AFTER RETURN HOME—MARRIAGE
Yacht to Norway—Dover—Marriage—Relations of my own; those of my
wife
On returning to England, my gratification was great in finding all my
immediate relatives well and eager to welcome me. But I was rather used
up in health, and desired to get out of the way of being lionised, which
is exceedingly wearisome to the lion after the first excitement and
novelty of the process have worn away. So I gladly accepted an invitation
from Sir Hyde Parker to yacht and fish with him in Norway. He was a
famed fisherman, and had landed in Norway the largest salmon on record
with a fly, 66 lb. in weight, authoritatively confirmed. Several of his
yachting friends were to have sailed at the same time; but their plans
were affected by the electioneering then going on; consequently, after
the loss of some precious days, we were accompanied only by the yachts of
Mr. Bentinck and Mr. Milner Gibson.
The former told us interesting anecdotes of Lord Brougham’s early rise
at the Bar, how eagerly his help was sought by the smart men of those
days when they got into scrapes, as being more likely to get them out
of their difficulties than any one else. The extraordinary versatility
and energy of Lord Brougham had made a great impression on me at that
time and long previously, and I listened eagerly to anecdotes of him. A
timid and rather elderly lady had told me that Lord Brougham was once a
guest at her brother’s house, where his appearance was awaited with awe.
The great man arrived, talked incessantly and wonderfully well during
dinner, but retired early on account of business letters. Later on, while
she was preparing for bed, an awful yell or scream, which she could only
describe in the negative terms of unearthly and totally unlike anything
she had ever heard before, rang through the corridor. She tremblingly
snatched up whatever dress was at hand, and issued in terror to learn
what had happened. She met Lord Brougham’s valet with a candle in his
hand, walking leisurely, and cried to him, “What is it? What is it?” He
answered unconcernedly, “It is only his Lordship calling for me; that is
his usual way.”
There is a remarkably good wax effigy of Lord Brougham as a young man in
Madame Tussaud’s collection, perhaps the most real-looking of any there.
Later on I was taken to see him in his house at Cannes, a few years
before his death. Doubts had recently been expressed in the newspapers
about his version of the circumstances attending the dissolution of
Parliament by William iv., which made Lord Brougham exceedingly wroth. It
was fine but sad to witness the unmeasured indignation of the old hero,
punctuating his remarks as he sat, by heavy digs into the sand with the
point of his umbrella, held in both hands like a dagger.
Notwithstanding the Norway cruise, my health remained out of sorts, and a
little later in the year, while some of my old fever was on me, I could
not resist a dangerous exposure in order to witness the funeral of the
Duke of Wellington. This made me seriously ill; I could hardly stand, but
somehow made my way to my mother’s house at Claverdon, where she and my
sister Emma nursed me tenderly, and then, as I got better, it was agreed
that we should all go together to Dover for a complete change.
There I recovered completely, and became engaged to my future wife, the
daughter of the Very Rev. George Butler, Dean of Peterborough, who had
been Headmaster of Harrow during many years. My wife had three sisters
and four brothers, the latter all highly distinguished for scholastic and
administrative ability.
I shrink, yet cannot wholly refrain from speaking of the affection I
freely received from them, their relatives and their friends, all owing
to that happy marriage, which lasted forty-four years, and ended at Royat
in 1897, followed by a grave in the cemetery at Clermont Ferrand.
I shall say little about my purely domestic life, which, however full of
interest to myself, would be uninteresting to strangers, so I attempt
no more than to give brief accounts of the friendships and events
that followed my marriage in 1853 up to about 1866. This interval of
thirteen years occupies a fairly well defined part of my life owing to
two reasons, namely, that my scientific interests during its latter
half became concentrated on heredity, and because it was in 1866 that
my health suffered a more serious breakdown than had happened to it
before. During the whole of this interval I find from old diaries that
I frequently suffered from giddiness and other maladies prejudicial to
mental effort, but that I invariably became well again on completely
changing my habits, as by touring abroad and taking plenty of out-of-door
exercise. The warning I received in 1866 was more emphatic and alarming
than previously, and made a revision of my mode of life a matter of
primary importance. Those who have not suffered from mental breakdown can
hardly realise the incapacity it causes, or, when the worst is past, the
closeness of analogy between a sprained brain and a sprained joint. In
both cases, after recovery seems to others to be complete, there remains
for a long time an impossibility of performing certain minor actions
without pain and serious mischief, mental in the one and bodily in the
other. This was a frequent experience with me respecting small problems,
which successively obsessed me day and night, as I tried in vain to think
them out. These affected mere twigs, so to speak, rather than large
boughs of the mental processes, but for all that most painfully.
My own family became dispersed in four groups. My mother and my sister
Emma lived together in Leamington, and their house became a second home
to my wife and myself. My mother always showed the greatest affection
to me throughout her long life, which closed in 1874. After her death,
the house and garden devolved upon my sister Emma. She cared for the
interests of the family as a whole, and for each of us severally. She was
invaluable to my wife and myself, and became my regular correspondent,
whose weekly letters were awaited and read by us both with eagerness.
My eldest sister lived during the time with which I am now concerned,
with her husband and her two growing children, in the country, about
seven miles from Leamington.
My sister Adele lost her husband not long after her marriage, and settled
successively in various places at home and abroad, devoting herself, as
already said, to the education of her little girl. She died in 1883.
My second brother, Erasmus, lived for a while on his property at Loxton,
in Somersetshire, five miles from Weston-super-Mare, but joined the 2nd
Warwickshire Militia during many years, of which he became Major. He is
now the only survivor of my six brothers and sisters, and is ninety-three
years of age.
I turn from my own family to that of my wife. Her father was Dean of
Peterborough, previously Headmaster of Harrow during many years, and
before his appointment the Senior Wrangler at Cambridge, in the year
in which Copley, the future Lord Lyndhurst, was second. There was no
Classical class list in existence in Cambridge in those days, but the
fact of Dr. Butler’s election to the Headmastership of Harrow at a very
early age testifies to his reputation as a classical scholar as well as a
mathematician. He had been noted for athletic powers, and he much prized
a medal awarded to him by the Humane Society for having saved the life of
a drowning woman when long past his middle age. He afterwards overtaxed
his heart by exertion to catch a train, which, among other effects,
brought on a considerable degree of blindness, and made him in many
respects invalided before the age of eighty. But his mind was apparently
in full vigour, and his interests were most keen. Few persons had a more
courtly demeanour. I was fated never to know him as a father-in-law. When
I reached the Deanery from London, in order to be formally accepted into
the family, I found the blinds drawn, and learnt that the Dean had died
suddenly at luncheon. There had been some discussion in the morning about
Cathedral matters in the Chapter House, and the excitement told fatally
upon him, as it was always feared that any exceptional emotion might do.
I was taken upstairs to look upon his dead face.
The Dean was father of an exceptionally gifted family. All of his four
sons distinguished themselves highly at the Universities. The youngest
was the Senior Classic of his year, subsequently Headmaster of Harrow, as
his father had been before him, then for a brief time Dean of Gloucester,
now and for many past years Master of Trinity College, Cambridge.
The same gifts of nature have descended in large measure to the
grandchildren. Out of the eighteen grandsons of Dr. George Butler, Dean
of Peterborough, a full half have already shown exceptional ability.
Five have won a University Scholarship or prize, two others have given
promise of high administrative power in India, one of whom now occupies
the important post of Foreign Secretary to the Indian Government. Out of
the five granddaughters, one has obtained a First Class in History at
Oxford. This by no means exhausts the achievements of the grandchildren.
The Butler family well deserve study as an instance of hereditary gifts,
but this is hardly the place for it.
Neither can I enlarge as I could have done on the far greater importance
of being married into a family that is good in character, in health, and
in ability, than into one that is either very wealthy or very noble,
but lacks these primary qualifications. The enlargement afforded to the
previous family interests through marriage is so great that much must be
lost when first cousins marry one another.
I protest against the opinions of those sentimental people who think
that marriage concerns only the two principals; it has in reality the
wider effect of an alliance between each of them and a new family.
Moreover, the interests of the unborn should be taken far more seriously
into account than they now are. Enough is already known of the laws of
heredity to make it certain that the marriage of one class of persons
will lead on the whole to good results, and that of another class to evil
ones, however doubtful the result may be in particular cases. Of this I
shall speak more fully in the final chapter.
As regards the earlier domestic life of my wife and myself, we lived in
a flat in Victoria Street for three years; then I bought the long lease
of 42 Rutland Gate, which has been my home ever since. We followed the
usual routine of social life of persons of our class, making tours every
year, usually abroad. The doctors sometimes sent one or both of us to
undergo a cure at some watering-place. In this way we visited and, some
of them more than once, Spa, Vichy, Contréxéville, Wildbad, Baden, Royat,
and Mont Dore les Bains. We also often went to the Riviera and elsewhere.
My finances had at this time to be considered rather carefully, as an
income which was sure to arrive eventually was long delayed, and the
property that was to yield it entailed a cost that almost swallowed up
its profits. But there was no real stint; we had quite sufficient fortune
for an unpretending establishment, with abundant leisure besides.
Certainly we led a life that many in our social rank might envy. Among
our friends were not a few notable persons, a full half of whom were
first known to me through the connections of my wife. Then I was blessed
with an abundance of animal spirits and hopefulness, though they were
dashed temporarily over and over again by the great readiness with which
my brain became overtaxed; however, I always recuperated quickly. Once I
had a bad reminder of my old Syrian ague, but, thanks to quinine (which
the ancients would have deified had they known of its virtues), the
malady passed away so far out of sight as to have since recurred only at
long intervals.
One of the pleasantest description of events in those days were the
long walks I took, especially at Easter-time, with one or other of my
brothers-in-law, or with their or my own friends. Let me venture to
describe my own views as to provisions suitable for a day’s walk during a
homely tramp. They are such as can be procured at any town however small,
are tasty, easy to carry, exempt from butter, which is apt to leak out of
paper parcels, and are highly nutritious. They are two slices of bread
half an inch thick, a slice of cheese of nearly the same thickness, and
a handful of sultana raisins. The raisins supply what bread and cheese
lack; they play the same part that cranberries do in pemmican, that
nasty, and otherwise scarcely eatable food of Arctic travellers. The
luncheon rations that I advocate are compact, and require nothing besides
water to afford a satisfactory and sustaining midday meal. If sultanas
cannot be got, common raisins will do; lumps of sugar make a substitute,
but a very imperfect one.
We frequently enjoyed the hospitality of the Headmaster of Harrow and his
wife. One delightful way of spending Sunday in those days was to walk
to Harrow along what was then a comparatively countrified road, to take
afternoon tea at the house of my wife’s mother, Mrs. Butler, who resided
on the outskirts of Harrow, to go to the evening service at the School
Chapel, to have a good square tea-supper at the Headmaster’s, presided
over by his attractive wife (née Elliot), where interesting people were
nearly always present; afterwards to walk or rail home in the evening,
usually with a companion.