CHARACTER SKETCH OF MARGOT--PLANS TO START A MAGAZINE--MEETS
MASTER OF BALLIOL; JOWETT'S ORTHODOXY; HIS INTEREST IN AND
INFLUENCE OVER MARGOT--ROSE IN "ROBERT ELSMERE" IDENTIFIED AS
MARGOT--JOWETT'S OPINION OF NEWMAN--JOWETT ADVISES MARGOT TO
MARRY--HUXLEY'S BLASPHEMY
I shall open this chapter of my autobiography with a character-
sketch of myself, written at Glen in one of our pencil-games in
January, 1888. Nearly every one in the room guessed that I was the
subject, but opinions differed as to the authorship. Some thought
that our dear and clever friend, Godfrey Webb, had written it as a
sort of joke.
"In appearance she was small, with rapid, nervous movements;
energetic, never wholly ungraceful, but inclined to be restless.
Her face did not betray the intelligence she possessed, as her
eyes, though clear and well-shaped, were too close together. Her
hawky nose was bent over a short upper lip and meaningless mouth.
The chin showed more definite character than her other features,
being large, bony and prominent, and she had curly, pretty hair,
growing well on a finely-cut forehead; the ensemble healthy and
mobile; in manner easy, unself-conscious, emphatic, inclined to be
noisy from over-keenness and perfectly self-possessed.
Conversation graphic and exaggerated, eager and concentrated, with
a natural gift of expression. Her honesty more a peculiarity than
a virtue. Decision more of instinct than of reason; a disengaged
mind wholly unfettered by prejudice. Very observant and a fine
judge of her fellow-creatures, finding all interesting and worthy
of her speculation. She was not easily depressed by antagonistic
circumstances or social situations hostile to herself--on the
contrary, her spirit rose in all losing games. She was assisted in
this by having no personal vanity, the highest vitality and great
self-confidence. She was self-indulgent, though not selfish, and
had not enough self-control for her passion and impetuosity; it
was owing more to dash and grit than to any foresight that she
kept out of difficulties. She distrusted the dried-up advice of
many people, who prefer coining evil to publishing good. She was
lacking in awe, and no respecter of persons; loving old people
because she never felt they were old. Warm-hearted, and with much
power of devotion, thinking no trouble too great to take for those
you love, and agreeing with Dr. Johnson that friendships should be
kept in constant repair. Too many interests and too many-sided.
Fond of people, animals, books, sport, music, art and exercise.
More Bohemian than exclusive and with a certain power of investing
acquaintances and even bores with interest. Passionate love of
Nature. Lacking in devotional, practising religion; otherwise
sensitively religious. Sensible; not easily influenced for good or
evil. Jealous, keen and faithful in affection. Great want of
plodding perseverance, doing many things with promise and nothing
well. A fine ear for music: no execution; a good eye for drawing:
no knowledge or practice in perspective; more critical than
constructive. Very cool and decided with horses. Good nerve, good
whip and a fine rider. Intellectually self-made, ambitious,
independent and self-willed. Fond of admiration and love from both
men and women, and able to give it."
I sent this to Dr. Jowett with another character-sketch of
Gladstone. After reading them, he wrote me this letter:
BALL. COLL. Oct. 23rd, 1890.
MY DEAR MARGOT,
I return the book [Footnote: A commonplace book with a few written
sketches of people in it.] which you entrusted to me: I was very
much interested by it. The sketch of Gladstone is excellent. Pray
write some more of it some time: I understand him better after
reading it.
The young lady's portrait of herself is quite truthful and not at
all flattered: shall I add a trait or two? "She is very sincere
and extremely clever; indeed, her cleverness almost amounts to
genius. She might be a distinguished authoress if she would--but
she wastes her time and her gifts scampering about the world and
going from one country house to another in a manner not pleasant
to look back upon and still less pleasant to think of twenty years
hence, when youth will have made itself wings and fled away."
If you know her, will you tell her with my love, that I do not
like to offer her any more advice, but I wish that she would take
counsel with herself. She has made a great position, though
slippery and dangerous: will she not add to this a noble and
simple life which can alone give a true value to it? The higher we
rise, the more self-discipline, self-control and economy is
required of us. It is a hard thing to be in the world but not of
it; to be outwardly much like other people and yet to be
cherishing an ideal which extends over the whole of life and
beyond; to have a natural love for every one, especially for the
poor; to get rid, not of wit or good humour, but of frivolity and
excitement; to live "selfless" according to the Will of God and
not after the fashions and opinions of men and women.
Stimulated by this and the encouragement of Lionel Tennyson--a new
friend--I was anxious to start a newspaper. When I was a little
girl at Glen, there had been a schoolroom paper, called "The Glen
Gossip: The Tennant Tatler, or The Peeblesshire Prattler." I
believe my brother Eddy wrote the wittiest verses in it; but I was
too young to remember much about it or to contribute anything. I
had many distinguished friends by that time, all of whom had
promised to write for me. The idea was four or five numbers to be
illustrated by my sister Lucy Graham Smith, and a brilliant
letter-press, but, in spite of much discussion among ourselves, it
came to nothing. I have always regretted this, as, looking at the
names of the contributors and the programme for the first number,
I think it might have been a success. The title of the paper gave
us infinite trouble. We ended by adopting a suggestion of my own,
and our new venture was to have been called "To-morrow." This is
the list of people who promised to write for me, and the names
they suggested for the paper:
Lord and Lady Pembroke Sympathetic Ink.
The Idle Pen.
The Mail.
The Kite.
Blue Ink.
Mr. A. Lyttelton The Hen.
The Chick.
Mr. Knowles The Butterfly.
Mr. A. J. Balfour The New Eve.
Anonymous.
Mrs. Grundy.
Mr. Oscar Wilde The Life Improver.
Mrs. Grundy's Daughter.
Lady Ribblesdale Jane.
Psyche.
The Mask.
Margot Tennant The Mangle.
Eve.
Dolly Varden.
To-morrow.
Mr. Webb The Petticoat.
Mrs. Horner She.
Miss Mary Leslie The Sphinx.
Eglantine.
Blue Veil.
Pinafore.
Sir A. West The Spinnet.
The Spinning-Wheel.
Mr. J. A. Symonds Muses and Graces.
Causeries en peignoir.
Woman's Wit and Humour.
The contributors on our staff were to have been Laurence Oliphant,
J. K. Stephen, Mr. Wilfrid Blunt, Hon. George Curzon, George
Wyndham, Godfrey Webb, Doll Liddell, Harry Cust, Mr. Knowles (the
editor of the Nineteenth Century), the Hon. A. Lyttelton, Mr. A.
J. Balfour, Oscar Wilde, Lord and Lady Ribblesdale, Mrs. (now
Lady) Horner, Sir Algernon West, Lady Frances Balfour, Lord and
Lady Pembroke, Miss Betty Ponsonby (the present Mrs. Montgomery),
John Addington Symonds, Dr. Jowett (the Master of Balliol), M.
Coquelin, Sir Henry Irving, Miss Ellen Terry, Sir Edward Burne-
Jones, Mr. George Russell, Mrs. Singleton (alias Violet Fane,
afterwards Lady Currie), Lady de Grey, Lady Constance Leslie and
the Hon. Lionel Tennyson.
Our programme for the first number was to have been the following:
TO-MORROW
Leader Persons and Politics Margot Tennant.
The Social Zodiac Rise and fall of
Professional Beauties Lady de Grey.
Occasional Articles The Green-eyed Violet Fane (nom-
Monster de-plume of
Mrs. Singleton).
Occasional Notes Foreign and Colonial
Gossip Harry Cust.
Men and Women Character Sketch Margot Tennant.
Story Oscar Wilde.
Poem Godfrey Webb.
Letters to Men George Wyndham.
Books Reviewed John Addington
Symonds.
Conversations Miss Ponsonby.
This is what I wrote for the first number:
"PERSONS AND POLITICS
"In Politics the common opinion is that measures are the important
thing, and that men are merely the instruments which each
generation produces, equal or unequal to the accomplishment of
them.
"This is a mistake. The majority of mankind desire nothing so much
as to be led. They have no opinions of their own, and, half from
caution, half from laziness, are willing to leave the
responsibility to any stronger person. It is the personality of
the man which makes the masses turn to him, gives influence to his
ideas while he lives, and causes him to be remembered after both
he and his work are dead. From the time of Moses downwards,
history abounds in such examples. In the present century Napoleon
and Gladstone have perhaps impressed themselves most dramatically
on the public mind, and, in a lesser degree, Disraeli and Parnell.
The greatest men in the past have been superior to their age and
associated themselves with its glory only in so far as they have
contributed to it. But in these days the movement of time is too
rapid for us to recognise such a man: under modern conditions he
must be superior, not so much to his age, as to the men of his
age, and absorb what glory he can in his own personality.
"The Code Napoleon remains, but, beyond this, hardly one of
Napoleon's great achievements survives as a living embodiment of
his genius. Never was so vast a fabric so quickly created and so
quickly dissolved. The moment the individual was caught and
removed, the bewitched French world returned to itself; and the
fame of the army and the prestige of France were as mere echoes of
retreating thunder. Dead as are the results of Bonaparte's
measures and actions, no one would question the permanent vitality
of his name. It conjures up an image in the dullest brain; and
among all historical celebrities he is the one whom most of us
would like to have met.
"The Home Rule question, which has long distorted the public
judgment and looms large at the present political moment,
admirably illustrates the power of personality. Its importance has
been exaggerated; the grant of Home Rule will not save Ireland;
its refusal will not shame England. Its swollen proportions are
wholly due to the passionate personal feelings which Mr. Gladstone
alone among living statemen inspires. 'He is so powerful that his
thoughts are nearly acts,' as some one has written of him; and at
an age when most men would be wheeled into the chimney-corner, he
is at the head of a precarious majority and still retains enough
force to compel its undivided support.
"Mr. Chamberlain's power springs from the concentration of a
nature which is singularly free from complexity. The range of his
mind is narrow, but up to its horizon the whole is illuminated by
the same strong and rather garish light. The absoluteness of his
convictions is never shaded or softened by any play of imagination
or sympathetic insight. It is not in virtue of any exceptionally
fine or attractive quality, either of intellect or of character,
that Mr. Chamberlain has become a dominant figure. Strength of
will, directness of purpose, an aggressive and contagious belief
in himself: these--which are the notes of a compelling
individuality--made him what he is. On the other hand, culture,
intellectual versatility, sound and practised judgment, which was
tried and rarely found wanting in delicate and even dangerous
situations, did not suffice in the case of Mr. Matthews to redeem
the shortcomings of a diffuse and ineffective personality.
"In a different way, Mr. Goschen's remarkable endowments are
neutralised by the same limitations. He has infinite ingenuity,
but he can neither initiate nor propel; an intrepid debater in
council and in action, he is prey to an invincible indecision.
"If the fortunes of a Government depend not so much on its
measures as upon the character of the men who compose it, the new
Ministry starts with every chance of success.
"Lord Rosebery is one of our few statesmen whose individuality is
distinctly recognised by the public, both at home and abroad.
"Lord Spencer, without a trace of genius, is a person. Sir W.
Harcourt, the most brilliant and witty of them all, is, perhaps,
not more than a life-like imitation of a strong man. Mr. John
Morley has conviction, courage and tenacity; but an over-delicacy
of nervous organisation and a certain lack of animal spirits
disqualify him from being a leader of men.
"It is premature to criticise the new members of the Cabinet, of
whom the most conspicuous is Mr. Asquith. Beyond and above his
abilities and eloquence, there is in him much quiet force and a
certain vein of scornful austerity. His supreme contempt for the
superficial and his independence of mind might take him far.
"The future will not disclose its secrets, but personality still
governs the world, and the avenue is open to the man, wherever he
may be found, who can control and will not be controlled by
fashions of opinion and the shifting movement of causes and
cries."
My article is not at all good, but I put it in this autobiography
merely as a political prophecy.
To be imitative and uninfluenceable--although a common
combination--is a bad one. I am not tempted to be imitative
except, I hope, in the better sense of the word, but I regret to
own that I am not very influenceable either.
Jowett (the Master of Balliol in 1888-1889), my doctor, Sir John
Williams (of Aberystwyth), my son Anthony and old Lady Wemyss (the
mother of the present Earl) had more influence over me than any
other individuals in the world.
The late Countess of Wemyss, who died in 1896, was a great
character without being a character-part. She told me that she
frightened people, which distressed her. As I am not easily
frightened, I was puzzled by this. After thinking it over, I was
convinced that it was because she had a hard nut to crack within
herself: she possessed a jealous, passionate, youthful
temperament, a formidable standard of right and wrong, a
distinguished and rather stern accueil, a low, slow utterance and
terrifying sincerity. She was the kind of person I had dreamt of
meeting and never knew that God had made. She once told me that I
was the best friend man, woman or child could ever have. After
this wonderful compliment, we formed a deep attachment, which
lasted until her death. She had a unique power of devotion and
fundamental humbleness. I kept every letter she ever wrote to me.
When we left Downing Street in ten days--after being there for
over nine years--and had not a roof to cover our heads, our new
friends came to the rescue. I must add that many of the old ones
had no room for us and some were living in the country. Lady
Crewe[Footnote: The Marchioness of Crewe.]--young enough to be my
daughter, and a woman of rare honesty of purpose and clearness of
head--took our son Cyril in at Crewe House. Lady Granard[Footnote:
The Countess of Granard.] put up my husband; Mrs. Cavendish-
Bentinck--Lady Granard's aunt and one of God's own--befriended my
daughter Elizabeth; Mrs. George Keppel[Footnote: The Hon. Mrs.
Keppel.] always large-hearted and kind--gave me a whole floor of
her house in Grosvenor Street to live in, for as many months as I
liked, and Mrs. McKenna [Footnote: Mrs. McKenna, the daughter of
Lady Jekyll, and niece of Lady Horner.] took in my son Anthony. No
one has had such wonderful friends as I have had, but no one has
suffered more at discovering the instability of human beings and
how little power to love many people possess.
Few men and women surrender their wills; and it is considered
lowering to their dignity to own that they are in the wrong. I
never get over my amazement at this kind of self-value, it passes
all my comprehension. It is vanity and this fundamental lack of
humbleness that is the bed-rock of nearly every quarrel.
It was through my beloved Lady Wemyss that I first met the Master
of Balliol. One evening in 1888, after the men had come in from
shooting, we were having tea in the large marble hall at Gosford.
[Footnote: Gosford is the Earl of Wemyss' country place and is
situated between Edinburgh and North Berwick.] I generally wore an
accordion skirt at tea, as Lord Wemyss liked me to dance to him.
Some one was playing the piano and I was improvising in and out of
the chairs, when, in the act of making a final curtsey, I caught
my foot in my skirt and fell at the feet of an old clergyman
seated in the window. As I got up, a loud "Damn!" resounded
through the room. Recovering my presence of mind, I said, looking
up:
"You are a clergyman and I am afraid I have shocked you!"
"Not at all," he replied. "I hope you will go on; I like your
dancing extremely."
I provoked much amusement by asking the family afterwards if the
parson whose presence I had failed to notice was their minister at
Aberlady. I then learnt that he was the famous Dr. Benjamin
Jowett, Master of Balliol.
Before telling how my friendship with the Master developed, I
shall go back to the events in Oxford which gave him his insight
into human beings and caused him much quiet suffering.
In 1852 the death of Dr. Jenkyns caused the Mastership at Balliol
to become vacant. Jowett's fame as a tutor was great, but with it
there had spread a suspicion of "rationalism." Persons whispered
that the great tutor was tainted with German views. This reacted
unduly upon his colleagues; and, when the election came, he was
rejected by a single vote. His disappointment was deep, but he
threw himself more than ever into his work. He told me that a
favourite passage of his in Marcus Aurelius--"Be always doing
something serviceable to mankind and let this constant generosity
be your only pleasure, not forgetting a due regard to God"--had
been of great help to him at that time.
The lectures which his pupils cared most about were those on Plato
and St. Paul; both as tutor and examiner he may be said to have
stimulated the study of Plato in Oxford: he made it a rival to
that of Aristotle.
"Aristotle is dead," he would say, "but Plato is alive."
Hitherto he had published little--an anonymous essay on Pascal and
a few literary articles--but under the stimulus of disappointment
he finished his share of the edition of St. Paul's Epistles, which
had been undertaken in conjunction with Arthur Stanley. Both
produced their books in 1855; but while Stanley's Corinthians
evoked languid interest, Jowett's Galatians, Thessalonians and
Romans provoked a clamour among his friends and enemies. About
that time he was appointed to the Oxford Greek Chair, which
pleased him much; but his delight was rather dashed by a hostile
article in the Quarterly Review, abusing him and his religious
writings. The Vice-Chancellor, Dr. Cotton, required from him a
fresh signature of the Articles of the Church of England. At the
interview, when addressed by two men--one pompously explaining
that it was a necessary act if he was to retain his cloth and the
other apologising for inflicting a humiliation upon him--he merely
said:
"Give me the pen."
His essay on The Interpretation of Scripture, which came out in
1860 in the famous volume, Essays and Reviews, increased the cry
of heterodoxy against him; and the Canons of Christ Church,
including Dr. Pusey, persisted in withholding from him an extra
salary, without which the endowment of the Greek Chair was worth
L40. This scandal was not removed till 1864, after he had been
excluded from the university pulpit. He continued working hard at
his translation of the whole of Plato; he had already published
notes on the Republic and analyses of the dialogue. This took up
all his time till 1878, when he became Master of Balliol.
The worst of the Essays and Reviews controversy was that it did an
injustice to Jowett's reputation. For years people thought that he
was a great heresiarch presiding over a college of infidels and
heretics. His impeached article on The Interpretation of Scripture
might to-day be published by any clergyman. His crime lay in
saying that the Bible should be criticised like other books.
In his introduction to the Republic of Plato he expresses the same
thought:
A Greek in the age of Plato attached no importance to the question
whether his religion was an historical fact. ...Men only began to
suspect that the narratives of Homer and Hesiod were fictions when
they recognised them to be immoral. And so in all religions: the
consideration of their morality comes first, afterwards the truth
of the documents in which they are recorded, or of the events,
natural or supernatural, which are told of them. But in modern
times, and in Protestant countries perhaps more than Catholic, we
have been too much inclined to identify the historical with the
moral; and some have refused to believe in religion at all, unless
a superhuman accuracy was discerned in every part of the record.
The facts of an ancient or religious history are amongst the most
important of all facts, but they are frequently uncertain, and we
only learn the true lesson which is to be gathered from them when
we place ourselves above them.
Some one writes in the Literary Supplement of the Times to-day,
11th December, 1919:
"An almost animal indifference to mental refinement characterises
our great public."
This is quite true, and presumably was true in Jowett's day, not
only of the great public but of the Established Church.
Catherine Marsh, the author of The Life of Hedley Vicars, wrote to
Jowett assuring him of her complete belief in the sincerity of his
religious views and expressing indignation that he should have had
to sign the thirty-nine Articles again. I give his reply. The
postscript is characteristic of his kindliness, gentle temper and
practical wisdom.
MARCH 16TH, 1864. DEAR MADAM,
Accept my best thanks for your kind letter, and for the books you
have been so good as to send me.
I certainly hope (though conscious of how little I am able to do)
that I shall devote my life to the service of God, and of the
youths of Oxford, whom I desire to regard as a trust which He has
given me. But I am afraid, if I may judge from the tenour of your
letter, that I should not express myself altogether as you do on
religious subjects. Perhaps the difference may be more than one of
words. I will not, therefore, enter further into the grave
question suggested by you, except to say that I am sure I shall be
the better for your kind wishes and reading your books.
The recent matter of Oxford is of no real consequence, and is not
worth speaking about, though I am very grately to you and others
for feeling "indignant" at the refusal.
With sincere respect for your labours, Believe me, dear Madam,
Most truly yours,
B. JOWETT.
P.S.--I have read your letter again! I think that I ought to tell
you that, unless you had been a complete stranger, you would not
have had so good an opinion of me. I feel the kindness of your
letter, but at the same time, if I believed what you say of me, I
should soon become a "very complete rascal." Any letter like
yours, which is written with such earnestness, and in a time of
illness, is a serious call to think about religion. I do not
intend to neglect this because I am not inclined to use the same
language.
When Jowett became Master, his pupils and friends gathered round
him and overcame the Church chatter. He was the hardest-working
tutor, Vice-Chancellor and Master that Oxford ever had. Balliol,
under his regime, grew in numbers and produced more scholars, more
thinkers and more political men of note than any other college in
the university. He had authority and a unique prestige. It was
said of Dr. Whewell of Trinity that "knowledge was his forte and
omniscience his foible"; the same might have been said of the
Master and was expressed in a college epigram, written by an
undergraduate. After Jowett's death I cut the following from an
Oxford magazine:
The author of a famous and often misquoted verse upon Professor
Jowett has written me a note upon his lines which may be
appropriately inserted here. "Several versions," he writes, "have
appeared lately, and my vanity does not consider them
improvements. The lines were written:
'First come I, my name is Jowett,
There's no knowledge but I know it.
I am Master of this College,
What I don't know--is not knowledge.'
"The 'First come I' referred to its being a masque of the College
in which fellows, scholars, etc., appeared in order. The short,
disconnected sentences were intentional, as being characteristic.
Such a line as 'All that can be known I know it' (which some
newspapers substituted for line 2) would express a rather vulgar,
Whewellian foible of omniscience, which was quite foreign to the
Master's nature; the line as originally written was intended to
express the rather sad, brooding manner the Master had of giving
his oracles, as though he were a spectator of all time and
existence, and had penetrated into the mystery of things. Of
course, the last line expressed, with necessary exaggeration,
what, as a fact, was his attitude to certain subjects in which he
refused to be interested, such as modern German metaphysics,
philology, and Greek inscriptions."
When I met the Master in 1887, I was young and he was old; but,
whether from insolence or insight, I never felt this difference. I
do not think I was a good judge of age, as I have always liked
older people than myself; and I imagine it was because of this
unconsciousness that we became such wonderful friends. Jowett was
younger than half the young people I know now and we understood
each other perfectly. If I am hasty in making friends and skip the
preface, I always read it afterwards.
A good deal of controversy has arisen over the Master's claim to
greatness by some of the younger generation. It is not denied that
Jowett was a man of influence. Men as different as Huxley,
Symonds, Lord Lansdowne, Lord Bowen, Lord Milner, Sir Robert
Morier and others have told me in reverent and affectionate terms
how much they owed to him and to his influence. It is not denied
that he was a kind man; infinitely generous, considerate and good
about money. It may be denied that he was a fine scholar of the
first rank, such as Munro or Jebb, although no one denies his
contributions to scholarship; but the real question remains: was
he a great man? There are big men, men of intellect, intellectual
men, men of talent and men of action; but the great man is
difficult to find, and it needs--apart from discernment--a
certain greatness to find him. The Almighty is a wonderful
handicapper: He will not give us everything. I have never met a
woman of supreme beauty with more than a mediocre intellect, by
which I do not mean intelligence. There may be some, but I am only
writing my own life, and I have not met them. A person of
magnetism, temperament and quick intelligence may have neither
intellect nor character. I have known one man whose genius lay in
his rapid and sensitive understanding, real wit, amazing charm and
apparent candour, But whose meanness, ingratitude and instability
injured everything he touched. You can only discover ingratitude
or instability after years of experience, and few of us, I am glad
to think, ever suspect meanness in our fellow-creatures; the
discovery is as painful when you find it as the discovery of a
worm in the heart of a rose. A man may have a fine character and
be taciturn, stubborn and stupid. Another may be brilliant, sunny
and generous, but self-indulgent, heartless and a liar. There is
no contradiction I have not met with in men and women: the rarest
combination is to find fundamental humbleness, freedom from self,
intrepid courage and the power to love; when you come upon these,
you may be quite sure that you are in the presence of greatness.
Human beings are made up of a good many pieces. Nature, character,
intellect and temperament: roughly speaking, these headings cover
every one. The men and women whom I have loved best have been
those whose natures were rich and sweet; but, alas, with a few
exceptions, all of them have had gimcrack characters; and the
qualities which I have loved in them have been ultimately
submerged by self-indulgence.
The present Archbishop of Canterbury is one of these exceptions:
he has a sweet and rich nature, a fine temper and is quite
unspoilable. I have only one criticism to make of Randall
Davidson: he has too much moderation for his intellect; but I
daresay he would not have steered the Church through so many
shallows if he had not had this attribute. I have known him since
I was ten (he christened, confirmed, married and buried us all);
and his faith in such qualities of head and heart as I possess has
never wavered. He reminds me of Jowett in the soundness of his
nature and his complete absence of vanity, although no two men
were ever less alike. The first element of greatness is
fundamental humbleness (this should not be confused with
servility); the second is freedom from self; the third is intrepid
courage, which, taken in its widest interpretation, generally goes
with truth; and the fourth, the power to love, although I have put
it last, is the rarest. If these go to the makings of a great man,
Jowett possessed them all. He might have mocked at the confined
comprehension of Oxford and exposed the arrogance, vanity and
conventionality of the Church; intellectual scorn and even
bitterness might have come to him; but, with infinite patience and
imperturbable serenity, he preserved his faith in his fellow-
creatures.
"There was in him a simple trust in the word of other men that won
for him a devotion and service which discipline could never have
evoked." [Footnote:] I read these words in an obituary notice the
other day and thought how much I should like to have had them
written of me. Whether his criticisms of the Bible fluttered the
faith of the flappers in Oxford, or whether his long silences made
the undergraduates more stupid than they would otherwise have
been, I care little: I only know that he was what I call great and
that he had an ennobling influence over my life. He was
apprehensive of my social reputation; and in our correspondence,
which started directly we parted at Gosford, he constantly gave me
wise advice. He was extremely simple-minded and had a pathetic
belief in the fine manners, high tone, wide education and lofty
example of the British aristocracy. It shocked him that I did not
share it; I felt his warnings much as a duck swimming might feel
the cluckings of a hen on the bank; nevertheless, I loved his
exhortations. In one of his letters he begs me to give up the idea
of shooting bears with the Prince of Wales in Russia. It was the
first I had heard of it! In another of his letters to me he ended
thus:
But I must not bore you with good advice. Child, why don't you
make a better use of your noble gifts? And yet you do not do
anything wrong--only what other people do, but with more success.
And you are very faithful to your friends. And so, God bless you.
He was much shocked by hearing that I smoked. This is what he
says:
What are you doing--breaking a young man's heart; not the first
time nor the second, nor the third--I believe? Poor fellows! they
have paid you the highest compliment that a gentleman can pay a
lady, and are deserving of all love. Shall I give you a small
piece of counsel? It is better for you and a duty to them that
their disappointed passions should never be known to a single
person, for as you are well aware, one confidante means every
body, and the good-natured world, who are of course very jealous
of you, will call you cruel and a breaker of hearts, etc. I do not
consider this advice, but merely a desire to make you see things
as others see them or nearly. The Symonds girls at Davos told me
that you smoked!!! at which I am shocked, because it is not the
manner of ladies in England. I always imagine you with a long
hookah puffing, puffing, since I heard this; give it up, my dear
Margaret--it will get you a bad name. Please do observe that I am
always serious when I try to make fun. I hope you are enjoying
life and friends and the weather: and believe me
Ever yours truly,
B. JOWETT.
He asked me once if I ever told any one that he wrote to me, to
which I answered:
"I should rather think so! I tell every railway porter!"
This distressed him. I told him that he was evidently ashamed of
my love for him, but that I was proud of it.
JOWETT (after a long silence): "Would you like to have your life
written, Margaret?"
MARGOT: "Not much, unless it told the whole truth about me and
every one and was indiscreet. If I could have a biographer like
Froude or Lord Hervey, it would be divine, as no one would be
bored by reading it. Who will you choose to write your life,
Master?"
JOWETT: "No one will be in a position to write my life, Margaret."
(For some time he called me Margaret; he thought it sounded less
familiar than Margot.)
MARGOT: "What nonsense! How can you possibly prevent it? If you
are not very good to me, I may even write it myself!"
JOWETT (smiling): "If I could have been sure of that, I need not
have burnt all my correspondence! But you are an idle young lady
and would certainly never have concentrated on so dull a subject."
MARGOT (indignantly): "Do you mean to say you have burnt all
George Eliot's letters, Matthew Arnold's, Swinburne's, Temple's
and Tennyson's?"
JOWETT: "I have kept one or two of George Eliot's and Florence
Nightingale's; but great men do not write good letters."
MARGOT: "Do you know Florence Nightingale? I wish I did."
JOWETT (evidently surprised that I had never heard the gossip
connecting his name with Florence Nightingale): "Why do you want
to know her?"
MARGOT: "Because she was in love with my friend George Pembroke's
[Footnote: George, Earl of Pembroke, uncle of the present Earl.]
father."
JOWETT (guardedly): "Oh, indeed! I will take you to see her and
then you can ask her about all this."
MARGOT: "I should love that! But perhaps she would not care for
me."
JOWETT: "I do not think she will care for you, but would you mind
that?"
MARGOT: "Oh, not at all! I am quite unfemnine in those ways. When
people leave the room, I don't say to myself, "I wonder if they
like me," but, "I wonder if I like them."
This made an impression on the Master, or I should not have
remembered it. Some weeks after this he took me to see Florence
Nightingale in her house in South Street. Groups of hospital
nurses were waiting outside in the hall to see her. When we went
in I noted her fine, handsome, well-bred face. She was lying on a
sofa, with a white shawl round her shoulders and, after shaking
hands with her, the Master and I sat down. She pointed to the
beautiful Richmond print of Sidney Herbert, hanging above her
mantelpiece, and said to me:
"I am interested to meet you, as I hear George Pembroke, the son
of my old and dear friend, is devoted to you. Will you tell me
what he is like?"
I described Lord Pembroke, while Jowett sat in stony silence till
we left the house.
One day, a few months after this visit, I was driving in the
vicinity of Oxford with the Master and I said to him:
"You never speak of your relations to me and you never tell me
whether you were in love when you were young; I have told you so
much about myself!"
JOWETT: "Have you ever heard that I was in love with any one?"
I did not like to tell him that, since our visit to Florence
Nightingale, I had heard that he had wanted to marry her, so I
said:
"Yes, I have been told you were in love once."
JOWETT: "Only once?"
MARGOT: "Yes."
Complete silence fell upon us after this: I broke it at last by
saying:
"What was your lady-love like, dear Master?"
JOWETT: "Violent . . . very violent."
After this disconcerting description, we drove back to Balliol.
Mrs. Humphry Ward's novel "Robert Elsmere" had just been published
and was dedicated to my sister Laura and Thomas Hill Green,
Jowett's rival in Oxford. This is what the Master wrote to me
about it:
Nov. 28, 1888.
DEAR MISS TENNANT,
I have just finished examining for the Balliol Scholarships: a
great institution of which you may possibly have heard. To what
shall I liken it? It is not unlike a man casting into the sea a
great dragnet, and when it is full of fish, pulling it up again
and taking out fishes, good, bad and indifferent, and throwing the
bad and indifferent back again into the sea. Among the good fish
there have been Archbishop Tait, Dean Stanley, A. H. Clough, Mr.
Arnold, Lord Coleridge, Lord Justice Bowen, Mr. Ilbert, &c., &c.,
&c. The institution was founded about sixty years ago.
I have been dining alone rather dismally, and now I shall imagine
that I receive a visit from a young lady about twenty-three years
of age, who enlivens me by her prattle. Is it her or her angel?
But I believe that she is an angel, pale, volatile and like
Laodamia in Wordsworth, ready to disappear at a moment's notice. I
could write a description of her, but am not sure that I could do
her justice.
I wish that I could say anything to comfort you, my dear Margot,
or even to make you laugh. But no one can comfort another. The
memory of a beautiful character is "a joy for ever," especially of
one who was bound to you in ties of perfect amity. I saw what your
sister [Footnote: Mrs. Gordon Duff.] was from two short
conversations which I had with her, and from the manner in which
she was spoken of at Davos.
I send you the book [Footnote: Plato's Republic] which I spoke of,
though I hardly know whether it is an appropriate present; at any
rate I do not expect you to read it. It has taken me the last year
to revise and, in parts, rewrite it. The great interest of it is
that it belongs to a different age of the human mind, in which
there is so much like and also unlike ourselves. Many of our
commonplaces and common words are being thought out for the first
time by Plato. Add to this that in the original this book is the
most perfect work of art in the world. I wonder whether it will
have any meaning or interest for you.
You asked me once whether I desired to make a Sister of Charity of
you. Certainly not (although there are worse occupations); nor do
I desire to make anything. But your talking about plans of life
does lead me to think of what would be best and happiest for you.
I do not object to the hunting and going to Florence and Rome, but
should there not be some higher end to which these are the steps?
I think that you might happily fill up a great portion of your
life with literature (I am convinced that you have considerable
talent and might become eminent) and a small portion with works of
benevolence, just to keep us in love and charity with our poor
neighbours; and the rest I do not grudge to society and hunting.
Do you think that I am a hard taskmaster? Not very, I think. More
especially as you will not be led away by my good advice. You see
that I cannot bear to think of you hunting and ballet-dancing when
you are "fair, fat and forty-five." Do prepare yourself for that
awful age.
I went to see Mrs. H. Ward the other day: she insists on doing
battle with the reviewer in the Quarterly, and is thinking of
another novel, of which the subject will be the free-thinking of
honest working-men in Paris and elsewhere. People say that in
"Robert Elsmere" Rose is intended for you, Catherine for your
sister Laura, the Squire for Mark Pattison, the Provost for me,
etc., and Mr. Grey for Professor Green. All the portraits are
about equally unlike the originals.
Good-bye, you have been sitting with me for nearly an hour, and
now, like Laodamia or Protesilaus, you disappear. I have been the
better for your company. One serious word: May God bless you and
help you in this and every other great hurt of life.
Ever yours,
B. JOWETT.
I will publish all his letters to me together, as, however
delightful letters may be, I find they bore me when they are
scattered all through an autobiography.
March 11th, 1889.
MY DEAR MARGARET,
As you say, friendships grow dull if two persons do not care to
write to one another. I was beginning to think that you resented
my censorious criticisms on your youthful life and happiness.
Can youth be serious without ceasing to be youth? I think it may.
The desire to promote the happiness of others rather than your own
may be always "breaking in." As my poor sister (of whom I will
talk to you some day) would say: "When others are happy, then I am
happy." She used to commend the religion of Sydney Smith--"Never
to let a day pass without doing a kindness to some body"--and I
think that you understand something about this; or you would not
be so popular and beloved.
You ask me what persons I have seen lately: I doubt whether they
would interest you. Mr. Welldon, the Headmaster of Harrow, a very
honest and able man with a long life before him, and if he is not
too honest and open, not unlikely to be an Archbishop of
Canterbury. Mr. J. M. Wilson, Headmaster of Clifton College--a
very kind, genial and able man--there is a great deal of him and
in him--not a man of good judgment, but very devoted--a first-rate
man in his way. Then I have seen a good deal of Lord Rosebery--
very able, shy, sensitive, ambitious, the last two qualities
rather at war with each other--very likely a future Prime
Minister. I like Lady Rosebery too--very sensible and high-
principled, not at all inclined to give up her Judaism to please
the rest of the world. They are rather overloaded with wealth and
fine houses: they are both very kind. I also like Lady Leconfield
[Footnote: Lady Leconfield was a sister of Lord Rosebery's and one
of my dearest friends.], whom I saw at Mentone. Then I paid a
visit to Tennyson, who has had a lingering illness of six months,
perhaps fatal, as he is eighty years of age. It was pleasing to
see how he takes it, very patient and without fear of death,
unlike his former state of mind. Though he is so sensitive, he
seemed to me to bear his illness like a great man. He has a volume
of poems waiting to come out--some of them as good as he ever
wrote. Was there ever an octogenarian poet before?
Doctor Johnson used to say that he never in his life had eaten as
much fruit as he desired. I think I never talked to you as much as
I desired. You once told me that you would show me your novel.
[Footnote: I began two, but they were not at all clever and have
long since disappeared.] Is it a reality or a myth? I should be
interested to see it if you like to send me that or any other
writing of yours.
"Robert Elsmere," as the authoress tells me, has sold 60,000 in
England and 400,000 in America! It has considerable merit, but its
success is really due to its saying what everybody is thinking. I
am astonished at her knowing so much about German theology--she is
a real scholar and takes up things of the right sort. I do not
believe that Mrs. Ward ever said "she had pulverised
Christianity." These things are invented about people by the
orthodox, i. e., the infidel world, in the hope that they will do
them harm. What do you think of being "laughed to death"? It would
be like being tickled to death.
Good-bye,
Ever yours truly,
B. JOWETT.
BALLIOL COLLEGE, May 22nd, 1891.
MY DEAR MARGARET,
It was very good of you to write me such a nice note. I hope you
are better. I rather believe in people being able to cure
themselves of many illnesses if they are tolerably prudent and
have a great spirit.
I liked your two friends who visited me last Sunday, and shall
hope to make them friends of mine. Asquith is a capital fellow,
and has abilities which may rise to the highest things in the law
and politics. He is also very pleasant socially. I like your lady
friend. She has both "Sense and Sensibility," and is free from
"Pride and Prejudice." She told me that she had been brought up by
an Evangelical grandmother, and is none the worse for it.
I begin to think bed is a very nice place, and I see a great deal
of it, not altogether from laziness, but because it is the only
way in which I am able to work.
I have just read the life of Newman, who was a strange character.
To me he seems to have been the most artificial man of our
generation, full of ecclesiastical loves and hatred. Considering
what he really was, it is wonderful what a space he has filled in
the eyes of mankind. In speculation he was habitually untruthful
and not much better in practice. His conscience had been taken
out, and the Church put in its place. Yet he was a man of genius,
and a good man in the sense of being disinterested. Truth is very
often troublesome, but neither the world nor the individual can
get on without it.
Here is the postman appearing at 12 o'clock, as disagreeable a
figure as the tax-gatherer.
May you have good sleep and pleasant dreams. I shall still look
forward to seeing you with Lady Wemyss.
Believe me always,
Yours affectionately,
B. JOWETT.
BALLIOL COLLEGE, Sep. 8,1892.
MY DEAR MARGARET,
Your kind letter was a very sweet consolation to me. It was like
you to think of a friend in trouble.
Poor Nettleship, whom we have lost, was a man who cannot be
replaced--certainly not in Oxford. He was a very good man, and had
a considerable touch of genius in him. He seems to have died
bravely, telling the guides not to be cowards, but to save their
lives. He also sang to them to keep them awake, saying (this was
so like him) that he had no voice, but that he would do his best.
He probably sang that song of Salvator Rosa's which we have so
often heard from him. He was wonderfully beloved by the
undergraduates, because they knew that he cared for them more than
for anything else in the world.
Of his writings there is not much, except what you have read, and
a long essay on Plato in a book called "Hellenism"--very good. He
was beginning to write, and I think would have written well. He
was also an excellent speaker and lecturer--Mr. Asquith would tell
you about him.
I have received many letters about him--but none of them has
touched me as much as yours. Thank you, dear.
I see that you are in earnest about writing--no slipshod or want
of connection. Writing requires boundless leisure, and is an
infinite labour, yet there is also a very great pleasure in it. I
shall be delighted to read your sketches.
BALLIOL COLLEGE, Dec. 27th, 1892.
MY DEAR MARGARET,
I have been reading Lady Jeune's two articles. I am glad that you
did not write them and have never written anything of that sort.
These criticisms on Society in which some of us "live and move and
have our being" are mistaken. In the first place, the whole fabric
of society is a great mystery, with which we ought not to take
liberties, and which should be spoken of only in a whisper when we
compare our experiences, whether in a walk or tete-a-tete, or
"over the back hair" with a faithful, reserved confidante. And
there is also a great deal that is painful in the absence of
freedom in the division of ranks, and the rising or falling from
one place in it to another. I am convinced that it is a thing not
to be spoken of; what we can do to improve it or do it good--
whether I, the head of a college at Oxford, or a young lady of
fashion (I know that you don't like to be called that)--must be
done quite silently.
Lady Jeune believes that all the world would go right, or at least
be a great deal better, if it were not for the Nouveaux Riches.
Some of the Eton masters talk to me in the same way. I agree with
our dear friend, Lady Wemyss, that the truth is "the old poor are
so jealous of them." We must study the arts of uniting Society as
a whole, not clinging to any one class of it--what is possible and
desirable to what is impossible and undesirable.
I hope you are none the worse for your great effort. You know it
interests me to hear what you are about if you have time and
inclination to write. I saw your friend, Mr. Asquith, last night:
very nice and not at all puffed up with his great office
[Footnote: The Home Office.]. The fortunes of the Ministry seem
very doubtful. There is a tendency to follow Lord Rosebery in the
Cabinet. Some think that the Home Rule Bill will be pushed to the
second reading, then dropped, and a new shuffle of the cards will
take place under Lord Rosebery: this seems to me very likely. The
Ministry has very little to spare and they are not gaining ground,
and the English are beginning to hate the Irish and the Priests.
I hope that all things go happily with you. Tell me some of your
thoughts. I have been reading Mr. Milner's book with great
satisfaction--most interesting and very important. I fear that I
have written you a dull and meandering epistle.
Ever yours,
B. JOWETT.
BALLIOL COLLEGE, Feb. 13,1893. MY DEAR MARGARET,
I began at ten minutes to twelve last night to write to you, but
as the postman appeared at five minutes to twelve, it was
naturally cut short. May I begin where I left off? I should like
to talk to you about many things. I hope you will not say, as
Johnson says to Boswell, "Sir, you have only two subjects,
yourself and me, and I am heartily sick of both."
I have been delighted with Mr. Asquith's success. He has the
certainty of a great man in him--such strength and simplicity and
independence and superiority to the world and the clubs. You seem
to me very fortunate in having three such friends as Mr. Asquith,
Mr. Milner and Mr. Balfour. I believe that you may do a great deal
for them, and they are probably the first men of their time, or
not very far short of it.
Mr. Balfour is not so good a leader of the House of Commons in
opposition as he was when he was in office. He is too aggressive
and not dignified enough. I fear that he will lose weight. He had
better not coquette with the foolish and unpractical thing
"Bimetallism," or write books on "Philosophic Doubt"; for there
are many things which we must certainly believe, are there not?
Quite enough either for the highest idealism or for ordinary life.
He will probably, like Sir R. Peel, have to change many of his
opinions in the course of the next thirty years and he should be
on his guard about this, or he will commit himself in such a
manner that he may have to withdraw from politics (about the
currency, about the Church, about Socialism).
Is this to be the last day of Gladstone's life in the House of
Commons? It is very pathetic to think of the aged man making his
last great display almost in opposition to the convictions of his
whole life. I hope that he will acquit himself well and nobly, and
then it does not much matter whether or no he dies like Lord
Chatham a few days afterwards. It seems to me that his Ministry
have not done badly during the last fortnight. They have, to a
great extent, removed the impression they had created in England
that they were the friends of disorder. Do you know, I cannot help
feeling I have more of the Liberal element in me than of the
Conservative? This rivalry between the parties, each surprising
the other by their liberality, has done a great deal of good to
the people of England.
HEADINGTON HILL, near OXFORD, July 30th, 1893.
MY DEAR MARGARET, Did you ever read these lines?--
'Tis said that marriages are made above--
It may be so, some few, perhaps, for love.
But from the smell of sulphur I should say
They must be making MATCHES here all day.
(Orpheus returning from the lower world in a farce called "The
Olympic Devils," which used to be played when I was young.)
Miss Nightingale talks to me of "the feelings usually called
love," but then she is a heroine, perhaps a goddess.
This love-making is a very serious business, though society makes
fun of it, perhaps to test the truth and earnestness of the
lovers.
Dear, I am an old man, what the poet calls "on the threshold of
old age" (Homer), and I am not very romantic or sentimental about
such things, but I would do anything I could to save any one who
cares for me from making a mistake.
I think that you are quite right in not running the risk without a
modest abode in the country.
The real doubt about the affair is the family; will you consider
this and talk it over with your mother? The other day you were at
a masqued ball, as you told me--a few months hence you will have,
or rather may be having, the care of five children, with all the
ailments and miseries and disagreeables of children (unlike the
children of some of your friends) and not your own, although you
will have to be a mother to them, and this state of things will
last during the greatest part of your life. Is not the contrast
more than human nature can endure? I know that it is, as you said,
a nobler manner of living, but are you equal to such a struggle.
If you are, I can only say, "God bless you, you are a brave girl."
But I would not have you disguise from yourself the nature of the
trial. It is not possible to be a leader of fashion and to do your
duty to the five children.
On the other hand, you have at your feet a man of outstanding
ability and high character, and who has attained an extraordinary
position--far better than any aristocratic lath or hop-pole; and
you can render him the most material help by your abilities and
knowledge of the world. Society will be gracious to you because
you are a grata persona, and everybody will wish you well because
you have made the sacrifice. You may lead a much higher life if
you are yourself equal to it.
To-day I read Hume's life--by himself--very striking. You will
find it generally at the beginning of his History of England.
There have been saints among infidels too, e.g., Hume and Spinoza,
on behalf of whom I think it a duty to say something as the Church
has devoted them to eternal flames. To use a German phrase, "They
were 'Christians in unconsciousness.'" That describes a good many
people. I believe that as Christians we should get rid of a good
many doubtful phrases and speak only through our lives.
Believe me, my dear Margaret,
Yours truly and affectionately,
B. JOWETT.
BALLIOL, Sunday. 1893.
MY DEAR MARGARET,
I quite agree with you that what we want most in life is rest and
peace. To act up to our best lights, that is quite enough; there
need be no trouble about dogmas, which are hardly intelligible to
us, nor ought there to be any trouble about historical facts,
including miracles, of which the view of the world has naturally
altered in the course of ages. I include in this such questions as
whether Our Lord rose from the dead in any natural sense of the
words. It is quite a different question, whether we shall imitate
Him in His life.
I am glad you think about these questions, and shall be pleased to
talk to you about them. What I have to say about religion is
contained in two words: Truth and Goodness, but I would not have
one without the other, and if I had to choose between them, might
be disposed to give Truth the first place. I think, also, that you
might put religion in another way, as absolute resignation to the
Will of God and the order of nature. There might be other
definitions, equally true, but none suited better than another to
the characters of men, such as the imitation of Christ, or the
truth in all religions, which would be an adequate description of
it. The Christian religion seems to me to extend to all the parts
and modes of life, and then to come back to our hearts and
conscience. I think that the best way of considering it, and the
most interesting, is to view it as it may be seen in the lives of
good men everywhere, whether Christians or so-called heathens--
Socrates, Plato, Marcus Aurelius, St. Augustine, as well as in the
lives of Christ, or Bunyan, or Spinoza. The study of religious
biography seems to me one of the best modes of keeping up
Christian feeling.
As to the question of Disestablishment, I am not like Mr. Balfour,
I wobble rather, yet, on the whole, I agree with Mr. Gladstone,
certainly about the Welsh Church. Churches are so worldly and so
much allied to the interests of the higher classes. I think that a
person who belongs to a Church should always endeavour to live
above his Church, above the sermon and a good part of the prayer,
above the Athanasian Creed, and the form of Ordination, above the
passions of party feelings and public meetings. The best
individuals have always been better than Churches, though I do not
go so far as a German professor, who thinks that people will never
be religious until they leave off going to church, yet I am of
opinion that in every congregation the hearers should attempt to
raise themselves above the tone of the preacher and of the
service.
I am sorry to hear that Mr. Balfour, who has so much that is
liberal in him, is of an extreme opposite opinion. But I feel that
I have talked long enough on a subject which may not interest you,
but of which I should like to talk to you again when we meet. It
seems to me probable that the Church WILL be disestablished,
because it has been so already in most countries of Europe, and
because the school is everywhere taking its place.
I shall look forward to your coming to see me, if I am seriously
ill--"Be with me when my light is low." But I don't think that
this illness which I at present have is serious enough to make any
of my friends anxious, and it would be rather awkward for my
friends to come and take leave of me if I recovered, which I mean
to do, for what I think a good reason--because I STILL have a good
deal to do.
B. JOWETT.
My beloved friend died in 1893.
The year before his death he had the dangerous illness to which he
alludes in the above letter. Every one thought he would die. He
dictated farewell letters to all his friends by his secretary and
housekeeper, Miss Knight. On receiveing mine from him at Glen, I
was so much annoyed at its tone that I wired:
Jowett Balliol College Oxford.
I refuse to accept this as your farewell letter to me you have
been listening to some silly woman and believing what she says.
Love. MARGOT.
This telegram had a magical effect: he got steadily better and
wrote me a wonderful letter. I remember the reason that I was
vexed was because he believed a report that I had knocked up
against a foreign potentate in Rotten Row for a bet, which was not
only untrue but ridiculous, and I was getting a little impatient
of the cattishness and credulity of the West-end of London.
My week-ends at Balliol were different to my other visits. The
Master took infinite trouble over them. Once on my arrival he
asked me which of one or two men I would like to sit next to at
dinner. I said I should prefer Mr. Huxley or Lord Bowen, to which
he replied:
"I would like you to have on your other side, either to-night or
to-morrow, my friend Lord Selborne:" [Footnote: The late Earl of
Selborne.]
MARGOT (with surprise): "Since when is he your friend? I was under
the impression you disliked him."
JOWETT: "Your impression was right, but even the youngest of us
are sometimes wrong, as Dr. Thompson said, and I look upon Lord
Selborne now as a friend. I hope I said nothing against him."
MARGOT: "Oh dear no! You only said he was fond of hymns and had no
sense of humour."
JOWETT (snappishly): "If that is so, Margaret, I made an extremely
foolish remark. I will put you between Lord Bowen and Sir Alfred
Lyall. Was it not strange that you should have said of Lyall to
Huxley that he reminded you of a faded Crusader and that you
suspected him of wearing a coat of mail under his broadcloth, to
which you will remember Huxley remarked, 'You mean a coating of
female, without which no man is saved!' Your sister, Lady
Ribblesdale, said the very same thing to me about him."
This interested me, as Charty and I had not spoken to each other
of Sir Alfred Lyall, who was a new acquaintance of ours.
MARGOT: "I am sure, Master, you did not give her the same answer
as Mr. Huxley gave me; you don't think well of my sex, do you?"
JOWETT: "You are not the person to reproach me, Margaret: only the
other week I reproved you for saying women were often dull,
sometimes dangerous and always dishonourable. I might have added
they were rarely reasonable and always courageous. Would you agree
to this?"
MARGOT: "Yes."
I sat between Sir Alfred Lyall and Lord Bowen that night at
dinner. There was more bouquet than body about Sir Alfred and, to
parody Gibbon, Lord Bowen's mind was not clouded by enthusiasm;
but two more delightful men never existed. After dinner, Huxley
came across the room to me and said that the Master had confessed
he had done him out of sitting next to me, so would I talk to him?
We sat down together and our conversation opened on religion.
There was not much juste milieu about Huxley. He began by saying
God was only there because people believed in Him, and that the
fastidious incognito, "I am that I am," was His idea of humour,
etc., etc. He ended by saying he did not believe any man of action
had ever been inspired by religion. I thought I would call in Lord
Bowen, who was standing aimlessly in the middle of the room, to my
assistance. He instantly responded and drew a chair up to us. I
said to him:
"Mr. Huxley challenges me to produce any man of action who has
been directly inspired by religion."
BOWEN (WITH A SLEEK SMILE): "Between us we should be able to
answer him, Miss Tennant, I think. Who is your man?"
Every idea seemed to scatter out of my brain. I suggested at
random:
"Gordon."
I might have been reading his thoughts, for it so happened that
Huxley adored General Gordon.
HUXLEY: "Ah! There you rather have me!"
He had obviously had enough of me, for, changing the position of
his chair, as if to engage Bowen in a tete-a-tete, he said:
"My dear Bowen, Gordon was the most remarkable man I ever met. I
know him well; he was sincere and disinterested, quite incapable
of saying anything he did not think. You will hardly believe me,
but one day he said in tones of passionate conviction that, if he
were to walk round the corner of the street and have his brains
shot out, he would only be transferred to a wider sphere of
government."
BOWEN: "Would the absence of brains have been of any help to him?"
After this, our mutual good humour was restored and I only had
time for a word with Mrs. Green before the evening was ruined by
Jowett taking us across the quad to hear moderate music in the
hideous Balliol hall. Of all the Master's women friends, I
infinitely preferred Mrs. T. H. Green, John Addington Symonds'
sister. She is among the rare women who have all the qualities
which in moments of disillusion I deny to them.
I spent my last week-end at Balliol when Jowett's health appeared
to have completely recovered. On the Monday morning, after his
guests had gone, I went as usual into his study to talk to him. My
wire on receiving his death-bed letter had amused but distressed
him; and on my arrival he pressed me to tell him what it was he
had written that had offended me. I told him I was not offended,
only hurt. He asked me what the difference was. I wish I could
have given him the answer that my daughter Elizabeth gave Lord
Grey [Footnote: Viscount Grey of Fallodon.] when he asked her the
same question, walking in the garden at Fallodon on the occasion
of her first countryhouse visit:
"The one touches your vanity and the other your heart."
I do not know what I said, but I told him I was quite unoffended
and without touchiness, but that his letter had all the faults of
a schoolmaster and a cleric in it and not the love of a friend. He
listened to me with his usual patience and sweetness and expressed
his regret.
On the Monday morning of which I am writing, and on which we had
our last conversation, I had made up my mind that, as I had spoilt
many good conversations by talking too much myself, I would hold
my tongue and let the Master for once make the first move. I had
not had much experience of his classical and devastating silences
and had often defended him from the charge; but it was time to see
what happened if I talked less.
When we got into the room and he had shut the door, I absently
selected the only comfortable chair and we sat down next to each
other. A long and quelling silence followed the lighting of my
cigarette. Feeling rather at a loose end, I thought out a few
stage directions--"here business with handkerchief, etc."--and
adjusted the buckles on my shoes. I looked at some photographs and
fingered a paper-knife and odds and ends on the table near me. The
oppressive silence continued. I strolled to the book-shelves and,
under cover of a copy of "Country Conversations," peeped at the
Master. He appeared to be quite unaware of my existence.
"Nothing doing," said I to myself, putting back the book.
Something had switched him off as if he had been the electric
light.
At last, breaking the silence with considerable impatience, I
said:
"Really, Master, there is very little excuse for your silence!
Surely you have something to say to me, something to tell me; you
have had an experience since we talked to each other that I have
never had: you have been near Death."
JOWETT (not in any way put out): "I felt no rapture, no bliss."
(Suddenly looking at me and taking my hand.) "My dear child, you
must believe in God in spite of what the clergy say."