around in our rock-fortress of Taormina, sometimes seeing Etna reveal
itself above the black storm-clouds. Then we crossed to Reggio, and went
on by night to Taranto, where we spent the morning in drawing the
curious island-town, and took the train again to Trani. Hence we made
an excursion--three hours in a carriage and one on foot--to Castel del
Monte, the favourite castle of the great Frederick II., long since a
ruin, but not roofless, and presenting a more perfect picture of
mediaeval splendour in its suites of marble halls than any castle I ever
visited. Yet it must always have been a most desolate place and the most
uninteresting of royal residences. Trani itself is full of interest, and
has a beautiful cathedral. Accounts we had read of “the all-glorious
cathedral of Andria” beguiled us to toil next to that old episcopal
city, which we found a complete delusion, and went on to Barletta,
visiting thence the battlefield of Cannae and the curious old town of
Canosa, where Ariosto’s hero Bohemund is buried. Then we proceeded to
Foggia, where we saw the remains of Frederick II.’s palace, and thence
we made another excursion to his favourite town of Lucera, full of
Saracenic remains. The next day we saw Beneventum, another glorious
cathedral, mosque, and a grand Roman gateway, and arrived at Naples on
the 12th of February. My last days with my companions were spent at
beautiful Amalfi, and after a few lovely days at Naples and Rome, I
followed them to England.
* * * * *
JOURNAL.
“_Elton Hall, Peterborough, April 1, 1880._--I have been two days here
at Lord Carysfort’s.... The house is a jumble of architecture of every
style and age, from Henry VII. to the present, and, without ever being
very picturesque, is thoroughly satisfactory and comfortable, with a
delightful library and a number of fine portraits. The park overlooks
long lines of flat, amid which rises Fotheringhay Church. An old
watermill is called ‘Pereo Mill,’ because when Mary Queen of Scots
arrived and saw all the waters out, as they so often are to this day,
she thought all was over with her and exclaimed, ‘Pereo,’--I perish. We
have driven to Fotheringhay, and seen again the mound and the one
remaining stone of the castle. The church is like a lanthorn, so full of
windows, and very fine, though perpendicular. By the altar are tombs
with stately inscriptions on the wall over them to Richard and Cicely
Plantagenet, father and mother of Edward IV., and to his grandfather
Edward Plantagenet, who was killed in the battle of Agincourt. We went
on to Oundle, a charming old town with a noble church. Here, in the
street, is the house of Lord and Lady Lyveden, with a large garden on
the other side. The two Lady Lyvedens were there. The old one, Lord
Castletown’s sister, was once the beautiful little girl of Sir T.
Lawrence’s masterpiece; the younger, a plain, simple, sensible woman,
well fitted for a poor peer’s wife, is perfectly adored in the town of
Oundle.
“Sir Frederick Peel is here with his young wife, who is charming, so
very pretty, with quantities to say on all subjects.”
* * * * *
“_St. James’s Place, May 8._--To Mrs. Stewart’s. Lord Houghton was
there, very cheery and kind. I was struck the other day by hearing some
one say, ‘Lord Houghton is not only a friend in poverty, he is a friend
in _disgrace_.’ Can there be higher praise? He was very amusing apropos
of my employing Henningham and Holles to leave my cards, and said that
Miss Martineau at first absolutely refused to conform to the ways of the
world in paying visits, it was ‘such a waste of time;’ but it was
suggested to her that she should send out ‘an inferior authoress’ with
her trumpet in a hackney-coach to represent her and do her work, and
that if the authoress only let the trumpet appear out of the
coach-window, she would do just as well as herself.
“Dined at Lord Sherborne’s, meeting, amongst others, Lady Powerscourt,
surely one of the sweetest of God’s creatures.”
* * * * *
“_May 13._--Having heard of George Paul’s death, I went to see
Auntie.[343] It was strange to find the familiar figure of my childhood,
who had been inexplicably separated from me for twelve years, and with
her to see again many of the silent objects connected with Esmeralda and
those sealed chapters of life. We spoke only on indifferent subjects,
but I cannot think poor Auntie can have felt indifferent, though she
refused to show me the slightest affection, or evince the least pleasure
at seeing me.”
* * * * *
“_May 15._--I paid £50 into Auntie’s account at Coutts’s, and shall
continue to do so at this date annually. More I think she would reject,
but she will allow this to pass, and I am thankful even in the smallest
degree to contribute to her comfort.”
* * * * *
“_May 19._--A luncheon party at Lady Ducie’s. Mrs. Stewart was there.
Some one said Sir William Harcourt’s late election failure would be as
good as a dose of physic to him--‘No,’ she answered, ‘it will be no good
at all; it has been a dose of castor-oil administered to a marble
statue.’”
* * * * *
“_May 25._--Luncheon at Lady Sherborne’s. Dear old Mrs. Stewart was
there in great force, and recited Swinburne’s really grand lines apropos
of the Prince Imperial’s proposed monument, exhorting the illustrious
dead to veil their faces and leave Westminster Abbey on the arrival of
his statue.
“Lady Airlie was at luncheon. She spoke of the almost necessity for a
cloud over the most beautiful lives. She said how one might observe that
in almost all the finest summer days the sun was clouded over for some
hours.”
* * * * *
“_May 26._--Dined at the Thorntons’. Lord Houghton was there. He said
how he had discussed with George Sand the question how far it was well
to know authors whose works you admired. She had urged him never to know
them, that they all put their best into their books; whatever you find
afterwards can only be inferior material. Carlyle, Lord Houghton
allowed, was just like his books; in his case you could know the man and
not be disappointed: it is the same mixture of grim humour, irony, and
pathos, of which his books are composed, which enables the man
personally to produce such an indescribable impression. Carlyle always
hated having his picture taken, but was persuaded to sit to Millais.
When he went there, to the beautiful house full of priceless
art-treasures, he asked what brought them there. ‘My art,’ answered
Millais proudly. ‘Then there are more fools in the world than I
imagined,’ said Carlyle.”
* * * * *
“_May 30._--Sat a long time with Lady Airlie, who talked of the power
of prayer and the number of people who really believed in it. She said
she prayed for everything, but always left it to God to decide for her,
making a complete act of submission, but adding, ‘I should _like_ this
or that best.’ The mystic Mr. Laurence Oliphant came in and talked for a
long time. Being asked as to his past and future, he said he could only
act ‘under direction,’ _i.e._, of spirits. He said the separation from
the spiritual world was entirely dependent upon the constitution of the
individual. No wonder that the hallucinations of this brilliant and
fascinating visionary wreck the comfort as well as the practical
usefulness at once of his own life and the lives of those dearest to
him.
“A few days ago Ronald Gower came and took me to Frank Miles’s studio--a
new-old house in Tite Street, Chelsea. Frank Miles is a charming
handsome young Bohemian, who has a delightful garden in the country
filled with every lily that ever was heard of. He paints all the
‘professional beauties,’ who hover round him and his studio like moths,
but his pictures have no great power.”[344]
* * * * *
“_May 31._--I was at Stafford House in the evening, the hall brilliantly
lighted, a deafening band on the staircase, and all the
Campbell-Percy-Gower connection looking on.”
* * * * *
“_June 1._--I dined with the Boynes, and went afterwards to Lady Sudeley
and Mrs. Cavendish Bentinck. At these great parties I find my difficulty
in recognising people an immense disadvantage. Then, with those who do
not care for contemporary history or art, there are so few topics of
conversation, for almost every one in London is occupied ‘de rien faire,
ou de faire des riens.’”[345]
* * * * *
“_June 4._--A party, where I heard Mrs. Caulfield sing and Genevieve
Ward recite--first only some fables of La Fontaine, to which she gave a
marvellous infinity of expression, and then a ballad. She is a simple
and very striking-looking woman.”
* * * * *
“_June 9._--Dined with the Haygarths. Mr. Bouverie was there, and very
entertaining with stories of the old Duke of Wellington, of whom he
justly said that his character had greatly risen through the publication
of his letters, while other characters had been lowered. ‘They will
knock down a great many statues,’ the Duke had said in speaking of them
to Mr. Bouverie in his lifetime.
“Apropos of the Duke’s love of military discipline, Mr. Bouverie
mentioned how, when he was at Walmer, all the officers of the
neighbouring garrison called except Lord Douro, who thought it would be
absurd, as he was seeing his father every day. Consequently, the Duke
asked all the officers to dinner except his own son, and at dinner said
to the Colonel, ‘By-the-bye, who is your Major? for he has not called on
me.’
“Another example of the Duke’s character as a martinet was that Lord
Douro once met him in plain clothes. The Duke took no notice of him
whatever. Lord Douro, knowing how angry his father must be, rushed in,
changed his clothes for uniform, and met his father again. ‘Hallo,
Douro! how are you? it is a long time since I have seen you,’ said the
Duke; but he had seen him quite well a quarter of an hour before.”
* * * * *
“_June 10._--Dined with the Miss Duff Gordons, meeting Tosti the singer
and tall young Carlo Orsi from one of the old _castelli_ in the Tuscan
valley of Signa. He was very naïve about his coming to London, and his
asking himself when he woke, ‘And can it be thou, Carlo, who art here?’
Mrs. Caulfield (_née_ Crampton[346]) and Tosti sang exquisitely in the
evening.”
* * * * *
“_June 14._--With Mrs. Stewart to Alma Tadema’s studio--a small house on
the north of the Regent’s Park. Inside it is a labyrinth of small rooms
with gilt walls and ceilings, and doors hung with quaint draperies. A
vague light fell through alabaster windows upon Madame Tadema in a cloth
of gold dress backed by violet draperies. The Dutch artist, her husband,
thinks her red hair glorious, and introduces her in all his pictures. In
his studio is a strange picture of ‘The Triumph of Death’ by Breughel
the Devil. I was glad to meet again Madame Riaño--Doña Emilia de
Guyangos--gliding through the half-dark rooms after the ubiquitous wife
of Tom Hughes.”
* * * * *
“_June 15._--Luncheon with Lady Dorothy Nevill in her charming house in
Charles Street, which has all the attractions of an old manor. Lady
Dorothy is very pretty still, like a piece of Dresden china. She and
Lord Houghton were very amusing over Mr. Wolff,[347] who married her
aunt, Lady Georgiana. Nothing could persuade him to cleanliness. Once
they tried to insist upon his washing his hands, and took him to a jug,
basin, and clean towel for the purpose, but he would only dip the ends
of his fingers in the jug and dry them on his pocket-handkerchief. If he
went to stay anywhere, he would never take any luggage. He was, however,
persuaded for three days to take three clean shirts, but he arrived with
them all _on_, and peeled gradually.
“Mr. Wolff went to stay with George Anthony Denison, who was frightfully
bored with him. He stayed a week. As he was in the carriage going off
from the door, Mr. Denison said to him, ‘Well, good-bye, my dear fellow;
I’m sorry you’re going.’--‘Are you sorry I’m going?’ said a gruff voice
from the carriage; ‘then I’ll stay another week.’”
* * * * *
“_June 16._--A huge party at Devonshire House--the staircase most
beautiful.”
* * * * *
“_June 17._--To Lady Airlie to meet Miss Farrer and Emmeline Erskine--a
long talk quietly about spirituality and the Quietists. Miss Farrer told
me first-hand a story I have often heard before:--
“Her brother knew well a shopkeeper in Plymouth, who felt one day, he
could not tell why, that he must go to Bodmin. To get there, it was
necessary that he should cross a ferry. It was late at night, and he
expected to have great difficulty in getting across, but, to his
amazement, he found the boat ready for him. The ferryman said, ‘I am
ready, because you called me an hour ago.’
“When the shopkeeper reached Bodmin, the town was full of crowds and
confusion; the assizes were going on. He made his way to the court. A
man was being tried for murder, and likely to be condemned. He protested
his innocence in vain, and in an agony was just saying, ‘I was in
Plymouth at the time, if I could only prove it.’ The shopkeeper was just
in time to hear him, and exclaim, ‘I can prove it, my Lord; I remember
the prisoner perfectly: he came into my shop at the very time in
question.’ And it saved the man’s life.
“Emmeline told of Mr. Richmond’s little children, who, playing in a long
almost dark gallery, saw their dead mother standing at the end, and went
to their father and told him, ‘Mama is come back.’ An open cistern was
found at the spot where they had seen her.”
* * * * *
“_June 18._--Dined with the Owen Grants. At ninety-three old Lord
Kilmorey is dying. He took his immense drives as usual till a few days
ago. Then, returning from one of them, he sent for George Higginson and
Owen Grant, and said, ‘Now I am going to die; I think it is time, and I
wish you to stay with me to the end.’ They sent for the doctor, who
persistently declared that Lord Kilmorey had nothing whatever the matter
with him. They remonstrated as to the pain it would give to many.
‘Well,’ he said, ‘yes, my sister Georgiana, perhaps she will feel it; I
will wait till I have seen her.’ And he waited till he had seen old Lady
Georgiana, talked to her very affectionately, took leave of her, and
since then has eaten nothing.”
* * * * *
“_June 20._--Lord Kilmorey died to-day.”
* * * * *
“_June 24._--With the Mark Woods to Charlton, the fine old house of Sir
Thomas Maryon Wilson, near Greenwich. It was built by James I. for his
son Prince Henry, and is in wonderful keeping with its surroundings of
broad terraces, old pine-trees, &c. In the richly polished chimney-piece
of one of the rooms, a lady while dressing is said to have seen a murder
reflected while it was being committed in the park, and her evidence to
have found the man guilty.”
* * * * *
“_June 26._--In the evening I was at the Speaker’s party. His beautiful
rooms were additionally illuminated by the glare from a great fire on
the opposite bank of the river. The bridge, and the chain of omnibuses
and cabs, with their roofs crowded with the black figures of spectators,
and the background of flames, gave the whole scene the aspect of the
Devil’s funeral with appropriate fireworks. In a great hooded car,
nodding against the flame, the Devil’s widow seemed to follow. We
watched from the windows for nearly two hours--inside, bright uniforms,
low dresses, glistening diamonds: outside, flames and a black shimmering
river. At last the fire-engines got the victory, a roof fell in, the
glare began to fade, the bereaved demons returned from the ceremony, and
the illuminations were extinguished. No human life was lost, only the
two great bloodhounds which were the guards of the timber-yard, and
which for years have gained the prize in every dog-show.”
* * * * *
“_June 29._--Lady Lucy Grant had a pleasant party in her pretty garden.
Old Madame Mohl was there, a wreck, but a curious reminiscence of the
past. In the little garden-studio Miss Grant’s reredos for Edinburgh
Cathedral was lighted up. In the main features it is fine, but the women
are all exactly the same height as the men, and all the figures stand in
a line, with an equal amount of individuality, too little occupied with
each other.”
* * * * *
“_July 7._--Dinner at Lord Ducie’s. I was delighted to sit once more by
Madame de Riaño[348] and enjoy the flow of her ever-fresh originality.”
* * * * *
“_July 8._--The Duchess of Norfolk’s ball. The house had not been opened
to a great party for forty years, but the noble suite of rooms, with
their old ceilings and pictures, is well adapted for it.”
* * * * *
“_July 9._--Lord Denbigh has sent me what he calls ‘a bundle of
wonders.’ It contains one curious history related by Henry Malet in
August 1869.
“‘In the winter of 1854-55, at the end of December, I was in Paris, and
among other people of whom I saw a good deal was Palgrave Simpson, the
dramatic author. There was something about him I liked, and a certain
originality in the tone of his mind interested me. One evening, after a
bachelors’ dinner at Charlie Webster’s rooms, the conversation turned on
clairvoyance. Palgrave Simpson expressed himself a believer in many of
the clairvoyant phenomena which were then astonishing people in Paris,
but nearly all the rest of us, except myself, laughed in his face, and
told him that he must be insane to credit such nonsense. He and I walked
home together, and I believe that I told him I should be glad of an
opportunity of investigating some of the stories which had impressed
him.
“‘Within a few days I received a sudden order to return at once to
London and hold myself in readiness to embark for the Crimea with a
large detachment of my regiment.
“‘Our departure was delayed from day to day, but about the end of March
it was fixed for the first week in April. When the day was finally
settled, I prevailed on my mother, who was in despair at the idea of my
going on active service, to leave London with my brother and go to
Frankfort, as I concluded that the actual blow of the separation would
be lessened by this means.
“‘I am not quite positive as to the date of our sailing, but it was two
or three days after my mother arrived at Frankfort.
“‘We were to parade in Wellington Barracks at 5 A.M., and, after
midnight on the last night, I looked in at the Guards Club, and found
there a note enclosing an antique ring. The note was from Palgrave
Simpson and said, “Do not laugh at me, but while you are in the Crimea
wear the enclosed ring. It was given to me by the last representative of
an old Hungarian family on her death-bed. In her family it was an
heirloom, and considered as a most precious talisman to preserve the
wearer from any external harm.”
“‘I slipped the ring on my finger, I must own, without attaching any
great importance to the matter, and turned in, after writing Palgrave
Simpson a note to thank him for his kindness.
“‘The next morning I sailed at 10 A.M. from Portsmouth. We touched at
Gibraltar, but it was not till our arrival at Malta that I heard from my
family. Then I found a letter from my mother dated from Frankfort on the
very day of our sailing from England. It said, “I have been quite
broken-hearted about you, and could find no comfort anywhere; but now
all is changed, for a most extraordinary reason. This morning, as I lay
in bed in broad daylight, and after my maid had brought my hot water,
just as I was about to get up, a most beautiful young lady, very fair,
and dressed in grey silk, drew aside the curtain of my bed and leant
over me and said, ‘Do not be unhappy about your son: no harm shall
happen to him.’ I am quite certain I have had a vision, yet it seemed as
if I were awake: certainly I was so the moment before this happened. The
whole thing is as distinct as possible, and as unlike an effect of
imagination. Of course I cannot account for it, but it has made me quite
happy, and I _know_ you will come back safe.”
“‘On receipt of this letter I bethought me of the ring, and begged my
mother in reply to describe minutely the appearance of the mysterious
visitor. My mother said it was a young woman about twenty-seven years of
age, rather pale, with very straight features, large grey eyes, and an
abundance of brown hair worn in rather an old-fashioned manner: the
sleeves of the grey silk dress were what we call “bishop sleeves.”
“‘I sent copies of my mother’s letters to Palgrave Simpson, and he
answered me that the description was in the _minutest_ particular the
counterpart of the lady who on her death-bed had given him the ring some
sixteen or seventeen years before.
“‘It is to be observed that no communication whatever passed between me
and my mother between the receipt of the ring and my arrival at Malta,
and I will swear that I told no one the story.
“‘On my return from the Crimea I restored the ring to its owner, but he
sent it back to me, begging me to keep it. Last year he wrote to me that
he was threatened by a certain danger, and he wished to have back the
talisman. I at once returned it to him, and it is now in his hands.’”
* * * * *
“_July 10._--Dining at Louisa, Lady Ashburton’s, I sat near George N.
Curzon, eldest son of Lord Scarsdale, the sort of fellow I take to at
once, and we made great friends in one evening, unfolding ourselves in a
way which makes me sure we shall meet again.”
* * * * *
“_July 11._--Dined at Lord Foley’s. George Russell was there. He said he
had said something about Lord Salisbury’s carriage to the Duchess
Dowager of Cleveland. ‘I did not know Lord Salisbury had a carriage,’
said the old lady. ‘Surely, my dear Duchess?’--‘No; I have even heard it
said that the present Marquis of Salisbury goes about in a vehicle
called a brougham!’
“Sir Robert and Lady Sheffield were going down to visit some friends
near West Drayton, where a carriage was to meet them. Arriving in the
dark, they found a carriage waiting and jumped into it. After driving
some way, they entered a park and drove up to the door of a great house.
They were shown up to a long gallery, where a little old lady was
arranging some books. ‘Ah! some companion,’ they thought, and for a time
they took no notice of her. At last they said, ‘Is Lady ---- not coming
down soon?’--‘I am not cognisant of the movements of my Lady ----,’ said
the old lady very sharply, rapping her ebony stick violently on the
floor; ‘but you are under a misapprehension. This is Osterley Park, and
I--am the Duchess of Cleveland.’ And then subsiding into her most
gracious manner,--‘And now, whilst my carriage is getting ready to take
you on to Lady ----, I hope you will allow me to have the pleasure of
giving you some tea.’”
* * * * *
“_July 14._--Dinner at Lady Charlemont’s. Mr. Synge, who declared at
once his belief in ghostly apparitions, told a pretty story of a
clergyman in Somersetshire who had ridden to the bank and drawn out all
the money for his poor-club, which he was taking back with him, when he
became aware of another horseman riding by his side, who did not speak,
and who, at a certain point of the road beyond a hollow, disappeared. In
that hollow highwaymen, who knew the clergyman was coming with the
money, were waiting to attack him; but they refrained, ‘for there are
two of them,’ they said. It was his guardian angel.
“Mr. Synge told us that his grandfather was the magistrate to whom the
man came who said that he ought to warn Mr. Percival because he had
twice dreamt of a man in a white plush coat with purple glass buttons
who was going to murder him. But his grandfather restrained the man from
saying anything on so slight a foundation as a dream. After the murder
of Mr. Percival, the man went up to London, and in the prisoner in
Newgate recognised at once the man he had seen, and found him wearing
the white plush coat with the purple glass buttons.
“Lady Charlemont talked much of the Lord Chancellor Thurlow. He asked
for the Bishopric of Durham for his brother. George IV. replied that he
thought Lord Thurlow should have known that that Bishopric, being a
principality, could only be given to persons of the very highest rank
and connections. ‘It is therefore, your Majesty,’ said Lord Thurlow,
‘that I have asked for it for the brother of the Lord High Chancellor of
England.’
“A clergyman desirous of a living went to the Bishop of London and asked
him for an introduction to the Lord Chancellor Thurlow. The Bishop said,
‘I should be willing to give it, but an introduction from me would
defeat the very end you have in view.’ However, the clergyman persisted
in his request, and the introduction was given.