Georgiana) used to spend their summer holidays at Lowestoft, where
were other friends with young families, conspicuously the Palgraves.
Of the Palgraves the best known was Francis, afterwards the editor of
the _Golden Treasury_. There is in existence a little green-covered
book called _Lays of Lowestoft_, which consists of parodies of
mediæval ballads and heroic couplets something like the _Ingoldsby
Legends_, though it is perhaps unfair to call into comparison these
high-spirited, but naturally immature, productions with that brilliant
collection of satirical verse. The jokes and allusions are rather
obscure to the outsider, but the whole volume gives an impression of
zest and great enjoyment. Georgiana opens the volume with a lively
account of a cricket match, and there are descriptions of picnics and
excursions of all sorts, to which the family drove in a donkey-cart,
with tea, umbrellas, and “Tennyson’s poems our hearts to affect.” On
another occasion they are all depicted as lying on the heather singing
glees and part-songs (the Aldersons were very musical) while the sun
went down. Two verses are sufficiently characteristic:
“Now sparkling hock and sparkling wit
Are vying with each other,
And one bright flash of repartee
Is followed by another.
And grave ecclesiastics too,
With lawyers shrewd and cunning,
Contend with squires and ladies fair
In the gay art of punning.”
The whole book is full of the atmosphere of the irresponsible years
between childhood and maturity. One feels it must all have been great
fun.
Georgiana “came out,” like other girls, when she grew up, and is
generally believed to have enjoyed that also. Indeed, she might have
taken as one of her secondary mottoes in life the old couplet:
“Pastime and good company
I love and shall until I die,”
with perhaps the rider that good company was the pastime best worth
having. She had great vitality and a brilliant wit, and both made her
such good company that a friend paraphrased Wilke’s famous boast on
her behalf and said that, given ten minutes’ lead (to make up for her
want of looks, for she was not considered pretty), she could be backed
against the loveliest of her contemporaries. Undeniably some people
found her formidable, for she was a person of very strong emotions and
decided opinions, and was liable to come out suddenly with emphatic
expression of her views in a way that less decisive natures found
startling.
There are in existence some serious poems written by Miss Alderson
at this date at which she used to laugh in later life, and which she
was perhaps a little unreasonably proud of never having published.
They are described as being characterised by a “sweet sentimental
melancholy,” which was a quality no one would have suspected in her.
But she probably had her “summer of green-sickness” like other people,
and one of her daughters describes her as liking “to give lip-service
to a pretty sentiment, though always ready to laugh at herself for the
indulgence.”
Among Georgiana Alderson’s greatest friends was Mary, Lady Salisbury
(later Lady Derby), and it was at her house she met Lord Robert Cecil,
Lady Salisbury’s stepson. In appearance at any rate Lord Robert was
very different from the massive figure familiar to the older of
present-day politicians. Angular, thin, and rather ungainly, for the
dozen years before he took office in 1866 he sat below the gangway
in the House of Commons, the freest of free-lances, assailing his own
leaders quite as often as the Liberal Government, with a bitterness
and violence of language which rather scandalised his fellow-members.
His elder brother, Lord Cranborne, being still alive, no one ever
thought of his succeeding his father, while his constituency was one
of the last of the pocket boroughs, so that he enjoyed every condition
of irresponsibility and independence. Another element emphasised his
detachment. The tendency of politics is to absorb the politician
completely, and to shut out other interests and other questions. To
Lord Robert politics was an occupation, while what old-fashioned people
used to call philosophy--abstract thought on theology and science--was
his abiding interest. He also was an advanced Tractarian, and this was
probably the chief thing that first attracted him and Georgiana to each
other.
The marriage was an extremely happy one. Both were deeply and devoutly
religious; both were much interested in the philosophical questions
that centred in religious controversy; both had keen, alert, and
daring intelligences. Lady Robert, though a year or two older than her
husband, was generally held to have the younger mind, and, if power
to enjoy is the attribute of youth, then she certainly had a younger
temperament. They were married in 1857, and lived in a little house
in Half Moon Street. They were not at all well off, and Lord Robert
supplemented a small income with his pen, writing in the _Quarterly_
and the _Saturday Review_. Lady Robert also wrote in the _Saturday_, a
fact considered more unusual then than it would be now. Owing to their
both writing anonymously, rumour of course embellished the fact, and
Lady Robert was credited with some of the political articles (of the
type known as “trenchant”) which, as a matter of fact, were written by
her husband, she having performed only the important rôle of critic.
Lady Robert’s own articles, unfortunately never collected, were chiefly
on literary subjects.
Their eldest son was not born till 1861, to be followed by a long
family of four more sons and two daughters. The relations of the mother
with her children were thoroughly characteristic. To outsiders she
seemed to exercise very little restraint on them, and to give them a
degree of liberty of action that most children do not get. They were
also treated by both parents far more as equals than is usual, and
allowed to take part and have their say in any discussion that was on
foot, provided they put their points well and discussed fairly. But
if she did not work her authority hard there could be no doubt of the
strength of her influence, especially in the case of her sons. She
was in their confidence, and her opinion had great weight with them
to the end of her life. A very familiar sight in later years was Lady
Salisbury driving in a high barouche with one or other of her sons, by
that time grown men and public figures, absolutely absorbed in talk and
both enjoying themselves.
The free-lance days came to an end in 1865, when Lord Robert’s elder
brother, Lord Cranborne, died and put him in the direct succession for
a great fortune and one of the historical peerages of England. Further,
in 1866 the Liberal Government fell, and, when the Conservatives came
in under Lord Derby, the new Lord Cranborne was made Secretary of State
for India. It was an interesting Parliament, the outstanding subject
of interest being Reform. The career of the Government might indeed
be described as more exciting than dignified. They came in disposed
to pass no Reform Bill; they rapidly discovered that the country
was determined to have some Reform Bill. They started with timid and
limited measures, and were hustled from one halting-place to another,
until the Bill they finally passed, amid clamorous denunciations and
acclamations alike, was as wide as any Liberal had ever dreamed of.
It was when one of these limitations was removed, which in his opinion
made the franchise dangerously wide, that Lord Cranborne and two of his
colleagues, Lord Carnarvon and General Peel, resigned in 1867. Every
one sincerely respected them for their sacrifice to their principles,
but it made and could make no difference to the Bill, there being only
one Bill possible under the circumstances. On the other hand a comment
of Lady Cranborne’s was felt to have some ground. She sat next Lord
Derby at a dinner-party, and he asked her good-humouredly whether she
was lying awake at night doing addition sums to see how many voters
were coming in under the Bill, like her husband? “No; do you know, my
sums are all subtraction,” was Lady Cranborne’s reply, “and I have come
to the conclusion that three from twelve leaves nothing.” Twelve was
the number of the Derby Cabinet which, after a jolting and precarious
career and a change of leadership from Lord Derby to Mr. Disraeli, fell
to cureless ruin in 1868 after the new election.
Lord Cranborne had hardly been a year in office, but he had greatly
increased in reputation. He had shown that when he was given
responsibility he could rise to it, and his Parliamentary manner was
admirable. He shot up automatically from the position of a lone hand,
about whose prospects men shook their heads, to that of a coming man
and a coming leader, and many regretted profoundly when his father’s
death in 1868 withdrew him from the House of Commons. One of the most
interesting of minor political speculations is the consideration of
what might have happened if his elder brother had lived and he had been
compelled to pass his career in the comparative rough-and-tumble of the
Commons. He was always of a very detached and aloof temperament, and
might have absolutely refused to face the passion and blatancy of an
ordinary contested election, as opposed to the foreseen “walks-over”
of his elections at Stamford. But had he undergone it and been forced
into more direct contact with the general mind of the people, it
is impossible not to believe that this detachment might have been
modified--and with advantage. As a leader he was always a good deal
of an enigma even to his closest associates, and a complete puzzle
to the rank and file of his party. In the House of Lords he seldom
had to face real opposition, and the consciousness of a foregone
conclusion to the discussions imparted a degree of languor to debate.
Lord Salisbury himself complained that they were all too much of one
mind. At any rate, for one reason or another, he grew more and more
to despise public opinion because it was public opinion, an attitude
very attractive to certain types of mind, but which is apt to leave a
politician the dismal choice whether he will acquiesce or resign when
overborne by a public opinion formed by some one else.
Lady Salisbury, as she now became, was very conscious of the drawbacks
of this attitude, and set to work to try and modify them by taking on
herself a large share of the duties of political hostess. The short
sitting of the House of Commons in those days was on Wednesday, and she
used to have parties in her house in Arlington Street on Wednesdays for
members and their wives. She was a great believer in keeping in touch
with members’ wives as a means of keeping their husbands politically
“straight.” In addition, of course, she gave big garden-parties in
the beautiful grounds at Hatfield, which were now her own, and these
entertainments formed one of the outstanding social functions of each
year. With only short intervals Lord Salisbury was in office for nearly
thirty years, the intervals being, of course, 1880-85 and 1892-95, when
Mr. Gladstone was Prime Minister. Consequently the work of “keeping
the party together” was continuous. Lady Salisbury played her part
entirely by entertaining. So far as I can find out she never made a
speech on a platform in her life, and did not look with any approval on
the political associations for women which began to form in her later
years. In the sense that “everybody who was anybody” always came to
her parties, they were, of course, extremely successful. Yet she can
hardly be described as a born political hostess. Political entertaining
is inevitably a rather wholesale business, and demands a certain
amount of facile amiability that did not suit her direct and decisive
personality, and she was a person of strong preferences which she was
not always successful in concealing from the people that she did not
prefer. In addition, she was very easily led into any conversation that
interested her, and it was not an uncommon sight to see her shaking
hands with head averted, absorbed in a discussion going on at her other
elbow. (It is interesting to note that although her husband was twice
Prime Minister she never lived at the historic No. 10 Downing Street.)
Lord Salisbury himself was a decidedly reluctant partner in these
activities. He hated indiscriminate sociabilities, partly because
his eyesight was bad and he had a difficulty in remembering faces.
“Why should I spend my evening being trampled on by the Conservative
party,” he was heard to complain audibly one night while standing at
the head of the stairs receiving his guests. Both were a great deal
happier in their house-parties at Hatfield, where they could receive
their personal friends. Here they could be in close touch with every
one, and enjoy the play of minds which was the favourite entertainment
of both. Lady Salisbury herself was a brilliant talker, quick,
spontaneous, and epigrammatic, without any suggestion of premeditation.
The element about her talk that most struck outsiders was perhaps its
remorseless pressing home of her points, coupled with complete good
temper when points were pressed equally hard against her. She never
took offence at a shrewd hit, and greatly preferred a foeman worthy of
her steel to a limp and unintelligent ally. One characteristic was very
marked--gossip played small part in her talk, and “spicy” gossip none
at all. The reason for this was not prudery. The terms are on record
with which she rebuked some unlucky scandalmonger, and they are of an
eighteenth-century plainness. She was fond of the saying that “nice”
people are people with nasty minds, and altogether had a fine disgust
for the prying censoriousness and debased curiosity which besets a
certain form of conventional piety.
Convention, in fact, was her bane, and independence the prevailing
colour of her mind. She was deeply and sincerely religious, and her
religion was her touchstone for all conduct. But her inferences from
her creed she held herself free to make independently, and she acted,
approved, disapproved, and recommended on completely individual lines.
Laid down as they were by a reckless and almost appallingly rational
mind, they were no doubt sufficiently perplexing to many ordinary
people. She saw no necessity to agree with every one she liked (nor, it
may be added, to like every one with whom she agreed), and her friends
were of every type and every shade of opinion. Dr. Liddon was one of
the greatest, and with him she corresponded frequently, but she was
also close friends with Dr. Tait, afterwards Primate, with Professor
Tyndall, and with the late Duke of Devonshire, with all of whom Liddon
probably disagreed as emphatically as possible. She had also many
friends in the Liberal camp, notably Lady Rosebery. She had very strong
affections, and her friendships went very deep.
Her last illness was long and harassing, lasting over two years. At
first it was hoped that a change to the south of France, where Lord
Salisbury had a villa, might cure her, and in 1898 she was operated on.
But the dropsical symptoms recurred, and she was obliged to realise
that medical skill could only modify her discomforts and not defer an
inevitable end. She bore her illness with an unstinted courage that was
characteristic, until she lapsed into an unconsciousness that lasted
more or less all the last three weeks of her life. Perhaps in itself
this was a merciful thing, for she was thus spared the knowledge that
one of her sons, Lord Edward Cecil, was shut up in Mafeking, and that
the family being unable to get news were in some anxiety about him.
She died at Hatfield on 20th November 1899, and her death was a blow
to her husband, from which it may be said that he never recovered. Her
long illness had withdrawn her from her friends for some time before
her death, but nevertheless the silencing of her vivid and positive
personality came as a shock to many, and to a few with whom she had
been intimate as one of the irreplaceable losses of their lives. She
was buried at Hatfield, and four years later her husband was laid
beside her.
L. M.
VIII
LADY CAMPBELL-BANNERMAN
“The speaker in his remarks on the previous toast implied that it
was a good sign of a mother to have a good son. But he thought there
was another relationship in life in which there was a good deal
of sympathy. They would always find where they had a good sort of
fellow--they might depend upon it--he had a good wife. At all events,
he pitied the man with any interest in public events or any public duty
to discharge who, when he goes home, finds a wife who knows nothing and
cares nothing about it. That, he was glad to say, was not his case. He
had a wife who was a keen politician; like most women, she was a keen
partisan and had a very great appreciation of all who supported her
husband, and, he was afraid, she was not without resentment against
those who did not. He need hardly say that his wife shared the anxiety
of these days and also the buoyancy of spirits and the elasticity of
feeling which enabled them to survive the disappointment.”
[Illustration:
_Sarony_
LADY CAMPBELL-BANNERMAN]
Mr. Campbell, as he then was, made the speech from which these remarks
are quoted in 1868. As a summary of his wife’s character they remained
applicable all her life, except perhaps when the “buoyancy of spirits”
flagged owing to her long and painful illness. The “keen politician”
and “keen partisan” she remained to the end.
Sarah, Lady Campbell-Bannerman, was born Sarah Charlotte Bruce,
daughter of Sir Charles Bruce, a well-known officer in his day.
Throughout her life her attitude of mind partook of an almost military
staunchness and simplicity. For her no trumpet gave forth an uncertain
sound. It was either a command from allies or a challenge from the
enemy. She was married in 1860, and at the time it was said, I do
not know with what truth, that of the two the young bride was the
more extreme in her political views. One of the first people to
appreciate her qualities of mind and character was her father-in-law.
He was diametrically opposed to her in politics, but he showed his
appreciation of her qualities in a very practical manner, by a
substantial increase in the provision he made for the young couple
over and beyond the sum named in their original settlements.
Mr. and Mrs. Henry Campbell spent much of the early years of their
marriage in foreign travel, for which they both had a great fondness.
Continental journeys at that date were more adventurous than in
the days of Messrs. Cook and Sir Henry Lunn, and the young couple
had plenty of petty misfortunes and discomforts to laugh over in
later days. France was their special favourite; they shared a great
admiration for French art and French culture, and, it may be added, for
French cooking.
In 1868 Mr. Campbell entered politics, fighting two elections in
the same year for the same constituency, Stirling Burghs--the first
unsuccessful, the second triumphant. Stirling Burghs remained his
constituency throughout his life. The new member’s career followed
the fortunes of his party. It is curious to consider, in the light of
his attitude on the South African War, how much of his official life
was spent at the War Office, where he was very much liked. He was
Financial Secretary to that Department in 1871, and again in 1880. In
1892 he returned there as Secretary of State to tackle an extremely
delicate and awkward affair, the retirement of the Duke of Cambridge
from the position of Commander-in-Chief. The appointment was for five
years only, but the Duke had treated it as an appointment for life, and
had filled it for more than thirty years. Had he been a great soldier
it would have mattered less, but in his prime he was no more than a
hard-working and conscientious one, and now in his old age an immovable
obstacle to a thousand necessary reforms. His experience dated from
the time when promotion was entirely by purchase or by favour; he
regarded any system of promotion by merit as a direct infringement
of his privileges, both official and royal, with the result that the
Staff College was deliberately shunned by ambitious officers, because
it was known that “the Duke” would never promote any one who had
been there. A more serious matter was the truncation and arrest of
promotion right through the military hierarchy. “The worst thing the
Duke did by the Army was to rob it of Wolseley’s best years,” was the
comment of one who knew both men. A cartoon in _Punch_ expressed this
very aptly. It showed a slim, alert Lord Wolseley observing, “I have
to relinquish my command in September.” To whom a coughing, lame,
and corpulent Duke of Cambridge replied, “Dear me! I haven’t.” It was
obvious he ought to retire, but he was Royal, a near relation to the
Sovereign, a popular public figure, and quite unconscious of his own
shortcomings, so it was difficult to bring about. But the quiet young
Scotchman brought it about, and that in a manner which safeguarded the
old gentleman’s public dignity, whatever may have been his private
feelings. The Duke was succeeded by Lord Wolseley, greatly to the
public satisfaction. The whole incident served to consolidate the
reputation Mr. Campbell-Bannerman had made during a short bout of the
intractable duties of Chief Secretary for Ireland, and on the advice of
Lord Rosebery, then Prime Minister, the achievement was acknowledged by
the bestowal of the Grand Cross of the Bath.
Lady Campbell-Bannerman[80] was a soldier’s daughter and took great
interest in all military affairs. Circumstances combined to make the
marriage a particularly close and affectionate relation. Sir Henry and
his wife were childless; she was an only child, and he a member of a
small family. All this tended to make them concentrate their affection
upon each other and ask very little of outsiders, and when the long
illness began of which Lady Campbell-Bannerman died, her husband’s
daily and hourly devotion was touching to see. He relied implicitly
on her judgment, having, as he said, so often found it reliable and
shrewd. It was well for both that their mutual confidence was so
close, for during and after the South African War a storm of abuse
and unpopularity raged round Sir Henry, who was opposed both to the
war itself and the manner in which it was conducted. No unpopularity,
however, caused him to swerve in any degree, and it was often thought
that his wife had a great deal to say in the maintenance of his
uncompromising course. Certain it is that she shared his convictions
to the full. In both they were founded in the deepest and most abiding
sentiments.
They shared also the same taste in friends, with something like an
oblivion of social standing and a great intolerance for pretension
or pose or insincerity, more marked perhaps in the wife than in the
husband. Lady Campbell-Bannerman was very proud of a strain of Dutch in
her descent, but her every trait showed the influence of generations
of severe Scotch ancestors.
It has sometimes been stated that Lady Campbell-Bannerman took a
prominent part in the conciliatory movements which ended in the
co-ordination of the Liberal party in 1906. But, as a matter of fact,
she was a bad conciliator. She found it very difficult to believe that
people who differed from her husband in opinion did so in good faith.
She found it nearly impossible to believe this of a member of his own
party, in whom she regarded it as something like evidence of a wilful
perversity. Her resentments were, accordingly, immovable. To set
against this degree of prejudice she displayed a singular shrewdness
in affairs, which she did not allow to be deflected by personal
considerations.