Although a sad change has come over the ancient and historic village of
Putney, and it has lost much of its quaint and picturesque environment
since the destruction of the toll-house and the dear old bridge of 1729,
with its score of narrow openings--at once the delight of artists and
the curse of bargees--there is still a bit left which has escaped the
hands of the Philistines. Unique and fair is the view from the
magnificent, though aggressively modern, granite structure which now
spans the river; and how many memories of the past are aroused! The grey
old church of St. Mary's, Putney, and the massive tower of All Saints,
Fulham, flank either end. This latter edifice, originally built as a
chapel of ease to Wimbledon, is of great antiquity, and has been twice
rebuilt, once in the reign of Henry VII. and again in 1836, when the
grand old tower, which gives such a prominent feature to the landscape,
was restored. On one side is the fine terrace of lofty houses known as
The Cedars, with their wide breezy gardens overlooking the river, so
short a time since the scene of many pleasant garden parties, when a
well-known and popular author occupied one of these houses. Now, alas!
they are all empty and deserted; cranes and stones and heaps of rubbish
have transformed their time-honoured lawns into desolation. No scheme of
utilization seems to suggest itself, and meanwhile the noble site is
unused, and these handsome tenements are rapidly solving the question,
and, abandoned to all the ravages of time, are dropping into obtrusive
decay. On the other side of the bridge there is a glimpse of the shady
grounds of Fulham Palace, the leafy foliage of the Bishop's Moat and
Avenue, and a view of a lovely line of trees on the shore skirting the
grounds of old Ranelagh--now given up to the building fiend--and
Hurlingham, while the broad silvery river itself, and its slow-moving
barges and boats with brown and red sails, give life and colouring to
the scene. At night, when the lights only of unlovely Hammersmith are
gleaming across the water, the effect is decidedly picturesque.
In a second the mind involuntarily travels back a few centuries, and
pictures to itself the appearance of this same spot when the army under
Cromwell made it their head quarters, while the King was a prisoner in
Hampton Court; when forts were standing on each side, and a bridge of
boats was constructed across the river, by order of the Earl of Essex,
during the Civil War, on the retreat of the Royalists after the battle
of Brentford. But the imaginary panorama fades, and your thoughts return
to the present age as you drive a few hundred yards further on, and
reach the top of a long terrace of small but artistically built
red-brick Elizabethan houses, where in one which is semi-detached, the
well-known writer, Miss Rosa Nouchette Carey, has made her home with her
eldest widowed sister and her family. The author meets you at the
threshold of her study at the top of the staircase, and takes you into
what she calls her "snuggery," a simple, but tastefully furnished room,
looking out into a large garden, where birds of all sorts are encouraged
to come; a thrush sings melodiously, and is among many singing birds a
daily visitor. An oak knee-hole writing-table, with raised blotting-pad,
stands in the corner by the window, and on it is a vase full of bright
scarlet geraniums and ferns. Everything is arranged with great neatness,
and each spot seems to have its use. Little and big lounging chairs, a
low spring couch, one or two small tables, a bookcase filled with
well-bound books, and a cabinet covered with photographs and pretty
little odds and ends of china, all combine to make a cheerful,
comfortable, and attractive whole. A cage is on the floor, and perched
on the top is a beautiful cockateel, or Australian Joey bird, of the
parrot type, with grey top-knot, yellow tuft and pink feathers on the
sides of the head, which give it the odd appearance of a fine healthy
colour on the cheeks. This intelligent bird is a great pet of your
hostess, and walks up and downstairs in answer to her call.
Miss Rosa Nouchette Carey is tall, slender, and erect in carriage. She
has large blue-grey eyes with long lashes, and her soft dark hair, in
which a silver thread may be seen here and there, is parted smoothly
over her brow, and plaited neatly round her head. She wears a black
dress with brocaded velvet sleeves, and is cordial and peculiarly gentle
in manner.
"We have lived here six years," she says, in a low, tuneful voice; "but
Putney is getting quite spoilt. They have pulled down and built over the
grand old Jacobin House, which stood close by in the Richmond Road, with
its seven drawing-rooms, subterranean passages, and lovely gardens which
were a joy to us, also Fairfax House, with its pleasant garden and its
fine old trees."
There are other, not a few, historical recollections of Putney. Queen
Elizabeth used often to stay at the house of Mr. Lacy, the clothier, who
also entertained Charles I. It was the birthplace of Edward Gibbon,
author of "The Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire"; of Thomas
Cromwell, who was made Earl of Essex by Henry VIII.; and of Nicholas
West, Bishop of Ely, who originally erected the small chantry chapel in
the old church near the bridge; but though this has been removed from
the east end of the south aisle to the east end of the north side, the
old style has been carefully preserved. Many eminent people have lived
here. Mary Wollstonecraft Godwin, widow of Shelley, had her residence at
the White House by the river; Leigh Hunt lived and died in the High
Street. Among others, Theodore Hook, Douglas Jerrold, Henry Fuseli, the
painter; Toland, the friend of Leibnitz; James Macpherson; and last, but
not least, Mrs. Siddons. Putney also witnessed the death of William
Pitt, Earl of Chatham.
Rosa Nouchette Carey was born in London, near Old Bow Church, but she
has only vague memories of the house and place. She was the youngest but
one of a large family of five sisters and two brothers. Her father was a
ship-broker, and afterwards had vessels of his own. He was a man of
singularly amiable character, and his integrity and many virtues made
him universally beloved and respected. Her childhood was passed at
Hackney in the old house at Tryons Place, where many happy days were
spent in the room called the green-room, overlooking a large
old-fashioned garden well filled with shady trees. "It was a simple,
happy, uneventful life," says Miss Carey. "Being a delicate child, my
education was somewhat desultory. My youngest sister and I were left a
good deal alone, and I remember that my chief amusement, besides our
regular childish romps, was to select favourite characters from history
or fiction, and to try and personify them. I was always the originator
of our games, but my sister invariably followed my lead. I used to write
little plays which we acted. I began a magazine, and wrote several
pieces of poetry, of the most foolish description probably," she adds,
smiling, "for I am sure I could not write a line now to save my life! My
greatest pleasure was to relate stories to this same sister over our
needlework or under the shade of the old trees."
In this way the whole of "Nellie's Memories" was told verbally, when
still in her teens, and was only written down seven years afterwards.
"My mother was a strict disciplinarian and was very clever and
practical," she continues. "As a girl I was singularly dreamy, and spent
all my leisure time in reading and writing poetry; feeling the
impossibility of combining my favourite pursuits with a useful, domestic
life, and discouraged by my failures in this respect, I made a
deliberate and, as it afterwards proved, a fruitless attempt to quench
the longing to write, while at the same time I endeavoured to be more
like other girls, but this unnatural repression of a strong instinct
could not last, and after some years I gave it up. I am not aware that
my mother knew of this strange conflict, but she was the first to
rejoice at my literary success. My literary taste is not inherited,
except in one solitary case, my father's cousin, Christopher
Riethmueller, author of "Teuton," "Legends of the Early Church," "The
Adventures of Neville Brooke," and "Aldersleigh."
Later on the family moved to South Hampstead, where Rosa Carey's
schooldays began, and it was whilst at school that she formed an
enthusiastic friendship with Mathilde Blind, afterwards the clever
translator of Marie Bashkirtseff's Journal, and author of "The Descent
of Man," and other works. This friendship, which was a source of great
interest to both girls, was only interrupted by a divergence of their
religious opinions. Mathilde Blind was brought up in the most advanced
school of modern freethought, but Rosa Carey, adhering to the simple
faith of her childhood, could not follow her there, and the friends
drifted apart, sorrowfully, but with warm affection on each side.
The next change in her life was the death of her father, after which
terrible bereavement the widowed mother and three daughters lived
together, but the gradual breaking-up of the once large family had set
in. After their mother's death, the youngest daughter's convictions led
her to embrace a conventual life, and she entered the Anglican
Sisterhood of St. Thomas of Canterbury. The death of their mother
occurred on the same day which three years before had witnessed their
father's end. After this sad event Miss Rosa Carey says her real
vocation in life seemed to spring up, and she and her remaining home
sister went to Croydon to superintend their widowed brother's household.
Three years later the circle was again narrowed. Her sister married the
Rev. Canon Simpson, vicar of Kirkby Stephen, Westmoreland, on the Valley
of the Eden, a most lovely spot, where the author for eleven years
regularly paid an annual visit, and where she laid the scenes depicted
in vivid and eloquent words in her novel "Heriot's Choice." Rising, she
points out four pictures, reminiscences of Westmoreland, which hang over
her writing-table. One is a view of great beauty, a second the exterior
of the church, a third is the handsome interior, which looks more like a
cathedral with its massive pillars and groined roof, and the fourth
represents the vicarage. Her brother's death soon left the orphan nieces
and nephew to her sole care. "The charge somewhat tied my hands," said
Miss Carey, "and prevented the pursuing of my literary labours as fully
as I could have otherwise done. Interrupted by cares of house and
family, the writing was but fitfully carried on. Six years after,
however, circumstances tended to break up that home. Three of my charges
are married, and one of my nephews is a master at Uppingham. These six
years have been my first leisure for real work."
The launching of "Nellie's Memories" threatened at first to cause the
young writer some disappointment. Quite unacquainted with any
publishers, and without any previous introductions, she took the MSS. to
Mr. Tinsley, who at first declined to read it. Some months later she
consulted Mrs. Westerton, of Westerton's Library, who good-naturedly
undertook to induce him to do so. "I am glad to name her," says Miss
Carey. "I shall always remember her with gratitude, for, on hearing that
the reader's opinion was highly favourable, she hurriedly drove from
some wedding festivity to bring me the good news. I can even recall to
mind the dress that she wore on the occasion."
Not to many girl-authors is it given that her first novel shall bring
her name and fame, but this simple, domestic story of English home-life
speedily became a great favourite. Though free from any mystery or
dramatic incidents, the individuality of the characters, the pure
wholesome tone, and the interest which is kept up to the end, caused
this charming story to be widely known and to be re-issued in many
editions up to the present date. The next venture was "Wee Wifie," which
Miss Carey pronounces to have been a failure; but as that work has been
quite lately demanded by the public, it is possible that she may have
taken too modest a view of its merits. On being applied to for
permission to bring it out again, she at first refused, thinking that it
would not add to her literary reputation; but subsequently, however, she
rewrote and lengthened it, though without altering the plot, and it has
passed into a new edition.
Her next five novels--entitled respectively "Barbara Heathcote's Trial,"
"Robert Ord's Atonement," "Wooed and Married," "Heriot's Choice," and
"Queenie's Whim"--came out at intervals of two years between each other,
and were followed by "Mary St. John." Then came a delightful book
called "Not Like Other Girls," which was a great success. This is a
spirited and amusing story of a widowed mother and her three plucky
girls, who, in the days of their prosperity, were sensibly brought up to
make their own frocks, and who, when plunged into poverty, turned this
excellent talent to such good account that they set up in business as
dressmakers, being employed alike by the squiress at the Hall and by the
village butcher's wife, and there is as much of quiet humour described
in their interview with this worthy dame, and their attempts to tone
down her somewhat florid taste, as there is in the discussions and
opinions of the neighbours and friends of the family about the venture
of these wise and practical girls. Since Miss Carey came to Putney she
has brought out "Lover or Friend," "Only the Governess," "The Search for
Basil Lyndhurst," and "Sir Godfrey's Grand-daughters." She is also on
the staff of the _Girl's Own Paper_, and, whenever she has time, sends
short stories, which run as serials for six months in that journal
before being issued in single volume form. Four of these tales have
already appeared.
It is quite obvious to the readers of Miss Carey's works that she is
fond of young people--she has, indeed, at the present time a regularly
established class for young girls and servants over fifteen years of
age, which had already been formed in connection with the Fulham Sunday
School, in which she takes a great interest--and that the distinctive
characteristic throughout all her books is a tendency to elevate to
lofty aspirations, to noble ideas, and to purity of thought. With great
descriptive power, considerable and often quiet fun, there is a delicacy
and tenderness, a knowledge and strength of purpose, combined with so
much fertility of resource and originality that the interest never
flags, and the sensation, on putting down any of her works, is that of
having dwelt in a thoroughly healthy atmosphere. "Heriot's Choice" was
originally written for Miss Charlotte Yonge, and was brought out as a
serial in the _Monthly Packet_ before being issued in three-volume form,
but all Rosa Nouchette Carey's books are published by Messrs. Bentley.
"My ambition has ever been," says the gentle author, "to try to do good
and not harm by my works, and to write books which any mother can give a
girl to read. I do not exactly form plots, I think of one character and
circle round that. Of course, I like to meditate well on my characters
before beginning to write, and I live so entirely in and with them when
writing that I feel restless, and experience a sense of loss and blank
when a book is finished, and I have to wait until another grows in my
mind. I have sometimes rather regretted a tone of sadness running
through some of my earlier stories, but they were tinged with many years
of sorrow. Now I can write more cheerfully. Like many authors, I only
work from breakfast to luncheon, sometimes at the table, more often with
my blotting-pad on my knee before the fire, and I cannot do without
plenty of air and exercise, and often walk round Putney Heath. More than
twenty years ago I was introduced to Mrs. Henry Wood, who used often to
come down to the old Jacobin House, of which I spoke just now. Our
acquaintance ripened into an intimacy which only ended with her life.
She was very quiet, interesting, and unlike anyone else, but no one ever
filled the niche left by her death. Some of my favourite books are
'Amiel's Journal,' Currer Bell's works, George Eliot's, and biographies;
also psychological works, the study of mind and character, whilst in
poetry I prefer Jean Ingelow and Mrs. Browning."
The long-standing friendship with Helen Marion Burnside--the well-known
writer of many clever tales for children, booklets, verses, and
songs--began when they were in their early womanhood. Eighteen years ago
Miss Burnside became an inmate of Miss Carey's house, and ever since
they have shared the same home, living in pleasant harmony and
affection.
Presently comes an invitation to join the family five o'clock tea-table.
Glass doors in the drawing-room lead into the conservatory, whence
issues the soft cooing of ring-doves. The pretty marqueterie cabinets
disclose a set of Indian carved ivory chessmen and many quaint bits of
china, whilst on a sofa, in solitary state, sits a knowing-looking
little tame squirrel with a blue ribbon round its neck. After tea, on
the arrival of some visitors, you are so lucky as to get a few minutes'
private conversation with Miss Burnside, and you learn a few facts
concerning your hostess that could never have been gleaned from one of
such reticence and modesty as she. "I do not think," says Helen Marion
Burnside, "that I have known any author who has to make her writing--the
real work of her life--so secondary a matter as has Rosa Carey. She has
so consistently _lived_ her religion, so to speak, that family duty and
devotion to its many members have always come first. She never hesitates
for a moment to give up the most important professional work if she can
do anything in the way of nursing or comforting any of them, and she is
_the_ one to whom each of the family turns in any crisis of life. Having
had so much of this, and rather weak health to struggle against, it is
the greatest wonder to me that she has been able to write as many books
as she has done, and in so bright a spirit as many are written. Of
course, real womanly woman's work _is_ the highest work, but I think few
writers put it so entirely above the professional work as she does. I
have often been surprised at her surprise when some little incident has
brought her public value home to her. Even now she does not in the least
realize that she has her place in the literary world as other
contemporary authors have. It is really quite singular and amusing to
come across such a simple-minded 'celebrity.' I wonder if you found it
out for yourself," she adds quaintly.
Certainly no better words could be found to describe the sympathetic,
gifted, and lofty-souled Rosa Nouchette Carey.
[Illustration: Adeline Sergeant]