EARLY MARRIED LIFE
It is more difficult to write at all consecutively of my married life than
of my girlhood, as I have less by which I can date its episodes and more
years to traverse--but I must record what I can in such order as can be
contrived.
We did not stay long at Fonthill, and after a night or two in London came
straight to our Oxfordshire home--Middleton Park.
My husband's grandfather and father had both died in the same month
(October 1859) when he was a boy of fourteen. He was called "Grandison"
for the three weeks which intervened between their deaths, having been
George Villiers before, so when he returned again to Eton after his father
died, the boys said that he came back each time with a fresh name. His
grandmother, however, the well-known Sarah, Lady Jersey, continued to
reign at Middleton, for the largest share of the family fortune belonged
to her as heiress of her grandfather Mr. Child--and, I suppose, in
recognition of all he had enjoyed of hers, her husband left her the use of
the Welsh property and she alone had the means to keep up Middleton. She
was very fond of my husband, but when she died, soon after he came of age
and inherited the place, he did not care to make many changes, and though
his mother paid lengthened visits she had never really been mistress of
the house. Therefore I seemed to have come straight upon the traces of a
bygone generation. Even the china boxes on my dressing-table and the
blotters on the writing-tables were much as Lady Jersey had left them--and
there were bits of needlework and letters in the drawers which brought her
personally vividly before me. The fear and awe of her seemed to overhang
the village, and the children were still supposed to go to the Infant
School at two years old because she had thought it a suitable age. She had
been great at education, had built or arranged schools in the various
villages belonging to her, and had endowed a small training school for
servants in connection with a Girls' School at Middleton. Naturally the
care of that school and other similar matters fell to my province, and I
sometimes felt, as I am sure other young women must have done under
similar circumstances, that a good deal of wisdom was expected from me at
an age which I should have considered hardly sufficient for a second
housemaid. Some of the schools of that date must have been quaint enough.
An old lame woman still had charge of the Infant School at the
neighbouring hamlet of Caulcot, whom we soon moved into the Almshouses. In
after years one of her former pupils told me that she was very good at
teaching them Scripture and a little reading, but there was no question of
writing. If the old lady had occasion to write a letter on her own account
she used a knitting-needle as a pen while my informant held the paper
steady. If a child was naughty she made him or her stand crouched under
the table as a punishment. She never put on a dress unless she knew that
Lady Jersey was at the Park, and then, she being crippled with rheumatism,
her pupil had to stand on a chair to fasten it up, lest the great lady
should pay a surprise visit.
[Sidenote: LORD JERSEY'S MOTHER]
Sarah, Lady Jersey, had a great dislike to any cutting down or even
lopping of trees. She had done much towards enlarging and planting the
Park, and doubtless trees were to her precious children. Therefore the
agent and woodmen, who realised the necessity of a certain amount of
judicious thinning, used to wait until she had taken periodical drives of
inspection amongst the woods, and then exercised some discretion in their
operations, trusting to trees having branched out afresh or to her having
forgotten their exact condition before she came again.
In one school, Somerton, I was amused to find a printed copy of
regulations for the conduct of the children, including injunctions never
to forget their benefactress. But she was really exceedingly good to the
poor people on the property and thoughtful as to their individual
requirements. One old woman near her other place, Upton, told me how she
had heard of her death soon after receiving a present from her, and added,
"I thought she went straight to heaven for sending me that petticoat!"
Also she built good cottages for the villagers before the practice was as
universal as it became later on. The only drawback was that she would at
times insist on the building being carried on irrespective of the weather,
with the result that they were not always as dry as they should have been.
Lady Jersey was well known in the world, admired for her beauty and lively
conversation, and no doubt often flattered for her wealth, but she left a
good record of charity and duties fulfilled in her own home.
As for her beautiful daughter Lady Clementina, she was locally regarded
as an angel, and I have heard that when she died the villagers resented
her having been buried next to her grandmother, Frances Lady Jersey, as
they thought her much too good to lie next to the lady who had won the
fleeting affections of George IV.
I soon found home and occupation at Middleton, but I confess that after
being accustomed to a large and cheerful family I found the days and
particularly the autumn evenings rather lonely when my husband was out
hunting, a sport to which he was much addicted in those days. However, we
had several visitors of his family and mine, and went to Stoneleigh for
Christmas, which was a great delight to me.
Soon after we went abroad, as it was thought desirable after my chest
attack of the previous winter that I should not spend all the cold weather
in England. We spent some time at Cannes, and I fancy that it really did
my husband at least as much good as myself--anyhow he found that it suited
him so well that we returned on various occasions.
Sir Robert Gerard was then a great promoter of parties to the Ile Ste
Marguerite and elsewhere, and the Duc de Vallombrosa and the Duchesse de
Luynes helped to make things lively.
[Sidenote: IN LONDON]
I will not, however, dwell on scenes well known to so many people, and
only say that after a short excursion to Genoa and Turin we returned in
the early spring, or at the end of winter, to superintend a good deal of
work which was then being done to renovate some of the rooms at Middleton.
At the beginning of May we moved to 7 Norfolk Crescent--a house which we
had taken from Mr. Charles Fane of Child's Bank--and my eldest son was
born there on June 2nd, 1873. He had come into the world unduly
soon--before he was expected--and inconveniently selected Whit Monday
when the shops were shut and we were unable to supply certain deficiencies
in the preparations. Nevertheless he was extremely welcome, and though
very small on his arrival he soon made up for whatever he lacked in size,
and, as everyone who knows him will testify, he is certainly of stature
sufficient to please the most exacting.
[Illustration: THE LIBRARY, MIDDLETON PARK.]
[Illustration: MIDDLETON PARK. _From photographs by the present Countess
of Jersey._]
My mother-in-law and her second husband, Mr. Brandling, were among our
frequent visitors. Mr. Brandling had a long beard and a loud voice, and a
way of flinging open the doors into the dining-room when he came in in the
morning which was distinctly startling. Apart from these peculiarities he
did not leave much mark in the world. He was very fond of reading, and I
used to suggest to him that he might occupy himself in reviewing books,
but I do not think that he had much power of concentration. My
mother-in-law was tactful with him, but he had a decided temper,
especially when he played whist. As I did not play, this did not affect
me.
My younger sister-in-law, Caroline, and I were great friends. She had
married Mr. Jenkins, who was well known as a sportsman and an amiable,
genial man. His chief claim to fame, apart from his knowledge of horses
and their training, was an expedition which he had made to avenge his
sister's death in Abyssinia. His sister had married a Mr. Powell and she
and her husband had been murdered by natives when travelling in that
country. Mr. Jenkins and Mr. Powell's brother went to Egypt, collected
followers, went into the territory where the murder had taken place,
burned the village which sheltered the aggressors, and had the chief
culprits handed over to them for execution. It was said that the fact
that a couple of Englishmen would not leave their relatives' death
unavenged produced more effect than the whole Abyssinian expedition.
[Sidenote: ISOLA BELLA, CANNES]
The winter after my boy's birth Caroline lost hers, who was a few months
older than mine, and was herself very ill, so we invited her and Mr.
Jenkins to join us at Cannes, where we had this season taken a
villa--Isola Bella. We were the first people who inhabited it. It has
since been greatly enlarged and its gardens so extended that it is now one
of the finest houses in the place. Even then it was very pretty and
attractive, and we enjoyed ourselves greatly.
There was a quaint clergyman at that time who had known Caroline when she
had been sent as a girl to Hyeres, where he then ministered, and where he
had been famous for a head of hair almost too bushy to admit of being
covered by a hat. He was anxious to re-claim acquaintance, but though
civil she was not effusive. He was noted for paying long visits when he
got into anyone's house. I heard of one occasion on which his name was
announced to a young lady who was talking to a man cousin whom she knew
well. The youth on hearing the name exclaimed that he must hide, and crept
under the sofa. The visitor stayed on and on till the young man could
stand his cramped position no longer and suddenly appeared. The parson was
quite unmoved and unmovable by the apparition of what he took to be a
lover, and merely remarked "Don't mind me!"
We found this house so charming that we sent our courier back to England
to bring out our boy. My aunt, Lady Agnes, and her husband, Dr. Frank,
with their baby girl, lived not far off--they had found Isola Bella for us
and were pleasant neighbours. My husband, Caroline, and myself found
additional occupation in Italian lessons from a fiery little patriot whose
name I forget, but who had fought in the war against the Austrians. Among
other things he had a lurid story about his mother whose secrets in the
Confessional had been betrayed by a priest, resulting in the arrest and I
believe death of a relative. After which though the lady continued her
prayers she--not unnaturally--declined to make further confessions.
Our sojourn on this visit to Cannes was further brightened by Conservative
triumphs in the 1874 elections. We used to sit after breakfast on a stone
terrace in front of the villa, Mr. Jenkins smoking and Jersey doing
crochet as a pastime--being no smoker; and morning after morning the
postman would appear with English papers bringing further tidings of
success.
The Jenkinses returned to England rather before ourselves--we travelled
back towards the end of April in singularly hot weather, and when we
reached Dover Jersey left me there for a few days to rest while he went
back to Middleton. Unfortunately the journey, or something, had been too
much for me, and a little girl, who only lived for a day, appeared before
her time at the Lord Warden Hotel. It was a great disappointment, and I
had a somewhat tedious month at the hotel before migrating to 12
Gloucester Square--the house which we had taken for the season.
I have no special recollections of that season, though I think that it was
that year that I met Lord Beaconsfield at the Duke of Buccleuch's. It is,
however, impossible to fix exactly the years in which one dined in
particular places and met particular people, nor is it at all important.
[Sidenote: OXFORDSHIRE NEIGHBOURS]
I would rather summarise our life in the country, where we had garden
parties, cricket matches, and lawn tennis matches at which we were able to
entertain our neighbours. Now, alas! the whole generation who lived near
Middleton in those days has almost passed away. Our nearest neighbours
were Sir Henry and Lady Dashwood at Kirtlington Park with a family of sons
and daughters; Lord Valentia, who lived with his mother, Mrs. Devereux,
and her husband the General at Bletchington; and the Drakes--old Mrs.
Drake and her daughters at Bignell. Sir Henry's family had long lived at
Kirtlington, which is a fine house, originally built by the same
architect--Smith, of Warwick--who built the new portion of Stoneleigh
early in the eighteenth century. Sir Henry was a stalwart, pleasant man,
and a convinced teetotaller. Later on than the year of which I speak the
Dashwoods came over to see some theatricals at Middleton in which my
brothers and sisters and some Cholmondeley cousins took part. After the
performance they gave a pressing invitation to the performers to go over
on a following day to luncheon or tea. A detachment went accordingly, and
were treated with great hospitality but rather like strolling players.
"Where do you act next?" and so on, till finally Sir Henry burst out:
"What an amusing family yours is! Not only all of you act, but your uncle
Mr. James Leigh gives temperance lectures!" Sir Henry's son, Sir George
Dashwood, had a large family of which three gallant boys lost their lives
in the Great War. To universal regret he was obliged to sell Kirtlington.
It was bought by Lord Leven, whose brother and heir has in turn sold it to
Mr. Budgett. Not long before I married, the then owner of another
neighbouring place--Sir Algernon Peyton, M.F.H., of Swift's House, had
died. Lord Valentia took the Bicester hounds which he had hunted, for a
time, rented Swift's from his widow, and ultimately did the wisest thing
by marrying her (1878) and installing her at Bletchington. They are really
the only remaining family of my contemporaries surviving--and, though they
have occasionally let it, they do live now in their own house. They had
two sons and six daughters--great friends of my children. The eldest son
was killed in the Great War.
Another neighbour was a droll old man called Rochfort Clarke, who lived at
a house outside Chesterton village with an old sister-in-law whose name I
forget (I think Miss Byrom)--but his wife being dead he was deeply
attached to her sister. Soon after our marriage he came to call, and
afterwards wrote a letter to congratulate us on our happiness and to say
that had it not been for the iniquitous law forbidding marriage with a
deceased wife's sister we should have seen a picture of equal domestic
felicity in him and Miss ----. He was very anxious to convert Irish Roman
Catholics to the ultra-Protestant faith, and he interpreted the Second
Commandment to forbid _all_ pictures of any sort or kind. None were
allowed in his house. Once he wrote a letter to the papers to protest
against the ritualism embodied in a picture in Chesterton Church--an
extremely evangelical place where Moody and Sankey hymns prevailed. Later
on the clergyman took me into the church to show me the offending idol. It
consisted of a diminutive figure--as far as I could see of a man--in a
very small window high up over the west door. The most appalling shock was
inflicted upon him by a visit to the Exhibition of 1851, where various
statuary was displayed including Gibson's "Tinted Venus." This impelled
him to break into a song of protest of which I imperfectly recollect four
lines to this effect:
"Tell me, Victoria, can that borrowed grace
Compare with Albert's manly form and face?
And tell me, Albert, can that shameless jest
Compare with thy Victoria _clothed and dressed_?"
The sister-in-law died not long after I knew him, and he then married a
respectable maid-servant whom he brought to see us dressed in brown silk
and white gloves. Shortly afterwards he himself departed this life and the
property was bought by the popular Bicester banker Mr. Tubb, who married
Miss Stratton--a second cousin of mine--built a good house, from which
pictures were not barred, and had four nice daughters.
I cannot name all the neighbours, but should not omit the old Warden of
Merton, Mr. Marsham, who lived with his wife and sons at Caversfield. The
eldest son, Charles Marsham, who succeeded to the place after his death,
was a great character well known in the hunting and cricket fields. He was
a good fellow with a hot temper which sometimes caused trying scenes.
Towards the end of his life he developed a passion for guessing Vanity
Fair acrostics, and when he saw you instead of "How d'ye do?" he greeted
you with "Can you remember what begins with D and ends with F?" or words
to that effect. There was a famous occasion when, as he with several
others from Middleton were driving to Meet, one of my young brothers
suggested some solution at which he absolutely scoffed. When the hounds
threw off, however, Charlie Marsham disappeared and missed a first-class
run. It was ultimately discovered that he had slipped away to a telegraph
office to send off a solution embodying my brother's suggestion!
[Sidenote: CAVERSFIELD CHURCH]
Caversfield Church was a small building of considerable antiquity standing
very close to the Squire's house. The present Lord North, now an old man,
has told me that long ago when he was Master of Hounds he passed close to
this church out cub-hunting at a very early hour, when the sound of most
beautiful singing came from the tower, heard not only by himself but by
the huntsmen and whips who were with him--so beautiful that they paused to
listen. Next time he met the clergyman, who was another Marsham son, he
said to him, "What an early service you had in your church on such a day!"
"I had no weekday service," replied Mr. Marsham, and professed entire
ignorance of the "angelic choir." I have never discovered any tradition
connected with Caversfield Church which should have induced angels to come
and sing their morning anthem therein, but it is a pretty tale, and Lord
North was convinced that he had heard this music.
One thing is certain, the tiny agricultural parish of Caversfield could
not have produced songsters to chant Matins while the world at large was
yet wrapped in slumber.
Thinking of Caversfield Church, I recollect attending a service there when
the Bishop of Oxford (Mackarness, I believe) preached at its reopening
after restoration. In the course of his sermon he remarked that there had
been times when a congregation instead of thinking of the preservation and
beautifying of the sacred building only considered how they should make
themselves comfortable therein. This, as reported by the local
representative, appeared in the Bicester paper as an episcopal comment
that in former days people had neglected to make themselves comfortable in
church. However, my old Archdeacon uncle-by-marriage, Lord Saye and Sele,
who was a distinctly unconventional thinker, once remarked to my mother
that he had always heard church compared to heaven, and as heaven was
certainly the most comfortable place possible he did not see why church
should not be made comfortable. The old family pew at Middleton Church had
been reseated with benches to look more or less like the rest of the
church before I married, but was still a little raised and separated by
partitions from the rest of the congregation. Later on it was levelled and
the partitions removed. From the point of view of "comfort," and apart
from all other considerations, I do think that the square "Squire's
Pew"--as it still exists at Stoneleigh--where the occupants sit facing
each other--is _not_ an ideal arrangement.
At Broughton Castle--the old Saye and Sele home--one of the bedrooms had a
little window from which you could look down into the chapel belonging to
the house without the effort of descending. Once when we stayed there and
my mother was not dressed in time for Morning Prayers she adopted this
method of sharing in the family devotions.
Broughton Castle, and Lord North's place, Wroxton Abbey (now for sale) are
both near Banbury, which is about thirteen miles from Middleton--nothing
in the days of motors, but a more serious consideration when visits had to
be made with horses.
[Sidenote: LIFE AT MIDDLETON]
Mr. Cecil Bourke was clergyman at Middleton when I married and had two
very nice sisters, but he migrated to Reading about two years later, and
was succeeded by the Rev. W. H. Draper, who has been there ever since. He
is an excellent man who has had a good wife and eleven children. Mrs.
Draper died lately, to the sorrow of her many friends. Some of the
children have also gone, but others are doing good work in various parts
of the Empire. Old Lord Strathnairn, of Mutiny fame, was once staying with
us at Middleton. He was extremely deaf and apt to be two or three periods
behind in the conversation. Someone mentioned leprosy and its causes at
dinner, and after two or three remarks that subject was dropped, and
another took its place, in which connection I observed that our
clergyman's wife had eleven children. Lord Strathnairn, with his mind
still on "leprousy," turned to me and in his usual courteous manner
remarked, "It is not catching, I believe?"
Among other neighbours were Mr. and Mrs. Hibbert at Bucknell Manor, who
had six well-behaved little daughters whom, though they treated them
kindly, they regarded as quite secondary to their only son. On the other
hand, Mr. and Mrs. Dewar at Cotmore were perfectly good to their four
sons, but the only daughter distinctly ruled the roost. Moral: if a boy
baby has any choice he had better select a family of sisters in which to
be born, and the contrary advice should be tendered to a female infant.
To return to our own affairs. The little girl whom we lost in April 1874
was replaced, to our great pleasure, by another little daughter born at
Middleton, October 8th, 1875, and christened Margaret like the baby who
lay beneath a white marble cross in the churchyard. The new little
Margaret became and has remained a constant treasure. Villiers' first
words were "Hammer, hammer," which he picked up from hearing the constant
hammering at the tank in the new water-tower. He was very pleased with his
sister, but a trifle jealous of the attentions paid her by his nurse. A
rather quaint incident took place at the baby's christening. When
Villiers was born, old Lord Bathurst, then aged eighty-two, asked to come
and see him as he had known my husband's great-grandmother Frances, Lady
Jersey (the admired of George IV), and wanted to see the fifth generation.
We asked him to stay at Middleton for the little girl's christening, and
after dinner to propose the baby's health.
He asked her name, and when I told him "Margaret" he murmured, "What
memories that brings back!" and fell into a reverie. When he rose for the
toast he confided to the family that her great-grandmother on my
side--Margarette, Lady Leigh--had been his first love and repeated,
"Maggie Willes, Maggie Willes, how I remember her walking down the streets
of Cirencester!" He was a wonderful man for falling in love--even when he
was quite old he was always fascinated by the youngest available girl--but
he died unmarried. Perhaps one love drove out the other before either had
time to secure a firm footing in his heart.
Lord Bathurst told me that when he was a middle-aged man and friend of the
family Sarah Lady Jersey was very anxious to secure Prince Nicholas
Esterhazy for her eldest daughter Sarah (a marriage which came off in due
course). She had asked him to stay at Middleton, and it was generally
believed that if he accepted the match would be arranged. Lord Bathurst in
November 1841 was riding into Oxford when he met Lady Jersey driving
thence to Middleton. She put her head out of the carriage and called to
him, "We have got our Prince!" At that time the Queen was expecting her
second child, and Lord Bathurst, more occupied with Her Majesty's hopes
than with those of Lady Jersey, at once assumed that this meant a Prince
of Wales, and rode rapidly on to announce the joyful tidings. These were
almost immediately verified, and he gained credit for very early
intelligence. He was a gallant old man, and despite his years climbed a
fence when staying at Middleton. He died between two and three years
later.
On a visit to the Exeters at Burghley, near Stamford, we had met Mr. and
Mrs. Finch of Burley-on-the-Hill, near Oakham, and they asked us to stay
with them soon after little Margaret's birth. I mention this because it
was here that I met Lady Galloway, who became my great friend, and with
whom later on I shared many delightful experiences. She was a handsome and
fascinating woman a few months younger than myself.
[Sidenote: MR. DISRAELI]
It was in this year, May 18th, 1875, that Disraeli wrote to Jersey
offering him the appointment of Lord-in-Waiting to the Queen--saying, "I
think, also, my selection would be pleasing to Her Majesty, as many
members of your family have been connected with the Court." On May 28th he
notified the Queen's approval. (It is rather quaint that the first letter
begins "My dear Jersey"--the second "My dear Villiers." My husband was
never called "Villiers," but Disraeli knew his grandfather and father, who
were both so called.) Jersey used to answer for Local Government in the
House of Lords. The Queen was always very kind to him, as she had known
his grandmother so well, and told me once that Lady Clementina had been
her playfellow. She was his godmother; she records it if I remember
rightly in the Life of the Prince Consort, or anyhow in a letter or Diary
of the period, and says there that she became godmother as a token of
friendship to Sir Robert Peel--his mother's father. She declared to us
that she had held him in her arms at his christening, and of course it was
not for us to contradict Her Majesty: but I think that she officiated by
proxy. She gave him two or three of her books in which she wrote his name
as "Victor Alexander," and again we accepted the nomenclature. As a matter
of fact he was "Victor Albert George" and always called "George" in the
family. He had, however, the greatest respect and affection for his royal
godmother, and valued her beautiful christening cup. As Lord-in-Waiting he
had to attend the House of Lords when in session, and spoke
occasionally--he always sat near his old friend Lord de Ros, who was a
permanent Lord-in-Waiting.
I used to go fairly often to the House during the years which followed his
appointment and before we went to Australia, and heard many interesting
debates. Jersey and I always considered the late Duke of Argyll and the
late Lord Cranbrook as two of the finest orators in the House. The Duke
was really splendid, and with his fine head and hair thrown back he looked
the true Highland Chieftain. Several much less effective speakers would
sometimes persist in addressing the House. I remember Lord Houghton
exciting much laughter on one occasion when he said of some point in his
speech "and that reminds me," he paused and repeated "and that reminds
me," but the impromptu would not spring forth till he shook his head and
pulled a slip of paper, on which it was carefully written, out of his
waistcoat pocket.
I was told, though I was not present, of a house-party of which the Duke
of Argyll and Lord Houghton both formed part. One evening--Sunday evening,
I believe--Lord Houghton offered to read to the assembled company
Froude's account of the "Pilgrimage of Grace" in his _History of England_.
Most of them seem to have submitted more or less cheerfully, but the Duke,
becoming bored, retired into the background with a book which he had taken
from the table. Just when Lord Houghton had reached the most thrilling
part and had lowered his voice to give due emphasis to the narrative, the
Duke, who had completely forgotten what was going on, threw down his book
and exclaimed, "What an extraordinary character of Nebuchadnezzar!"
Whereupon Lord Houghton in turn threw down Froude and in wrathful accents
cried, "One must be a Duke and a Cabinet Minister to be guilty of such
rudeness!"
Froude was rather a friend of ours--a pleasant though slightly cynical
man. I recollect him at Lady Derby's one evening saying that books were
objectionable; all books ought to be burnt. I ventured to suggest that he
had written various books which I had read with pleasure--why did he write
them if such was his opinion? He shrugged his shoulders and remarked, "Il
faut vivre." When Lady Derby told this afterwards to Lord Derby he said
that I ought to have given the classic reply, "Je n'en vois pas la
necessite," but perhaps this would have been going a little far.
[Sidenote: FROUDE AND KINGSLEY]
Froude and Kingsley were brothers-in-law, having married two Misses
Grenfell. On one occasion the former was giving a Rectorial Address at St.
Andrews and remarked on the untrustworthiness of clerical statements.
About the same time Kingsley gave a discourse at Cambridge in which he
quoted a paradox of Walpole's to the effect that whatever else is true,
history is not. Some epigrammists thereupon perpetrated the following
lines. I quote from memory:
"Froude informs the Scottish youth
Parsons seldom speak the truth;
While at Cambridge Kingsley cries
'History is a pack of lies!'
Whence these judgments so malign?
A little thought will solve the mystery.
For Froude thinks Kingsley a divine
And Kingsley goes to Froude for history."
The Galloways when we first made their acquaintance lived at 17 Upper
Grosvenor Street. In 1875 we occupied 17_a_ Great Cumberland Street--and
in 1876 a nice house belonging to Mr. Bassett in Charles Street--but in
1877 we bought 3 Great Stanhope Street, being rather tired of taking
houses for the season. My second (surviving) daughter Mary was born here
on May 26th--a beautiful baby, god-daughter to Lady Galloway and Julia
Wombwell. My third and youngest daughter, Beatrice, was born at Folkestone
October 12th, 1880, and the family was completed three years later by
Arthur, born November 24th, 1883, to our great joy, as it endowed us with
a second son just before his elder brother went to Mr. Chignell's
school--Castlemount--at Dover.
In the same month, but just before Arthur was born, our tenant at
Osterley, the old Duchess of Cleveland (Caroline), died. She was a fine
old lady and an excellent tenant, caring for the house as if it had been
her own. She had most generous instincts, and once when part of the
stonework round the roof of Osterley had been destroyed by a storm she
wrote to my husband saying that she had placed a considerable sum with his
bankers to aid in its restoration. This was unexpected and certainly
unsolicited, which made it all the more acceptable. We should never have
thought of disturbing her during her lifetime, and even when she died our
first idea was to relet the place to a suitable tenant. I had never lived
there (though we once slept for a night during the Duchess's tenure), so
had no associations with, and had never realised, the beauty of, the
place. However, after her death we thought we would give one garden-party
before reletting, which we did in 1884. The day was perfect, and an
unexpected number of guests arrived. We were fascinated with the place and
decided to keep it as a "suburban" home instead of letting, and it became
the joy of my life and a great pleasure to my husband.
[Sidenote: JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL]
I will speak of some of our guests later on, but I must first mention some
of those whom we knew at Great Stanhope Street and Middleton during the
earlier years of our married life. One of our great friends was the
American Minister Mr. Lowell. Looking through some of his letters, I
recall his perfect charm of manner in speaking and in writing. The
simplest occurrence, such as changing the date of a dinner-party in 1882,
gave him the opportunity of words which might have befitted a courtier of
old days:
"Her Majesty--long life to her--has gone and appointed Saturday, June
3rd, to be born on. After sixty-three years to learn wisdom in, she
can do nothing better than take my Saturday away from me--for I must
go to drink her health at the Foreign Office! 'Tis enough to make a
democrat of any Tory that ever was except you. I have moved on my poor
little dinner to 5th. I can make no other combination in the near
future, what with Her Majesty's engagements and mine, but that. Can
you come then? Or is my table to lose its pearl? If you can't, I shall
make another specially for you."
Before I knew Mr. Lowell personally I was introduced to his works by Mr.
Tom Hughes ("Tom Brown" of the "Schooldays") who stayed with us at
Middleton at the beginning of 1880 and gave me a copy of Lowell's poems
carefully marked with those he preferred. Four years later in August
Lowell stayed with us there. It was a real hot summer, and he wrote into
Hughes' gift these verses which certainly make the volume doubly precious:
"Turbid from London's noise and smoke,
Here found I air and quiet too,
Air filtered through the beech and oak,
Quiet that nothing harsher broke
Than stockdoves' meditative coo.
"So I turn Tory for the nonce
And find the Radical a bore
Who cannot see (thick-witted dunce!)
That what was good for people once
Must be as good for evermore.
"Sun, sink no deeper down the sky,
Nature, ne'er leave this summer mood,
Breeze, loiter thus for ever by,
Stir the dead leaf or let it lie,
Since I am happy, all is good!"
[Sidenote: T. HUGHES AND J. R. LOWELL]
This poem was afterwards republished under the title "The Optimist" in a
collection called _Heartsease and Rue_. Lowell added four additional
stanzas between the first and the last two, elaborating the description
and the underlying idea. I think, however, that the three original ones
are the best, particularly the gentle hit at the "Tory"--with whom he
loved to identify me. The "stockdoves" were the woodpigeons whose cooing
on our lawn soothed and delighted him. Mr. Hughes told me that he had
first made Mr. Lowell's acquaintance by correspondence, having written to
him to express his admiration of one of his works. I have just discovered
that in an Introduction to his Collected Works published 1891 Hughes says
that Truebner asked him in 1859 to write a preface to the English edition
of the _Biglow Papers_ which gave him the long-desired opportunity of
writing to the author. He also told me--which he also describes in the
Introduction--how nervous he was when about at last to meet his unknown
friend lest he should not come up to the ideal which he had formed, and
how overjoyed he was to find him even more delightful than his letters. In
a fit of generosity Hughes, quite unasked, gave me a very interesting
letter which Lowell wrote him on his appointment to England in 1880. It is
a long letter, some of it dealing with private matters, but one passage
may be transcribed:
"I have been rather amused with some of the comments of your press
that have been sent me. They almost seem to think I shall come in a
hostile spirit, because I have commented sharply on the pretension and
incompetence of one or two British bookmakers! It is also more than
hinted that I said bitter things about England during our war. Well, I
hope none of my commentators will ever have as good reason to be
bitter. It is only Englishmen who have the happy privilege of speaking
frankly about their neighbours, and only they who are never satisfied
unless an outsider likes England _better_ than his own country. Thank
God I have spoken my mind at home too, when it would have been far
more comfortable to hold my tongue. Had I felt less kindly toward
England, perhaps I shouldn't have been so bitter, if bitter I was."
Mr. Hughes records, again in the Introduction, that Lowell said in one of
his letters during the American War, "We are all as cross as terriers with
your kind of neutrality"--but he rejoices in the gradual increasing
warmth of his feeling for England as he grew to know her better during the
last years of his life.
While I knew him he was always most friendly, and it is pleasant to recall
him sitting in the garden at Osterley on peaceful summer evenings enjoying
specially that blue haze peculiar to the Valley of the Thames which
softens without obscuring the gentle English landscape.
One more letter, including a copy of verses, I cannot resist copying. In
July 1887 he endowed me with Omar Khayyam, and some months later I
received this--dated "At sea, 2nd November 1887":
"Some verses have been beating their wings against the walls of my
brain ever since I gave you the Omar Khayyam. I don't think they will
improve their feathers by doing it longer. So I have caught and caged
them on the next leaf that you may if you like paste them into the
book. With kindest regards to Lord Jersey and in the pleasant hope of
seeing you again in the spring,
Faithfully yours,
J. R. LOWELL."
"With a copy of Omar Khayyam.
"These pearls of thought in Persian gulfs were bred,
Each softly lucent as a rounded moon:
The diver Omar plucked them from their bed,
Fitzgerald strung them on an English thread.
"Fit rosary for a queen in shape and hue
When Contemplation tells her pensive beads
Of mortal thoughts for ever old and new:
Fit for a queen? Why, surely then, for you!
"The moral? When Doubt's eddies toss and twirl
Faith's slender shallop 'neath our reeling feet,
Plunge! If you find not peace beneath the whirl,
Groping, you may at least bring back a pearl."
He adds beneath the lines: "My pen has danced to the dancing of the
ship."
The verses (of course not the covering letter) appeared in _Heartsease and
Rue_.
Mr. Lowell stayed with us at Osterley in the two summers following his
return. He died in America just before we went to Australia.
We knew Robert Browning pretty well, and I recollect one interesting
conversation which I had with him on death and immortality. Of the former
he had the rather curious idea that the soul's last sojourn in the body
was just between the eyebrows. He said that he had seen several people
die, and that the last movement was there. I cannot think that a quiver of
the forehead proves it. For immortality, he said that he had embodied his
feelings in the "Old Pictures in Florence" in the lines ending "I have had
troubles enough for one." No one, however, can read his poems without
realising his faith in the hereafter.
[Sidenote: MR. GLADSTONE ON IMMORTALITY]
How diverse are the views of great men on this mystery! Lady Galloway
wrote to me once from Knowsley of a talk she had had with Mr. Gladstone
which I think worth recording in her own words:
"The theory of Mr. Gladstone's that mostly interested me last night
was--that every soul was not _of necessity immortal_--that all the
Christian faith of the immortality of the soul and resurrection of the
body was a new doctrine introduced and revealed by our Lord in whom
alone, maybe, we receive _immortal life_. This he only _suggests_, you
understand--does not lay it down--but I don't think I have quite
grasped his idea of the mystery of death, which as far as I can
understand he thinks Man would not have been subject to but for the
Fall--not that Death did not exist before the Fall--but that it would
have been a different kind of thing. In fact that the connection
between Sin and Death meant that you lost immortality thro' Sin and
gained it thro' Christ."
I might as well insert here part of a letter from Edwin Arnold, author of
_The Light of Asia_, which he wrote me in January 1885 after reading an
article which I had perpetrated in _The National Review_ on Buddhism. I
had not known him previously, but he did me the honour to profess interest
in my crude efforts and to regret what he considered a misconception of
Gautama's fundamental idea. He continues:
"I remember more than one passage which seemed to show that you
considered _Nirvana_ to be annihilation; and the aim and _summum
bonum_ of the Buddhist to escape existence finally and utterly. Permit
me to invite you not to adopt this view too decidedly in spite of the
vast authority of men like Max Mueller, Rhys David, and others. My own
studies (which I am far from ranking with theirs, in regard of
industry and learning) convince me that it was, in every case, _the
embodied life_; _life_ as we know it and endure it, which Gautama
desired to be for ever done with.... I believe that when St. Paul
writes 'the things not seen are eternal,' he had attained much such a
height of insight and foresight as Buddha under the Bodhi Tree. I even
fancy that when Professor Tyndall lectures on the light-rays which are
invisible to our eyes, and the cosmical sounds which are inaudible to
ears of flesh and blood, he _approaches_ by a physical path the
confines of that infinite and enduring life of which Orientals dreamed
metaphysically."
After this Mr. Arnold--afterwards Sir Edwin--became numbered among our
friends, and was very kind in giving us introductions when we went to
India, as I will record later.
[Sidenote: THOUGHT-READING]
Meantime I may mention a quaint bit of palmistry or thought-reading
connected with him. We had a friend, Augusta Webb of Newstead, now Mrs.
Fraser, who was an expert in this line. She was calling on me one day
when I mentioned casually that I had met Mr. Arnold, whose _Light of Asia_
she greatly admired. She expressed a great wish to meet him, so I said,
"He is coming to dine this evening--you had better come also." She
accepted with enthusiasm. He sat next to me, and to please her I put her
on his other side. In the course of dinner something was said about
favourite flowers, and I exclaimed, "Augusta, tell Mr. Arnold his
favourite flower." She looked at his hand and said without hesitation, "I
don't know its name, but I think it is a white flower rather like a rose
and with a very strong scent." He remarked, astonished, "I wish I had
written it down beforehand to show how right you are. It is an Indian
flower." (I forget the name, which he said he had mentioned in _The Light
of Asia_), "white and strong-smelling and something like a tuberose." It
is impossible that Augusta could have known beforehand. Her sister told me
later that she did occasionally perceive a person's thought and that this
was one of the instances.
To return to Thomas Hughes, who originally gave me Lowell's poems. He was
an enthusiast and most conscientious. On the occasion when, as I said
before, he stayed at Middleton he promised to tell my boy Villiers--then
six and a half years old--a story. Having been prevented from doing so, he
sent the story by post, carefully written out with this charming letter:
"_February 1st, 1880._
"MY DEAR LITTLE MAN,
"I was quite sorry this morning when you said to me, as we were going
away, 'Ah, but you have never told me about the King of the Cats, as
you promised.' I was always taught when I was a little fellow, smaller
than you, that I must never 'run word,' even if it cost me my knife
with three blades and a tweezer, or my ivory dog-whistle, which were
the two most precious things I had in the world. And my father and
mother not only told me that I must never 'run word,' for they knew
that boys are apt to forget what they are only told, but they never
'ran word' with me, which was a much surer way to fix what they told
me in my head; because boys find it hard to forget what they see the
old folk that they love do day by day.
"So I have tried all my long life never to 'run word,' and as I said I
would tell you the story about Rodilardus the King of the Cats, and as
I can't tell it you by word of mouth because you are down there in the
bright sunshine at Middleton, and I am up here in foggy old London, I
must tell it you in this way, though I am not sure that you will be
able to make it all out. I know you can read, for I heard you read the
psalm at prayers this morning very well; only as Mama was reading out
of the same book over your shoulder, perhaps you heard what she said,
and that helped you a little to keep up with all the rest of us. But a
boy may be able to read his psalms in his prayer book and yet not able
to read a long piece of writing like this, though I am making it as
clear as I can. So if you cannot make it all out you must just take it
off to Mama and get her to look over your shoulder and tell you what
it is all about. Well then, you know what I told you was, that I used
to think that some people could get to understand what cats said to
one another, and to wish very much that I could make out their talk
myself. But all this time I have never been able to make out a word of
it, and do not now think that anybody can. Only I am quite sure that
any boy or man who is fond of cats, and tries to make out what they
mean, and what they want, will learn a great many things that will
help to make him kind and wise. And when you asked me why I used to
think that I could learn cat-talk I said I would tell you that story
about the King of the Cats which was told to me when I was a very
little fellow about your age. And so here it is."
The story itself is a variant, very picturesquely and graphically told, of
an old folk-tale, which I think appears in Grimm, of a cat who,
overhearing an account given by a human being of the imposing funeral of
one of his race, exclaims, "Then I am King of the Cats!" and disappears up
the chimney.
[Sidenote: TOM HUGHES AND RUGBY, TENNESSEE]
Tom Hughes, at the time of his visit to Middleton, was very keen about the
town which he proposed to found on some kind of Christian-socialist
principles, to be called "New Rugby," in Tennessee. It was to have one
church, to be used by the various denominations, and to be what is now
called "Pussyfoot." What happened about the church I know not, but I have
heard as regards the teetotalism that drinks were buried by traders just
outside the sacred boundaries and dug up secretly by the townsmen. Anyhow,
I fear that the well-meant project resulted in a heavy loss to poor
Hughes. I recollect that Lord Galloway's servant suggested that he would
like to accompany Mr. Hughes to the States--"and I would valet you, sir."
Hughes repudiated all idea of valeting, but was willing to accept the man
as a comrade. All he got by his democratic offer was that the man told the
other servants that Mr. Hughes did not understand real English
aristocracy. Which reminds me of a pleasing definition given by the Matron
of our Village Training School for Servants of the much-discussed word
"gentleman." She told me one day that her sister had asked for one of our
girls as servant. As we generally sent them to rather superior situations,
I hesitated, though I did not like to refuse straight off, and asked,
"What is your brother-in-law?" "He is a gentleman," was the answer.
Observing that I looked somewhat surprised, the Matron hastened to add,
"You see, my sister keeps a temperance hotel, and in such a case the
husband does not work, only cleans the windows and boots and so on."
Whereby I gather that not to work for regular wages is the hall-mark of a
gentleman! But a girl was not provided for the place.
I believe that Henry James was first introduced to us by Mr. Lowell, and
became a frequent visitor afterwards. He was an intimate friend of my
uncle the Dean of Hereford and of his mother-in-law Mrs. Kemble.
Under the name of Summersoft he gives a delightful description of Osterley
in his novel _The Lesson of the Master_. "It all went together and spoke
in one voice--a rich English voice of the early part of the eighteenth
century." The Gallery he calls "a cheerful upholstered avenue into the
other century."
[Sidenote: CARDINAL NEWMAN]
One dinner at Norfolk House lingers specially in my memory; it was in the
summer of 1880 and was to meet Dr. Newman not long after he had been
promoted to the dignity of Cardinal--an honour which many people
considered overdue. A large party was assembled and stood in a circle
ready to receive the new "Prince of the Church," who was conducted into
the room by the Duke. As soon as he entered a somewhat ancient lady, Mrs.
W-- H--, who was a convert to "the Faith," went forward and grovelled
before him on her knees, kissing his hand with much effusion, and I fancy
embarrassing His Eminence considerably. My aunt, the Duchess of
Westminster, who was very handsome but by no means slim, was standing next
to me and whispered, "Margaret, shall we have to do that? because I should
never be able to get up again!" However, none of the Roman Catholics
present seemed to consider such extreme genuflections necessary. I think
they made some reasonable kind of curtsy as he was taken round, and then
we went in to dinner. Somewhat to my surprise and certainly to my
pleasure, I found myself seated next to the Cardinal and found him very
attractive. I asked him whether the "Gerontius" of the poem was a real
person, and he smiled and said "No," but I think he was pleased that I had
read it. I never met him again, but in October 1882 I was greatly
surprised to receive a book with this charming letter written from
Birmingham:
"MADAM,
"I have but one reason for venturing, as I do, to ask your Ladyship's
acceptance of a volume upon the Russian Church which I am publishing,
the work of a dear friend now no more. That reason is the desire I
feel of expressing in some way my sense of your kindness to me two
years ago, when I had the honour of meeting you at Norfolk House, and
the little probability there is, at my age, of my having any other
opportunity of doing so.
"I trust you will accept this explanation, and am
"Your Ladyship's faithful servant,
"JOHN H. CARDINAL NEWMAN."
The book was _Notes of a Visit to the Russian Church_ by Lord Selborne's
brother, Mr. W. Palmer, edited and with a Preface by Cardinal Newman. I
have never been able to understand what he considered my kindness, as I
thought the Great Man so kind to me, a young female heretic.