having preceded us. There is a long winding double avenue in the park.
The stables are so enormous that we mistook them for the house, and were
surprised when we turned the other way. However, the door of the real
house was most dilapidated and unducal. Long passages, surrounding an
open court, and filled with portraits, led to a large sitting-room,
where we found most of our own party and the guests of the house. The
Duchess was kind and cordial. We all went to luncheon in the Canaletti
room, enlivened by endless views of Venice, which, regardless of their
artistic merits, are most pleasing to the eye through their delicate
green-grey tints. Afterwards we went through the rooms, full of
portraits, one of Lucy Harington in a ruff, very fine. In one corner is
a set of interesting Tudor portraits, including a large one of Jane
Seymour; hideous I thought, though Froude, when he saw it, said he did
not wonder Henry VIII. cut Anne Boleyn’s head off to marry so bewitching
a creature. A great portrait of the famous Lord Essex in a white dress
has a mean feeble face and stubby red beard. The Duke[273] offered to
take us to the church. Lady Ashburton, Lady Howard of Glossop, and I
drove there with him. We passed ‘the Abbot’s Oak,’ where the last abbot
was hung. Froude says he went up to London and was swallowed up by his
fate. The Duke asked what this meant. It did mean that he was hung,
drawn, and quartered, ‘but Froude was very angry at the question;
historians never like being asked for details.’ The banks of a stone
quarry are planted with cedars and evergreens, and the drive to the
church is very pretty. The church was built by Clutton, who was turned
loose into a field and told to produce what he could. He _did_ produce a
very poor mongrel building, neither gothic nor romanesque. The Duke
said, ‘Would you like to see what is going to be done with me when I am
dead?’ and he showed us the hole in the floor where he was to be let
through ‘to the sound of solemn music,’ and then took us down into the
vaults beneath to see the trestles on which his coffin was to repose! I
long tried in vain to get Lady Ashburton to leave the endless letters,
some of Sarah, Duchess of Marlborough, who stayed with her
grand-daughter and complained that the house was so dreadfully out of
repair that the rain came into her bedroom, but another year that was to
be remedied. We were deep in a ‘Boethius de Consolatione,’ printed in
Tavistock Abbey, when the Duchess came in. ‘Would you like to see my
golden image?’ So we went by a long open cloister, with wooden pillars
rose-entwined, to see where the statue of the Duchess stands on a hill,
all gilt like the figure of the Prince Consort, so that one really could
_see_ nothing except that it was a standing figure, and I could _say_
nothing except that it was very well placed. Then we were taken through
the sculpture-gallery, in which the great feature is a glorious
sarcophagus, with a relief of the body of Hector being weighed against
gold, Priam and Hecuba standing by with tears upon their cheeks.”
* * * * *
“_Dec. 28._--The hours at Ampthill were especially pleasant from five to
seven, when one was allowed to sit with Lady Wensleydale, who, in the
beautiful halo of her evergreen old age, is all that is most winning and
delightful--with full memory of her ‘wealthy past’ and gratitude for
present peace, hemmed in by loving care of children and grandchildren.”
* * * * *
“_Ascot Wood, Dec. 29._--Sir John Lefevre has been talking of an old
acquaintance of his named Balm, who was very extravagant. Some one said
to him once, ‘_Balm, Balm_, if you are not _sage_, you’ll spend a _mint_
in time (_thyme_), and then you’ll _rue_.’
“He described a dinner-party at which he was present with ten others,
including Sydney Smith, who made them all laugh so much that they were
obliged to _stand up_. It was the only time he ever saw it--‘Laughter
holding both its sides.’”
* * * * *
“_Jan. 6, 1878._--At Ascot Station I met Mark Napier, who resigned his
first-class ticket and the companionship of Plato’s ‘Republic,’ his
usual reading in the train, to travel with me. His conversation is
always full of thought and interest. I went to Cobham in the evening,
and liked my visit, as I always do, meeting many people, including Mrs.
Russell Barrington, who dresses like a figure by Burne Jones, and is
even ambitious of becoming a Botticelli.”
* * * * *
“_Crewe Hall, Jan. 6._--The number of hats in the hall told me on
arriving here that there was a large party in the house, but I find no
remarkable elements except Lord Houghton and Mr. Nugee, a clergyman
still in appearance, but one who has gone out of the Church at the High
end, and has a sort of monastery for training ecclesiastics somewhere in
London. He preached to-day in the chapel, standing on the steps of the
altar, a discourse like that of a French preacher, most dramatic, most
powerful, most convincing--yet, oh! how difficult it is to carry away
anything even from the sermons one likes best.
“Lord Crewe welcomed me very cordially, and made himself so pleasant
that I thought his eccentricities had been exaggerated, till suddenly,
at dinner, he began a long half-whispered conversation with himself,
talking, answering, _acting_, and nothing afterwards seemed able to
rouse him back to ordinary life. During the fire which destroyed the
interior of Crewe some years ago, Lord Crewe bore all with perfect
equanimity, and said not a word till the fire-engines came and were at
work. Then he turned to his sister, Lady Houghton, who was present, and
said, ‘I think I had better send for my goloshes.’[274]
“It is a very fine house, with noble alabaster chimney-pieces inlaid
with precious marbles, but since the fire all has been too much overlaid
with decoration, and in many respects indifferent decoration. The Sir
Joshuas are glorious and numerous.
“This afternoon Lord Houghton told an interesting story which he heard
from Mrs. Robert Gladstone:--
“‘She went to stay in Scotland with the Maxwells of Glenlee. Arriving
early in the afternoon, she went to her room to rest. It was a lovely
day. Mrs. Maxwell lay upon the sofa at the foot of her bed. Soon it
seemed to her as if the part of the room opposite to her was filled with
mist. She thought it came from the fireplace, but there was no fire and
no smoke. She looked to see if it came from the window; all without was
bright clear sunshine. She felt herself _frisonner_. Gradually the mist
seemed to assume form, till it became a grey figure watching the clock.
She could not take her eyes from it, and she was so terrified that she
could not scream. At length, with terror and cold, her senses seemed
going. She became unconscious. When she came to herself the figure was
gone. Her husband came in soon after, and she told him. He took her down
to five-o’clock tea. Then some one said, “You are in the haunted room,”
and she told what had happened. They changed her room, but the next
morning she went away.
“Soon afterwards Mrs. Stamford Raffles went to stay at Glenlee. It was
then winter. She awoke in the night, and by the bright firelight burning
in her room saw the same effect of mist, collecting gradually and
forming a leaning figure looking at the clock. The same intense cold was
experienced, followed by the same unconsciousness, after a vain
endeavour to awaken her husband, for her limbs seemed paralysed.
“‘The Maxwells soon afterwards became so annoyed that they gave up
Glenlee.’
“Lord Houghton also told the story of General Upton:--
“‘Whilst at Lisbon he saw a military friend of his in England pass
across the end of the room. On reaching England he went to see his
friend’s family, found them in deep mourning, and learnt that his
friend was dead. “Oh, yes,” he said, “I know that; he died on such a
day, for I saw him.” Upon this the family became greatly agitated, and
vehemently denied that he had died till several days later. “_Nothing_
will convince me,” said General Upton, “but that he died on that
particular day.” Upon this the widow flung herself on her knees before
him and implored him for God’s sake not to bring utter ruin upon her by
saying this to any one else. “Very well,” he said; “I do not want to
injure you, but the best way will be to tell me the whole truth.” Then
she confessed. It was one of those cases in which the time for a pension
was not quite due for a few days, and she concealed the death till those
days were past.’
“Lady Egerton, who is here, told of young De Ritchie, whose wife died in
Fiji. He obtained leave of absence immediately, and wishing to break the
shock of his wife’s sudden death to her friends, merely telegraphed that
they were coming home at once, for Ranee was very ill. On the day they
were expected to arrive, the grandparents said to the little boy left in
their charge that they were going to meet his papa and mama, who were
coming home. The child looked very grave and said, ‘Papa, yes; Mama, no:
poor Mama sleep in Fiji;’ and nothing would make it say any more. Dr. De
Ritchie (the grandfather) was so impressed with this, that he was hardly
surprised when, on going to Southampton, he met his son alone.
“Sir Watkin Wynne described a curious event on his property. A poor
woman earnestly implored that a certain tree near her cottage might be
cut down, for she had dreamt that her husband would be killed by it. She
besought it so earnestly that the tree was ordered to be cut down. In
falling, the rope attached to the tree caught the poor man, and crushed
him against the wall, and he was killed.”
* * * * *
“_London, Jan. 22._--A very pleasant dinner at Lady Ashburton’s. Miss
Hosmer[275] was there, very full of her strange discovery of being able
to turn limestone into marble, and then to colour it to any tint she
wishes--a discovery perhaps not unknown to the ancient Romans.”
* * * * *
“_Jan. 26._--Dined with old Lady Lyndhurst,[276] who has all the clever
vivacity acquired by her early life in France. Speaking of bullying at
public schools, she said, ‘I discovered that my Lord had been a bully
when he was a boy, and I can assure you I thumped him well at eighty for
what he had done at fourteen.’”
* * * * *
“_Battle Abbey, March 10, 1878._--I came here yesterday, finding Lady
Marian Alford, and to-day Lord Houghton came. Speaking of Mrs. L. E----
‘s poverty, the Duchess said, ‘It is so sad; really often she has
actually not bread to eat.’--‘Yes,’ said Lord Houghton, ‘but then she
has so many kind friends who give her _cake_.’
“Lady Marian described the railway adventure of a friend of hers. Two
ladies got into a carriage at King’s Cross, one old and the other young.
Into the same carriage got a gentleman and sat down between them. As
soon as the train started, he looked round at one and then at the other.
Then he took from his pocket six razors and laid them upon the seat
opposite to him. Then he looked round at each of them again. Then he
took from his pocket an orange and laid it down in front of the razors.
Then he began to cut up the orange, using one razor for each pig. He
looked round at each of his victims again. Then he walked across the
carriage and sat down opposite the old lady, who instantly wound her boa
three times round her throat. He said, ‘Do you like orange?’ She said,
‘Very much indeed,’ and he took up a pig on the point of one of the
razors and popped it into her mouth. He then said, ‘Will you have
another?’ She said, ‘Yes, presently, but wait a few minutes: I like to
have time to _savourer_ my orange.’--‘How many minutes?’ he demanded.
She answered, ‘Five.’--‘Very well,’ he said, and he took out his watch
and counted the minutes, and then he took up another pig on the end of
another razor and popped it into her mouth. Each time she prolonged the
minutes, and the gallant old lady actually kept the madman at bay till
an hour had elapsed and the train stopped at Peterborough, and she and
the other lady were able to escape.
“Lord Houghton’s vanity is amusingly natural. Something was said of one
of Theodore Hook’s criticisms. ‘You know even _I_ never said anything as
good as that,’ said Lord Houghton, and quite seriously. Yet how truly
kind Lord Houghton is, and how amusing, and he does most truly, as
Johnson said of Garth, ‘communicate himself through a very wide set of
acquaintance.’ In his _histoires de société_ he is unrivalled.”
* * * * *
“_March 12._--Yesterday Lord Houghton and I sat very long after
breakfast with the Duke, who talked of his diplomatic life. He was
appointed from St. Petersburg to Paris, and the revolution which
enthroned Louis Philippe occurring just then, he hurried his journey.
When he reached Frankfort, Chad, who was minister there, assured him
that he would not be allowed to enter France, but, provided with a
courier passport, he pushed on, and crossed the frontier without
difficulty. At Paris the barricades were still up. The town was in the
hands of the Orleanists (they bore the name then). On the evening of his
arrival the Duke was introduced to Lafayette, ‘quite a grand seigneur in
manner.’ Lafayette asked him if he did not know Lord and Lady Holland,
and on his answering in the affirmative, begged that he would write to
assure Lord Holland that he meant to save the lives of the late
ministers, because he was accused of intending to have them executed.
“The Duke talked much of the wonderful gallantry of the Emperor
Nicholas--how when the rebel troops were drawn out opposite his own in
the square at St. Petersburg, he stalked out fearless between them,
though the Governor of St. Petersburg was shot dead at his feet. The
rebel troops were only waiting to fire till they saw a rocket, the
signal from Prince Troubetskoi, whose courage failed him at the last.
Troubetskoi was sent to Siberia, whither his wife insisted upon
following. He was sentenced for life, so was legally dead, and she
might, had she preferred it, have married any one else.
“We drove to Normanhurst in the afternoon. Mrs. Brassey showed her
Japanese and Pacific curiosities; the house is full of them, like a
bazaar. We returned through a very lovely bit of Ashburnham.”
* * * * *
“_April 3._--I came to London on the 19th, and dined that day with Lady
Margaret Beaumont, hearing there of the dear kind old Lord Ravensworth
being found dead that day on the floor of the Windsor rooms at
Ravensworth, when his daughter Nellie sent for him because he did not
come in to luncheon.”
* * * * *
“On Monday, March 25, as I was breakfasting at the Athenæum, I glanced
into the paper, and the first thing which met my eyes was the news of
the total loss of the _Eurydice_, with dear good Marcus Hare and more
than three hundred men. It was a terrible shock, and seemed to carry
away a whole mass of one’s life in recollections from childhood.... It
is many days ago now, and the dreadful fact has seemed ever since to be
hammering itself into one’s brain with ceaselessly increasing horror.
How small now seem the failings in Marcus’s unselfish and loving
character, how great the many virtues. It is difficult also to realise
that there is now scarcely any one left who really cares for the old
traditions of the Hare family, the old portraits, the old memorials,
which were always so much to him, and which I hoped, through him, would
be handed down to another generation.”
* * * * *
“_April 14._--On the day on which the _Eurydice_ was lost, Sir J. Cowell
and Sir John McNeill were standing together in a window of Windsor
Castle which overlooks a wide extent of country. Suddenly Sir J. McNeill
seemed to be dreaming and speaking aloud. ‘What a terrible storm,’ he
said. ‘Oh, do you see that ship? It will be lost: oh, how horrible! Good
God, it’s gone!’ It was at that moment that the _Eurydice_ went
down.[277]
“I have little to tell of London beyond the ordinary experiences, except
perhaps having been more than ever shocked by the slanderous malignity
of so-called ‘religious people,’ as I have been charmed by the
chivalrous disinterestedness of many who do not aspire to that
denomination. One often finds Archbishop Whately’s saying too true--‘The
God of Calvinists is the devil, with God written on their foreheads.’ Of
the many dinner-parties I have attended, I cannot recollect anything
except that some one--I cannot remember who--spoke of D’Israeli as ‘that
old Jew gentleman who is sitting on the top of chaos.’
“Last Sunday I went to luncheon at Mrs. Cavendish Bentinck’s. I arrived
at two, having been requested to be punctual. No hostess was there, and
the many guests sat round the room like patients in a dentist’s
anteroom, or, as a young Italian present said, when I made his
acquaintance--‘like lumps of ice.’ Lady Waterford came in and Mr.
Bentinck, and we went in to luncheon. There was a table for about
forty, who sat where they liked. Mrs. Bentinck came in when all were
seated, greeting nobody in particular. The lady next me, a perfect
stranger, suddenly said, ‘I want you to tell me what I must do to get
good. I do not feel good at all, and I want to be better: what must I
do?’
“‘That depends on your peculiar form of badness,’ I replied.
“‘Well, I live where I have a church on each side of me, and a church on
the top of the hill under which my house is situated. But they do me no
good. Now I wonder if that is owing to the inefficiency of the churches,
or to the depravity of my own heart?’
“‘Probably half to one and half to the other,’ I said.
“I asked afterwards who the lady was, but neither her hostess nor any
one else had an idea.
* * * * *
“Yesterday I dined with the Pole-Carews. Mrs. Carew told me that Dr.
Benson, Bishop of Truro,[278] told her:--
“‘At my table were two young men, one of them a Mr. Akroyd. He began to
talk of a place he knew in one of the Midland counties, and how a
particular adventure always befell him at a certain gate there.
“‘Yes,’ said the other young man, ‘your horse always shies and turns
down a particular lane.’
“‘Yes,’ exclaimed Mr. Akroyd, ‘but how do you know anything about it?’
“‘Oh, because I know the place very well, and the same thing always
happens to me.’
“‘And then I come to a gateway,’ said Mr. Akroyd.
“‘Yes, exactly so,” said the other young man.
“‘And then on one occasion I drove through it and came to a house.’
“‘Ah! well, _there_ I do not follow you,’ said the other young man.
“‘It was very long ago,’ continued Mr. Akroyd, ‘and I was a boy with my
father. When we drove down that lane it was very late, quite dark, and
we lost our way. When we reached the gateway, we saw within a great
house standing on one side of a courtyard, brilliantly lighted up. There
was evidently a banquet inside, and through the large windows we saw
figures moving to and fro, but all were in mediaeval dress: we thought
it was a masquerade.
“‘We drove up to the house to inquire our way, and the owner came out to
speak to us. He was in a mediaeval dress. He said he was entertaining
his friends, and he entreated us, as chance had brought us there that
night, to come in and partake of his hospitality. We pleaded that we
were obliged to go on, and that to stay was impossible. He was
excessively civil, and said that if we must really go on, we must allow
him to send a footman to guide us back into the right road. My father
gave the footman half-a-crown. When we had gone some distance I said,
“Father, did you see what happened to that half-crown?”--“Yes, my boy, I
_did_,” said my father. It had fallen _through_ the footman’s hand on to
the snow.’
“‘The gateway really exists in the lane. There is no house, but there
was one once, inhabited by very wicked people who were guilty of
horrible blasphemies--a brother and sister, who danced upon the altar in
the chapel, &c.’”
* * * * *
“_Seaton, Devon, May 7._--I came here on Friday to visit Lady Ashburton,
but found that erratic hostess gone off to Torquay, so had two days here
alone with Mrs. Drummond’s two pleasant, lively boys. This is an
enchanting little paradise, looking down over the sea from a cliff.
Delightful walks ramble along the edge through miniature groves of
tamarisk and ilex. On one side rises the bluff chalk promontory and high
down of Bere Head; on the other, one looks across a bay to the cliffs
near Lyme Regis, and Portland is seen in the blue haze.”
* * * * *
“_May 7._--Drove with Lady Ashburton and her daughter to Shute, a
beautiful old house of the Poles, now a farmhouse, with a gateway like a
college gate at the entrance of the park. We sat to draw in the
courtyard, full of colour and beauty, and afterwards had a delicious tea
in the farmhouse kitchen. In returning, we went to an old ruined house
which was the original homestead of the great Courtenay family.”
* * * * *
“_May 8._--We were off at 7 A.M. into Somersetshire by train. We got out
at Yeovil, in a lovely country of orchards in full bloom, and drove
first to Brympton, the lovely old house of the Ponsonby Fanes. They
inherited it from Lady Georgiana Fane, who is represented in the church,
having had her own head added to the body of an ancestress who was
headless. The place is perfectly delightful--such a broad staircase
winding endlessly away, and quaint but fresh and airy rooms opening upon
a terrace with balustrades and a staircase, and close by the most
picturesque of churches.
“We went on to Montacute, Mrs. Phelips’s--a most grand old house of
yellow-grey stone, partly of Edward VI.’s time.”
XX
ROYAL DUTIES AND INTERESTS
“Montre ce qui est en toi! C’est le moment, c’est l’heure, on
retombe dans le néant! Tu as la parole! à ton tour! fournis la
mesure, dis ton mot! revèle ta nullité, ou ta capacité. Sors de
l’ombre! Il ne s’agit plus de promettre, il faut tenir. Le temps
d’apprentissage est terminé!”--HENRI FREDERIC AMIEL.
“Stop thine ears to whatsoever men think of thee; accept it for
nothing, but regard only the judgment of God.”--PICO DELLA
MIRANDOLA.
“Let me never hear the word ‘trouble.’ Only tell me how the thing
is to be done, to be done rightly, and I will do it if I
can.”--QUEEN VICTORIA OF ENGLAND.[279]
“Look at the duty nearest hand, and what’s more, _do_ it.”--JANE
WELSH CARLYLE.
Being at Lowther Lodge on the 21st of May, I was sent for by the Crown
Princess of Germany, who was most kind and gracious. “I have read all
your books. I always buy them as soon as ever they come out, and I have
so much wished to see you.” She told me that she had been to
Hurstmonceaux to visit my mother’s grave, and that she had one of her
strong presentiments as to the place coming back into our family,
adding, “And I do so hope it will.” She talked of the dear Madame de
Bunsen with the greatest affection, and then of the many branches of the
Bunsen family. When my little audience of about ten minutes was over,
she said with great sweetness, “I am afraid I am keeping you much too
long from all your other friends.” She pressed me to come to stay with
her at Potsdam. I said that I was going to Berlin to visit the Bunsens.
She said, “Oh, but you must come to _me_; I can show quite as many
things, and I can certainly show you a great many more people than the
Bunsens can.” I said that I feared my visit to Berlin would be during
her approaching absence in Switzerland. She said, “Well, you can go to
the Bunsens in the summer when I am away, and then in the winter you can
come again to see me: Berlin is not so very far off.”
As spring advanced my Life of the Baroness Bunsen was so far completed
as to be ready for the inspection of her children. I therefore decided
to take it to them in Germany. Feeling how impossible it would be to
meet all the various wishes and tastes of such a hydra-headed family, I
determined only to feel bound by the wishes of the two unmarried
daughters, Frances and Emilia, and any one of their brothers whom they
might choose. They selected George.
I turned first towards the Rhineland to visit the Dowager Princess of
Wied, and profit by her recollections of one who had ever been one of
the most valued of her friends.
On the last day of May I reached Cologne, and found there a succession
of telegrams from the Princess of Wied desiring me to come to her. She
did not exactly say that she expected me to stay beyond the day, so I
did not like to take my luggage, and was sorry, when I found my room
ready and that I was expected for a long visit, that I had sent it on.
Early on June 1, I went to Bonn. The place struck me much from its being
so embowered in green and flowers. In a villa thus surrounded I found
the well-known authoress Fräulein von Weling,[280] whom I surprised in
bargaining for ready-plucked chickens at her door. She is a very
interesting person, received me with that cordial simplicity which is so
charming in Germans, and in a minute had put on her bonnet to go with
me to the cemetery by a quiet walk through nursery-gardens. The
churchyard itself is half hidden in pinks and roses. In the centre
stands an old chapel of extreme beauty, transferred stone for stone by
the King of Prussia from a solitary position in the fields. Buried in
flowers is the grave where the dear friends of my childhood rest side by
side. Close by is that of their brother-like friend, the noble old
Brandis, his invalid wife, and his son Johannes. Farther off, but still
near, are the graves of the old Arndt, Niebuhr and his Gretchen,
Schumann, and the widow and son of Schiller. Then we went to Bunsen’s
house, with the three-windowed room where he died, the garden with its
view over the Rhine to the Sieben Gebirge, and the pavilion where he
gave his last birthday feast.