"The holidays of joy are the vigils of sorrow."--_Proverb._
"Dear friend, not every herb puts forth a flower;
Nor every flower that blossoms fruit doth bear;
Nor hath each spoken word a virtue rare;
Nor every stone in earth its healing power."
--_Folgore da San Gemignano._
"Gather ye rosebuds while ye may,
Old Time is still a-flying,
And this same flower that smiles to-day
To-morrow will be dying."--HERRICK.
We were for some time at the Deanery at Westminster in the summer of
1865. I think it was then that Archbishop Manning's consecration took
place. I heard much about it, though I was not there. Manning looked
like the white marble statue of a saint, especially when the
consecration was over and he moved slowly down the church, giving the
benediction. Newman was there also, and looked even more statuesque
still. Wonderful was the selfcontrolling power which both these priests
had. Many years before, as the Stanleys were going into St. Margaret's,
there was a scuffle, and a huge black cat was driven out of the church.
No one thought any more about it, and nobody saw any more of it, till,
just as Newman was coming forward within the altar-rail, and was in the
act of reading the Communion Service, the black cat sprang from one of
the rafters of the roof, and came crashing down upon him, falling upon
the hem of his white surplice. Newman's face never changed a muscle, and
quietly, reverently, and slowly he went on reading the service without
moving: but it must have seemed like a demon.[268]
During this visit to London I frequently saw, at the house of Lady
Franklin (widow of the Arctic voyager) the gentle and pleasing Queen
Dowager (Emma) of the Sandwich Islands.[269] Her complexion was
copper-coloured, but she was very good-looking, and simply but
handsomely attired in the dress of an English widow lady. She had
greatly looked forward to the fogs of England, having been used to
nothing but the blue or copper-coloured sky of the Pacific, and was
dreadfully disappointed when she saw the resplendent blue sky of the
glorious day on which she arrived at Southampton. "Why, I might just as
well have been in the Sandwich Islands." She went over Westminster Abbey
with far more knowledge of the tombs and persons they commemorate than I
have seen in European royalties with whom I have visited the Abbey in
later days. In stepping back to allow the Queen to inspect the
Coronation Chair, my mother had a bad fall on the pavement of Edward the
Confessor's Chapel, and the concern and amiability she showed made her
very attractive.
Mr. Evans, of St. Andrew's, Wells Street, preached in Westminster Abbey
at the evening service whilst we were at the Deanery. He preached on the
destruction of the Temple, applying it to Westminster--that we were not
to be taken in by "the grandeur of the building, the solemn distances of
the choir, the misty shadows of the roof, the windows by painters who
dipped their pencils in the rainbow," &c. He described the different
Jewish temples; the first, rising from the heart of David and the hand
of Solomon; the second, of Zerubabel; the third built by Herod, and
"certainly _he_ was no saint."
[Illustration: THE CORONATION CHAIR, WESTMINSTER.[270]]
After the sermon was over I rushed upstairs, and was preaching it to the
family with all its quaintnesses, when I saw Mary Stanley making most
unaccountable faces, and turning round, I found Mr. Evans close behind
me. The little dark figure had hirpled itself into the room and was
listening all the time.
Madame Mohl (whom I have described at Paris in 1858) was staying at the
Deanery, where Arthur and Augusta were very fond of her, and always
called her "Molina." She was most amusing.
"When I was leaving Paris, I asked my friend M. Bourdon whether I
could take anything to England for him, and he said that he was
obliged to me, and that if I would take a very valuable Indian
shawl, he would avail himself of my offer. However, before I left
Paris, my little friend Barbara was starting for England, and she
said to me that part of her box was empty, and that she could take
anything I wanted, so I was very glad to give her M. Bourdon's
Indian shawl. Now Barbara was in that dreadful accident at
Staplehurst, and so were all her boxes, and when the train went
over, the boxes went down into the water, and all the things were
spoilt. At first I hoped it was not so bad, but 'the fact is that
the shawl _is_ spoilt,' wrote Barbara to me, and ever since that M.
Bourdon and I have been _en froid_, which I am very sorry for, as
we used to be such good friends."
"Oh, that will soon pass," I said.
"No, I am afraid it will _not_," said Madame Mohl, "for remember we
are _en froid_, not merely _en delicatesse_. Being _en delicatesse_
is easily remedied. 'Je suis en delicatesse avec maman,' said a
young lady to me.... A little while ago I went to see the famous
author Jules Janin. He could not attend to me. He was sitting at a
table covered with papers and was writing notes. Messengers went
off with the notes, and almost immediately came back with the
answers, which were evidently written a very short distance off.
This went on for some time, till at last Jules Janin looked up and
said, 'Je vous demande mille pardons: faites bien d'excuses,
Madame: c'est que je suis en delicatesse avec ma femme.'"