A winding road from the top of the old-fashioned High Street of Hastings
leads to High Wickham, where, on an elevation of some hundred feet above
the level of the main road on the East Hill stands a cottage, which is
the abode of a learned and accomplished author, Miss Betham-Edwards. The
quaint little "Villa Julia," as she has named it after a friend, is the
first of a terrace of picturesque and irregularly-built houses. A
tortuous path winds up the steep ascent, and on reaching the summit, one
of the finest views in Southern England is obtained.
The vast panorama embraces sea, woodland, streets, and roads, the
umbrageous Old London coach-road, above, the grassy slopes reaching to
the West and Castle hills. Far beyond may be seen the crumbling ruins of
the Conqueror's stronghold (alas! this historic spot is now defaced by
an odiously vulgar and disfiguring "lift!"), and further still, the
noble headland of Beachy Head and broad expanse of sea, on which the
rays of sunshine glitter brightly. Between the East and West hills, a
green environment, lies nestled the town, with its fine old churches of
All Saints' and St. Clement's. On a clear day, such as the present,
no view can be more exhilarating, and the ridge on which Miss
Betham-Edwards's cottage stands is lifted high above the noise of the
road below. Behind stretch the gorse-covered downs leading to Fairlight,
from whence may be seen the coast of France, forty miles off, as the
crow flies. Close under the author's windows are hawthorn trees made
merry by robins all through the winter, and at the back of the house may
be heard the cuckoo, the thrush, and the blackbird, as in the heart of
the country. Truly, it is a unique spot, inviting to repose and
inspiring cheerfulness of mind.
The interior of the Villa Julia is in thorough keeping with the
exterior. The little study which commands this glorious view is
upstairs. It is a charming room, simplicity itself, yet gives evidence
of taste and culture. There is nothing here to offend the eye, and no
suggestion of the art-decorator, but it is all just an expression of its
occupant's taste and character. "I have a fancy," says Miss
Betham-Edwards, "to have different shades of gold-colour running through
everything. It is an effective background for the pictures and pottery";
accordingly, the handsome Morocco carpet, bought by herself in the
Bazaar at Algiers, is of warm hue. The furniture and wall-paper have the
prevailing delicate tints; an arched recess on each side of the
fireplace displays lovely specimens of brilliant pottery from Athens and
Constantinople, with many shelves below, filled with volumes in various
foreign languages. On the mantelshelf stand statuettes of Goethe and
Schiller, remembrances of Weimar; the walls are hung with water-colour
sketches by Mdme. Bodichen and many French artists. Long low dwarf
bookcases fill two sides of the room, the top shelves of which are
lavishly adorned with more pottery from Germany, Italy, Spain, and
Switzerland, the whole collected by the author on her foreign travels.
Her choice little library contains first and foremost the great books of
the world, and, besides these, a representative selection of modern
literature. "It is in a small compass," she remarks, "but I keep it for
myself, eliminating and giving away useless volumes which creep in." On
a neatly arranged writing table stand a stationery-case and a French
schoolboy's desk, which is rather an ornamental contrivance of
_papier-mache_. "I invariably use it," says Miss Edwards, "it is a most
convenient thing, and has such a good slope. When one is worn out I buy
another. I do not like things about me when I write; I keep a clear
table, and MSS. in the next room. I rise early, and work for five hours
every morning absolutely undisturbed: my maid does not even bring me a
telegram."
From the window just below on the left can be seen the house of one of
Miss Betham-Edwards's _confreres_, Mr. Coventry Patmore, the poet. A
little further on is the picturesque villa which Dr. Elizabeth Blackwell
(the first woman doctor) inhabits. "As remarkable and good a woman as
ever lived," she adds. "I do not go much into society, for I find the
winter is the best time for writing. I lead a completely retired
literary life, but I have a few kindred spirits around me, and I
occasionally hold little receptions when we all meet."
In person Miss Betham-Edwards is about the medium height, middle-aged,
and slender in figure. She is fair in complexion; has hazel eyes, and a
mass of thick, dark hair, grey over the temples, and worn in a twist at
the back, the ends dispersed neatly round a small and compact head. She
is wearing black for the present, being in mourning, but is fond of
warm, cheerful colours for habitual use. "But, indeed," she says,
smiling, "I have not much time to think of dress, and I was greatly
amused by the remark of a former old landlady who, anxious that I should
look my best at some social gathering, remarked austerely to me,
'Really, Madam, you do not dress according to your talents!' Upon which
I replied 'My good woman, if all folks dressed according to their
talents, two-thirds, I fear, would go but scantily clothed.'"
Matilda Barbara Betham-Edwards is a countrywoman of Crabbe, R.
Bloomfield, Constable, Gainsborough, and Arthur Young. She was born at
Westerfield, Suffolk, and in the fine old Elizabethan Manor House of
Westerfield, Ipswich, her childhood and girlhood were spent. There was
literature in her family on the maternal side, three Bethams having
honourably distinguished themselves, viz., her grandfather, the Rev. W.
Betham, the compiler of the "Genealogical Tables of the Sovereigns of
the World"; her uncle, Sir W. Betham, Ulster King of Arms, the learned
and ingenious author of "Etruria Celtica," "The Gael and the Cymri,"
etc.; and lastly, her aunt and godmother, Matilda Betham, the author of
"A Biographical Dictionary of Celebrated Women," and other works, and
the intimate friend of Charles and Mary Lamb, Southey, and Coleridge.
From the paternal side Miss Betham-Edwards inherited whatever mother-wit
and humour she displays; her father, for whose memory she entertains the
deepest affection, was like Arthur Young, an agriculturist, and
possessed a genuine vein of native humour. Left motherless at a very
early age, she may be called self-educated, her teachers being plenty of
the best books, and with her first story-book arose the desire and fixed
intention to become herself a story-teller.
In these early days among the cowslip meadows and bean fields of
Westerfield, books were the young girl's constant companions, although
she had the happiness of having brothers and sisters. By the time she
was twelve, she had read through Shakespeare, Walter Scott, "Don
Quixote," "The Spectator," "The Arabian Nights," Johnson's "Lives of the
Poets"; then, _inter alia_, Milton was an early favourite. As she grew
up, the young student held aloof from the dances and other amusements of
her sisters, writing, whilst yet in her teens, her first published
romance, "The White House by the Sea," a little story which has had a
long life, for it has lately been re-issued and numerous "picture-board"
editions have appeared. Amongst new editions, cheaper and revised, are
those of "Disarmed," "The Parting of the Ways," and "Pearls." By
request, some penny stories will shortly appear from her pen. "John and
I" and "Dr. Jacob" were the result of residences in Germany, the former
giving a picture of South German life, and dates from this period, and
the latter being founded on fact.
"On arriving at Frankfort," says Miss Betham-Edwards, "to spend some
time in an Anglo-German family, my host (the Dr. Paulus of 'Dr. Jacob'),
almost the first thing, asked of me, 'Have you heard the story of Dr.
J---- which has just scandalized this town?' He then narrated in vivid
language the strange career which forms the _motif_ of the work." That
novel too has had a long existence. It was re-issued again lately, the
first edition having appeared many years ago. The personages were mostly
taken from life, "a fact I may aver now," she says, "most, alas! having
vanished from the earthly stage." On the breaking up of her Suffolk
home, the author travelled in France, Spain, and Algeria with the late
Madame Bodichen--the philanthropist, and friend of Cobden, George Eliot,
Dante Rossetti, Dr. Elizabeth Blackwell, and Herbert Spencer--herself a
charming artist, and writer of no mean power, but best known, perhaps,
as the co-foundress with Miss Emily Davis of Girton College. "To the
husband of this noble woman," she continues, "I acknowledge myself
hardly less indebted, for to Dr. Bodichen I owe my keen interest in
France and French history, past and present, and I may say, indirectly,
my vast circle of French friends and acquaintances, the result of which
has been several works on French rural life, and the greatest happiness
and interest to myself."
"Kitty," which was first published in 1870 in three volumes, later on,
in one volume, and which is, perhaps, the most popular of Miss
Betham-Edwards's stories, belongs to this period. In Bishop Thirlwall's
"Letters to a Friend" occurs the following from the late Lord Houghton:
"'Kitty' is the best novel I have ever read."
A compliment the author valued hardly less came from a very different
quarter. Messrs Moody and Sankey, the American revivalists, wrote to
her, and asked if she could not write for their organ a story on the
lines of "Kitty," but with a distinctly Evangelical bias. The request
was regretfully refused. Each character in this original and delightful
book is drawn to perfection and sustained to the end, which comes all
too soon. The genuine novel-lover, indeed, feels somewhat cheated, for
did not the author almost promise in the last page a sequel? A new
edition has just been published.
"Kitty" was followed by the "Sylvestres," which first ran through _Good
Words_ as a serial. Socialistic ideas were not so much in evidence then
as now, and many subscribers to this excellent family journal gave it
up, frightened by views which are at the present moment common property.
No story, nevertheless, has brought Miss Betham-Edwards more flattering
testimony than this; especially grateful letters from working men
pleased a writer whose own views, political, social, and theological,
have ever been with the party of progress. The books already mentioned
are, without doubt, her most important novels, though some simple
domestic stories, "Bridget" for instance, "Lisabee's Love Story," "The
Wild Flower of Ravenswood," "Felicia," and "Brother Gabriel," are
generally liked; whilst in America several later works, "Disarmed," and
particularly the two German Idylls, "Exchange no Robbery" and "Love and
Mirage" (which last novel originally appeared as a serial in _Harper's
Weekly Magazine_ in America), have found much favour. Of this novel,
indeed, Miss Betham-Edwards received a gratifying compliment from Mr.
John Morley, who wrote to her, saying: "'Love and Mirage' is very
graceful, pretty, interesting, and pathetic. I have read it with real
pleasure." It has twice been translated into German. Of later years many
editions have been reproduced in one volume form. Another American
favourite is the French idyllic story, "Half-Way," now re-issued in one
volume.
In 1891 Miss Betham-Edwards received a signal honour at the hands of the
French Government, viz., the last dignity of "_Officier de l'Instruction
Publique de France_." She is the only English woman who enjoys this
distinction, given as a recognition of her numerous studies of rural
France. Her last and most important work in this field is in one volume,
"France of To-day," written by request and published simultaneously in
London, Leipzig, and New York. In fiction her most recent contributions
are "The Romance of a French Parsonage" in two volumes, "Two Aunts and a
Nephew" in one volume, and a collection of stories, entitled "A Dream of
Millions." Of this the late lamented Amelia B. Edwards wrote to her
cousin: "It is worthy of Balzac."
Miss Betham-Edwards has devoted herself entirely to literature, and is
an excellent linguist. "I have been again and again entreated," she
says, "to take part in philanthropy, public work, to accept a place on
the School Board, etc., but have stoutly resisted. A worthy following of
literature implies nothing less than the devotion of a life-time.
Literary laziness and literary 'Liebig,' _i.e._, second-hand knowledge
or cramming, I have ever held in disesteem. If I want to read a book I
master the language in which it is written. If I want to understand a
subject I do not go to a review or a cyclopaedia for a digest, but to the
longest, completest, most comprehensive work to be had thereon. In odd
moments I have attained sufficient Latin and Greek to enjoy Tacitus and
Plato in the original. French, German, Spanish, and Italian I consider
the necessary, I should say the obligatory, equipments of a literary
calling. It seems to me that an ordinarily long life admits of reading
the choicest works of the chief European literatures in the original,
and how much do they lose in translation!"
An early afternoon tea is served in the snug little dining-room below,
in which stands a magnificent inlaid Spanish oak chest, occupying nearly
the whole side of the wall. This is a treasure heirloom, and is dated
1626, the time of Charles I.'s accession to the throne. Two quaint old
prints of Ipswich and Bury St. Edmunds are also old family relics. On
the table is a German bowl from Ilmennau--Goethe's favourite
resort--filled with lovely purple and white anemones, which have just
arrived from Cannes, and in other little foreign vases are early
primroses and violets, for Hastings has enjoyed a long continuance of
bright sunshine and mild weather. Whilst at tea, the conversation turns
on music, celebrated people whom your hostess has met, and many social
subjects. Miss Betham-Edwards says, "Music has ever been one of my
recreations, the piano being a friend, a necessity of existence, but, of
course, a busy author has not much time for pianoforte playing. _Vidi
tantum!_ I have known and heard the great Liszt. I have also spent a
week under the same roof as George Eliot and G. H. Lewes. I have watched
the great French artist, Daubigny, paint a flotilla of fishing boats
from a window at Hastings. I have heard Gambetta deliver an oration,
Victor Hugo read a speech, the grandson of Goethe talk of _den
Grossvater_ in the great poet's house at Weimar. Browning, too, I used
to meet at George Eliot's and Lord Houghton's breakfast parties.
Tourgenieff, Herbert Spencer, and how many other distinguished men I
have met! It is such recollections as these that brace one up to do, or
strive to do, one's best, to contribute one's mite to the golden
store-house of our national literature, with no thought of money or
fame!"
Miss Betham-Edwards is a first cousin of the late Miss Amelia Blandford
Edwards, the distinguished Egyptologist, and author of "Barbara's
History," etc. The author of "Kitty" is a Nonconformist, and holds
advanced opinions. She is an ardent disciple of Herbert Spencer, a keen
antagonist of vivisection, and has written on the subject, the only
social topic, indeed, which ever occupies her pen. She divides her time
between her cottage residence on the hills above Hastings and her
beloved France, where she has as many dear friends as in England. Of her
own works, the author's favourite characters are the humorous ones. The
Rev. Dr. Bacchus in "Next of Kin," Anne Brindle in "Half-way," Polly
Cornford in "Kitty" ("Where on earth," Lord Houghton asked her, "did you
get the original of that delightful woman!"), and Fraeulein Fink in "Dr.
Jacob," a study from life. As works of imagination, perhaps "Love and
Mirage" and "Forestalled" are, in her estimation, the best. "The Parting
of the Ways," "For One and the World," are also among a long list of
Miss Betham-Edwards's works. She has written a great many short stories,
whilst four charming volumes of travel must not be omitted; they are
entitled "The Roof of France," "A Winter with the Swallows," "Through
Spain to the Sahara," and "Holidays in Eastern France." These journeys
are all described with much brightness, reality, and graphic
word-painting, and betoken so thorough a knowledge of the scenes and
people that they form most pleasant and instructive reading. Many of the
works above mentioned have been translated into French--"Kitty" has just
gone into its second edition in that language--German, and Norwegian,
and all are published in Tauchnitz.
"I am always glad," remarks the author, "to hear of cheap editions. I
should like to see good books brought out at a penny. I have had various
publishers, and never quarrelled with any of them. I know Mr. George
Bentley well. He is a man of great literary culture, and is always
kindness itself to me. The late Mr. Blackett, too, was a great friend."
Miss Betham-Edwards holds such decided and sensible views on one of the
great questions of the day that they shall be given in her own words. "I
consider," she says emphatically, "cremation to be an absolute duty
towards those to come, and support it on hygienic and rationalistic
grounds. Each individual should do his or her best to promote it."
The conversation of this sympathetic and intellectual woman is so
fascinating that you are loath to leave without hearing somewhat of her
own principal reading. Expressing the wish to her, she smiles
pleasantly, and says: "My favourite English novels are 'Villette' and
'The Scarlet Letter,' both perfect to my thinking, and consummate as
stories and works of art. In German, my favourite novelist is Paul
Heyse. George Sand I regard as the greatest novelist of the age. George
Eliot's sombre realism repels me, whilst I fully admit her enormous
power. 'Don Quixote' in Spanish, with some other favourite works, I read
over and over again, Lessing's 'Nathan the Wise,' Schiller's 'AEsthetic
Letters,' these, and some of Goethe's smaller works I re-read regularly
every year; they are necessary mental pabulum. Spinoza is also a
favourite, second only to Plato. Of contemporary writers, Spencer,
Harrison, Morley, and Renan stand first in my opinion; whilst of the
living novelists I can only say that I endeavour to appreciate all. For
the stories of the late Mrs. Ewing I entertain the highest admiration;
also I delight in the graceful author of 'The Atelier du Lys.' Tolstoi,
Ibsen, Zola, and that school, I find repulsive in the extreme.
Imaginative literature should, above all things, delight. With the
sadness inherent in life should be mingled a hopeful note, a touch of
poetry, a glimpse of the beautiful and of the ideal."
Miss Betham-Edwards has one faithful and cherished companion, who always
accompanies her in her walks, and who sits quietly beside her when she
writes. This is a white Pomeranian dog, very intelligent and
affectionate, who will certainly never be lost while he wears his
present "necklace," bearing the following inscription:--
My name is Muff,
That's short enough;
My home's Villa Julia,
That's slightly peculiar;
On the east side you'll find it,
With Fairlight behind it;
My missus is a poet,
By this you should know it.
Ere the train leaves there is a good hour to spare; so, taking leave of
the gifted author, you employ the time in sauntering about the town, and
first go to see the fine church of St. Mary Star-of-the-Sea, founded by
Mr. Coventry Patmore; also some ancient buildings of quaint
architecture, in which the notorious Titus Oates is said to have lived.
The Albert Memorial is the most prominent object in the town, occupying
a central position at the junction of six roads, and close by are the
renowned Breach's oyster rooms, where the temptation to taste the
Whitstable bivalve in the fresh white-tiled shop is not to be resisted;
but whilst there the great clock on the Memorial warns you to be up and
away. There is much food for meditation on the return journey to town;
and on reflecting over all that Miss Betham-Edwards has learnt and
achieved, the poet's lines involuntarily suggest themselves:
"And still the wonder grew,
That one small head should carry all 'she' knew."
[Illustration: Ada Ellen Bayly, "Edna Lyall"]