READING
The new place of residence which Dr. Mitford acquired early in the
year 1802, was known as Grazeley Court, a rambling Elizabethan
structure of one-time importance, but which, at the time of Dr.
Mitford’s purchase, had fallen into sad decay. Originally built for
a country gentleman the place had for some reason been abandoned,
slowly degenerating until at length it was divided into a number of
tenements occupied by agricultural labourers, for which reason and
its supposed defective title the doctor was able to secure it and an
adjoining eighty acres at the bargain price of a few hundred pounds.
As we have already noted, the Doctor had a certain predilection
for country sports and pursuits, although at the same time he was
always glad to embrace any and every opportunity afforded him for
the display of his peculiar skill at cards with their concomitant
excitements and hazards. In these circumstances it is difficult to
understand why the residence at Reading should have been given up,
bearing in mind its convenience as a centre for Town and the clubs
as well as for the coursing grounds of Hampshire and Oxfordshire.
Possibly the real reason was that the Doctor had been indulging in
that frankness of speech which his daughter named in conjunction with
a rashness of action, as one of his unfortunate characteristics;
or, it may be, that this was the occasion, to which Miss Mitford
refers in her _Recollections_, when he “got into some feud with that
influential body the corporation.”
In any case the purchase was effected, and the Doctor at once threw
himself with zest into the labour of making the house habitable
according to his own ideas. The situation was ideal. Three miles
southwards out of Reading by the Basingstoke road, and one mile to
the westward of that important thoroughfare, from which point it
was reached by pleasant, overhung by-lanes, the Court occupied the
centre of a large garden, at that time overgrown with rank weeds,
which gave on to a narrow lane over which was afforded an extensive
view to the south. First came a stretch of common, picturesquely
dotted with patches of brake and clumps of wild roses intermingled
with honeysuckle; in the middle distance were sundry peeps at the
snug hamlet of Grazeley, and beyond these were the outlying billowy
woodlands which were then, as now, so delightful a feature of the
neighbouring countryside.
As might be expected of a house built amid such surroundings in
Elizabeth’s day—rumour named it as of later Jacobean origin—it had
a certain romantic character. We read of its “old sitting-room,
with its large sunny oriel window, and its small walls wainscoted
in small carved panels, and of the large oaken staircase, with a
massive balustrade and broad low steps; of expansive fireplaces, with
highly architectural chimney-pieces adorned with old-fashioned busts
and coats-of-arms. Above all, there were two secret rooms, in which
priests and cavaliers had been known to hide, and which could be well
secured by inward fastenings; the one in a garret, where a triangular
compartment of the wall pushed in and gave entrance to a chamber
in the roof; the other, where the entire ceiling of a large light
closet could be raised, and access obtained to a place of concealment
capable of containing six or seven fugitives.”
Such a house, in these our own times, would be eagerly snapped up
were it in the market, and any amount of inconvenience suffered
by its owner rather than destroy the most insignificant mark of
antiquity. Possibly similar houses were less rare in Dr. Mitford’s
day; very probably romanticism made no appeal to him, for he quickly
made up his mind to rase the whole building to the ground and erect
another according to his own design and taste. His daughter, then at
school, hearing of the purchase and of her father’s decision, added
to it the weight of her fifteen years of wisdom by expressing the
hope, in a letter to her mother, that “you will be obliged to take
down your house at the farm as it will be much better to have it
all new together,” but she altered her opinion later on, as did her
parents, when it was too late to stop the work of demolition.
If we may hazard a guess, we suspect that this purchase afforded
the Doctor an outlet for that restlessness which was one of his
characteristics, and gave him an opportunity for another prodigal
expenditure of money. The scheme was an imposing one. A new site was
chosen somewhat further back from the road than that of the older
one. The garden was cleared and remodelled—no one could have objected
to that, as it was sadly in need of attention—but the old wild hedge,
with its delightfully rustic tangle of thorns over which scrambled
a profusion of eglantines, honeysuckles and blackberries, had to
give place to a severe and imposing piece of park paling, and the
garden-space, once so open and affording so expansive a view across
country, was converted into a plantation which, while it effectually
screened the inhabitants from the gaze of the curious passer-by as
effectually obstructed the magnificent outlook which was so pleasant
a feature of the place. All this was done that there might be
massive gates with a devious carriage-drive up to the door.
From start to finish it was decreed that no expense was to be spared
in making the new house something to be wondered at and admired by
the County. Thus on April 29, 1802, the first brick was laid with the
ceremony due to the illustrious event. Mrs. Mitford, who had been
easily persuaded, as indeed was usual, to take the same view as her
husband, gave a full account of the proceedings in a letter which she
despatched next day to her daughter at Hans Place.
“Yesterday we passed the day at our farm in order to lay the first
brick. I insisted on Toney [Miss Mitford’s pet greyhound] being
present, and as her dear little mistress was not there, she was to
be, as far as she could, your substitute by putting her little paw on
the brick which you should have laid had you been present. I trust
you will think this was no bad idea. All the bells in Reading were
ringing when we left home on this important business; but, not to
arrogate too much to ourselves, and to confess the truth, I believe
it was Mr. J. Bulley’s generosity which called forth their cheeriest
sounds. However, from whatever cause arising, we had the full benefit
of the peal.
“We got to our rural retreat about half-past nine, both the
men-servants attending us on horseback. At ten o’clock your old
Mumpsa [the child’s pet name for her mother] laid the first brick,
and placed under it a medal struck in commemoration of the centenary
of the Revolution of 1688. Your darling father then placed another
for himself, and a third for his beloved treasure, which he made
Toney put her foot upon; and after the little rogue had done so, you
would have laughed to have seen how she wagged her tail, and nodded
her head upon it, as much as to say she was very proud of being
admitted to have, not a finger, but a foot, in the business. The
men worked merrily on until two o’clock, and then repaired to the
public-house, where two legs of mutton, and bread, beer, and potatoes
were provided for them. There they enjoyed themselves for the rest of
the day, and this morning cheerily resumed their labours.”
Having thus impressed the natives, including the landlord of “The
Bell,” with a sense of the importance of the new owner about to come
among them, Dr. Mitford completed the business by substituting the
name “Bertram House” for that of “Grazeley Court,” the reason for
which, did the curiosity of the neighbouring aristocracy cause them
to inquire, was to be discovered in the fact that he was a scion
of the Mitfords of Bertram Castle, Bertram being the original and
ancient name of the family.
Judging by the very scant records of this period at our command,
it would appear that the erection of Bertram House, and its
completion to Dr. Mitford’s satisfaction, must have occupied nearly
four years. This would give Miss Mitford a clear three years of
life among the mild excitements which Reading then offered before
taking up residence at Grazeley in a district which she was to
immortalize—the term surely needs no justification for its use—and in
which she was destined, save for a few notable occasions when duty or
considerations of health called her away for short periods, to live
out her life to the end.
Her introduction to the gaieties of this respectable Borough took
place in the August of 1803, when she would be nearly sixteen. The
occasion was the annual Race Ball, at which function it was the
time-honoured custom of the race-steward to dance with the young
ladies then making their début, an ordeal almost as trying to the
débutante in those prim and decorous days as a presentation at Court,
especially if the steward happened to be a total stranger to her.
Writing to her mother, towards the end of her school career and
commenting on this, Miss Mitford added—possibly to gain courage from
the inditing—“I think myself very fortunate that Mr. Shaw Lefevre[8]
will be steward next year, for by that time I shall hope to know him
well enough to render the undertaking of dancing with him much less
disagreeable.” In this connexion we venture to suggest that on this
occasion Mr. Shaw Lefevre would have full hands, when we remember
that even at this comparatively early date Miss Mitford’s figure
had already assumed generous proportions and that she was short of
stature into the bargain.
Naturally enough, the conclusion of school life and the re-commencement
of life at home afforded the young girl the fullest opportunities for
observing, noting and commenting on persons and events, a pastime
in which she delighted. Her pictures of the Reading of her day are
notable alike for their quaint fancies as for their fidelity. Her
picture of the town—which she disguises under the name of Belford
Regis—as viewed from the southern heights of Whitley, is one to which
all true lovers of the old town turn with pleasure even to-day.
“About this point,” she says, “is perhaps to be seen the very best
view of Belford, with its long ranges of modern buildings in the
outskirts, mingled with picturesque old streets; the venerable towers
of St. Stephen’s [St. Mary’s] and St. Nicholas [St. Laurence’s];
the light and tapering spire of St. John’s [St. Giles’]; the huge
monastic ruins of the abbey; the massive walls of the county gaol;
the great river winding along like a thread of silver; trees and
gardens mingling amongst all; and the whole landscape enriched and
lightened by the dropping elms of the foreground, adding an elusive
beauty to the picture, by breaking the too formal outline and
veiling just exactly those parts which most require concealment.
Nobody can look at Belford from this point, without feeling that it
is a very English and very charming scene; and the impression does
not diminish on further acquaintance.”
Continuing, she compares the old romantic structures in which our
ancestors delighted—now, unhappily, nearly all demolished—with, what
she calls, the handsome and uniform buildings which are now the
fashion; and she remarks on the rapid growth which the town was then
making, “having recently been extended to nearly double its former
size.” What would she have said, we wonder, could she have foreseen
the Reading of to-day with its palatial polished-granite-fronted
business emporiums controlled from the Metropolis by great limited
liability companies whose insatiable appetites are devouring,
as their policy of grab is choking, the life from the old-time
burgesses; burgesses who gloried in their town and whom their town
took pleasure in honouring; men whose places are now filled by
battalions of shopmen whose fixity of tenure is so doubtful as to
preclude them from taking any part or interest, however slight, in
the town which shelters them? And, in regard to the extension which
she names with so much pride, how she would gasp with astonishment
had she been told that Whitley, from which she viewed the pleasant
scene, would be turned into dreary streets of uniformly built
villas, never deviating by so much as half a brick from the monotony
of the usual “desirable residence”; that the old limits of the
town, beyond which she could easily descry the panoramic revel of
field and meadow, would be extended for nearly two miles each way,
almost indeed to her beloved “Our Village,” and that the population
of 16,000—each unit placidly pursuing its fairly prosperous
calling—would be transformed, seventy years later, into a struggling,
perspiring, more or less harassed army of 88,000, the majority not
daring, though they would not admit the stern impeachment, to call
their bodies their own.
“The good town of Belford,” she later remarks, “swarmed of course
with single ladies ... and was the paradise of ill-jointured widows
and portionless old maids. They met on the tableland of gentility,
passing their mornings in calls at each other’s houses, and their
evenings in small tea-parties, seasoned with a rubber or a pool,
and garnished with the little quiet gossiping (call it not scandal,
gentle reader!) which their habits required.... The part of the
town in which they chiefly congregated, the lady’s _quartier_,
was one hilly corner of the parish of St. Nicholas, a sort of
highland district, all made up of short rows, and pigmy places, and
half-finished crescents, entirely uncontaminated by the vulgarity
of shops,” chosen, it is suggested, “perhaps because it was cheap,
perhaps because it was genteel—perhaps from a mixture of both
causes.” A kindly satire this, and interesting because it points so
conclusively to a certain backwater near the Forbury, and under the
shadow of the church of St. Laurence, which will be easily recognized
by many who remember how it retained its character as a settlement
for prim old ladies, of the kind described by Miss Mitford, until
within quite recent times.
“Of the public amusements of the town, as I remember it at bonny
fifteen,” she continues, “these were sober enough. Ten years before,
clubs had flourished; and the heads of houses had met once a week
at the _King’s Arms_ for the purpose of whist-playing; whilst the
ladies, thus deserted by their liege lords, had established a
meeting at each other’s mansions on club-nights, from which, by way
of retaliation, the whole male sex was banished,” save one. “At the
time, however, of which I speak, these clubs had passed away; and the
public diversions were limited to an annual visit from a respectable
company of actors, the theatre being, as is usual in country places,
very well conducted and exceedingly ill attended; to biennial
concerts, equally good in their kind, and rather better patronised;
and to almost weekly incursions from itinerant lecturers on all
the arts and sciences, and from prodigies of every kind, whether
three-year-old fiddlers or learned dogs. There were also balls in
their spacious and commodious townhall, which seemed as much built
for the purposes of dancing as that of trying criminals. Public balls
there were in abundance; but at the time of which I speak they were
of less advantage to the good town of Belford than any one, looking
at the number of good houses and of pretty young women, could well
have thought possible.”
These few extracts—space forbids a larger selection—are sufficient,
we think, to prove how keen was the observing eye and how critical
was the mind of Miss Mitford at this time when,—to use her own
phrase—“I was a very young girl and, what is more to the purpose, a
very shy one, so that I mixed in none of the gaieties,” a statement
which seems to lend support to the current saying that “the onlooker
sees most of the game.”
So far we have dealt with the Reading life as dating from 1797, but
it is important to note that Miss Mitford speaks of a short residence
in the town when she was but four years of age, and this would give
us the year 1791. Unfortunately no proof for or against this is
available, so far as we know, and we should scarcely have thought
it worthy of mention but for another statement which she makes in
her _Recollections_ the authenticity of which it would be well to at
least, attempt to clear up.
The statement has reference to the interest which Samuel Taylor
Coleridge evinced in one of her earliest literary efforts,
_Christina; or, The Maid of the South Seas_, when it was being
prepared for press at about the year 1811. This interest she ascribes
to “Mr. Coleridge’s kind recognition of my father’s exertions” in his
behalf and relates to that romantic period of the poet’s life when,
in the December of 1793, he suddenly enlisted as a common soldier
in the 15th Light Dragoons under the _nom de guerre_ of “Silas
Tomkyn Cumberbatch.” We have it on good authority that on December
4, 1793, he was sent, with other raw recruits, to be drilled with
his regiment, then garrisoned at Reading, from which date until his
discharge on April 10, 1794, he clearly proved his unfitness for the
calling of a man-at-arms.
The story of his discharge has been variously related, but all are
agreed that his identity was revealed by his being overheard by
certain of his officers reciting Greek lines, to say nothing of
the polish which, scholar as he was, he could not disguise. The
circumstance was sufficiently unique in those days—the gentleman
ranker was a growth of later date—to occasion inquiries, and these
resulted in communications with his friends, who came, identified,
and bought him out. One of these officers was Captain Ogle, eldest
son of that Dean of Winchester to whom, as we have noted in the
earliest chapter of this book, Dr. Mitford was on the visit which
resulted in his introduction to Miss Russell.
Miss Mitford’s account of the event is somewhat circumstantial, for
she relates that as Dr. Ogle was on a short visit to the Mitfords,
the opportunity of calling upon his father was gladly embraced by
the son, who, in the course of conversation, recorded the unusual
incident of the learned recruit, with the result that “one of the
servants waiting at table” was “induced to enlist in his place,” and
the “arrangement for his [Coleridge’s] discharge took place at my
father’s house at Reading.”
The dates relative to Coleridge’s enlistment and discharge are
incontrovertible, therefore in view of the lack of evidence to
support the idea of the Mitfords being in Reading in 1794, we are
inclined to doubt—as others have doubted—the authenticity of Miss
Mitford’s narrative, suggesting rather, that having heard this
romantic story, many years after—possibly from the lips of Captain
Ogle himself—she readily assumed, with the licence of literary folk
in general, that the incident took place as she recorded it.
FOOTNOTES:
[8] He represented Reading in Parliament, 1802-1820.