BERTRAM HOUSE
Bertram House was at last finished and the beginning of 1806 saw the
Mitfords in residence. In the matter of furnishing the Doctor had
spared no expense, everything being new and of the latest pattern,
in fact the best that a fashionable London upholsterer could supply.
Of the pictures we know that the walls were well covered and that
the collection included a Gainsborough, a pair of female heads by
Greuze, and a portrait of the Doctor by Opie. We have already seen,
in Mrs. Mitford’s description of the stone-laying ceremony, that they
were attended by “the two men-servants on horseback”; this hints
at a fairly complete retinue having been installed at the Reading
house, but it was considerably augmented when the arrangements were
completed at Grazeley. Appearances counted for much in the district
and the Doctor was not the man to let slip such a grand opportunity
for ostentatious display.
His hospitality was profuse and indiscriminate, resulting in a
house-warming which extended over quite a lengthy period. As an
incentive—had he need of one—Dr. Mitford had recently been appointed
as one of the County magistrates, a tribute of appreciation from the
Whigs, of whose cause he was an earnest partizan, which gave him an
immediate rise in social status.
In time, of course, the family settled down to a more or less ordered
form of life, so ordered indeed that the Doctor created as many
excuses as possible to cover his frequent journeys to Town and his
clubs. There was sport in plenty to be had in the neighbourhood,
and of this the Doctor took full advantage, being a familiar figure
around the countryside with his gun and spaniels. Then, too, there
were the coursing meetings—the famous meetings at Ilsley and private
matches arranged between friends—none of which were considered
complete unless the Doctor were present or his famous kennel
represented. Throughout Miss Mitford’s letters, occasionally to her
father and often to friends, there are frequent references to the
greyhounds whose names, in accordance with a custom prevalent then
and still fashionable, all began with the letter M in token of their
ownership. Thus, to name only a few, we have Mia, Manx, Marmion (a
notable dog this, with an equally notable son of the same name),
Mogul, Miller, Moss-Trooper, and Mopy. For all of these Miss Mitford
ever exhibited the greatest affection, and in those cases where a
spaniel grew too old to follow the gun or a greyhound too stiff to
be matched, an asylum under Miss Mitford’s immediate eye and care was
immediately provided, and the creature was henceforth looked upon as
her own.
Taking advantage of this motherliness to dumb animals her father
frequently handed over to her some specially valuable dog from whose
later exploits as a courser he expected much. Apparently, however,
the real reason for the supposed gift was not disclosed, with the
result that when the dog was eventually removed the little mistress
gave vent to her annoyance in no measured tones.
“It is a most extraordinary thing,” she says in one communication
to her father, “that I never can have a dog that I like but you
immediately take it from me and burthen me with the care of some
detestable brute whom you in your eternal caprice fancy a good one.
Observe, however, that in giving up my own darling Mordor, I bargain
that that sulky, ungrateful, mangy beast Marmion shall be sent off as
soon as you come home, and that I shall again have my sweet Marian to
pet and comfort me.”
This was not, of course, a serious outburst, but merely the explosion
of what she doubtless considered a truly righteous indignation, for,
although she was no sportswoman, her love for her father gave her an
interest in his pursuits, and she shared with him to the full the joy
of triumph and the sorrow of defeat, while to disparage the Mitford
kennel was to offer her a personal affront. On the other hand, she
was quick to convey to the Doctor any item of praise which she
overheard or might have addressed to her. “We called yesterday at the
Fawcetts’, and the old General said he had kept greyhounds and seen
many thousands, but had never had an idea of perfect and consummate
beauty until he saw her” [a reference, in a letter to her father, to
Mia, one of the hounds].
She had a strong dislike to equestrian exercise—the rides of babyhood
across the Alresford downs with her father could not count in this
connexion—and although every inducement was offered her to ride, an
inglorious fall from a donkey quickly settled her convictions as to
her horsemanship, and her one and only riding-habit was forthwith
converted into a winter-gown. Strictly speaking, the greater portion
of her time was spent at home with her mother, receiving visitors or
lying for hours at a time on the sofa, where she would devour a great
quantity of books at a pace which, having regard to the extraordinary
knowledge she imbibed from her reading, was truly astonishing.[9] At
other times the little green chariot, their favourite equipage, would
be ordered out, calls would be returned and the drive be possibly
extended to Reading, where there would always be plenty of shopping
to do and calls to be made on the old neighbours and friends who
would have the latest news from Town or the latest gossip of their
immediate circle to retail.
With a desire to augment his income, which must have been seriously
depleted by the building operations and by the subsequent reckless
expenditure on the household, the Doctor now began to indulge in
a series of hazardous enterprises, which, with all a gambler’s
insistence, he pursued intently the while they dragged him deeper
and deeper into the mire. One of these was an extensive speculation
in coal in which he engaged with a brother of M. St. Quintin. For
this he supplied the whole of the capital in expectation of a return
of £1,500 a year, but the whole thing was a failure and, with the
exception of about £300, the capital was lost. Another Frenchman,
a man of ingenious ideas but no money wherewith to put them to
practical use, found a ready supporter in the Doctor, who was induced
to advance £5,000 on the strength of a paper scheme. This man was
the Marquis J. M. F. B. de Chabannes, and his scheme, a supposed
improved method for the lighting and heating of houses, was embodied
in a booklet which he published in 1803 with the comprehensive
title of _Prospectus d’un Projet pour la Construction de Nouvelles
Maisons, Dont tous les calculs de détails procureront une très-grande
Economie, et beaucoup de Jouissances_. Unfortunately for its
promoters, the scheme did not catch on with the public, the Marquis
returned to France and the deluded Doctor continued for years to
spend good money in the hope of recovering that which was irrevocably
lost by suing the Marquis in the French courts, efforts which were
all vain.
Meanwhile his fever for gambling grew apace and his absences from
home were more and more frequent and prolonged, and the two women,
being left much to themselves, conceived the notion of arranging
and copying out for the press a collection of verses composed
by the reverend father of Mrs. Mitford, Dr. Russell. They took
considerable pains with this, to which was added a special preface
by Mrs. Mitford, and when the packet was ready it was forwarded to
Dr. Mitford, in Town, with a request that he should find a publisher
and get as much as he could for it. Unfortunately, the sanguine
editors were disappointed, for no publisher sufficiently enterprising
could be found to accept the manuscript, although sundry extracts
did subsequently find a certain publicity within the pages of the
_Poetical Register_.
Following closely upon this effort, and in the May of 1806, Miss
Mitford went for a few days on a visit to London as the guest of
Monsieur and Madame St. Quintin, her old schoolmaster and his wife.
A short round of festivities had been arranged for her benefit,
including a visit to the Exhibition of Water Colours, evenings at
the theatres and, what appears to have been a great treat for the
impressionable Miss, some hours of two days which were spent at
Westminster Hall looking on at the trial of Lord Melville[10] and
listening to the speeches, and for which the Doctor, then in Town
and staying at _Richardson’s Hotel_ in Covent Garden, had procured
tickets. She had now been absent from London for over three years
and, no doubt, extracted a great deal of pleasure from her visit
and its reunion with Fanny Rowden and Victoire St. Quintin, M. St.
Quintin’s sister, with both of whom, together with the Doctor, the
round of sight-seeing was enjoyed.
Mrs. Mitford stayed at home, but was kept well-posted in all the news
by the inevitable letters, full of critical details, from her dutiful
daughter. From one of these, dated from Hans Place, May 12, 1806, we
quote:—
“I have much to tell you, but it can scarcely be compressed within
the bounds of a letter. On Thursday, after I wrote, Miss Ayrton, Miss
Carp, papa, and I went to the Exhibition. There are some uncommonly
fine pictures, and it is even better worth seeing than last year.
In the evening, Victoire, Miss A. and myself went with papa to the
play to see _The Provoked Husband_ and _The Forty Thieves_. Miss
Duncan in Lady Townley is most admirable. I do not much admire
Elliston as her husband. The _Forty Thieves_ is a very magnificent
spectacle, but nothing more; for the language and music are equally
vulgar and commonplace. On Friday morning we went to Oxford Street.
I was extravagant enough to give half a guinea for a dress skirt
for myself, which I wore the next day to the trial. We were rather
disappointed in Mr. Romilly.[11] The speech in itself was beautiful
beyond description; but he wants animation, and drops his voice at
the end of every sentence.... Miss Rowden, papa, and I are going to
see _Henry the Eighth_ to-night, and we are going to Westminster Hall
to-morrow.... I shall hope to return Thursday or Friday; for, though
I am greatly amused here, I am never quite happy without my dear,
dear mother.”
Two days later this was followed by a still more characteristic
effusion. The second day at Westminster Hall decided her that: “Mr.
Romilly is charming and interesting; but my first and greatest
favourite is Mr. Whitbread. Mr. Plumer is rather an inelegant
speaker, though very animated. I have promised papa to write some
verses to Mr. Whitbread. He has even superseded Mr. Fox in my good
graces. I did not tell you, I believe, that I had the happiness of
seeing Mr. Fox mount his horse on Saturday. I shall never again
contend for his beauty. He was obliged to lean on two people, and
looked so sallow and pale in the face, and so unwieldy in person,
that I am obliged to yield our long-disputed point.” Rather hard
on poor Mr. Fox, whom, hitherto, this exuberant young person had
worshipped as a hero, even to the extent of removing her watch-stand
from the head of her bed that it might give place to a bust of this
gentleman which the Doctor had sent from Town. On this occasion
it was a case of “Off with the old love and on with the new” in
double-quick time, for, continuing, she says: “To make me amends
my new favourite is what even you would call exquisitely handsome;
a most elegant figure, and a voice which I could listen to with
transport, even if he spoke in an unknown language. Mr. Plumer
attacked him with the most virulent irony and ridicule; and Mr. W.
stood with his face turned towards him and leant upon the desk,
smiling the whole time, with the most fascinating good humour. You
know I am always an enthusiast; but at present it is impossible to
describe the admiration I feel for this exalted character.”
We quote these extracts with no thought of ridiculing the ardent
partisan, but as a fore-shadowing of that enthusiasm and that quick
impressibility which ever seemed to dominate Miss Mitford’s life;
characteristics which often led her into excesses of transport at
the discovery, or supposed discovery, of some noble trait in the
characters of those who came within her ken, only to be as quickly
repented of; often giving unintentional pain to others and resulting
in an infinitude of trouble and annoyance to herself. Despite this
temperamental defect, however, and while her friends looked on amazed
at her infidelity, there was one to whom she remained unwaveringly
faithful to the end, though this object of her great affection was
the least worthy of all who came into her life.
* * * * *
Mr. Whitbread, favoured man, was the immediate recipient of some
verses from his ardent admirer. They reached him, ten days after
his Westminster display of elegance and fortitude, through Dr.
Mitford, to whom they were posted from Bertram House under cover of
the following ingenuous letter: “May 24, 1806.—I claim great merit,
my dear darling, in sending you the enclosed lines, for I am not
satisfied with them; but I would sooner mortify my own vanity by
sending you bad verses, than break my promise by withholding them.
I have called them impromptu to excuse their incorrectness; and
though some may suspect them to be an impromptu _fait à loisir_, you
must not betray the secret. From a perfect consciousness of my own
enthusiasm, I have been so much afraid of saying too much, that I
have fallen into the opposite fault and said too little. However, I
had rather be thought anything but a flatterer, though it be in my
opinion impossible to flatter Mr. Whitbread; for what language can
equal his merits? Do not impute the faults and deficiencies in these
lines to my laziness; for I assure you they cost me an infinite deal
of trouble; but they are not good enough to show, and I had rather
you would return them to me immediately. At all events, let me know
how you like them, and what you have done with them.”
Not to be misled by the feigned artlessness of his daughter’s
concluding sentences, the Doctor, as we have said, passed on the
verses to Mr. Whitbread, who was pleased to acknowledge and eulogise
them; and since they deserve it we give them below:—
IMPROMPTU ON HEARING MR. WHITBREAD DECLARE IN WESTMINSTER HALL, ON
FRIDAY, MAY 16, 1806, THAT HE “FONDLY TRUSTED HIS NAME WOULD DESCEND
WITH HONOUR TO POSTERITY.”
The hope of Fame thy noble bosom fires,
Nor vain the hope thy ardent mind inspires;
In British breasts, whilst Purity remains,
Whilst Liberty her blest abode retains,
Still shall the muse of History proclaim
To future ages thy immortal name.
And while fair Scotia weeps her favoured son,
By place corrupted and by power undone,
England with pride her upright patriot sees,
And Glory’s brightest wreath to him decrees.
FOOTNOTES:
[9] A list kept as a check on the Circulating Library account for the
years 1806 to 1811 inclusive, is a sufficient indication of this, the
number for one month alone totalling fifty-five volumes and ranging
through Fiction, Belles-Lettres, Travel and Biography.
[10] Impeached for malversation in his office as Treasurer of
the Navy. The trial lasted sixteen days. Whitbread led for the
Impeachers; Plumer—afterwards Master of the Rolls—ably defended and
secured his acquittal.
[11] Sir Samuel Romilly, Solicitor-General.