Latin Quarter, Fontainebleau, Saint-Germain, and Barbizon, are all too
well known to need mention here. The final scenes of the novel, where
David's wife is brought after the beginning of her fatal illness, are in
one of the most beautiful localities in the English Lake District.
Lucy's house is supposed to be on the right bank of the river. The house
is imaginary (the one on the left bank having no connection with the
story), but the location is exactly described. This is just above Pelter
Bridge, a mile north of Ambleside, where the river Rothay combines with
the adjacent hills to make one of those fascinating scenes for which
Westmoreland is famous. Nab Scar looms up before us, and off to the left
is Loughrigg. A stroll along the river brings one to the little bridge
at the outlet of Rydal Water, where David walked for quiet meditation
during his wife's illness; and still farther northward the larch
plantations on the side of Silver How add their touch of beauty to the
landscape. This entire region has always been dear to Mrs. Ward's heart
from the associations of her girlhood, and, if Lucy must die, she could
think of no more lovely spot for the last sad scenes.
One character in "David Grieve" is drawn from real life--Elise Delaunay,
the French girl with whom David falls in love on his first visit to
Paris. This is, in some respects, a portrait of Marie Bashkirtseff, a
young native of Russia, whose brief career as an artist attracted much
notice. Marie was born of wealthy parents in 1860. When she was only ten
years old her mother quarreled with her husband and left him, taking the
children with her. Marie returned to her father, with whom she traveled
extensively. A born artist, the journey through Italy created in her a
new and thrilling interest. She resolved to devote her life to art, and
in 1877 entered the school of Julian in Paris. She soon showed
astonishing capacity, and Julian assured her that her draughtsmanship
was remarkable. One of her paintings, "Le Meeting," was exhibited in the
Salon of 1884, and attracted much notice. Reproductions were made in all
the leading papers, and it was finally bought by the cousin of the Czar,
the Grand Duke Constantino Constantinowitch, a distinguished connoisseur
and himself a painter. This picture represents half a dozen street
gamins of the ordinary Parisian type holding a conference in the street.
Their faces exhibit all the seriousness of a group of financiers
consulting upon some project of vast importance.
The peculiarity of Marie's character is set forth by her biographer in
words which enable the reader of "David Grieve" instantly to recognize
Elise Delaunay:--
She never wholly yields herself up to any fixed rule of conduct, or
even passion, being swayed this way or that by the intense
impressionability of her nature. She herself recognized this anomaly
in the remark, "My life can't endure; I have a deal too much of some
things and a deal too little of others, and a character not made to
last." The very intensity of her desire to see life at all points
seems to defeat itself, and she cannot help stealing side glances at
ambition during the most romantic tete-a-tete with a lover, or being
tortured by visions of unsatisfied love when art should have engrossed
all her faculties.
In the last year of her life Marie achieved an admiration for
Bastien-Lepage which, her biographer says, "has a suspicious flavour of
love about it. It is the strongest, sweetest, most impassioned feeling
of her existence." She died in 1884, at the early age of twenty-four,
assured by Bastien-Lepage that no other woman had ever accomplished so
much at her age.
"Marcella" and "Sir George Tressady" are novels of English social and
political life--a field in which Mrs. Ward is peculiarly at home, and in
which she has no superior. Marcella, who in her final development became
one of the most beautiful women of all Mrs. Ward's characters, was
suggested by the personality of an intimate friend, whose name need not
be mentioned. Mellor Park, the home of Marcella, is drawn from Hampden
House in Buckinghamshire. It is a famous old house, some centuries old,
now the country-seat of the Earl of Buckinghamshire, and, with its
well-kept gardens and spacious park, is unusually attractive. Twenty
years ago, however, it was in a state of neglect. The road leading to it
was full of underbrush, the garden was wholly uncared-for, and the house
itself much in need of repair. This is the state in which Mrs. Ward
describes it--and she knew it well, for she had leased it for a season
and made it her summer home. The murder of the gamekeeper, described as
taking place near Mellor Park, really happened at Stocks, Mrs. Ward's
present home near Tring.
The village of Ferth, where Sir George Tressady had his home and owned
the collieries, is a mining village ten miles from Crewe, known as "Talk
o' the Hill." The ugly black house to which Tressady brought home his
young wife was described from an actual house which the author visited.
"Helbeck of Bannisdale" was written while the author was living at
Levens Hall, the handsome country home of Captain Bagot, M.P., which
Mrs. Ward leased for a summer. It is a few miles south of Kendal, in
Westmoreland, and just on the border of the "Peat Moss" country. The
old hall dates back to 1170, the original deed now in possession of
Captain Bagot bearing that date. The dining-room has an inlaid design
over the mantel with the date 1586. The entrance-hall, dining-room, and
drawing-room contain many antique relics. But the most remarkable
feature of Levens is the garden, containing about two hundred yews
trained and trimmed into every conceivable shape. There is an "umbrella"
which has required two hundred years of constant care to reach its
present size and shape; a British lion, with perfect coronet; a peacock
with correctly formed neck and tail feathers; a barrister's wig, a
kaffir's hut, and so on through a long list of curious shapes. In front
of the house the river Kent, with a bridge of two arches, makes a
picturesque scene. This is the "bridge over the Bannisdale River" which
marked the end of Laura's drive with Mason, where at sight of Helbeck
the young man made his sudden and unceremonious departure. A spacious
park skirts the river, through which runs a grassy road bounded by
splendid oaks intertwining their branches high above. Following this
path we reached a foot-bridge barely wide enough for one person to
cross, on the park end of which is a rough platform apparently built for
fishermen. Here Laura kept her clandestine appointment with Mason, and
on her way home was mistaken for the ghost of the "Bannisdale Lady,"
much to the terror of a poor old man who chanced to be passing, and not
a little to her own subsequent embarrassment. A little beyond is the
deep pool where Laura was drowned.
The exterior of Bannisdale Hall is not Levens, but Sizergh Castle, some
two or three miles nearer Kendal. At the time of the story a Catholic
family of Stricklands owned the place, but, like Helbeck, were gradually
selling parts of their property, and dealers from London and elsewhere
were constantly coming to carry off furniture or paintings. The family
finally lost the property, and it was acquired by a distant relative,
Sir Gerald Strickland, who was recently appointed Governor of New South
Wales, and who now owns but does not occupy it.
The little chapel, high up on a hill, where Laura was buried, is at
Cartmel Fell, in Northern Lancashire. A quaint little chapel five or six
hundred years old, it is well worth a visit.
The scenes of "Eleanor" are in Italy, and here Mrs. Ward fairly revels
in descriptions of "Italy, the beloved and beautiful." The opening
chapters have their setting in the Villa Barberini, on the ridge of the
Alban Hills, south of Rome, from the balcony of which the dome of St.
Peter's can be seen in the distance, dominating the landscape by day and
seeming at night to be the one thing which has definite form and
identity. There is a visit to Nemi and Egeria's Spring, after which the
scene changes to the valley of the Paglia, beyond the hill town of
Orvieto, "a valley with wooded hills on either side, of a bluish-green
color, checkered with hill towns and slim campaniles and winding roads;
and, binding it all in one, the loops and reaches of a full brown
river."
Torre Amiata--the real name of which is Torre Alfina--is a magnificent
castle, "a place of remote and enchanting beauty." Through some Italian
friends, Mrs. Ward met the agent of this great estate, who put his house
at her disposal for a season. This happy opportunity gave her the
intimate acquaintance with the surrounding country which she used with
such excellent skill in "Eleanor," and enabled her, among other things,
to discover the ruined convent and chapel which formed the dismal
retreat of Lucy and Eleanor in their strange flight from Mr. Manisty.
"Lady Rose's Daughter," which followed "Eleanor," likewise reflects the
author's love of Italy. It was written, in part at least, in the
beautiful villa at Cadenabbia, on Lake Como, from which a view of
surpassing loveliness meets the eye in every direction. Mrs. Ward never
tires of it, and in her leisure moments while there found great delight
in reproducing in her sketch-book the charming colors of a landscape
which can scarcely be equaled in any other part of the world.
The setting of the novel in its earlier chapters is London. But when
Julie Le Breton, worn out by mental anguish, the result of experiences
which had nearly ruined her life, could be rescued and brought back to
life only by a quiet rest amid pleasant surroundings, Lake Como was the
place selected by her kind-hearted little friend the duchess. As her
strength gradually returned she daily walked over the hill to the path
that led to the woods overhanging the Villa Carlotta.
Such a path! To the left hand, and, as it seemed, steeply beneath her
feet, all earth and heaven--the wide lake, the purple mountains, the
glories of a flaming sky. On the calm spaces of water lay a shimmer of
crimson and gold, repeating the noble splendor of the clouds.... To
her right a green hillside--each blade of grass, each flower, each
tuft of heath, enskied, transfigured by the broad light that poured
across it from the hidden west. And on the very hilltop a few
scattered olives, peaches, and wild cherries scrawled upon the blue,
their bare, leaning stems, their pearly whites, their golden pinks and
feathery gray, all in a glory of sunset that made of them things
enchanted, aerial, fantastical, like a dance of Botticelli angels on
the height.
[Illustration: LAKE COMO]
The story opens with a graphic description of Lady Henry's
salon--frequented by the most prominent people in London--where the
chief attraction was not the great lady herself, but her maid companion,
Julie Le Breton. Everywhere Julie was met with smiles and evidence of
eager interest. She knew every one, and "her rule appeared to be at once
absolute and welcome." But one evening Lady Henry was ill and gave
orders that the guests be turned away with her apologies. As the
carriages drove up, one by one, the footman rehearsed Lady Henry's
excuses. But a group of men soon assembled in the inner vestibule, and
Julie felt impelled to invite them into the library, where they were
implored not to make any noise. The distinguished frequenters of Lady
Henry's salon were all there. Coffee was served, and, stimulated by the
blazing fire and a sense of excitement due to the novelty of the
situation, an animated conversation sprang up, which continued till
midnight and was at last suddenly interrupted by the unexpected
appearance of Lady Henry herself.
Lady Henry's awakening led to Julie's dismissal. But her friends did not
desert her. A little cottage was found, where Julie was soon comfortably
installed.
This much of the story--and little if any more--was suggested by the
life of Julie de Lespinasse, a Frenchwoman who figured brilliantly in
the Paris society of the middle of the eighteenth century.
In 1754 the Marquise du Deffand was one of the famous women of Paris.
Her quick intelligence and a great reputation for wit had brought to her
drawing-room the famous authors, philosophers, and learned men of the
day. But the great lady, now nearly sixty, was entirely blind and
subject to a "chronic weariness that devoured her." She sought a remedy
in the society of an extraordinarily attractive young woman, of somewhat
doubtful parentage, named Julie de Lespinasse, whom she took into her
home as a companion. Julie became a great social success. For ten years
she remained with Madame du Deffand, when a bitter quarrel separated
them. Julie's friends combined to assure her an income and a home, and
she was soon established almost opposite the house of her former patron.
The Marechale de Luxembourg presented her with a complete suite of
furniture. Turgot, the famous Minister of Louis XVI, and President
Henault were among those who provided funds. D'Alembert, distinguished
as a philosopher, author, and geometrician, who was the cause of the
quarrel with the marquise, became Julie's most intimate friend. When she
founded her own salon, his official patronage and constant presence
assured its success. Her success was, in fact, astonishingly rapid. "In
the space of a few months," says her biographer, the Marquis de Segur,
"the modest room with the crimson blinds was nightly filled, between
the hours of six and ten, by a crowd of chosen visitors, courtiers and
men of letters, soldiers and churchmen, ambassadors and great ladies,
... each and all gayly jostling elbows as they struggled up the narrow
wooden stairs, unregretting, and forgetting in the ardor of their talk,
the richest houses in Paris, their suppers and balls, the opera, and the
futile lures of the grand world."
The remarkable career and unique personality of this famous woman
furnished the suggestion for Julie Le Breton. But beyond this the
resemblance is slight. The subsequent history of the Frenchwoman has no
relation to the story of "Lady Rose's Daughter," and the personality of
the two women differs in many respects.
"The Marriage of William Ashe" is like "Lady Rose's Daughter" in two
important respects: it is a story in which the author reveals an
extraordinary knowledge of English politics and familiarity with the
social life of the upper classes, and it is one in which a story of real
life plays an important part. Indeed, there is far more of real life in
this novel than in any other the author has written. William Ashe and
his frivolous and erratic wife Kitty are portraits, considerably
modified, it is true, but nevertheless real, of William and Caroline
Lamb. William Lamb--known to posterity as Lord Melbourne--did not
become a distinguished statesman until after he had entered the House of
Lords. For twenty-five years he had been a member of the House of
Commons, of little influence and almost unknown to the country at large.
But soon after the death of George IV he entered the cabinet of Earl
Grey as Home Secretary. This was in 1830. Less than four years later he
rose suddenly to the highest position in the state. As Premier it was
his unique privilege to instruct the young Queen, Victoria, in the
duties of her high office--a task which he executed with commendable
tact and skill. It is the inconsequential William Lamb of the House of
Commons, and not the exalted Lord Melbourne, whom Mrs. Ward had in mind
in portraying William Ashe; and it was more particularly his young wife,
Caroline Lamb, who furnished the real motive of the novel.
"Lady Caroline," we are told by Lord Melbourne's biographer, Dr.
Dunckley, "became the mistress of many accomplishments. She acquired
French and Latin, and had the further courage, Mr. Torrens tells us, to
undertake the recital of an ode of Sappho. She could draw and paint, and
had the instinct of caricature. Her mind was brimming with romance, and,
regardless of conventionality, she followed her own tastes in
everything. In conversation she was both vivacious and witty." Such was
Lady Caroline Ponsonby when she married William Lamb. The marriage
proved an extremely unhappy one. Lady Caroline's whole life was a series
of flirtations--deliberately planned, as a matter of fact, and yet
entered upon with such mad rushes of passion as to seem merely the
result of some irresistible impulse. A son was born to the couple, but
he brought no joy, for as he grew up he developed an infirmity of
intellect amounting almost to imbecility. The life of the young people
was "an incessant round of frivolous dissipation." The after-supper
revels often lasted till daybreak. But this brought no happiness, and
both husband and wife came to realize that marriage had been, for them,
a troublesome affair. About this time Lord Byron appeared on the scene.
"Childe Harold" had brought him sudden fame. He had traveled in the
East, was the hero of many escapades, had been sufficiently wicked to
win the admiration of certain ladies of romantic tendencies, and
altogether created quite a _furor_ through the peculiar charms of his
handsome face and dashing ways. He sought and obtained an introduction
to Lady Caroline. He came to call the next day when she was alone, and
for the next nine months almost lived at Melbourne House. They called
each other by endearing names, and exchanged passionate verses. They
were constantly together, and the intimacy caused much scandalous
comment. It lasted until Byron became tired of it all, and announced
his intention of marrying. The marriage to a cousin of Lady Caroline
aroused the fierce jealousy of the latter, who proceeded to perform a
little melodrama of her own, first trying to jump out of a window and
then stabbing herself--not so deep that it would hurt--with a knife.
Such escapades could have but one result. There came a separation, of
course; but some traces of the early love remained in both, and when
Lady Caroline was dying, William Lamb was summoned from Ireland. The
final parting was not without tender affection on both sides, and
William felt his loss deeply.
In this brief sketch the reader of Mrs. Ward's novel will recognize
Kitty Ashe in every line. The portraiture is very close. Cliffe takes
the place of Lord Byron without being made to resemble him. But he
serves to reveal the weakness of Kitty's character. Even Kitty's
mischievous work in writing a book, which came near ruining her
husband's career, was an episode in the life of Caroline Lamb. She wrote
a novel in which Byron and herself were the principal characters, and
their escapades were paraded before the world in a thin disguise which
deceived nobody.
[Illustration: STOCKS]
Of Mrs. Ward's later books there is little to say, so far as scenes and
"originals" are concerned. In "Fenwick's Career" the little cottage
where the artist and his wife lived was in reality the summer home of
Mrs. Ward's daughter Dorothy. It stands on the slope of a hill near the
Langdale Pikes in Westmoreland, commanding a view of surpassing
loveliness.
In the "Testing of Diana Mallory" the scenery is all taken from the
country near Stocks, the summer home of the novelist.
In "Daphne," or "Marriage a la Mode," Mount Vernon, Washington, Niagara
Falls, and an imaginary English estate supply the necessary scenery, and
these are not described with real interest, for the author, contrary to
her usual custom, is here writing with a fixed didactic purpose. But a
chapter incidentally thrown in reflects the novelist's impressions of a
visit to the White House as the guest of President Roosevelt--an
experience which interested her greatly. In "the tall, black-haired man
with the meditative eye, the equal, social or intellectual, of any
Foreign Minister that Europe might pit against him, or any diplomat that
might be sent to handle him," it is easy to recognize Mr. Root.
Secretary Garfield is "this younger man, sparely built, with the sane
handsome face--son of a famous father, modest, amiable, efficient."
Secretary Taft, with whom, apparently, the distinguished author did not
really become acquainted, is lightly referred to as "this other of huge
bulk and height, the hope of a party, smiling already a Presidential
smile as he passed."
It has been said of this book that it does an injustice to America. But
such was assuredly far from the author's intent. Mrs. Ward, who is one
of the keenest observers of English and European public men, pays a high
compliment in the remark that "America need make no excuses whatever for
her best men.... She has evolved the leaders she wants, and Europe has
nothing to teach them." She is attacking the laxity of the divorce laws
in certain American States, and in doing so is actuated by motives which
every high-minded American must applaud. The English general who berates
American institutions is held up to ridicule, and the most agreeable
woman in the book--perhaps the only agreeable one--is an American.
Daphne, through whom the author condemns the evil, is not a typical
American girl, but, with evident intent to avoid offense, is made the
daughter of a foreigner.
As a matter of fact, Mrs. Ward's feelings toward America are of the
kindliest nature, and, whatever may be said of the merits of "Marriage a
la Mode" as a work of fiction, in condemning an abuse which nobody can
defend she has performed a real service.
FOOTNOTE:
[5] 1908.
VI
A TOUR OF THE ITALIAN LAKES
VI
A TOUR OF THE ITALIAN LAKES
We caught our first glimpse of Maggiore from a window in Stresa, late in
the afternoon of a charming day in early spring. In spite of the
lateness of the hour, with all the enthusiasm of amateurs, we proceeded
to make a photograph of the charming scene. Ruskin was right when he
declared Maggiore to be the most beautiful of all the Italian lakes;--at
least, we felt willing to admit this, even though we had not yet seen
the others. In the foreground were the green lawns and white paths of a
well-kept park, skirting the lake; then a wide stretch of water,
roughened by the wind so that its surface, usually smooth, was now
dotted with whitecaps, dancing and sparkling in the afternoon sun;
across the water to the left, the village of Pallanza, pushing itself
far out into the lake, and thrown into strong relief by the high
mountains at its back; far away in the distance, the white-capped summit
of some Alpine range; and above it all, the most beautiful of blue
Italian skies.
We gazed long upon the scene, until the twilight began to deepen. Soon
two figures appeared at the entrance to the park, one a woman in a
green velvet gown, the other a man in a long flowing mantle of the style
peculiar to Italy. They seemed in earnest conversation, now approaching
each other with vigorous but graceful gestures, now falling back a step
or two and again advancing. The man would throw his cloak over his left
shoulder; then, when his earnestness caused it to slip away, he would
throw it back again, repeating the movement over and over. We could
almost fancy overhearing Lorenzo say:--
"In such a night
Did Jessica steal from the wealthy Jew,
And with an unthrift love did run from Venice
As far as Belmont";
and hearing Jessica reply:--
"And in such a night
Did young Lorenzo swear he loved her well,
Stealing her soul with many vows of faith,
And ne'er a true one."
The little pantomime seemed all that was needed to complete the romance
of the scene, while the gathering twilight lent its aid.
[Illustration: LAKE MAGGIORE, ITALY]
The Lago di Maggiore, known to the Romans as Lacus Verbanus, is the
westernmost as well as the largest of three lovely lakes which lie on
the southern slope of the Alps, in an area not greater than that of the
State of Rhode Island. The Lago di Como, or Lacus Larius, is the
easternmost of the group, while the Lago di Lugano, smaller, but not
less beautiful, lies between the other two.