powder. The elder lady is almost blind,
and every way much decayed; the other, the ci-devant groom, in good
preservation. But who could paint the prints, the dogs, the cats,
the miniatures, the cram of cabinets, clocks, glass-cases, books,
bijouterie, dragon-china, nodding mandarins, and whirligigs of every
shape and hue--the whole house outside and in (for we must see
everything to the dressing-closets), _covered_ with carved oak, very
rich and fine some of it--and the illustrated copies of Sir W.'s
poems, and the joking simpering compliments about Waverley, and the
anxiety to know who McIvor really was, and the absolute devouring of
the poor Unknown, who had to carry off, besides all the rest, one
small bit of literal _butter_ dug up in a Milesian stone jar lately
from the bottom of some Irish bog. Great romance (_i.e._ absurd
innocence of character) one must have looked for; but it was
confounding to find this mixed up with such eager curiosity, and
enormous knowledge of the tattle and scandal of the world they had so
long left. Their tables were piled with newspapers from every corner
of the kingdom, and they seemed to have the deaths and marriages of
the antipodes at their fingers' ends. Their albums and autographs,
from Louis XVIII. and George IV., down to magazine poets and
quack-doctors, are a museum. I shall never see the spirit of
blue-stockingism again in such perfect incarnation. Peveril won't
get over their final kissing match for a week. Yet it is too bad to
laugh at these good old girls; they have long been the guardian
angels of the village, and are worshipped by man, woman, and child
about them.'"
In July, 1828, the charming vale of Llangollen was visited by a German
Prince (Puckler-Muskau of Prussia), who has thus left on record the
impressions which his excursion in that vicinity excited:--
"The most beautiful reality, however, awaited me this morning in
Wales. The vision of clouds seemed to have been the harbinger of the
magnificence of the vale of Llangollen,--a spot which, in my opinion,
far surpasses all the beauties of the Rhine-land, and has, moreover,
a character quite its own, from the unusual forms of the peaked tops,
and rugged declivities of its mountains. The Dee, a rapid stream,
winds through the green valley in a thousand fantastic bendings,
overhung with thick underwood. On each side high mountains rise
abruptly from the plain, and are crowned with antique ruins, modern
country-houses, manufactories, whose towering chimneys send out
columns of thick smoke, or with grotesque groups of upright rocks.
The vegetation is everywhere rich, and hill and vale are filled with
lofty trees, whose varied hues add so infinitely to the beauty and
picturesque effect of a landscape. In the midst of this luxuriant
nature, arises, with a grandeur heightened by contrast, a single
long, black, bare range of mountains, clothed only with thick, dark
heather," and from time to time skirting the high road. This
magnificent road, which from London to Holyhead, is as even as a
'parquet,' here runs along the side of the left range of mountains,
at about their middle elevation and following all their windings; so
that in riding along at a brisk trot or gallop, the traveller is
presented at every minute with a completely new prospect; and without
changing his position, overlooks the valley now before him, now
behind, now at his side. On one side is an aqueduct of twenty-five
slender arches, a work which would have done honour to Rome. Through
this a second river is led over the valley and across the Dee, at an
elevation of an hundred and twenty feet above the bed of the natural
stream. A few miles further on, the little town of Llangollen offers
a delightful resting place, and is deservedly much resorted to.
"There is a beautiful view from the churchyard near the inn: here I
climbed upon a tomb, and stood for half an hour enjoying with deep
and grateful delight the beauties so richly spread before me.
Immediately below me bloomed a terraced garden, filled with vine,
honeysuckle, rose, and a hundred gay flowers, which descended to the
very edge of the foaming stream. On the right hand, my eye followed
the crisped waves in their restless murmuring course through the
overhanging thicket; before me rose two lines of wood, divided by a
strip of meadow-land filled with grazing cattle; and high above all,
rose the bare conical peak of a mountain crowned by the ruins of the
old Welsh castle Dinas Bran, or the Crow's Fortress. On the left,
the stone houses of the town lie scattered along the valley; the
river forms a considerable waterfall near the picturesque bridge,
while three colossal rocks rise immediately behind it like giant
guards, and shut out all the more distant wonders of this enchanting
region.
"Before I left Llangollen I recollected the two celebrated ladies who
have inhabited this valley for more than half a century, and of whom
I had heard once as a child, and again recently in London. You have
doubtless heard your father talk of them;--'si non, voila leur
histoire.' Fifty-six years ago, two young, pretty and fashionable
ladies, Lady Eleanor Butler, and the daughter of the late Lord
Ponsonby, took it in their heads to hate men, to love only each
other, and to live from that hour in some remote hermitage. The
resolution was immediately executed; and from that time neither lady
has ever passed a night out of their cottage. On the other hand, no
one who is presentable travels in Wales unprovided with an
introduction to them. It is affirmed that the 'scandal' of the great
world interests them as much as when they lived in it; and that their
curiosity to know what passes has preserved all its freshness. I had
compliments to deliver to them from several ladies, but I had
neglected to furnish myself with a letter. I therefore sent my card,
determined if they declined my visit, as I was led to fear, to storm
the cottage. Here, as elsewhere, however, in England, a title easily
opened the door, and I immediately received a gracious invitation to
a second breakfast. Passing along a charming road, through a trim
and pretty pleasure-ground, in a quarter of an hour I reached a small
but tasteful gothic cottage, situated directly opposite to Dinas
Bran, various glimpses of which were visible through openings cut in
the trees. I alighted, and was received at the door by the two
ladies. Fortunately I was already prepared by hearsay for their
peculiarities; I might otherwise have found it difficult to repress
some expression of astonishment. Imagine two ladies, the eldest of
whom, Lady Eleanor, a short robust woman, begins to feel her years a
little, being now eighty-three; the other, a tall and imposing
person, esteems herself still youthful, being only seventy-four.
Both wore their still abundant hair combed straight back and
powdered, a round man's hat, a man's cravat and waistcoat, but in the
place of 'inexpressibles,' a short petticoat and boots: the whole
covered by a coat of blue cloth, of a cut quite peculiar,--a sort of
middle term between a man's coat and a lady's riding-habit. Over
this, Lady Eleanor wore, first, the grand cordon of the order of St.
Louis across her shoulder; secondly, the same order around her neck;
thirdly, the small cross of the same in her button-hole, and 'pour
comble de gloire,' a golden lily of nearly the natural size, as a
star,--all, as she said, presents of the Bourbon family. So far the
whole effect was somewhat ludicrous. But now, you must imagine both
ladies with that agreeable 'aisance,' that air of the world of the
'ancien regime,' courteous and entertaining, without the slightest
affectation; speaking French as well as any Englishwoman of my
acquaintance; and above all, with that essentially polite,
unconstrained, and simply cheerful manner of the good society of that
day, which, in our serious hardworking age of business, appears to be
going to utter decay. I was really affected with a melancholy sort
of pleasure in contemplating it in the persons of the amiable old
ladies who are among the last of its living representatives; nor
could I witness without lively sympathy the unremitting, natural and
affectionate attention with which the younger treated her somewhat
infirmer friend, and anticipated all her wants. The charm of such
actions lies chiefly in the manner in which they are performed,--in
things which appear small and insignificant, but which are never lost
upon a susceptible heart.
"I began by saying that I esteemed myself fortunate in being
permitted to deliver to the fair recluses the compliments with which
I was charged by my grandfather, who had had the honour of visiting
them fifty years ago. Their beauty indeed they had lost, but not
their memory: they remembered the C--- C--- very well, immediately
produced an old memorial of him, and expressed their wonder that so
young a man was dead already. Not only the venerable ladies, but
their house, was full of interest; indeed it contained some real
treasures. There is scarcely a remarkable person of the last half
century who has not sent them a portrait or some curiosity or antique
as a token of remembrance. The collection of these, a well-furnished
library, a delightful situation, an equable, tranquil life, and
perfect friendship and union,--these have been their possessions; and
if we may judge by their robust old age and their cheerful temper,
they have not chosen amiss."
During the summer of 1833, Miss Catherine Sinclair, the clever authoress
of "Modern Accomplishments," made an excursion through Wales, and thus
describes her visit to Plas Newydd:--
"No eyes but those of a poet are worthy to behold the celebrated
valley of Llangollen, where we next proceeded, after having drawn
largely on the firm of Messrs. Wordsworth, Cowper, Thomson, and Co.
for language to pay a due tribute of admiration to this surpassing
scene,--but who has a genius equal to the majesty of nature? I
thought of the Mahometan who turned back when he observed some such
rich and fertile plain, saying, he had been only promised one
Paradise, and did not wish to enjoy it upon earth. Instead of
following his example, however, we advanced, trying to fancy
ourselves on the banks of the Rhine, to which so many travellers have
compared this beautiful valley. Pray employ your unrivalled taste in
imagining the rugged mountains,--the sparkling river,--the ancient
trees,--the smiling cottages,--the daisied meadows, and the fertile
gardens, all grouped or scattered in the way you think best,--and
invention can suggest nothing more perfect.
"The valley of Llangollen belonged once to the far-famed Owen
Glendower, mentioned in Shakespeare's Plays, as 'not in the roll of
common men.' His palace stood near this formerly, and here he
maintained a war during twelve years against Henry IV., being a keen
adherent of Richard's; besides which, a private feud against Lord
Grey de Ruthyn whetted his exertions. Peace was, however, about to
be concluded in 1415, between the Welsh chief and the English king,
on very honourable terms, when, as we frequently observe, if any one
attains his utmost earthly desires, Owen died. But though the vale
of Llangollen boasts of such a hero, its chief celebrity arises from
a pair of heroines; and we lost no time in doing homage to their
memories, by scrambling our way up a steep ascent to that well-known
cottage, where the late Lady Eleanor Butler and the Honourable Miss
Ponsonby, during more than half a century, devoted their long lives
so romantically to friendship, celibacy, and the knitting of blue
stockings. It seems only astonishing that this is so very rare an
occurrence, for any one with a friend so richly endowed as my
accomplished correspondent, might feel safe from the possibility of
tiring, and might like to connect her name with so charming a scene
and with so romantic a story. Two successors to these fair hermits
have already sprung up, as substitutes for the original occupants,
following the same exclusive plan of life; and in a moment of
enthusiasm I felt much inclined to knock at the door and ask if they
would make it a trio. In the case of Lady Eleanor Butler and Miss
Ponsonby, very transient visits only were acceptable, and even their
own names remained long concealed, as the friends eloped
clandestinely without confiding to any one, except a maid servant,
the place of their retreat. The cause of this very close seclusion
having been variously conjectured, excited much gossipping curiosity
at the time; but from whatever cause the hermitage originated, here,
embowered in roses, they 'made a solitude and called it peace.'
After discussing the Ladies of Llangollen, our thoughts naturally
diverged into a general consideration, whether the greatest number of
voluntary recluses have relinquished social intercourse on account of
disappointed affection, mortified vanity, or mistaken devotion.
"What a beau ideal of earthly felicity springs up to the imagination
in taking a glance at the beautiful cottage of Llangollen! all the
every-day vexations and vulgar cares of life, seem there swept aside,
and nothing left for the inhabitants but to lead a life of graceful
leisure, tying up carnations, engrafting roses, gazing at the
splendid scenery around, and talking in perpetual ecstacies about
flowers and perfumes. Almost every grown-up person entertains, at
the out-set of life, notions of happiness with a cottage nearly
similar to that which a little girl enjoys with her first
doll,--dressing it up, altering, arranging, painting, and spoiling
it; but this hermitage really is a singular looking toy. The
building is long and low, so completely cased in richly-carved oak,
that it might be mistaken for an enormous wardrobe. The garden
slopes upwards from the river Dee, and is greatly embellished by a
splendid beech hedge about forty feet high; several charming little
summer houses are sprinkled about the grounds; and in one most
romantic arbour, overlooking the fine cascade, we found a volume
lying open on the seat, which proved to be Southey's Roderick;
suitable reading for such a scene of poetical beauty.
"An attempt at embellishment has been made, by placing a stuffed bear
near the house, probably in imitation of the Zoological Gardens; but
the idea is rather a failure, and would appear more suitable over the
door of a perfumer's shop, to intimate the presence of bear's grease.
A little gim-crack model of a wooden house is also visible, by way of
an ornament, stuck on the summit of a wooden pillar, but the effect
is disproportioned to all surrounding objects, even more than the
designs on Chinese paper; where men of six feet high are represented
entering mansions half their own height, and birds may be seen flying
larger than either the houses or their inhabitants. In a cottage
built of oak and roofed with thatch, it would be very desirable that
the inhabitants should have some taste for the study of entomology,
as they might find an inexhaustible hunting-field among the wooden
walls and creepers. It has been disputed whether more inconvenience
is endured from the extreme cold of an English winter, or from the
swarms of insects inevitably encountered during the heat of an
Italian summer; but those who inhabit this 'Fairy Palace of the
Vale,' might be able from experience at home, to decide the question.
They could afford sufficient employment for an entire
pin-manufactory, to supply impaling machines for all the specimens of
insects that might be collected and classified here. The birds too,
were so vociferous, that we seemed standing in an aviary, and the
locality would not at all have suited Lady ---, who scolded her
gardener for 'letting the sparrows make such a noise under her
windows in the morning.' It is much to be lamented how many
'harmonious blackbirds' annually fall victims to the preservation of
cherries; and though the 'four-and-twenty baked in a pie,' might be
rather too loud when they all 'began to sing,' yet a few in a garden
are so enlivening and delightful, that it would be better never to
taste fruit again than to lose such a concert of natural melody as we
enjoyed at Llangollen."
Mr. Roscoe, in his remarkably interesting "Wanderings in North Wales," is
less enthusiastic than some tourists on the subject of our present
narrative; he says:--
"Plas Newydd, for so many years the residence of the fair recluses of
the lovely vale of Llangollen, stands on a gentle eminence close to
the town, ornamented with a carved railing in front, and decorated
with grotesque gables and ornaments. The present proprietors are
also two maiden ladies, who seem disposed to perpetuate the
conventual celebrity of this place; and are certainly not less urbane
than the former possessors, in permitting visitors to gratify their
taste in the inspection of the beautiful grounds. Attended by my
_cicerone_, the gardener, I passed from one object of natural beauty
to another,--the vale of Pen-gwern surrounded by part of the Berwyn
chain, the woody dingle, and brawling brook of the Cyflymed, with
many others, which are supplied with the most gratifying conveniences
for their leisurely inspection. After all, I must confess, filled as
was my mind by the impressions of the majestic scenes with which it
had become familiar, the miniature landscapes supplied by the
situation of Plas Newydd, fell far short of the anticipation I had
formed, and they forcibly recalled the emotion I remembered to have
felt after viewing the mimic hills and vales, and passionless
cascades of the poet Shenstone, in his retreat at the Leasowes, near
Hagley."
Miss Costello, who made the tour of North Wales in 1844 is even less
complimentary, and is thus smartly satirical in the peculiarities of the
departed "Ladies:"--
"One of the great attractions of Llangollen a few years ago was the
romantic story attached to the place and the residence there of Lady
Eleanor Butler and Miss Ponsonby. Pilgrimages were made to this
shrine of friendship, and the ladies were overwhelmed with visitors,
and their cottage filled with offerings. Their tomb is now in the
churchyard, and their cottage let; and very few persons recollect
much about them, or feel any interest in a sentimental history, which
belonged to the last century, and now can only excite a smile at the
eccentricity of its heroines, who, under pretence of retiring from
society, made themselves conspicuous throughout the country. Most of
their accumulated stores were sold by public auction, on the death of
the last of the friends, and the cottage, as it now stands, is by no
means either a rural or picturesque object. It is covered inside and
out with carved wood, some of value, and some quite worthless; and
all that remains of the taste of the former proprietors merely proves
how little was required to please fifty years ago. The trees,
planted by the friends, are now grown high, and shut out all view of
the country; in fact, the whole place has a vulgar, common-place
appearance, and excited in my mind no sort of interest, nor was my
indifference agreeably dispelled by the view of an engraving, hung up
in the little boudoir, representing the two ladies sitting at their
table covered with curiosities, both dressed in masculine habits, and
both frightfully ugly. These portraits, it seems, were taken by an
amateur, by stealth, as neither of 'The Ladies of Llangollen' would
consent to sit, and a lamentable record is it which creates most
unpleasing sensations to the lover of the graceful, beautiful, and
venerable.
"The 'ladies' were, although singular in the extreme, remarkably
charitable and considerate of the necessities of their neighbours,
and their loss has been greatly felt. They seemed vain and pompous,
but accomplished and intellectual, and were a strange compound of
wisdom and folly, pride and condescension."
The celebrated Madame de Genlis, in an entertaining miscellany, under the
title of "Souvenirs de Felicie L---," has given the following graphic
narrative of "The Fair Recluses of Llangollen:"--
"During my residence in England (says she), nothing struck me so much
as the delicious cottage of Llangollen, in North Wales. It is not a
little extraordinary, that a circumstance so singular and remarkable
as that connected with this retreat, should hitherto have escaped the
notice of all modern travellers. The manner in which I became
acquainted with it was this:--During our long-stay at Bury, a small
company of five or six persons, including ourselves, met every
evening from seven till half-past ten o'clock. We diverted ourselves
with music and conversation, so that the time past very agreeably.
One night friendship happened to be the subject of conversation, and
I declared that I would with pleasure undertake a long journey to see
two persons who had long been united by the bonds of genuine
friendship. 'Well, Madam,' replied Mr. Stuart (now Lord
Castlereagh), go to Llangollen; you will there see a model of perfect
friendship, which will afford you the more delight, as it is
exhibited by two females who are yet young and charming in every
respect. Would you like to hear the history of Lady Eleanor Butler
and Miss Ponsonby?'--'It would give me the greatest pleasure.'--'I
will relate it to you.' At these words the company drew nearer to
Mr. Stuart, we formed a little circle round him, and after
recollecting himself a few moments, he thus began his narrative:--
"'Lady Eleanor Butler, was born in Dublin. She was left an orphan
while in her cradle; and possessing an ample fortune, together with
an amiable disposition and a beautiful person, her hand was solicited
by persons belonging to the first families in Ireland. At an early
age she manifested great repugnance to the idea of giving herself a
master. This love of independence, which she never dissembled, did
no injury to her reputation; her conduct has always been
irreproachable, and no female is more highly distinguished for
sweetness of temper, modesty, and all the virtues which adorn her
sex. In tender infancy a mutual attachment took place between her
and Miss Ponsonby, by an accident which made a deep impression on
their imagination. They had no difficulty to persuade themselves
that heaven had formed them for each other; that is, that it had
designed each of them to devote her existence to the other, so that
they might glide together down the stream of life, in the bosom of
peace, the most intimate friendship, and delicious independence.
This idea their sensibility was destined to realize. Their
friendship gradually grew stronger with their years, so that at
seventeen they mutually engaged never to sacrifice their liberty, or
to part from each other. From that moment they formed the design of
withdrawing from the world, and of settling for good in some
sequestered retreat. Having heard of the charming scenery of Wales,
they secretly absconded from their friends for the purpose of fixing
upon their future residence. They visited Llangollen, and there, on
the summit of a mountain, they found a little detached cottage, with
the situation of which they were delighted. Here they resolved to
form their establishment. Meanwhile the guardians of the young
fugitives sent people after them, and they were conveyed back to
Dublin. They declared that they would return to their mountain as
soon as they were of age. Accordingly, at twenty-one, in spite of
the entreaties and remonstrances of their relatives and friends, they
quitted Ireland for ever, and flew to Llangollen. Miss Ponsonby is
not rich, but Lady Eleanor possesses a considerable fortune. She
purchased the little hut and the property of the mountain, where she
built a cottage, very simple in external appearance, but the interior
of which displays the greatest elegance. On the top of the mountain
she has formed about the house a court and flower-garden; a hedge of
rosebushes is the only enclosure that surrounds this rural
habitation. A convenient carriage-road, the steepness of which has
been diminished by art, was carried along the mountain. On the side
of the latter some ancient pines of prodigious height were preserved;
fruit trees were planted, and a great quantity of cherry trees in
particular, which produce the best and finest cherries in England.
The two friends likewise possess a farm for their cattle, with a
pretty farm-house and a kitchen-garden at the foot of the mountain.
In this sequestered abode these two extraordinary persons, with minds
equally cultivated, and accomplishments equally pleasing, have now
resided ten years, without ever having been absent from it a single
night. Nevertheless they are not unsociable, they sometimes pay
visits to the neighbouring gentry, and receive with the greatest
politeness travellers on their way to or from Ireland, who are
recommended to them by any of their old friends.'
"This account strongly excited my curiosity, and produced the same
effect on Mademoiselle d'Orleans and my two young companions. We
determined the same night to set out immediately for Llangollen, by
the circuitous route of Brighton, Portsmouth, and the Isle of Wight.
It was the latter end of July when we arrived at Llangollen. This
place has not the rich appearance of the English villages in general,
but nothing can equal the cleanliness of the houses, and among the
lower classes of any country this is an infallible proof of
abundance. Llangollen, surrounded with woods and meadows, clothed
with the freshest verdure, is situated at the foot of the mountain
belonging to the two friends, which there forms a majestic pyramid
covered with trees and flowers. We arrived at the cottage, the only
object of our journey, an hour before sunset.
"The two friends had received in the morning by a messenger the
letter which Mr. Stuart had given me for them. We were received with
a grace, a cordiality, and kindness, of which it would be impossible
for me to give any idea. I could not turn my eyes from those two
ladies, rendered so interesting by their friendship and so
extraordinary on account of their way of life. I perceived in them
none of that vanity which takes delight in the surprize of others.
Their mutual attachment, and their whole conduct evince such
simplicity, that astonishment soon gives way to softer emotions; all
they do and say breathes the utmost frankness and sincerity. One
circumstance which I cannot help remarking is, that after living so
many years in this sequestered retreat, they speak French with equal
fluency and purity. I was likewise much struck with the little
resemblance there is between them. Lady Eleanor has a charming face,
embellished with the glow of health; her whole appearance and manner
announce vivacity and the most unaffected gaiety. Miss Ponsonby has
a fine countenance, but pale and melancholy. One seems to have been
born in this solitude, so perfectly is she at her ease in it; for her
easy carriage shews that she has not retained the slightest
recollection of the world and its vain pleasures. The other, silent
and pensive, has too much candour and innocence for you to suppose
that repentance has conducted her into solitude, but you would
suppose that she still cherishes some painful regrets. Both have the
most engaging politeness, and highly-cultivated minds. An excellent
library, composed of the best English, French, and Italian authors,
affords them an inexhaustible source of diversified amusement and
solid occupation; for reading is not truly profitable except when a
person has time to read again.
"The interior of the house is delightful on account of the just
proportion and distribution of the apartments, the elegance of the
ornaments and furniture, and the admirable view which you enjoy from
all the windows; the drawing-room is adorned with charming
landscapes, drawn and coloured from nature, by Miss Ponsonby. Lady
Eleanor is a great proficient in music; and their solitary habitation
is filled with embroidery by them both, of wonderful execution. Miss
Ponsonby, who writes the finest hand I ever saw, has copied a number
of select pieces in verse and prose, which she has ornamented with
vignettes and arabesques, in the best taste, and which form a most
valuable collection. Thus the arts are cultivated there with equal
modesty and success, and their productions are admired with a feeling
that is not experienced elsewhere; the spectator observes with
delight that so much merit is secure in this peaceful retreat from
the shafts of satire and envy, and that talents unaccompanied with
ostentation and pride, have there never coveted any suffrages but
those of friendship.
"This evening was a scene of enchantment for me; not one painful
reflection disturbed its felicity. I retired to rest, but my
imagination was so fully occupied with what I had seen and heard,
that my thoughts kept me for a long time awake. At length, I was
just falling asleep, when I was roused by the most melodious sounds.
I listened in great astonishment; it was not music, but an indistinct
and celestial harmony which penetrated my very soul. I discovered
that it was produced by a violent wind which had just then arisen; my
ear distinguished the distant noise and the whistling usually heard
on such occasions, but the winds changing their nature as they
approached this asylum of peace and friendship, formed only the most
enchanting harmony as they met its trees and its walls. I was
strongly disposed to believe in prodigies; but nevertheless I was
determined to investigate the nature of this, but I durst not rise
for fear of waking Mademoiselle d'Orleans, who was extremely fatigued
with her journey, and slept in a bed close by mine. The tempest
suddenly ceased, and the harmonious sounds appeared to be carried to
a distance by the retiring winds. I raised my head towards the
heavens to catch the last tones of this celestial concert, which
seemed to be lost in the clouds. I listened with transport like St.
Cecilia; if I had had my harp in my hands I should certainly have
dropped it; at that moment all terrestrial music appeared totally
spiritless and insipid.
"Next morning the whole mystery was explained. On opening my window
I found in the balcony an Eolian harp, an instrument with which I was
then unacquainted, and which, when the wind blows upon it, produces
such enchanting sounds.
"I walked out the whole forenoon with the two friends; nothing can
equal the charms of the surrounding scenery, and of the prospects
which the mountain whose summit they occupy commands; at this
elevation they appear the queens of all the beautiful country at
their feet. Towards the north they have a view of the village and of
a wood; to the south a long river washes the foot of the mountain,
and fertilizes meadows of prodigious extent, beyond which is
discovered an amphitheatre of hills, covered with intermingled trees
and rocks. In the midst of this wild scenery rises a majestic tower,
which might be taken for the Pharos of this coast, but is only the
ruins of a magnificent castle, once the residence of the prince of
the country. This solitary region was doubtless at that time
flourishing and populous, now it is abandoned to nature alone;
nothing is now to be seen in it but herds of goats, and a few
scattered herdsmen sitting upon the rocks and playing upon the Irish
harp. Facing this rustic and melancholy scene the two friends have
raised a verdant seat, shaded by two poplars, and thither they told
me they often repair in summer to read together the poems of Ossian.
"The ride from Wrexham to Llangollen is remarkable for the sublimity
and awful grandeur of the prospects; the most prominent feature in
the landscape is a high and stupendous chain of mountains, sometimes
swelling into the clouds, or gently shelving into the vallies, around
which they form a wide amphitheatre; and by their elevations afford
shelter, and tend to fertilize the vales at their bases. I was led
to exclaim--
'I love thy mountain's giant forms!
Darkly clad in gath'ring storms;
I love thy rocks, down whose steep sides,
With foaming, dizzying crash,
Thunder the torrent's tan-brown tides,
And roaring whirlwinds dash.'
"For,
''Mid clouds and crags, dark pools and mountains drear,
The wild-wood's silence, and the billow's roll,
Great Nature rules, and claims with brow austere,
The shudd'ring homage of the inmost soul.'
"From the craggy sides of the rocks descend the tributary streams to
supply the river which divides the dales, and which dashes its
foaming impetuous course along the banks, often edged with broken
crags and grey rocks, or is seen winding in a deeper and more
peaceful stream through dark and silent groves, spreading their
autumnal shades over the surface, or often glistening through fields
of verdure and cultivated spots of ground; here foaming and chafing
some dark ruin's tottering base, there reflecting the modern villa or
the humble hamlet in its silver bosom, and by the variety of scenery
giving new beauty to the whole.
"The cottages, bridges, villas, towers, rocks, and dark ruins of
Gothic antiquity, are in unison with the surrounding objects, and the
attention is frequently called from beholding the beauties of nature
to pause on the works of art. In the centre of the long valley which
stretches to Llangollen, is erected a most stupendous aqueduct, by
which the canal is conveyed from a lofty hill over a wide chasm in
the mountains; the length of this amazing work of art and human
industry, is, I was informed, three hundred yards, the aqueduct
composed of cast iron, is supported on fifty stone pillars and
arches, and the view of this immense pile bestriding the valley is
grand beyond description, and contributes much to heighten the effect
produced by the whole scenery; for here grandeur and sublimity sit
enthroned on the mountains, and solitude and human privacy, with
their attendant charms, have fixed their abode in the vallies.
"The beauties of the Vale of Llangollen certainly exceed every idea I
had formed of their grandeur, and on my arrival at the inn in the
village, the muse embodied the following
"LINES ON VISITING LLANGOLLEN.
'Much have I heard, Llangollen, of thy scenes,
And the wild landscapes of thy mountain greens,
The rushing streams, that dash thy rocks among,
Thy snow-topt mountains, thy wild harper's song,
Thy fruitful vallies deep, where oft between
Rise hamlets, rocks, and tow'rs to grace the scene.
Where solitude and calm contentment dwell,
And contemplation roves each rocky dell,
Or climbs the snow-topt mountain's cloudy height
To watch the sinking shades of evening light;
To view the foaming torrent's misty shower,
To list' the brooding tempest's rising roar,
Mark the blue mists the silvery moonbeams shroud,
Or golden ev'ning edge the dusky cloud;
Yet, till this hour my doubting heart has thought
Thy glowing scenes by fancy's pencil wrought,
Or drest in poetry's enchanting hues,
And all the flatt'ring colours of the muse;
But if in winter's storms thy beauties charm,
If the cold breast thy varying landscapes warm,
In summer's smiles it surely stands confest,
That he who draws thee fairest paints thee best.'"
Having thus seen the various amusing and interesting records, which so
many of our most popular authors have given to the world, respecting the
once famous "Ladies of Llangollen," curiosity induced us to pay a visit
to this much frequented abode of ancient friendship. Accordingly in
March, 1847, we made an excursion, in company with our respected
Publisher, to the celebrated retreat of Plas Newydd; and through the
favour of Mr. Jacques, an intelligent and hospitable gentleman resident
at Pen-y-bryn, Llangollen, we were introduced to the present owners, Miss
Lolly and Miss Andrew, and met with a most courteous reception. Their
manners are easy, dignified, and lady-like; totally free from all
affectation, and in nowise marked by that frigid stateliness and pedantic
formality, which a censorious world proverbially attributes to a state of
elderly maidenhood. In all its characteristic particulars, the cottage
remains in the same condition as in the days of Lady Eleanor and Miss
Ponsonby; but its present possessors have introduced several judicious
alterations in the interior, which, though carried out in strict harmony
with the general design of its former occupants, exhibit an improved
taste and a cultivated judgment. The house is delightfully situated, and
is well-adapted to realize the notion of the poet--
"'Tis pleasant from the loop-holes of retreat
To look at such a world; to see great Babel
And not feel the crush;"
but the site is not well chosen for developing the many charming
prospects which the vale of Llangollen affords; and, indeed, the entire
arrangements, both of dwelling and pleasure grounds, seem to be
suggestive rather of another poetical maxim in great favour with
anchorites and recluses--"Retire, the world shut out." We cannot agree
with Miss Seward, who describes this hermitage as "a retreat which
breathes all the witchery of genius, taste, and sentiment." It is rather
fantastical than tasteful, and savours more of eccentricity than
sentiment. In the Gothic entrance, there are undoubtedly many fine
specimens of carved wood-work, some of which we suspect were the plunder
of despoiled convents and churches during the continental wars of the
last century; but classical, mythological, and scripture subjects are
intermingled in odd confusion, and with "most admired disorder." The
rooms are small and comfortable, with very low ceilings; the prospect
from the dining-room is flat and tame; but several of the miniature
views, as seen through small openings of the painted window in the
library, are remarkably picturesque, and reveal themselves with a
pleasing effect to the eye of the artist or the admirer of natural
scenery. The cottage yet contains many articles of furniture and choice
rarities, which belonged to the former owners; whose portraits adorn the
fanciful little boudoir. Disguised as they are by the strangeness of
their costume, we should not like to hazard any opinion of our own as to
their personal charms; especially as Miss Seward has been so minutely
particular in telling us "all about them." That clever and amusing
gossip says of the "ladies," whom she rhapsodizes as "the enchantresses"
of Plas Newydd--
"Lady Eleanor is of middle height, and somewhat beyond the
_embonpoint_ as to plumpness; her face round and fair, with the glow
of luxuriant health. She has not fine features, but they are
agreeable; enthusiasm in her eye, hilarity and benevolence in her
smile. Exhaustless is her fund of historic and traditionary
knowledge, and of every thing passing in the present eventful period.
She expresses all she feels with an ingenuous ardour, at which, the
cold-spirited beings stare. I am informed that both these ladies
read and speak most of the modern languages. Of the Italian poets,
especially of Dante, they are warm admirers. Miss Ponsonby, somewhat
taller than her friend, is neither slender nor otherwise, but very
graceful. Easy, elegant, yet pensive, is her address and manner.
"Her voice, like lovers' watched, is kind and low."
A face rather long than round, a complexion clear but without bloom,
with a countenance which, from its soft melancholy, has a peculiar
interest. If her features are not beautiful, they are very sweet and
feminine. Though the pensive spirit within permits not her lovely
dimples to give mirth to her smile, they increase its sweetness, and,
consequently, her power of engaging the affections. We see, through
her veil of shading reserve, that all the talents and accomplishments
which enrich the mind of Lady Eleanor, exist, with equal powers, in
this her charming friend."
We commend these pen and ink portraits to the notice of our readers
without controversy; and the more especially, as they may gratify their
curiosity still more in this matter, by purchasing from our Publisher a
well-executed engraving representing, with all due fidelity, excellent
likenesses of the "Ladies of Llangollen;" each, as _Hamlet_ would say,
"in her habit as she lived."
Among the treasured relics which the cottage now contains, we were shewn
the veritable crutch-headed walking stick, on which Lady Eleanor used to
support her aged steps, when rambling through the village on errands of
mercy, or sauntering among the pleasure grounds of her mountain-home; and
we also saw and handled the broad-brimmed hat worn by Miss Ponsonby,
whose head we should judge to have been small and finely formed. O for
the genius of a Seward, to have written an ode to that venerable
head-dress! and in good truth, one might almost fancy we heard the spirit
of that amiable enthusiast, bidding us, like _Gesler's_ captain, "bow
down and honour it." Seriously, every little particular connected with
the history and habits of the departed "Ladies" is so anxiously prized at
Llangollen, that we felt very grateful for the prompt kindness with which
the present worthy possessors of the unique residence contributed to our
information and amusement. We may therefore tell, for the advantage of
such of our readers as associate their notions of "old maids" with an
affectionate regard for the canine and feline tribes, that Lady Eleanor
Butler possessed a favourite dog of the turnspit-breed, called "Trust;"
that Miss Ponsonby had a small white poodle, named "Busy;" and that they
had a joint interest in a popular cat, answering to the name of
"Meggins;" all of which four-footed domestics were especial pets in their
garden walks or at their quiet fire-side.
The little domain of Plas-Newydd, if situated in some localities, would
be esteemed a miniature paradise, but planted as it is amidst so many
scenes of surpassing loveliness, its limited and somewhat formal
characteristics suffer by comparison. The arrangement of the ground
might have suited the peculiar tastes and habits of the "recluses;" but
it is certainly very far inferior to the picturesque effect, which
landscape gardening in the present day could _there_ produce. The
prettiest portions of these much-vaunted precints are the shady knoll,
overhanging a romantic glen, down which a brawling streamlet leaps its
frothing course over a craggy bed; and the rural walk by the gothic
fount, into which a pellucid mountain-rill pours its refreshing waters.
Among the remembrances of former days, is the effigy of a guardian
'lion,' (which, under the name of a 'bear,' has been noted by an author
whom we have quoted;) the melancholy quadruped is now considerably "used
up," and excites a laugh at the burlesque on the monarch of the forest,
which his attenuated figure and shrivelled hide present. Plas-Newydd is
unquestionably a delightful residence; and its adjacent pleasure grounds
and gardens afford most inviting facilities for those who love to make a
practical study of horticulture; to ruminate amidst its tranquil retreats
over the published works of some favourite authors; or to "meditate,"
like the patriarch, at "even-tide" on the wonders and glories of Eternal
Power. Apart therefore from the romantic recollections, with which the
singular history of the "Ladies of Llangollen" has invested this fair
spot of earth, it presents to the tourist certain attractions, which the
reflective explorer of the lovely vallies of the Dee should not neglect.
We heard from some of the older inhabitants several anecdotes of the
benevolence and charity of the departed "Ladies," whose memory is most
affectionately cherished in the neighbourhood. It has been said that on
religious subjects, these ancient friends were divided in opinion; one
being a Roman Catholic and the other a Protestant; but the parish clerk,
an intelligent old man who knew them well, assured us that they both
regularly attended the services in the Church of Llangollen, and received
the Sacrament of the Lord's Supper, both there, and at their own cottage
during the last illness of Lady Eleanor Butler, from the vicar. With all
their eccentricity, their attachment to each other must have been of a
pure, unchanging, and fervent character; else would they never have
forsworn in the full bloom of youth and beauty, the gay fascinations or
the elegant ease of courtly life for the dull monotony of seclusion and
celibacy. Both in feeling and intellect, Lady Eleanor Butler and Miss
Ponsonby were no common persons; it may of a truth be said of them, that
"they lived to a good old age and died honoured and respected;" and if
ever the beings of a brighter and holier sphere are permitted to cast
back occasional glimpses on the world which they have left, their spirits
may sometimes hover over the sacred spot where their ashes repose, and
haunt the moon-lit banks of the silvery Dee, in its murmuring current by
the lowly church-yard of Llangollen.