MARRIAGE
Next year--1870--all thoughts were to a large extent taken up with the
Franco-German War. It does not seem to me that we took violent sides in
the struggle. Naturally we were quite ignorant of the depths of cruelty
latent in the German nature, or of the manoeuvres on the part of Bismarck
which had led to the declaration of war. We were fond of our sister's
French governess Mdlle. Verdure, and sorry for the terrible collapse of
her country, but I think on the whole that the strongest feeling in our
family was amazement at the revelation of inefficiency on the part of the
French, mingled with some admiration for the completeness of German
organisation. Anyhow, everyone was set to work to provide comforts for the
sick and wounded on both sides--medical stores which I fancy would have
been to a large extent condemned wholesale if submitted to the medical
authorities during the late War, but which I am sure were very useful and
acceptable in '70-71. As is well known, that winter was an exceptionally
hard one--we had fine times skating, and I remember a very pleasant visit
to old Lord Bathurst at Cirencester--but it must have been terrible in
Paris. Our French man-cook had some refugee sisters quartered in the
neighbourhood who were employed by my mother in dressmaking work for our
benefit, but I do not know whether refugees were numerous in England.
What did really excite us in common with all England were the excesses of
the Commune. Never shall I forget the papers coming out with terrific
headlines: "Paris in Flames--Burning of the Tuileries," and so on. I
passed the morning in floods of tears because they were "burning history,"
and had to be rebuked by my mother for expressing the wish that the
incendiaries could be soaked in petroleum and themselves set on fire.
The year 1871 was rendered interesting to our family by the marriages of
our two Leigh uncles--Chandos, commonly known among us as "Uncle Eddy,"
married an amiable and good-looking Miss Rigby, who inherited money from a
(deceased) Liverpool father. Uncle Eddy was a great character. A fine,
athletic man, successful in every walk of life which he entered, a good
horseman, cricketer and actor, he did well at the Bar and seemed to know
practically everybody and to be friends with them all. He was blessed with
supreme self-confidence and appeared innocently convinced that everyone
was as much interested in his affairs as he was himself. This childlike
disposition was really attractive, and quite outweighed the boyish conceit
which endured to the end of a long and useful life.
His love affairs with Miss Rigby were naturally very public property. I
heard all about them from the beginning, and have no doubt that anyone of
age to listen and capable of sympathising was similarly favoured. He
originally proposed to the young lady after a few days' acquaintance, and
she turned pale and said "You have no right to speak to me in this way."
Ups and downs followed, including a consultation with planchette, which
quite properly wavered and shook and spoke with an uncertain voice. This
was all in 1870. Some time in January we acted a small farce which I had
perpetrated called _The Detective_. When it was over my uncle informed me
that failing his marriage he intended to leave me a thousand pounds in
recognition of this play. Fortunately I founded no hopes on that thousand
pounds, for I think that it was the following morning when Uncle Eddy came
shouting along the top corridor where we slept. "Margaret--you've lost
your thousand pounds!" The post had come in and the fair lady had
relented.
[Sidenote: FANNY KEMBLE]
James, my father's youngest brother, called "Uncle Jimmy," had travelled
in the United States and been entertained on her plantation in Georgia by
a charming Southern lady--a Miss Butler, daughter of the descendant of an
old Irish family who had married the well-known actress Fanny Kemble. Mr.
and Mrs. Pierce Butler had separated--not from any wrong-doing, but from
absolute incompatibility of temper. For one thing the wife took up a
violent anti-slavery attitude--a little awkward when (as she must have
known when she married) the husband owned a cotton plantation worked by
slave labour. However, the two daughters remained on friendly terms with
both parents, and Mr. Butler died during--or shortly after--the war. One
daughter married a Dr. Wister and became the mother of the well-known
author, Owen Wister; the younger, Frances, married my uncle and was
adopted into the family as "Aunt Fanny." Though some ten or eleven years
older than myself, she and I became the greatest friends, and I much liked
her somewhat erratic, though withal stately, mother, who was called "Mrs.
Kemble." Both Uncles were married (on different days) in June 1871, my
sister Agnes being bridesmaid to Miss Butler and I to Miss Rigby.
Both marriages were very happy ones, though my Uncle Chandos ended his
life in a dark cloud cast by the late War--in which he lost his only two
sons, and his wife was killed in a motor accident not long after his
death.
Since I wrote above I have found an old journal from May 18th, 1868, to
November 3rd, 1869. I do not extract much from it, as it largely consists
of records of the various balls and entertainments which we attended--but
it is rather amusing to note what circumstances, social and otherwise,
struck the fancy of a girl in her first two seasons. Politically the Irish
Church Bill seems to have been the burning question. We went to part of
the Debate on the Second Reading (June 17th, 1869) in the House, and I not
only give a summary of Lord Salisbury's speech, but when the Bill was
carried, devote over two pages of my journal to a full description of the
details of the measure. The _causes celebres_ of Madame Rachel, the Beauty
Doctor, and of the nun, Miss Saurin, against her Mother Superior, Mrs.
Starr, appear also to have been topics of conversation.
[Sidenote: AN OLD-FASHIONED CHRISTMAS]
One visit is perhaps worth recording. My father's mother was a Miss Willes
of an old family living on the borders of Northamptonshire and
Oxfordshire--regular country people. One of her brothers, Charles, was
married to a certain Polly--I think she was a Miss Waller, but anyhow they
were a plump, old-fashioned pair. She was supposed to keep a book in which
were recorded the names of over a hundred nephews and nieces, and to sell
a pig to give a present to any one of the number who married. On the last
day of 1868 my brother Gilly and I went with our Aunt Georgiana to stay
with this charming old couple at King-Sutton Manor House near Banbury.
This is how I describe the New Year festivities of fifty years ago: "It is
a queer old house like one in a storybook, full of corners. My wash-stand
was in a recess with a window, separated from the rest of the room by
doors so that it looked like a chapel. We had dinner between six and
seven, a real Christmas dinner with nearly twenty people--great-uncle
Charles, great-aunt Martha, great-aunt Sophy, George Willes, Willie
Willes, Stany Waller, the clergyman Mr. Bruce, Aunt Polly herself beaming
at the head of the table, turkey and beef stuck with holly, and the
plum-pudding brought in, in flaming brandy.... Almost everyone seemed
related to all the rest. A few more people came after dinner while we were
in the drawing-room and the dining-room was being cleared for dancing. Two
fiddlers and a blowing-man were then perched on a table in a corner and
dancing began--quadrilles, lancers, jig, reel, and valse carried on with
the utmost energy, by Aunt Polly in particular, till about half-past
eleven, when muffled bells began to ring in a church close by and the
dancing was stopped that we might all listen. At twelve o'clock the
muffles were taken off, Aunt Polly charged with Xmas cards into the midst
of her company, punch was brought in in great cups, silver, I believe;
everyone kissed, shook hands, and wished everyone else a Happy New Year,
the bells rang a joy-peal, and we had supper, and then began dancing again
till between one and two in the morning. After many efforts Gilly
succeeded in catching Aunt Polly under the misletoe and kissing her." I do
not know what a "blowing-man" may have been, but have a vivid recollection
of Aunt Polly trying to dance everyone down in a perpetual jig, and of
the portly figure of Uncle Charles, who had to be accommodated with two
chairs at dinner.
We had other very pleasant visits--and amongst them we stayed with my
uncle and aunt Wenlock for my cousin Carry Lawley's wedding to Captain
Caryl Molyneux. This marriage was particularly interesting to all the
cousinhood, as it was brought about after considerable opposition. Carry
was an extraordinarily pretty, lively, and attractive girl rather more
than a year older than myself. She had brilliant eyes and auburn hair and
was exceedingly clever and amusing. Her family naturally expected her to
make a marriage which would give all her qualities a wide sphere. However,
at the mature age of eleven she won the affections of Lord Sefton's
younger brother and he never fluctuated in his choice. I do not know at
what exact moment he disclosed his admiration, but he contrived to make
the young lady as much in love with him as he was with her. Vainly did her
mother refuse consent. Carry stuck to her guns, and I believe ultimately
carried her point by setting up a cough! Anyhow the parents gave in, and
when they did so, accepted the position with a good grace. Somehow what
was considered sufficient provision for matrimony was made and Caryl and
Carry were married, on a brilliant spring day in April 1870.
[Sidenote: A PRE-MATRIMONIAL PARTY]
It was at the Wenlocks' London house, in the following year, that I made
the acquaintance of Lord Jersey. We had unknowingly met as children at an
old inn on Edgehill called "The Sunrising"; at that time his parents, Lord
and Lady Villiers, lived not far off at Upton House, which then belonged
to Sarah, Lady Jersey. While my brother and I were playing outside, a boy
with long fair hair looked out of the inn and smilingly lashed his whip at
us, unconscious that it was his first salutation to his future wife! I
discovered in after years that George Villiers, as he then was, used to
ride over for lessons to a neighbouring clergyman and put up his pony at
the inn.
At the dinner-party at Berkeley Square Lord Jersey did not take me in, and
I had not the slightest idea who he was, but when the ladies left the
dining-room I was laughed at for having monopolised his attention when he
was intended to talk to his partner. He was reckoned exceedingly shy, and
I thought no more of the matter till the following season, to which I
shall return in due course.
After our return to Stoneleigh, though I do not recollect in which month
(I think August), we had a large and gay party including a dance--it was
distinctly a pre-matrimonial party, as three of the girls whom it included
were either engaged or married before twelve months were over, though none
of them to the men present. The three girls were Gwendolen (then called
Gwendaline) Howard, who married Lord Bute; Maria Fox-Strangways, married
to Lord Bridport's son Captain Hood; and myself. Rather oddly, a much
older man and a widower, Lord Raglan, who was also of the party, caught
the matrimonial microbe and married his second wife in the ensuing autumn.
Among others my cousin and great friend Hugh Shaw-Stewart was there and
immortalised our doings in verse. At Christmas time I managed to get
slight congestion of the lungs and soon after went to spend some time with
my kind uncle and aunt Sir Michael and Lady Octavia Shaw-Stewart at
Fonthill, and Hughie, who had also suffered from chest trouble, stayed
with his parents there while preparing for Oxford.
[Sidenote: FONTHILL ABBEY]
Fonthill, as is well known, belonged to the eccentric Beckford and was
full of his traditions. After his death the property was divided and my
grandfather Westminster bought the portion which included Beckford's old
house, of which the big tower had fallen down, and built himself a modern
house lower down the hill. Another part was bought--I do not know when--by
Mr. Alfred Morrison. When my grandfather Westminster died in the autumn of
1869 he left the reversion of Fonthill Abbey to Uncle Michael. Perhaps he
thought that the Shaw-Stewarts should have an English as well as a
Scottish home. However that might have been, Fonthill is a delightful
place--and I benefited by their residence there at this time. I think that
they were only to come into actual possession after my grandmother's
death--but that she lent it to them on this occasion as my aunt was
delicate and it was considered that she would be the better for southern
air.
The modern house was a comfortable one with good rooms, but had a
peculiarity that no room opened into another, as my grandfather objected
to that arrangement--dressing-rooms, for instance, though they might open
into the same lobbies, might not have doors into the bedrooms.
Part of Beckford's old house higher up the hill was preserved as a sort of
museum. The story was that he insisted on continuous building, Sundays and
weekdays alike. The house had a very high tower which could be seen from a
hill overlooking Bath, where he ultimately went to live. Every day he used
to go up the hill to look at his tower, but one morning when he ascended
as usual he saw it no longer--it had fallen down. It used to be implied
that this was a judgment on the Sunday labour. Also we were told that he
made the still-existing avenues and drove about them at night, which gave
him an uncanny reputation. Probably his authorship of that weird tale
_Vathek_ added to the mystery which surrounded him. He had accumulated
among many other treasures a number of great oriental jars from the Palace
of the King of Portugal, and when these were sold after his death my
grandfather, to the best of my recollection, purchased three.
Mr. Morrison had secured a good many of the others, which I saw in after
years when I stayed at the other Fonthill House which he had built on his
part of the property. Many of the other treasures passed, as is well
known, into the possession of Beckford's daughter who married the 10th
Duke of Hamilton. Alas--most of them must have been dispersed ere now!
Mr. Alfred Morrison, when I was at Fonthill with my uncle and aunt, was a
subject of much interest, as it was rumoured that he wanted to emulate
Beckford. I do not quite know in what way beyond trying to collect the
oriental jars. He was a distinctly literary man, and was reported to have
married his wife because he found her reading a Greek grammar in the
train. Whether or no that was the original attraction I cannot say, but
she proved a delightful and amusing person when I met her in after years.
Meantime we used to hear of the beautiful horses which he sent to the
meets of the local hounds, though he did not ride, and other proofs of his
wealth and supposed eccentricity.
My uncle as well as my aunt being far from strong, we led a quiet though
pleasant life. Hughie and I shared a taste for drawing and painting of
very amateur description and Hughie used to help me with Latin verses, in
which I then liked to dabble.
After my return to Stoneleigh I had yet another treat. My Uncle James and
his new wife "Aunt Fanny" were kind enough to ask me to share in the
spring their first trip abroad after their marriage. We went via Harwich
to Rotterdam and thence for a short tour in Holland and Belgium with which
I was highly delighted. The quaint canals, the cows with table-cloths on
their backs, the queer Jewish quarter in Amsterdam, and still more the
cathedrals and picture galleries in Belgium gave me infinite pleasure, but
are too well known to describe.
Even the copyist in the Antwerp Gallery who, being armless, painted with
his toes was an amusement, as much to my uncle, who loved freaks, as to
myself. Ghent and Bruges were a revelation; and I was much entertained by
the guide who took us up the Belfry of St. Nicholas (I think it was) at
the former city and pointed triumphantly to the scenery as "bien beau,
tout plat, pas de montagnes." He shared the old Anglo-Saxon conception of
Paradise.
"Nor hills nor mountains there
Stand steep, nor strong cliffs
Tower high, as here with us; nor dells nor dales,
Nor mountain-caves, risings, nor hilly chains;
Nor thereon rests aught unsmooth,
But the noble field flourishes under the skies
With delights blooming."
In the Cathedral of St. Nicholas, over the high altar, was an image of the
saint with three children in a tub. My uncle asked a priest what he was
doing with the children, but all the good man could say was that "St.
Nicolas aimait beaucoup les enfants," quite ignorant of the miracle
attributed to his own saint, namely, that he revived three martyred boys
by putting them into a barrel of salt.
Shortly after our return to England we moved to Portman Square for the
season. At a dinner-party--I believe at Lord Camperdown's--I again met
Lord Jersey, but fancied that he would have forgotten me, and subsequently
ascertained that he had the same idea of my memory. So we did not speak to
each other. Later on, however, my father told my mother that he had met
Lord Jersey and would like him asked to dinner. The families had been
friends in years gone by, but had drifted apart. My mother agreed, sent
the invitation, which was accepted. In arranging how the guests were to
sit I innocently remarked to my mother that it was no good counting Lord
Jersey as a young man--or words to that effect--as "he would never speak
to a girl"--and I was rather surprised when in the drawing-room after he
came across to me and made a few remarks before the party broke up.
After this events moved rapidly for me. Jersey, unexpectedly to many
people, appeared at balls at Montagu House, Northumberland House (then
still existing), and Grosvenor House. Also he came to luncheon once or
twice in Portman Square. He did not dance at balls, but though
"sitting-out" was not then the fashion we somehow found a pretext--such as
looking at illuminations--for little walks. Then Lord Tollemache drove my
mother and me to a garden-party at Syon, where I well recollect returning
from another "little walk" across a lawn where my mother was sitting with
what appeared to me to be a gallery of aunts.
[Sidenote: ENGAGEMENT]
We went to a last ball at the Howards of Glossop in Rutland Gate, and
discovering that we were about to leave London Jersey took his courage in
two hands and came to Portman Square, July 18th, and all was happily
settled.
I went next morning--it may have been the same evening--to tell Aunt
Fanny, who was then laid up at a house not far from ours. I had been in
the habit of paying her constant visits, so she had an idea of what might
happen, and I found her mother, Mrs. Fanny Kemble, with her. One word was
enough to enlighten my aunt, who then said, "May I tell my mother?" I
assented, and she said, "This child has come to tell me of her
engagement." Whereupon Mrs. Kemble demanded, with a tragical air worthy of
her aunt Mrs. Siddons, "And are you very happy, young lady?" I cheerfully
answered, "Oh yes"--and she looked as if she were going to cry. My aunt
said afterwards that any marriage reminded her of her own unfortunate
venture. Aunt Fanny was much amused when I confided to her that finding
immediate slumber difficult the first night of my engagement I secured it
by attempting the longest sum which I could find in Colenso's arithmetic.
My brothers and sisters accepted the news with mixed feelings--but poor
little Cordelia, who had been left at Stoneleigh, was quite upset. I wrote
her a letter in which I said that Lord Jersey should be her brother and
she should be bridesmaid. The nurse told me that she burst into tears on
receiving it and said that he should not be her brother, and not take away
Markie. She quite relented when she saw him, because she said that he had
nice smooth light hair like Rowly--and as time went on, she suggested that
if Aggy would only "marry or die" she should be "head girl and hear the
boys their lessons." As the youngest "boy" was seven years older than
herself this may be regarded as an exceptional claim for woman's supremacy
in her family.
My future mother-in-law, Jersey's mother, and his brothers welcomed me
most kindly. As for his sisters, Lady Julia Wombwell and Lady Caroline
Jenkins, I cannot say enough of their unvarying friendship and affection.
[Sidenote: MARRIED TO LORD JERSEY]
I was engaged about the middle of July, and shortly we returned to
Stoneleigh. My mother was terribly busy afterwards, as my brother Gilbert
came of age on the first of September and the occasion was celebrated with
great festivities, including a Tenants' Ball, when the old gateway was
illuminated as it had been for the Queen's visit. The ivy, however, had
grown so rapidly in the intervening years that an iron framework had to be
made outside it to hold the little lamps. There was a very large family
party in the house, and naturally my affairs increased the general
excitement and I shared with my brother addresses and presentations. As my
mother said--it could never happen to her again to have a son come of age
and a daughter married in the same month. She was to have launched the
_Lady Leigh_ lifeboat in the middle of September, but my sister was
commissioned to do it instead--and we returned to Portman Square for final
preparations. Like most girls under similar circumstances I lived in a
whirl during those days, and my only clear recollections are signing
Settlements (in happy ignorance of their contents) and weeping bitterly
the night before the wedding at the idea of parting from my family, being
particularly upset by my brother Dudley's floods of fraternal tears.
However, we were all fairly composed when the day--September 19th, 1872,
dawned--and I was safely married by my Uncle Jimmy at St. Thomas's Church,
Orchard Street. It was not our parish, but we had a special licence as it
was more convenient. My bridesmaids were my two sisters, Frances
Adderley, one of the Cholmondeleys, Minna Finch (daughter of my father's
cousin Lady Aylesford), and Julia Wombwell's eldest little girl
Julia--afterwards Lady Dartrey.
When all was over and farewells and congratulations ended, Jersey and I
went down for a short honeymoon at Fonthill, which my grandmother lent us.
So ended a happy girlhood--so began a happy married life. I do not say
that either was free from shadows, but looking back my prevailing feeling
is thankfulness--and what troubles I have had have been mostly of my own
making.
My father was so good--my mother so wise. One piece of advice she gave me
might well be given to most young wives. "Do not think that because you
have seen things done in a particular way that is the only right one." I
cannot resist ending with a few sentences from a charming letter which
Aunt Fanny wrote me when I went to Stoneleigh after my engagement:
"I have thought of you unceasingly and prayed earnestly for you. I
could not love you as I do, did I not believe that you were true and
good and noble--and on that, more than on anything else, do I rest my
faith for your future. Oh, Marky my darling child, _cling_ to the good
that is in you. Never be false to yourself. I see your little boat
starting out on the sea of life, anxiously and tremblingly--for I know
full well however smooth the water may be now there must come rocks in
everyone's life large enough to wreck one. Do you call to mind, dear,
how you almost wished for such rocks to battle against a little time
ago, wearying of the tame, even stream down which you were floating?
God be with you when you do meet them."