My Reminiscences - Forgotten Books

MY REM IN I SC EN C E S

LORD RONALD GOWER , P .S .A .

A TRUSTEE OF THE NAT IONAL PORTRA IT GALLERY

A ll men are interested in any man if he will speak the facts of his

life for them ; his authentic experiences, which correspond , as face to

face, to that of all other sons of Adam ’

IN TWO VOLUMES —VOL. I I .

J

LO N DO N

KEGAN PAUL,TRENCH ,

CO .

, 1 PATERNO STER SQUARE

1 883

CONTENTS

T H E S E C O N D V O L U M E .

CHAPTER PAG E

XX I . FROM LONDON TO YORK BY ROAD

XX I I . TH E LENOIR COLLECT ION—NAPOLEON I I I.—THE

SHAH OF PERSIA—TH IERS—COUNT DE WALDECK .

XX I I I . WORK AND PLAY

XX IV. IN PAR IS AND ELSEWHERE .

xxv. worm IN PARIS M iLLA l S TH E EMPRESSEuGéN IE

VAN ITY FAIR —CARLYLE—THE GU ILLOT INE

XXVI I . TO AU STRALIA AND BACK AGA IN

xxvm . IMPRESSIONS or THE AMERICANS , AND A VISIT TO

LONGFELLOW z5 7

XXIX . PARIS,ITALY, RU SS IA , AND SPA IN 2 70

XXX. TAINE—SARAH BERNHARDT—LORD BEACON SFIELD 3 2 2

INDEX

REMIN ISCENCES .

CHAPTER XXI .

1 872 : FROM LONDON TO YORK BY ROAO .

‘

IN my drive from London to York, I intended to getto Carlisle before taking the rail northwards , but, ashas already been said , I was obliged , owing to the

Queen visiting Dunrobin that year, to hasten myarrival there, and consequently to shorten my drive .The following notes , which I doubt not will be thoughtsomewhat lengthy, extend as far as Stratford-ou-Avonafter that I merely jotted down my different stoppingplaces until York was reached.

My equipage was an open American four-wheeledwaggonette with a flat top. I t held, besides myself,who drove. a pair of strawberry roans (Bismarck andTommy) , my valet, R . Tuffs , and groom, George Smith

1 I should advise those who care not to read of old places and of old

pictures to skip this chapter.f7 VOL . I I .

MY REM IN I SCENCES .

My start from London took place under ratherunfavourable circumstances, as far as the weather wasconcerned. I t was on a Monday, August 5 , and beingthe first Monday of that month , according to Sir JohnLubbock ’s Act the Londoners had a holiday. Neverwas there a worse day for an outing. I t never ceasedraining from ten in the morning til l dusk . My firstday’s drive was to Hatfield when we arrived , horses,carriage, and men were in a wofully wet and muddycondition . However , the ‘ Salisbury Arms affordedgood accommodation for man and beas t, and beforenight set in I paid the grand old home of the Cecilsa visit

,and had a saunter beneath the old oaks in the

park.

Hatfield House is one of the finest Elizabethanbuildings in the land , if not the very finest, andalthough it has suffered from fire and still more frommodernisation , it is still in great part and externallymuch in the same state as when Elizabeth’s greatChancellor occupied it. N0 house in England is fullerof recollections of the Virgin Queen .

There are at least half-a-dozen portraits of her, besides numerous relics. Entering the great hall yousee her Majesty figured d 10 D iane,

’ bow in hand andcrescent on brow. I n one of the drawing-rooms aretwo other curious portraits of this queen , one in whichshe is quite young, holding a marmot in her arms, ina black and gold dress ; the other by Zucchero (well

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0

known from the engraving) , in which she is arrayed ina gorgeous gown all covered with ornaments l ikesnakes, with ears and eyes interspersed, doubtlesssymbolical of her qualities of wisdom and acuteness

,

but looking more like some heathen deity than aChristian queen . Here too are many rel ics of QueenBess ; amongst others, a round flat straw hat quaintlyworked : this is the identical head-gear tradition saysthat the future queen, then but a princess and aprisoner, wore when seated under an oak in HatfieldPark on the day that she received the news of hersister Mary’s death , and of her elevation to the throne.Here, too, are a pair of yellow silk socks and otherarticles of toilet that belonged to her when at Hatfield .

I t was here that Elizabeth passed some very maum z'

s

quar ts d’

lieure, but the house which she occupied isnot the present Hatfield House, ‘ but what are now thestables and offices. The former of these was in oldtimes the banqueting hall, and is a noble apartmentwith a massive and handsomely carved oak ceiling.

I t was in this habitation that Elizabeth is said to haveenvied the lot of the milkmaid passing gaily singingbeneath the window of the imprisoned princess . Nextto the portraits of Elizabeth in historical interest arethe following. Queen Mary of Scotland (over thefireplace in the sitting room) , evidently paintedwhen Mary was dauphiness, a lovely face . I n the

same room is Lord Warwick ; a doubtful Holbein ;n

'

2

MY REM I N I SCENCES .

Dudlev, Earl of Leicester ; Coligny , the Admiral , byPorbus :Henry I I I . of France and the Duke de Guise ,by the same ; Lady Hunsdon , by Lucas de HeereGondemar, by Cornel ius Jansen ; Duke of Sussex , byMark Gerrard ; a fine unknown portrait by Mytens ;Mildred Coke ; Lady Burleigh , by Zucchero ; James I .and Lady Cumberland ; the first Earl of Salisbury andLord Burleigh . A very curious small painting on panelof a view of old London , apparently taken from nearLambeth ; in the foreground a crowd of courtiersand peasants in the costume of Henry V I I I .

’

s reign ;this picture is supposed to represent the entertainment given by Wolsey to the K ing, when the latterfirst met Anne Boleyn. According to Shakespearethis event took place in the hall at York Place andat night ; but if painters were not more accuratein their delineations of current events in those daysthan they are in these, this pictu re might pass forwhat it is supposed to represent. Except for thecostumes, however, I see no reason for thinking it toportray the meeting of the royal Bluebeard and hisfair victim .

I n Lady Salisbury’s sitting-room is one of theloveliest child ’s pictures that even Reynolds evercreated . This is a full length of Miss Price. Nothingever looked more pert and pretty than this little creature, who stands with folded hands somewhat in theattitude of Greuze ’

s Cruche Cassée, ’ and is toddling


forward , followed by a couple of bleating lambkins.Unlike so many of Sir J oshua’s paintings, this pictureis as fresh as when he finished it. I believe it hasmore than once been exhibited , and there exists afine mezzotint after it ; but these are scarce, and itseems a pity that a Cousins or some great engravershould not reproduce this lovely work In the sameroom hangs a fine Vandyck, the portrait of the everlasting Algernon Percy, Earl of Northumberland (ifVandyck painted him once he has fifty times, orelse most old English country houses possess copiesby Vandyck

’

s pupils of his lordship’s self-satisfiedcountenance) , and his beautiful wife and child, anenchanting little lady in white satin, with demurelyfolded little plump hands that Vandyck must haveloved to paint. This little dame became Countess ofEssex. In the same room are three other VandycksLord Macclesfield, and Lord and Lady Cranbourne.Also a grand portrait of Lord Pembroke, the secondEarl. We have seen now the best of the ground-floorportraits

, but there is one in the great drawing-roomupstairs that is well worth studying. This is a fulllength by Sir Joshua of Lady Salisbury, the presentLord of Hatfield

’

s grandmother—who was burnedto death here—in fact, the poor old lady (who wasover eighty) was the cause of the fire that nearlydestroyed Hatfield in 1 832 . It was supposed thatLady Salisbury had caught fire by the feathers in

MY REM I N I SCENCES .her wig having come in contact with a lightedcandle ; all that could be found of the ancient ladywas her set of false teeth ; over these the funeralservice was duly read, when they were placed in thefamily vault . In her portrait by Reynolds she is inher palmy days ; her hair is powdered, she is dressedin yellow satin , the face, although not a pretty one, hascharm and refinement, such charm as Reynolds neverfailed to give his sitters. There is another portrait ofQueen Mary of Scotland besides the one in her earlyyouth I have alluded to here, a full length similar toone at Hardwick, in her widow’s weeds , wearing therosary that she carried on the scaffold of Fotheringay.

On the great sta ircase is a life-size full-length portraitof the great Van Tromp by the father of Albert Cuyp,while in the dining-room is one of Henry IV . of France ,and a double portrait of Lord Salisbury with the headof the Duke of Monmouth appearing over his shoulder.I have already lingered too long over these portraits ,but before leaving Hatfield we must not fail to look ata very villanous countenance, a portrait, it is said, of

Ravaillac, at the end of the long gallery.

The house seems to be most l iberally shown tostrangers when the family are away. What was of nolittle comfort to me was that the housekeeper was amost gracious one, and with her leave I had no difficulty in being left alone, and in copying and sketching the different pictures in the rooms . I was not


sorry for the excuse of stormy weather to pass the twofollowing days at so interesting a place. Between thethunder-showers I managed to make some out-of-doordrawings, one of an old farm building, with a foreground of splendid old oaks, that had attracted myattention on the first evening I passed here, and anotherof the house from the fine old-fashioned prim gardensurrounded by a Cloister-l ike ancient walk of dwarfl imes . I was told that Lady Salisbury sometimesdrives here from London, and not long ago broughtthe Premier (Gladstone) here by road . What arecalled ‘

the younger branches of the family ’ also ridedown here sometimes from town .

Hatfield Church (which rejoices in chimes thatplay the old French air of Malbrook is undergoing a thorough restoration . I t conta ins some handsome monuments to the Cecils ; the best are of

James L’

s time, and , as was then the strange fashion,two figures are represented : above, the body lying infull dress, and below the same body represented in theform of a half-decayed corpse—a ghastly form of

M emento mm’

.

I drove from Hatfield early on the morning of

August 8 to St. Alban ’s, a lovely five-miles drive.There I baited at the Pea Hen inn, and visited meanwhile what is the most curious and finest abbey churchin England. This structure is in the shape of a cross,extending from east to west ; it is over six hundred

MY REM I N I SCENCES .feet in length , and from north to south along the transepts more than two hundred . A huge square towerof three stories , with a spire, rises from the intersection .

In 1 832 part of the wall '

of the upper battlement onthe south-west side of the abbey fell upon the roofbelow, in two portions, at an interval of five minutesbetween the fall of each mass. At the suppression ofthe monasteries by Henry VI I I . , this abbey churchwas bought by a rich clothier, named Stump, for400l. , and by him was converted into a parochialchurch for the use of the inhabitants. Nothing can

be grander than the huge vastness of this building,although the exterior is disappointing and looks morel ike an ancient home for giants than a church but assoon as one enters the church one is impressed by themassive splendour of the old Saxon building. Therestored shrine is a marvel of ingenious craft, theformer one having been scattered in hundreds Of fragments. What to a great extent destroys the beautyof this church is the flat roof, hideously painted. Someday St. Alban’s will, however, be a building of whichthe nation will be proud ; at present, as its restorer,Sir Gilbert Scott, says, ‘ it is a mere wreck of itsformer self. ’ The abbots who, in the eleventh century,raised this building, employed the remains of the

Roman city of Verulam, which accounts for the greatamount of Roman brick that is so conspicuous all overthe building.

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A few fragments only remain of the once beautiful cloisters that formerly connected the abbey withthe abbot’s residence . In 1 2 5 7, on a sheet of leadthat is supposed to have contained the bones of St.Alban, the following inscription was written : ‘ I n two

mausoleo invantum est venem t ile corpus S an di A 16cm2,

p rotomar ty r z’

s A nglorum.

’ There is no time to belost, not only in restoring this abbey, but in preservingit from ruin, for the two eastern piers which supportthe building have already given signs of subsidence.The exterior stone is also in a sad state of decay, andthe wooden ceilings are also giving way. As in nearlyall ancient churches in England, the walls and pillarsof St. Alban’s were, during the last century, defacedby whitewash. Much of th is, however, has beencleared away, and many highly curious fresco paintingsare now visible. But even the scraping off of thisbarbarous coating is an operation requiring much timeand labour, and the danger is that unless money flowsi n much more freely for the restoration fund than ithas hitherto done, St . Alban’s will never be thoroughlyrepaired, much less restored . N0 church, ’ says Gilbert Scott, in his report to the Restoration Committee,‘ in Great Britain more thoroughly deserves a carefuland conservative restoration , nor wou ld any morerichly repay this labour of love. I t is a glorious work,and one with which I feel a special pride in beingconnected , and I most earnestly wish you every

to MY REM I N I SCENCES .

possible success and liberal support in what may fairlybe styled a great national undertaking.

’

Returning to the ‘ Pea Hen ’ hotel , I found thatestablishment en f é‘

te. Boots informed me , with alook of compassionate pity at my not being awareof the fact, that it was owing to ‘ missus’s sister’swedding ! ’From St. Alban ’s I drove on to Dunstable, where

I put up at the ‘ Red Lion .

’ I n the old portion ofthis inn Charles I . had lodged the night before hisdefeat at Naseby. Here is sti ll to be seen a picturesque por ts-rockers, with a quaint timber roof andwalls also timbered. There is nothing of any interestto see in the town itself, which consists of a longbroad street, every third house of which appears to bean inu .

Off from Dunstable early on August 9, drivingover the old high road that Drayton calls ‘ that rightnoble street, ’ the Roman Watling Road, which, nearDunstable, has the appearance of a railway cutting,and proves what splendid engineers those old Romanswere. At a village called Hockcliffe is a most remarkable old house, half farm half pothouse, which evidentlyhas seen better days. I t is all over fine woodencarvings, now rapidly falling to pieces ; scrolls, griffins ,coats-of-arms, and other devices abound . W ithin , inwhat is now the kitchen, is the date 1 566 ; but thepeople told me that this date , carved on wood , came

FROM LONDON TO YORK BY ROAD. I I

from some other old place in the neighbourhood .

Bes ides this muchly be-carved house are several specimens of old domestic archi tecture in this village ,which would repay an architect or artist for passinga day or two here.A drive of five miles brought us

.

to the park gatesofWoburn Abbey ; the crest of the Russells over thegates put me in mind of Billy Russell ’s goat on ourwar waggon during the Franco -German war. Andhere in peaceful Bedfordshire aga in appeared theidentical goat with the same philosophical motto,C/ze sard san i ; not now on a Berlin-built canvascovered luggage waggon , but standing out, of colossalsize , carved in stone on these ducal Woburn gates.After seeing the roans put up at the comfortablestables at the ‘

!Bedford Arms, ’ in the clean little townof Woburn, I walked across the park some two m iles,and reached the lodge of the abbey. The house is ofthat severe classical style which was all the rage atthe close of last century ; the dreariest style of architecture for a country house in our cl imate. Woburnis formed in the shape of a gigantic square ; before itextends a well-kept lawn. The entrance of the building is poor the rooms within are very small for sucha huge block of a building, and all Open from one tothe other thus being all passage rooms— a great disadvantage, and fatal to comfort. But to make up forthis , those rooms contain one of the finest private

1 2 MY REM IN I SCENCES .collections of foreign and English paintings in this ormany other country. I t would take too long even toname those of these pictures that struck me most. Alist of the family portraits alone fi lls a book , for thesecommence with the first Earl of Bedford in HenryV I I I .

’

s reign , and it seems that every one of his successors , male and female , had their portra its taken andplaced at Woburn. Numerous as the rooms here are,the portraits fi ll even the endless corridors, and linethe sta ircases . I noticed several of the celebratedLord William Russell, a noble, frank , fearless facesuch as one would expect him to have had. The portraits , for there are two, one an early painting byReynolds, interested me, of Gertrude, wife of thesecond Duke of Bedford . She was born -a Gower,and gave that name to the dreary street in Bloomsbury, of which doctors are so fond . The wealth of

pictures at Woburn is something extraordinary, one

bedroom alone is full of Sir Joshuas , another of Landseers, a third of Calcotts, Bonningtons , and Leslies .The dining-room is thickly panelled with superbviews of Venice by Canaletto , and a S itting-room withVandycks ; there are besides these the apparentlycountless series of family portraits of the house of

Russell, from Holbein down to Lawrence. What astudy of the' costumes of near four centuries are thesepictures of the Russells at Woburn ! Gentlemen intrunk hose and doublet , cloth of gold and armour ;

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I4 MY REM I N I SCENCES .appear in perfect keeping, and none suffering frombeing over-glazed or over varnished or cleaned . I nthe way of landscape , two Claudes are worthy of

special notice, and there is a superb Gainsborough , ofa rosy sunset sky .

I n a small room in which a book is kept for visitorsto wri te their names , carefully placed behind glass aresome modern relics which one of the family broughtback from the last great war.

’ A box of cigars,on which is inscribed ‘ Given me by Count Bismarck on Christmas Day, 1 8 70, at Versailles—OdoRussell ’ ; and other curiosities of a similar kind allduly labelled .

I had spent so much time among the pictures atWoburn , that I had barely time to hurry through therest of the sights of the place. There is here a largesculpture gallery , never I think a successful feature

,

and ou t of place even in such a palace as Chatsworthfor sculpture should not be huddled together in anapartment, but scattered among other works of art .

I t makes one shiver in this climate to enter a greatgallery full of cold marble nudities .The gardens are vast, encumbered with quaint

temples and adorned with artificial lakes ; but I hurriedaway, havinga long drive ofa dozen miles before reaching my next halt ; which was at Stony Stratford. Thatdrive is hilly and uninteresting. I slept at the. Cockinn , leaving Stony Stratford the next morning, sti ll

FROM LONDON TO YORK BY ROAD . I S

keeping my course over the Watling Road , and reachingNorthampton before one o’clock that afternoon givingme time to visit Castle Ashby, Lord Northampton’

s

fine place , seven miles out of the town. That was thefi rst place I found occupied by its owner. I t seemspassing strange that those who have the good fortuneto possess these great places should be so l ittle inthem , in the season when they are in their greatestbeauty. But it is now the fashion , unfortunately, forthe plutocrats to l ive away as much as possible out ofEngland , and from their country houses, during the

summer. As soon as the London season is over arush is made either to S cotland or to the Continent

,

and the finest places in England are left to solitude ,tourists , and the charge of a housekeeper. They areseen as the case may be, as the liberality of the absenteeowner, or the avarice of the factotum within dictates ,by the foreigner or tourist, who naturally wonders atthe owners of such places passing the finest seasonof the year out of them. But this is owing to thedecrees of fashion ; and instead of getting the Londonseason over, as formerly was the case, by the middleof June at latest, it is now prolonged to the middle of

August, and thus the finest season for enjoying thecountry in the summer is lost.This is not only regrettable in that so many great

country places should be neglected during the summer,by the absence of the owners from their ancient homes,

16 MY REM I N I SCENCES .

but also on account of the moral effect that this ah

senteeism must have on those who pass their l ivesaround and within the shadow of these stately homes .I t can hardly appear an unmixed good that the ownersof these historic mansions only live in them during theshooting and hunting seasons ; but probably this stateof things will continue as long as the silly mania forwhat is called ‘ sport ’ prevails , and while the youthof the richer classes— upper I will not call themare in general brought up more like young gamekeepers than anything else , and consequently lookupon their homes as merely comfortable preserves fordifferent kinds of game, and seldom give a thought toanything above or beyond the slaughter of pheasantsand the destruction of hares and rabbits . I t would becurious to have a return of the owners of great estatesin England , say of over a year, showing howmuch of the year is passed by the owners of these greatproperties, beyond the shooting season , on their estates .As an amusement and exercise sport is all very wellbut when it is turned almost into a science it becomesharmful

,not only to the individual , but to the com

munity at large. There would be much less agitationagainst the Game Laws were people only moderateregarding their shooting ; but to overstock theirpreserves

,so as to have a few winter days of great

‘ battues,

’ will surely in the end lead to very seriousi ll feel ing between landlord and tenant, and of still

FROM LONDON TO YORK BY ROAD . 1 7

worse between the idle upper ten thousand and thelabouring ten m ill ion .

After this digression on the abuse of game preserving, we will return to Castle Ashby . Finished in 1 6 24,

it is a fine specimen externally of Jacobean architecture .The handsome entrance front and portico were designedby the great I nigo Jones himself. The plan of the houseis a square

,with a court in the centre. Large mull ioned

bay windows which extend from the ground to the roofgive the south front a cheerful aspect, and preservethe interior of the house from the sombre characterwhich have so many of the houses of the early partof the seventeenth century . Another feature characteristic of the period is the quaint balustrade of stoneletters that runs round the top of the building. On

the east side this inscription runs as follows. ‘ N z'

sz'

Domz

'

mt s wdzfi mw r it domum, in w mmz laéom ver unt

guz'

asa’z

'

fimnt cam, The interior of the house,

although handsome, somewhat disappoints after theeffect of the noble exterior. Castle Ashby was sufferedto fall into decay after the ruinous elections duringthe last century, but its present owner has done muchboth within and without to restore this fine old placeto its former state. The most noticeable paintingshere are in the great drawing-room , on the first floor,a grand apartment with a handsomely decorated ceil ingof the time of James I . Here are a curious pair of

portraits purporting to be those of John TalbotVOL. 1 1 .

1 8 MY REM I N I SCENCES .Shakespeare’s Talbot the scourge of France,’ whowaskilled at Chast illon in 1453 , and that of his second wife,the daughter and heiress of Richard Beauchamp, the

Kingmaker ’ Earl of Warwick . She died in 1468 .

John Talbot’s monument was destroyed in the greatfire of London , having been placed in St. Paul ’s but afacsimile portrait of this one at Castle Ashby, whichwas saved from that fire , is, I believe , in the Heralds’College. In the same room is a curious portrait, saidto be by Vandyck , of the Duke of Buckingham as helay dead at Portsmouth, assassinated by Felton . The

head is a finer one than in the portraits of the Duke inhis l ifetime, but the features in death we know havea refinement that they lack in life. Although here arebut few family portraits , there is a Vandyck in thissame room which must not be overlooked . This is a

half length of the gallant Spencer, Lord Northampton,one of Charles I . ’s most loyal and devoted generals ;his death , at the battle of Hopton Heath , was a greaterloss to the K ing’s cause than even the loss of the battle.

Not only did Lord Northampton raise a troop of horsefor the cause for which he died , but his four sons wereall officers under him . He drove Lord Brook out ofWarwickshire and took Banbury Castle. On the disastrous day of Hopton Heath , with his horse killedunder him, and surrounded by the enemy, he refusedto surrender. I n the words of the chronicler

, whichread like a page from Froissart, we are told how


‘ his head-piece was soon beat off by the end of amusquet , and quarter being offered him , which hemanful ly disdained to accept, he was slain by a blowfrom a halbert on the hinder part of his head ; he re

ce ived at the same time another deep wound in theface . For such a loss a greater victory had been anunequal recompence .

’ Lord Northampton had beenheard to say that, if he outlived those wars, he wascertain never to have so noble a death . His body,which the Parliamentarians refused to give up to hisson, was buried in the Church of Allhallows at Derby.

I ndeed a gallant caval ier was this Lord Northampton ,an ancestor of whom his descendants may justly feelproud.

The gardens of Castle Ashby, the work of thepresent Lord Northampton, are beautiful. Theycombine with success the Elizabethan and I talianstyles . Round the great bastion in the front gardenis an inscription to the memory of the late Lady Northampton , a noble, beautiful person , whose early deathwas deeply mourned ; her full -length portrait at CastleAshby bears a rare type of beauty, on which theEternities have set their lasting peace. Evelyn , whenhe visited, two centuries ago, Castle Ashby, seems onlyto have admired the iron gates open ing on the park ,which indeed ,’ he writes , are very good work ,wrought with flowers , painted blue and gilded .

’

Not

many years ago the roads between Northampton andC 2

20 MY REM I N I SCENCES.Castle Ashby were so bad , that some guests on theirway to the latter place stuck fast in the mire. I t wasApril 1 , and as the matter was regarded as a hoax ,the travellers might have remained on the road til lnow , had not a postill ion found and rescued them .

The view of the gardens , looking from the principalrooms , with the old Parish Church on the right, is verypicturesque. The inscription that runs around the

house is carried ou t below , and texts relating to the

flowers and the field encircle the beds and parterreswith good effect. S ir D igby Wyatt, whom I had thegood fortune of meeting here, is engaged in superintending the erection of a fine stone conservatoryin these gardens, a bu i lding of beautiful proportions.I t had been a pleasant vis it ; Lord Northamptonan invalid—I found a most refined and amiable man ,devoted to art . While I was at Castle Ashby, he wasengaged in painting a religious subject H is brother,the Rev. Lord Alwyn Compton , and his del ightful andtalented wife, showed me the place, and altogether myafternoon at Castle Ashby is a pleasant one to recall .The next day, a Sunday, I passed at Northampton,

Iionising the different buildings of interest in the place.Although not rich in churches, Northampton has oneor two worthy a visit both for the artist and antiquarian .

The finest of these churches is S t . Sepulchre’s,which

is said to owe its origin to the Knights Templars,and

is one of three circular churches in the country, the


described by Norden as ‘ruynous.

’ He adds thatNorthampton is ‘ a faire towne , with many large streets ,and a very ample and faire market place ; it is walledabout with a wall of stone, but meane of strength meareunto the town there standeth an ancient castle. Thecastle was finally demolished in 1 662 . Few places ofinterest remain here, owing to a fire which, in 1 675 ,

nearly destroyed the place. One of the few relics ofantiquity at Northampton is the Priory of St. John’s,now an almshouse, and which is doomed shortly to

disappear altogether, owing to the inroads of a newrailway . Leland says this hospital was founded byWilliam S t . Clare, Bishop of the town . After thebattle fought here in the reign of Henry VI . , manyof the combatants were buried within its precincts .This old place had attracted my attention as I droveup Bridge Street and on returning there I found thatit was a rare relic of the architecture of the Tudortimes. Sketches I made of this old place, from withinand without ; one showing the fine west window of thechapel , the other from the garden at the back of thehospita l facing the east window . Within, half a dozendecayed old dames are still living, but the poor oldthings have received notice to quit ; and perhaps thisold almshouse is already a thing of the past.The next object of interest here is the fine Queen

Eleanor Cross, or, as it is called here, the Queen’s Cross.This is the most perfect of the many crosses built to


that sovereign ’s memory, with the exception of the oneat Waltham . This beautiful rel ic of the purest Gothicarchitectural work is well known to all who care forsuch things ; the restoration of one in front of theCharing Cross Station has made the C/zére reins

cross known to all Londoners ; however, the copy isas inferior to the original as copies generally are.Time has rather added to than lessened its beauty,and standing, as this one at Northampton does, on agently sloping hill with a background of trees, the

spires of Northampton’

s churches in the distance , gainsgreatly on the modern construction placed betweena monster railway hotel and a seventeenth-centurychurch , which dwarf and destroy its effect com

pletely.

There were not less than fifteen of these Queen ’sCrosses erected on the spots where her corpse restedon its last journey to London . These fifteen crossesare now reduced to three , one at Geddington—of

which more anon—another at Waltham , and this atNorthampton .

Oddly enough , there is no guide that I know of

for Northamptonshire, a county rich in objects of

artistic, historical, and architectural interest. Murray ,whose guide-books to other English counties arehardly sufficiently appreciated , containing, as they do,complete histories of the different counties they illustrate, has, as yet not published a guide to

24 MY REM I N I SCENCES .Northamptonshire. There is neither a local guide norhandy county history to be met w ith— for Bridge ’scolossal work is more than a century old, and difficultto meet with . I had, consequently, to rely for anyinformation I could gather at Northampton , as to whatwas best worth visiting there and in the neighbourhood , upon hearsay. Mr. Birdsall (whose bookbindingestablishment no one should fail to visit when atN orthampton) gave me much useful information of

this kind.

The next day I went by rail to Kettering, whereI hired a trap and drove to Rushton Hall

,a fine

Jacobean house belonging to Mr. Clark Thornhill, whohas unhappily modernised the interior to a frightfulextent. In fact, nothing has been spared except thegreat timbered hall , in which are some good portraits .Two large equestrian ones are worthy of Velasquez,but are not by him, and here is a fine full length of theEmpress Catherine ; the latter hangs over the greatfireplace in which tradition says Father Oldcorn andtwo others of the Guy Fawkes conspirators were concealed. I regretted, when too late, not knowing thatin the park of this place there exists a very curiousbu ilding, a lodge which, to judge by a photograph of

i t I saw, must be one of the quaintest bits of Jacobeanmasonry extant. Here again, if traditional lore is tobe relied upon, this little building in Rushton Parkwas the place where Tresham’

s friends—Tresham was


at that time owner ofRushton—met and concocted theirgunpowder plot.At Rushton Hall , besides the portraits already no

ticed, is a curious full length of Henry IV . of France ;also portraits of Richelieu and Charles I . There ishere also a fine carved oak staircase , near which hangsa curious old print of the place as it looked early in thelast century, when Rushton belonged to Lord Cullen .

I n one of the modernised bedrooms is a quaint stonecarving, representing the Crucifixion , once probablybrightly coloured ; this came from the old chapel ofRushton , and is the only fragment that now remains ofit. So terribly modernised is Rushton , that one feelsa fire would have done the old place less harm than themodern house-painter and upholsterer. S till , the placeis well worth a visit, and its old gables and mullionedw indows would please an architect, as would also thelong and graceful frontage, with the buttressed re

cesses near the great entrance door. On either side ofthis door stand a pair of huge stone figures Gog andMagog, these seem to be—at any rate relations of theCity giants.A drive of three miles brought me to Geddington,

where , as has already been said , is one of the Eleanorcrosses . I t is a very inferior one to that at Northampton, which is four-sided , whereas the Geddington crossis triangu lar in form, nor is the ornamentation in thelatter to be compared to the other ; it is also slighter


and smaller, and occupies a less conspicuous siteindeed , to a casual observer, it might pass for a meremarket cross.Another short drive in the direction of Kettering

brought me to Boughton, a gloomy French chateaulooking house placed in a hollow. This is one of thenumerous places that belong to the Duke of Buccleuch .

The glory of Boughton are the famous avenues of

l imes and elms that surround it ; one of these has s ixrows of trees and looks like a sylvan regiment. JohnDuke of Montagu had a mania for planting, and he issaid to have wished to connect Boughton with Londonby an avenue of l imes or of elms. Not finding thisscheme practicable, he made as many miles of avenuein this place as would cover the distance from it to thecapital consequently Boughton rejoices in avenues tothe extent of seventy-six miles. There is but little ofinterest within the building the entrance hall is handsome, but, l ike all the place, very gloomy ; this hall ishung with ancestral portraits of the house ofMontagu ,painted, apparently (as Walpole has said of a similarkind) , ‘ by the rood and ordered by the yard.

’ Passingby these you enter an anteroom of which the ceil ing isadorned by the sprawling saints ’ of Verrio or Laguerre.Beyond this antechamber a low, long, damp, hauntedlooking gallery is reached ; its walls l iterally coveredwith Old portraits , some of which are in . a lamentablestate of decay, the paint peeling off them, and leaving


nothing but worm-eaten panel visible. A glaringlypainted armorial chimney piece is in the centre of thislonesome gallery, on which is written the followingdoleful inscription 111 2713 dou leurspour ungplesure ;

and a little below this, N e sis argus forts et a’onm

’

Tatfia’

(whatever that may mean) . What does not

take off from the prevailing gloom of these galleriesand rooms is that they look out on a courtyard inwhich grows rank grass, around a square basin of

stagnant water. In the drawing-room and diningroom is some fine Flemish tapestry, but faded, l ikeall the rest .

A S I walked through this gloomy old place, in whichnothing but the old portraits of dead Montagus, andthe figures on the old tapestries, seemed to l ive, i tseemed to me as if the old house had been deserted forat leas t a century, ever since the days of the tree-lovingDuke of Montagu ; nor should I have been muchsurprised to have met in the gallery and tapestriedchambers a bewigged beau in lace and ruffles, or adame in hoop and powder. One can hardly expect theowners of over a dozen large country palaces to keepthem all up equally well ; but it seems a pity thatthe neglect which has ru ined what might be a comfortable if not a cheerful house, should not be doneaway with .

I t was quite a rel ief, on leaving Boughton , to meetin the park some little Scotts—grandchildren of the


owner of the gloomy old place—ou their way to thehouse from the station . The patter of l ittle feet, andthe unconscious joyousness of children must makeBoughton less of a haun ted-looking house for thosewho l ive there .

Before leaving Kettering on my way back to Northampton , I made a rash attempt to see a place calledBroughton Hall (which I found was not any way nearKettering, but in the north of Oxfordshire) . How

ever, it was worth going somewhat out of my way tovis it the church at Broughton , and its pretty peacefullittle churchyard . Within the church are two monuments similar to, and probably by the same hand as

made the bust of Shakespeare in Stratford-ou-AvonChurch . At the rectory there I made the acquaintanceof a most amiable pair, the clergyman of the place andhis w ife.Early the next day I drove away from Northamp

ton , halting at Little Brington , where in the village isan old cottage in which lived the ancestors of GeorgeWashington . I t is a neat old place enough , butwith nothing remarkable about it, save that it was thenest of the great General’s forefathers. Above theentrance door, inscribed on a stone slab, is the following : The Lord giveth, the Lord taketh away.

Blessed be the name of the Lord . Constructus ,

The old dame who l ives in this cottage toldme that many Americans visit it ; but strangely

30 MY REM I N I SCENCES .this life ye 1oth March 1 62 2 , after they lived lovinglytogether. ’ We here see the origin of the Americanstar-spangled banner, ’ and of the stripes for on thecoat of arms on this old brass appear three stars, withthe bars or stripes beneath them. The sexton toldme that Charles Sumner had had a copy made of thelarger slab by the local mason, and that both he andMotley , the historian , had taken great interest in thesearms and inscriptions . I t is certainly striking to seethese humble mementos of the ancestry of one of

whom all English-speaking people are proud, in thisold country chu rch , lying near the splendid tombs offorgotten magnates . An interesting chapter might bewri tten on the origin of the great flags Of the worldto trace them back to their sources would often beno easy task but that of the American Republic lieson the old floor of Brington Church .

Holdenby (pronounced Holmby) House is withinan easy drive from Great Brington . The country allabout is a mass of steep hills, and I felt sorry for myroans as they had to crawl up hill after hill . I had forthe first time struck out across country

,and the steep

,

badly-kept lanes told on the working powers of

Bismarck and Tommy. The day was intensely hot,and, to add to other small miseries, I managed tolose my way, which gave me several extra miles of

road to drive. In this part of the country the innsin the villages are of the poorest, and it was not an


easy matter always to find stabling for the horses,or food for ourselves . Whyt e Melville, in one of

his best novels, has given a picturesque account ofHoldenby House in the book named after the o ld

place, and of the scenery that surrounds it. I cannotrecommend a pilgrimage to the scene of its departedglories ; 1 all that now remains of what was once agrand old mansion is a small gable-topped building,

now undergoing a very thorough process of modernisation ; and the last traces of the old window carving and door ornamentation are rapidly disappearing u nder the hand of the mason . Within

,there is

noth ing either old or interesting, besides here and therea carved oak chimney-piece. However, outside aretwo relics of old Holdenby House when Charles I .l ived there. These are two colossal arches carved inthe best style of Elizabethan art ; they bear the dateof 1 583 . For what purposes those arches were placedon the east side of the building, leading to nothing inparticular, is not easy to conjecture ; but they form astriking Object standing out amongst the rank grassthat covers the spot where once, perhaps, were terracedgardens and clipped hedgerows, and give an idea of

what the splendour Of the old house formerly was,now

Of Holdenby House Campden writes that it is ‘a faire pattern of

stately and magnificent building, of a faire glorious show,

’and as not to

be matched in this land.

’ Queen Elizabeth, whose property it had once

been, exchanged it with Sir Christopher Hatton for Kirkby, of which

anon.

3: MY REM I N I SCENCES .but a modernised building with all i ts historic featuresdestroyed. I t was here that one of the many dramat icepisodes in Charles I . ’s chequered career took place

,

for it was at Holdenby , after his defeat at Nasebyand after his surrender to the treacherous Scots , thatthe king was summoned by Cornet Joyce to deliverhimself into his keeping. On the king’s asking for thecornet’s commission to arrest him, Joyce answered bypointing to his troopers that stood behind him . Beforethose troublous times Holdenby had seen happier daysand here Queen Elizabeth’s dance-loving Lord Keeperl ived : what a number of fine places Hatton seems tohave had ! here, as at Stoke Pogis, no doubt the sealsand maces danced before him .

’

Returning to bait at Great Brington I walkedacross some fields in Althorpe Park , Lord Spencer’splace

,which is externally a most unpretentious- looking

building, plain almost to ugliness ; but what treasuresin the way Of books and pictures, the best of earthlytreasures , does not this house of commonplace exterior contain ! The building is surrounded by a flatpark

,which , l ike the house, has no appearance of age

to recommend it, no fine t rees or ancient timber.Within, the rooms, though generally small , are wellproportioned , and contain not only the finest privatelibrary in the world , but a very splendid collection ofpaintings of nearly every school . Such a library asthis at Althorpe, buried down in a park in a midland


county seems to me rather incongruous ; one wouldfeel . I Imagine, if one owned it, that here such treasures w ere rather lost, and Mr. T . Grenville

’

s generousexample would bear being followed. A t Althorpenearly every room contains a l ibrary. The housekeeper told me that thirteen rooms here were filled bybooks ; there are over forty-five thousand volumes ;in one l ittle narrow room the books, according to myinformant, had been valued at worth . Hereis the famous Decameron, which was put up for auction for and after a keen fight for it betweenLord Spencer and the Duke of Roxburgh

,in which

one bid first n ot ,the other and so on , within

a few minutes the book belonged to the former for thesum of This same bibliomaniac gave 6001.for a Bible printed on vellum . Although such pricesas these are excessive , they are not so absurd as thesum people nowadays waste on blue china, broodmares , and hunters .What was of much greater interest to me at A l

thorpe than seeing the backs of those thousands of

volumes in their locked-up cases , were the glorious SirJoshuas in which the place abounds . Nearly everyroom boas ts one or more. All the family seem to havebeen painted by our greatest portrait painter when at hisbest ; many of those portraits have been exhibited , andmany engraved . Everyone knows t he full length of

the beautiful Georgiana Spencer, Duchess of Devonv01 1 1 . D

34 MY REM IN I SCENCES .shire, which hangs on the sta ircase of this her old

home. Almost equally beautiful is the ful l length of

this same Duchess by Gainsborough , facing that ofReynolds . There are also here portraits of her as afat rosy child in the arms of her mother, Georgiana ,Lady Spencer.Besides family portraits, Althorpe is rich in pictu res

by old masters . I n the drawing-room is a grand fu l llength portrait by Vandyck, of Rubens. Sir PeterPaul appears in black velvet, wear ing a large goldchain about his neck ; a most noble presence. I n thesame room is a charming half length by Rubens, of hisdaughter ; this seems a finished study of the little ladyintroduced into his large allegorical work, Peace andWar

,

’ in the National Gallery. Here is also a fineMurillo

,the portrait of an Infanta. Also a Holy Fam ily

by Raphael , and some good Dutch works ; amongstothers a little gemof a landscape by Pynacker, in theanteroom to the library. Even the bedrooms are richin pictures . I n one hangs a good Sir Joshua, his ownl ikeness Watteau , by himself, and many other artists ’portraits , male and female , by themselves. You thinkyou must have seen all the pictures in the place, whenyou find yourself in a long gallery, fu ll from floor toceiling of portraits ; this is the picture gallery whichHorace Walpole, when here in 1 760, called a galleryof all one’s acquaintances by Vandyck and Lely.

’

Some of the best of these had been sent by Lord


Spencer to the Dublin exhibition . Amongst the mostremarkable portraits in this gallery are those of theDuke of Bedford and Lord Bristol , by Vandyck (thesame as at Woburn) , a curious Holbein , half lengthsof Henry VI I I . , Princess Mary, and Will Somers ,Henry’s court fool . A pale-faced young lady in a bluedress by G. Janet, called Mary Queen of Scots andan equally questionable portrait by Lucas de Heere,named Lady Jane Grey . Here too is a remarkable Triptych of brilliant colouring by Mabuse

,with portraits

of Maximil ian Sforza, Duke of Milan, and his brother.Buckingham, taken after death, the same as at CastleAshby, and perhaps a copy of that one, and a pendantto i t ofVenetia, Lady Digby, after death. Lady Digbywas the wife of Sir Kenelm , and is supposed to havehad her life shortened by the chemical experimentswhich he made, and at which probably she assisted ;and lastly a portrait of Waller’s Sacharissa (LadyDorothy Sydney) , dressed as a shepherdess ; the sameportrait as that at Penshurst. But enough of thepictu res at Althorpe ; before leaving it, notice theentrance-hall , where the walls are hung with life-sizeportraits of racehorses and hunters by Wooton

,the

equine favourites of the sporting Spencers of the lastcentury.

I t was late in the afternoon before I left Althorpe,

and Warwick was too far to be reached that evening.

Daventry, however, though not an inviting town , lay

36 MY REM I N I SCENCES .conveniently on the road, and there I found comfortablequarters at the old inn named the Saracen ’s Head .

’

The next day’s drive was through lovely country ,and the weather, as it had been ever since we leftHatfield , was superb . I baited at Sou threm, whereis a fine church , but containing no monuments ; thenthrough pleasant Leamington , with its tidy brightstreets of villas , on to Warwick . The view as one

passes over the bridge that spans the Avon, of thegrand old Castle of the K ingmaker, is one of the mostbeautiful in the world , for it combines everything. I twas worth , I thought, driving all the way from Londonto approach Warwick Castle by this road . I t is one

of those views that make an indel ible impression onone’s memory. How different is this view of theCastle from the road to that from the railway. A

view, indeed, of a place from any railway , howeverbeautiful the place, be it Venice or Florence , Heidelbergor Warwick , always seems to present the place in itspoorest and least attractive features. Macaulay hascalled attention to this at Oxford ; but with threenotable exceptions in this country, namely, at Windsor,Lincoln , and Durham , nearly all the finest places inEngland are hidden by the unsightly surroundings thatthe iron road bears along with it.After seeing the horses well stalled in the com

fortable stable of that most capital of hotels , the

Warwick Arms, ’ I passed the rest of the day in and

33 MY REM I N I SCENCES .best. Opposite is a fine, but an inferior, portrait of alady and child of the Brignole fam i ly, also by SirAnthony. His half- length portrait ofMartin Rykhaert ,and that of a Duke of Alva, are both worthy of themaster. Since the fire the positions of the pictu reshave been altered ; some are yet unhung. The littlewhite and gold corner room at the end of the suite ofstate rooms is perfectly lovely ; the walls covered withsmall but good examples of old masters . Luther,by Hans Holbein Some of the furnitu re in theserooms might compete with Sir Richard Wallace’scollection , and there is a large cabinet filled withsplendid examples of Limoge enamels, which mustbe of fabulous value.Next in interest to the Castle at Warwick is the

Leicester Hospital . Founded in 1 5 7 1 , i t answered toa French ‘ M ae

'

san-Dz

'

eze’

for old veterans, and is anexcellent specimen of the domestic architecture of

Elizabeth’s reign . The chapel is beautiful , and hasbeen splendidly restored by Scott ; it is raised overan old red sandstone gateway formerly the principalentrance from the Stratford-ou-Avon side and the town.

Nothing, indeed, can be more picturesque than the toutensemble of this quaint old gabled hospital w ith itswalls of black and white coloured timber, its heavycaves, and escutcheons of the founder’s arms andquarterings ; the old gateway that rises out of thesolid rock, with the chapel raised above , with its


graceful tower. When seeing the ruins of Kenilworth ,once so splendid and now but blasted walls, it is impossible not to feel the moral of the two buildings,both erected by the same individual—one raised towealth and arrogance, the other to charity and benevolence . In this old military hospital, as at the timeof its foundation three hundred years ago, a masterand twelve brethren live—symbol ical of Christ and H isdisciples . The latter here are old soldiers chosenfrom half-a-dozen neighbouring towns or villages, andthey sti ll wear the same fashioned blue broadclothgown , and the identical silver badges, with their founderDudley Earl of Leicester’s crest on them—the bearand ragged staff.St. Mary’s Church, or rather the Beauchamp Chapel ,

which forms part of it, is known to all who care forchurch antiquities. The body of the church is notof any interest

,having been destroyed in 1 694; but

fortunately the Beauchamp Chapel and the chantryadjoining it escaped the fire. With the exception of

Henry VI I . ’s Chapel at Westminster Abbey, this Beauchamp Chapel is the most beautiful of the florid gothicstyle in the country. I t has , however, suffered fromthe execrably bad taste of 'the latter. end of the last andthe early part of this centu ry ; and here is a reredoswhich should be removed , being entirely out of keepingwith the rest of the chapel . The chantry, with itsbeautiful tracery roof and the quaint collection of old

40 MY REM I N I SCENCES .furniture, including an ancient wooden chest on whichfour helmets are placed—these rescued from the firewhen the body of the church perished—is a favouritestudy for artists , almost as popular as the terrace atHaddon . The deeply indented stone steps leadingto the confessional out of the chantry are proof of

the power the Roman Church once held in England .

Half way in , half way ou t of Warwick stands thebeautifully restored priory founded by Henry de Newburgh , for a company of canons regular, in imitationof one established at the Holy Sepulchre in Jerusalem .

I t is now in the possession of Mr. T . Lloyd , and iswell worth a visit. Guy’s Cliff is one of the wellknown lions of Warwick, and however short may bethe sojourn of the traveller there, and full of interestas is Warwick itself, Guy’s Cliff should not on any ac

count be missed . I was unable to see the interior of thehouse, i t being under repair, but the grounds are wellworth a visit. The avenue of Old S cotch firs leadingfrom the high road is beautiful, as is also the oldmil l, a favourite study for artists. Guy and his legendsare in themselves bores, as such mythological personages and legends generally are. Whether Guy, orGy, or Guhthi, ever lived in this romantic spot or elsewhere cannot be of moment to anyone

,and those who

delight to give a local habitation and a name to everyplace which tradition has fixed upon as having beenthe dwelling-place of some semi-deity or hero,

may


settle the matter as they w ill . What, however, isundoubted is the fact that Guy’s Cliff is one of the

lovel iest places in Warwickshire, and that is saying avery great deal. I visited the really extraordinarycaves and burrows in the sandstone cliffs accompaniedby a loquacious old gardener whose belief and reverence in and for Guy were great belief and reverenceare getting so scarce that even my garrulous old Guy

believing gardener was to be respected. Possibly thereis some foundation for the wildest of legends, and forthe most unreal Of heroes of Old, and good might comeof such beliefs if they only produced greater venerationand interest in the people’s minds for the places concerned in these legends and folk-lore ; but, to quotethe old antiquarian Fu ller I t were a wild wish thatall the Shires in England were described to an equaldegree of perfection

,which will be accomplished when

each star is as big and bright as the sun .

’

Certainly August 1 7 is a day to be marked with awhite stone in my mental tablet. No one worthy of

being an Englishman can see Shakespeare’s birthplacefor the first time without some stronger emotion thanthe mere interest that attaches i tself to the home of

departed greatness. Surely, in spite of the destructionof the poet’s home at New Place and other barbaritiesthat S tratford-on-Avon folk have committed, such asthe felling of his mulberry-tree, and the almost-as-muchto-be-deplored restoration of the exterior of his birth

4: MY REM I N I SCENCES .place , there yet remains much in the shape of bri ckand mortar that has seen the immortal one from youthto age . The two spots most connected with his birthand his death exist . The little room in which he firstsaw the l ight ; the grave where his ashes rest,— theseStratford still holds. Even if no memories of Shakespeare were associated with it, the drive fromWarwickto Stratford would be worth the taking, for noth ing canbe more enjoyable than to drive through the lovelylanes and over the roads bordered with the old picturesque cottages that are so common in this part ofWarwickshire.Charlecote was my first stoppage that day. The

house is a grand Elizabethan bu ilding ; and the park(not the one where Shakespeare is supposed to havegot into trouble, for that park is at some distance fromCharlecote) is in keeping with the house. I t stillbelongs to the descendants of Sir Thomas Lucy.

Within , it has been judiciously restored harmlessly, fora wonder. The great hall bears still the principal features which it wore when— as one still wishes to believe ,although no one can prove it—Shakespeare stood therebefore Sir Thomas on the charge of killing the knight’sdeer ; the fine carved Old chimney-piece bears thedate 1 5 58 . There are a number of interesting familybusts and portraits in the hall . Among them worthyof remark is a curious oval portrait of’ the famous LordHerbert of Cherbury, by I saac Oliver. I n the bright,


gay drawing-room of Charlecote are some excellentpictures. The best are these z—Giorgioni, a knighton horseback ; Raffaelle portrait of a Marquis of

Mantua ; a small but fine Titian of Samson and the

l ion ; a fine portrait by Sebastian del Piombo, said tobe Bayard ; also a portrait by Giorgione. There arealso some good specimens of the Dutch school, amongwhich two excellent Wouvermans are conspicuous .Before leaving Charlecote I visited the lodge that facesthe principal entrance . The space between the lodgeand the house wore a glow of colour, the parterresbrilliant with geraniums and verbenas. Shakespeareis supposed to have passed the night following hiscaptu re in this lodge. From the top of it one has abeautiful view. Sending the carriage round by the roadI walked through the park, which is crossed by a fineavenue of old elms. The view of Charlecote fromthis avenue, with its bright red gables beautifullybacked by noble trees and with a foreground of ferns

,

is intensely English and delightful .J oining the carriage at the other end of the park

I pursued my way to Stratford ; just before reachingit the road runs along by the side of the Avon andcrosses it on a modern bridge. Stratford-on-Avondisappoints by the modern look of its streets, whichare wide and deadly dull , and as unpoetic to look atas Gower Street or Portland Place. I put up atthe ‘ Red Horse ’ hotel

,where I found a snug l itt le

44 MY REM I N I SCENCES .si tting-room, with ‘ Washington I rving’s Parlour mscribed over the door

,which that delightful author

occupied when writing the best account that has yetbeen written of Stratford-ou -Avon . On the wallsare several prints after his portraits . Our first visitat S tratford was naturally to see the poet’s birthplace,in Henley Street. I had not been prepared to find anewly-bu ilt, trim, tidy-looking imitation of an Elizabethan street house, and was consequently disappointed with the exterior of the building. We arecertainly affl icted by a mania for restoring old buildings in this latter part of the nineteenth century ;but why on earth the old house in which our greatestpoet first saw the light of day could not have beenpermitted to remain as much as possible in its old

external aspect is diffi cult to guess. Were it but aquestion of keeping it from decay, no one would objectto any amount of renovation, but the incredibly badtaste to restore it to what some architect or antiquarianmay suppose it to have been when Shakespeare livedhere in his childhood, is as lamentable as the result ofan aged beauty attempting to restore her lost charmsby paint and cosmetics and I believe that in no othercountry would such a vandalism as this renovatingof Shakespeare’s birth-house have been permitted.

Would that the people who took this job in hand hadbeen content to display their knowledge of how thishouse looked three centuries ago by building a Shake

46 MY REM IN I SCENCES .supposed to have been born . The walls and ceiling,and even the window-sills of th is room are entirelywritten over with signatures of visitors. Among themcan still be distinguished Wal ter Scott’s name on oneof the small panes of glass, and Thackeray’s on thelow , whitewashed ceil ing. Although the church whichconta ins the poet’s dust has been lately restored thereis no protection over the place on which a plain slab ofstone marks the spot where he lies. I expressed mysurprise at this neglect to the man who accompaniesvisitors to that sacred spot, and he said the authoritiesintended placing a rail ing round it ; but they seem inno hurry to protect the gravestone from the hobnailedshod feet of any rustic.Lord Northampton , and especially his sister-in

law,Lady Alwyn Compton, had excited my curiosity

in regard to an old place of their family’s in Warwickshire—Compton Wynyates—some fourteen miles fromWarwick . I passed a pleasant Sunday at this curiousold place, which remains much in the same state asin the reign of Henry VI I . , whose badges andcognisances are seen on either side of the fine oldgateway. Not an easy place to find is this old nest ofthe house of Compton , and I did well to h ire a dogcart and driver to conduct me thither, for there ishardly more than a path to lead one up to the oldmansion, which is placed in a kind of dell in a valley.

The warm. rich colour of the brick of the building


gives it externally a look of comfort,but within it is

wofully bare of that element or, in fact, of furniture ; butas the old antiquarian Camden truly says, ComptonWynyates is not without its pleasantness. A perfectplace for one to go to who wished to retire from activel ife. I ts present bare state within dates as far back asthe great election in 1 774, when the family sold everything of any value ; the bu ild ing itself barely escapedbeing altogether destroyed at that ruinous t ime . I twas only lately that the windows, which had beenbricked up , were reopened and reglazed. The old

place suffered , too, in the civil wars, and is supposed to have been bombarded by the Cromwellians .

The room called the King’s Bedchamber, and whereCharles I . slept before the battle of Edgehill , is full ofsecret doors and recesses a portion of a secret staircase was lately found in the wall between window anddoor leading into an upper chamber. In a long

,low

gallery- l ike room above this, called the Guard Room,

from the tradition that Cromwell’s troops occupied it,are still to be seen dark marks or stains on the wallswhich may have been made by their candles. At thetop of the house is a room known as the PopishChapel but why it is thus named is not evident

,except

that it is more highly decorated than the other rooms .A doorway in this room , richly carved , is considered bySir Digby Wyatt to be one of the most beautifulpieces of ez

’

nque-eento work in England. Near this

48 MY REM I N I SCENCES .room is a long passage- l ike room which also has itstradition , for here two hundred wounded Cavaliers layafter the battle of Edgehill— fought hard by ComptonWynyates thevwere here secretly tended by the wifeof that loyal gentleman . Lord Northampton , while thehouse was still in the enemy ’s occupation . The churchhere is curious, and is an unique specimen of theGothic of Charles I l .

’

s time ; luckily it is unique , forit is not happy in design or execution . The familymonuments, destroyed and thrown into the moat bythe Parl iamentarians , are here gathered together.Compton Wynyates was honoured by a visit fromQueen Elizabeth in 1 5 72 , and here also lodged herfather. The gilt bed he lay on was sold with therest of the old furniture after that unfortunate electionlast century .

I passed a pleasant Sunday here, sketching and wandering about the old lanes and fields, seemingly littlechanged since Cromwell’s t roopers rode victoriouslyover them after their victory at neighbouring Edgehill .Before leaving Compton Wynyates I visited Lord

Saye and Sele’s place , Broughton Castle, seven milesfrom Compton Wynyates, in Oxfordshire. I t is a fineold moated place , but has suffered much from restora

tion . I n two of the state rooms are finely decoratedceil ings ; in the hall is a family portrait, by Gainsborough , of a lady and child ; notice also a profi le ofMrs. Siddons, by West.

FROM LON DON TO YORK BY ROAD . 49

The ruins of Kenilworth , of course , were visited ,but these are too well known to require any description .

The same evening I drove through the beautiful parkof Stoneleigh , full of a gay holiday crowd that thekind owner was entertaining, and slept that night atthe Abbey— a most beautiful place, and worthy of itsowners. The next night I lodged at Coventry , drivingover to see Coombe Abbey from there Lord Craven ’snoble old place, full of Stuart portraits brought thereby E l izabeth of Bohemia when she became the wife ofLord Craven . After visiting the churches ofCoventry,famous for their beauty of proportion and their superbpainted glass, I pursued my road to Leicester, bai tingon the way at H inckley , and put up at the ‘ Bell ’hotel . From here I took the train to Stamford ,and before the gloaming had qu ite set in struckacross the fields and grounds of the park of BurleighHou se— ‘ Burleigh House, by Stamford Town.

’

Climbing over a sunk fence, I soon found myselfbefore the great entrance of the grand old pile , butunlu ckily also confronted by an angry housekeeper

,

whose vigilant eye had perceived me while undertaking my gymnas tic proceedings before reaching thehouse. When the good lady discovered that I wasnot the housebreaker she had at first taken me for,she calmed her ruffled flounces and said it was thentoo late to take me over the house, but that in themorning I should be admitted. Within , Burleigh isv01. . 1 1 . E

50 MY REM I N I SCENCES .d isappointing ; it is externally, perhaps , the finest in effectof any of the great English county palaces , but with in ,with the exception of the great banqueting-hall , theother rooms are not striking, and, what is worse, theyare full of the furniture of the beginning of this reign ,

the worst that ever ex isted . The old ceil ings , generally so beautiful and elaborate in Elizabethan houses ,have been swept away and replaced by acres of the

painted gods and goddesses by Verrio or Laguerre ;the former is said to have been employed here a dozenyears . and that he had a separate establishment and anincome of 1

, 5001. a year, all bestowed on him by thefifth Earl of Exeter, who, poor man, fancied himself avery great art patron .

S tothard’

s great paintings on the staircase aregrand performances, but as ou t of keeping w ith the styleof the house as Verrio’

s. The splendid carved Venetianchairs of state in the banqueting-hall deserve notice,and Grinling G ibbons ’

s carving. Among the portra itshere are those of Sir Walter Rale igh , by Isaac Gerrard ; portraits of Henry VI I I . , and Edward VI . andElizabeth when children , by Holbe in ; and what willalways interest here , the portrait by Lawrence of theCottage Countess, ’ Sarah Hoggins (luckily Tennysonwas not obliged to introduce her family name in hispoem on the Lord of Burleigh There is a curiousSt. Hubert, by A . Durer, in one of the state bedrooms a fine St. John, by Andrea del Sarto, in


another, and in the Queen ’s dressing-room an A ssump

tion by N . Poussin , in which the attendant cherubs arelovely.

No one should leave Stamford without visiting inS t . Martin’s Church the tomb of the great Lord Burleigh

,which Cromwell is said to have spared at the

intercession of a relative of his living in that parish.

Leaving Stamford by rail I went to Rockingham,

thence in a fly some five miles to visit K irby House,a splendid old ruin of the sixteenth century, belongingunfortunately to the Earl of W inchilsea and Nottingham . Within the court, one might fancy oneselfw ith in a miniature Louvre, so beautiful are the carvingsand so perfect the taste displayed on the stonework ;what, however, was once an exquisitely lovely buildingin which a fairy queen might have been fi tly lodged isnow but a ruin .

I t was enough to make one cry with vexation tosee to what a state of decay so perfect a building hadbeen al lowed to come.All honour to our great architect, John Thorpe,

who built K irby, and who would die a second timecould he now revisit it in its ruined state here livedSir Christopher Hatton, and, later, that ‘ bright occidenta l star,’ Elizabeth . Sir Christopher made theglorious building of Thorpe still more splendid ; andafter him,

Inigo Jones, about 1 638, decorated the frontof K irby with the magnificence that he might have

E 2

52 MY REM IN I SCENCES .

bestowed on one of his famous masques ’ at Whitehall—but here in cunningly carved stone . Not so verylong ago , Mr. Hall , in his work on Baronial Halls

,

’

says it is still ( 1 845) in a tolerable state of preservation . Alas ! it is now a lovely wreck .

‘

je semy

loya l ,’ and the date of 1 5 72 , can still be traced on the

third story, but what desolation below and within A

farm labourer and family live in what was formerlythe abode of a queen , and bats and owls fl it ou t and inof these once royal chambers .

On my way back to the railway station I vis itedRockingham Castle. From its terrace garden there isa very extensive view over Leicestershire ; on a clearday fifteen steeples are visible. The gardens are beautiful clematis and the glorious Virginia creeper abound .

Passed that night at the Bull ’ inn in Leicester.There the building best worth visiting is a fine old

town hall , where , in a handsome timber-ceiling’

d hall,a dinner was given to celebrate the destruction of theA rmada. The room known as the Mayor’s Parlourhas a handsome old fireplace in it. The church of St.Mary de Castro and the ruins of the abbey to whichdying Wolsey came , and where the reverend abbot ,with all his convent, honourably rece iv

’

d him ,

’ arewell worth visiting— the latter from association withShakespeare’s great drama, at any rate.

On again from Le icester, baiting at the Bull Inn

at Loughborough . I arrived at Nottingham that


mented. The hall is adorned with deers’ heads shotin a Sutherland deer forest, and over the fireplace inthis hall is the portrait of the founder of the place,Sir Francis Willoughby, who built Wollaton in 1 580.

There are here three fine works by Snyders, and acurious old view of the place by S ibrechtsork,

paintedin 1 665 . The gardens and grounds at Wollaton are

in splendid keeping ; there is a glorious ilex on the

west front.Left Nottingham the following morning and baited

at Paddlew ick, from whence I walked some two milesto N ews tead one of the saddest places in England, asAbbotsford is in Scotland , but not from similar causes.Had Byron not been so intensely sensitive, what happydays might he not have passed at his beautiful old ances

tral home and had not Sir Walter been so anxious tol ive in baronial hal ls, how much less unhappy his closingyears would have been Pride was the bane of bothpoets . Newstead belongs to Mr. Webb (an African explorer, a kind of sporting Livingstone ; Newstead is fullof birds and beasts shot by him) . All that pertainsto Byron is reverently cared for by the present owner,and the place is probably in better keeping now than ithas been since it ceased to be a monastery. But thereis little wi thin to recall Byron at Newstead only asmall portion of the building is in the same state aswhen he occupied it ; his bedroom and dressingroom are shown , where a few of his mementos are


kep t— his boxing-gloves, the table he wrote on, two

helmets he had ordered for his Greek exped ition , ones haped like a lancer’s, with a plaque on wh ich appearsa figure of Minerva.I n his bedroom hang coloured prints of Trinity

College, brought by him from Cambridge and in hisdressing-room are portraits of his old valet and hisfriend the pugil ist. I n the gallery is a portrait of hishandsome head , by Phillips, and a sketch of him donewhen he was at Cambridge , with his nobleman ’s blueand gold gown on. Much harm was done to the placeby the late owner, Colonel Wyldman. I t was he whorestored with such bad taste the old cloisters, which forall the world look like those on the stage of an opera .

A pretty drive of five miles brought us to Mansfield, where we baited , and another drive of half-a-dozenm iles brought the old towers of Hardwicke Hall intoview . The day’

had been one of summer storm and

sunshine ; and driving up the narrow lanes, the effectof light and shade over this wild , beautiful part of

Derbyshire looked like a picture by Constable . Theold hall is seldom now occupied but by my cousinHart ington’s shoo ting parties in the winter ; and theinmates of the house were not a little surprised at mydriving in through the fine old gates and informing thestout and good natured housekeeper, Mrs. Buxton , thatI intended passing a day or two at Hardw icke .

There was no want of room in the O ld building ;


but to get food was not so easy, so matters were compromised by my lodging at the Hall , and eating at theneighbouring inn . The drive up to the house is onenot eas ily forgotten ; the old park has to be crossed ;but by taking a short cut over the grass one approachesthe place much as Bess of Hardwicke must have donewhen roads there were none about Hardwicke Hall,all glass and no wall,’ as it was described, ow ing to itsimmense bay windows.

If not the most interesting or beautiful , Hardwickeis probably the least altered Elizabethan buildingin England . Not a stitch of the old tapestry seemsto have been touched, not an old portrait changedfrom its original place in great gallery or room of

state ; hardly any modern furniture has been introduced, and, best of all, no unnecessary repairs havebeen undertaken there , and no restorations attempted .

I occupied the room in which the late Duke died hismost enviable death .

Like nearly all the rooms at Hardwicke, the wallsare tapestried ; and a more ghostly chamber to passthe night in one could not well imagine ; besides it isnear the great gallery where at midnight the figureof old Bess of Hardwicke at one end and that of

Queen Elizabeth at the other, descend and solemnlywalk up till they meet in the centre of that long chamber,and then probably return once more to their frames.Although I visited this gallery at that very hour, and


although the moonlight streaming through the greatwindows, that rise from floor to ceil ing there, madestrange shapes to dance along the floors , and the oldCavendishes and other portraits to seem to movein their frames, neither did old Bess nor her royalnamesakeand mistress come and take their ghost walkwhile I was there . Over the great fireplace in theDuke’s bedroom is placed the medall ion portrait of thefirst Duke of Devonshire, a good Liberal in politics, asthe Cavendishes have ever been—he was not onlyliberal but remarkably handsome ; and the late Duke,who was l iberal and magnificent but not handsome,would often tell how, on showing Chatsworth to aFrench lady, she expressed her surprise at her host’sever having had so good- looking a progenitor. Thereis a touching record in that Duke ’s notice of Chatsworth with reference to Hardwicke ; alluding to theflower-garden here, he writes that it is ‘ lovely andsuited to the character of the place ; it was createdby one who passed some of the happy months of

her short life here . Not having lived here withher, it is the only recollection she has left me and inall places her irreparable loss is equally felt. She hadthe art of giving life and charm to everything thatapproached her. How fond her mother (Lady Carlisle,born a Cavendish) was of having returned her, as shesaid

, to her family ! H ow total a wreck her loss hasbeen " The lady whose irreparable loss the Duke


refers to was Blanche Howard, born in 1 8 1 2 , marriedin 1 8 29 to William Cavendish (now Duke of Devonshire) , and died in 1 840. The history of the rise ofthe powerful house of Cavendish can be read in the

portraits in the long gallery at Hardwicke . Here isS ir William Cavendish, Wolsey

’

s secretary and faithfulfriend even in his misfortunes ; and his third wife ,Elizabeth , daughter of John Hardwicke , better knownas Bess of Hardwicke, ’ she who built this old hall ,Chatsworth, and many others . She had been toldthat as long as she kept building Death would keepfrom her : a frost suddenly stopped her building, and

the old lady died . She had four husbands ; Sir WilliamCavendish was her second , and by him she becamemother to the first Earl of Devonshire. Luckily forthe Cavendishes, of all her four husbands Sir Williamwas the only one by whom she had issue, andleaving her vast possessions to his son she made theprincely fortune of that house . Here too is the firstEarl of Cork—that Richard Boyle who, landing inI reland in 1 588 ,

‘ with only 2 71 . 1 3s. in his pocket, ad iamond ring, a gold bracelet, a taffety doublet, a pairof black velvet breeches. a M ilan fustian suit, com

petent linen and necessar ies, a rapier and a dagger, ’soon became the most powerful man in the country ,and died hereditary Lord H igh Treasurer of I reland .

O f him Cromwell said that if there had been anEarl of Cork in every province it would have been


im possible for the I rish to have raised a rebellion .

H is vas t estates , in the following century , in I reland ,th rough an heiress

,helped to swell the property and

w ea lth of the Cavendishes .Here , too,

is the unfortunate Arabella Stuart, whoby her mother Elizabeth Cavend ish was related to

th is house. Here, too, is William first Earl of Devonsh i re, one of the first adventurers (in the best sense oft he word ) who helped to settle a colony in Virginia,and another in Bermuda in 1 62 5 .

The first Duke was a man of daring and truecou rage it was he who offered to . effect the escape ofLo rd William Russell , when in prison, by changingclo thes with him. Here also is the famous RichardBoyle , third Earl of Burl ington , the friend of Pope andof Gay, who built Chiswick and worshipped the memoryof I n igo Jones. Here also are the portraits of thosetwo gallant courtiers, both of whom laid down theirl ives in the K ing’s cause, James , Earl of Arran, Dukeof H amilton and Brandon , and James Stanley, Earl ofDerby, whose wife Charlotte de la Tremouille was ashero ic as her brave lord . This uncouth visage thathangs cheek-by

-jowl by the side of these great damesand doughty warriors must not be overlooked it is theportrait of Thomas Hobbes, author, philosopher andfreethinker ; the friend of Hervey, of Cowley and of

Selden . He lived long at Hardw icke, and was tutorto some young Cavendishes , and here he died in 1 679.


The curious half-length portra its of James V. of Scotland and his Queen recall one of the most interestingmemories with which this old hall is connected .

Whether you believe Mary of Scotland was saint orsinner, or neither the one nor the other, but a beautifulmisguided weak woman , which is my belief about her,there is always a surpassing interest in any place con

nected with her most unhappy and romantic life . Hardwicke, as everyone knows , was one of the many of theprison houses where she passed a portion of those nineteen long weary years of confinement, before the axefell on her neck within the great hall at Fotheringay.

But it was not in the present Hardwicke Hall thatMary was a prisoner, under the charge of Bess of Hardwicke and her last and fourth husband , George , Earlof Shrewsbury , but in the now ruinous old hall closeby . This ruin is now quite dismantled , but portionsof its furniture still exist in the more modern buildingwhere in the entrance hall are two large tapestryworked screens

,said to be the work of Mary, rept e

senting figu res of the Virtues , such as Charity andLiberality , Patience and Perseverance. But to me thistapestry seemed of much more recent design thanMary’s time. I n the same hall is a fanciful life-sizefigure of that Queen in marble by Westmacott—not athing of much merit ; and here, too, is the pricelessfresco by Holbein of the l ife-size figures of Henry V I I I .and of his father in monochrome.


old cabinets and old chimney-pieces taken from theO ld house , now pulled down , where Lady Mary W .

Montague was born . The three miles’ drive throughthe forest from Thoresby to Clumber is one of themost beautiful as regards forest scenery in England .

I t could not have been seen to greater advantagethan on that bright summer afternoon ; the eveningclosed in above the old oaks and trees in harmonywith the profound quiet that reigned among thosesplendid old trees . The parks of these great properties— called the Dukeries— join each other. Onepasses from among oaks and elms into a forest of firswith a lovely carpet of heather and ferns.Clumber—the Duke of Newcastle ’

s— can only becalled a pretty place ; the gardens once famous, andwhich in the former Duke ’s time had a staff of sixtygardeners to look after them , have now but half a dozen .

The lake is well laid out. The exterior of the houseis plain to ugliness . But within is a fine collection ofpaintings—Teniers , Murillo, and especially Snyders, areremarkably well represented . The handsomest roomin the place is the l ibrary . Watts’ portrait of the lateDuke , which is placed in one of the saloons, is as fineas any of the Vandycks there . A drive of four milesfurther, and we reached the town ofWorksop. Therethe Lion ’ hotel is much to be commended, the foodand attendance being both excellent, and the houseas clean as a Dutch village. Certainly the contrast


between an agricultural town such as this and a manufacturing one is very striking. Knowing how difficultit was to obtain leave from that ducal eccentricity

,

H is Grace of Portland , to see the interior of WelbeckAbbey

,I had written to him to get his leave ; he sent

a special messenger with a civil letter, in which, as faras I could make it out, for never was there such an

illegible wri t ing, he regretted that I should not be ableto see the pictures at Welbeck , as they were all stowedaway during the alterations that were being made tothe house , but that I was welcome to vis it the park .

I accordingly drove through various subterraneousways lit by gas, and emerged finally in a fine butsomewhat dreary-looking park ; duly admired theoaks ; and then , driving through more tunnels , went onto Worksop Manor, where there is a pretty garden ,and an ugly large house. The head gardener herehad formerly been at Erskine (my brother-in-law

Blantyre ’s place, near Glasgow) . He told me thatgoes into Worksop weekly from the works on

the Welbeck estate.

Slept at Doncaster, leaving it the next morning,driving over a disgracefully bad high road to Selby

,

where I admired the fine old abbey, now under restoration by Sir G . S cott ; also some fine horses of S ir

Tatton Sykes’.My next stage was to York , calling at Escrick Park,

Lord Wenlock’s , on the way . Two fine paintings here ,


an Andrea del Sarto, and a Fra Bartolommeo. The

garden and wood near the house are pretty , but thesurrounding country is depressingly dull and miserablymonotonous .Six miles further and we reached York , finding, as

usual , excellent accommodation at the Station Hotel .The following day, August 3 1 . Bismarck and Tommyreturned by rail to London

,for my drive had come to

an end , I having been summoned to Dunrobin , wherethe Queen was shortly expected . If my two roanscould have reasoned on the matter, they must havebeen astonished that as many weeks had been passedon the road between London and York as it took themhours to make their return journey to London . But inthose weeks I had seen more of what I wished to seemost in England than if one had gone a hundredtimes by rail . With time, money, and opportunity , Ishould strongly recommend such a mode of travell ing ;and agree with him who sings ,

The traveller caged on rail is whirl’

d by steam’

;

Give me the road, box seat, and four-horse team.

CHA PTER XXI I .THE LENOIR COLLECTION—NAPOLEON I I I .—THE SHAH

OF PERS IA— TH IERS—COUNT DE WALDECK .

DUR ING the following winter, and the early spring,I was occupied in copying at Stafford House a col

lection of historical French portraits known as the‘ Lenoir Collection ’

(from the name of their collector,the founder of the Museum of Fine Arts in Paris) .My father had made this purchase through the agencyof Dominic Colnaghi from Alexander Lenoir, about1 840. This collection consisted of several hundreddrawings and paintings in oils, crayons and pencil,and formed one of the most interesting series of

French portraits extant, commencing in the fourteenth and ending at the close of the eighteenthcentury. Had one been less vain, or ambitiousthere is little difference between those terms—it wouldhave been better to have used photography ; but Iwas ambitious, and thought that by reproducing themin a newly-discovered process, by means of which onecould transfer drawings worked on a prepared paperon to stone, which when printed off the stone had

VOL. 1 1 . F

66 “Y REM I N I SCENCES .all the appearance of actual l ithographs, one

’

wouldearn the thanks of the lovers of antiquity and history.

The thanks of a few , a very few , I obtained favourablenotices appeared in some of the English and a few of

the French newspapers which dealt with art , but thebook itself did not sell—in fact it fell flat, to use apublisher’s expression ; in short , the attempt proved afiasco. However, this first failure did not sufficientlyd iscourage me , and in the following year I broughtout , after nearly blinding myself from over-work incopying these portraits, a similar work , on a far largerscale , which was a complete failure , as far as the saleof the book was concerned . What w ith the Lenoi rreproductions and this other work of a similar kind ,I crippled myself financially to such an extent that Iwas obliged to give up horses and carriage, and otherexpensive habits , which , l ike most young men of mybringing-up and ways in London , had become almostnecessities. One does not care even to recall one’sfailures , so I shall not again refer to these ; but someaccount of the Lenoir collection , which was soon afterthe publication of my book sold by my brother to theDue d

’

Aumale , and which is now among the mostprecious treasures of Chantilly, will not be ou t of placehere. The collection , as I have said , was formed byAlexandre Lenoir, towhomallant iquarians are beholden.

I t was Lenoi r who saved , at the risk of his l ife , someof the finest monuments of French architectu re during

THE LENO IR COLLECT I ON . 67

the stormy days of the great Revolution . Bailly, at thatt ime Mayor of Paris, obtained permission for Lenoirfrom the National Assembly that the disused convent ofthe Petits Augustins in Paris should be the storehouseof the monuments that Lenoir had rescued from theiconoclas ts of Paris and the provinces. Within its wallsan immense number of tombs, monuments, and architectural fragments was collected. A portion of theserelics are still in that place, and the art student willfind within and around the courtyard of the A ca

demy of Fine Arts facing the Rue Bonaparte manystone carved souven irs of old Royal France ; the bustof their preserver looks down on these, itself enshrinedin one of the most perfect specimens of architecturethat the French Renaissance created, the superblydecorated jerade of the Chateau d ’

Anet . Twentyyears of Lenoir’s l ife were passed collecting the seriesof portraits that are now at Chantilly. Lenoir was,l ike many other enthusiasts, a bad man of business

,

and two years before his death the collection inwhich he had taken such pride was sold, and passed ,as we have seen , into England. Few saw that colleetion

,for it was placed in the private apartments at

Stafford House, and I often urged my brother to present it bodily to the Louvre. I t would have been anoble gift, and perhaps made his name almost as muchregarded

,at any rate by the artistic world of Paris, as

is that of Richard Wallace by all Parisians. But heF 2


thought otherwise , and this matchless collection of

portraits of kings and queens , warriors, statesmen ,artists

,beauties , and others recrossed the Channel

,and

disappeared for ever from the walls of Stafford House .

What treasures it contained ! Here are a few . Asuperb full-length drawing in coloured chalks of the threeColignys

— the admiral stands in the centre ; beneaththe draw ing, set in the frame , is a fragment of the bellthat tolled the signal for the commencement of theSt. Bartholomew massacre . Here, too,

is a drawing of

St. Mars by Louis X I I I. ’s own hand ; if authentic, thisportrait proves that the K ing was a good artist as wellas a musician but probably, l ike most royal works ofart, the master touched up the prince’s work. Exqu i

site drawings by Dumoust ier, the three Clouets , andNanteuil . A portrait, said to be a Holbein, of the plainfaced wife of Martin Luther. Rabelais, by Quesnel ,a face beaming with broad humour, as one might expect the creator of ‘ Gargantua to have bad. Butthe most valuable of all these rare portraits is a lifesize head of Mol iere, painted a short time beforePoquelin

’

s death , by his friend Mignard. Of this priceless work Lenoir thus writes to Colnaghi C

’

est [e

e/ze/Zd’

ceuvre de tout [es e/ze/s-d’

ceuares . C’

e.ft M olz'

ére

sizes [at dam sa robe de e/zamére, ses yew : de

feu .

’ Nearly all the Queens of France, from the wifeof Francis I . , Claude de France , down to MarieAntoinette, whose portrait by Drouais, as Hebe , are


the bright little town of Chislehurst. Around thelodge gates a large crowd of people all eager to getthrough them were with some difficulty kept back bya cordon of police. To get through these gates wasindeed not easy, an excited French '

official refusingto admit us. Roden tried —to soften this GallicCerberus by saying we wished to see his friend PrinceAchille Murat, but this ruse was quite ineffectual . Atlength the happy thought occurred of showing anotherofficial our cards we did so, and got through at once .

This civil functionary, we heard, is Vicomte de Lepic .Within the gates, outside a little lodge, a table wasplaced covered with papers and books, in which thoseadmitted wrote their names. We were told the Princeof Wales was momentarily expected , and until he hadvisited Camden House no one could be admittedthere . So we waited and dawdled outside, walkingup a short avenue, on the left of which stands thehouse , not an ungraceful pile, of red brick faced withstone or stucco . In front of the house had gatheredanother crowd , but a crowd of a much more select kindthan the one we had left outside the gates . Most ofthe men here wore decorations and orders the Legionof Honour seemed universal . I recognised the Ducde Grammont, whom I had last seen when Roden andI were in Vienna, when the Duke was Ambassadorthere ; events , more than time, had aged him . Aboutnoon the Prince ofWales with the Duke of Edinburgh

NAPOLEON I I I . 7 1

drove up to the drawing-room entrance of the house ;the crowd surrounded the carriage and gave the Princesa fe eble , almost a muffled , cheer. Half-an-hour passedand then the crowd made a forward movement, wefol low ing wi th the others the way the Princes haden tered the building, through a partially opened glassdoor in the left wing of the house . As soon as a

certa in number had entered this half-opened door wasc losed, and some minutes elapsed before a second batchwas admitted. At first , as one got within the house ,from the darkness within it was difficult to distinguishanything clearly, and one had literally to grope one ’sway in the dark amongst a crowd of black-clothed menand women , along a darkened corridor which openedin a l ine from the door through which we had passed .

O n the left one looked into what appeared, by contrastto this dark passage, a brightly lighted drawing-roombut there , too, the blindswere closely drawn . There stoodPrince Napoleon , apparently in moody isolation , hislikeness to the great Emperor more marked than ever .But one had only time for a glance ; for one had to

move on—ez'

reu ler— with the others, all pass ing upalong the dark corridor. Half-way down , on the leftof this gloomy passage , in a room, or rather a recess ,lay the open coffin, highly propped up at the head ,

so that the short figure within looked still more so .

O ne had but a few seconds to look at and to getan impression of that well-known face ; the features

MY REM IN I SCENCES .were calm and as in tranquil sleep, and only the lividcolour of the face, which was of an ashen grey,showed that life had departed from out that schem’

i

ing brain . The hands, ghastly pale and very worn ,lay crossed over the breast on which shone thedifferent orders and stars of the dead monarch .

Grouped around the coffin , and dimly l it by candles ,stood several figures in uniform, generals and others.As we paused before the dead a priest offered thebrush dipped in holy water.Among the generals one recognised Fleury’

s burlyform , looking like a huge stuffed mummy, or waxworkescaped from the gallery in Baker Street. The effect,taken altogether, of this lying- in-state, was certainlyeffective

,if not impressive it was too theatrical to be

that . What struck me was the apparent absence of

any real emotion or sorrow among those present.Not even as the spectators came out from looking onthat corpse did any of the French seem at all affected .

LeRoi est mar t, m’

ve le Roi ! So must it always be.

We got back to town by two o’clock, passing endlessspecial trains , all gorged with others bound on thesame errand as had taken us to Chislehurst . ’That most uninteresting of foreign potentates, the

Shah of Persia , visited England that summer, andnever did the Londoners, or the society of London ,show greater snobbishness than in giving such a t ecept ion as the former did , and in entertaining so hand

THE SHAH OF PERS IA. 73

somely as did the latter, a man utterly without arecommendation , except that he is called by hisslaves and courtiers , and by himself, ‘ the K ing of

kings, ’ and the Lord of lords ! ’ A more effete,ungracious, uncivil ised creature than this yellow-facedPersian could not be imagined ; but English societywhile he was in London prostrated themselves beforehim and his ugly jewels as if he were some demi-godfresh from Olympus. I n a feeble journal of his travels(probably written by his secretary) the Shah recountedhis impressions of England and the English . I willmerely refer to his visit to my brother at Trentham .

The story of his asking the Prince of Wales whether,when the Prince came to the throne, he would not

behead his host, is a true one. The answer thePrince made

,to the effect that there were so many

other great nobles in the land that he could not undertake such a clearance, is also authentic.When this Asiatic arrived at Trentham , it began

to rain , and an umbrella was brought to his un

majestic majesty. On returning to the house, as hepassed over the garden-terrace, he threw down theumbrella, which one of his courtiers scrambled after.I t made one feel inclined to give both the masterand the servant a kicking. Like all Eastern princes ,the most childish and sill iest things appeared to impress him most. He was in ecstacies at seeing usplay at bowls, but what appeared even more to del ight


him was having the game of cock-fighting performed .

Perhaps, considering the way in which an As iatic princeis brought up and the fashion of his l ife , this particularone was not a bad specimen of his class ; but he reminded one of the description given by Evelyn of

Peter the Great when the Czar visited London—a

mixture of civilisation and barbarism , of magnificenceand dirt, in which the latter qual ities preponderated .

At the end of his diary the Shah writes The English people were really annoyed and sorry on account ofmy leaving them Let us hope, for the sake of theEnglish people, that this statement was as incorrect asmost of those recounted in this personage’s diary.

I n November of that year I made the acquaintanceof M . Thiers. An old friend of his and of mine ,Lady Alice Peel, had given me a letter of introductionto the ex President of the French Republic ; and , armedw ith this, I called at his house in the Rue du FaubourgS t . -Honoré, a few doors beyond the English Embassy.

That evening I received an invitation to call on him.

Accordingly at nine I made my bow. His apartmentis situated in the inner courtyard of the hotel ; a flightof steps leads into an anteroom , where was a servant inattendance, who ushered the guests into the drawingroom , or rather rooms, as you pass through an anteroom before reaching the larger one, where the exPres ident received his company. At first, on findingmyself in the centre of a large room occupied by a

TH IERS . 7 ;

dozen people seated somewhat formally against thewalls, my habitual shyness inclined me immediately to

retire to freedom and cool moonlight air. But it wastoo late for retreat, for Thiers , who had been sitting on

a sofa by the side of a lady dressed in pink, had espiedme , and qu ickly crossing the room , at once entered intoconversation and my shy fit vanished . I began bythanking him for the kind celerity he had shown in so

promptly responding to Lady Alice’s letter, and for thehonour he had done me in leaving his card at my hotel .Oh, Lord Gower, n’

est-eepas ? he said . He then ledme up to a stout middle-aged lady dressed in black , towhom I was presented . This was Madame Thiers .Her sister

,Mdlle . Dosne , dressed also in deep mourn

ing, sat near her by a roaring fire . Thiers herereturned to the pink lady, leaving me with his somewhat formidable- looking spouse . However, she wastalkative, even agreeable, and had it not been that Iwas slowly roasting in front of the exceedingly ardentwood fire, I should have felt tolerably happy. Morevisitors now were announced , the. American M inis teramong others , Mr. W ashbourn, and his lady,” a pertl ittle Americaness, who ratt led away to MadameThiers in English , or rather in Americo -English , andalso to M . Thiers, in spite of Madame T . telling herthat he did not understand that language but this onlymade her speak the , more and the louder. Apparentlyglad to escape from this unknown tongue, Thiers

76 MY REM IN I SCENCES .beckoned me to a place out of the region of that terriblewood fire and theWashbourns , and , sitting down on asofa with our backs to a large mirror, he began talkingas if he had been suddenly wound up by an invisiblekey. He speaks in a clear, metallic , penetrating voice .

He said how many of my relations he had knownGranville (perhaps on account of the family namebeing the same) he seemed to think much nearer relatedto me than anybody else . Of my dear mother hespoke with greatest admiration . E lle etaz

'

t ,” he said ,

la plus grande dame a’n monde I could have

hugged the little man, spectacles and all , when he saidthat. When I asked him if he saw her l ikeness toMarie Antoinette , he said , M ats, elle etaz

'

t bz'

en plns

belle one M ar ie A ntoinette and there again he wasright. The conversation once set going on that topic—Marie Antoinette— I pumped h im regarding anyletters of hers that migh t still exist, yet unpublished.

Thiers said he thought there were some in Paris,and, perhaps, he said , there might be st ill some atVienna. He thinks Feuillet de Conche’s publishedletters of her are in the main genuine . He thentalked politics said he had wished and striven throughou t his life to introduce into France the Englishform of Parliamentary Government , and to establisha Const itu t ional Monarchy l ike ours. “M ats,

” he saidangrily ,

e’

ttaz’

t impossible tons nos roz'

s one j’

a i

connus ont H e thinks it is all up with

78 MY REM IN I SCENCES .two years ago, I saw the photograph of a strikinglooking old man with a Rembrandt-l ike head , thisLady Waterford told me was the l ikeness of an oldCount Waldeck , a centenarian , who lived in Paris.Later on Lady Waterford sent me a letter from Mr.John Palliser giving some account of this aged patriarch, of his artistic capacities, He sent pictures tothe Salon, which he styled les loz

'

sz'

rs d’

nn eentenaz'

re

The great age of this Count, his talents, and his havingbeen acquainted with Marie Antoinette, made mewish to see him, and accordingly I called on him latelyhere in Paris. After what appeared an interminableascent up a very dirty staircase, I reached the Count’sdoor, and was shown into a small den of a study inwhich , seated by a table near a window, and employedin drawing what looked like some mathematicalfigures , sat an old man who required only a peaked hatand a dressing-gown covered with comets and stars tobe Z adkiel , or the Wizard of the North . Not butthat the old gentleman had a most benevolent countenance ; but, knowing his almost fabulous age, th isgreybearded old relic of a former century, whom deathhad seemed to have forgotten, gave me a kind of

mystic feeling when face to face with him . He worea long, loose dressing-gown , and on his head a darkgreen Tyrolese-shaped wideawake

,from under which

fell long, scanty grey locks—both beard and hair aslong as any hermit’s ; the eyes, bespectacled and nearly

COU NT DE WALDECK . 79

hidden by the drooping eyelids , looked over a largeand heavily-veined nose. Except being very deaf, theold Count has nothing about him indicating the centenarian. His memory is marvellous, and he seemsto recollect the events of ninety years ago as clearly asthose that happened a few months back . He knew Iwas English

,and he said he never failed to recognise

those of that nationality. Having asked him regarding his painting, he took me into an adjoin ing room , arather bigger one and better furnished than his studyit was in fact le salon , evidently a room only used on

state occasions . The day was bitterly cold , and I wassorry for the poor old man staying in such an icy roombut he had got hold of a large portfol io full of hisdrawings, made half-a-century ago in Mexico, views ofruins of cities once inhabited by now forgotten races ,quaintly carved gods and temples of an unknownrel igion these the poor old gentleman said he wouldpublish if he could get enough subscribers to aidhim . The late Emperor had promised to take adozen copies of the book , at ten pounds a copy. Sedanhas been a calamity for the old Count. Alluding to thewar and the Commune , he said these things had shortened his life by ten years ! What much interested mewas the photograph of a picture he painted from recol

lection , of Marie Antoinette in the Conciergerie ; theoriginal of this belongs to a lady in I reland . I t appearsthat during the Queen ’s imprisonment he succeeded in


making his way into the prison, disguised as a NationalGuard , on the second day after her removal from theTemple to the Conciergerie. Some of his Mexicansketches are very forcible, but his oil paintings have allthe hard look of the school of David . A large painting, Pyramus and Thisbe ,” he exhibited last year atthe Salon.

I called again next day on this old relic of formerdays . I found him in his sitting-room. Alluding tothe Reign of Terror, he said he still felt a cold shudderpass all over him whenever he thought of it. The

following is copied from a letter he wrote me, havingasked him to write any recollections he could recall ofthe unfortunate Queen —“

Qnana’ M ar ie A ntoinette,

”

he writes, “fz2t Reine, Tr ianon eta it sa a’emenre deprea

’i

lection , et ses act ions a'e grand jonr sont eonnnes a

’e tont

le mona’e, sa vie a

’o B ergere entonree a

'e ses a

’ames a

”/zon

nenr , la P r incesse a’eL amballe en te

’

te-d téte, deer ite a'nns

plnsienrs onarages . A ttae/ze par mon perea la Roy ale

re‘sia

’enee,j

’

aaais dojonrna lz'

eres occasions do me tronoer

l’

angnste oietinze a’

ont lo senl a’effant e

'

tait son ma in

tien defi erte‘. E tant A llemana

’

je jonissais a”

nn pr ivi

lege one lesplns grands et nobles courtisans au raient pn

w’

ennier . Sa M ajesté a ima it apar ler la langne de sa

noblepatr ie, et j’

etais a’enenn nne lzenrense ne‘eessite‘, nn

passetemps sans eonse'

onenee onana’le temps n

’

o‘tait pas

bean , elle me eona’nisait dans son bona

'oir , et laje

re/Iona’ai d mille onest ions, one ses Roya les leares n

’

a i

COUNT DE WALDECK. 8 1

<gnaien t m’

adresser l E lé'oe de jussion f aima is les

fl enrs, et mes descr iptions classiones ava ient lo boubour

d’

inte‘resser mon inter locu tr ice c’

est d la B otanione

one je deva is l’

/zonnenr dont le souvenir m’

est encore

precieux. C’

est l'

nnione episode oneje crois ait ecbapped

l’

observation de ceusc oni ou t retrace lespaisibles loisirs

d’

uneReineou i a ete/contensesnent ca lomnicfepar d

’

antres

auteu rs nomispar l’

en er . Teta is loin depre‘ooir alors la

fatale Revolution de’

93 , et la Concierger ie onje la aois

les c/ceoeux grisonnant dcfid il n’

est donc pas étonnant

on’

ils soient deacnns blancs dans la nu it ou i su ivit son

inione condamna tion M es tr istes souvenirs desfours

de la Ter reur nepent/cu t s’

efl'

acer dema memoire, etjeme

nois encore inondedu sang de la bonne et loyalo P r incesse

Lamba lle découlant de sa té'

te por tee sur nne p ione

au -dessus de la mienne. Vai lé , M ilora’

, lopen de fa its

oui se retracent don/enrenseme nt d ma mémoire. N e le

1 6 M ars, 1 766, si mon au tograph pent nous etre agrea

ble,je me souscr is aaec, etc. ,

‘

J EAN FRIEDRICH MAXIME DE WALDECK .

This letter, which has to me something in it as touchingas an old Royalist song, that of Pauvre Jacques ’

for in

stance,hummed on an old spinet, is written in a beauti

fu lly clear small round hand , as legible as type . I t cancertainly be considered a curiosity of literature. Somepeople have their doubts respecting the real age of theCount deWaldeck , what seems uncontested , however, isVOL. 1 1 . G

82 MY REM IN I SCENCES .that in 1 826, when he was sixty and in want of money,he presented some of his oil paintings to the Ecoledes Beaux-Arts , and asked francs for them .

M . Bastard , the director, replied that the funds athis command did not permit him to make a purchaseof that importance, but that if M . Waldeck consentedhe would obtain for him an annual allowance offrancs. The painter has therefore received duringforty-eight years a total sum of francs !

C H A P T E R X X I I I .1 874: WORK AND PLAY .

T I IE new year was saddened by the news reachingus, while passing Christmas and New Year’s week atTrentham , that Alfred Charteris—second son of theElcho’s—had died on his way back from Africa, wherehe had taken part in the Ashantee campaign . Hewas in bad health when he left England

,and the

doctors had warned him that he went ou t at his perilbut Alfred Charteris had one of those natures whichare attracted by danger, and nothing could stop hisfollowing his regiment to the war. His was a verybright young spirit. His parents had gone to meetthe vessel at Southampton that was to have broughthim back to them, and only when it arrived did theyknow their loss what a tragedy

I called on Sir Henry Thompson at 35 WimpoleStreet

,to have a talk with him about cremation , in

which I quite agree with him . I found him paintinga still-life subject in a delightful studio. He showedme his strange pets—a python and a young boa con

strictor. Then to Seymour Haden ’s studio in theG 2

84 MY REM I N I SCENCES .Avenue, out of the Fulham Road. I found him inthe act of taking a proof of a glorious etching he hadcopied from Turner’s “ Calais Pier,” in the NationalGallery. I t is probably the finest

,and certainly the

largest, sea-piece ever etched. Seymour Haden is amost enthusiastic artist.

7 annary I4.

— Met at Maclure’

s—the publishers ofmy Lenoir book— in the city, old George Cruikshank ,whom I had not seen for many a year—not since1 857, I think, when he gave us children each one ofhis fairy books mine was Hop 0’ my Thumb.

”

Although eighty- two, his eye is as bright and fullof life as ever, and he looks not more than seventy .

We lunched together in one of the crowded restaurantsnear the Mansion House. George Cruikshank nevertouches wine, and seldom water. ’On the morning of January 24, London awoke to

find that the Liberal Government had ceased to exist.A startling bit of news indeed. Gladstone’s manifestoto his Greenwich electors fills three columns of theTimes ” he promises , if returned by them to power,to abol ish the income tax , &c. This will end myshort Parliamentary career, which began in May 1 867.

Now that young Stafford is twenty-three, it is h ightime that he should represent Sutherland. The onlyregret I feel in leaving the House of Commons is thatAlbert cannot also be accommodated with a seat butunless he contests North Staffordshire, I do not see


Later that month I paid the Granvilles a visit atWalmer Cas tle. A long and dull railway journey toDeal . Mr. Dasent (Delane

’

s brother-in-law) ; Devey,the architect ; and Miss Blanche Pitt, Granville’sniece, were all the party. Dasent is an amusingand incessant talker, and prevented the others fromgoing to sleep after dinner. Walmer has been muchimproved by Lord Granville . Before his time it musthave been about as uncomfortable a habitation as alighthouse or a Martello tower. The little, plainlyfum ished room in which the Great Duke died is keptin the same state as when he occupied it. Some of

the furniture, the Chippendale dining-room chairs , forinstance, were here when Pitt was Lord Warden .

Walmer Church is a frightful erection—without andwithin ; but redeemed by two grand old yew-trees inthe churchyard.

‘We visited Lord Clanwilliam’

s castle at Deal buthe is only there—wise man—during the autumn andthen went with Granville and Devey to see a l ittlehouse they have built on a desolate bill, which LordGranville calls “ Vetas (his eldest daughter’s name)Villa. Granville informed me that Westminster wasabout to be made a duke ; but it was three days laterthat Westminster received a letter from Gladstoneannouncing this bestowal of dignity “ with his dyingbreath .

”

I had made the acquaintance of a well-known and

WORK AND PLAY . 87

now regretted Royal Academician , Mr. E . M . Ward ,some time before this period , and often paid him andhis gifted wife visits at their house in Tyburnia.

To see Ward ’s new picture, the subject of whichis Lady W. Russell interceding for her husband’slife with Charles I I . A good work. Mr. Doran wasthere, and Frith came into the studio soon after. Thelatter made many criticisms on the picture, and wentso far as to make corrections on his Majesty ’s wig,which he thought was too long.

‘ Called on Lady Cowper after dinner, and found herall alone in her great drawing-room facing St. James’sSquare. The old lady, in her white cap and blackgown, l ighted with but a pair of candles and a lampin that long room, with its m assive gilt carvings andceil ing, and the dark old paintings on its walls, wouldhave delighted Rembrandt. ’

A t -the end of April I left town for Castle Howard ,where I passed three months hard at work copyingthe Clouet collection of portraits, three hundred headsof kings, queens, and courtiers of the middle of thesixteenth centu ry, drawn in chalks .When I arrived , Lord and Lady Lanerton were

here ; but they soon left ; and my squire, Robert Tuffs,and I have the great palace all to ourselves. ’ Thedays passed and resembled one another, with but littlevariation. April 23 , visited them ausoleum . Few of

the catacombs within that spacious tomb-house are


occupied—not more than a dozen, I think there mustbe room for over a hundred to come . The only funeralI attended here was my uncle Morpeth’s , in December1 864. He rests below his parents , almost on a levelwith the floor, which is damp . Against the discoloured stone ou which his name is inscribed is afragment of a little faded wreath . I t was a greatcontrast coming out of these chambers of the dead onto the sun-warmed , daisy—covered grass , all aroundlambs sporting and spring flowers perfuming thebreeze. I t was indeed like a little rehearsal for theresurrection .

’

I had brought my blue roan Merrylegs’ with me

from London , and on him I scoured the neighbourhood ; but nearly all day was passed employed incopying the old French portraits . My efforts at reproducing these, or rather the Lenoir collection, hadgained the attention of one eminent man . The following letter from Mr. Disrael i made up to me for anyfeelings of disappointment that I may have felt at thefailure of my labours.

April 27.

DEAR RONALD GOWER,—Alas ! I never see you ;

but I do not love you the less . There is a vacancy inthe Trust of the National Portrait Gallery, over whichLord Stanhope presides. The duties of a trustee arel ight

,but they are most interest ing and agreeable and

adapted to your tastes. If you like, I will appoint

WORK AND PLAY . 89

you to the vacant post. You will find , among yourcolleagues, some of the most eminent men in England .

Yours sincerely,D ISRAELI .

’

Some of my colleagues were certainly among the‘ most eminent men in England —being Disraeli ,Mr. Gladstone

,the Dean of Windsor, and Lord

Derby, among others ; but one of the most remarkable, Thomas Carlyle, had resigned six years beforeI became a trustee .

While copying half-a-dozen Clouets per day on anaverage, my artistic valet was not idle. He wasambitious enough to make an oil copy of the famedThree Maries

,

’ by Carracci and of the splendid portrait of Snyders , by Vandyck . He had suddenlydeveloped a strong artistic faculty, which, in one kindor another, every one has something of, and th isfaculty, under favourable circumstances, might oftenbe improved and developed. At other times he wouldbe photographing views of the house and gardens.So busy was I then , that even an invitation to pass

a Sunday with an agreeable neighbour, Lord Houghton ,at Fryston , did not seduce me from my work .

I had scorned delights, ’ and was leading ‘ laboriousdays ’ at my self-appointed task. Letters would arrivefull of the great l ife in far-away London ; in one ,

written in May by my sister, Constance Westminster,

99 MY REM I N I SCENCES .she tells me that Millais is painting her portrait‘ a rugged face, but better, ’ she thinks, ‘ than if itwere too pink and smooth .

’ Methinks, ’ she writesof the Czar, then in London , ‘ the Emperor is a finelooking man , but so sad and worn ; Guildhall wassaid to have been very touching ; when he spoke of

his daughter, the tears ran down his cheeks. ’ H ow

ever, once during that month of May I thought achange might be pleasant, and one Saturday afternoonI went to neighbouring Scarborough ; but this visitwas not a success. A very short inspection of Scarborough was enough—for the next afternoon I wasback again at Castle Howard. Scarborough is a badimitation of Brighton , with a touch of RoshervilleGardens about it in fact, a detestable place ; andhow swarms of people can go and pass a summerthere is to me inconceivable !The family was continually increasing, and being

given in marriage. Almost on the same day in J ulyI heard of my youngest sister having had a fifthson , and an eighth child , and the announcement fromher eldest born (Grosvenor) that he was engaged toLady Sibell Lumley, of whom my sister writes withdelight She is a little darling and perfection thereis no one in the world Grosvenor and self would havepreferred .

’ And so it proved.

Before the end of the summer. I had some dissipat ion in London—two balls, and rather remarkable

WORK AND PLAY . 9 1

balls these were - the first a masquerade at LadyMarian Alford ’s, in her pretty red house at Kensington .

‘ I t seemed a most un-English affair altogether, but was amusing enough . I was much puzzledas to the identity of a lady whom I took to supper ;and only discovered, on her taking off her mask, thatit was my august relative , Princess LOU ISC On myretu rn to Castle Howard, in order to finish a work Iwould have done well not to have begun , I workedharder than ever, nine hours a day ! Mark this,gilded youth ! Probably the gilded youth will thinkme the greater fool of the two, as the labour, I haveconfessed, ended in failure ; but it proves that one whomight have led the same easy, useless, frivolous, aimless l ife thought it better to bury himself down in an

old house in Yorkshire, and work as few of the poorestof clerks and attorneys do

,or can .

I apologise for again referring to my book on the

Lenoir collection ; but my excuse is the followingletter, which ( I having sent a presentation copy to Mr.Disraeli of the Lenoir collection) reached me at CastleHoward

2 Whitehall Gardens, July 16.

D EAREST RONALD GOWER ,—You must think me

the most ungrateful of men— instead of the reversefor not before this acknowledging the receipt of yourinteresting and sumptuous offering. But I could notbear to thank you by the hands of another, and I have

92 MY REM I N I SCENCES .been so pressed with affairs, that it is only recentlythat I have been able to examine the contents of thewelcome volume. I t is a great accession to theHughenden l ibrary . A new portrait, to me at least,of Mary Queen of Scots, and not a disappointing one !What women were Cleopatra and Mary ! Men are inlove with them still ! When shall I see you

Ever yours,

At the completion of my task , I proudly enteredin my diary Completed 301 Clouet drawing copies.I may truly say I have worked at them like a

machine. ’On July 2 2 (this is that other ball I have referred

to) the Prince of Wales gave a fancy dress ball atMarlborough House .I t was very picturesque, and some of the dresses

(the Duke of Buccleuch’

s , for example) quite superb .

The Duke of Wellington lent me a gorgeous su it ofs lashed crimson velvet with blue satin—in the style ofthe German knights of the sixteenth century. AnnieSutherland as Henrietta Maria, and Florence as the

White Cat,” were very effective. I rving and severalothers came to S taflord House to see these costumes.Billy Russell looked well in a black cavalier costume,wearing a Shakespearean tuft on his chin . The DukeofWellington, as a Spanish hidalgo , wore his father’s

94 MY REM I N I SCENCES .the Museum , where are some interesting paintings .

Rotterdam is highly picturesque—the combination of

canal w ith the red-bricked and high -gabled houses, andthe rows of l imes that are so common in these waterystreets , have a capital effect. I detected no smellsas I was told I should find here. The people are extremely civil. What is best worth visiting here, are thedrawings by old and modern painters in the Museum—there are upwards of The best moderncollection of pictures at Rotterdam is that of Messrs.Lebebur and Heyerman

’

s ; but modern art is milesbehind the old art of the country . From Rotterdamall who value Dutch art must pay Cuyp ’

s birthplaceDort— a visit. I t is easily reached by steamer.

Here is a fine old church, but, l ike most Dutchchurches, very bare , barren , and cold within . Thecarnival was in full swing while I was at Rotterdam ;

and all night long the streets were crowded with anoisy population cheering and shouting, and generallymaking sleep impossible and night hideous. Butone hardly saw a single case of drunkenness . Thesingular and , as it appeared to me, i rreverent fashionthat obtains in the Dutch churches, even duringservice, of the men keeping their hats on, muststrike all visitors ; o 'ne felt— as I told the Queen of

the Netherlands that one had entered a Jewishsynagogue by mistake, and not a Protestant place ofworship .

WORK AND PLAY . 95

At Rotterdam , the Church of St. Lawrence boastsof a fine organ , and the congregational singing isdecidedly good .

I had intended going to the Hague from Rotterdam by canal ; but the weather was so bad for thatmode of travelling, that I went instead by rail , stopping at Delft on the way. That old town is a mostquiet and sleepy place

,and , for all the world , has not

waked up since the time of Will iam the Silent. I t isfull of his memory—you are shown the spot wherehe fell , and within the cathedral the fine monumenterected over his remains.

From Delft the pleasantest way of reaching theHague is by the tramway. The best hotel at thecapital of Holland was full—the 0nde Do'

elen—andso I had to put up at the Hotel Panlez .

‘ The whole of the next day I passed in theMuseum of Paintings . A ltogether they rather disappointed my expectations—although it is well worthall the journey to see the Rembrandts here . PaulPotter

,too , is grand on these walls . Mr. Motley, the

historian , had given me two letters of introductionone for an artist, M . Bischopp ; the other for theBaron S chimmelpenninck. The eminent painter ofthe Hague,” as Mr. Motley calls him, was absent. Iknow no one ,” writes Mr. Motley of him , in the wholecountry who will give you more exact informationregarding the art treasures of Holland than he can

96 MY REM IN I SCENCES .his wife, an English lady, is also an artist of greatdistinction .

”

O f the Baron Mr. Motley wrote Heis a gentleman of talent and high position—an intimatefriend of mine, whose near relative, M . S teengracht , isthe owner of a famous private collection of old mastersat the Hague .

’

‘ To Scheveningen—the Brighton of the Hague— recalling Van Goyen and Backhuy’

sen’

s landscapes,and of interest to English folk as the spot from whencesailed Charles I I . ’The amiable Queen of the Netherlands, who was

then at her villa near the Hague , the House in theWood , I also visited . Her Majesty had sent for meto call on her there . The Queen was most affable Ihad a long te‘te-ci-té‘te talk w ith her in her little cabinet,hung all around with portraits and miniatures of

princes and princesses of the House of Orange.Motley’s portrait hangs in one of the drawing-roomsin the H u is in B asic.

On returning to the Hague, which is a pleasanthalf-hour’s drive from the royal villa, through a woodin which Potter and Adrian Van der Velde oftenstudied, I found that Baron Schimmelpenninck von

der O ije (to give his lengthy name in full) had calledon me and with him I dined that evening, and on thenext day visited with him some more collections of

art-objects . Among these was a house beautifullyfitted up in the seventeenth-century style by, and

98 MY REM I N I SCENCES .Hoop col lection , now unfortunately dispersed . BaronMackay had given me a letter of introduction to anamateur at Amsterdam , a M . Crommelin, who l ivedon the H eerengasse, the most aristocratic part of thec ity ; and here he had got together a very fine colleet ion ofmodern Dutch water-colour drawings . Thanksto M . Crommelin ’s kindness, I was admitted to mostof the private collections in Amsterdam

,and here I

found so much to see that I gave up a project I hadformed of visiting the north of Holland, and devoted allmy time to these collections. None of these privatecollections is of greater interest than the Van Loon ;many of the pictures have never left the house sincethey were first hung in it some two centuries ago . No

artist should omit visiting the collection of etchingspreserved in the Treppen/znis , or Museum. Amongmany rare ones are some that are unique.The village of Saardam is well worth seeing.

From one spot near it we counted sixty-nine windmills all hard at work. How very mad such a sightwould have made the Knight of La ManchaAfter ten pleasant days passed amidst the galleries

of Amsterdam I left for Utrecht ; and here I stayedsome time, finding most comfortable quarters at theH b

‘

tel des P ay s-Bus . I cannot too highly praise this

hotel . The people to whom the house belongs arecivil ity itself. ’The ancient , and once strongly fortified , town of

WORK AND PLAY. 99

Kempfen should be visited from Utrecht ; an old townhall and one or two of the picturesque and fort ifiedgates are well worth seeing.

Returning to Amsterdam I again went to see the

Frans Hals’

s at Haarlem, and heard the old organ inits church, on which Handel had studied in his you th,

played. His Dead March in Saul ’ sounded mostimpressive as it echoed through the darkling aisles ofthe old church .

Bes ides the portraits by Hals at the Town Hallthere are four superb portraits by him at a sort ofalmshouse, called the Berestein House .

’ Visit theseby all means ; one of them represents a little girldressed in scarlet, and is a perfect gem . We were toldthat large sums had been offered for this portrait— butin vain .

Having completed my notes I returned to Rotterdam, and from Breda to Antwerp by rail, which Ireached on September 1 9. I t almost took away one’sbreath to see Rubens’ gigantic canvas after the worksof the Dutch school.At Brussels I found a letter from my sister Con

stance Westminster that made me regret having beenout of England. The letter is dated from LochMore. She writes : ‘ I was very tired after the fest ivities (there was a reception given to Westm insterby the town of Chester in honour of his having beenmade a duke

,and rejoicings at the approaching mar

I I 2


riage of his eldest son) , but all did so extra well suchweather—quite perfect— no hitch at all. There wereover to feed all that week daily ; the tentsenormous and handsome ; but what I did wish is thatany and every one who cared for us at all should haveseen our Chester reception . For a mile and a half asea of human beings, all so enthusiastic, cheeringviolently. The road all lined with Venetian masts ,and the old city a mass of flags and decorations . Theprocession took three-quarters of an hour to pass us ,marching briskly, at the Town Hall . We all stood ona landing, and were much cheered by the surgingcrowd . Grosvenor and Belgrave got through theirspeeches very well. Sibell looked a great love, andwas nearly knocked down by old women at Chesterrushing to shake her hand . But we felt this receptionat Chester was really for Grosvenor, and I assure youit quite thrilled through one, for one could not but seethat from high and low how genuine it was. ’

On arriving at Loch More another receptionawaited them ; this time given by the ghillies andforesters of the west of Sutherland .

‘We had,

’ shew rites, ‘ a thorough surprise on reaching Loch More ;a great reception , much cheering, and a large heatherarch

,numerous flags, horses taken ou t , and we dragged

up by forty or fifty men , at such a quick pace— allforesters and ghillies. I n the evening a bonfire on thetop of Ben Screvi, and rockets too.

’

102 MY REM I N I SCENCES .Louvain , w ith its superb town hall and curious

old churches, as well as the splendid altar-pieceby Vandyck at the l ittle church of Saventhem,

half a dozen miles out of Brussels, representing St.Martin dividing his cloak with the beggars (ofwhich the Rubens at Windsor Castle is almost areplica , but inferior to the work of the pupil) werealso seen .

One of my most interesting expeditions was to thebeautiful place of the old Prince de Ligne—B elle-ceit

—near the town of Ath . I ts gardens almost rivalthose of Versailles in their stateliness and the graceof their well-trimmed cbarmilles . The old Prince,crippled though he was with gout, insisted on doingthe honours of the place, driving about the gardensin a pony chair. The castle (which has belongedto the family of De Ligne as long as Dunrobin tothe Sutherlands—some eight centuries) is as full offamily portraits of its successive owners as Woburnof the Russells. O f the gardens of B elle-mil, Delillehas sung and Voltaire written . At the time of ourQueen’s coronation the Prince represented Belgiumat St. James’s ; he had also been Ambassador to theTuileries in the reign of Louis Philippe, and was sogreat a potentate that there was at one time a questionof his being made King of the Belgians . The famousmemoir-writing Prince de Ligne was his great-uncle.

I never met kinder people than the old Prince and

WORK AND PLAY. 103

his wife. They warmly pressed me to prolong mystay at B elle-mil, but my time was limited, and I had todecline.Leaving B elle-mil in the afternoon I visited another

property of the De Lignes, the Castle of Antoing,overlooking the battlefield of Fontenoy. That nightI slept at Courtray, an uninteresting town ; and aftervisiting the fine old town hall of Ypres

,went on to

Ghent. That, too, disappointed my expectations.There is a deadness and a dulness in those priestridden old cities in Belgium that contrast sadly w iththe stir and cheerfulness of reformed Holland and itsbusy towns.A great sorrow closed the year.I n December my brother Albert—alas ! for the last

time—came from Beaudesert to London . He hadcome to buy some Christmas gifts ; among others, onefor our old nurse, for he never forgot the friendsof his youth . On the 1 9th he was back with hiswife and her parents at Beaudesert. On the 2 2nd,

at seven in the morning, I got a telegram fromSir Thomas Abdy saying that Albert was seriouslyand dangerously ill

,At nine o

’clock I left Euston,

going down with Sir William Gull, who had alsobeen telegraphed for. At one that afternoon wewere at Beaudesert. After a consultation, in whichGull met two local doctors, he gave us—my nephewStafford and Constance Westminster had arrived from

104 MY REM I N I SCENCES .Trentham and Eaton that morning—no hope. Ourdear brother gradually sank

,and died at three o’clock

on the morning of the 23rd. He was conscious almostto the last, and, when told how hopeless his conditionwas, said he was content to die.” The Bishop of

Lichfield (Selwyn) arrived about midnight, and ad

m inistered the Blessed Sacrament to him and to thosewho were by his bedside—Constance, the Abdys, andhis poor wife . May my dearest brother’s soul be forever at peace ! His patience, and almost cheerfulness,throughout the short but very painful illness (whichwas peritonitis, of which he had already suffered an

attack in the summer) showed what a brave, unselfishnature his was and the love and affection he evincedto all around him none of us can ever forget. ’

O f those half-dozen persons who watched by himthat awful night only two are now ( 1 88 1 ) alive. Mysister, the Abdys, and the Bishop of Lichfield have al lpassed through the dark valley. Poor frail mortalityEven as a sleep , and fading away suddenly like thegrassT he funeral was at Trentham, in the mausoleum

Trentham, where but a few days before we had hopedto have gathered for Christmas-tide and the New

Year ! My nephew Stafford and I met the body atthe station, and followed it with Sir Thomas Abdyand his sons. Mr. Edwards read that most touchingof Church services impressively .


CHA PTER XXIV .

1 875 IN PAR IS AND ELSEWHERE.

IN the middle of January of this year I went, to bequiet and undisturbed

,to Cliveden

,which I had all to

myself. There I heard of the death of two distinguished persons whom I had seen something of

Canon Kingsley and Lady Carnarvon . O f the formerI write in my diary of January 2 5 Canon Kingsley’sdeath announced in to-day’s papers. When at Cambridge I frequently met Charles Kingsley

,and at

tended his lectures there on Modern H istory ; thoserelating to the French Revolution were deeply interesting. I also much enjoyed his sermons when hepreached at the two o’clock service at St. Mary’s.Some of these sermons have been published ; thoserelating to David were especially good . I shall neverforget the impressive manner in which he quotedsome of the Psalms, which one then felt to be trulyinspired . The stutter, which in conversation was withhim excessive, he quite surmounted when in the pulpitand lecture-room , but when speaking in public he neverpaused at all . ’ O f Lady Carnarvon I write on the

IN PARI S AND ELSEWHERE . 107

same day Yesterday died Lady Carnarvon , in everysense a grande dame ; her death a terrible loss to thepoor husband, and she will be much and widely missedand regretted ; amiable, clever, accomplished , and kind,with a charm of voice and manner peculiar to herself,she was the most perfect hostess, and in her time noplace was more delightful to stay at than H ighclere.The last time I saw her, some three years ago, was inthe Isle of Wight, when she was in deep mourningfor her brother Lord Chesterfield . The world is fullof tearsLeaving my retreat at Cliveden at the end of

January, I returned to town , bringing from the countrya box full of snowdrops, which delighted my greatniece Eva Baird

,the dear l it tle woman with the

beautiful brown eyelashes and brows to match .

’

At the close of the next month I paid Ruskin ashort visit at Oxford— ‘February 2 7.

—Reached Oxfordat five, and put up at the Clarendon .

” Called atCorpus College

,where I found the Professor in his

cosy study, the walls hung with Turners, T intorets ,and Titians. We dined in hall , sitting at the uppertable

, Where we numbered some ten . The Professorof H istory (Mr. Laing) sat at the head. The dinnerwas as short as it was good . On leaving the hall weadjourned to the common-room , and then formed asemicircle round a blaz ing fire : claret, sherry, andbiscuits passed round . Later, with Ruskin to his

108 MY REM IN I SCEN CES .

study, where we ta lked together far into the night.Ruskin spoke much respecting his St . George’s Societyor Brotherhood . He purposes adding to the groundalready in his hands, and on it to build, and let at amoderate rate to any who are ready and will ing towork and cu ltivate the ground themselves. I n Londonhe has a block of houses under the management of

Miss H ill, of Nottingham Place ; she is educating andcivilising a little colony there of roughs and vagabonds .He believes the right way to l ive is to enjoy what canand may be enjoyed rightly by everyone to their ownand neighbours’ advantage ; not to attempt the life of

anchorite, ascetic, or missionary . On the subject ofmarriage he amazed me . by saying he thought beingable to bestow the title of My Lady on the girlof one’s choice a suffi cient reason for one’s gettingmarried . But any Ci ty Knight can do the same,I remarked . Next morning he showed me his schools,on which he has already spent five thousand pounds.He is utterly opposed to the South Kensington systemof art instruction .

’

During March I went abroad, staying some weeksin Paris on my way, to and back, from Vienna . Myobject in going to A ustria was to make the ac

quaintance of Mr. Ameth (the Librarian of the Im

perial Library in Vienna, and the publisher of MarieAntoinette’s correspondence to and with the EmpressQueen) . My hands were very full of work then , and

1 10 MY REM I N I SCENCES .interesting but sumptuous old building— the H6tel dela Valette, on the far distant Quai des Célestins ;within , the old place was but a ruin , theparonet floorsso decayed that they were as unsafe as rotten ice totread on the old carved ceilings and wall decorationscoming to pieces l ike the Giant Room in old HardwickHall , bu t retaining an old-world-air look about themfar more suggestive of ancient pomp and splendourthan had they been renovated and restored. The old

streets about the Latin quarter, which have now beenremoved to give place to the Boulevard S t -Germain ,were then full of quaint old houses and curious buildings in one of these—in the Rue de la Médecine —theglorious murderess, Charlotte Corday, rid t he world ofa monster. I t was with more than interest that Ientered the narrow door and visited the old room inwhich that never-to-be-forgotten deed took place.Among the old hotels, almost palaces, of old Paris stillremaining, were those of Charlemagne and De Sens,inhabited by Charles V . , and now fallen from its highest ate and turned into a sugar refinery. At the sculptor’s, M . Carrier-Belleuse’

s , in a studio full of workmen , I used in those days to work hard, varying mylabours . there, in that mountainous street Des SaintsPeres, by rambles on the quays and in the old streetsof the fast-changing old town of Paris . While therethat month I heard of the death of the French Ambassador in London , the Comte de Jarnac. I had only

IN PARI S AND ELSEWHERE . 1 1 1

parted W ith him a few days before, when he had givenme a letter of introduction to a talented young Frenchman, the Marquis de Beauvoir, traveller and author.‘ M arefc 2 3 .

— I have just heard from .M. de Beauvoirthe sad news of the death of Jarnac, which occurredthanks to our awful east wind—in London yesterdayfrom pleurisy. Two most amiable public men deadwithin this month, and from the same cause —theFrench Ambassador and Sir Arthur Helps. Theformer had been for so short a time at the post he hadlonged to fi ll for so many years , building, too (for heprobably knew from late experience that a Frenchenvoy does not remain long at St . James’s) , a housefor himself in Paris, and now he goes out, as a Frenchlady said yesterday of him at Madame de Beauvoir’sentre ouatre plane/us His poor I rish wife and old

father, the Comte de Chabot, are sad subjects to thinkon, and he himself is a real loss to France and to allwho knew him, being of that very rare breed

,a

thoroughly good specimen of the old French noblesse,full of courtesy and kindness. M . Double’s collectionof cu rios and of seventeenth and eighteenth-centuryfurniture and ornaments I also visited, and there and

elsewhere I gathered grist for my Marie Antoinettemill—at places, too, where I should have least expectedto find any ; for instance, one day in the Palais Royal,in that pretty shop near the theatre, fu ll of snuffboxesand precious toys, the proprietor, Mons. Laurent

1 1 2 MY REM I N I SCENCES .showed me some old accounts he had kept with religiouscare

,relating to the court of Louis XVI . , in which the

dressmakers’ account of the much-maligned Queenis less extravagant than those of her aunts-in-law,

Mesdames Adelaide and Louise of France ; Laurentshowed me also a list of the scanty clothes sup

plied to the imprisoned Queen when in the Temple,and he also possessed a fragment of her corsagewhich no money (although M . Laurent is, I take it, anI sraelite) will tempt him to part with . Then , too, Imade the acquaintance of Mons. Taine. Apr il 10.

From ten till one o ’clock worked in the Archives. I

had there a long talk with Taine the author ; rather aGerman professor-l ike looking man , extremely shortsighted . 2dpropos of the causes of the first FrenchRevolution—a subject on which he is now writing—hespoke very fully. We sat in a room he works in up

s tairs in the Archives the public reading and writingroom where I pass several hours a day is on theground floor

,stuffy, and ill -ventilated . Taine was

most instructive in What he believes were the chiefcauses of the great French cataclysm . Firstly, heattributes it to the terribly severe and unjust taxationthat qui te crushed the poorest classes ; secondly, to thehatred engendered amongst the people to the aristocrats, by, for instance, their servants not having to paythe heaviest of these taxes, the dime and the corvéeand,

th irdly , to the fatal effects of central isation of the

1 14 MY REM I N I SCENCES .but somewhat tawdry building

,contain ing one fine

apartment, the state sitting-room . The walls of thisroom are panelled with apparently imaginary fulllength portraits of Dupanloup

’

s predecessors in the seeof Orleans. Before returning to Paris, I visited , incompany w ith one of the abbés, the fine old cathedralwhich had witnessed the triumph of Joan , and thetaking of the town in recent days first by the Prussiansand then by the French I find that I had time evenon that day to do some work in the studio of CarrierBelleuse.During a visit of ten days to Vienna I had the good

luck to find there our M inister, Sir Andrew, and LadyBuchanan. The Embassy was unfinished, but theirhospitality and kindness were of the most finished sort .In Vienna I saw much of the Chevalier Arneth inthe Imperial l ibrary, whom I found a most obligingperson . There I studied the papers in the Archives,but those of any interest regarding Marie Antoinettehad been already made public. From Vienna I visitedthe homes of that augu st victim when an AustrianArchduchess, Schonbrunn and Laxenburg ; full of t e

collections of her and her relatives. Perhaps themost noteworthy visit that I “made at that time wasone to Frohsdorff, the home of the Comte de Chambord. Apri l 1 .

—To Neustadt by rail , taking twohours to reach it. Drove from there for about half anhour over a wretched , rutty road to FrOhsdorff, which

IN PAR I S AND ELSEWHERE . 1 1 5

has no look at all of the happy village its name mightlead one to suppose. A Baron de Raincourt did methe honours of the place , which is a cross between alarge farm building and a third-rate chateau. Theportrait of Marie Antoinette, to see which was theobject of my going there, I found to be a poor portraitby, or probably after, Madame Lebrun , in an oval frame,l ife size. I t bears the marks of bayonet thrusts andrents received on August 10, 1 792 but it is not otherwise remarkable. The Comte was out walking withhis cousins, the Grand Duke of Tuscany and Alfonso,brother of Don Carlos, both of whom were visitingMonseigneur. I had no particular curiosity to seethese uninteresting descendants of illustrious houses .The house conta ins some curiosities relating to theBourbons. In the dining-room is the bronze head of

Henri IV . , once on the equestrian figu re of the PontNeuf (this, I heard, when back in Paris, had been sentthe Count by Laurent, the Palais Royaljeweller, but neveracknowledged) . In the corridors and on the sta ircasesfull-length portraits of the last kings of France, in theircoronation robes, from Louis X IV. , bewigged and girtw ith sceptre and crown , down to silly-faced Charles X .

in the same apparel . In the Count’s smoking-roomupsta irs are two of Vemet

’

s works. Priests glided inand ou t of the rooms and up and down the stairsthick as blackbeetles in a London kitchen . Onlyone lady I espied ; she also in black ; this was

I 2

1 16 MY REM I N I SCENCES .

Madame la Duchesse de Blacas , an ancient and sombredame. ’During the early summer of that year I was back

again at Castle Howard working at copying the Frenchportraits in chalk by the Clouets , also getting manyof the paintings in that noble collection photographed, with the project of having these and othersin the great private galleries of England published—a

scheme which, thanks to Mr. Joseph Cundall and hisenterprising sons, has been accomplished in a monthlyform under the title of The Great H istoric Galleriesof England.

’ I t took nearly half a dozen years for thisobject to be realised. Here is a pleasant little bit ofYorkshire scenery.

‘ I do not think I ever saw anything more lovely as to out-of-doors beauty of colourthan neighbouring Kirkham (some two miles fromCastle Howard and close by the railway station) lookedthis evening. The Clough-Taylors, to whom it belongs ,are people to be envied. The house is surrounded bybanks of l ilacs in full bloom, set off by masses of copperbeeches

,and those again contrasted by showers of

golden laburnums . Beyond and at the back of thehouse rise the woods on the other side of the brightand quickly-flowing Derwent, and close by that streamstand the old grey and ivy-clad ru ins of the priory setin an emerald field of verdure. What a picture itmakes ! Those old ruins among the hawthorn treesnow in full bloom ! The bright meadows reflected in

1 1 8 MY REM I N I SCENCES .

gardens and grounds ; within the house are some interesting portraits of Stanleys, and there, too, is the fineRembrandt of Belshazzar’s Feast. In the dining-hallis the portrait of the heroic Lady Derby, the defendressof Lathom House, nee Charlotte de la Trémo’

ille, anundistinguished flat-featured brunette, bu t, as one mightexpect, with a good deal of determination in her countenance. There also in the hall is the old low-backedcarved chair which was used at the execution of hergallant lord when he was beheaded at Bolton . Of

interest, too, are the couple of MS. volumes of notepaper on which, with hardly a correction , the late LordDerby wrote his translation of Homer. ’That summer I also visited the ruins of Fountains

Abbey and those of Jervaux, and the beautifullysituated town of Richmond, in Yorkshire : FoundLord Ripon at Studley Royal, who did me the honoursof his superb possession—the finest ruin of the monasticage in the island a ruined gem, Set in a living casketof bright fields, and woods, and river the ownerworthy of his great trust and stewardship. At RiponI lodged at the Unicorn ,” a most excellent hostel.The following day drove over to Swinton Park—Mrs .Danby Harcourt’s—where are a few good Dutch pictures , and some of Sir Joshua’s The Child Mosesthebest of these. Drove eighteen miles to Richmondon the way visited the ruins of Jervaux Priory—pronounced “ Jarvis —which , though not to compare with

IN PAR I S AND ELSEWHERE . 1 19

those of Fountains, are well worthy seeing ; for theyhave a charm about them all their own , a charm whichit is not . easy to describe, but which must be felt. TheChapter House is especially beautiful and curious, withits six graceful pillars some of these still retain beaut ifully carved capitals representing fruit and foliage.The road lay between hedgerows of wild-roses andhoneysuckles. Richmond, w ith its castle-topped hilloverlooking the town and country, is a striking feature.I pushed on that afternoon to Barnard Castle

,where

I found the only inn full of dirty militia-men and

roystering farmers. Neighbouring Rokeby, immortalised by Walter Scott, somewhat disappointed myexpectations of beauty ; but the V iew over Teesdalefrom the old ruined tower at Barnard Cast le wasworth all the journey to see—like a living paintingby Turner, a dream of wood, valley, and river. To

Wentworth House, to see the Vandycks of whichit boasts : these are worthy their fame. Stubbs’slife-size presentment of the famous chestnut horseWhistlejacket ,

” in the great drawing-room,is in

its way a fine work—never had a horse a finertail to its back as one sees it represented on thiscanvas ; but , in life, “Whistlejacket

”was minus that

appendage—the only fault in that famous quadruped ,I bel ieve. ’Another expedition made that year was to a little

place near Tunbridge Wells -Dornden—that Lorne


had purchased. We visited some places in thatneighbourhood—Penshurst, and an old moated place,Groombridge ; we also looked in at Steam-hammerNasmyth’

s” pretty villa and its brick-paved garden , and

drove through the beautiful heather-clothed domain ofLord Abergavenny’

s place, B ridge. Lorne thinks of

parting with Dornden, finding it rather expensive tokeep up. This seems a pity, as the Princess is muchattached to it, and it is pleasant to see the busy German housewife strongly developed in her here ; she

bustles about all day, looking after and superintendingall the domestic arrangements, carving at meals, andmaking herself generally useful . After dinner westroll out in the grounds of the pretty little domain ,and visit the stables and the kitchen-garden ; andgenerally finish the evening by a game of bill iards orpool, on a capital table, given them, when they weremarried, by the Prince ofWales. ’During August I worked in Paris, both at sculpture

and in the Archives, on my then all-absorbing subject,the life of Marie Antoinette . Through the courtesyof the ofli cials, even the papers once contained in thecelebrated iron chest found in the Tuileries weresubmitted to me, and the last letter of the Queen ’s,written on the eve of her execution to MadameElizabeth, and her death -warrant, signed by FouquierTinvi lle, I was allowed to have photographed. Earlyin September I made an expedition connected with

1 22 MY REM I N I SCENCES .was so soon rendered a long martyrdom by the foulestand cruellest lies that were ever heaped upon the headof queen and woman long before her physical sufferingscommenced) stronger. I have often envied the surname acquired by a French gentleman lately deceased—M . Leopold Double—who shared my veneration forthe memory of that Queen and of sympathy for hermatchless wrongs. ’ So loyal and devoted was he toher memory that he was called l ’amant de MarieAntoinette .

’ The American historian Prescott says thatthere is no happiness so great as that of a permanentand lively interest in some intellectual labour, ’ and thatno other enjoyment can compensate or approach tothe steady satisfaction and constantly increas ing interestof active l iterary work and this satisfaction I havefound in studying and writing on the subject of MarieAntoinette—studies and writings that I hope one dayto make public. A ll places connected with that subjectI had visited and made myse lf thoroughly acquaintedwith , such as Versailles and Trianon frequently, too,had I stood in the prison, now converted into a chapelat the Conciergerie, where the last days of her sufferings on earth had been passed. Fontainebleau ,Compiegne, and Rambouillet I knew well butS t -Cloud I had never seen except as a ruin . Allthese palaces are full of recollections of her happydays but other places had to be seen, and that year Imade an expedition to Varennes, visiting on the way

IN PARI S AND ELSEWHERE . 1 23

the noble cathedral of Rheims , before seeing the different stages of the road to Varennes, so full of tragicmemories.Leaving Paris one September afternoon I reached

Rheims after dark. The H6tel du Lion d’

O r, whereI lodged

, faces the cathedral, and is within but a fewpaces of its noble portal . The grand old pile lookedprodigiously solemn under the star-lighted canopy.

Within, the restorer has been at his destructive work,and has committed more havoc than the Revolutioniststhemselves but much remains that is old and venerable . The coloured glass is superb, especially the greatrose window in the west transept. A series of fine oldtapestries l ine the walls within . The bells of thecathedral clashed and clanged all through the night,and early in the morning the hotel seemed to shake toits foundations from a torrent of metall ic sound. Thenext day, after visiting besides the cathedral thecurious old church Of St. Rémi, striking from its greatage and excessive length, but desecrated by wretchedmodern painted glass

,I left Rheims for St. Méné

bould , where I put up at the old H6tel de Metz.Here is the large kitchen immortalised by VictorHugo, placed close beside the entrance door ; butin spite of its fame it is certainly not larger thanmany an old kitchen in an English country house.In this hostel lodged some thirty years ago AlexandreDumas when here on a similar pilgrimage that brought

1 24 MY REM I N I SCENCES .me . Both Hugo and Dumas probably occupied andslept in the double-bedded room here, with its old

fashioned ‘ figure-papered walls, the ceil ing crossed

with heavy wooden beams . After visiting the old

Post-house—where the fugitive Royal family wererecognised by Drouet—and the HOtel de Ville,where they had some notorious much-needed reston their return from Varennes, I got mine host M .

Bazinet (a most amiable little man) to drive me in hiscabriolet some nine miles to Clermont (in Argonne) .The latter part of this drive skirts the hills of the oldforest of Argonne . At Clermont I changed carriagesand drove on in a tilbury some eight miles further,and at length reached my destination , Varennes. Thistilboorie , as the youthful owner of the two-wheeledshay in which we jolted over the dusty road that hotsummer’s day called it, was drawn by a stout graystallion, who responded to the name of Coco . AtVarennes we stayed an hour, long enough for me to seeall that remains of the place connected with the eventthat has made a third-rate obscure French village one ofthe most notorious places in the world. There is littleleft of the Varennes of 1 79 2 , for the house at whichthe arrest of the royal family took place is gone, anda bran-new one stands in its place. The gateway, too ,which played such an important part in the events of

that night, and which stood near the river at the end ofthe guillotine-shaped street, exists no more. In fact

,it


room , one is probably set down as unamiable, morose,if not worse. ’ At the close of that month of September my niece, Gertrude Stuart, married William,

the eldest son of W. E . Gladstone. The marriagetook place at St. George ’s , Hanover Square. Thebreakfast was given in the house of the bride’s fatherin Berkeley Square, and the honeymoon was passed atCliveden . Granville had come up from Walmer tobe present at the marriage. Francis Grey read theservice, assisted by Stephen Gladstone. Mr. Gladstone seems thoroughly happy at this event in hisfamily, and at his son’s choice he spoke to me withgreat feeling of the happiness it would have beento him could my dearest mother have lived to haveseen this day.

’

Later in the autumn I worked in Parisat my modelling, and commenced a statuette of MarieAntoinette as Dauphiness in her hunting costume, theidea having been given me from a pastelle at thePalace of Laxenburg, near Vienna, drawn by Liotard.

I also accomplished a head of the Saviour. These twobusts were exhibited during the following year at theAcademy in London. Passing the anniversary of mymother’s death at Trentham, I find the following noticeof a bust by Mr. Noble of my brother Albert that hadlately been placed in the church there : ‘ I l ike tothink that in after years the poor little fatherless boy(Frederick Gower) will perhaps look up at least withinterest at this bust of his father, whom in life he can

IN PAR I S AND ELSEWHERE . 1 27

not remember, and who would have been, had helived , so good and kind to him .

’

A bright morning in November tempted me downtoWindsor, to look again at a l ittle house that had theretaken my fancy that summer. I had looked within ,and the cosy little rooms had seemed to me just whatI required for myself and books and pictures .

I had always admired Windsor ; its castle, and

that matchless view from its terrace of EtonWith shadowy forests and with champaigns riched,With plenteous rivers and wide-skirted meads.

That day I saw this V iew in all its autumn glory,when, as Lord Beaconsfield has said , the woods werebeginning to assume the first fair l ivery of autumn

,

when it is beautiful without decay .

’ Beneath the castleterrace for miles stretched the rows of elms and of

oaks that looked like some vas t field of golden corn allaglow in the setting sun , fringed by roll ing clouds inwhich Bonnington would have delighted .

’

That day at Windsor decided me to take the l ittlehouse hard by the Long Walk that had so taken myfancy, a decision I have not regretted , for ever sinceearly days at Cliveden and Eton the charm ofWindsorhad been strong upon me and I agree with the Frenchcritic

,Nestor Roqueplan, who, describing its glorious

park, says that one view of a single glade there is

better than all the landscapes of I taly.


CHA PTER XXV .

WORK IN PARIS—MILLAIS—THE EMPRESS EUGENIE.

ONE, perhaps the greatest artistic genius that everlived

,Leonardo da Vinci , has written somewhere that

the most trivial and accidental effects of form andcolour, such as the marks of damp on a wall , or theform of clouds or of fol iage, may inspire the artistwith images which , when worked out, will formprecious works of art.

I ndeed , very ordinary things have given birth toworks that the world will not easily let die. Oneof Thorwaldsen ’s finest statues—that of the seatedMercury— owes its origin to the sculptor havingnoticed in one of the streets of Rome the gracefulattitude of a wearied peasant youth ; and probablymany of the noblest works of art , ancient andmodern, owe their origin to some such inspirations,which we call accidents . I t is that unknown qualitywe call genius, in the mind of the artist, that, on seeingsuch trivial and everyday sights , forms the shadow intoa form and from what to the vulgar eye appears buta dirty peasant, or an uncouth shape, creates in someenduring form an everlasting legacy to all time .


Bromley ; he was genial and talked much (alas ! nota word of what the great Scot said do I remembernow

, for my diary then is but a record of passingevents ; but doubtless the talk concerned the pictureshe had come to see) . He looks wonderfully haleand hearty for fourscore ; his cheeks as ruddy as

those of a charity-school boy . To the EmpressI was presented by Henry Lennox, who, as FirstCommissioner of Works , was doing the honours of

the Academy to her Majesty. She, too, was mostgracious, with a winning smile and great dignity

,but

no stiffness of manner.‘ She was struck, she told me, by my likeness to

Romney’s portrait of my grandfather, Lord S tafford ,which had been , with three other family portraits ,lent from Trentham to this exhibition . The PrinceImperial was also of the company ; he, too,

verycivil ; and for a time we were inseparable, he havinglost his mother’s party in the crowd.

’

Early in February my niece, Lilah Grosvenor,married Ormonde. I was unable to go to Cheshirefor the wedding, but met them in London on theirway to Cliveden, where they honeymooned . Mysister

,writing to me on the evening of that wedding

day,says Lilah looked too lovely, and the sun

shone on both of them all the time in church. Thedrive through Chester was beautiful ; how I did longfor you . I never saw anything so pretty as the

WORK IN PARI S . 1 3 1

whole thing was—the church a mass of eucharis, whitecamellias, and ivy. There was just enough colourin Lilah’s eyes, so bright ; veil not over her face, andMarie Stuart shaped. I t is so strange and sad herewithout her, I cannot bear looking into her room . Shewas so affectionate, poor little soul, the last evening ;I miss her quite terribly. I did so enjoy her beauty,I find now, I have lost it . ’Alas ! the terrible separation of death has fallen

between the loving hearts of that incomparable motherand her lovely beloved daughter. Still later, whenthe young couple appeared together in Dublin at theCastle, a scene that reads l ike a bit out of one of

Horace Walpole’s letters took place ; for the musicians left off playing their fiddles when the lovely brideentered the ' ball-room— left off playing in order thebetter to stare at that bright happy faceDuring that winter in London I did some work at

the Record Office on the Papers relating to the FrenchRevolution , and when in Paris began the full-lengthstatuette of Marie Antoinette (which was afterwardsdone life size in marble) . A friend , whose l ittle handswere admirably suited to make a model for theQueen’s, allowed hers to be tied together at thewrists at her back, and then to have a mould takenof them in plaster. The mark that the cords left onthe soft wrists was healed by a bracelet that recordedher kindness and endurance. Millais had painted my

K 2

1 3: MY REM I N I SCENCES .

portrait in April. Some notes from my journal of thesesittings to our greatest l iving master will interest thosewho care for art

‘ Apr il 6 .—To M illa is s studio at eleven . He

began to work soon after, and by one o ’clock hadmade a capital sketch ; almost in profile, l ife size .

He commenced by covering a fresh canvas with alow tone of Vandyck brown as groundwork, andthen worked over this while the ground was still wet

,

painting in the head without any previous drawing.

He works con amore, and makes much use of apier looking-glass. He makes one stand up all thetime

,and allows but little time for rest. However

,

he lets one talk and even smoke throughout thesitt ing.

’ Four sittings , or rather standings, and theportrait was finished it was considered extremely like,and is a fine specimen of the great painter’s secondmanner ; his kindness in making me a gift of th isportrait, and many years after of a more valued head ,the kit-cat l ife size of my sister Constance Westminster, are deeds that pass thanks. For many yearsParis and my work there attracted me more to theFrench than the English capital , and with old Richardde Bury, Edward I I I .

’

s Chancellor, I might thenexclaim , Oh , God of Gods in Z ion ! what a rushingriver of joy gladdens my heart as often as I have achance of going to Paris ! ’ Richard de Bury wasattracted to Paris by its booksellers’ shops, I by the

1134 MY REM IN I SCENCES .‘ S unday , june 4. By early train to Oxford , with

F . Miles . We put up at the Randolph ,” a Gothic butgood hotel . The afternoon was a lovely one, pleasantly passed wandering from one college to another.Magdalen is certainly the most beautiful ; there Imade the acquaintance of young Oscar Wilde, afriend of M iles ’

s. A pleasant cheery fellow, but withhis long-haired head full of nonsense regarding theChurch of Rome . His room fi lled with photographs of the Pope and of Cardinal Manning. Hisfather was the distinguished oculist of Dublin .

Most of the next morning was passed in the B0tanical Gardens, now in full bloom. Miles is a ferventand enthusiastic botanist as well as artist, and it waspleasant to find in him so much knowledge, coupledwith so much healthy enthusiasm for God’s creations,of which surely the world of flowers and plants isthe most beautiful . We went to evening service atNew College, where I had been once with Ruskin ;the singing of the choristers and the playing of theorgan worthy the place and its associations. Westrolled later, till dark, on the banks of the Cherwell,Miles making a clever sketch of the graceful towersof Magdalen in the gloaming. Next day we hadbreakfast with a son of Matthew Arnold at Balliol ,where was also a son of Childers ; a c0pious repast,but the habit of drinking beer on the top of tea cannotconduce to good digestion—after not only tea, but

WORK IN PAR I S . 1 35

coffee, chicken , and salmon ! Arnold is a good musician. While performing on the piano he was sent forby the Master (Jowett) , and returned to tell us hewas gated ”

for a week , owing to a recent escapade.We saw Jowett, who looks a most inoffensive oldgentleman, walking in the gardens of John’s College ;he is not popular in his own.

We paid Blenheim a visit lunched with the hospitable Marlboroughs , and passed a pleasant afternoonin rambling over that superb house and in the l imitless gardens .”

‘

j’u ly 5 ,

—To Holland House, where I dined andslept. Roden was also stopping there, far from well, andobliged to keep his room . F . Cadogan and I sat withhim . We had a small party at dinner, a few foreigners,including the delightful Duchesse de Mouchy, Mrs .Bishop and her daughter, and Augustus Lumley. Myroom is next Roden ’s , formerly lived in by MaryFox (Princess Lichtenstein) , and looks out on the

entrance yard and I nigo Jones’s beautiful gates . U p

the next day at five and had a delicious ramble overthe gardens and grounds, which natu rally at that earlyhour I had all to myself. A heavy mist hung overthe place and forestalled a day of great heat. Webreakfast here at half-past twelve. To-day is Sunday,and some of the party are attending mass at Kensington . All day people, mostly foreigners, cometrooping in

,and Lady Holland has an informal levee,

1 36 MY REM IN I SCENCE S .which begins at two and lasts till seven . We werefifteen at d inner this evening, Sir Augustus and LadyPaget, the Ilchesters , Huddlestons, &c .

’

A few days after I was again back at HollandHouse in order to meet the Empress of the French.

‘ At Holland House at four, the Empress had teawith the Duchesse de Mouchy and Lady Holland,and we four sat for nearly an hour in the little sittingroom adjoining the ground-floor reception-room, inwhich hang the portraits of Talleyrand and Madamede Lieven . We spoke a good deal, almost exclusivelyin fact, about Marie Antoinette, a subject that hasalways much engrossed the Empress, who, somesay, thinks herself like that Queen . O f her theEmpress always speaks as la pant/re Reine. TheEmpress told me the following story of the PrinceImperial d propos of that personage —When a merechild, seeing a pictu re by Muller of the Queen inprison , he was so indignant that he .begged the Empress to have her released at once ; nor would he bepacified till his mother assured him that the Queenhad finally escaped . The night of this conversationwith the Empress I met the Prince Imperial at a ballat Marlborough House , and he told me he perfectlyremembered the incident Spoken of by his mother. ’Later in the month I went to see the Empress atChislehurst, and had the honour of an hour’s te‘te-d-te’tewith that august lady in the drawing-room on the

1 38 MY REM IN I SCEN CES .their emotion at seeing her almost a deserted fugitive inthe palace of which she had so lately been the idol ;of her great danger of being recognised while alonewith Madame le Breton in the Rue de Rivoli , wherefor hours they had to remain , the street being blockedwi th a mob of Mobiles and the rabble forcing theirway to the HOtel de Ville to proclaim the Republic ;of another terribly long period of suspense when , atsome station near Paris, her only safety from detectionwhile wait ing hours for a train was a newspaper thatsaved her from recognition and probable death. Shesaid such a death as that had terrors for her which , ifshe could have remained and faced the dangers in thepalace, she did not feel ; and, indeed, it made one

shudder to think what would have happened had thatmob guessed who one of the two ladies in black was inthe cab in the roaring street that bright September day.

I believe the Empress has regretted ever since havingleft the Tuileries, and she had almost to be forced toleave the palace . She had the courage and the will tostand alone against the mob, but then her fate mighthave been that of Hypatia. ’Most of that summer and autumn I passed in

Paris, my ‘ Old Guard ’ being then in hand, and thestatuette of Marie Antoinette being enlarged andworked in marble by a pupil of Carpeaux, in a littleshed hard by the Versailles road, over which thepoor Queen had so often passed .

MOUCHY . no

During the autumn I paid two visits—one toMouchy, the sumptuous chfiteau of the Duke of thatname, near Creil ; the other to the old Comte deMercy-Argenteau , at Argenteau, near Liege. O f

Mouchy I write —‘ I must confess I prefer mineease at mine inn to the mode of l iving even in thismost luxurious of Chateaux . We meet soon aftertwelve for breakfast, or rather for luncheon ; if theweather is wet, as to-day, one passes most of itindoors , where luckily is a fine library, a room morelike a chapel than a library, i ts only fault a want ofdaylight, as the windows are of stained glass ; am istake in a room in which there cannot be too muchlight. I n the centre of this library is the originalmask of the head of Voltaire by Hudon . We area small party , only George d’

A ramon and a Comtede Brissac . D

’

A ramon is copying for me a portraitof Marie Antoinette

,representing her when fifteen ,

probably a gift of hers to that Marquise de Noailles(afterwards Maréchale de Mouchy) whom the Dan

phiness styled Madame l’E tiquette. One becomes,I find , very hungry before twelve o

’clock, and stillmore so before dinner, which here is at eight aswith us, and consequently one pines for the twoo

’clock luncheon . Nothing can exceed the kindcourteousness of our hosts ; the house is internallyboth luxurious and comfortable, the outside rathertoo ornate

,but curiously like Dunrobin , especially


when seen from the approach . But it is smaller andnot to compare in situation to the Scotch Castle

, for

instead of the Northern Sea, at its feet is a li ttleartificial pond . The life at a French country houseseems less attractive than it is with us ; here one

feels that men as well as women are pining to returnto Paris. No hosts can be more amiable than theDuke and his charming Duchess ; their children , thelittle Prince de Poix , and his sister, MademoiselleSabine de Noailles, are as pol ished and perfectlybrought up as it is possible for children to be ; butthey have a delicate over-old look for their age thatmost of these high-born French people ’s progenyhave, and seem as if they had been brought up ina hot-house and fed on sugar-plums and orchids . ’My visit to Argenteau took place in October.

On my way there I had met in Paris MonsignorCapel , fresh from Lourdes and its miraculous cures.There was a smart lady with him, one, he told me,of the miraculously cured ’

; but I failed to findout , from his description , of what particular complaintthe lady had been healed . Argenteau , as alreadystated , is near Liege, delightfully situated on a hilloverlooking the Meuse, and its beautiful valley thatfulfils more the Bibl ical simile of overflowing withmilk and honey than any other scene I can recall .The present building in which the old Count livesis but an appanage of the old castle destroyed by

142 MY REM I N I SCENCES .a strange face would set up a howl and a shriek ,in which his little sister lustily joined ; now they are

perfectly tame and even amiable ; the little girl, theprettiest child one ever saw , with lovely grey eyes ,black eyelashes, a dazzling skin , and cheeks likepeaches , and any quantity of curly-brown hair ; sheis one’s idea of Beatrix when a child, in Thackeray’sEsmond .

” I returned southwards with these childrenas far as Glasgow in Argyll’s yacht the Columbia .

Neikie enjoyed the yachting part of the journey, butcried dolefully on reaching H elensburg. Me wantto go back, Ne ikie don’t like dose dark places

,

” meaning by “ dose dark places the railway tunnels. She

was consoled with getting some rosy-cheeked appleswhen we reached Glasgow.

’

Sunday , October 1 , of that year, was the first daypassed at my Windsor house. Sunshine

,

’ I write thatday ,

‘ after heavy rain . I take it as a good omen ofmy future, so much of which I trust will be passed inthis l ittle house. Robert has made it as comfortableas possible, and I ought to be grateful for so good ahouse and so faithful an attendant his wife and childare here. Through the Long Walk, that best work of

Charles I l .

’

s , to call on Tait at the Home Farm ;

he was for many years head “

greive at Dunrobin ,and is now the Queen ’s head farmer. H ow beautifulthe Long Walk looked in the afternoon sunligh t ; ithas the charm and almost the solemnity of some huge

MARR IAGES . 143

cathedral,more gorgeous even than Koln or Rheims . ’

The year closed with more marriages of nieces andof nephews. Francis Tarbat and M iss L . Mac

donald , Florence Gower and Henry Chaplin— theformer in the Chapel Royal , at which Lord Beaconsfield was present ; the latter at Trentham Church .

O f the latter I write—‘N oz'ember 1 5 :“ Happy may

the bride be that the sun shines on ! and luckily ithas been a singularly bright and summer-l ike dayfor November. There was a great crowd in thechurch , which was beautifully decorated with eucharisand white camellias. Mr. Edwards , who naturally(being the Rector of Trentham) took the principalpart in the service, was much overcome, and doubtlesshe felt much moved . I did, standing so near mymother’s monument and Albert’s bust ; both of whomwould have sympathised so warmly with Florence’shappiness .

‘ The bride looked and went through the tryingordeal well . They left for Cliveden under showersof rice . A large assemblage at luncheon of guestsstaying in the house and others from the neighbourhood . Among the latter dear old Lord Harrowbywearing his Blue Ribbon and Garter Star ; the Lichfields and others. ’ On my way back to town I metLord Beaconsfield at Stafford Station , on his way to

Ingestre. How is your Lordship ? ’ ‘ I am quitewell

,

’ he answered , somewhat coldly, not making me


ou t ; but then , in a tone of affection , he added , ‘ Oh,

is it you , dearest ? ’ The year closed in with warsand rumours of wars ; the black cloud in the Eastcast its shadow over snow-covered Europe, and fordays and weeks no one expected that a great European war could be staved off. Writing on ChristmasDay to a friend , Lord Beaconsfield, who had beeninvited but prevented from passing that time atTrentham

,says ‘ I don ’t know how th ings w ill

end—everybody seems to despair of peace, but Inever despair

,and think that even at this last hour

some settlement will be arranged . Nobody wants tofight

,and least of all Russia, but she has played her

cards so ill that she w ill find it hard to extricate herself from a false position without some discredit,though I hOpe we may even gild for her a goldenbridge. ’

C/zr istmas Day . Trentham .—H ow much this

anniversary, ’ I write , ‘ brings back old happy dayspassed here, and the dear faces of those I shallnever see again on earth the old famil iar faces !The days when a child among other children ,this house was full of youthful joy and gladness—of games in the evening—in which old and youngjoined the Christmas gift-laden tree, and the theatricals in the drawing-room with the billiard-room for thegreen

o room. The presents , and the lotteries in whichno one was forgotten or drew a bad number ; the

146 u \' REM IN I SCENCES .

CHA PTER XXVI .1 8 77 :

‘ VAN ITY PAIR’—C ARLYLE—THE GUILLOTINE .

DUR ING the early London season of this year Iwrote every week for the journal ‘Vanity Fair ’

ac

counts of what went on in ‘ the world ’

; my chiefreason for doing so being a wish to show ‘ Society ’

that one could write in a so-called ‘ Society ’ paperwithout writing ill-naturedly or being scandalous ;and also because I found that it gave. me often themeans of doing a good turn to fellow-artists andothers by alluding to their works in my weekly noticesof what was stirring in the London world. Thateven artists who did not need any such notice werepleased and even grateful for one’s writing about theirwork, the following passage from a letter by GustaveDoré

,after he had seen a notice on his talents in

Vanity Fair, ’ will proveCher ami , ’ he writes , ‘ il me faudrait vous em

prunter un instant le style avec lequel vous m ’

avez

fait l’honneur d ’écrire lapage qui me concerne, pourbien vous dire combien je vous suis reconnaissantdes lignes si généreuses et chaleureuses que vousm

’

avez consacrées, et combien je suis heureux et

VAN I TY FA IR .

’

147

touché de cette S i cordiale marque de sympathie devotre part. J ’ai eu la bonne chance de me trouvertout de suite en possession du numéro de “ Van ityFair ; vous ne doutez pas que l’on trouve tout aParis rien qu ’en tendant le bras . Au recu de votrelettre je me suis précipité chez le marchand de journaux e

’ trangers du Grand HOtel, et j’y ai trouvé toutde suite mon affaire . J ’ai donc pris une nouvelle et

agréable lecon d’

anglais (quand donc le saurai-jeparler en lisant soigneusement vos aimables lignes ;sans avoir le défaut de modestie bien marqué, j ’ai dftcependant rougir a certains passages . ’But in ‘ the world —the little , base, Ill-natured , ill

speaking,i ll-thinking handful of men and women

who form much of that world of London Society ’

I found to my surprise (for although I knew it to beill-natured , I had not till then guessed its unfathomable stupidity) that people were ready to lay anything that might be construed into being offens iveeither to themselves or others in Vanity Fair at mydoor. I can only recall one expression that was broughthome to me and that I regret having written,

for itgave annoyance to the person in whose house (ahired one by the way) the ball was given at whichthe lamentable revelation I plead guilty to havingmade occurred . This was not , as the reader mightimagine , that the butler had been found drunk in thekitchen , or even that the hostess ’s daughter had

L 2


eloped during the cotillon ; no, it was somethingmuch worse, and showed an almost fiendish love of

detraction in alluding to what must have been nu

pleasantly evident to all the guests—this was theprevailing smell of roast mutton that pervaded thebuilding . But I repeat I regretted then , and dostill

,having recorded this misfortune, as it gave, I

was told , annoyance to the gentleman who had goneto the expense of giving a ball , and who had includedthe writer amongst his guests. Poor man ! Couldhe have foreseen that there was a ‘ chiel amongthem ‘ taking notes ’ I imagine that my invitationwould have been cancelled . But when it came to arelation writ ing to tell me that I was roundly abusedby all sorts of people ’

for writing those social notesin Vanity Fair ’ without reluctance or ill-will to thesilly folk who chose to judge of others too much bytheir own standard , I ceased to contribute the shortarticles signed ‘ Talon Rouge, ’ which, if anyone caresto read them , will be found during the early part ofthat year ( 1 877) in ‘ Vanity Fair — notes, rough andwithout pretence of style or elegance of diction

,but

which perhaps some day, l ike those I am now

writing, may help the historian when describing the

social l ife in England of this latter half of the presentcentury. They only live now in a still ( 1 88 1 ) re

curring paragraph used as an advertisement , inwhich an anti-cold-in-the-head homoeopathic medi

1 59 MY REM IN I SCENCES .

Guard .

’

So , as I wrote, ‘ I have enough to satisfyeven one who loves praise as much as I do.

’

The following Sunday (May 6) I entertain at mylittle Windsor house Millais and Sir W. Harcourt ; thel ittle place sweet with Cliveden flowers . ‘We havebeen down to Eton to see Harcourt’s son , who isthere , and whom he calls Lou-Lou ,

” and who thefather rather idol ised too much . Lou-Lou also didme the honour to come and have luncheon at myhouse. We then adjourned to Virginia Water. I thad been a beautiful afternoon ; Millais quite revelledin the beauty of that place, and was especially delighted with the Greek ruins ; he seemed to enjoyhimself as much as a boy fresh out of school .

‘ Holmes (Queen’s Librarian) came to meet myillustrious guests at dinner. The two young Wards,and H . Coulson and Percy Anderson, the former aprofessional actor, the latter a clever amateur artist,jo ined us later. Millais had to return by the lasttrain to town , in order to paint Lord Shaftesbury tomorrow early ; Harcourt stays the night. ’Later that summer I had another distinguished

artist under my roof—Gustave Dore—who was aecompanied by his boon companion , Canon Harford .

‘

7 u ly 9.—Luckily this has been a sunny day to

show Doré Burnham Beeches, of which every Cockneyis naturally proud . After luncheon in my littleW igwam ,

which (the W igwam) seemed to please the

GUSTAVE DORE AND CANON HARFORD . 1 5 1

painter, we drove about the park over to VirginiaWater, where Doré made a sketch of the classicruins. We called later on Prince Leopold at theCastle, who was as gracious and cordial to the greatartist as his own talent and charm wou ld lead one toexpect. ’ A few days later and Doré again honouredme by his presence at Windsor. We visited StokePark and Burnham Beeches ; fit place for his studiesfor A riosto

’

s great poem that he was then illustrating.

We also spent a few hours at Cliveden, where mysister (although in the midst Of the excitement ofhaving just heard of her daughter’s engagement toCompton Cavendish) received Doré with that kindness and bon/zomie that she always showed to the leastdistinguished as well as the most illustrious of thosewho came within her genial and beautiful presence.And here a word about Doré’s companion in theseexcursions—Canon Harford, himself an artist in thevaried branches of painting, modelling, poetry, andmusic. I quote again from my journa l CanonHarford ’s rooms in the Dean’s Yard at Westminstersavour more of artistic Bohemia than of the EnglishChurch . Never did I see or imagine such confusionof artistic properties . I t reminded me of a scene inDickens ’s “ O ld Curiosity Shop ; but with a touchof clerical confusion combined with Bohemian br ie-dbrac of the most rampant order of disorder. Gothiccarvings and stained glass, figures of angels, saints ,


dragons , corbels, griffins , and goblins . Heraldicblazonry, prints, and pictures, sacred a few , butmostly profane and pagan, l itter every nook, corner,chair, table , floor, and even staircase, in vast andglorious confusion . For all the world his reverence’srooms look as if they had been possessed by an artistwho had lent them to a stage property maker, in whicha bishop had lost his way and forgotten his alb, mitre ,and crosier. ’Another visit that I paid about this time to a very

different ecclesias tical abode was to Archbishop ’sHouse in the Vauxhal l Bridge Road , the barrackl ike palace of the Cardinal of Westminster I tis a gloomy building ; formerly a soldiers’ club andathletic institution , now it is an archbishop’s palace.

I had gone there, as I had to FrOhsdorff and othercurious places, to see a portrait of Marie Antoinettewhich Lady Herbert of Lea told me the Cardinalwould show me. This picture I found to be a rep l icaof the well -known portrait of which the original isin the Due d

’

A renberg’

s palace at Brussels. TheCardinal also showed me his other paintings—mostlyCopies, or poor originals, of saints and martyrs. Butby far the most interesting feature in the place wasthe Cardinal himself, looking like a portrait of a Princeof the Roman Church by Bellini or Mantegna, ou t ofplace indeed in this featureless building, surroundedby the slums of Westminster, with his purple robes,

MY REM IN I SCENCES .

While there we met E . Argyll and Mary Campbell ,accompanied by the ever-faithful Uncle Charles(Howard) , who was chaperoning them through theExhibition .

’ More jottings from my diary of thatpleasant summer in London .

‘ One evening afterdining at Grosvenor House I .went with mysister and her daughter, Beatrice, to a theatricalentertainment at Bridgewater House (entertainmentsat Bridgewater House are nowadays such raritiesthat they deserve to be recorded) , a successfuldramatic performance which lasted till long aftermidnight. The following night went with my sisterto a concert at the Albert Hall , when Wagner conducted . I t was his third concert ; the pieces mostlyselections from his greatest work, the “ Ring desN ibelungen.

” The hall crammed ; our box nextto the Spencers. I was intensely delighted wi th themusic ; quite glorious, unlike any other. Wagnerreceived quite an ovation at the close. A proudposition his ; almost worshipped by thousands ; andto have his great work so nobly rendered in thatvast hall . ’Later came pleasant expeditions to and from

Windsor to Cliveden .

‘ Left Windsor early withHarry. Up to town , this time for the BirthdayParade (June 2) at the Horse Guards, where thebalcony of Dover House, as of yore, crowded withchildren, and still more with old memories. New

CL IVEDEN . 1 55

generat ions springing up around one like mushrooms. The children of yesterday have now theirchildren on this balcony to watch the prettiestmili tary spectacle of the year in London ! This yearthe Show was marred by inclement weather. Laterin the day with Harry to Cliveden , which was lookinglike a scene in Martin’s picture of the “ Plains of

Heaven ! ” The next day is a Sunday, when we wentto Hedsor Church, walking through Lord Boston ’slovely grounds . Mr. Robins (brother of the popularWindsor Garrison preacher) gave us an excellent sermon. I n the afternoon , while basking in the sun on theterrace with my friend

,appeared others—H . Coulson

and Percy Anderson . We all boated in the cool ofthe evening, and sat late out that lovely night whileH . C. read aloud to us the new American book“ Helen’s Trivial shreds of the past ; of

the happy far away. Vieux ga lons indeed , but whatexquisite beau tv the mere thought of those summerdays and nights at Cliveden recals . And of what afriendship ; one l ike those described by Moore inByron ’s young days at Cambridge, or in later lifewith Lord Clare.

During that summer two old friends disappearedone my old German tutor Dr. Gaebler, who died atLahr, in his sixty-third year ; the other GeorgeLoch, formerly M . P . for the Northern Burghs, w ithwhom I had frequently made the tour of Sutherland ,


he as my brother’s agent, and I as Member for theCounty . I n apparently the prime of a vigorous m iddleage a terrible malady struck him down ; during thatsummer he lay dying in the pretty l ittle house hard byEnglefield Green , which he had but lately finishedbuilding. Towards the close of his illness he receivedthe greatest honour that a subject can have , a personalvisit from his Sovereign . The Queen visited theLochs a few days before George Loch ’s death , whichoccurred on August 1 8 .

‘ You know,

’ said HerMajesty to him , the interest I take in all that concernsthe family of Su therland ! ’ And the kind heart thatspoke thus knew how, devoted both George Loch andhis father had been to that family. The funeraltook place in the cemetery of St. Jude’s Church , atEgham . Henry Loch , the chief mourner, the poorwidow and daughters, a touching sight as they kneltat the brink of the open grave. While waiting for thefuneral in the l ittle church , I was struck by the ap

propriateness of the subjects introduced in the stainedglass windows—all the Saviour’s gospel of mercy andpity for the affl icted and the poor shone from them ;

the divine gospel of pardon and infinite compassioncame to one with vividness from these “ storied panes.”What an inspired thought was that of Murillo, whichl ined the walls of the Church of the Divine Charityat Seville wi th subjects taken from sacred legend andstory— subjects illustrating in ‘ the highest art a divine

1 58 MY REM I N I SCENCESwrote after this visit to Grosvenor House , Carlyle hadthe least idea he was reclining in a royal carriage. Iam afraid he believed it to be my natural property.

’

Carlyle was in good spirits and talked much , butsomewhat indistinctly. He appeared interested in thestatue , and made allusion to the Queen ’s shoe, whichshe repaired herself when in prison , and generally of

her heroic conduct during her infini te misfortunes. Atiresome old woman with corkscrew ringlets wouldcome up to us and place herself between Carlyle andthe statue in the midst of his talk , and made inaneremarks about nothing in particular. She wished to

be informed whether Dalou’

s statue ofa mother rockingand singing to her babe—(which is near my Queen ’sstatue)—was not intended to represent one of theGrosvenor family , and other such idiotic questions .We drove back together to Carlvle’

s house at Chelsea,where he showed us his portraits of Frederick theGreat

,also those of Martin Luther’s parents. O f these

he is very proud . Carlyle was full of cordiality and goodhumour ; his natural and inborn courtesy is marked ,insisting, for instance , on escorting

.

Mrs . Greville backto her carriage and seeing her drive from his house ,standing with his good gray head uncovered in thestreet. I t is impossible not to feel an attachment forhim , combined with the veneration that all must havefor that vast intellect.

‘ Until , ’ writes Mrs. Greville to me, still harping

SOC IAL SC IENCE CONGRESS . 1 59

on this visit, ‘ until you hear Carlyle groping andprancing among the men and women of the first Revolution , you cannot imagine what manner of man heis . ’ One day I had the good fortune to hear him‘ groping and prancing ’ amongst the actors of thatworld-shaking drama . During that autumn the SocialScience Congress (whatever that means) held its

annual meeting at Aberdeen. I had been asked topreside at the section relating to Art. Having to

del iver an address in that capacity,I selected the

Scottish painters as my theme. Thanks to my kindhost at Aberdeen and his accomplished wife (theForbes-Whites) , I was made to feel quite at homeduring my sojourn in Aberdeen . O f their house Iwrite I t is not only charming within as to decoration ,but is full of good modern paintings, many of them bymine host’s friend, the clever portrait painter, GeorgeReid

,who is sure to rise to fame. ’My duties at Aberdeen consisted in taking the

chair of the Art section in one of the lecture roomsin the handsome Marischal College . One evening ahuge banquet of over two hundred guests was given inthe Town Hall . ‘ Very long, and the speeches atroc ious , but the dinner good . Four pipers played lustilythe affair lasted many hours . ’ The following day

,

after listening to endless speeches and lectures , whichoccupied all day , and of which Forbes Robertson ’swas the most eloquent, I delivered my address that


evening in the Court House . ‘ A relief when it wasfinished .

’

Before returning South I paid Huntley (an old Cambridge friend) a brief visit at Aboyne— ‘

a hideouspile

,all harled without ; within it is comfortable .

Granville Gordon and his sister “ Maggie ” are here ,in their usual boisterous spirits ; young Lady Huntleyrather subdued by their side , but pleasant. ’ Aboyneis surrounded by beautiful hills . A bit of scenerynear the house left a picture on my mind—the foreground a field full of ripe golden corn sheafs

,with a

background of purple hills , with roll ing banks of whiteclouds against a dark grey sky .

There is some hope now,

’ I write after hearing of

the fire at I nverary on October 1 2 .

‘ There is somehope of the ugliest building in Scotland being improved .

’ About this fire I received a batch of in

teresting letters, one of which I copy.

‘ I t is a greatwonder we are all al ive , ’ writes my niece , Mary Campbell

, from the inn at I nverary, where they had takenrefuge when burnt out of the Castle .

‘We were allquietly sleeping while the roof of the centre hall wasbeing burnt to ashes. A contradict ions old man whohad been left in charge of a boat which he had mooredto the pier the evening before , insisted on going to

look after it before five in the morning, though hiswife tried to make him be quiet. He had no soonergot to the pier than he saw the smoke and flames in

1 62 MY REM I N I SCENCES .away

,we started barefooted and bareheaded in our

dressing-gowns and any loose wrap we cou ld find forthe stables. The night was very cold , the hills whitewith snow, and the ground wet, and constant hailshowers. Having Seen us safe at the stables, Papaand Lorne went back. The fire was spreading so fastthat the house was soon given up for lost, and “ Saveall you can was the cry . The townspeople, workmen , and servants behaved splendidly , tearing downthe pictures and the tapestry, fl inging out the books,furnitu re, &c.

’ My niece concludes her graphic description by saying that I will be glad to hear theGainsboroughs are saved. Lorne, writing on the samesubject, says The Jameson I asked you to comeand see is no more ! ’ (a portrait of the celebratedMarquis of Argyll) . ‘ I t perished in the hall

,which

almost became a furnace , after the fal l of the burningroof. We had passed through it just before the crash ,and were well out of it, but only just in time. AZ uccharelli, two Jamesons, a picture by AngelicaKauffman of the “ beautiful Duchess ” and her children

,

besides others, are all gone. Somebody put his footthrough Cotes’s portrait of the Duchess of Hamilton ,and someone else tore the Opie of Lady Augusta ,

but the Gainsboroughs are not destroyed .

’

For reasons not of a morbid kind I saw a sightthat autumn in Paris that I certainly never hOpe againto see. I t was an execution by the guillotine . An

THE GU I LLOT I NE . 163

old woman living in the outskirts of Paris had beenbrutally murdered . So cold-blooded a crime could notbe condoned even by a French jury or any cause

attennante. For several days, or rather nights, thequarter of the Rue de la Roquette (in which is situatedthe prison of the condemned) had been on the stir.The pol ice had orders not to make public the day ofexecution

,and a mystery hung over the fated morning

when the guillotine was to do its work . Rumourwent

,however

,that the morning of October 28 would

be the day of execution . Capital punishment now,

thanks to a merciful Republic, is extremely rare inParis

,and as much as possible the people are kept in

ignorance of the day. The execution always takesplace at early dawn, when it is presumed the city iswrapped in sleep.

I t was a bitter cold night. The Place de laRoquette is not at any time an agreeable place to passthe long hours of an October night on—least so whenwaiting for such a sight as death by the guillotine,which

,although probably the most merciful form of

capital punishment, is surrounded by an element of

tragedy far greater than our death by hanging or theSpanish garotte. But it was this very element—theassociations of the terrible year of ninety-three— thatinduced me to pass the hours between two and sevenin the morning on that day of the blood-stained Placede la Roquette. By two o

’clock , ’ I quote from myM 2

164 MY REM I N I SCENCES .journal, a crowd had already collected when I left mycab and walked to a group of people standing in frontof the prison . Showing my card to the sergeantof police, I was admitted into the enclosed space(outs ide of which the police kept back the crowd ),wherein only the newspaper reporters were allowedto remain. About four o’clock two closed carriagesrattled up and stopped in front of the prison . Outof the foremost stepped three men ; one of thes e isM . Roche, Monsieur de Paris ” as the head execut ioner was formerly termed here, who answers to ourCalcraft ; the two other men are his assistants . Fromout the other carriage, a long and sinister conveyance,these men rapidly remove some beams and planks,and by the light of a lantern the ghastly shape of theguillotine takes form and substance. No scaffold isused . The machine is placed on the pavement, onwhich are marks that indicate the exact spot—fourdarkened stones. I n order to make certain of its

position a spirit-level is employed. In a few minutesthe hideous narrow instrument of death is fixed andready for use . The dawn now slowly began to appear

,

a dull reddish light streaked the dark blood-red colourof the guillotine that had before looked black . Nowa cab drove rapidly up to the prison door

,out of

which a priest descended and quickly disappearedwithin the gate . Then ensued another long wait.I t was a relief when a body of mounted dragoons


one side, and rather pushing him forward with handon his shoulder, is the head executioner, followedclosely by the two ass istants . In front of thesewalks the good old priest, who, as they approachthe guillotine, raises the crucifix he carries to the l ipsof the prisoner ; and then , but only for an instant, itseems that the man intends to stop, to attempt toaddress those around , but he only throws his whiteface heavenwards , and in a loud voice cries, Mon

D ieu , pardonnez-moi ! At that moment his eyesseem to fix themselves on the great knife hangingabove, he seems to hesitate, but the strong arm of

Roche is on his shoulder, and he is propelled upagainst the bascule, as the swinging beam is called, onwhich the sufl

'

erer l ies face downwards, when it turnsdown and slides under the upright cross-beams of theguillotine. In a moment the bascule revolves , the mannow stretched on it , and runs rapidly forward. Andthen— but then we did not look, a suppressed crycomes from all around—without a sound , and literallyin the twinkling of an eye , the spring has been pressed,the great polished mass of steel has fallen like lightning, and body and head are in separate baskets.

I t was enough , and one felt glad to tu rn into thecrowd and feel oneself among the living. Beyond

,

on the outskirts of the crowd , were women shoutingin carriages, rouged and painted , and far morehorrible than the sight one had just turned away

MARR IAGES . 167

sick at heart from ; bu t beyond these creatures one

met the sober workman in his blouse trudging withhis neatly dressed wife to the ir daily honest toil anddrudgery down to Paris , and the guillotine and theprison of the Roquette and the horror of it and of itssurroundings seemed, as the bright day broke againover the great city, but as some horrible dream out of

which one had awaked .

’

Less gloomy scenes closed happily the year.Two marriages—one of another niece with a

cousin—the other also of a cousin, both of whichweddings I attended. The former of these alliancestook place at Eaton , from where I write : I came herefor the marriage of Beatrice Grosvenor to ComptonCavendish . We are a small family in this yet mostunfinished gigantic building, but the Grosvenor Hotelat Chester has been taken for the occasion, andis full of wedding guests, relations to the tune of

half a hundred ; Cavendishes and Lascelleses—theirname is legion. Dinner there this evening transportedme to Chatsworth ; fifty at dinner, and all first cousins !At Eaton the house, all except the private wingwhich contains the Westminsters, O rmondes, and children , is still uninhabitable. Years must elapse beforethe main building, which someone not inappropriatelycompared to a cathedral city, can be completed . I ttakes more than an hour to go rapidly over thisportion of the house

,without visiting the wing, the

168 MY REM IN I SCENCES.tower, or the chapel. The stables are a sight inthemselves ; the offices in every sense remarkableMake me like one of thy hired servants,” said a

vis itor to Westminster when he saw how his dependents were lodged ! The harness-room alone isfiner than many a great country house’s state-roomas to size and fittings . If the harness were removedfrom out the oak glazed shelves it wou ld make ahandsome l ibrary. The kitchen is nothing more or lessthan a huge baronial hall ; the stewards’ room has acentral column of granite supporting its arched stoneroof that recal ls one of those in the cathedral of

Durham all the rest of the building, down to the merestoffice, is en su ite. I think it was Rosebery who said ,after being shown Eaton , that he thought the “

odd

man (as the man of all work is called in these bigplaces) had grounds for complaint ; at any rate, saidRosebery, I was not shown the odd man’s drawingroom .

The marriage took place in Eccleston Church onNovember 1 3 . Chester that day was en ga la ,

and itsreception of the departing pair most cordial the wholetown seemed to be in the streets

,which were bright

with flags ; the rice poured down on us as well as onthe bride and groom . Volunteers kept a way in thestation along the red-druggeted platform . The proceedings wound up with an animated bal l at theGrosvenor Hotel .’

1 70 MY REM I N I SCENCES .Famine in I ndia and China, plague and massacre inthe East, and every crime in the nearer East, wherethe records of battle and murder can only be exceededby the accounts of what man did before Christianitywas known , and that we find in the Old Testament. ’I n truth , not a cheerful retrospect for the passing

or prospect for the coming year.Writing on the same day at Eaton in my journal

I find This world without Constance would be to mebut a sad and a doleful place . As years go by onefeels these anniversaries of expiring years sad andmournful , and one cannot but long for the time whenin God’s mercy all those we have cared for and lovedon this earth may be met again in a far happier andmore perfect existence .

’ To which I say, Amen .

CHA PTER XXVI I.1 878 : To AUSTRALIA AND BACK AGAIN .

IN the early part of January, while at Eaton, I madeacquaintance with Hawarden Castle Several of us

rode over there—a pleasant ride of some eight miles.The soft line of the Welsh hills lay on our left, and tothe right appeared the towers of Chester Cathedralfading away in the distance.

Hawarden Park is highly picturesque, with undulating ground. The Castle is a pretentious modernGothic building. We had not time to visit the ruinsof the old Castle, which flanks and towers above themodern house. Mr. Gladstone was in his study, surrounded by books ; he welcomed us with his usualcordiality ; he is excited regarding Lord Carnarvon’

s

recent peaceful speech on the Eastern Question . Hisstudy is over-crowded with books ; here he showedus the box made of carved bog oak which had beenpresented him on his late visit to Dublin ; also a tray,on which lay, piled a foot high , a vast heap of printedcuttings from newspapers, many of these full of abuse .

On one of these slips of paper I saw written “ Gladstone's Howl .” I never read them,

” he said laughing.

1 72 MY REM I N I SCENCES .Mrs . Gladstone was away in London , nursing a sickrelative, but the young Gladstones were there.We had a most successful theatrical performance

at Eaton of Woodcock’s Little Game .

” Westminsterappeared as the footman in his own l ivery, andbrought down the house ! ’ Towards the end of themonth I went with my sister, Constance W estmin

ster, to I re land ; staying first at Carton, then goingto Kilkenny to the O rmondes .

‘ Crossing the townbridge , the view of the Castle recalled vaguely thatof Warwick . The town of Kilkenny is a miserablelooking place , but there are some curiosities in it ;the Black Abbey, for instance, and one of thosequaint round towers that have mystified so manygenerations of antiquarians as to their origin and use .

The old crones in the streets are full of blessingson Lilah ’s head, but mostly in expectation of alms.Poverty is terribly apparent here, and the old womenare as repulsive as the witches in Macbeth .

” Aphotograph was taken in the gallery of the Castle,which would have suggested a group for Sir Joshua—my sister, with little Beatrice Butler in her arms,seated in one of the recesses of a window. She is theloveliest baby one ever set eyes on—an incomparableinfant ! What a country this is, and what a people !There is an indescribable appearance of misery overit and them , and, good Heavens, how they hate us !I t was only this evening that we heard cheering, or

1 74 MY REM I N I SCENCES .that the monstrous inequality of the English Churchin I reland should cease.

‘We visited the beautiful home of the Tighes atWoodstock. Lady Louisa Tighe is a most amiableold dame ; she was a Lennox . I t is remarkable tofind a very active old lady as fresh and lively as akitten who, when a girl , more than sixty years ago ,was present at the ball given by her father the Dukeof Richmond to Wellingt on at Brussels on the eve of

Waterloo. Lady Louisa buckled on the sword of thegreat Duke on that eventful night. ’ Returningthrough Dublin , we stayed a few nights at the Castle,where the Duke and Duchess of Marlborough werethen keeping Viceregal Court in magnificent style .We attended one of the Drawing Rooms, where LordSligo preceded the Viceroy with a drawn sword of

State borne before him ! There was a Splendidbanquet given in St. Patrick’s Hall , followed by a

ball . I liked the fashion of playing the jolly oldFrench air of Malbrook s’en va t’en guerre whentheir Excellencies entered and left the Hall. ’Writing at the Castle How well I remem

ber this rambling old place twenty-one years ago,

when my dearest mother came with me here tovisit her brother, Uncle Morpeth The place hasundergone much repainting and upholstering (in theworst taste) since his reign . I t was pleasant to talkof these old times with some of the servants here

,and

To AUSTRAL IA AND BACK AGAI N . 1 75

to find what a pleasant memory of kindness and geniality my uncle has left behind him.

’

Soon after th is I rish visit I went for a night ortwo to Petworth , where Everard Primrose andHerbert Gardiner distinguished themselves by acting ‘ Uncle’s Will ’ and To Oblige Benson ; ’ andthen again I enjoyed the luxury of rambling throughthat vast house, crammed fu ll of pictures of all schoolsand by various masters.On February 8 I had a gl impse of Carlyle. Call

ing on him with Mrs . Greville, we found the grandold man seated near the fire in the stone-coloureddressing-gown which Boehm has immorta lised in hissuperb seated statue of the sage . Carlyle was inforce and in good spirits ; his talk full of gristand humour. I gave him my reduced statuette insilvered bronze of Marie Antoinette. He seemed ’

pleased with it, patted and caressed it, and placed itin the centre of his chimney-piece. He spoke withintense bitterness of Lord Beaconsfield, and calledhim “ that melancholy harlequin .

”Of the Pope (just

dead) he said , At length he is ou t of this troublesomeworld ; ” and of Popery he said , “ I t is the greatest

On the 1 3th I reportanother visit to Chelsea. An interesting day

, for Ihave been with two of the greates t minds in the

humbug in the universe.

country—Carlyle and Tennyson . Mrs. Greville againdrove me down to Cheyne Row , where we found


Carlyle as usual seated in front of the fire. He referredseveral times to the little statuette on the chimneypiece that faced him , and told me that Tennyson andother of his friends had liked it. He read us twochapters in his H istory of the French Revolution ”

those on the death of Mirabeau and on the Queen ’strial and execution . Nothing could be simpler thanthe surroundings, but withal nothing more impressivethan to see and hear this old man e loquent ” readaloud those stirring chapters in that poetic prose , ashe sat in his long-robed dressing-gown , his handsfolded before him . Behind him on the walls hungthe portraits of many of the actors in some of hishistories—Cromwell, and Frederick called the Great,”his sister the clever Margravine , and near themLu ther’s parents . From Carlyle we called on Tennyson in Eaton Square. Mrs. Tennyson has a facel ike the Santa Monica of Scheffer. Tennyson saidhe found it impossible to write away from his home.They have come to town to attend the marriage of

their second son to Miss Locker. A few eveningslater and I passed a very agreeable one with theLaureate in his study while he smoked . He readthe Ballad of the Fleet,” yet unpublished , andBoadicea ”—

glorious works, wi th the din and clangof battle ringing through every line . Tennyson thinksGray (the Elegy ,” for instance) less read now thanforme rly. He thinks that Shakespeare was careful

1 78 MY REM IN I SCENCES .of Europe. He thinks that at no very distant timeFrance , I taly, and Spain will proclaim themselvesLes Etats-U nis de l’O uest .

’ He thinks our Const itu tional Monarchy the best

,next to a Republic ,

of any form of Government. I n France he wishesfor Parliamentary Government without even a President. Nothing can exceed Hugo’s civility . I t isquite of the old school , and he insists on see ing one

to his door, in spite of all one’s protestations. Onecannot doubt of his patriotism ,

at the same timeregretting the lengths it is carrying him . I m ixedat that time in Paris with a pleasant Bohemian setof artist friends— Americans , Scotch , I rish , andEnglish. We used to meet at breakfast about noonat a little restaurant called the “ Alsacienne,” in theRue du Bac. The walls of this place are coveredwith works of art by former patrons of the establishment. The tables are innocent of cloths , but thefood, although modest, was not unsavoury, and it hadthe further recommendation of extreme cheapness . ’I saw the Exhibition building before it was com

pleted. Probably a more hideous erection has neverbeen imagined than this monstrous construction . Tocompare it to the ugliest of railway stations wouldbe flattery ; in its bad taste it surpasses all concept ion .

’

While in Paris I commenced the statuette of Mr.Gladstone ; the idea of it had been given by a photograph from life of the statesman, taken at Hawarden ,

TO AU STRAL IA AND BACK AGA IN . 1 79

i n which he is seated on the stump of a recently felledtree he rests one of his coatless arms on a woodman ’saxe. The attitude suggested a plast ic work

,and I

bel ieve altogether it has proved a success. Beforecompleting this statuette I returned to England

,

having heard of a misfortune that had happened to a

friend , who had become involved in a miserable familyscandal , and, inspired by the worst counsels

,had

thought it necessary to leave England. The letterin which he announced this intention decided me tofollow him , and , if possible, urge his return ; at anyrate, through good and evil report, I was determinednot to desert him. I t is unnecessary for me to enterinto the details of the reasons that prompted me torenounce for many a month all that I cared for most ;my one and engrossing wish Was to be of use to myfriend in his distress, and all other considerationsmade way for that one . I was ready to sacrifice agreat deal for him, and I sacrificed much, but I donot regret the feeling that prompted my voyage toAustralia

,although few , I imagine, can understand it,

and therefore there is little danger of many actingas I did .

‘ Friendship, ’ Lord Beaconsfield has written ,‘ is the gift of the gods. ’ I knew my friend was un

justly and cruelly treated , and I would not turn fromhim in the hour of trouble ; on the contrary, I thenonly knew how deep was my friendship for him .

Events followed rapidly. Within half a dozen hoursN 2


of hearing from my friend I was on my way to

London,and within a week on board the Cunard

vessel , the Abyssinia, ’ bound for N ew York . Frominformation received I believed my friend’s destination to be Australia, and by crossing America andthe Pacific l hoped to arrive there at the time thathe would reach that continent in a sail ing vessel inwhich I bel ieved he had left Plymouth, bound forAdelaide .

As a rule methinks nothing can be duller (unlessthickly sown w ith adventures that too often owe theirex istence to the imagination of the writer) than thedescriptions of long journeys and travels to distantparts of the world .

Recent American works of that kind are brilliantexceptions ; there is , however, bu t one Mark Twain .

Nothing nowadays is easier and safer than to

‘ globetrot ’ round the world ; far less troublesomeindeed than to go out of the beaten track in Franceor in Germany , and infinitely less fatiguing than eventhe ordinary tour through Spain .

The risks of such a voyage are very slight whencircumnavigating the world in the splendid floatinghotels that now span it. A s I lack the imaginationthat is required to render the account of travelexciting, I will make my narrative of my Australianjourney as short as I can . But

.

here again,as in the

chapter describing my drive to York , I should suggest


making annually is one of the most gratifying facts inthe history of civilisation . The superficial Englishman is apt to judge of the Americans by the specimens he meets with occas ionally in England or on

the continent of Europe. Let him ,however, honestly

say whether his own countrymen and countrywomenthat he meets on his travels are any better than hisAmerican cousins He will probably answer that hedoes not meet with such English folk in England, thathe does not know where they come from , or who theyare. But this is the same with the Americans thatare met with often out of their own country and it isimpossible to judge of the Americans without havingbeen amongst them . But to return to my peregrinations. While at New York I saw a good deal ofan old theatrical friend , Harry Montagu, who mademe free of the Theatrical Club, called the “ Lambs,” inUnion Square , where we passed many pleasant hours.Little poverty is seen in the New York streets ; nosuch contrasts of luxury and intense destitution shockthe eye here as with us in London. The town ,although it cannot be called handsome, is certa inlynot ugly it reminds me both of Brighton and Berlin .

‘Marc/z 28 .—Lady Sykes suddenly made her ap

pearance this evening in the hotel dining-room , a blazeof diamonds ; she was on her way to some friends whowere giving a ball in honour of the Mi-Careme—SirTatton was dining in solitary grandeur. Montagu

TO AUSTRAL IA AND BACK AGA I N . 1 83

supped with us after his acting at Wallack ’s Theatre,where London Assurance is being performed . Wehave visited a gorgeous house in Fifth Avenue, belonging to the S tevens ’

s. W ithin one might imagineoneself in Sir D . Marjoribanks

’

s palace in Park Lanewe seemed suddenly to have returned there or to

Paris,so elaborate are the fittings and decorations of

this house. The ball-room floor, ceiling and all, hadbeen brought over en bloc from an old Belgianchateau . As to the fashions here, the ladies’ headdresses are very eccentric , the hair rising to a footabove their foreheads, elaborately puffed and torturedinto every possible shape. On Sunday to service atG race Church , a building remarkable for the frightfullyugly stained glass in it. The congregation, formed ofwell-dressed men and over-dressed women , all mostattentive. The singing rather operatic, but good ; atolerable sermon preached by a Mr. Potter. TheOld Hundredth sung at the end made one thinkwhat a surprise it would have caused to any of thePilgrim Fathers if they could have found themselvesin this smart throng singing this grand old hymn onthe spot where they had so often intoned it— then

,

a mere swamp in the midst of a wild forest, now one

of the wealthiest and greatest cities in the world .

‘ I was disappointed not to be able to see Mrs.Beecher Stowe

,but she was “ down South .

” TheCentral Park reminds me both of the Regent’s Park


and of the Bois de Bou logne , but is more extensivethan either. That Sunday the park was filled withswarms of well-dressed people. Montagu drove methere, and we admired Ward ’s really fine bronze statueof Shakespeare . The rate that some of the trotters spinalong the beautifully kept roads of this park is a sight.How much Samuel Johnson, if he could haVe beenby the side of one of those fair Americans, behindone of those trotters in one of those spider carriages,would have enjoyed himself !The best photographers in the world are Sarony

and Mora ; no one passes through the Empire Citywithout giving one Or the other a sitting.

‘

Apr il 2 .—I begin to think this American climate

the most perfect in the universe. All this Week hasbeen heavenly, the sky infinitely more blue than oursin England, and the air has a lightness and sparkleabout it that gives one a sense of continually quaffingethereal champagne.

’

My next entry is dated San Francisco, April 1 2 .

After a week ’s stay at New York , I left for the FarWest. Leaving New York on April 3 , we found a mostsumptuous railway on the Erie l ine ; but travelling insummer on those U trecht-velvet covered seats must bea martyrdom little inferior to that undergone by S t.Lawrence. The scenery along the line is picturesque ,but I find myself caring less and less for mere sceneryper se unless associated w ith some historical interest ;

1 86 MY REM IN I SCENCES .under the falls on the Horseshoe side as was possible.On the American side, and with rocks at the base ofthat great unity of foam , and spray, and water, Ithought the waterfall looked its best. There the topmost ridge of the cascade seems formed of the purestsilver, sparkling against the deep azure of a Cloudless sky ; the mounting spray rises in wild wreathslike spirits , myriad winged , rising and descendingfrom the measureless base ; an incalculable host of

shadowy forms for ever hanging midst earth and skyover the yawning gulf, where the turmoil and toi l ofthe mighty waters never ceases throughout eternity !Man has done all he can to spoil the framework of

land that surrounds these sublime cascades . Hideouspassages and tunnels are cut out and pierce the groundall round, along and down which tramway and otherinfernal machines ofmisapplied ingenuity are constantlyrunning, puffing, and rising and falling. On everyside one is stopped and harassed by toll-keepers, andloathsome refreshment-stalls and public-houses springlike toadstools within the spray of those awful waters.We visited the Goat I sland, and stood on the brink of

both the American— (where three rainbows played)and the Horseshoe falls

,and gazed on the rapids from

the Sister Island . I t was a grand sight, the wildwaters dashing by, with stone pines making a weirdlooking foreground.

‘ Then on westwards. The sleeping cars are as

TO AU STRALIA AND BACK AGA IN . 1 87

comfortable as beds can be made in a train the onlydrawback is the want of fresh air at night, a great one .

Ch icago was reached the day after leaving N iagara .

IVe breakfasted at the huge caravansary, the PalaceHotel, but we had only time to take a stroll throughthe streets, still bearing traces of the awful fire . I nthe afternoon we sped on in the North-Western , boundfor Salt Lake City. The scenery flat and monotonous ;dinner served by negroes In the train , a most comfortable way ofcrossing a vast continent. No nation understands the comfort of travel as does the American .

The chief drawback is the impossibil ity of getting abath ; in summer this must be a great m isery. ReachedCouncil Bluffs next day, where the State of I owa isentered after crossing a huge Suspension bridge, fromthat of Nebraska. Omaha is not an attractive place

,

so little attractive that we gave up the idea we hadformed of pass ing a night there, and pursued ourjourney. Our train was now that of the Union Pacific,more luxurious than any of the former ones ; thecarriages fitted up in good taste, the “ state saloon ”

comfort itself. The scenery all the next day a baredesert. Nothing can be imagined more mournful thanthe prairies , and had I not got Trevelyan’

s Life ofMacaulay ”

to read over again , its hideousness wouldhave depressed me. Not a live thing to be seen onearth or in the sky—only the remains of some deadbullocks, victims of a snowstorm that had overtaken


them here a few days ago ; all the rest a sea of desert,brown parched-up land .

‘ After leaving Cheyenne we passed through asuccession of snow sheds, wooden tunnels that showedhow disagreeable this route must be for travell ing on

in winter. Even now— in April— it looked more likeJanuary here than spring ; huge patches of snow layalong the line three or four feet in depth , and now andagain snow and sleet fell , and for the season it waswondrous cold ! We found it a comfort to have acompartment to ourselves, as the other part of thetrain was infested by the progeny of a Mr. M . Jones,and the youngest Jones roared and bellowed like adiminutive bu ll of Bashan. As we advanced westwards the scenery improved, and in a couple of dayswe got away from the prairie, mounting into a wildcountry. We ate at log hu t stations , the food piled upin grotesque forms tea and coffee execrable, and meatuncertain. I t seemed strange to find familiar printsnailed on the walls of these shanties—Correggio’

s

in one, and a print after Landseer orMagdalene ’

Ansdell in another.Next evening we reached Ogden , a beaut ifully

s ituated place ; the hills around recall Switzerland.

Here we entered a branch line, which in one hourbrought us to Salt Lake City . A lovely ambercoloured sunset turned the neighbouring hills into a

deep amethyst hue . The Walker House is a capital


’

was flaunt ing

’

her finery in the sun in front of herpalace. The views on all sides are beautiful ; thedistant snow-covered hills, with the fertile valley atthe ir feet, and the foreground all pink with peachblossom , make up a bewitching scene. We calledon the successor of the Prophet—the President ofMormondom—Mr. Taylor, a fine , handsome. powerfully-jawed , deep-eyed old man of about sixty-five .

Mr. Taylor was most courteous, and his manner mostdignified ; in appearance , at least, he is more suitedto represent the great Republic than this curiouslittle offshoot. Around the room where he receivesvisitors hang some execrable daubs— portraits of

Mormon Prophets and Apostles. Mr. Taylor iscontented with only five wives . Returning to Ogden ,we went on our voyage to the West, still accompaniedby the Jones tribe. By nine o’clock at night all the bedsare made, and everyone disappears behind the drawncurtains

,and soon from either S ide sounds are heard

proclaiming that most if not all the passengers are

unconscious.The following day’s run was through the finest

scenery we had traversed since we left Buffalo. Theline passes beneath a series of mountains , the greatNevada range , remarkable in shape and colour. Atmany of the stations west of Ogden , I ndians weresquatting or marching about the platforms—thesquaws with their “

papooshes strapped to thei r

TO AU STRAL IA AND BACK AGA IN . 19 1

shoulders ; most of them are beggars. One of our

passengers was a curious hermaphroditical object, a

being w ith long dark hair falling on sloping shoulders .I t appeared at first a woman , but turned ou t to be aPolish youth born at San Francisco, named Leuchtenberg, a viol inist already of some fame. This youth ’splaying varied a little the monotony of the eveningspassed in the train .

“ The next morning the sun rose over valleyscovered with Californian firs, and lighted whatseemed a great lake , hundreds of feet beneath thel ine. From Cape Horn , where the train halts a fewminutes and seems to hang over the side of a bottomless abyss, this lake of m ist had a wonderfully fineeffect ; only some of the higher points of the fir-cappedhills were visible as one gazed down into that mysterious valley, lying like islands in a hazy sea of

cotton wool. What a study for Gustave Doré ! Wereached Sacramento that day at noon, and from thereon to San Francisco the country one runs through islike an immense English park ; oaks abound, and thepastures are as green and fresh as those of Kent inMay. Crossing a ferry at Oatland in one of thosetriple-decked steamers, on which hundreds of pas

sengers and dozens of carts and horses can all bestowed away comfortably, looking like a Noah ’s ark,

we reached ’Frisco, as the Western Americans lnvariably call the City of the Golden Gates, and there


we put up at the hugest wooden inn in the worldthe Palace Hotel . On arriving at San Francisco,

Mr. Mackay should be called on. Whatever isrequired he will obtain for the traveller, whateverthere is to see he will Show , he is the most obliging and will ing of cicerones , and. as he does not

fa il to impress on you , he makes no “ personalcharge . The sight par excellence at ’Frisco is in theharbou r, where, on some surf-beaten rocks, the sea

l ions congregate , their half-yelp, half-bark- l ike cry

distinctly heard from the shore. This and theChinese quarters are the principal curiosities of

’Frisco.

’

On April 1 5 I left the City of the Golden Gates,having parted with my faithful Robert that morningwith regret, he to return to England , while I had to

traverse the Pacific bound for New Zealand andAustral ia.

‘ I t would have been selfish folly to havetaken’ him on with me so far from his wife and bairns.but I feel very much alone in this wide ocean. Therain came down in torrents as we steamed out of thecrowded harbour, and the start was not a cheerful onefor my far-away goal . The first days were detestablycold

,with a heavy sea running ; our vessel , being

laden to the deck with coal and cargo, rolled like abarrel , and we shipped seas innumerable. The watersoaked through nearly every place between decks, andI be l ieve I had the only dry cabin on board . Some

194 MY REM I N I SCENCES .must now Windsor be looking ( I write on GoodFriday, April 1 9) in all its freshness of the new springfoliage ; the Long Walk like a cathedral with windows in emeralds and sapphires, and all the glory of

the young summer bursting over the grand old park ;my little plot of ground in front of my cottage all inflowers ! Alas ! I shall not see the green leaves of

On the afternoon of May 2 we saw land—theis land of Hawaii, alias the Sandwich I slands ; andearly next morning we landed , and saw what wecould of the place during the l imited time—but fourhours—that we were al lowed to remain there. Withthe De Voeux I landed on a wharf, where we got atwo-horse carriage driven by a native whose Englishwas remarkable ; asking him the time, he told us hecould not say, as he had left his ‘ turnip at home.Our Jehu was a most intell igent fellow, and apparentlydoing well in the world. We passed a neat verandahed house ; he told us that that was his property,and that he had refused for it. Even theDe Vceux, fresh from Trinidad , were struck by thetropical beauty of the island.

The houses at Honolulu are neat and well built,and each stands nestling among gardens, with balconies festooned with fruit and flowers. The peoplehave prosperity and contentment writ on their happysmiling faces—the men not ill looking, and some of

To AUSTRAL IA AND BACK AGAI N . 195

the women with their coal-black eyes and rich bronzedcomplex ions would be good looking but for their flattened noses ; the children are delightful . I t wasquite a pretty sight to see them salute one as

we drove along. We called on the English Consul,Major Wodehouse ; his place surrounded with creeping plants that one only sees in hot-houses with us.

On the walls of his stable grew in wild luxuriance acreeper, one mass of mauve colour- the beautifulBougainvilliers. Unluckily, time did not allow us tovisit the far-famed Pali Val ley ; but we had enough tohave a capital breakfast on land and, after our ship’sfare, how we did enjoy this meal at the hotel , wherethe fresh fish , eggs, and water-melons were appre

ciated ! We drove to a beautiful val ley from whencethe View of sea and hills, w ith the pretty outski rts of

Honolulu and its bright vil las, formed a lovely picture .The only ugly object was a hideous stone wall, createdaround his property by some barbarian of an Englishman. On our way back to the harbour we met someof the native ladies on horseback, riding male fashion,wearing jaunty straw hats and att ired in a kind of

loose dressing-gown.

Before ten we were aga in aboard , and soon aftersteaming away from one of the happiest and brightestlooking places that ex ists in either hemisphere . Here,at any rate, the much-abused missionary has done goodservice to the cause of civil isation . The natives have

0 2

1 96 MY REM IN I SCENCES .had ten years of compulsory education, and thosewho were savages twenty years ago are now civilisedas much as any, and more in fact than many, Europeans. The islands looked beautiful as we left them— their long tracts of sand skirting the deep blue seabeyond waved the graceful trees , and , above, the hillsfaded away into the sky. The days passed on withoutinterest. To watch the flying-fish was among our

greatest excitements , and at night the Southern Crosswas also gazed at with interest but, between ourselves,this is not a cross at all , but a very palpable child’skite .

On a Sunday we crossed the l ine. The usualantics took place on board, and H .M.M . Neptune was duly honoured. The next entry in mydiary is dated from ‘ Government House, Wellington,New Zealand, May I o.

—Arrived here last night inthis wise . The last few days on board had beenquite as uneventful as the former. One day

, how

ever, we saw an albatross, on another what we

imagined were whales, but which were only blackfish ”

I On May 7 we entered Auckland Harbour.I t was a beautiful morning ; the sea and sky of a deepblue colour ; porpoises sported and waltzed round thevessel ’s prow. The pilot boarded us, ful l of excitingEuropean tidings. No war—but warl ike news.Twenty ironclads have been sent up the Baltic, whichBismarck considered a menace to all European States .


with ‘ Auld Lang Syne ’ and other melodies. Earlynext morning we were off in a special train to Onehangu , where we embarked on board the steamer ofwhich Mr. Fairchild was captain—quite a character.The scenery along the coast more curious than

beautiful ; the volcanic origin of the island is verya'pparent. During the day the weather was fair andsea smooth ; but at night the wind freshened, and off

Cape Egmont it began to blow hard, and many on

board disappeared to the privacy of their cabins. LordNormanby, his Le Faturel, and myself, werethe only three who put in an appearance at meals or ondeck. We were to have called at Taranaki Bay for acerta in Judge, who was there awaiting our steamer, butCaptain Fairchild thought it more prudent to keepclear of that bay on so rough a night ; and so the poorJudge, for all we know, is still pacing the shore of thatsteel-covered beach. I regretted not to be able to seesnow-capped Mount Egmont, but we ran by it duringthe hours of darkness. Passing by Cook’s Straits thefollowing afternoon, a line of picturesque hills lay oneither side on our starboard, Cape Farewell andMassacre Bay, off South Island ; on our larboard , thecoast range of the extremity of the North Island , andthe wild range of hills, the Taranaki .Darkness had fallen over sea and land before we

reached Wellington . The lights gleamed from thewharfs, reflected in red and gold in the silvery sheen of

To AU STRAL IA AND BACK AGA IN . 199

the moonbeams that plashed in myriad rays like gemsby the landing-stage. During the next ten days Il ived under the hospitable roof of the Normanbys, inGovernment House . What a contrast was my largebedroom there to the narrow cabin of the vessel inwhich I had come across the Pacific ! The view frommy windows most picturesque ; but the foregroundspoilt by some ugly Government buildings, that halfshut ou t the harbour from sight. This,’ I write fromWell ington, ‘ is my Capua ; and here I have been ableto get my linen washed.

’ I n the excellent public libraryclose by Government House I spent many an hour,and there I met a Sutherland clansman—NathanielSutherland—who has passed thirty years in New

Zealand . H e remembered seeing my uncle Ellesmereriding through Edinburgh , bearing the sceptre in hishand. when George IV . , came there in 1 820. Thiskind old clansman gave me a Maori walking-stick,carved by one of the chiefs. These fast disappearingpeople are still to be seen in the streets of Auckland, their under lips tattooed, and wearing their blackhair long down the back ; except for the clothing. Iimagine they resemble not a little the ancient Britons .I n the museum is a large room containing a completeMaori stone-carved temple, grotesque and hideous.The weather is of the most boisterous description ; itblows tomahawks and tornadoes ; at present the ideaof a sea voyage is not inviting.

zoo MY REM I N I SCENCES .My next entry is dated from the Melbourne Club .

Melbourne , Australia, June I .—Nearly a fortnight has

passed since ‘ I las t wrote in this diary. Much of theintervening time has been passed at sea , and consequently there is but l ittle to chronicle. On my lastnight at Wellington we went to “ inaugurate ” the newOpera House, a handsome and commodious building.

We saw a grand ballet, in which little fellows dressedl ike British tars danced capitally ; the scene representedeither the British Channel or the Sea of Marmora !We sat facing the stage, l ike foreign royalty . Anoyster supper, given by the to Judge Johnsonand others, finished the evening.

’ On the twenty-firstI left Wellington in a comfortably appointed steamer,the Waéatipu , for Sydney Rain fell in torrents ; onboard was the Governor of the New Zealand Banka gentleman ridiculously like Blantyre, a martyr toasthma, and obliged to pass the nights on the landing ofthe cabin stairs gasping for air ! As we left Wellingtonharbour we met a heavy sea, but our l ittle vesselcommanded by a pleasant Scot, Captain Cameroncut her way bravely through the waves in splendidstyle. The next day was lovely. Great white banks ofclouds piled against a deep blue sky, l ike a landscapeby Carle du Jardin. On the last two days headwinds delayed us, and it was long after dark beforewe sighted the lights of Sydney harbour. Earlynext morning, May 2 6, I saw that the place fully

MY REM IN ISCENCES .

blood doubtless accounts for this . ‘ I met here withan old Eton chum— Lyttleton, a son of a Staffordshire neighbour, Lord Hatherton—private secretary toSir Hercules . The gardens of Government House area little paradise ; full of intense light and shade andcolour. There the scarlet Ponsett ia is as common as

poppies in an English cornfield ; the tree ferns andpalms are here, too, as common as birch trees inScotland. Would that I could but name the tropicalplants here ! In these gardens is a house full of therarest ferns collected by Lady Robinson . Things thatshould be visited here are the Observatory ; the flowerand fruit market, full of gorgeous parrots ; and theUnion Club. Sad tidings reached me from Englandthe day after I landed at Sydney (May Lyttletonbrought me the news of my eldest sister’s (ElizabethArgy ll ’s) death the day before in London. I t was notunexpected, but it was most sad to think I shouldnever see her again on earth. But , as I wrote afterhearing of this to my S ister Constance, after ourmother’s and Albert’s death no fresh one cou ld greatlygrieve or shock me now ; but I added , that were Sheto be taken from me, life would then, indeed, be notworth the having. Since 1 86 1 , what gaps in our familydeath has made, and how few are now left of our oncelarge and happy circle ! My sister Elizabeth had muchin her nature and character to admire ; excellent, good,

pious and learned, far beyond the average of women

TO AU STRAL IA AND BACK AGAI N . 203

in her station . In her the world of London is deprivedof one of its best women, a grande dame,—s

’

il en

f ut—and the loss to her husband and children isi rreparable. ’Left Sydney on May 29 in the Ly -Moo n, bound

for Melbourne. The sailing vessel, the B eltana , in

which I expected my friend to arrive at Adelaide ,was now daily expected at that port, and in orderto be there to meet her I left ‘Sydney for Melbourne ,en route to Adelaide, on the day already named . Asublimely beautiful sunset covered the whole expanseof Sydney Harbour in a tissue of scarlet and silver ;the sky out-Turnered Turner. My fellow cabinpassenger was a pleasing young Australian, asolicitor at Albany, named Percy Carne. Theother passengers a grubby lot of scrubby people ;bright exceptions, however, in the shape of two

charming ladies—a Mrs. Watson and a Miss Mackenzie—both Melbournians. The former was the

image of the blonde Lady Westmoreland. In a

couple of days we arrived at Melbourne on June 1 .

At the Club I made the acquaintance of CaptainStandish, who is a kind of informal president of thatadmirable institution . With him I saw the principalsights of the place— the museum and the library—andcalled on Lady Robinson , who is nursing her boy“H ercy,

” and sanctioning the betrothal of her charming daughter to Alec Findlay, an old Cambridge

MY REM I N I SCENCES .

friend of mine . After seeing Sydney one’s firstimpression of Melbourne is not favourable ; it strikesone as having all the ugliness of an English withall the rowdiness of a bran-new American Westerntown . The low houses skirting the absurdly w idestreets make the former appear even lower andmeaner than they actually are. There is here alsoan air of unpleasing pretension and self-assertionpervading the place ; a kind of “ I ’m the Capital ”impertinence, writ large in every l ine of the formaland gridiron-l ike plan of the streets of this city.

‘

f7nne 8 , Adelaide Club, Adelaide — During thelast week I have made another sea voyage fromMelbourne

,which place I left in the S S . A ldinga ,

a small vessel of some four hundred tons.‘ Dined in the huge Government House with Sir

George and Lady Bowen, when I made the acquaintance of a local magnate, Sir Edmund Barry, to whomMelbourne owes its public l ibrary and museum . I twas a pleasure to hear that the ’

good-natured , energetic

old gentleman ’s presentment was to live in bronzebefore the latter building shortly. Sir Edmund wearsa blue coat of the old swallow tail pattern , with brassbuttons, and pumps, and looks for all the world as if asquire of half a century ago had been buried, passedthrough the bowels of the earth, and reappeared atthe Antipodes in the fashion of his day. He showedme over the institutions he has done so much to create,

MY REM IN I SCENCES .and an excursion to a villa in the hills belonging toMr. Ross, are all the excursioning I have caredto go in for. Mr. West Erskine at the Club isartistic ; he produced lately a little Greek antiquegold Victory,” which made me feel back again ina second of time at the Louvre. ’ The scenery aboutAdelaide is uninviting ; the vegetation terribly monotonous. One wearies as much of the everlastinggum tree in Australia as one does of the olive inI taly. y nne 23 .

—Back at the Club, Melbourne.Returned here again , having left Adelaide on the1 8th. What I most regretted leaving at Adelaidewas dear old George Hamilton . After an uneventfulpassage in the Victor ian, lasting two days , Iwas welcomed here by genial Captain Standish , wi thwhom I have been to a place some way inlandcalled Geelong, not a pretty name, but appropriateto the place, which is full of racehorses. Nothingcan be imagined more hideous than the country allaround Melbourne . I found an artistic couple there

,

Sir George and Lady Verdon ; their house is quitea sthetic and full of art treasures. After a farewelldinner given at the Club by Captain Standish I wasoff again once more, returning to Sydney this timeoverland for a change. The first n ine hours , as faras Albury

,in the train ; there I stayed a n ight and

following day, and posted thence in a buggy . Albury(for Austral ia) is quite a picturesque spot ; the clean

TO AU STRALIA AND BACK AGA I N . 207

little town nestles among the gum trees, surroundedby gently sloping hills . My driver was an active l ittleman from Melbourne, who rattled two very workmanl ike little horses over the rutty roads at an averagerate of eight miles an hour. The roads in England inthe time of Queen Bess must have been like those wejolted over ; in places our l itt le conveyance all butstuck or turned right over, but we managed to get toour night’s shelter without accident. This was at amere clearing in the bush , a place which rejoices inthe musical name of Billabong ; here is a long lowsingle-storied shanty, the only building, exclusive of

outhouses and stables , in the place. A track leadsthrough the endless woods up to this residence .

Within , a log fire was blazing ; a grateful sight afterthat long cold drive. Some artistic decoration hasbeen attempted in the little parlour of the inn , inthe shape of a varnished dado of pitch pine withceil ing to match. A neat l ittle maid bustled about

,

and soon laid before me a comfortable repast. Atidy little bedroom at the back of the house next thisneat parlour made up a model l ittle inn . There . aremany more pretentious but far less good in Englandthan this wooden one of Ring’s at Billabong. Upand away early next day, having a drive of some fiftvmiles to make before reaching Wagga-Wagga, of

T ichborne-Orton fame. There I put up at theCriterion Hotel , where I met at the table d’

bbte a


cheery and gentleman-l ike set of young WaggaWaggaians.

Left Wagga-Wagga next day by coach , drivenby one Alexander Gordon , a great whip and a greatwag ; occupying the box seat , I was able to hear allGordon ’s good things , and look out for the parrotsthat should have been in every tree, but not one did Isee . To this day I cannot understand why thatcoach was not upset, not once , but a hundred times. Inever saw anything so reckless as Gordon’s driving ;whenever he saw two of those gum-trees very near oneanother, with about enough room to trundle a wheelbarrow between, he lashed his five horses to a more furiousgallop, and somehow or other shot the great lumberingcoach between them now and again he would heavethe wretched carriage over two or three trees that layon or near the road, and then, inspired apparently bysome Satanic agency, dash in and among the treesuntil one wondered how he would ever find his wayout again . No wonder the parrots did not put in anappearance I bel ieve Gordon ’s driving frightened alll iving things everywhere near the road far away intothe bush. I n this ventre d ter re fashion we drovemore or less all day, and reached with unbrokennecks, which was a marvel, the railway station (afternight had fallen) of Bethungra, where, taking thetrain , I reached Sydney early next day, and for thesecond time the hospitable doors of Government House

2 10 MY REM IN I SCENCESRiver was particularly successful , and in its waynothing can be prettier than the scenery here. Wereturned through the harbour under a Venetian-l ikesunset sky ; the bay all aglow with amber and purplel ights reflected from the upper glories. Sir Arthurand Lady Gordon arrived at Sydney while I wasthere

,on their way home from Fiji , where Mr. De

Voeux had replaced him temporarily. What paIntsSir Arthur Gordon to the ground is a story told of

him when he was Governor of New Brunsw ick, wherehe is said to have reproved the clergyman for

not substituting in the prayer for the Queen “ Thyservant Victoria for Thy servant Arthur SirArthur has not had the advantage of roughing it atschool or at the University ; this may account forsome of his idiosyncrasies. I can hardly imagineanybody quite such a superior person as Sir ArthurGordon appears to think himself. Thy servantArthur ” shakes your hand as if it were trulytrop d

’

bonneur , in a limp fashion , which, were it notso comical, would be almost insulting. But I mustadd that Sir Arthur spoke with great feeling aboutmy S ister Elizabeth , who had liked him for his father’ssake

,I suppose, and with deep affection about his

father—the Minister ; and what he said respecting theloss of those one loved , making the ambitions of afterl ife valueless, made me forgive the limp Shake of

the hand and the terribly self-conscious manner. He

TO AUSTRAL IA AND BACK AGA I N . 2 1 1

i s said to be liked by his staff, two of whom were

with him—one his cousin Arthur Gordon,the other

Mr. Knollys ; both of these gentlemen have distinguished themselves in the fighting in Fij i .

‘

Yn ly 30.—On board the B r isbane, s .s . , of the

Eastern and Australian l ine, off Townsville. HereI am on a steamer of some thirteen hundred tons

,

which I have nearly all to myself. I had postponed leaving Sydney, hearing that although the passage through the Torres Straits was not one of thesafest in the world , still that I should probably havethe steamer almost to myself ; and thus I have foundit, and here one is as if on board one’s own yacht .The vessel is clean and comfortable, with a first-ratecaptain (Reddell) , a capital fellow. The other saloonpassengers consist of a pearl-fisher merchant and h iswife

,on their way to the north of Australia. Pearl

fishing is not, he tells me, a lucrative profession . as

the pearl fishers invariably swallow the pearls thatthey find. We are waited on by Chinese, as noiselessas if they were ballet dancers . Moore’s delightfulLife of Byron has whiled away the long hours ofthe voyage . How I would have loved Byron , withhis intense friendships and need of affection , his nu

swerving likes and hatreds, putting aside his soaringgenius ! We have passed some fine scenery to-day(July a succession of rocky islands, rugged and

barren ; in the golden haze they looked l ike immenseP 2

2 1 2 VIY REM IN ISCENCES .

amethysts rising out of a sea of emerald and

S ilver.‘A ugust 2 (my 33rd birthday) (off Brisbane) .— I see

in Byron ’s Life that Dante calls this thirty-third yearthe mezzo cammino of l ife . That, I imagine, meansthe middle half-way house of the journey of existence.

D— n your mezzo cammino, writes Byron to Moore(on his 33rd birthday) you should say the prime oflife—a much more consolatory phrase.” Three daysago we landed some pigs at Cooktown—a good riddance, and took some Chinese on board of these wehave now two hundred , only one a saloon passenger, awealthy merchant, and a most inoffensive creature, asmost of these long-ta iled folk appear to be. However,it would not be pleasant if these two hundred ChineseShould take it into their heads to set on the dozenEuropeans or so that man this ship . I landed atCooktown with the captain . I t is the place aboutwhich the story is told of one of the Cooktonians afterdeath

,who, finding himself not in heaven , asked leave

that he might have his great coat sent him , as he wasafraid of catching cold. We came across some strangefolk in Cooktown one of those a certain ex-constable,an I rishman of the name of Closey. This pol icemanvolunteered to show us something of the place that heguards

,and drove us some miles along a picturesque

road . A local merchant and his wife gave us teaintheir house, where we met an old Scotch body , a


these islands, which are Spanish property. The nativesl ive in bamboo huts, huddled among the cocoa-nutgroves. On the following day we were again ou t of

sight of land, steaming through the hot Chinese Sea .

Here the moonl ight nights were inexpressibly beautiful.On the 1 3th land was again in S ight, China at last.The rugged hills loomed faintly through the hot mist.I n heavy rain we entered the harbour of Hong Kong ;but in spite of the rain and m ist I could see that thisharbour was one of the most beautiful things I hadseen since leaving England , an impression which betteracquaintance with it confirmed . The first landing inCh ina in a ‘ sampan ’ is one of those events thatmake a lasting impression ; and the sedan-l ike chairwhich is the hansom cab of Chinese towns is anothernovel sensation not soon to be forgotten, as remarkable as the first cruise in a gondola or the first ride inan I rish outside car. I found the Club a delightfulplace, the freedom of an hotel with the privacy of

a first class club combined, and with many whatDr. Johnson would call ‘ clubbable ’ young men helonging to it. Carried in the palanquin sedan throughthe crowded streets of this marvellously picturesqueplace recalled one’s childish ideas of some scene in the‘ Arabian N ights , ’ but infinitely more quaint than anything one had seen on any stage, scene, or picture. Ifound myself transported two thousand years back inancient Rome or glorious Carthage . This illusion is

TO AU STRAL IA AND BACK AGA IN . 2 1 5

helped no doubt by the coloured dresses and gracefuldrapery of the Chinese, and by the somewhat classicalstyle of the white houses, with the ir porticoes andcolonnades and balconies sparkling under the intenselybrilliant sunshine; outlined sharply against the almostpurple sky. But here are Chinese instead of Romans,stucco and coloured bricks instead of marble andfreestone. Still the flat-roofed houses and luxuriantvegetation on every side made one fancy how l ikesome ancient Southern city Hong Kong looks, atleast to the eyes that see it for the first time, andthe rare carriages and many chairs carried on men ’sShoulders with white draped figures in them help theillusion .

Shortly after landing I received a civil messagefrom the Governor, Mr. Pope Hennessy (conveyed meby his Aide-de-Camp , Major Palmer) , asking me to

make use of His Excellency’s palanquin and red-clothednative chairmen during my stay in Hong Kong. Thuswas I carried in state by men in regal scarlet in amirror-l ined sedan , and saluted by the police— Indians ,a fine body of men—during my progress through thestreets of Hong Kong. The drawback to this formof progression is that I could not make myself understood to my bearers , not having mustered up sufficientPigeon Engl ish , ’ as they here call the barbarous andchildishpatois, a mixture of Engl ish , Portuguese, andChinese lingo, and the consequences were highly


absurd . For instance, the other day, wishing to becarried to the public gardens , I was borne away, protesting

,but vainly, and placed right in the middle of

the dockyard . On another occas ion they did theirbest to carry me into Government House (now empty,as His Exce llency during the great heat lives up in abungalow at the top of the Peak) . I had barely timeto get them to desist from doing so, but not before thesentry, see ing the red-coated bearers, had called ou t

the guard with a shout of ‘ Present Arms ! ’ Neverhave I felt the advantage to my fellow-creatures so

much as now of being a light weight, for the poorchairmen have carried me to the top of a mountain ,some seventeen hundred feet above Hong Kong,under a blazing sun ; but they seem untirable. U p

this mountain I went to’

visit Mr. and Mrs. PopeHennessy, in an atmosphere some ten degrees coolerthan down in the town , where it is stifl ing ; theglass is never much under one hundred and tenday or night. Pope Hennessy in looks reminds mea little of I rving, and also of what Shelley mighthave looked had he lived ten years longer. Hewas kindness and cordiality itself, but everyone wasthis to me at Hong Kong ; and space would fail toname all those to whom I was indebted for muchhospitality while there— to Messrs. Locock and Gibbs

,

the agents of the Steamship Company I came by, tothe officers in the barracks, and to a score of charming

2 18 NIY REM I N I SCENCES .

imposs ible one ’s chair would not stick between thehouses, up to the old town walls, and down again tomore shops , and then across the river in a boat to thefamous temples on the South Island—temples in whichwere hundreds of gilded idols and scarlet pillars,gardens , divinities and altars , pigs, and posturingpriests . The service in one of these temples beganby a hideous noise made on some ear-splitting gong.

followed by a procession of priests, all shaven andshorn, attired in red and purple robes . These as theywalked chaunted , their hands clasped before their faces.When they have marched round the temple severaltimes , each places himself in front of an altar, andprostrates himself repeatedly at the sound of a bell .Much of this performance recalled the ceremonies ofthe Roman Church . Many things in these Pagantemples remind one also of a still older rel igion . For

instance, to see two fat old priests waddling up to one

another and audibly chuckling,recals the augur of

old Rome . Among these temples are kept sacredanimals : turtles in a tank in one , and some very fatpigs in a marble sty in another. I n this custom do

the Chinese priests also resemble the Roman . The longday of Canton sight-see ing closed at length under asuperb sunset Sky all pink and grey ; a great pile of

coral- t inted cloud stood ou t grandly l ike some hugeaerial con tinent on a cloud-mapped chart of someother world .

To AUSTRAL IA AND BACK AGA IN . 2 1 9

But for the intense beat my stay at Hong Kongwould have been delightful. There , and in fact nearlywherever one goes out of Europe, I found the Englishof the place courtesy itself.Dining out one evening with Mr. Gibb in his villa

on the mountain S ide was like making a visit in fairyland. From the balcony of his house one overlooksthe harbour, then one vast coruscation of fl ickeringlights. One was put in mind of the story of theGerman prince who, on arriving at night in Edinburgh ,and looking out of his hotel window in Princes Streetat the old town, said that he was gratified to observethat the people had illuminated in H is H ighness ’shonour ! Hong Kong harbour on such an Augustnight is one of the loveliest visions in the world— thewhole place ablaze with thousands of variegated lights,flashing and darting like fireflies, the deep purplepanoply above dotted with myriads of stars, the moonsailing majestically above all.August 2 3 was my last day at beautiful Hong

Kong. Finding that Pope Hennessy,l ike another

Moses, had descended from the Mount, I called atGovernment House—an ugly square building, butcommanding a glorious view over surely the mostbeautiful harbour in the world .

I t w ill be long before the writer can forget thepleasant days passed with friends at the Club ,among whom the French Consul La Grancy

’

s name

2 20 MY REM IN lSCENCES .

must not be omitted,and especially with Gower

Robinson and the officers of the 74th.

O n the following day I was on board the hugeAmerican vessel, the City of P ekz

'

n,a splendid

ship of over tons,and some 400 feet long,

superbly fitted up. Slowly we steamed through thatglorious Ly-e-Moon passage, which for beauty bafflesall description ; and soon the harbour of Hong Kong,its town , and its hills grew lessened , till they at lengthvanished from our view . I t was too hot to sleepbelow deck between China and Japan , and I got acool berth in the Social Hall, ’ as the deck saloon iscalled . Three days after leaving Hong Kong wewere in for the ta il end (only, luckily) of a typhoon .

Among our passengers were some officers of the 74thRegiment

,quartered at Hong Kong. Their Colonel

Mr. Jago—had passed many years in I ndia, he hasa look about him of a French cavalry officer, was oneof these. Among the others was an army doctorCampbell by name—I liked much . On August 30

we arrived at Yokohama. From early dawn till anchoring in the evening we had passed picturesque islandsbut the first impression of Japan , coming fresh fromHong Kong, is one of disappointment.Our steamer was soon besieged by shoals of

boats full of almost nude Japs, whose fine bronzecoloured frames were in striking contrast with thehalf-starved s ickly looking Chinese coolies we had

222 MY REM IN ISCENCES .

than that at Hong Kong, but also is most comfortable .

There were some agreeable men in it— most of themEnglish , but a few Americans as well . O f these , Mr.Howland , a very intelligent young man , I liked muchand a young Mr. Ritchie has been most civil to me ,doing me the honours of the place. With him I havebeen over the principal shops and what shops ’Lock K ing’s famous ‘ store ’ at Hong Kong fadesinto insignificance compared to those ‘ stores ’ I haveseen to-day. Never had one seen more beautifulwares, or in greater profusion what are here calledcurios —marvellous toys and gimcracks, in ivory andin lacquer, in bronze and in jade, in metal work and

wood of all sorts , forms , and fashions ; fans , screens ,and boxes , inlaid with gems and mother-o’

-pearl , as ifby fairy fingers, in patterns of flowers and prints ,insects, birds, and feathers, gleaming on the wood andmetal ground , and jewellery and goldwork as del icateas any of the best antique or cinque-cento Florentineworkmanship. I n such shops one lets Prudence ,Caution, and other such dirty passions and bad propensities, ’ as Sterne calls them, go hang, and allowsthat delightful virtue, unbridled extravagance, to runriot. Oh, for boundless wealth, and a yacht in whichto store to the brim those treasures ! First impressions are generally the strongest ; and certainlyYokohama and the Japanese do not impress me one

quarter as much as did Hong Kong and the Chinese,

TO AUSTRALIA AND BACK AGA IN . 223

where all is colour and every deta il makes a picture ,while here there is but little ‘ local colour, ’ not asmuch as in an English village on a sunny day for thehouses are mostly covered with black tiles, and manyhave even their wooden walls painted the samecolour, funeral hangings of dark blue only rel ieved bywhite letters hanging over the doorways . At Yokohama, too, the dresses, although quaint, are not

brill iant l ike those of the Chinese ; and there is anabsence of that element which made me feel whenin Hong Kong and Canton as if one had been transported into some ancient Roman or Assyrian city .

Although it may be said that this is owing to

Yokohama being much Europeanised, even at Yeddothis brilliancy of colour as compared to China does notexist. There is

,I think, much exaggeration in saying

that the Japs have lost so much of their national ity inoutward things and appearances. The natives whowear European dresses here are the exception , andyou may not see half-a -dozen in an hour’s walk in thestreets of this place, or be taken miles in the gin -rikishow (a little two-wheeled carriage, drawn by a manin the traces ) without seeing anything more Europeanthan a Japanese lady wearing a billy-cock hat.I n one of these conveyances I was taken all about

the town ; up to the Bluff, where the wealthy Europeansl ive

,and on to a tea-garden

,where a pretty l ittle

damse l brought us (Ritchie and myself) some straw


coloured decoction they here call tea in a little cup

fit for fairy fingers to hold . I n this tea-garden , roundwhich a myriad minute shrubs grow in pots , one

could judge of the extreme civility of this people,not only to strangers , but to each other : a womanpassing through the garden where we were havingour pale tea , espying the maid , doubled herself up ,and bowed repeatedly, till we began to fear for herspinal marrow, so long did she remain in the shape ofa right angle ; the l ittle maid was also quite as gooda right angle as the other ! Imagine two Englishgirls of their class doing this , or when meeting givinganything more than a saucy salute to each other. Thenext day at Yeddo we saw a native soldier, a private ,remain for certainly two minutes in this right angu larposition ; and if you think , madam ,

that two minutesis not so very long a time to remain thus , pray attemptto remain one, or even half one ; the soldier did thisnot to an officer but to a brother private who was longago ou t of sight before the other had resumed a perpendicular attitude. After dinner at the Club my travell ing companions all adjourned to No. 9, but what No.

9 is I am not obliged to tell . On the next day, aSunday, September I , we vis ited Yeddo or Tokio inJapan a tiresome habit obtains of calling the sameplace by two entirely different names , a practice thatis apt to lead to confusion , and is especially hard on

one if one’s memory has difficu lty in retaining even a

2 26 MY REM IN ISCENCES .

we visited , all far superior to any of those I saw atCanton . Here the one I most liked stands in a parkcalled Uyeno— it is l ike someth ing in an Opera, andresembled vaguely a scene in the Prophete .

’ Thetemple is approached by a stone-flagged way, passingthrough a grove of large trees , most picturesquelygrouped in a thick wilderness on either hand this roadis bordered by double rows of quaintly-shaped andelaborate ly-carved lanterns in stone . The templei tself, all glorious within , ’ is also very ornate without,as much so as paint and carving and gilding can makea building. The interior is of wonderful beauty.

Before entering you have to remove your boots andso slide in your stockinged feet over the black-polishedlacquered floor, which is nearly as slippery as burnished steel . The ceiling is perfect both as to colourand pattern , formed of squares framed in ebony inhigh relief ; on each projecting beam a most delicatecross-shaped pattern, made in what looks like gold ,but probably gilt bronze, is worked. Between thesebeams the ground work (which is again subdivided bysmaller cross beams in ebony) is of a rich gold colour.When I allow that this temple ceil ing is even morebeautiful than that in my house at Windsor, I havesaid all that can be said in the manner of praise .

In this temple we watched some of the worshippersthese were Shintos. A large circular mirror is placedin the centre of the temple ; before it the worshipper


stands with clasped hands , and silently invokes thede ity.

What according to the guide-books is the finest ofthese temples at Tokio , that of Sheba, we were unableto vis it, as some relations of the M ikado were insideit, and the priests had fastened up all round it longblack and white curtains , denoting that there was no

admittance during that service at all events . Aftermuch trouble our guide prevailed on one of the prieststo let us walk round the inner enclosure of the principaltemple, the bronze gates of which are said to be marvellons works of art.

A sakusa and its temples is quite a town in itself,hundreds of booths surround the temples—an immensefair. I n one of these temples hang monster paperlanterns, some twenty feet high ; and near here are

waxworks surpassing those in Baker Street,and such

as to make Mrs. Jarley turn in her grave for envy.

Our party began to show signs of hunger coupledwith acerbity of temper, and our poor little guide gotsome sharp language showered on him . What the

said one of our military heroes what thedoes thisway to see some

fool of a gu ide bring us all thiswaxworks for ? him ! ’ You

know the eloquence of our tongue when wagged byirascible military youth . And so the poor inoffensivelittle Jap was sat upon and abused , called all manner ofhard names , and repeatedly asked in the most pressing

Q 2


manner to visit a nameless region for having merelydone his duty. I suppose when we accustom our

you ths to regard corporal punishment— fagging andsuch other public school customs— as fine and manly,and especially truly English institutions, we can hardlybe surprised at their carry ing out these practices on anextended scale when they are able to bully some harmless cool ie or kick a defenceless native I ndian . Not

until we had breakfasted were our party appeased butthe ir ill - temper and language returned when we hadto make a laborious cl imb up some hundred and fiftysteps of stone , at the top of which there is a panoramic view of the town and harbour ; a view morecurious than fine. The thousands of dark-roofed houseslook mean and tawdry, and the eye seeks in vain forsome tower or steeple to relieve the du ll monotony ofthis w ide expanse of dark house-tops ; nor can the

distant harbour and country be called by any stretchof the imagination even picturesque. This was our

last general look at the capital of Japan . As we joltedover the roughly-paved streets to the station , sittingat the door of a shop was a thing that in my shortsightedness I took to be a eat , but some one said it wasnot a eat , but a frog — and a frog or a toad it turned ou tto be , of immense s ize . One of our party made as ign to the owner of the creature to follow us ; helifting up the frog rushed after our carriage , but seeingbusiness was not meant put it down again , and it

230 MY REM IN ISCEN CES .

Whitehead is one of the drollest fellows I everme t , with real wit (how rare a quality in our youngarmy men H is conversation is not only amus ing,bu t his appearance is so too . He has added to thecharms of his outer man by being tattooed over back ,arms , and chest. Birds

,repti les , fishes , and flowers

meander in graceful confus ion over his body and hischief regret in life is that there is no room left onwhich to immortal ise in imperishable tattoo the greatrunning frog of Tokio. My second and last even ingpassed at the Club at Yokohama was a very sociableone. Colonel Jago and Whitehead told their beststories, and tried to cap each other.I met that same evening Lord Ebrington , also

bound for San Francisco in the same steamer as myself. He has been globe-trotting ’ the last year, andfor his age , about four-and-twenty, he has already seenmuch of the world . He is an amiable youth . but hassome of the ér u sguer ie of manner and huffiness

which I have often remarked in the eldest sons of

peers . Next day we were aboard the mighty Cit) ; ofP eéz

'

n again . My American friend Howland steeredthe boat which took us aboard from the shore . Onou r way we had a race w ith a six-oared boat mannedby almost totally nude Japanese boatmen , rolling the iroars in the water, and cutting through it in their flatbottomed boat at a great rate . Although our boatwas manned by an equal number of Chinese sailors,

TO AUSTRALIA AND BACK AGA IN . 23x

pulling in English fashion and as wel l as any Englishman-o’

-war’s crew, they had some trouble in reachingthe ship’s side the first. On board the steamer Iparted with Howland and Whitehead , with the hopeof seeing them again . Soon after ten we were towedout of the harbour, and there was an end to my shortvis it in Japan .

The Trans-Pacific voyage was most uneventful .On landing at San Francisco the Custom-house officersmade a strict search of our luggage ; and although theyinspected our Japanese purchases , they confiscatednothing, nor did they make us pay a cent of duty onthem.

I found myself, on going to the Palace Hotel , inthe very same room that I had occupied six monthsbefore. That same afternoon I left ’Frisco on an expedition to the Yosemite Valley—an excurs ion wh ich Ishould not recommend anyone making so late in thesummer ; advice which , I think , the following accountof this expedition will sufficiently explain

‘ September 26 .

—A t the El Capitan Hotel ,Merced . Since my last entry I have passed six astiring days as I have undergone in any of my travels .The train left Oakland in the afternoon at four. We

crossed the ferry in a steamer, where I made theacquaintance of an

' English youth, a son of the proprietor of the “ T imes,” bound also for the Yosemite . That is an expedition of such labour and

23: MY REM IN ISCENCES .

toil that, compared to it, a felon ’s task weuld be anagreeable change. We have risen every morningbefore daybreak ; we have been devoured by mos

quitos ; we have had every bone in our bodiesbru ised , every muscle and nerve wrung ; we havebeen covered inches thick in dust ; we have beenroasted in the sun ; our food has been bad ; but wehave certainly seen one of the greatest sights in theNew World in that T itanic valley of the Yosemite ,and in the largest and most ancient trees that exist inthe world.

‘ The first part of the expedition was easy-goingenough . This consisted of travelling in crowded carsfor about half-a-dozen hours by rail to Merced . Ongetting up the next morning by moonlight, it dawnedupon us that mosquitos had been , during the night,engaged at their bloody work . I had escaped eas ilyenough ; but my companion Walter, whose skin is tenyears younger and tenderer than mine , appeared in asad pl ight. We had been able to get little supper then ight before, and less sleep ; for it was a ball n ight,and revelry re igned in the Merced Hotel till we hadto rise . when we found the place all da m s -demons ,

the wa iters more or less drunk, the whole place looking l ike a th ird -rate éam gue at a fa ir. What a nightthat was ! What with the big fiddle and trombone,and a hound under our w indows in the yard, whohowled a dismal accompaniment to these, until at

2 34 my REM IN ISCENCES .

middle seats were the young Germans and the Engl ish brothers ; and in the back seat, with a bar of ironthat stuck into one’s ribs and spine

,and on which two

people could have been uncomfortably seated , sat themiddle-aged Englishman , Walter, and 1 .

‘ O ff we started soon after six , the sun even thenhot . Little did I know till that drive what the tor

tures of dust can be. I n a few minutes we were all ofone colour ; and in an hour or two almost of one andthe same shape. I n spite of knowing that one isfrom dust

,and that to dust one will return , I did not

experience any more liking for that element on accountof this knowledge .

‘ The horrors of that drive are indelibly engraved onmy mind , as the marks of that iron bar behind our

seat were then on my person . Imagine eleven guineapigs in a small box , violently shaken together for fourteen hours, who would not fee l pity for those animalsBut ours was a worse plight ; for not only were weviolently shaken and banged about in that instrument of torture of a carriage, but the dust l iterallymade sight and hearing, pu tting as ide smell , disappear E ’en reason might well have tottered on

her throne .

” This torture lasted from six in themorning until ten at night, wi t h but one l i ttle respiteof half an hour for luncheon , when we scraped afew inches of the mud ,

for the heat had turned thecoat ing of dust that covered us into a solid crust, from


off our faces. I ts effect on us would have beencomical had it not been attended with so much suffering ; the German from Leipzig’

s face looked likenothing so much as the lower half of the inside of anhourglass when the sand is falling— his tip-tiltedexcuse for a nose being the only portion of his facethat was visible . Dust was not only around and infront and behind us, but it was impossible not to

breathe it in at every respiration , and I only wonderthat the painful internal malady that Sir HenryThompson has made his special study has not madeits appearance since this fearsome dust drive inCalifornia. I n vain we tried fi tfully to be cheerful aswe rocked wearily over the sandy plain . For the firstdozen miles or so we traversed a hideous waste ;nothing, as far as the dust enabled us to see, but sandflats and sand hillocks, burnt grass, rocks, and stones,and desolation . Now and then a prairie dog loomedthrough the dust clouds ; dogs that are said to maketheir burrows with the prairie owls and live amiablytogether. “ O f course they must do so (2 la Box andCox — the dog ou t all day, and the owl all nightsuggested someone, and we tried to laugh at thewitticism , but cou ld only choke out some of thedust from our parched throats . Bu t how ,

”objected

another, “ how about the rattlesnake, who is also saidto make its home wi th the owl and the dog Oh

,

that of course is Mrs . Bouncer, the landlady, and we


choked again a l ittle more of the dust. T owardsdusk we left the flat prairie ground and jolted up anddown hills, and dashed through pine and fir woods .A s the shadows lengthened and the sky turned fromblue to apple green, the woods reminded one of someof Doré's landscapes. After climbing what seemedendless ranges of hills we arrived at nightfall at thetop of the valley, and then for the next five hours itwas all down hill going and at a rattling pace. We hadreached the summit of the S ierra , some three thousandfeet above the sea, and now entered the MariposaForest. The carriage lamps were now lighted , or triedto be , bu t they were modest lamps and constantlydisappeared . At length , when tired to death and

vowing that no possible scenery on earth could makeup for such a day’s journey and such a drive , we droveup to the Big Tree Station , kept by an intell igentman named Washburn . There we sought and ob

tained for that n ight the repose we certainly allneeded . The station consists of some rough log

huts ; in the largest of these is the dining -room , sitting-room , and kitchen en su ite. The bedrooms arein the other huts scattered all about the place ; theseare clean and comfortable nor was the food bad , bu tthe charges are exorbitant, and nothing, except perhapsa glass of water, is charged less than half a dollar.To have one’s boots dusted costs half a crown . Ourstart was an early one next morning. Compared to


d iaphanous and rainbow-coloured glory, l ike a streamof chequered light thrown athwart from the stainedglass of some anc ient minster. Beyond rose peakupon peak of perpendicular rock ; these are namedthe “ Brothers, the “ Cathedral Rocks, ” and theSentinel , all more than two thousand feet above thevalley ; and again , towering higher yet than these prodigious crags , a still more gigant ic mountain monarchrears its head of jagged granite , half of its roundedbrow cut off as if by some monster cleaver whichseems to have shorn its high crown from the giddysummit into the Yosemite three thousand and odd

feet below . This is the Half Dome ,” and ye t againbey ond this in the far-away d istance towers the greatClouds ’ Rest

,h igher than all—subl imely awfu l

As we drove on through the valley one felt almostoppressed by the gigantic cliffs that shut it in on

either side . I t appears but a path between thesehuge granite walls. Walter. the Americans , and

myself, elected to stay at Black ’s “ Hotel ,” a longwooden shanty ; the others went further in the

valley to another inn . That evening we vis ited the“ Mirror Lake ,” which I cons ider a swindle . Expecting to see something like an English lakeamong Sw iss mountains , which is the impression givenone by Bierstadt ’s great painting of this “ M irrorLake ,

” we found nothing more than an enlargementof the l ittle Merced River that flows through the valley

TO AU STRALIA AND BACK AGA IN . 2 39

in tortuous curves ; a lake not much bigger thanmany an artificial pond in an English or Frenchgarden , some thirty yards wide perhaps. That thesurrounding rocks are reflected in its waters is a fact,but not , I imagine, a part icular or pecu l iar phenomenon ; and I feel almost certa in that I have seen suchreflections of surrounding objects in other waters andon other lakes . What particularly disgusted me withthis Mirror humbug was a tou t of a guide who , in theway those detestable pests have, pounced upon usand jabbered away at some nonsense respecting the“ lake ” and its reflect ions, and the shapes and formsand figures that could , if one chose to see them

,be

found on the sides of the rocks above us . Here, hesaid , you could distinctly see the form of a monkey’shead , and t here the rump of a bear ; Washington ’sprofile on this side . and that of a pedlar on the other.With Hamlet I felt inclined to say, “ I t is backedl ike a weasel -or like a whale ? very like a whale ;but the tout was even more insupportable than old

Polonius, and I wished him at the bottom, if deepenough

, of his M irror Lake. At length I had himon the hip, asking him how many miles wide hisMirror Lake was . This query made him , to usean Americanism

,telescope ”

; but as we turned to

leave he had his revenge, demanding as a right“ toll , for, forsooth , having plagued us with hisweasel ’s backs and pedlar’s profiles ; but the impu


dent scoundrel , for all that , got half a dollar a headfrom us. This system of fleecing sightseers by demanding toll obta ins more in America than in anyother country, and more in this Yosemite Valleythan any other place in the S tates . N iagara, on theAmerican shore, is in this respect a scandal ; no

scenery can repay one the annoyance of being toldthat one must give a mercenary fellow a dollar forone ’s having traversed a bridge or for having walkedup a badly-kept path A t the Yosemite , when ridingup to Glacier Point or some other coign of vantage ,one has to pay for having ridden up to the place ;but the unwary pedestrian, who fondly imagines that ,not being on horseback , he will escape payment, isalso equally fleeced , and , doubtless, if he thought toevade the black mail by crawling up on all fours hewould be told that he must pay double “ toll .” I nfa irness to the Mirror Lake 1 must add that as wegazed at this piece of water, not as wide as the lakein St . James’s Park, the top of the rocks

,whose white

peaks were then gilded by the setting sun, were certainly vividly and beautifully reflected in the stillwaters, of which one of the Germans had expressedhis admiration by saying that they were “ A c/z Gott ,

w z

’

e sc/zmutzzg Darkness was over the valley beforewe got back to our wooden tenement, where we founda supper and comfortable beds .

‘ The next morning, October 2 3 , there were two


stand the great cone rocks, and in the valley windsl ike a chain of diamonds the Merced River. The in

tense desolation of this scene is its most str iking andpeculiar feature, beyond all conception desolate. Thisto me is the most remarkable effect in this Californianvalley. I t is on such a spot and in such a place thatthe Almighty might have thundered H is anger forthagainst the rebell ious tribes of I srael ; on such ablasted crag—where only a dwarfed stone pine canlive—one can imagine Moses receiving the Tables of

the Law from the omnipotent Jehovah, in storm andwhirlwind or here interceding for his people, campedbelow miles away in that peaceful valley among theirtents and their flocks. Awfully grand it is, this Valleyof the Yosemite, beyond all question ; but not beautiful— at least not in my sense of that term . I couldname half a dozen infinitely more beautiful places inSwitzerland, and two or three in Scotland ; thoughnone indeed more sublimely impressive, both asregards the form and wonderful decl ivity of thesegreat bas tions of rock. Probably at other seasons ofthe year there is more colour here ; now the grass isyellow and parched up, but even in the spring theprevailing colour—from the amount of pine woodsmust be a sombre green . The rocks are a dirtywhite

,not like snow, unless it be our London snow,

that some people would have them ; they are a dull ,dirty grey

,stained in many places by the water that


has coursed down their steep sides for so manythousands of years. In some places they are so discoloured that one might imagine that, in the times ofthe Giants, some of those Colossi had used them as

writing-desks—their pens, pines eighty feet long,

dipped in the waters of some inky lake, of whicha l ittle had coursed down the sides of the stonydesks .Our companions joined us at luncheon at the bu t

on Glacier Point. We could not but rejoice that thoseunfortunates who had been since early dawn in thesaddle, doing the Round Trip,” were not in the besthumour with it, and declared that the view we hadbefore us was the finest they had seen that day. Ed ’sfather did nothing but bewail himself at not havingremained like us comfortably in bed till n ine thatmorning.

A few yards from the luncheon bu t is GlacierPoint ; it forms the corner of one of the mountains

,

and commands a grand view of the val ley below. Totest the height we threw some empty beer bottlesover the edge ; about eighteen seconds elapsed beforewe heard the slight “ bing ” that announced theirarrival below. Descending the mountain , Walter preferred going on foot to riding down , confessing that hehad not the nerve to ride on so narrow a path, fromwhich a false step of the brute would send him rollingdown where the empty beer bottles had disappeared .

R 2


We started off at cock-crow on our return drive nextmorning, October 24. Our party had increased—a

fat German of the name of Schutz, and an Englishclergyman of florid hue and white-bearded, a face thatonly wanted a monk’s cowl over it to turn it into aFriar Tuck, and his sister-in-law, a gushing damsel ofno age in particular. I was glad to bid adieu to theYosemite. O f course, if sketching is one’s object,three or even more months might be profitably passedthere ; but for the general impression of the place Ihad seen enough in those two days. That it is aplace worth seeing there can be no question ; butwhether the miserable journey is repaid by what onesees is another. I strongly advise all but the mostardent admirers of scenery not to undertake the expedition in the autumn ; and not for an empire wouldI go through that drive again from Merced to Clark’s.We were told that on an average people visitthe Yosemite yearly of these about half are Germansand the others mostly English. Returned to Clark ’s

,

we set out on horseback to see the far-famed Mam

moth Trees—the Sequoia: gigantea ; the trunk of

a portion of one of these trees I remember twentyyears ago in the Crystal Palace. Walter was tooknocked up to join those who rode to the grove

,some

six miles away from the inn. A more beautiful ridecannot be imagined. The path leads through a densepine forest ; trees which anywhere else would be con !


Handel’s or a requiem '

of Bach’s. They broughtone’s heart in one’s throat and a mist to one’s eyes

,

and one felt under them nearer to God and to heaven !We measured one of these forest giants—him theyhave called by the great name ofWashington ; he isone hundred and seven feet round his base. Many,alas ! are fallen, and some bear witness to havingbeen burnt. Through the hollow trunk of one youcan ride. With what delight could one pass days inthis natural temple, the dome of which is the blue sky,the pillars these stately purple columns ! But we hadto get back to the inn before dark, as the forest trackis not a pleasant one to ride along after nightfall.

Next morning we were up by moonlight, and offagain before dawn . O f all abominable things

,none

,I

think, is worse than having to get up by the l ight ofcandle ; it is better not to go to bed at all than to do so.

And then the weary sixty miles ’ drive recommenced ,the dust and the jolting, but mercifully not as bad asin coming ; for the second day’s torture can neverequal that of the first, the torn nerves are deadenedwith the former anguish . We again halted for luncheonat Mariposa ; from there we rattled at a good rateover the weary prairie, beyond which the great globeof orange colour was setting in a sea of amber and

scarlet sky. A great cloud swept athwart the easternsky shaped like a monster sickle, and above lay a rowof tumbled clouds like a frozen sea against a saffron


sky. On the horizon t he long range of the Mariposahills formed a dark barrier over a wide desert of

tawny yellow ground a weird and telling picture.0mm 5 .

—Hotel Brunswick, New York. Here Iam back again after an absence of nearly seven months.I have little to chronicle since leaving Merced. Theautumn tints on the Wahsatch Mountains looked likegems scattered on the hills, with the bright WeberRiver glancing and reflecting them. I made the acquaintance of a young American naval lieutenant

, on

route for Albany. We spent a pleasant day at hisfather’s, Admiral Strong’s, home. From young StrongI learnt the sad news of my friend Harry Montagu

’

s

sudden death at San Francisco in August. I hadlooked forward to seeing him again on reaching NewYork

,but it was not to be. New York had gone into

mourning for the bright, handsome young actor sosuddenly cut off. On October 1 we reached Omaha

,

crossed the M issouri that evening, reaching Chicago onthe next day. On the following we arrived at Niagara,thence on to the Hudson, crossing it at Newburgh ,where for the day I was the guest of my friend’s father,as fine a specimen of an old salt, although crippled withrheumatism, as one could see. Newburgh is a delightfulDutch-looking clean town , surrounded by trim gardensand studded with pretty villas . From Newburgh bysteamer down the grandest river in the world. Theview from oppos ite West Point is glorious, combining


something of sea, a lake, and a river all in one. Undera fine sunset sky we passed the Palissades and reachedthe EmpireCity that evening. At the Lambs’ ClubI heard from one of poor Harry Montagu

’

s best friendsMr. Beckett—the details of his last hours . I t was

during this, my second short stay at New York, that Imade the acquaintance, and I hope the lasting friendship

, of one of the most delightfu l, and of the kindestand most generous of human beings Uncle Sam

,or

,

as I dubbed him,

“ Jupiter Ammon,” or, as he is officiallyknown, Samuel Ward , Esq. , Poet, Politician , and Princeof Good Fellows. Writing to me on my return to

England , and referring to Uncle Sam , Rosebery says :I t is qu ite a liberal education to know him, and it is

worth having gone round the world to be rewardedby his acquaintance at the journey’s end a sentimentand Opinion with which I entirely agree. We, UncleSam and I , made several excursions together ; thelongest and most interesting was that to see Longfellow, at Cambridge, near Boston . (An account of thisvisit appears in the next chapter. ) Many pleasantoutings owed I to Uncle Sam ; one of these, to LongIsland

, was most enjoyable ; and to many a sumptuousdinner did he invite me at the Brevoort House . Atone of these I met the M inister, Mr. Evarts, the besttype of what the English call a Yankee statesman ,shrewd

,trenchant, and incisive . One of Uncle Sam ’s

friends,Mr. Stewart , an English ex introduced


before been tell ing me how proud he was of this sonof his , whom he expected home soon , after an absenceof five years. Such are the things that make life hardto bear, and if one had not faith and hope in anotherand a better state, one would be willing and anxiousto leave this .

On the morning of the 2 2nd we arrived at Liverpool . Soon after sunrise I was on deck ; a gorgeoussky of grey and silver clouds all around , like one of

Cotman’s paintings. On the steam-tug that came outto meet our steamer were some friends, the faithfulRobert among them . At Chester station I was metby my dear sister, who had driven from Eaton. Shehad seen me off at Euston on the night of March 1 7,

and now she was here to welcome me back with allher blessed affection .

’

An event, which its despicable character rendered an indescribable annoyance, followed my return .

Whilst I was in Australia a miserable weekly paperproduced an article so contemptible as well as soscurrilous in its vile insinuations, that were it not unmistakable that one of the two persons to whom italluded was intended for myself, I should have takenno notice of it. But after I found that my name hadbeen trifled with by the gossip-mongers of Londonsociety as one of those alluded to in connection withinsinuations as vile as they were false, I felt that mysimplest course, and the easiest way of unmasking the

TO AUSTRALIA AND BACK AGA IN . 2 5 !

venomous writer, lay in an action for libel against theproprietor of the paper. The result of this was thatthe paper was destroyed, though the slanderous writerescaped the punishment he deserved by denying thathe intended to allude to me in any way.

How hard is the case of those whose inabil ity topay heavy fees allows their enemies the power of defaming them without being able to obtain redress .

In November I went to Paris with Frank M iles .I t was his first visit there. I had not yet seen theExhibition opened in the early summer of that year.During that time I began the statuette of LordBeaconsfield, as a companion to the one of Gladstone .

On November 24died poor old Dr. Quin . O f him ,

at the time, I wrote the following notice of which thisis an extract ; a poor om i fon fzméore of that geniall ittle medico

‘ I n the world of London—in that l ittle portionof it that considers itself the best—Dr. Quin willbe greatly missed . The close of a life that has beenso long and painfully drawn out during a score of

years will be felt a real loss, for in his l ine Quin hadno equal . If not “ a fellow of infinite jest, of mostexcellent fancy,” he was certainly the last of the witsof London society. Not that his humour was of thebest or of the most brill iant kind . By the side of

Theodore Hook’s fun Quin’s would have been thoughtflat, and his style of pleasantry dull compared to that


of Douglas Jerrold. But in these days we must pu tup with small wits and poor conversationalists ; anduntil the asthma

,with which Quin was latterly so

cruelly affl icted, had made his presence at socialgatherings more painful to his friends than exhila

rating, no dinner would have been considered a successwithout the presence of his short form

,and that face

not unlike an ancient comic mask . Quin wassomething more than a mere jester, or an amusingguest. He had the rare quality of being a true andsincere friend, and both men and women could consulthim with a certain ty that the advice he gave themwould be the best, and that their confidence would notbe misplaced. Probably half the scandals that taintLondon society were known to him during the lasthalf-century : what a fearful catalogue of wickednesshe must have carried in his head ! I have heard itsaid that, after reading Charles Greville’s disgracefulMemoirs ” Quin destroyed those he had written . Thisis to be regretted

,as what he wrote could not have

been ill-natured as were those of old Punch Greville. Quin never, I believe, said or did anythingill -natured, and his great popularity in society wasdoubtless ow ing to this . What a profound contempthe must have felt for that same society, with its illnature and its spite, i ts back-biting

,tale-bearing, and

petty slander ! Quin had known nearly all the peoplebest worth knowing these fifty years and more . He


than merely allude to the services Dr. Quin renderedhomoeopathy in this country . He was the first of ourmedical men to follow in the steps of Hahnemann ,and even those who had never met the cheery litt ledoctor in society ought to feel grateful to his memoryfor ridding us of the abhorred draughts and nostrums,blue pills and disgu sting potions, that the old-fashionedschool of medicine del ighted in.

’

Christmastide that year was saddened by the newsof the death of the beloved Princess Alice. Seventeen years have passed since such a profound nationalfeeling of sorrow for and sympathy with our

.

Queenand her family has been cal led forth ; i t reminds oneof that black Sunday immediately following the deathof the Prince Consort,’ I write on hearing of th isfresh and terrible grief that had befallen our belovedQueen.

Deoeméer 23.—A t Trentham. Snow shrouds this

place in one vast w inding-sheet. Gardens,shrubs

,

hills, woods, lake, statues, and temples all under thatwhite canopy. I struggled through the snow up thepark to see our dear old nurse, Mrs. I ngram ,

at Hanchurch ; she and all the folk about much excited atthe visit which the Prince Imperial is going to makehere . He will not have much fun on the ice, foralthough the gardeners are clearing the snow off,

i t is rough and rugged. The Borthwicks are here,and Sabine Greville, whose recitations are ad

TO AUSTRALIA AND BACK AGAIN . 255

mirable, especially those of Tennyson ’s Grandmother ; and Sir Richard Greville .

” The Princearrived that night from London with the Due de

Bassano . Lord Beaconsfield was to have been alsoof the party , but he writes to me saying, “ I am disappointed that I have not the pleasure of meeting youat Trentham . I had quite made up my mind to Spendmy Christmas there, but the severity of the seasonand my haphazard health keep me here a closeprisoner in a white world, and the snow still fall ing.

”

‘Deoemoor 2 7.—Still at Trentham. A thaw has

set in , making the ice on the lake in a terrible state,but the Prince Imperial perseveres in playing hockeyon it all day long, and comes back after dusk wringingwet from head to foot, much to the old Duc’s concern . Never was there so energetic a young man .

We all like him immensely. H is charm of manner,frank cordiality, and thorough enjoyment of everythinghe takes part in accounts for this. He is as courteousand civil to the employe

'

s and people about the placeas he is to my brother and his wife. Yesterday hewas taken all over the offices, stables , home farm,

poultry yard, carpenters’ yard , etc—beginning atthe stables and finishing with the kennels. He paidold Mrs. Roberts a visit at the clerk of the works ’house. She has been here half a century, and hadtold me how anxious she was , good soul , to see this“ Bonny Party,” for she remembered when a child her


terror of England being invaded by the great Napoleon . The Prince told her that he hoped he at anyrate caused her no fear. The old lady, who is eightysix , was naturally highly delighted. The Prince spentnearly half an hour overlooking the account-book of

the labourers’ and artificers’ wages in the office. He

has also been taken over the Stoke potteries byM inton Campbell , who did him the honours of thatinteresting place.

Poor Eliot Yorke is dead , aged only five-andthirty. I feel deeply for his brother Alec ,” who wasdevoted to him , and for his poor mother, Lady Hardwicke. He was one of the handsomest fellows inLondon ten years ago . What good times we had inthe old Cambridge days together, when I used to seehim at Wimpole ! L a vie est zw o tr iste eliase gamut

[a jezmesse est pas-see,

” said Gustave Doré to me theother day in Paris. I do not agree with this sentiment , but if those we have most cared about and lovedbest in this world leave us, or are taken from us, then ,

H ,indeed,this life becomes zwo tr iste efzose.


the best fellows that ever stepped , had on the day aftermy arrival entered my name as honorary member.Not being apersonnage, and not caring to appear in awhite tie and fine linen every evening, and havingwished to see the social l ife in the American city notas a guest but as a traveller, I think I can more impartially judge of what would be the impression madeon a cosmopolitan, than had I traded on being an

Englishman with a handle attached to my name, asprobably most Britishers with such an impedimentwould do. I mixed with all classes , in the street-caror omnibus (which in its American form is as superiorto our I ondon ’bus as is a Parisian victoria to agrowler in the Union Club—the Travellers’ of NewYork—and in the palatial steamer of the River Hudson,

to which steamer and to which river we have nothingto compare in the O ld \Vorld. Wherever I went Ifound all classes of the Americans not only civil , buthighly civilised , as compared class for class with theEnglish ; not only amiable, but, as a rule, kind andcourteous, and, with rare exceptions, well- informed ,

well-bred,and having more refinement of manner than

any other people I have ever come amongst. \Vhat

struck me especially in New York was the invariablecivility shown by all classes of men to women , whetherthe women rustled in silk or wore linsey-wolsey orhomespun ; however crowded the car or the footway,room was at once made for a lady. Does not this

IMPRESS ION S OF THE AMER ICANS . 2 59

somewhat contrast with the surly, grumpy incivil itythat is shown to the fair sex in our public carriages andstreets ? This politeness is not , as in a neighbouringcountry to ours , mere lip and eye civility, but arisesI believe from a mutual and intuitive good breedingwith which , as I said before, the Americans of everyclass are endowed .

For instance, if one entered a room in a club orhotel , one was not met by those assembled with aWho the Dash is this person whom none of us knowand what the Dash does he here sort of look nor

, if

one entered into conversation with someone in a railway car or steamer, was one greeted with that trulyBritish stare which, in this country of insular prejudiceand arrogant assumption , conveys as plainly as wordsthe question , What the mischief do you meanby speaking to me without waiting for an introductionMy experience has been in America that if you ask

a service from a stranger it is accorded readily, withoutcondescension or fuss ; that among them is little of thesnobbish wish to appear to those we do not know asgreater people than we really are, little of that disgustingpatronage of manner that prevails in th is countryamong the richer classes, and none of the no less disgusting cringiness of manner which as greatly prevailsamong our tradespeople, and which makes me for onehesitate before asking my way in the streets of a well

S 2


dressed man , or entering a shop where one will (ifknown as a good customer be received by a mealymouthed mortal all smiles and grimaces , who willthink that he will more readily secure a purchaser byshowing some article ordered by My Lord This or MyLady That. On the contrary, the New York tradesman or shopkeeper receives you with civil ity, butwithout any of that cringiness of manner which seemsto me l ittle less insulting than actual insolence ; he willallow you to look as long as you l ike at any of thearticles his shop may contain , and will be equally civilif you purchase or if you do not ; but he will not rubhis hands and contract his features into a leer ; and ifyou were to show him your superiority of position byaffecting to look down on him as being only a tradesman ,” he would probably show you that there is someth ing more in being a citizen of a Great Republic thanmere sound ; and that although you may fancy yourself a superIor being from not being a Republican or ashopman , he might be able to prove to you that oneman is as good as another.

I mixed thus with all classes, and spoke to all withwhom I came into contact, and in no single instancedid I meet with anything but perfect civility— thecivil ity of equals, which is after all the truest. Iadmire with all my heart this great people, our brothers,who , although we have for so many years presumed totreat them as poor relations, are in some forms of


able feature in an Alpine scene or in an I tal ian church ;and yet this is precisely the injustice we English havedealt ou t to our great kinsmen ever since the War ofI ndependence. I would wish every young Englishman of means—a nd especially of position—to visit thegreat country across the Atlantic, and to mix with thatgreat people . He would learn more by spending afew months in the States of matters appertaining tohumanity and the ways of the world—not whatLondoners call the world , but the real world of thought,of intellect, and of the future— than he would bypass ing a year at Oxford or Cambridge , or in theHouse of Commons . A young French noble, havingvisited England towards the end of the aneien regime,

on his return being asked what he had learnt inEngland , replied “ To think . This m ight be thereply of one of ourjezmesse doree after visiting theS tates.These are some of my sentiments and my impres

sions concerning the American people .

’

A friend of mine, whose title and family name areboth floral , and who appreciates and is appreciated bythe Americans

,hearing that I had made acquaintance,

and consequently a lasting friendship , with Sam Ward,or as his friends, who are legion both in the Old andNew World, call him , Uncle Sam ,

’ wrote that to

A V IS IT TO LONGFELLOW . 263

know the aforesaid Sam Ward was in itself ‘ a liberaleducation ! ’ Those of my readers who have been atthe Brevoort House, Fifth Avenue, New York, will notrequire to be reminded of the invariable kindness andcourtesy that all Englishmen experience at the handsof Uncle Sam ; and for such as have not had theprivilege of making his acquaintance, I can only saythat the sooner they go to America and do so thebetter for them .

I had been taken by Sam Ward to see a day’sracing on the new course at Jerome Park, a four miles’drive out of New York. A prettier racecourse I neversaw, but my acquaintance with racecourses is of alimited kind, and I daresay Goodwood would bereckoned a finer one. Jerome Park is in a valley ,admirably laid ou t and planted ; a serpentine racecourse winds in and out of the plantations ; the standsare as smart as those of Longchamps, and much morecomfortable.A pleasant idle day was closing in ; the last race, a

steeple-chase, had been run , won, and lost ; and as wewere making ready to return to town

,Uncle Sam

suddenly remarked that I could not think of leavingAmerica ( I was going in a couple of days back to

England) without paying Longfellow a visit.Nothing would give me greater pleasure, ’ I replied ;

but how is one to get to Boston , a ten hours’ railwayjourney, visit Longfellow, and return to New York,


to-day be ing Wednesday, and my boat sailing on

FridayNothing simpler, ’ Uncle Sam responded we will

leave New York to-night by the ten o’clock train,

breakfast at my club in Boston to-morrow morning,drive over to Longfellow at Cambridge , catch the midday train , and be back in New York to-morrow nightthat will give you time to pack up, and, as you must go,

t ime to start on Friday morning for England .

’

That night, after dining at that best of restaurants ,Delmonico’

s, we passed in a Pullman car, and foundourselves at seven the following morning in Bostonthe most English- looking town in America .

On one side of a park , which is not unlike our St.James ’s , runs a street l ined with handsome privatedwell ings and clubs, that made one half think one hadbeen suddenly transplanted to Piccadilly. I n one of

these clubs—the Somerset— a most ; luxurious place,we breakfasted as one only can in America or Paris ;for here every meal is a study, and this was emphat i

cally a ‘ square ’

one . Then we drove over to Cambridge, a pretty town of villas about four miles fromBoston , where lived the greatest of American poets .Within a short distance of the house we saw Longfellow ,

walking with one of his daughters. Although I hadonly seen that ‘ good grey head once before, and thatten years ago,

I recognised him even sooner than didmy companion, who , however, lost not a moment in

266 MY REMIN ISCENCES .

The grounds in which it stands are said to bebeautifu l , bu t I saw nothing of them , for our visit beingnecessarily a very short one, made one not inclinedwhen once in the poet’s study to leave it, even werethe gardens of Armida close at hand ; but on enteringand leaving Craigie House I noticed some fine old

trees , venerable enough to have given shade to Washington and to have dropped their leaves at his feetmore than a century ago.

The walls of the entrance hall are lined with wainscoting, and the sta ircase is of dark old oak. On thelanding stands an ancient clock , that must, I shouldthink, bring one of the best-known of Longfellow’spoems into the mind of every visitor. Almost involuntarily ou seeing it one repeats the lines on TheO ld Clock on the Stairs. ’The poet’s study is on the right and on the ground

floor ; this room also rejoices in ancient wainscotedwalls. Here are no modern decorations, no modernwall-papers, or new-fangled furniture ; above thechimney-piece is placed one of the circular diminishingmirrors that our grandparents liked so well ; this iscrowned by a golden eagle with outspread pinionsbut whether the bird is emblematical ofAmerica or notI cannot tell.The poet’s study table— the anvil on which so

much precious ore has been hamme red ou t—occupiesthe middle of the room . I t is l ittered with books and

A V IS IT TO LONGFELLOW .

papers. The latest arrival I saw from Europe wasthe new edition of Swinburne’s Poems and Ballads. ’German and French l iterat ure are well represented

,as

well as English , on the well-filled shelves of the bookcases that line the walls of Longfellow’s sanctum .

By the side of this table stands a statuette of anelderly man in a long frock-coat, his hands placedbehind him . This is said to be the best likeness ofGoethe extant. On the walls are portraits of relationsand friends of the poet. Had I the power that thelate Nassau Senior possessed to such an extraordinaryextent of being able to remember and set down conversat ions, I should write a more interesting accountthan this one I fear is, but, not having it, I must becontent with merely recording that for upwards of anhour I listened to as pleasant a conversation as I everremember to have heard between these old friends.Mr. Ward’s flow of recollections and remin iscences isamazing, and Longfellow , although no great talker,proved himself to be, what is almost rarer, a capitallistener.Longfellow Spoke as if his journeyings were over,

as if he should not return to the Old World ; his impressions of his travels in Europe, the first of which hemade more than forty years ago, are pleasant ones .There are certainly few places in Europe which cou ldbe more attractive to the poet' than his home inMassachusetts. Longfellow has had the rare fortune of


be ing thoroughly appreciated in his own country andin other countries during his l ifetime ; how differentprobably would have been the career of Byron , of

Keats , or of Shelley, had it been thus with them ! I twould be presumptuous for me , and out of place, to domore here than allude to the universal popularity ofLongfellow’s works wherever English is spoken Ibelieve it is not an exaggeration to say that his worksare more popular than those of any other l iving poet.What child is there who has not heard of Excelsior,’ orof Evangeline, ’ of Miles Standish, ’ or of Hiawatha ’

What songs more popular than The Bridge, ’ and Iknow a maiden fair to see ’

? Or who, after readingthe Psalm of Life, ’ or the Footsteps ofAngels, ’ doesnot feel a l ittle less worldly, a little less of the earth ,earthy ? The world , indeed , owes a deep debt of

gratitude to Henry Wadsworth Longfellow .

Bidding me note the beauty of the autumnal tintsthat make America in the ‘ fall ’ look as if rainbowswere streaming out of the earth, Longfellow presentedme with a goodly sample of the red and golden leavesof the previous autumn , which , although dry and faded,still glowed like gems ; these leaves I brought awayw ith me, and they now form a garland round the poet’sportrait a precious souvenir of that morning passed atCraigie House.Many years ago Cardinal Wiseman alluded to

Longfellow in words that bear repeating.


CHAPTER XXIX .

1 879 : PARIS , ITALY , RUSSIA AND SPAIN .

IN the middle of January I lost a friend and Windsorneighbour in E . M . Ward , M .A . , the historical genrepainter, whose works were highly admired sometwenty years ago ; and whose name will rank highamong our historical painters as long, indeed , as hisadmirable pictures of Dr. Johnson in Lord Chesterfield

’

s Ante-room ,

’ and The South Sea Bubble, ’ bothin the National Gallery, ex ist.

‘ I had seen Ward shortly before his death, whenhe appeared depressed and in very low spirits ; but theterrible cold and darkness of this w inter were quiteenough to account for this on an impressionable mind .

’

His wife , equally known with her husband for herartistic talents , supported her great trial heroically,and even had I not known her sterl ing qualities before, I should have discovered them when this greatsorrow overwhelmed her ; a sorrow that wou ld havecrushed down to the ground a woman less giftedwith courage and strength of character. Of my friendMr. Ward I write at the time, ‘ his misfortune was tohave been early in his career written up by the critics

,

PARIS , ITALY, RUSS IA AND SPA IN . 27 :

and in later life written down by them ; the factbeing that his style of art, which belonged , but wasnot equal , to Leslie’s, but superior to Newton ’s, hadlived its day, and had ceased to be the fashion amongart dealers and picture buyers . When the pre -Raffacllites ca me into fashion the English school of bistorical genre painting received its death-blow. Ward willalways hold an honourable place in English artthrough his paintings in the Vernon Collection ; buteven up to the last his hand had not lost its cunning,as the last important picture he finished , that of

Voltaire at Sans Souci—for which , by the way, Robertgave him some sittings only a few ‘days before theartist’s death—proved it is fu ll of vigour and imagination . So is a charming but unfinished painting re

presenting Marie Antoinette, when Dauphine, withEdmund Burke. O f this sketch Frith said thathis friend had never painted anything better. Thisbears out what I have said of his artistic powers nothaving left him—but the critics and the fashion had,and this poor Ward felt with a bitterness even untodeath .

’ This unfinished work was most kindly givenme by the family of my lamented friend . Duringmost of that terribly severe winter I was hard at workin Paris on the statuette of Lord Beaconsfield , of

which I sent him a photograph while the work wasincomplete, and received the following acknowledg

ment

\I\'

REM IN ISCENCES .(J\I

I

J

Downing Street, February 4.

‘ DEAR RONALD,—I never presume to give my

opinion of self resemblance, but everybody to whomI have shown your photograph greatly admires it ;they think it excellent as a work of art, and all agreethat it is the first satisfactory likeness that has beenproduced of your friend and servant,

BEACONSFIELD .

’

And later in the year, when I sent him a cast ofthe statuette, he w rote thus You have conferred on

me a great honour. All my friends, who have seen yourbeautiful work pronounce it the best l ikeness whichhas yet been accomplished of your present correspondent . ’ A still more precious mark of approval wasgiven me by the Queen , who graciously accepted one

of these statuettes of a minister who,whatever one ’s

views of his pol icy may be , was undoubtedly the soulof loyalty and devotion to his royal mistress . Thatgracious letter in which the Queen wrote her approvalof this l ikeness of her great minister is more preciousto me than a dukedom or the Order of the Garter.Much snow fell that winter in Paris , and with it

Macmahon and his ministry .

On January 30, Grevy became President of theRepublic .

‘ Except, ’ I write at the time , ‘ except a greaternumber of “

sergents a’

e vii/e” walking two and two


head of the Republic for seven years. He seemedpleased when I told him that I intended making astatuette of him .

Doré was hard at work paintinga group of Englishbeggar children—more carefully touched than hispictures generally are. Last time I saw him he wasnot in a pleasant mood , at not having received anyreward for his works at last year’s Exhibition ; buts ince then he has got the Grand Cross ” of the Legionof Honour yet Even with that he is not happy. Hesaid

,what I believe to be a fact, that the civil distribu

tion of that order does an immense amount of harmand causes endless ill-feeling among the French .

’

But to return to Victor Hugo . I called again on thepoet a few days after the visit I have mentioned

, one

evening, accompanied by my friend T . Gibson Bowles .

We were shown into a small unlighted S itting-room,

on the ground-floor of the little house in the Avenued

’

Eylau . Voices proceeded from the adjoining roomwhere the author of Les Miserables was finishinghis desert. Soon from the dining-room half-a-dozenmen and two or three ladies filed in last of all VictorHugo, followed by a maid who lighted a score or so ofcandles set in rather tawdry gi lt sconces, others in agaudily coloured Venetian glass chandel ier. The

room is a small one, hung with mirrors, with heavycarved-gilt Florentine frames ; on the floor is a Persian carpet, and the chimney-piece is covered by a

PARIS, ITALY, RUSS IA AND SPAIN . 275

gorgeously gilt embroidered scarlet velvet hangingnear which the Maitre sat . The others formed rathera solemn circle round him . My companion

,whose

French is excellent, and whose ap lomo is perfect,began and susta ined, greatly to my relief, the conversation ; which , as they say here, principally rolled on

the Eastern question, and on the future of Europe.According to Hugo, Europe in the twentieth centurywill form one great Republic, l ike the United States,of which , of course, France will be the centre and thegoverning power ; and Paris, of course, the capital.No more wars then will be possible ; and men willwonder as they look at the obsolete instruments of

destruction in the museums what these infernal machines were meant for ; and marvel how it waspossible that armies could have met each other for thepurpose of mutual slaughter at the bidding of thoseexploded institutions, monarchies . The race of greatcaptains is at an end ; nor does Victor Hugo or

the Almighty intend. that any more great soldiersshould exist. The late war was a proof of this !That was indeed but a war of machines and engincering. France is all the better for that war ; a warwhich has enriched her and ruined the Germans.L

’

argent que nous leur avons donut , said Hugo,has

only impoverished them and made us rich . TheEnglish

,he thinks

,will be the last of the European

nations to conform to the Republican Confederation,

T 2


but sooner or later they will have to do so and so

weiter , und so weiter — as say the Germans .Now and then Hugo spoke w ith animation and

with eloquen 'ce,but his talk is always about Moi

and les idees glor ieuses de la Revolut ion—and this

after an hour or so begins rather to pal! .ye su is l

’

nawole serviteu r de la F rance, he said ,paree qu

’

elle voit ola ir , et marene dans les vrais t /zemins

de l’

esp r it et de la civilisation sans t elaje no la servi ra i

pas.

” Turkey he pronounces to be at an end as anation Le S u ltan t ree les P atnas et les Faelzas volent

lepeup le.

Bowles tried to put in a good word for the Turks,

but on entering with some detail on his ideas regardingthat people, Victor Hugo gradually fell into a peaceful slumberWe walked back through the Champs-Elysees it

was a glorious moonlight n ight, the Arch of Triumphand the Luxor Obelisk looked under it sublime abovefloated fleecy clouds across the track of the radiant fullmoon,

and Paris glittered all around .

’

A visit to the famed prestzdzgitateur Desbarolles

I also made that winter when in Paris. This wizardl ives at 95 in the Boulevard St . Michel, on the fourthstorey . He occupies a l ittle pair of rooms literallycovered from floor to ceiling with pictures— I talianlandscapes and oil port raits. I n his study he has anelectric machine. Desbarolles , in 1 846, accompanied


treasure-house of art, the Louvre, I obtained someinteres ting information from one of the cocked-hattedguardians belonging to the sculpture gallery. Hesaid never was such distress known in Paris asduring this hard winter. Daily, between two andthree thousand workpeople pass all the day in theLouvre, to escape the outer cold ; all of these outof employment. Never was the city in his recollec

tion in such a lawless state— robberies and murdersbeing so frequent that he never ventures out at nightwithout a revolver in his pocket. He doubts thepresent Government lasting more than a year ; theM inisters, he says, are hand and glove with theCommunards, and the Empire is certain to be re

stored. He was one of the officials marked by theCommune ; between fifty and sixty of the otherguardians of the Louvre were to have been executed,and only escaped at last by a miracle .

’

Leaving Paris one moonlight night, we (RobertI took to Show him the marvels of I tal ian art) reachedMficon early next day, passing by the purple waters ofthe Lake of Bourget amidst soft and smiling scenery .

I prefer the meadows of Holland to the Alps, unart istic although they may seem . But which countryhas produced the great landscape painters, Switzerlandor Holland At Turin we visited the armoury . Fewrooms in the world can equal the coup d

’

ceil of thatsplendid gallery ; along the sides mounted knights in

PARIS, ITALY , RUSS IA AND SPA IN . 279

fu ll panoply are drawn up in a gallant row, paladins ofthe great I talian houses, in the armour which theirl iving representatives wore and fought in . That, andthe wonderful Chinese lacquer room in the palace, andthe Vandyck of Charles I . ’s children—finer than anyof his portraits at Windsor—are 1122 things to see atTurin, which otherwise is a place to be avoided, withits detestable glare and dust, and the gloomy coveredarchways along its wide and melancholy streets .Thence to Milan, where the cathedral looked to

me more than ever like a frozen fountain ; but howtawdry the painted ceiling ! Renewed acquaintancewith Raffaelle’

s Sposalizio,” in the Brera Gallery, andwas interested in finding that in the grand St. Jerome,by Titian, the background is almost the same as inthe burnt “ Peter Martyr. The finest thing in theAmbrosian Library, in the art line, is Raffaelle’

s studyfor the fresco of the School of Athens.

From Milan to Parma,where we lodged in a pic

turesque hotel, at least two centu ries old, the CroceBianca

,

”

an odd mixture offormer splendour and moderndiscomfort. We broke our necks craning to look upat Correggio’

s Assumption of the Blessed Virgin inthe cathedral. Some of the old buildings here recalledto me the cluster of palaces round the RadcliffeLibrary at Oxford ; but here the knowledge of theirantiquity makes them far more impressive . Correggio’

s

Putti ,” in the convent-room at St. Paolo, which I


knew well from ToschI 5 superb engravings , rather disappointed me but they have greatly darkened .

Reflections at a ta t/e d where many of one’scountrymen are present z—How few people are worththe pain and trouble that it took to bring them intothe world ! Which is the ugliest sight, that Germaneating gravy out of his plate with a knife, or that ladywho has just been using her hairpin as a toothpick

‘ From Modena on to Bologna. From the sightsin the latter town I should be inclined to rank it fourthin interest among I talian cities— Rome, Florence,Venice, and Bologna. I t is worth the journey therealone to see Raffaelle ’

s“ St. Cecilia. No copy, print,

or photograph can give the leas t idea of the rapt,almost ecstatic expression of the principal figure,which is perhaps somewhat thick and almost stumpy.

The great Guido of Our Lord after the Crucifixionadored by the city’s saints ,” is magnificent, and, althoughI am not an admirer of the Bolognese painters, theyhave a grandeur and a oravura which almost defiescriticism . The fault of that school was to paint toomuch and on too large a scale ; in this gallery oneis oppressed by the number of paintings of giganticsaints in gorgeous robes. I t is, however, more adaptedto the t ulto of the Roman Church than the earlier andpurer school of I tal ian painters, of the divine Raffaelleand his almost as divine master, Perugino.

Then on to Florence, where we had five days of


and at eve to watch the lights slowly stealing over thebridges and in the windows of the old houses along theArno—while the sunset glory pales over the cypresscrowned hills studded with a hundred domes andtowers. From a distance Florence is enchanting, butwithin the town the narrow and unsavoury streets aredisappointing and there is a gloom in the prison-l ikebuildings that is not easy to get used to ; therefore,l ike gifted Ouida, I should prefer some beautiful villaoutside the town to any palace within . While at RomeI met with much kindness from that most justly popularof men and cardinals, Monsignor Howard, and washospitably entertained by Sir Augustus and LadyPaget ; with them I went one night to a receptionof the French Ambassador’s, at the Farnese Palace.The great gallery is splendid

,one of the most beautiful

rooms in the world—lighted a giorno. I t was filledby a mob of well-dressed people. After having agood look at Carracci ’s frescoes on the ceiling, I fledfrom the heat and the crowd .

Poor Spencer Cowper was lying ill at an hotelopposite the one I was in . I saw him, and felt thathe was not long for this world, though he was stil lfull of it and of i ts doings. Rome, or rather Naples,has killed him ; both

.

are places that one holds one’sl ife in one’s hand to remain long in both resemblebeautiful corpses , outwardly yet lovely, but internallyfull of death , decomposition, and decay.

PARIS , ITALY, RUSS IA AND SPA IN . 283

Thanks to Lady Paget I was able to see Rafl'

aelle’

s

last great work, the frescoes on the walls and ceilingsof the Famesina Palace Villa— the story of Psychthe loveliest legend of Paganism . The owner of theVilla, a Spanish duke, has shut the public out of hisplace since the new Government Works on the banksof Tiber have been undertaken . Among other artisticvisits I called on old Penry Williams, the painter ofRoman peasants ; and met Augustus Hare after alarge dinner at the English Embassy mostly composedof rather undressed ladies, much painted. Amongother visits I made was one to the Colonna Palace, toMrs. Lock—whom I found in a room hung withBreughels and water-colour views of Rome in the lastcentury. Mrs. Lock’s granddaughter, the DuchessaMar ino Colonna, had just been confined , so I had notthe pleasure of seeing that delightful lady .

From England news reaches me that S ibillGrosvenor has had a son—an heir to the kingdom of

Belgravia.

Leaving Rome on March 28, proceeded to Naples,the most over-rated place in Christendom . A dirty,unhealthy town, with a ruffianly population of fi lthybeggars, insolent cabmen , and dissolute upper crust.The people of Naples are loathsome, their habits disgusting. How true to-day is what old De Brossewrote of this people a century and a half ago ! Theyare, he says, la plus abominaole canaille, la plus


dtfgozitante vermine gu i a it jama is rampt sur [a sur

face de la ter re.

‘ After Vesuvius, Pompeu , and the Museum havebeen seen , there is absolutely nothing to look athere. I was told that, however much one dislikedNaples itself, the neighbourhood was delightful, en

chanting, ravishing ; so I tried the neighbourhood ,going to Sorrento where the weather was cold anddamp . Here a fine effect was produced by a storm ,

which,after it had cleared , left the north side of

Vesuvius clothed in a wide cloak of snow. The sunset in glory ; on the west lay masses of golden and

pink clouds, in long banks and ridges the eas tern skychanged from grey into deep blue , these coloursreflected in varying shades in the waters of the bay .

Next to this sunset the prettiest thing at Sorrento wasa concert of peasant boys and girls , given in the hotelone of the latter was really beautiful, with a profilel ike a cameo ; and two of the boys might have sat forangels to Raffaelle. We visited Capri, and its bluegrotto. Surely Capri must have been a very differentplace when Tiberius lived there . On the whole, I didnot find the wonderful charm in the neighbourhoodof Naples that I was led to expect. I t is intolerable,when once a place gets overpraised, how visitorafter visitor apes the others, and echoes parrot- likeinane cries of admiration . The coast of Devonshireis infinitely more beautiful than anything near the


on that night should make amends. I believe noscene on earth , either in the historic or picturesquesense can exceed or equal this of Florence, as seen asI saw it that night ; recal l ing, as it must , the career ofthose great citizens who founded that fair city— theCity of Flowers — the undying name of Giotto, and ofDante, of Bruneleschi and of Michael Angelo . Twodays after this I was again in Paris .During that May in London I took the oppor

tunity , when Lord Beaconsfield attended one of themeetings of trustees of the National Portrait Gallery

,

to urge him to sit for his portrait to Millais. He saidhe would like much to do so, but feared that he couldnot find time to sit. ‘ I t would be, ’ as I wrote toMillais , quite a national misfortune did he miss theopportunity of painting Lord Beaconsfield but it wasnot until several letters had been written on the subject that this consummation was arrived at ; unfortumately too late for more than a graphic sketch to betaken of that remarkable face, before the fatal attacklaid Lord Beaconsfield low in the early spring of I SS I .

Still , unfinished as it is, the portrait is by far the bestthat was ever done of him . Angeli ’s is terribly andpainfully l ike, as far as the mere mask goes

,but

M illais, as he generally does , has shown the man’smind and character behind the outer flesh-mask. Butto return to May 1 879

—writing of Millais’ portrait of Mr. Gladstone I t is a truly majestic work

,

PARIS, ITALY , RUSS IA AND SPA IN . 287

one of, if not the finest portrait M illais has as yet produced. The face is irreproachable, the expressionl ife-l ike, the eyes are alive with mind and genius . ’Writing to me of this portrai t, the painter says — ‘ I

am happy to think his (Gladstone’s) own family like thepicture, and that I am the humble means of giving toposterity some of the characteristics of so great a man .

’

M ay I 2 .-When will my nephews and nieces cease

to marry and to be given in marriage I was loth toleave Windsor this bright May morning. Springseemed everywhere and in everything, as I walkedwith Drayson under the young leaves of the old elms inthe Long Walk ; but I had to go up to London for oneof these ever-returning ceremonies . This time it wasFrances Campbell ’s turn, who has taken to husband atall, dark , good-looking youth , named Eustace Balfour.They were wed at a Presbyterian Church near Campden H ill. Dean Stanley performed a portion of therites , which consisted of a mercifully condensed formof the Scottish marriage ceremony. Bride and groomare great contrasts as to colour and height. Weadjourned for tea and cake, l ike good charity-schoolchildren , to Argyll Lodge. Gladstones, Sal isburys,and others there —an odd jumble of different polit icians. Little Freddy Gower, and many otherchildren, with cartloads of infantine Campbells of thesecond generation , gambolled about the garden lawn.On May I 6 attended a meeting at Grosvenor House

MY REMIN ISCENCES .

in aid of the Deaf and Dumb Prince Leopold president. The Prince read an address— both address andits delivery excellent. I ll-natured people now say,since the Prince has had some success with theseaddresses, that they are not completely his own . Thisis just like the world, which never allows any merit tothe comparatively young and unassuming. My con

viction is that his speeches and addresses are by thePrince, and by him alone. Argyll told me he wasstruck by their l ikeness to those of the Prince Consort . ’ George Augustus Sala and Palgrave Simpsonwere my guests that year at Windsor. Literatureand the drama could not have been better represented .

‘ I drove Sala over to Cliveden , which hethought even finer than Richmond, with which sentiment I agree .

’

We little then thought how soon my dearest sisterConstance Westminster was to leave us . Whatshows most the progress of time, ’ I wrote at Cliveden ,‘ are the numerous grandchildren now here . Twol ittle Butlers— the eldest girl Lawrence would haveloved to have painted—she is not unlike the child inhis portraIt of my mother ; and two little Grosvenorgirls. Lord Belgrave is yet too young to be broughtou t here, and remains in London .

’ Going over Hertford House to choose (thanks to Sir Richard Wallace)some of the pictures to get photographed for thepublication then commencing The great H istoric


did this Frenchman , who turned ou t to be no otherthan the great Marquis de M irabeau . To hear Sw inburne tell th is was worth the pilgrimage to Putney.

W hat , far beyond the wonderful flow of words of

the poet, struck me, was his real diffidence andmodesty while fully aware of the divine gifts withinhim , he is as simple and unaffected as a child. Hespoke with high regard of G . A . Sala’s talent as aw ri ter.

’ A few days after this meeting I was back againin Paris . ‘ Never do I remember the stately gardensof Le Notre, a favourite haunt of mine, in greaterbeau ty than in this warm month of J une . I t is adel ight merely to stroll beneath the great horse-chesnu t trees and under the c/za rmilles of clipped limes bythe old orange trees in their gigantic green-colouredboxes , and by the marble statues and stately LouisX IV . vases. The whole aglow with flowers andcolou r. ’ The Salon in the Champs-Elysees was at

this time crowded with people as well as with paintings and sculpture, and lighted at night with electriclight. One evening I went there with Lady M . C .

‘ She was much looked at by the crowd ; no wonder,for a more beautiful creature does not exist in Paris ,and would make effect anywhere. Last time I leftParis she came to see me off at the station , bringing alarge box full of lovely flowers ; she looked a VeryFlora. ’

‘

june 1 9.—Walking along the quays this evening

PAR IS, ITALY, RUSS IA AND SPA IN . 29:

on my way to the studio, the view of the great city fromnear the Pont des Arts was a thing to make a note of.There is surely no finer aspect than this in any othercapital . The vast length of the Louvre, the long lineof palace after palace, broken only by the poplarsgrowing on the river’s edge ; the succession of spaciousbridges, the distant Elysian fields crowned in the fardistance by the Arch of Triumph ; and beneath , theflowing river, all purple and silver. On the left thepicturesque dome-crowned pavil ion of Mazarin

’

s hotel ,the fronts of the ancient houses on the Quai Voltaire ,under which so many revolutions have passed—allalive these quays with carriages and people ; the lightstwinkling gem-l ike below the bridges from out thesteamers darting beneath ; the booksellers along theriver way closing and packing their wares ; everydoorway with its group of people sitting out in theopen air to enjoy the cool of the evening after theheat of a Paris day in J une all make up a scene thatno other city in the world can match .

‘ Hamlet is now on his pedestal : I think it successful, and has thought, melancholy, calm, and cha

racter about it ; not too mad, but the look of one halfd istraught by pity, sorrow, and the knowledge that aterrible destiny, that of the avenger, is his. ’

‘

june 30, F rzday .-A very sad piece of news

reached Paris this (Friday) afternoon . The PrinceImperial is slain—killed on the I st of this month ;

U 2


surprised and slaughtered by a band of Zulus. I onlyheard this late in the evening, on leaving the studio .

The boulevards were thronged . Many of the eveningpapers already bordered with black . There is morefee l ing visible in people ’s faces than I have seen inParis since the 4th of September, 1 870, but of a verydifferent kind . At the newspaper kiosque, near theGrand Café , the person who keeps it told me all thepeople who had passed by or bought papers werespeaking of the Prince’s death there was not one

, ex

cept a little beast of a gavroc/ce, who had not seemeddeeply affected by the news . Many women and evensome men wept and I saw many faces that still boremarks of tears. But in a few days this last sensationalnews will be forgotten , and make way for some other ;and the only popular requiem of the poor Prince inParis will have been this crowd on the boulevards andthe black-edged papers sold as special editions aboutthe crowded streets to-night. One’s heart is sad forthe poor lone Empress at Chislehurst under thissorrow’s crown of sorrow .

” Her reverses of fortuneare really extraordinary, and her cup of sorrow seemsto be destined to be drained to the lowest dregs .Since Marie Antoinette no crowned head has hadmisfortunes approaching hers . At a restaurant, whereI often dine, near the studio on the Boulevard Montparnasse , the proprietor was indignant, and with cause,at the Prince having been killed while the other


the poor l ittle Prince who died so bravely fronting thefoe on the first of this month at Natal , than have beenwept over the grave of the hero of Arcola and thevictor of Austerl itz . ’ At the end of that month I leftParis for St . Petersburg, my object being to see thegallery of paintings in the Winter Palace and to find ifany letters of Marie Antoinette’s existed in the Publicor Imperial Libraries of that capital. ‘ At MindenStat ion I had the good fortune to meet Lord Dufferin ,and continued the journey with him to Berlin , andthen on to Russia . At Berl in we lodged at the new

and gorgeous Kaiserhof Hotel , immortalized by Dizzyhaving stayed in it during the Congress two yearsago. We finished the evenings at Kroll’s Gardens ,the Cremom e of Berlin. Dufferin is as easily pleasedand as “

unblasé with such things as he ever wasand not at all changed or spoilt by having been aGovernor-General , and a present Ambassador Extraordinary and Minister Plenipotentiary. His is certainly a delightful nature no wonder he is so popularand universally liked wherever he goes

,whether it be

Syria, Canada, or Russia.‘We left Berlin on the night of the 3oth of June,

and reached Petersburg on the evening of the 2nd

of July. What a situation for the capital of a vastempire ; placed in a semi-swamp, semi—desert ! LordD .

’

s attachés met him at the station—Grosvenor (whohad headed an expedition into China a year or two

PAR IS, ITALY, RUSS IA AND SPA IN . 295

ago) , Plunkett, and W. Compton . During the nextfive ‘days I saw Petersburg thoroughly ; the first day Itook a little bearded man at the hotel—who professedto be the English courier, but whose English andFrench were so Russ ian that one could only guesswhat he was talking about— and with him in a drochskyjolted over the horrid pavement of this barrack-l ikecity in that most uncomfortable of all carriages. Tothe English Embassy first, a hideous rhubarb-colou redhouse, unfinished within ; then to the Director of theImperial Library, M . Delanoff, for whom I had a letterfrom Count Schouvaloff on from there to the Mil itaryGovernor and Prefect of Police , General Z ouroff,

whose sta ircase was lined with soldiers and the waitingroom full of men and women , and met with a cordialreception from the General. I was unwilling to remainlonger than civil ity required , on account of the poorfolk waiting to see the General, any ofwhom may havebeen spies, but also , perhaps, claimants for mercy inthese hard times of Nihilism and of terror. GeneralZ ouroff is a handsome , tall man, somewhat like the Emperor of Austria ; he never stirs out w ithout a guardof Cossacks. Then on to General Greig’s, Minister ofFinance , a bright, cheery man of fifty, who received memost cordially ; he is a devoted friend of Schouvaloff’she speaks English perfectly, his grand or great-grandfather was Scotch—a distinguished admiral in the reignof the great Catherine .


The collection of paintings in the Hermitage , partof the immense Winter Palace , is amazing, both as toquality and splendid arrangement ; there, l ike DominieSampson, one can only exclaim Prodigious ! ” andagain Prodigious ! Alack ! that all the HoughtonGallery should have left England for the banks of theNeva. As to l ighting, arrangement, and placing of

these paintings, this gallery of the Hermitage has butone rival in the world , that of the Louvre.

The chief glory of this collection of paintings,which to an art-lover amply repays the journey to

Petersburg,are the Rembrandts . No gallery, even

in Holland , can approach the Hermitage i n thisres pect, either in number or quality of that mas ter’sworks .

Regarding letters to be found here from MarieAntoinette, my visit to Petersburg was not a success,for there is but one in the Imperial Library ; but atthe Hermitage I found enough to see in the wayof art that would take a good month’s study. Thedirector of this gallery, Baron Koene, was courtesyitself. ’Altogether my V isit to Petersburg was full of

interest. ‘ One day I met at breakfast at the EnglishEmbassy the French Ambassador, General Chanzy,who looks what he is, every inch a soldier ; and one

evening I dined w ith Lord Dufferin at the I talianAmbassador’s, M . de N igra, and met General von


the Prince René di Santa Severina ; his stepfather,Count Catacazy, was thewell-known Russian Ministera tWashington when Grant was Pres ident. Thanks tothe Prince my time at Moscow was made most agreeable ; bu t had I not had so amiable an interpreter thereI should have found much difficu lty in that jumble ofdirt and palaces , where no Engl ish and l ittle Frenchis spoken. Between Petersburg and Moscow thebuffets at the stations are s ights in themselves— waitersin a ttendance in evening dress and white gloves ; excellent refreshments ; shops and chapels all meet inthese refreshment-rooms, where you can eat, buy, andpray at the same time and in the same place !

M oscow , you) , 8 .— About ten this morning, after an

uneven tful journey of fourteen hours , we came in sightof the spires and towers of this city, which is wretchedlypaved—and resembles more a huge squalid villagethan a capital . That strangest of European palaces ,the Kremlin , is a vast mound of palaces and churches.I am reminded here both of Tokio and of Canton.

Sight-seeing all day with my I talian acquaintance.

We have been to the Slavinski Bazaar, the Kremlin,and other places, of which an interesting account willbe found in the guide-books . I n the Kremlin theShow of silver plate in the great groined hall wouldmake the Goldsmi ths and the Fishmongers Companies’ collections to pale their infinitely poorer display of Old s ilver pots and pans, pewters and loving

PARIS , ITALY , RUSS IA AND SPA IN . 299

cups. I recognised some rc7>ousst work of ourCharles the Second’s time—plate probably broughthere by my maternal ancestor

,Lord Carlisle , when

on his embassy to the Czar of Muscovy about theArchangel difficulty . Among the imperial jewels andregalias is much barbarous rubbish , but in its way theShow of jewellery at the Kremlin exceeds anything Ihave seen in extravagant profusion.

‘ A drive of an hour brings you to the top of theSparrow H ill, over an execrable road, from whenceMoscow is seen lying at your feet. I t was from herethat Napoleon and his cohorts, so soon to perishmiserably, glutted their eyes on the gilded domes of

Moscow. Baleful mirage of the Russian steppesfatal phantasmagoria raised by wicked lust of conquest and hope of spoil. What a sight the burningcity must have been two weeks after that host hadpaused on this hill ! As we saw it with the settingsun reflected from a hundred golden steeples, the placeseemed to be again in flames . In the yet unfinishedCathedral of St. Saviour we found one of the mostdistingu ished of Russian painters at work on a fresco .

This was Verrisaki, who looks like Gustave DoréCalmuckified . The dome of this gorgeous church ispainted by Muncasky.

The Governor-General , Prince Dolgorouki, wasalso visited. One day we had a lively breakfast withhis aide de-camp,General Velitchkovyky, at an excellent


restaurant, that of the “ Hermitage , and whereverwe went and whomever we saw , we met with thegreatest civility and kindness .

O n my return to Petersburg, I V isited TsarskoeSélo. There I saw the Czar's private l ibrarian , whotold me that no let ters existed in the Imperial Libraryfrom Marie Antoinette , so that I had to con tentmyself with having Copied the unique one at thelibrary at Petersburg. The l ittle chateau in the park,containing a superb collection of armour, deserves avisit, bu t little else. The park is a mere wildernessof birch trees and firs . The palace is a long stragglingbuilding in the worst rococo style ; but I cannot saywhat the interior of it is l ike, for, the Czar be ing there,no one was admitted . The only pleasant drive atPetersburg is' to the “ islands,” where the smart peopleof the capital go in the evening ; in fact, it is theHyde Park of Petersburg. I have a pleasant recollection of those islands , as I was taken there by LordDufferin one beautiful evening. One is remindedboth of Kew and of Twickenham , in the pretty villasl ining the banks of the N eva. The V iew at the endof the drive, over the Gulf of Finland, all ablaze withthe setting sun, was certainly a thing of beauty.

Ere we returned to the capital, the Grand DukeConstantine, a handsome middle-aged man , in general ’suniform,

dashed by in his drochsky. The poor peasants, as he passed them, bowed low ,

some actually


German art Kunst. I t is a dream realised ; a perfectly preserved storehouse of royal heirlooms , handeddown for generations. Such a collection as one mightimagine the old halls of Heidelberg once conta ined .

Talking of Heidelberg, the old courtyard at thepalace at Dresden recalls that old ru in. How suchtreasures escaped the ravages and wars of the lastthree centuries , and the rapacious French , is a marvel.Probably Augustus Of Poland ’s apostacy had something to do with this . When next in Par is I madethe acquaintance of a tres grande dame—Madame laPrincesse d’

H enin— (I like writing that old name, sofull of memories of the last century, of Voltaire

, of

Diderot, and of D’

A lembert ) . From her I received aprecious relic, a fan that had belonged to MarieAntoinette when dauphiness. ’Whilst at Windsor during the month of August, I

wrote a little book on the Figu re Painters of Holland ’

;

dpropos of this li ttle work I write, However bad one'swork is , it has one advantage to oneself, and that isobliging the reading of much on the subject on whichone is engaged ; it is always a matter of astonishmentto me to find how l ittle one knows even of thosesubjects that most interest one .

’

One night thatAugust at Windsor a storm broke over it that deservesa line. I t was the night of the 2nd, about m idnight, aterrific thunder and lightning performance commencedin the heavens ; the lightning literally turned night

PAR IS, ITALY, RUSS IA AND SPAIN . 303

into day, darkness into light. Delighting in suchsights I went down to the raft at Goodman ’s . As onepassed through the streets , the castle seemed literallyablaze with electric light ; now every stone distinct,and instantly the whole again in total darkness . Thethunder crashed and tore itself into shivers overheadin a deafening and ear-splitting way, as when a heavysalute is fired from a man-of-war. I t was almost asexciting a scene as if one had found oneself in themidst of some great artillery combat, and the desertedtown made it yet more striking. Surely Herne theHunter must have been abroad in the old forest thatn ight . ’ Some friends came to me that summer in mylittle lodge , Augustus Hare and Alfred Haggar amongothers. The former I took to see Cliveden , and introduced him to the cleverly restored prison chamberin the Norman tower of the Castle, and to the ladywho had shown such rare taste and skill in its restoration . Augustus was worthy both the chamber andits cndtela ine. He is always agreeable, and has enoughindividuality never to be tedious, and of how very fewpeople can one say as much ! Others too appear .Bill ” Farrer, from Zululand, where he saw no

fighting, but, what is far better, Billy Russell, andsomething too of the poor Prince Imperial, and waswithin an ace of accompanying him on the fatal reconnaissance ; nor must I omit a visit from Lady Ponsonby,who with her daughter brought Mrs . Craven to see

394 “Y REM IN ISCENCES .

my little house. They took nearly two hours to doso ; it had never struck me before as having so manythings in it to look at. When one is with such intelligent persons, as Lady Ponsonby and the authoress of

L e Recit d’

u ne S ceu r are , it is a real pleasure to Showwhat is of mu tual interest .

’

At the beginning of October, accompanied byan American friend , F . Blackinton , I made a tour inSpain . W e went by Bordeaux and Biarritz—where Ime t the Goschens— Irun, and passed the first night inthe Peninsula at Burgos , in a fi lthy inn

,which made

my companion’

s French servant , old Joseph , exclaimin comic horror, E st- ii gossio/e ou

’

on pent trouver de

tel/es oouges, et si pres de la F rance !” The scenery

from I run was grand and wild , l it by a fu ll moon ; weirdand fantastic h ills seemed transformed into castles ; andthe first impression of Don Qu ichote

’

s country was notone of disappointment. O f Burgos Cathedral I agreew ith Theophile Gau tier, that it profoundly discouragesone for all modern bu ildings— a grand , vast, andmagnificent structure. But of it and of the superbroyal tombs at the Cartuga de Miraflores do not theguide-books and Augustus Hare in his “Wanderingsin Spain ,” bear ample tes t imony ? Thence on toMadrid through the night. Waking at dawn on Sunday,October 5 , the town of Avila was seen all aglow ina bright sunl ight, its ancient yellow walls and towerscut ou t sharp against the bare rocky hills . Like most

MY REMIN ISCENCES .

One day was devoted to the Escurial . Althoughnot disappointed with that place, I cannot say that itcomes up to my expectations . I t is not as gloomyand as mournful as I had expected. The royal vaultis neither as gorgeous as the Chapel of the Medici atFlorence , nor as impressive as the imperial vault atVienna. The cathedral-l ike chapel above that vaultis like a bit of St. Paul ’s combined with the great hallat Castle Howard. The most interesting feature inthe palace to me is the room in which lived and diedthat wretched bigot, Philip I I . The finest art workthere are two kneel ing bronze figures of that monarchand Charles V . , on either side of the high altar. Thelibrary is a noble apartment, worthy of Fontainebleauor of the Vatican . The desolation of this palace hasbeen much exaggerated ; and I think the V iews of thegrand hills at the back of the palace, and of the valleybefore it, although wild and rugged , not unpleasing.

One m ight become very fond of those handsomearcades, and of the long terrace garden walks

, cut inwell-trimmed boxwood patterns . The beautiful littletoy palace, the Trianon of the Escurial, near thestation , made by Charles IV . , should be V isited . I t isa pity that it is now allowed to fall into decay.

We passed a day at that extremely picturesqueand worst paved town in Spain, Toledo. Except theDesert of the Sahara, no place surely can match thedesolation of the country between Madrid and Toledo.

PAR IS , ITALY, RUSS IA AND SPA IN . 307

I t is not only a bowl ing, but a shrieking wilderness ofstones, sand , and shingle. The V iew of the old city

,

with its quaint old towers, Moorish and machicolated walls above the rushing Tagus, which , for awonder in a Spanish river, has much water in it

,

although as yellow as T iber or Arno, is worth a longday’s journey to see ; and so is the drive in the oldbreakdown of an omnibus, drawn by five mules, overthe double-gated bridge—the bridge of bridges theToledians proudly call it—past the fine old MoorishTower of the Sun , up through streets so narrow thatthere is barely room for the lumbering old machine topass along, jolting over a pavement which , had themachine springs, would send them flying on all sides

,

till you are landed in the courtyard of the only “posada ”in the place, that of the Lino.

”

One felt grateful at notbeing obliged to remain the night at such an inn . H ow

that place reeked of every foul smell that ever ta intedChristian nostrils ; garlic and rancid oil , decayed vegetables, high meat, and worse ! But, fortunately, ina few hours a good general impression of Toledo canbe obtained . The cathedral is even more ornate andgorgeous than that of Burgos ; it is overcharged withsplendid tombs and ornament. Very striking are theold banners hanging from its roof, that floated o’

er theblood-stained waters of Lepanto. I t is a cathedral ofromance, and more like a dream of poet’s and painter’sfancy than a cold reality of stone and marble . What

,

x 2

MY REM IN IS

next to the cathedral , has

press on my mind ,are the ha

Church of San Juan de 105

more de l ight than anyth ing I

left my old elms i n the Long

Before leaving Madrid

A rmoury . The K i ng’

s Guar

of i t and of the palace wh ich

from its w i ndows , i n wh ich

gorgeous and gay i n ancient

of the glories of Spa i n when it

proclaim i tse lf N e p lus u ltra

H ercu les , we looked down it

the poor and tame pageantr

caved nat ion a band 2 "


the Alhambra alone excepted—in Spain. I confess ,to my shame, that I could not get the BrightonAquarium out of my head while in the CordovaCathedral ! ’

‘ As far as Spanish paintings are concerned, ’ Iwrite, after two days passed in Seville, ‘ I can now

sing the N unc dimittis , having seen all that Madridand Seville have to Show . Seville Cathedral meritsits great repute. Nothing can be imagined morebeautiful than those relics of the Moors, the Alcazar,and the House called of Pontius Pilate. I n themuseum, a former convent, are half a dozen Murillosof unsurpassed excellence ; but I was disappointedwith the Church of the Caridad, where the few re

maining Murillos, not looted by Soult, are placed sohigh that one cannot judge their worth .

Seville delights me much its picturesque streets ,picturesque without being dirty— so often the unplea

sant companion of the former ; its handsome people ,its fine old houses

,and , above all , the massive strue

ture of its cathedral surrounded with grand oldMoorish walls, and crowned by that splendid towerof the Giralda ; the intense blue of the sky, with greatwhite clouds like those Bonington loved to paint, andthe crisp pure air around, are altogether beautiful anddelic ious . Seville and Venice cannot disappoint ; butRome and Naples always will . The streets and markets

,and especially the tobacco manufactory, are full

PARIS , ITALY,RUSS IA AND SPA IN .

of subjects for the painter. What an admirable pendant ,were any painter of these days able to execute it,would not that crowd of bright-eyed, brightly-cladwomen and children in the factory make to Velasquez’s“ Tapestry Workers ” ! Here in Seville one realiseshow true to Spain and Spanish habits JOhn Phillips’ pictures are it is as if one of those had become a l ivingreality as one walks through the streets of Seville.

The cathedral is deeply impressive, and in that respectrecalls Westminster

,though the more I see of foreign

cathedrals the greater is my conviction that our old

Abbey is, of all Christian churches, the most impres

sive— to an Englishman at all events . H ow fine inthese Spanish cathedrals are the lower row of organpipes jutting out flush from the organ case they seem ,

as it were, to foreshadow the awakening trumps of theResurrection morn .

’

We had made the acquaintance of two agreeableyoung Frenchmen at Madrid , Messrs. De Trevilleand Gosselin , who persuaded us to visit Gibraltar withthem . After only four days at Seville we continuedour journey .

A great sunset rejoiced our eyes as we passedLerez ; the western sky a wild sea of saffron and

pomegranate-coloured clouds ; the foreground a darkbrown landscape , with stone pines standing out darkagainst that glowing background. At Cadiz we embarked ou board a Spanish steamer, where we slept the

3 1 2 MY REM IN ISCENCES .

night, and steamed away for Gibraltar by dawn on thefollowing day . Cadiz , l ike all ports , looked far betterfrom the sea than from the land. The long line of

white houses contrasting with the great brown mass ofthe cathedral in the midst, glistened in the brightmoming sun ; a great sweep of blue sky above and of sea beneath . One thought of Essex’s fine bit of buccaneeringhere, when he so effectually singed the King of Spain ’swhiskers, some three hundred years ago.

As we passed by Cape Trafalgar, Nelson andV illeneuve, and the hot strife and thunder of thegreatest of modern sea fights, came across one’s historical conscience. ’ More remarkable is the scene ofa great naval action than of a land massacre ; here thegreat deep, l ike eternity, swallows for ever all tracesof suffering and the misery practised by man on hisfellow creatures ; here no plough but that of the ship ’skeel can ever disturb the scene of strife. At Trafalgarone can but look from the ship’s deck at the longyellow headland which echoed four-and-seventy yearsago that furious cannonade in which the fleets of

three nations met in fire and slaughter. When thatday closed and that m ighty diapason ceased over thedarkening waters, a fresh chapter had commenced inthe history of Europe. We arrived off Gibraltar toolate that evening to land on the rock, which looksfrom the sea like some great lion couchant ; and wehad to pass the night at the miserable little town o f

MY REMIN ISCENCES .

imaginable . Returning to Cadiz we saw a great celebration in its cathedral , the finest we have yet seenin this most idolatrous land , at which even Russiapales in the worship of saints and adoration of images.I t was the day of the patron saints of the city, whentheir effigies, in wax or painted wood all bedizenedand bet inselled, are worshipped by the people ; theseimages are carried round processionally within thecathedral , followed by a fat mitred bishop and atroop of priests and acolytes . Palanquins glitteringwith gold and scarlet, clouds of incense, a splendidorchestra— for here a band was playing as well as theorgan— made up a very theatrical but not an impressive show. But, gracious heavens ! what a terriblefarce this Spanish Roman Catholicism is Will no newLuther arise to tear the painted mask from theseabominations

,and show the gr inning ghas tly hollow

ness of the skeleton behind, which these people,ignorant as the beasts that perish , fall down andworship ? How truly Cardinal Newman once wroteabout this Roman Church when he said that she iscrafty, obstinate, wilful, malicious, cruel, unnatural asmadmen are—or rather she may be said to resemblea demoniac—possessed with principles, thoughts, andtendencies not her own.

’ But I believe the Latinraces always were and always will be idolatrous, theVulgar at least, even when the educated, as in Franceand I taly, turn sceptics . We returned for a few days

PAR IS, ITALY, RUSS IA AND SPA IN . 3 1 5

to Seville, where we had not yet seen the famous‘ Sacr i stia major

’ in the cathedral . The best thingsin it are the two superb life-size figures of St. Leandroand Isodora by Murillo ; and the Descent from theCross ’ by Campafi a, which Murillo so greatly admired ,and which, although hard in colour and angular indrawing, is a powerful work. The group of holywomen at the foot of the cross has much of themanner of Michael Angelo, of whom Campafia issupposed to have been a pupil . The sacristy itselfis a gorgeous temple of carved stone, but the reliquarles, the delight of touts and tourists , are tinsellygewgawy rubbish . Before leaving Murillo’s city IV isited, with reverence, the house in which he died, inthe old Jewish quarter. I t is approached by streetsso narrow that two stout people could not pass eachother abreast, or rather astomach . The little roomin which tradition has it that the painter workedcontains a Christ crowned with Thorns, ’ one of thefinest works of the master. At Seville we were joinedby Hans Hamilton, a well read, well informed, andmost amusing H ibernian. We had arrived at Sevillein pouring rain and we left it coming down in torrents .There is nothing more melancholy than such a place asSeville in such weather ; the water spouts down on

you from all the roofs and numberless gargoyles, andit even

,l ike the Egyptian plague of frogs , pene

trates into our chambers Pots and baths had to be


employed to catch the flood and this in a house whichhad only newly been reroofed and refurbished . O n

the 28th we left for Granada, which we reached the

same night and established ourselves under the wallsof the Alhambra at the Hotel of the Sueste Suelos, ’a poor caravansery, but the only possible one to stayat near the Alhambra. The first day or two werewet, but even under rain the Alhambra is a dreamof beauty the most exquisitely picturesque bu i lding inthe world. About the loveliest of a hundred beautiful impressions of this place that I shall retain is theV iew of the Alhambra from the highest terrace in thegardens of the Generaliffe , where the grand old greystemmed poplars with their fountain -l ike foliage of

green and golden leaves with fountains and littlerivers running among the flowers, look down on thered Moorish towers of the Alhambra . The royalchapel in the cathedral with the tombs of Ferdinandand I sabella, and the narrow vault below,

a smallplace for so much greatness — as Charles V . said of it—containing the coffins of his grandparents , is un

equalled in interest, artistic or historic , by any spot inSpain . But the sight of all sights here is the A lhambra by moonlight . We had been listening one eveningto the gipsies playing their wild plaintive music when

,

being a night of brilliant moonshine, Hamilton andI visited that enchanting spot. Nothing that Washington I rving, Theophile Gautier, or Augustus Hare

3 1 8 MY REM IN ISCENCES .

behold lies before one . Would only that a river l ikethe Rhine or the Necker flowed beneath the red wallsof the Alhambra ! The lights , and the azu re Shadowsfrom the great clouds sailing in the deep blue sky,were wonderfully distinct ; and Tennyson’s song in

the Princess is constantly on my lips when near theAlhambra

The splendour falls on castle walls,

And snowy summits old in story.

The poplars in the Generaliffe Gardens looked likegolden founta ins playing against those castle walls,which once seen can never be forgotten .

We went on to Valencia, passing through a countryhalf gardens

,half orange orchards stopping one

night at Valencia , where is little to be seen , and the

next day by more fertile plains and by many an oldcastle ruin perched on the crest of rugged hills . Thegrand old hill fortress of Segunt ium is not unlikeStirling Castle. After a long day’s journey we reachedTarragona, and on the following Barcelona .

H ow pleasant again to get butter, and eatabled ishes not bathed in oil ! Barcelona has many thingsto recommend it besides butter. The chief thoroughfare, the Rambla , is a bright street beginning at the portand pointing towards the distant purple hills of Catalonia. I t is always full of l ife and movement and brighthol iday-looking folk passing beneath its fine planetrees that form an avenue up the long street. Here,

PAR IS , ITALY ,RU SS IA AND SPA IN .

too, are streets full of gay shops a small but handsomecathedral with stalls that remind one of St. George’sChapel at Windsor, in which the coats of arms of theKnights of the Golden Fleece are blazoned. Hereour party dispersed ; my friends Pariswards, while I ,after climbing the fortress-crowned hill of Mon Ju ich—so nimbly taken by Peterburgh— left Spain on the1 2 th November by sea for Marseilles, where I metthe Westminsters on their way to their winter quartersat Cannes , and with them I passed a few days at thevilla Isola Bella. On the 20th I was back in Paris,at work on my Falstaff for the Shakespeare monument.At the °end of that month , at Windsor, I received visitson the same day from Princess Louise and LordDufferin .

‘ Both delightful , as they always are, andboth genuinely artistic. Lord Dufferin gave a comicalaccount of his working at a “ l ife school of studentsthe other day in Paris in the Passage des Panoramas.My collection of books on the French Revolutioninterested him . The Princess has brought back fromCanada some clever water-colour sketches. ’I n December I made the friendship of Canon

Pearson , whose acquaintance I had long desired ; hissermons I had always enjoyed . He is a man withdevoted friends , and he deserves them . I now felthappy to think myself one of these . Although not

H igh Church, he is so large and liberal minded thatone cannot wish him different even in that respect.


He lives in a pleasant old nook in the Cloisters ofS t . George’s, but his real home is at Sonning, nearReading. Hugh Pearson is one of those rare menwhom to know is not only to like and admire but tolove .

’ About this t ime the present writing was inhand. I say in my journal of this collection of oldshreds and patches : At times I feel the whole thingwill be a wretched fai lure ; and at others I cannothelp believing that it will be read with interest. ’ Oneday during December Oscar Wilde brought with hima young Oxford friend of his , Rennell Rodd , ‘ full ofartistic desires, which, however, he has not had anopportunity to develop under the cold shade of

Jowett . My dear old Transatlantic friend , UncleSam,

also appeared one day on the Windsor scene ;he is as perfect as ever, as full of pleasantry andstories as formerly, and , as he always is, overflowingwith human kindness. He talked enthusiastically of

Gladstone, whom he had met at Dalmeney duringthe great Midlothian campaign.

’ That Christmas waspassed with my sister Caroline Leinster at Carton

,

near Dublin . Among other guests were LordHoughton and two daughters ; ‘ he is always entertaining and full of anecdote. Sir Bernard Burke, amine of heraldic knowledge, is also full of curiousinformation .

’ A hundred years ago a lady staying atCarton gives some deta ils of the manner of life there,which are singularly like those of the present day.

CHAPTER XXX .

1 880: TAINE—SARAH BERNHARDT— LORD BEACONSFIELD .

I WAS again at work in my studio at Paris early inJanuary. I n the middle of that month Mons . Ta inetook his seat among the forty immortals . Hopingto get a ticket for the ceremony I called on him ; hewas cordial as usual, and his conversation full of

interest. Speaking of Shakespeare, he said he (Taine)had made a special study of the works of the earlyengravers of the Flem ish School ; that he was con

vinced Shakespeare had been inspired by some of theworks and their allegorical figures ; he cited as aninstance the line in Hamlet “ Like Niobe— al ltears ,” as occurring in one of these engravings

,in

which the mobled queen ’

covered with teardrops. He hopes to be able to

get me a ticket for the recep tion at the Academy,

although the great Blowitz of the T imes himself

9 appears as in a masque ,

has not been able to procure one . Taine has agedin looks since I saw him last, his hair turning grey .

’

The reception took place on January 1 5 .

‘ I t is fiveor six years since I was last in the I nstitute for ‘

a

similar ceremony, when J ules S imon took his seat

TA INE . 323

among the “ immortals. What changes have occurredhere since then , and how much older many of theseimmortals look to-day—J ules Simon especially mortal . To me there is nothing more interesting in thistown or county than what I have witnessed for thesecond time to-day. The building itself, althoughunworthy of i ts fame, much modernised within anddecorated in deplorable taste, is full of recollections ofthe great men of French literature. Fénelon’

s , Bossuet’s

,Descartes’, and Sully ’s statues are in t hat

chamber highly appropriate as are also the remnantsof antique ceremonial , the gilt-chained Izu issiers withsteel swords , the Academicians , some in coats embroidered with green bay-leaves , the mounted guardat the gates, the mil itary salute as the forty enter thebuilding.

The most striking heads there to-day were thoseof the Due d

’

A umale , Alexandre Dumas , and Renan .

Victor Hugo was not in his place . The hall V'

Vas

densely packed, not room for an extra rat. Taine’saddress was excellent ; he spoke well and pointedly,but he had a difl‘icult task in order to know what tosay regarding that rather insignificant author

,with a

great name , Mons . de Lomenie , his predecessor. The

most eloquent passage of the address,I thought

,

was about Madame Recamier, and what he said of hermight have applied to my mother Quand on l

’

avait

vue unefois , on voudrait la revoir toujours.

”

Y 2


News reached me from Cannes of poor Roden ’sdeath at Mentone on January 1 1 .

‘ I n one thing,

’ Iwrote, he is to be envied , in not having survived hismother. This last blow will crush her ; she has beenin bad health for a long time. Few have had suchsorrows as Lady Jocelyn . I n half a dozen years or

so she has watched all her children die ; she is now

left in this sad world with hardly a living creatureto care for.

’ A few weeks after, her sorrows came toan end at Cannes.

“Nould not the following passage from a letterfrom my good old nurse at Trentham have pleasedDickens , whose delightful letters I am now readingMay every blessing attend you through life, and Ithink there is no fear of Heaven after ' The “

no

fear of Heaven ” is what the French would call a

“ pearl . At this time my ‘ Prince Hal ’ was gettingon apace . Mr. Scharf has sent me a sketch of the

Prince’s dress , but it is too voluminous, and I shallclothe him in as tight a fitting garb as possible. ’

Passing by the Palais de J ustice one morning Iwas struck by the Venetian - l ike effect of a posse ofjudges ascending the outer steps of that building intheir scarlet robes, wearing flat black caps . As Istood in the crowd before that splendid black andgold gate , crowned by the Bourbon lil ies, watchingthese magnates , I pictu red the scene that occurredhere in September 1 793 , when the “ widow Capet


anniversary dinner of the A .D .C . Club. The Princeof Wales took the chair. ‘ I made this pilgrimage toCambridge having been much attached in my “ saladdays to this club, also from wishing to see some of myold college friends again . The dinner, a success , in thetown hall . Hervey, a college friend (now Rector ofSandringham) , said grace with extreme unction . The

speeches short and to the point. H .R.H . did his part,

as he always does on such occasions, admirably. The

speech of the evening was made by Burnand it bristledwith puns and sparkled with wit . Later all adjournedto the A .D C . rooms, in Jesus Lane . The performanceswere Ticklish Times ” and The First N ight .” The

acting decidedly inferIor to what it was in our dayLaudator ternpor is acti Gery Callum, as “ MissArabella Fitzjames , looked and acted admirably ; andBelard, as the old French father, was extremely good ,

more l ike a professional actor than any of the others .Lord Houghton appeared to me to think the smokingin the house dc trap ; he looked p icturesque and

dignified, seated on a sofa, a skull cap on his head, andthe glittering row of golden railway passes on hisbreast. His son Bobby Milnes, who sat by me, avery pleas ing youth ; so is also another BobbySpencer—perhaps rather inclined to be self-conscious .How old some of the men with whom I had been atCambridge had grown to look ; I remarked this to bethe case especially among my married contemporaries .

IRVING—TRENTHAM—DUCHESSE DE LUYNES . 327

Others appeared not a year older, although it is fifteensince we were here together ; bu t these were singlemen . Next morning I passed an instructive hour atthe F itzw illiam Museum with Professor Colvin , anothercontemporary, and my cousin George Howard. Tothe Lyceum that night to see I rving in Shylock.

When I last saw the Merchant of Venice CharlesKean was Shylock , and he certa inly made more impression than did I rving to-night on me ; but that wastwenty years ago at least, and, Oh , ye gods ! Mrs.Kean was Portia ! To-night Ellen Terry was Portia,and she is perfection .

’

Early in March I went for a few days to Trentham .

My visit there was saddened at finding my poor oldnurse dying, but at a good old age . I t is enterta in ingto see the new generation here , ’ I write at TrenthamFlorence Chaplin with two children, the eldest a fineboy of two , with a Cavendish look about him , theother a dear little girl . Lily Tarbut with her picturesquelittle daughter, aged two, with an old-world look abouther ; a child that looks like one of Sir Joshua’s pictures.Bobby Spencer is here he is a good Liberal , which ,among the gi lded youth of the present day, is as rareas a dull American or a witty Scot. ’At the end of that month I passed a few days at

Cannes with the Westminsters , where I made the

acquaintance of the Duchesse de Luynes, artistic toher pretty finger tips , and not only remarkable for


talent , biI t for heroic behaviour under great trials.Her husband was killed during the war of 1 870. AtMentone I called on my father’s old friend Coun tPahlen . He is in his ninetieth year, his memory as

good as ever. He told me of his having seen Napoleonin 1 809 ,

at Fontainebleau—how he hated that man !and how pleased he is with Madame de Remusat ’s“ Memoirs, which he is now reading. He sa id theEmperor made believe to take snuff ou t of his waistcoat pocket only because that had been the habit ofFrederick I I . and other curious traits of that character.What a detestable climate this of the Riviera is ! howmuch I prefer the fogs and clamps of Windsor to th issham summer, where you are scorched one minute inthe sun and cut in two the next by the biting wind ;and the dust is abominable. ’By the end of the month I was back in Paris .

‘ E aster S unday—To Notre Dame . A splendid full

choral service. From the middle gallery that runsround above the east end of the cathedral the

View looking down the church was impressive. A

hazy light streamed athwart the building from the

clerestory windows , the nave fi lled by a dense con

gregation ; the organ pealed along the storied aisles .Without mounting to this coign of vantage no idea ofthe proportions of Notre Dame can be formed . NotreDame deserves to rank among the first half-dozen of

the great cathedrals of Europe .

’


stuffs , tropical plants, pictures, statues, hangings andtapestries. At eight one morning she went with me

to see my yet unfinished statue of Lady Macbeth .

We visited also the Salon , where the crowd collectedaround her almost as much as the well-dressed mobdoes when royalty or a professional beauty appearsin one of our exhibitions . Sarah was plainly attiredthe only decoration she wore besides her flame-colouredhair was a large bunch of her favourite gi ra/le “ Iwish ,” she said, “ when I am dead, that my body beburnt

,and my ashes scattered under a wall covered by

‘

gi ro/Z ts’ But I suggested that the coffin which is

said to accompany Sarah on her peregrinations wouldthen be useless. However, I was glad to know thatthose in favour of that much-to-be-desired form of

burial had so remarkable a personage on their side. I tis impossible not to l ike Sarah , she is quite unaffected ,entirely unart ificial, and , what is a very rare thingamong artists , l ikes to see the best side of painters andtheir pictures. After the Salon we visited her master’sstudio—the well-known Belgian painter, Stevens—inthe Rue des Martyrs, where Sarah showed me an

unfinished painting of flowers she is engaged on . Wewere by this time pretty well famished , even Sarahrequires food , and the pleasantest part of that day waswhen, before a well -spread table, with Sarah seatedat the head of it in a Gothic high-backed chair

,where

she looked like a living page out of some romance, we

FLAMENG . 33 1

did justice to her cook’s excellent viands, and toSarah’s remarkable cellar .

’

My other artist friend, Leopold Flameng, is onlyremarkable in one branch of art, unlike Sarah theUniversal ; but, as I have already said, he is in thatbranch—and what a difficult one —supreme. I passedmany a pleasant hour with him and his talented sonFrancois in Paris, and also paid them a visit at theirpretty villa at Les Tournelles, near Mantes . Theyoccupy a flat in a house in the Boulevard Montparnasse, which formed a portion of Turenne

’

s hotel .I was introduced to the Flamengs by my friend Mr.Thibaudeau . I t is not many years since Flamengcame to Paris, quite a poor man. He is now the leaderof that very richly remunerated school of French artists,the A r tistes graveurs d l

’

eau -for te. To give an ideaof the sums he now obtains, it is sufficient to say thathe receives for etching Frith’s “ Road to Ruin (thatfeeble imitation of Hogarth

’

s Rake’s Progress ”) forsix plates

,three thousand pounds . Francois, a bright,

handsome young fellow of twenty-two, made a great hitin last year’s Salon with a huge painting, “ The Las tRepast of the Girondins.” He has a great career before him . Flameng, who is a friend of Gambetta’s,told me the following respecting the great Léon. Whileetching at the Hague, Gambetta appeared and heldforth on Art. He considered , he said, the greathuman Trinity of Genius to consist of Shakespeare,


Rembrandt and Beethoven . Perhaps, he added ,I ought to include Victor H ugo ; but, being a goodCathol ic , I prefer, said Gambetta, “

to keep to theTrinity. One cannot in mentioning the F lamengs

leave out Madame , who is one of the kindest and mosthospitable of women . Her devotion and pride for herhusband and son does one good to see. ’I n order not to keep my readers constantly skip

ping from London to Paris, and back again to Windsor,I will here add the few matters I think of sufficientinterest which occurred to me while in Paris during theremainder of that year, including my taking part in‘ an affair of honour. ’ But before leaving the artists ,I will allude to one who is more widely known out ofhis country than any, next to Dore—Meissonier . Icalled on him relating to the publication of the photographs of some of his pictures at Hertford House inmy

“ Great H istoric Galleries.” He lives in a splendidhouse near Sarah Bernhardt, the building of whichhas, i t is said , crippled his finances . Within , the

house is like a portion of the castles of Blois orAmboise transported to the most modern and artisticquarter of Paris. Meissonier is more like a gnomethan anyone I ever set eyes on. But genius sparklesin his wonderfully brilliant eyes. He considers “now at New York , his c/zef d

’

oeuvre, and resents itsbeing out of Europe.

.Talking about this painting(which represents Napoleon reviewing his cavalry) he

334 MV REM IN ISCENCES .

later, a most delightfu l person of the purest Gall ictype. I have left out the doctor. This was an

eccentric old I talian , goggle-eyed, and of generallydecayed appearance , named Maffei, ex-docteu r de 5 .

M l’

E rnpcreur . We d ined in the train excellentlywell on a cold collation provided by our host and

principal . Changing trains at Lille , we reached ourdestination , Tourcoing, about midnight Here we

passed the night, at the H6tel du Cygne, facing an

ugly HOtel de Ville. The wide streets of the townwere as silent as the dead not a mouse stirred as wefound our way to the inn, and sorrowfully‘ thoughtof the morrow. We were astir betimes next day.Santa Severina and I drove out of Tourcoing together at eight o’clock . The rest of our party followed,but by a different route, so as to avoid suspicion of ahostile encounter ; for the most dangerous part of theadventure was the risk we incurred of being arrestedby the gendarmerie, once in Belgium : a circumstancewhich would have entailed a change of scene and afresh duel , fought in France, with the chance of fresharrests , and imprisonment of principal and seconds.After driving for about an hour we reached thefrontier, and were soon in Belgium out of danger of theFrench gendarmes, but now in danger of the Belgianauthorities . Halting the carriage, we scrambled outover a rough bit of road to a secluded meadow

,where

a level sward had been chosen as the site for the en

AN AFFA IR O F HO NOUR . 335

counter and here we passed a long half hour, waitingfor the rest of the party, who persisted in not appearing. To wait is always a nuisance, but under thecircumstances it was almost intolerable . With mywonted tact I pointed out to Santa Severina a sawdustpit

,which might be of service in case of wounds, and

even for burial , should both or either of the combatantsfall in the coming encounter. At length the sound of

carriage wheels is heard , and in a few minutes theduell ists are standing in their shirt sleeves

,with their

rapiers pointed at each other’s bodies. Although I donot think French duelling nearly as dangerous to l ifeand limb as an ordinary day’s covert shooting inEngland

,accidents of course will occur ; and in order

not to keep my readers any longer in anxiety as to theresult of this encounter, I will at once say that myfriend the Prince, after a very plucky combat, in whichboth he and his antagonist showed nerve and admir

able self-command, got a slight wound on the wrist ofthe right arm, which , although he was anxious to cont inue the fight, was declared (greatly to my satisfactionand that of MM . Nadard, pére et /z

'

ls) by the doctor tomake the continuation of the duel out of the question .

The following is the “

proces verbal that appearedin the next day’s papers , which we drew up at a cafénear the station on our return to Paris that eveningUne rencontre 2 l’epee a eu lieu cc matin, 6 Juin,entre le Prince de Santa Severina et M . Fronsac, sur


la frontiere belge. Deux premiers engagements sontrestés sans résultat . Au troisieme, le prince a étéatteint 2 l ’avant du bras droit. Sur la demande duPrince de Santa Severina, e t avec l’acqu iescement dumédecin e t des témoins, le combat a été repris. Apresdeux nouveaux engagements , le médecin , constatant quel’

engourdissement du bras blessé augmentait et rendai td

’

instant en instant le combat inégal , a déclaré adeuxreprises la nécessité d ’

arréter. Les témoins, reconnaissant de part et d’

au tre la loyauté des combattants,ont déclaré l’affaire term inée.

” Then follow the namesof principals and seconds .

Our return journey from Tourcoing to Paris wasmade under the most friendly and sociable circumstances— the two gentlemen who had so lately crossedswords and thirsted for each other’s blood were nowon the best of terms , the doctor was full of anecdoteand raciness , and I found in M . Nadard senior a mostagreeable man , full of humour, and of vast and variedexperience of things relating to the earth , and also tothe heavens .

'

Owing to the anxious state of my sister’s health inLondon , I did not leave Paris that summer for a night,but I saw two of the finest country houses in France—one of the old regime, the other of the day beforeyesterday, but both deserving a short account.Dampierre is the former, that I visited by the kind

demand of its owner, the Duchesse de Luynes,whom


the health of her little daughter, Mdlle. d’

A lbert ; butshe insisted on doing the honours of the place . Afterbreakfast, at which the few guests then at Dampierre ,Comte and Comtesse de Dampierre and their daughter,appeared, she drove us in the park , in a carriagedrawn by five l ittle Corsican ponies , that galloped at atearing pace up the hills and through the woods whichsurround the chateau . The late Duke’s father, a dist inguished antiquarian , had decorated , in a lavishstyle, a great hall on the first floor of the house inthe Graeco-Pompeian style—not in keeping with the

place by any means . Here is the large fresco of theGolden Age,” pa inted by Ingres, who passed monthsat Dampierre working on it. Unfortunately, he left itunfinished . I n front of it is placed a colossal statueof Minerva, of ivory, gold , and gems, supposed to besimilar to the one by 1 Phidias in the Parthenon . I

much prefer, to this expensive toy, the fine marblestatue by Caval ier, of the sleeping Penelope,” atthe foot of the great staircase . Here , too, is a lifesize statue of Louis X I I I . in his youth by Rude

,all of

silver. I n the room containing this statue that mostuninteresting of monarchs passed a night it has beenturned into a kind of Legitimist shrine, the walls allhung with purple velvet hangings, powdered withgoldenfleurs de ly s, and the ceil ing gorgeously carvedwith the arms of France and Navarre in the centre .

’

Cost to make, it is said, and is worth, intrinsically,

FERR IERES . 339

The other expedition to another great Frenchcountry house, Ferrieres, the most gorgeous buildingof this centu ry in France, erected by Baron James deRothschild, and now the property of his son , BaronAlphonse, I made with Cyril Flower and his sister,Mrs. Brand. Never did three people make such amess of a very simple outing as we did . We metearly at the station, the Gare de l’Est , and after passinga number of stations, the pangs of hunger began tomake me wonder how it was that the station forFerrieres had not been reached ; but confiding in mymale companion’s knowledge of the line—he havingoften made the journey—it was not until suddenly ahorrible dread had seized all three of us, that we mighthave passed the station, that we found we had beenso unfortunate. There was now nothing for it but toget out at a miserable l ittle place called Ozier, whereno conveyance was to be had , and no inn at whichto breakfast, and no train back till the afternoon .

However, the society was pleasant, and at a butcher’shouse we got something to eat, and we passed theintervening hours as philosophically as we could . I nan old church we watched a pictu resque old cur t catechising the village children , and at length we got toour destination. Ferriéres is l ike Mentmore, only asbig again,

and internally more gorgeous than that toogaudy place. Everything that can be imagined in theway of splendid furniture and stuffs and decorations

Z 2


reigns within . The great hall is a fine room , bu t

rather overcrowded with magn ificence ; the saloonsare superb, and even the bedrooms are full of paintings and of treasures. In the luxurious smoking-roomJules Favre’s tearful interview took place with Bismarck. I was shown the gardens, offices , and eventhe kitchen, which is connected by an undergroundpassage with the house ; the dinner traverses a part ofthe grounds in a kind of tramway. The Rothschildsmost kindly invited me to remain the night, but Ihad to return to Paris ; having seen, however, tolerably well, one of the most splendid and luxurious ofhuman habitations, and certa inly the most gorgeous inFrance. ’That summer I had the satisfaction of seeing the

Kesselstadt mask supposed to be the one takenfrom Shakespeare’s face after death , which was broughtby Dr. Becker, when with the Grand Duke of Hesse,to Windsor Castle. There is no satisfactory history .

regarding it, only conjecture , but it bears the moststriking resemblance to what one hopes and wishesthe poet to have looked like in life and in death . Inever saw, not even in the cast of Napoleon’s faceafter death , a finer featured or a more beautiful face,so serenely grand and so divinely calm , with a saddened but satisfied look on it ! I induced Dr. Beckerto allow this mask to be photographed by the Vander Weyde electric l ight in London, and I met him at


approaching. What the feeling was about her amongs tall who had even only seen her lovely genial face ,

those that loved her best w ill not forget, nor the warmsympathy that the Queen and the Prince and Princessof Wales showed her. O f the Queen ’s visit to Grosvenor House on July 1 3 I wrote at the time

Her Majesty drove to Grosvenor House afterbeing present at the garden party this afternoon atMarlborough House . I t was seven when the Queendrove into the courtyard of Grosvenor House. Princess Beatrice came also, but only the Queen and LilahOrmonde went upstairs to my sister’s room . Nothingcould equal the Queen ’s most touching and affectingkindness—her dear eyes full of tears and her look fullof infinite compassion . Constance met her outs ide thesitting-room ,

where I left them alone together . How

gladly would one lay down one’s l ife for such a Queenand friend .

’

But before I come nearer to the close of thatprecious life, whose loss has taken the charm and sunshine from one’s own, I will add a few more old shredsof memory out of this year, with which I shal l closethis patchwork of an autobiography.

The Prince of Wales called constantly at Grosvenor House to inquire after my sister’s health. O ne

day he said to me, “ Your sister is my oldest friend Ihave known her for five-and-twenty years.” He askedto have daily accounts sent him when out of town. A

HOLLAND HOUSE . 343

kinder-hearted man does not live. ’ Our dear sufferer’scourage and cheerfulness under the trying illness werewonderful ; she keenly appreciated all the sympathythat all classes felt for her. Once she said to me, I tis indeed something to be cared so much for and likedbefore one’s death .

’

I lost a kind old friend thatsummer in Lady Cowper, who died in July. Withher, another l ink of the past was broken. Dining onenight at Holland House, ‘ I found rather a large party .

Lord Beaconsfield in his star and blue'

ribbon . He tookin to dinner Lady Chesterfield, and sat between herand our hostess ; and Lady Bradford, with whomit is always a pleasure to talk, fell to my lot. Wedined in the great dining-room , formerly the entrancehall , by far the most picturesque dining-room in ornear London , except the Long Gallery at Knowle.The table was a marvel of beauty—brill iant with lightsand flowers and Dresden china figures. Lady Bradford ’s affection for, and admiration of, Constance is tome in itself a great attraction , beside s her charm andcleverness ; would there were more like her in thiscrowded London society ! Mr. Morier, the Minister,was there ; we had a pleasant chat over our cigarettesand coffee on the terrace before leaving that mostdelightful old house.

Another of my Scotch nieces has been marriedElizabeth Campbell to young Clough-Taylor. DeanStanley offi ciated at this wedding in the newly-restored


parish church of Kensington.

’ Shortly after I dined inDowning Street, on J uly 2 7. Dined with the Gladstones at 10 Downing Street. A much better housewithin than one would imagine from its ugly outs ideappearance. The reception rooms are delightful of

the time of George I . —with handsome decoratedceil ings and massive chimney-pieces. The windowslook out on the Horse Guards Parade. The Archbishop of Canterbury and half-a-dozen others dined .

I had the good fortune to sit next the Premier, whois as full of interesting talk and jest as ever. He ismuch pleased just now with an old house near Barnet,which has been taken for the summer by the Aberdeens and where the Gladstones pass the Sundays of

the season . I t is said to have been built by Charles I I .for Nell Gwynne.

On August 10 I met the Gladstones at the Deaneryat Windsor, where he had gone to rest after his lateserious illness. We went to afternoon service at St.George’s, where Mr. Gladstone occupied one of thestalls near which only a few days before I had seen thenewest of the Knights of the Garter take his place. 1A couple of days later I had the honour of receivingthe Premier and Mrs. Gladstone in my little house .

His visit,as I told him, made that little erection of

red brick and tile historic . Mr. Gladstone overflowedwith amiabil ity he liked my l ittle Gainsborough land

Lord Beaconsfield.


the Prince and Princess of Wales, who seemed astonished at finding her so l ittle altered in looks after so

many months of suffering and discomfort.How l ike your mother she looks, said the

Princess ; and, indeed, with the hair brushed back ,her beautiful clear chiselled face had a striking resemblance to that of our mother. But the weakness of

the heart was on the increase— the kindest heart thatever beat— and although at times we were still hopefu l, and little an t icipated that the end was so near, onetrembled for her from day to day . She loved to sitduring the fine autumn days in the private garden nearthe wing, under the shade of an old cedar tree , herparrot near her chair, and the grandchildren alwaysabout her

,roll ing like tumbled fruit in grass .”

From Cliveden I paid two visits to Lord Beaconsfield at Hughenden during that autumn, one for acouple of nights, the last only passing the day there,returning to Cliveden in the evening. O f these V isitsI find in my diary the following

‘ S cytemoer - A t Hughenden for the secondtime . My first visit took place some eight years ago.

There is l ittle alteration within the house, and itsowner does not look much older than when I paid myfirst visit here with William Harcourt . There are afew more portraits on the staircase and in the drawingroom . Over the fireplace of the dining-room is a veryfanciful portrait of Lady Beaconsfield—after a min ia

LORD BEACONSF IELD . 347

ture of about the year ’

30 ; and hanging on theopposite wall a half-length copy of Angeli ’s portrai tof the Queen— presented to Lord Beaconsfield by HerMajesty, and a standing proof of the utter want ofvanity of our beloved sovereign , for this Angel irepresentation of Her Majesty is almost a caricatureof the best of Queens. On the staircase are a set ofportraits of personal and political friends of LordBeaconsfield ; Sir Stafford Northcote by A . StuartWortley, and Lord Barrington by Augustus Lumleyremarkable performances for amateurs. A full face ofRowton by Angeli , very like. Yes , said my hostwhen I said so,

“ but Angeli has not given the goldenl ight in Monty’s hair —which light I had never seen,nor had Angeli, it seemed .

By the landing hangs a fine but idealised profileof Byron—painted by Westall— a superbly handsomeface—it is a portrait of which Lord Beaconsfield isproud. I got it,” he said, from the Harness family .

But what the Harness family had to do with Byron Ifelt I ought to know, but did not, and did not like todisplay my ignorance by asking.

Lord Beaconsfield, although , as I have said, l ittleaged in appearance , is not strong, and is feeble on hislegs ; but he would take me a walk of nearly a Coupleof hours ; beginning with the garden , and then goingon to the walks in the beech woods, and along thepleasant green terraced walks, laid out by Lady


Beaconsfield (to whom he att ributes all the beautiesof the place) . We went on to the German Forest,”as she called a pretty pine wood intersected bynumerous paths. I t was getting dusk, and my hostseemed already very tired, and would sit at everybench we came to ; at one he told me how perfecta natural theatre was in front of us, but there wasonly a steep decline edged by a circle of trees ; thisshows how much enjoyment one may derive fromthe pleasures of the imagination and from a picturesquefancy. Lord Beaconsfield was, as I have ever foundhim , extremely pleasant, full of quaint humour, andnever seemingly bored at be ing questioned on anysubject that one ventures to put to him ; however,once I felt that he had administered to me a welldeserved rebuke. We had been looking at someprints , one of which represented Whitehall, and I

asked him if he had any doubt as to the side of theBanqueting House on which Charles I . was executed .

He answered me something to the following effect.Some time ago a Tory squire had brought his twosons to see him, and to receive words of advice as totheir future conduct in political and social ex istence.Eagerly the fond parent waited to hear what hisleader would deliver on so important a subject.Never,” said Lord Beaconsfield, in his most solemn

tones, “never in society ask who wrote Junius’s Letters,

or on any account inqu ire on which side of the


from the Queen , and photographs ; papers sent himfrom Rawdon Brown at Venice but what he seemed totake most pleasure in were some of his father’s books,especially a MS . on Solomon ’s writings, and somework in an old I tal ian binding. He much admiredRiviere’s bindings, and also Bedford’

s , but does notseem toknow how much superior are the old Frenchbindings of the last two centuries to any of ours . Hekeeps locked a set of Aldine editions of Latin andI tal ian authors in a black wooden cabinet, coveredoutside with modern Dresden china plaques, withwhich cabinet and its contents he is highly pleased .

The Queen , he said, had much admired it when shewas here. During the evening he was much troubledwith a cough , which sounded somewhat asthmatic ; ateleven he left to go to bed, which he does, as a rule ,punctually at that hour. He does not appear to expectto live long, and gives himself but two more years, butto the Queen twenty. I begged him to write a catalogue raisonné of his treasures, and he seemed to thinkthat he would like to make one he has certainly thelove of possession very strongly developed. He alludesconstantly to my dear wife,” and speaks of her as ifshe had been his good angel . I found on going belownext day a luxurious breakfast laid out for me in thedining-room . Lord Beaconsfield breaks his fast firstat half-past seven , and has a second refection abouteleven ; mine was introduced between these two re

LORD BEACONSF IELD. 35 1

pasts, but he came to see that I had all one couldpossibly require. Later he took me all over therooms those occupied by the Prince ofWales at thebeginning of this year are sunny and cheerfu l , thesitting-room full of prints after portraits by Winterhalter of the Royal Family, given him by the Queen .

I n the bedroom hang two pretty watercolour drawingsby that delightful artist M iss Blackburn T. givenhim when he was installed Lord Rector of GlasgowUniversity. In another of the bedrooms are arrangedall the family portraits, more than one of his father ; aportrait in chalks by John Downman, of his mother ;two of his grandfather, the real D’

Israeli, as he calledhim , his hair powdered , and in a red coat ; and a pencildrawing of an infant resting in an angel ’s lap .

“ MyGuardian Angel ,” Lord Beaconsfield called it, and saidit was by Cosway, but I think more likely by Mrs .Cosway, or some other artist’s wife, to judge by thefeebleness of the touch and hanging over the chimneypiece his own portrait, in the heyday of youth, byGrant, which has been engraved more than once.I t was a lovely sunny morning, and I strolled abou t

the place going by the beautifully situated parsonagehouse down through the fields to the pretty old church ,I found the memorial tablet to Lady Beaconsfield ou t

side against the church wall at the east end, and on agranite slab let into the outer masonry, on which arethe arms and coronet, is the following inscription


Viscountess Beaconsfield, in her own right. Thirtythree years the wife of the Right Hon . B . Disrael i . ”Returning to the lawn near the house I met my host,drawn out by the brightness of the day, among hispeacocks in the sunny garden front. He took meover the stables that he had lately built, and in whichhe said he would like to live : they are' so l ike cloisters,he said. We strolled on into the kitchen garden , fullof old -fashioned flowers which he loves, but he professesgreat ignorance regarding botany. Returning to thehouse we sat in the library among his books, where he

hesaid, He is the most envious of mortals ; wheneverI have published a book he at once writes to all the

always seems to be most at home . Of Lord

editors of magazines to run it down and cut it up as

much as possible. Envy ! ” he added, that mostdetestable vice, he has to a degree ” ; and he added ,

with great warmth , I have a thousand faults, but notthat detestable one !After luncheon we went out for rather a long walk .

First down to the stream The Hughen , he said it iscalled—a pretty, bright trout stream that meandersamong the sedges. He delights in walking along thisl i ttle river, and to what he calls the lake and the island ,miniatures of both the one and the other ; he was aspleased as a child at seeing a swan sitting on the latter

,

and this lake has been expressly photographed for

the Queen , among other views of Hughenden . Lord


up to him and mumbled something which we at las tmade ou t to be the poor fellow’s thanks for a Christmas gift of some flannels that he had received las tyear. “ I thought, said his lordship , as the man leftus, he was going to stab me ! ” He had received somethreatening letters a day or two ago ; no wonder if hefelt (not that I believe he was really alarmed, for dearold Dizzy is the personification of pluck) rather un

comfortable for the moment. During luncheon he gaveme a curious account of the time of the Fenian risingin I reland . Only three men

,

” he said , succeeded instopping it ; those three men were Mayo, Hardy, andI .

”O f the history of how that movement was stopped ,

part ly, it seems, by paying well some informers inI reland , no one will ever, Lord Beaconsfield said, knowthe truth for “ Mayo is dead, Lord Cranbrook neverwrites about anything, and I have not kept a singlenote or even a memorandum of that most strange andcurious time. Cluseret ,

” he said (afterwards the Communist-General) , “ we had watched in his Londonlodgings, and as he was on the point of starting for I reland to take the command of the rebellion he was neatlystopped .

” How Dizzy must have enjoyed all themystery and the almost halo of romance that shroudedthat mysterious history of what was very nearly beingas serious a rising in I reland as ’

98 ! That eveningLord Beaconsfield was in great talk. I am ,

” he said ,“ the unluckiest of mortals ; six bad harvests in succes

LORD BEACON SF IELD. 355

sion, one worse than the former, this has been thecause of my overthrow ; l ike Napoleon, I have b eenbeaten by the elements ! Bismarck and I were perfectlyd

’

accord. Had the late Government lasted we wou ldhave kept the democrats of Europe in check but nowall is over ! ” Bismarck he much admires and personallylikes. He is one of the few men ,” said Lord Beaconsfield, that at my age I have been able to feel realattachment for ; but all that is now over, and were heto come to England I should not ask to see him ; thereis no such thing as sympathy or sentiment betweenstatesmen. I have failed , and he would not care now

to see me , nor I him,

” he added , rather bitterly. Heblames Hartington for not accepting the Premiershipwhen sent for by the Queen . He showed,” said LordBeaconsfield,

“ a want of courage ; and he abandoneda woman (the Queen) in her hour of need .

” He thinksGranville would have accepted ofl‘ice under Hartingtonbut he thinks both Granville and Hart ington lost theirheads when sent for to Windsor, although, he said,they had had plenty of warning of what would happen .

Hartington , he cont inued, would have had a largefollowing, and for six months at least would have hadit all his own way.

” He said he had written to resignhis leadership of the Conservative party to LordSalisbury, asking him to succeed him ; but he fearsLord Salisbury’s health will not allow of this. “Allbecomes chaos

,

” he said, pacing up and down the roomA A 2


and waving his arms ; all becomes chaos when I amaway.

” He wants to go to the south , to winter at

Cannes, but he says it would not be worth while to goso far, as he has to be back again in his place in theHouse of Lords in January. He said that during alllas t Session , even when at Hughenden, he was neverfree from worry from his former colleagues and Ministers—every train brought some ex-Cabinet M inister toHughenden : “ Lord Cairns, or Mr. W. H . , or is i tH . VII. , Smith ? I never know which it is, or Mr.Secretary Cross, whom I always forget to call S i rRichard .

’ I think Lord Beaconsfield is utterly andentirely sick and worried to death by pol itical l ife, andwould gladly give up the burden of being leader of hisparty but,” as he says ruefully, they will not letme

give it up. His mixtu re of humour, drollery, andpathos when talking of these things was qu ite indescribable. ’ My visit to Hughenden came to a closeon September I 1 , when I returned to Cliveden .

‘ The next morning was a very wet one, and

after breakfast we marched up and down the smokingroom together, instead of going ou t of doors. This isa long passage- like room on the first floor, hung roundwith prints of Premiers and some of Lord Beaconsfield

’

s political friends ; Lord George Bentinck occupiesthe place of honour above the fireplace. Look ,” saidLord Beaconsfield, as he stopped suddenly in his walkbefore a row of prints that hung over the writing table


long furred coat that reached nearly to his feet . H e

had been sunning himself among his peacocks in theverandah on the south front. He has not been out ofdoors, except in the garden , since my last V isit here,having been laid up with a sharp attack of gout ; andhis left foot was still a-slippered . He said he quiterejoiced in this gout, for it had driven away his othercomplaints, of which he seems to dread most thebronchitis . He looked older, and is much weaker thanwhen I saw him here last in September. I t was thefirst day that he had been able to come downstairs forhis luncheon ; until to day he has had his meals in hisstudy on the first floor. Lord Beaconsfield said he hashardly seen a face since I was here las t ; only MontyCorry had been there of late, and then only for one night.Howeyer, he declares that he likes his solitude, andthat he does not know what it is to feel bored even fora moment. He reads a great deal, and I believe he isengaged in writing something ; but this he did not tellme . When I alluded to the report that Lord Rowton hadtaken the proof sheets of his new novel, Endymion ,to the Queen at Balmoral , he only laughed and turnedthe conversation . We sat after luncheon before ablazing fire in the library. His mind seemed to be fullof the past, and of his youth. He spoke of his earlyfriendship with the three Sheridan sisters, all beautifu lwomen ; the present Duchess of Somerset, once Queenof Beauty ”

; of Lady Dufferin, and of Mrs. Norton.

LORD BEACON SF IELD. 359

He described how delightful were the dinners in olddays at Mrs. Norton’s, over a public-house near Storey’sGate, more than forty years ago , and of the wit andhumour that then flowed, more copiously by far thanthe claret. Lady Dufferin was his chief admiration,more beautiful than her beautiful sisters . Dreams !dreams ! dreams ! ” he murmured, gazing at the fire,and smoking a cigarette he had accepted I have notsmoked , dearest, since you were las t here.The next time I was at Hughenden was to follow

his coffi n to the grave. But I can still fancy I see himamong his beloved books , gazing at the fire, and murmuring in an absent way, Dreams ! dreamsDreams ! and after all what is this life but one ?

And how often so sad a one that one would fain wakefrom out of it, for to die is to live.

‘ Life, ’ LordBeaconsfield said to me that last time I was with himat Hughenden , ‘ l ife is an ennu i, or an anxiety and heenlarged on his text by saying that for the self-madelife is full of troubles and anxieties, for fear of losingthe position or wealth they have obta ined ; and forthose born with position and wealth there is nothingto strive for, and life then becomes a mere bore, anennui , and a burden. My idea, ’ he added, ‘

of ahappy future state is one of those long midsummerdays

,when one dines at nine o’clock Lord Beacons

field had left out the majority of mankind, those whocannot afford either to be anxious or to be bored ;

369 MY REM IN ISCENCES.

and, indeed , in that half-way state I believe the trues tearthly happiness exists . Life, when those we haveloved and cherished in it are taken from us, is a ' longsadness ; but, thank God , we may humbly hope that inH is good time we shall again meet with our lost andloved . One has but little wish to cling to l ife with sucha hope in death

Then steal away, give little warning,

Choose thine own time

Say not Good-night,”but in some brighter clime

Bid me Good-morning.“

INDEX.

AUS

voyage to Brisbane, 2 1 1 sq. ;

Cooktown, 2 1 2 ; dangers of the

coast navigat ion, 2 1 3 passage

of Torres S traits , to.

Austro-l ta lian war, incidents of, i.

235 599

AGOT’S PARK ,

visit to, i.

399

Banza-Mohr-ar-Chat,’ Gaelic title

of the Countess of Sutherland,

used by S ir Walter Scott , i. 6 1

Bar lo Duc, V isit to,during the

Franco-Prussian war, i. 357 sq.

Barnard Cast le, visit to, ii. 1 19Barry, S ir C . , architect of Clive

den, i. 1 5 ; successful alteration

of Trentham Hall by, 3 1 ; his

desire to alter Trentham Church

frustrated, 33 ; the architect of

Mentmore, 402

Bauer, Msgr.,confessor of Napo

leon “L, i. 388Beaconsfield, Lady, i. 41 5 sq.

, 420

sqq.

Beaconsfield, Lord. See Disraeli ,M r .

Beauchamp Chapel, in St. Mary’s

Church, Warwick, ii. 39

Beaudesert , Visit to, i. 399Belgium, excitement in

,during

Franco-Prussian war,i. 36 1 sq .

Belleaeil (Prince de Ligne’s) , the

castle and gardens at, ii. 103Benvenuto Cellini

,reproduct ion of

his Perseus at Trentham, i. 36

a Visit to his grave, in Florence,fi . 28 1

Berlin,Visits to

,i. 1 8 1 sqq.

, II. 294,301

Bernhardt , Sarah, a Visit to, 11.

329 sq.

Bienfaisance, Rue de la (Paris) ,d istribut ion there of English suc

BR!

cour to the sufferers from the

siege, i. 385B irdsall

,Mr.

,his bookbinding os

tablishment at Northampton, ii.

24B irkland, visit to, i. 41 3Bismarck, Prince, presentation of

the author to, i. 332

Blenheim, the victory of,

com

memorated at C liveden, i. 16 ;Visit to, ii. 1 35

Blithfield,visit to

,i. 399

Bob Blunt,

’an English dog

-fancier

in Paris, i. 383 ; destruct ion of

h is dogs during the siege, 384Bois de Boulogne, description of

the, during the war, i. 363 sq.

Bologna, a visit to, ii. 280

Bolsover Castle, a Visit to, n. 6 1

Boston a visit to, ii. 264Bothwell, Earl of

,account of his

marriage to Lady Jane Gordon,i. 50 sqq. how he got his divorce

from her, 53Boughton (Duke of Buccleuch’s) , its76 miles of avenues of limes and

elms, ii. 26 ; description of the

house, 26 sq.

Bowen, S ir George, reception of

the author by, at Adelaide (Australia) , ii. 204

Bowles, Mr. T . G. ,i. 393, II. 2 57 ,

274Boyle, Hon. Mrs . E . V . i. 41 2

Boyle, Lady Dorothy, the inscription on her portrait at Chiswick,i. 263

Boyle, Richard (first Earl of Cork),account of

,ii. 58 sq.

Bridgewater, Duke of, remarkablehorse-race ridden by h im and

the Duke of Cumberland, i. 37 ;why he devoted himself to engin

eering, 37 sq. ; at one t ime nearly

ruined by canal-making, 38

INDEX. 363

BRI

Francis Gower, his heir, t'o. ; his

collect ion of pictures, ia.

Bridgewater Gallery, the, cause of

its formation,i. 38 ; afterwardsknown as the S tafford Gallery,

82 ; formed by the purchase of

the finest pictures of the O rleans

collec tion, to.

Bridgewater House,theatrical en

tertainment at,ii. 1 54

Bright , John, a good-humoured

sarcasm of,in Dunrobin Castle,

i. 48 ; his attack on ‘the dirty

conspiracy,’228 speeches on

the Irish Church Bill, 302 sq.

scene in the Commons betweenhim and Mr. Disraeli, 306 sq.

Broadlands,visit to Mr. Cowper

Temple at, i. 39 1 ; description

of,to. S ir Joshua Reynolds

’s In

fant Academy’amongst the paint

ings there, 392

Broughton Castle, visit to,II. 48 ;

paintings by Gainsborough at,

Brussels, sojourn in, l l . 101 sq.

Buchanan,George (the Scotch his

torian) , likeness of,at Dunrobin,

i. 63Buckhurst , Lord (now Lord Dela

warr) , visit to, at Sevenoaks, i. 407Burgos Cathedral, ii. 304Burke, Sir Bernard , ii. 320Burleigh House, Visit to, ii. 49 the

paintings and portraits in, 5 1

Burlington, Earl of, built ChiswickHouse, i. 2 57

Burlington H ouse, a morning at,

ii. 149Burnand

,Mr. F . C .

, present at a

performance of the i. 23 1 2

ii. 326

Burnham Beeches, Doré’s visit to

,

ii. 1 50 sq.

Byron, Lord, his admirat ion for

CAR

Lady Charlot te Gower, i. 9 1 sq . ;

his sat ire on the (fifth) Earl ofCarlisle, 100 sq . ; his reparat ion

in Childe Harold,

’101 memen

toes of,at N ewstead, ii. 54sq.

AD IZ CATHEDRAL,II. 3 14

California,visits to

,ii. 1 91 ,

23 1 sqq.

Cambridge, the author visits it withLord Lorne, i. 1 88 sq. entered at

Trinity College, 1 98 ; FellowCommoners

,

’201 being ‘

gowned,’

so; incidents of U niversity life,202 sqq . ; elected to Academical

Dramatic Club, 204 assoc iates

at the U niversity, to. a visit to,

ii. 289

Cambridge, Princess Mary of, her

magnificent appearance at the

Prince of Wales’s marriage, i.

16 1

Campbell, Lady Mary, her descript ion of the burning of InveraryCastle, ii. 160 sqq.

Canalet to, paintings by, atWoburn

Abbey, ii. 1 2‘ Canning

’s Oak

,

’at Cliveden

,the

View from,i. 20

Canton,2. Visit to

, 1 1 . 2 1 7 ; the

temples and worship therein, 2 1 8

Cape! , M sgr.

,ii. 140

Cape W rath, i. 400

Caprera, visit to Garibaldi at , i. 285sqq . ; description of

,290

Carlisle, (fifth) Earl of, his relationswith Lord Byron, i. 100 sq. ; a

would-be poet , 103 his charac

ter, 103 sq . ; Thackeray’s accountof him,

104 sq. the Earl’s ac

count of himself, 105 sq. his

great esteem for his wife, 106 ;

his friendship for Sydney Smith

107 sq. his death, 109

364

CAR

Carlyle, Thomas, the author’s ac

quaintance with , ii. 1 29, 1 57 sqq .,

l 75Carnarvon, Lady, death of, l l . 106

description of,107

Carton (near Dublin) , visit to, II.

320 ; descript ion of life at, a

hundred years ago, 32 1

Castle Ashby (Lord Northampton

’s) , description of, ii. 1 7 sqq.

the paint ings , 1 7 sq . the gardens,

19 the iron gates, to.

Castle H oward,its h istory, i. 97

sqq. ; visit to, 41 3 the C louet

Collection at, ii. 87, 1 16 ; the

mausoleum at,87

Cavendish family, sketch of its

history, ii. 58 sq.

Cavendish, LadyGeorgiana,mother

of (second) Duchess of Su ther

land,i. 109 ; married the (sixth)

Earlof Carlisle,to. her character

,

109 sq. Madame d’Arblay’s ac

count of her as a child,1 10

Cavendish,Lady Harriet , mother

of the present Lord Granville,1 . 1 1 1

Champs-Elysees, the, the Germansencamped in, i. 385

Charlecote,visit to

,ii. 42 sq. ; de

scription of, id ; portraits there,

43 the grounds, to.

Chatillon,heavy fighting at, in the

Franco-Prussian war,i. 388

Chatsworth, visit to, i. 282 de

scription of,282 sq.

Chenonceau, description of the

Chateau of,i. 233 sq.

Chevening, a visit to, i. 408

Chicago, a visit to, ii. 1 87Chiswick House, residence of the

Duchess of Sutherland at, i. 1 7 1beaut ifulfi le at, 250 ; Lord H er

vey’s witticism on

,2 57 ; built in

imitation ofa buildingat Vicenza,

INDEX.

COM

to. descript ion of, 2 58 sq. Pop e

frequently a visitor at, 2 59 Gay’sverses on , 260 ; J . J . Rousseau

at,263 the port raits at, 263 sq . ;

Horace Walpole’s description of

the gardens at,266 ; C . J . Fox

and Canning died there, 266 sq .

the great cedars at, 267 its art

treasures, 268 ; its beauty in

summer, 304Claude

, painting by, at Woburn ,

ii. 14Clerkenwell Prison, the explosion

at, in 1 867, i. 284sq.

Clinton , Dowager Lady, her re

miniscences of the beautifu l

Duchess of Devonshire, i. 3 1 1

Cliveden, built by Sir GeorgeWar

rener,i. 1 3 ; the house twiceburned down

,14; the history

and previous occupants of, 1 5

sqq. ; various ways of spelling

the name, 1 7 an old description

of,a . Lord Inchiquin

’s account

of the first fire at, 1 8 the magni

fi cence of the View from,1 9

‘ Canning’s Oak,

’the View from

,

20 ; Garibaldi’s admiration of thescenery at, to. improvements

made by the late Duchess of

Sutherland, 23 sq. ; description

of the interior of Cliveden, 24sqq. ; visit of the Queen to, 28 ;

monster garden-party at, 410

Clouet Collection, the,at Castle

Howard, ii. 87 ; photographs of

works in The Great H istoricGal leries of 1 1 6

Clumber, Visit to, ii. 62Colchester, the author

‘s residence

a t , i. 1 68 sq.

,1 88 sq.

Colvin, Professor, ii. 327

Communists,the Paris, i. 395 sq .

Compton Wynyates, descript ion of,

ii. 46 sqq. Charles I . slept there

INDEX.

DIS

reception in the Commons, 299speech on the Irish Church B ill,

303 defeat of his Ministry, 306 ;exc it ing scene between him,

Mr.

Bright, and Mr. Gladstone, 306

sq . on the author’s speech in the

Commons , 3 10 at a Drury Lane

pantomime, 406 ; a visit to

,at

Hughenden, 41 3 sqq . his apoph

thegm on Lord Shelburne, 414h is great affection for Lady

Beaconsfield,41 5 sq . his esteem

for the Earl of Carlisle (Lord

Morpeth) , 416 ; his anecdote of

Cobbett , 420 ; h is Views on the

conduct of the Church service,

42 1 appoints the author a

trustee of the National PortraitGallery, ii. 88 sq . letter from, to

the author, 9 1 on the diffi culty

with Russia, 144 at the Duke of

Norfolk’s wedding, 169 the

author’s statuette of, 2 5 1 , 27 1 sq .

h is character as read in h is hand

writing, by Desbarolles, 277 sits

for his portrait to Millais, 286 ;he receives the O rder of the Car

ter, 344; visits to, at Hughenden ,

346 sqq. anecdote of himself re

lated by, 348 ; his views on re

ligion, 349 ; his library, 350 his

family portraits , 35 1 the me

morial to Lady Beaconsfield, 35 1

sq. ; his disclaimer of the V ice of

envy , 352 h is love of H ughen

den, io. his assoc iations with

the people, 353 sq. on the Fe

nians, 354; on the cause of the

overthrow of his Government ,355 ; on Lord H artington

’s re

fusal of the Premiership, io. on

his colleagues, 356 his portraits

ofthe PrimeM inisters ofEngland,ia. Endymion,

’

358 ; his re

m iniscences of forty years ago,

DUN

359 ; his death, z'

é. ; his apoph

thegms on life,z’

b.

Doré, Gustave, i. 3 1 2, 11. 256, 274letter from,

ii. 146 sq. ; vis it of,

to Burnham Beeches and V ir

ginia Water, 1 50 sq.

Dornden,visit to Lord Lorne at, 1 1 .

1 1 9 sq .

Double,Mons.

,visit to his collect ion

of curios, in Paris,ii. 1 1 1 h is

loyalty to the memory of Marie

Antoinette, 1 22

Dresden,a visit to, 11. 301

Drive, a, from London to York, 11.1 sqq.

Dublin,visit to, 11. 1 74

0

Due d’Aumale, i. 22 2, 3 1 1 n. 66

Dufl'

erin, Lord , anecdote of, i. 1 35his and Lady Dufl

'

erin’s visits to

Dunrobin, 1 36 the author’ s

assoc iation with,11 . 294, 3 1 9, 345

Dukeries, The,’ ii. 62

Dumas, Alexandre (pare) , i. 249

Dundas, S ir David

, settles the

author’s choice of a career, i.

273 ; description of him,274

congratulates the author on the

result of h is speech in the Com

mons, 3 10 visit to, at Ochter

tyre ,

Dunrobin, beauty of the castle and

of its site, i. 44; the oldest in

habited building in the British

Isles,fé . its h istory, 44sqq . a

very old pear-tree at, 45 Dun

robin,’ the hill of Count Robert ,£6. recent transformation of the

laying-out of the grounds, 46 ;description of the scenery and of

the castle, 46 sqq . ; portraits at ,

48 venerable documents in the

muniment-room at , 52 the castle

seized and fired by the Earl of

Cromarty, 56 sq. descript ion of

an affectionate family, 57 so

INDEX.

DUP

called portrait of Mary Queen of

Scots at, 62 likeness of GeorgeBuchanan at, 63 ; the scenery,

64sq. the site of the old gibbetand quartering

-block, 65 the

castle terrace, 66 ; H ighland

sports at,400 Volunteer reviews

and balls an annual institut ion

at, six days

’visit of the

Queen to, 41 1 memorial to the

Duchess of Sutherland at, £6.

Dupanloup, Msgr. (Bishop of Or

leans) , visit to, at O rleans, ii. 1 1 3Diirer, A .

, paintings by, in Burleigh

House, ii. 50

Dunstable, visit to, 11. 10

ATON , description of the Dukeof W estminster’s new house

at,ii. 1 67 sq . theatrical enter

tainment at, 1 72

Ebrington, Lord, ii. 230Egerton, Lord Francis. See Gower ,

E lectioneering in Sutherland, the

author’s first canvassing tour, i.

276 sq. ; his elect ion as M .P. for

the County of Sutherland, 278 ;takes his seat in the House of

Commons,z‘

é. ; his second elec

t ion, 3 19E llesmere, Lady. See Gower,

E llesmere, Lord. See Gower,

E liot, Yorke, i. 2 56 ; his death, 11.

2 56

E lizabeth, only child of W illiam,

Earl of Sutherland, her claim to

be Countess‘of Sutherland de

cided by the House of Lords in

her favour i. 60 ; married

the heir of Trentham,id ; her

portraits by Romney and Law

367

EVA

rence, 6 1 admired by Sir

Walter Scott , £6. addressed byhim by her Gaelic t itle Banza

Mohr-ar 6 1 raised at

her own expense the regimentknown as the Sutherland H igh

landers, married the second

Marquis of Stafford, 75 her

character, 77 was known as the

Duchess-Countess, £6. Byron’s

description of her, 78 ; her de

scription in her French passport ,£6. her skill in landscape-painting, 79 her correspondence with

dist inguished Scotchmen , 80

Emperor and Empress of the

French, description of,i. 294sq.

their welcome of Americans at

their Court , 295 the Empress’s

reception of the news from Sedan,

370 sq. ; her fl ight from Paris,

37 1 the ex-Emperor’s lying

-in

state at Chislehurst, ii. 69 inter

views with the Empress in Lon

don,1 30, 1 36 the Empress much

interested in Marie Antoinette,

1 36 present from the Empress

to the author, 1 37 seeminglyfatalist ic incidents narrated bythe Empress, £6. her own ac

count of her escape from Paris,1 37 sq.

English succour to French sufferers

by the Franco-Prussian War, i.

E rie Railroad, the, scenery along

the line, ii. 1 84sq.

Escrick Park, ii. 63 sq.

E ton, the author’s school-life at

,i.

144W9Evans

’s (Covent Garden) , reminis

cence of Paddy Green at, i. 197 ;

painting (by Romney or Law

rence) obtained by the author

from,198

INDEX.

EVE

Everett , Edward, h is letter to the

Duchess of Sutherland on the

death of her son, i. 1 2 5

Eymar, Mons. le Pasteur, the

author’s tutor at Geneva, his

character, i. 167 a visit to, 1 87

FELL Railway (Mont Cenis) , i.

320

Fen ian scare (the) , i. 284Ferrieres, a visit to Baron A lphonsede Rothschild at

,ii. 339 sq.

Figure Painters ofHolland,’1 1. 302

F lameng, Leopold, a visit to, ii.

33 I

F lorence, visits to, 11 . 280 sq .

,285

Forster, Lady E lizabeth (DuchessofDevonshire) , unpublished lineson, i. 262

Fort Issy, after the siege of Paris,

i. 388 sq.

Fountains Abbey, visit to, 1 1. 1 1 8Fra Bartolomeo, painting by, at

E scrick Park, ii. 64Franco-Prussian War, incidents of

the, i. 329 sqq. battle ofW issenhours. 335 5994W fierth, 339 5m ;

siege of Phalsbourg, 346 sqq.

humanity of the Prussian soldiers

in, 349 ; celebrat ion of the Em

peror’s fi fe amid the war

,£6.

Prussian perquisitions, 350 sq . ;

the catastrophe at Sedan and its

effects in Paris, 366 sqq. Paris

after the siege, 383 sqq. ; entry

of the Germans into that c ity,

384French Senate, a visit to the, ii.

32 5Frohsdorfl

'

(Comte de Chambord’s) ,visit to, ii. 1 14 description of the

house, 1 1 5

Furzedown (Mr. Cyril Flower’s) ,

visit to, ii. 85

GLA

AINSBOROUGH , paintings‘

by, at Woburn, 11. 14 a t

Broughton Castle, 48 at In

verary Castle, saved from the

fire, 162Gambetta, Léon, the author’s first

sight of, i. 369Garda, Lake of, i. 237 sqq.

Garibaldi a guest at S tafford House ,i. 3 his adm iration for the

scenery at Cliveden, 20 ; his en

thusiastic recept ion in England,

1 7 1 sq . ; at S tafford House, 1 72

sqq. ; his portrait by Mr. Watts,

1 7 5 ; at the Crystal Palace, £6.

reasons why his stay was short

ened, 1 76 ; visits Cliveden, 1 76 ;

E ton, 1 77 visit of the author to,

in Italy, 237 sqq. ; wounded at

Rocco d’Anfo

,239 sqq . visit to,

at Caprera, 285 sqq. his children,287, 289 joins the Frenchagainst the Prussians, 379Garter

,Order of the, been held by

some member of the Gowerfamily since 1 77 1 , i. 73Geddington, Queen E leanor Crossat, ii. 2 5

Gem, the (Lord Pembroke’s yacht ) ,a cruise in, i. 323 the wreck of,£6.

Geneva, residence at , i. 1 54sq . ,1 62

sqq.,1 66 sq.Genoa, visit to, i. 249George IV . , letter of (when Prince

Regent) , i. 102G ibraltar, a visit to, 11 . 3 1 3G ilray, his caricature of the firstDuke of Sutherland as The

Modern Mecaenas ,’ i. 87Gladstone, Mr. , at C liveden, i. 1 69

sq. a great friend of the Duchess

of Sutherland,1 70 ; his opin ion

of Lord Derby’s Homer, 199 ; on

the proper number for a dinner

37°

cow

G ower, the poet , probably not aGower of S t ittenham, i. 67Gowers, the, sketch of the familyhistory, i. 67 sqq . ; the Gowers

and the Howards have beenthrice allied by marriage, 99 71 .

Granada, the cathedral at , ii. 3 16 sq.Granville, George, eldest son of

first Marquis of Stafford, i. 74;Ambassador to the French Court,75 ; married Elizabeth (in her

own right ) , Countess of Suther

land,£6. his career, 75 sq . ; his

port raits, 76, 86 ; succeeded to

the property of the Duke of

Bridgewater, 8 1 ; was the firstprivate person to throw open h is

works of art in London to the

public, 82 the Bridgewater col

lect ion divided at his death, £6.

great encourager of British and

Scotch art , 83 first President ofthe British Institution, his

improvements on h is Scotch

estates, 83 sq. the t rue story of

the Sutherland Evictions,’85 sq.

created Duke of Sutherland, 86

his death, £6.Granville, (the present) Earl, grand

son of first Marquis of S tafford,

i. 74 visit to, atWalmer Castle,ii. 86Gravelotte (or Gortz) , the great

number of wounded at the battleof, i. 360Great Brington,ancestors ofGeorgeWashington buried at , ii. 29 ;‘stars

’and ‘

stripes’

(bars) formed

part of their coat of arms, 30‘ Great H istoric Galleries of Eng

land, The,’ ii. 1 16, 288Grevy , Mons. , President of the

French Republic, ii. 272Grinling G ibbons, carving by, at

Burleigh House, ii. 50

INDEX.

HAY

Grosvenor, Lord, his speech on h is

amendment to the Liberal Reform Bill i. 228. (Seealso Westminster

,M arqu is of )Guillotine, an execution by the, 11.

162 sqq.Guy’s Cliff, Warwick, and its le

gend, ii. 40

AARLEM, visit to, 11. 97 the

organ at, 99

Hague, the, visit to,1 1 . 95 ; the

Museum of Paint ings at , £6.

Hals, Franz, his paintings in Haa r

lem, ii. 97 , 99Hamlet

, the author’s statue of,1 1 .

29 1

Harcourt, Sir W illiam,a guest at

H ughenden, i. 41 3 the author’s

guest at W indsor, ii. 1 50Hardwicke Hall

,description of, 1 1 .

55 sqq. ; Queen E lizabeth and

Bess ofHardwicke in the hauntedgallery, 56 sq. anecdote of the

late Duke of Devonshire , 57 ;the portraits at, 57 sqq . ; im

prisonment of Mary Queen of

Scots there, 60

H ardwicke, Lord, visit to, i. 301Hare, Mr. Augustus, i. 41 2 , ii. 283,

303 sq.

Harford, Canon, his collect ion of

curios,ii. 1 5 1

Hatfield Church, the chimes of,

11. 7

Hatfield House,visits to, i. 22 1 sq . ,

ii. 2 sq. portraits in, 3 sq.

Hawaii (Sandwich Islands) , vis it

to, ii. 194Hawarden Castle, visit to Mr.Gladstone at, ii. 1 7 1

Haydon, the artist, his rejectedcartoon bought for S tafi

’

ord

House, i. 5 assisted by the

INDEX.

HAY

Duke of Sutherland, and bythe Duchess-Countess

,8 1

Haymarket, Her Majesty’s Theatrein the

,burnt down , i. 284

Helmsdale, Castle of

, story of a

tragedy wrought at, i. 48 sqq .

H elps, Sir Arthur,biographical

notice of the Duchess of Suther

land by, i. 401 his death, ii.

1 1 3H ennessy, Mr. Pope, his reception

of the author at Hong Kong, ii.

2 1 5 sq.,2 19

H erbert , Dr. A lan, i. 395Hermitage, the (St . Petersburg) , theart-collect ion at

,ii. 296

Hervey, Lord, his witticism on

Chiswick House,i. 2 57

H ighclere, visit to, i. 323H istoric mansions (in the country) ,little dwelt in by their owners, ii.

1 5 sq .

Hockliffe, quaint old house at , 11. 1o

Hogarth, W illiam,buried at Chis

wick, i. 2 57Hohenzollern

,Prince Leopold of

,

i. 342

Holbein, paint ings by at Burleigh

House, ii. 50

Holdenby House, visit to,1 1. 30

account of, 3 1 Charles I . at,

after Naseby, 32 ; Lord Keeper

Hatton lived there, £6.

Holland House,festivities at

,i. 279

sq. ; Longfellow a visitor at, 3 1 3

aft ernoons at , 396 ; wedding of

Prince A . Lichtenstein at, 408

sq . visits to, ii. 1 35 sq. , 343Lord Beaconsfield at , 343

Hong Kong, the voyage to, from

Bri sbane, ii. 2 1 3 the natives,

2 14sq. ; the Governor (Mr. Pope

Hennessy) , 2 1 5 sq.,2 19

Honolulu, visit to, ii. 194sq.

Hotel de V ille (Paris) , description

37 I

m m

of a scene at , after Sedan, i. 373sq . ; destruction of, in the great

fi re. 394Houghton, Lord, i. 3 1 2, u .

326

House of Commons,incidents in,

i. 278, 298 sqq. ; Irish Church debate in, 300 sqq., 303, 305 the

author’s first (and las t ) speech

in, 307 sqq . the author’ s retire

ment from a Parliamentarycareer, ii. 84

Howard, Frederick, his gallant

death at Waterloo, i. 101 letter

of the Prince Regent on that

event,102

Howard, G . W . F .

, (seventh) Earlof Carlisle

, i. 1 1 1 his dis

tinguished career as Lord Mor

peth, 1 1 2 sq. ; esteem felt for him

in Ireland, 1 1 3 ; his character,

£6. V iceroy of Ireland,

1 14;Miss Martineau’s account of him

,

1 1 5 ; his death, 190 tributes of

esteem for him fi'

om Dean Stan

ley, Mr. Motley, Miss Mart ineau,

1 9 1—5 ; his diary printed for

private c irculation, 38 1

Howard Paul, Mr. , ii. 249Howards (Carlisle) , sketch of the

family history, i. 97 sqq .

Hughenden, visit to Mr. Disraeli

at , i. 41 3 description of, 414sq.

the drawing-room and library at

416 ; the garden and grounds

41 7 sq. the parish church, 41 8

sq. Mr. Disraeli’s farm

, 420

Hugo, V ictor, the kitchen at St .

Menehould immortalised by him,

ii. 1 23 ; visits to,in Paris

,1 77,

274sqq. ; his political opinions,275

Huntley, Lord, visit to, at Aboyne,ii. 160

Hyde Park riots, the, i. 2 50 sq.

B B Z

1 72 INDEX.

IGT

GTHAM MOAT, near Seven

oaks,visit to, i. 407

Impressions of the Americans, 11.

2 57 599

Ingestre Hall, visit to, i. 399

Inverary Castle, ii. 141 fire at,

160 sqq.

Irish Church Debate i. 300

sqq .

Italy, visit to,during the Austro

I talian war, i. 235 sqq . descrip

t ions of parts of North Italy, 237

sqq. incidents of a journey to

Caprera, 285 sqq .

AGO , Colonel, 11 . 220

J Jarnac, Comte de, account of,

11. 1 1 1 h is death, £6.

Jervaux Priory, visit to, 11 . 1 1 8 sq.

Johanniters, Bavarian (Red CrossCorp i. 352. 359

Johnson, Dr., anecdote of

,about

the second Lord Gower, i. 72

AUFFMANN ,Angelica, her

picture of ‘the Beautiful

Duchess ’ destroyed in the fire

at Inverary Castle, ii. 162

Kaulbach (the art ist) , his picture of

Romeo and Juliet ,’ i. 320Kean

’s Shakespearean revivals, i.

1 28

Keller, Mons. ,his house at Lune

ville,i. 348 his opinion on the

Franco-Prussian war, 349 sq.

Kenworthy, Mr. , the author’s firstteacher in modelling, i. 1 29 sq. ;

anecdote of, 1 30

K ilkenny , visit to, n. 1 73K imbolton Castle, visit to, i. 206K ingsley, Charles , description of

, at

Cambridge, i. 202 sq. his death,

ii. 106

A ING, Mr. ,M .P . , attacks the

representat ion of Sutherland

shire, i. 307 his motion defeated ,

309

Landseer, portrait group by, in

S tafford House, i. 1 1 sq. h is

portraits of Lord and Lady

E llesmere, 90 ; the Trafalgar

Square Lions, 166 ; pictures by ,at Woburn

,ii. 1 2

Langtry, Mrs. , ii. 1 53Larcher, M . le Curé (the author’s

host at Ligny) , his reminiscencesof the Waterloo campaign , i. 356

Lawrence, works by, in Stafford

House, i. 1 1 in Burleigh House,

ii. 50

Lecky, Mr.,the author

’s companion

in Rome, i. 32 1

Leech, John, the sale of his draw

ings, i . 207

LEE

Kingsley, Dr., the Doctor

’of

South Sea Bubbles,

’ i. 324K ingston, Mr. , war correspondent

of the Daily Telegraph ,’ i. 385

King’s Wood Bank

,at Trentham ,

origin of its name, i. 37 remarkable horse-race contested near,

£6.

K irby House, its beaut iful carvingsand stonework, ii. 5 1 the res i

dence of S ir Christopher Hat ton,

£6. Thorpe was its architect ,

and Inigo Jones decorated it,

£6. its present desolate state, 52

K irkham (near Castle Howard ) ,the scenery at, ii. 1 16 sq.

Kiss (the sculptor of the ‘ Ama

zon visit to, in Berlin, i. 1 82

Knights Templars, their institut ions

at Northampton, ii. 20 sq.

Knole Park, visits to, i. 407, 409Knowsley, visit to, ii. 1 1 7

374

MAD

Madrassi, Luca, the author shares

his studio in Paris, ii. 1 33

Madrid, a visit to, ii. 304 sq. ; the

Escurial, 306

Magbrogdus, Thane of Sutherland,

a record of, i. 52 sq .

Magdala, the fall of, i. 307

Maginn , his notice of Lord FrancisEgerton in

‘ Illustrious Literary

Characters,’ i. 88

Mammoth trees of the Yosemite,ii. 244sqq .

Manners, Lord John, i. 41 5Manning, Cardinal, h is opinion of

the author’s statuet te of the O ld

Guard at Waterloo,ii. 1 29 ; visit

to,1 52 ; description of

,1 52 sq.

Manvers, Lord,visit to,at Thoresby,i. 41 3

Marochett i, Baron, a visit to his

studio, i. 166

Mart ineau. Miss, her high opinion

of the Earl of Carlisle, i. 1 1 5,

194sq.

Mary Queen of Scots,her wedding

presents to Lady Jane Gordon(Coun tess of Bothwell) , i. 52the so-called portrait of her at

Dunrobin, 62 sq. portraits of,at

H atfield House, ii. 3, 6 ; port raitand marble statue of

, at H ard

wicke Hall,60 ; screens worked

by her there, £6.

Matrellini, h is profile, in wax,of

the first Duke of Su therland,i. 87

Melbourne (Australia) , visits to, ii.203 sq.

, 206

Menehould, St . , visit to, n. 1 23 sq.

Mentmore (Baron Meyer de Roths

child’s) , descript ion of

,i. 402 sq .

Mentone, a visit to, i. 295 sq.

Mercy-Argenteau, Comte de, visit

to,at Argenteau, ii. 140 sq.

Merimee, Mons. , at Stafford House,

1 . 2 14

INDEX.

Moscow, a visit to, 1 1. 298 sq.

Motley, Mr. , his tribute of esteem

for the Earl of Carlisle, i. 192 sqq .

Mouchy, Duc and Duchesse de, ii.

1 35 sq. ; visit to, 1 39Munich, visit to, i. 320

Murillo, paintings by, in Stafford

House, i. 7 sq . in WoburnAbbey, ii. 1 3 at Althorpe, 34;at Clumber, 62 in Madrid, 305in Seville, 3 10, 3 1 5

NANCY, a sojourn at, duringthe Franco-Pruss ian war

, i.

352 a gatheringof M. P.

’s at

, £6

Naples, visits to, i. 297 sq.

, 283 sq .

NAP

Metz, the great bat tle before,i. 352

Meudon,Prince Napoleon’s chateau

at, ruined during the siege of

Paris,i. 389

Michael Angelo, a visit to his house

in Florence, ii. 28 1

Milan,a visit to, ii. 279

Miles, F . (the artist) , ii. 1 33, 1 53, 2 5 1Millais (theartist) , i. 3 1 5 ; his opinionof the style of Franz Hals, ii. 97 ;his portraits of the author and of

the Duchess of W estmins ter,1 32 of Lord Beaconsfield and

of Mr. Gladstone, 286Mintou

,Hugh, a frequent visitor at

Trentham,i. 41

Minton,Messrs.

, theirpotteryworks,i. 24; h. zs6

Montagu, Mr. H . , 11 . 1 83, 2 57 h is

death, 248

Mormons, the, at Salt Lake City ,

ii. 1 89 sqq.

Moroni’s picture known as Titian’s

Schoolmaster,

’ in Stafford House ,

1 . 9

Morpeth, Lord. See H oward,

INDEX.

NAT

National Portrait Gallery, the

author appointed by Mr. Disraeli

one of the trustees of,ii. 89

Nealé, Countess, lady of honour to

Queen Louise of Prussia,a visit

to, at Berlin, ii. 1 8 1

Newstead Abbey, visit to, 1 1. 54;mementoes and portrait of Byron

at, 54WNew York, visits to, 1 1 . 1 8 1 , 248 sq.

,

2 57 599N ew Z ealand

,incidents of a visit

to,ii. 196 sqq . from W ellington

to Sydney (Australia) , 200Niagara, a visit to, ii. 1 85Noble, Mr. Matthew,

his monu

ment of the Duchess of Suther

land,i. 320 ; his bust of Lord

Albert Gower, ii. 1 26Norfolk, Duke of

,his marriage at

Brompton Oratory, ii. 169Normanby, Lord, visit to

,at

Auckland (New Z ealand), ii.

197 sq.

Northampton, description of St.

Sepulchre’s and S t. Peter

’s

Churches at , ii. 20 sq. the

Castle,2 1 ; the . Priory of St .

John’s, 22 Queen E leanor

’s

Cross, £6.

Northampton, Lord, visit to, at

Castle Ashby, ii. 20Northampton, Lord (temp. Charles

account of his death at thebattle of Hopton Heath,ii.

Northumberland, Duke of

,visit to,

at Albury, i. 39 1Norton, Mrs. , her love and admira

tion for the Duchess of Suther

land, i. 3 1 7 sq. visit to, at Keir,

412

Notre Dame, Cathedral, u . 328

Nottingham,the ruins of the Castle

at , ii. 53

375

PAR

Nowarth Castle, visit to, i. 3 19N uremburg, visit to, i. 320

O’CONNOR, Mr. John

,i. 389

sketching expeditions with,

407(E cumenical Council at Rome, the,description of the opening cere

monies of, i. 32 1 sq.

O’Gorman Mahon, The, i. 330

O liphant , Mr. Laurence, i. 388

Opie, his portrait of the first Dukeof Sutherland, i. 86

O rkneys, visit to the, i. 324O rleans House (Duca ball at , i. 3 1 1 the paintings at,

Orleans,visit to the cathedral of

,

u . 1 14Ossington, Lord, visit to, at O ssington

, i. 41 3Owen, Rev. L. , the author

’s tutor

at Colchester, i. 168 sq.

Oxford, visits to, i. 1 5 1 , ii. 107,

1 32 sq.

ACIFIC OCEAN , incidents of

a voyage across,ii. 192 sqq.

Paint ings at Cliveden, i. 2 5 sqq.

Palmerston, Lady, visit to, at

Brockett , i. 323 her death, 326

description of, 326 sq. anecdotes

of. 327

Palmerston, Lord, his death andfuneral, i. 2 18 sq .

Panizzi, Sir Anthony, at Cliveden

i. 1 69 sq. ; at Stafford House

2 14; at Chiswick, 306Panshanger (Lord Cowper

’s) , de

scription of, i. 304sq.

Paris, visit to, i. 1 38 sq. the Inter

national Exhibition at

28 1 state of in the early part of

376

PAR

the Franco-Pruss ian war, 364sqq . ; after the news of Sedan

,

366 sqq. behaviour of the mob,

370 sqq . general removal of the

Imperial insignia, 375 closingof the theatres, 380 after the

Prussian siege, 383 entry of the

Germans into, £6. behaviour ofthe mob after the siege, 384,

387 attack on the author, 387 ;

the city in flames, 392 destruc

t ion of the Tuileries,£6. effects

of the fire, 394sq. much of old

Paris still remains, ii. 109 the

author’s at tract ion to Paris,1 32

the Exhibition 1 78, 2 5 1

Parma, a visit to, ii. 279Partridge,hisportrait of the (second)Duke of Sutherland

,i. 95

Pearson, Canon, ii. 3 19

Pemberton,K it

,

’a war correspon

dent in the Franco-Prussian war,

i. 330 ; killed during a battle, 378I’enshurst

,visit to

,i. 408

Perck (near Mechlin) , David Ten iers buried at , ii. 101

Petworth,visit to

,ii. 1 75

Phalsbourg, the siege of,i. 346

sqq . descript ion of the bom

ba rdment, 347 sq .

Philips’s picture of the House of

Commons,i. 300 ; h is port rait of

the Princess ofW ales,£6.

Phillips , his portrait of the fi rst

Duke of Sutherland, i. 86 ; por

trait of Lord Byron at N ewstead,

1 1. 55Place de la Concorde, the Germansencamped in, i. 384

Poerio,Baron

,a guest at Stafford

H ouse,i. 3

Pompeii, visit to, i. 298

Poodle’ Byng, his reminiscences,

i. 38 1 was a Volunteer beforeW

'

aterloo and also in 1 860, 382

INDEX.

our;

Pope (the poet) , anecdote of, 2 59Potsdam ,

visit to the Crown Prince

and Princess at, i. 1 83 desc ription of the palace, 1 84sq . por

trait of Voltaire, painted by

Frederick the Great, at,1 85 ; a

royal christening at, 33 1 sq.

Poussin, paintings by, i. 10, ii. 5 1

Prescott , W illiam, the American

historian, his account of his vis it

to Trentham,i. 42

Prince Imperial, the, 11. 1 30 ; inter

esting anecdote of,

1 36 h is

visit to Trentham,2 55 sq . his

death,

29 1 reception of the

news in Paris, 292

Prince Leopold, ii. 1 5 1 , 288Princess Alice, death of, ii. 2 54Prinsep (the artist) , i. 3 1 5Priory of St. John’

s, Northampton ,

account of, ii. 22

Priory , the, at W arwick,11. 39

Prod igal Son, The,

’ Murillo’s

painting of, at S tafford H ouse,

i. 8

Prussia,Crown Prince and Princess

of,visit to

,at Potsdam,

i. 1 82

sqq. paintings by the Princess ,

1 84; the christening of one of

their children , 33 1 sq . with the

Prince in the Franco-Prussian

W3 ?» 345 5 99

Prussia,K ing and Queen of

, pre

scutation of the author to, i. 332

the etiquette of their Court , £6.

the K ing holds a grand review

at Longchamps, 386

UEEN ELEANOR’S Cross

at Northampton, ii. 22 only

three remaining of the fifteencrosses erected in her memory ,23 the cross at Geddington, 2 5

378

REY

of the late Duke of Leinster, £6.

of a tournament at Dunrobin,140 sq . ; of Lauriston Castle,

143 of Dr. Guthrie, S ir JamesS impson, Lord Brougham,

143sq . of the author

’s school-life at

E ton,144sq. of the Empress of

the French (at W indsor‘ , 147 of

visits toW indsorCas tle and Frogmore, of the Prince Consort

’s

death, 149 sq. ; of a visit to Ox

ford, 1 5 1 ofBishop W i lberforce,

S ir J . Paxton, Lord Breadalbane,Lord Clanwilliam,

Count Pahlen,Marochett i (the sculptor), and

Tennyson, 1 52 ; of a visit to

V ichy, &c.,1 52 sq. ; of a res i

dence at Geneva, 1 54 sq. ; of

Chamouni,1 55 of the Prince of

VVales’s marriage , 1 56 sqq. ; of a

tour among the Alps, 162 sq. of

a visit to Turin, Milan, and

Venice, 164sq. ; of the Prince de

Condé, at Lausanne,

166 ; of

Thackeray’s death, 167 of resi

dence at Colchester, 168 sq.

Reynolds , S ir J ., paintings by, i.

1 1 1 , 1 36 ; his‘ Infant Academy,

’

392 ; his old house in Le icester

Square, 397 ; portraits of Miss

Price and Lady Salisbury at

Hatfield,ii. 4 sqq. ; paint ings

by, at W oburn, 1 2 sq . ; at Al

thorpe Park, 33 ; at Castle

Newsam, 1 1 7 at Swinton Park,

1 1 8

Rheims, visit to, u . 1 23

Ripon, Lord, visit to, at StudleyRoyal, ii. 1 1 8

Roberts, Captain, visit to

,at La

Maddalena, i. 292

Roberts, S ir Randal, i. 389Robinson, Sir H ercules, reception

of the author by, at Sydney

(Australia) , ii. 201 sq., 209

INDEX.

RUS

Roche, Paul de la, his picture of

Lord S tratford, i. 10

Rockingham Castle, visitt

to,11 . 53

Rokeby, visit to, ii. 1 19Rome, account of one day

’s sojourn

in, i. 296 sq. ; visit during the

( Ecumenical Council, 32 1 sq . ;

another visit to, ii. 282 sq .

Romney, portraits by, at Trentham,

i. 35, 6 1 his portrait of Lord

S tafford (first Duke of Suther

land) , 87 ; portrait of Countess

of Carlisle, 107 ; painting sup

posed to be by him obtained bythe author from Evans

’s, CoventGarden

,198

Rosa Bonheur, i. 1 39Rosebery, Lord, ii. 168, 248Rothschild, Baron Alphonse de, a

visit to, at Ferrieres, ii. 339Rothschild, Baron Meyer de, de

scription of his house at Men t

more, i. 402 sq.

Rotterdam,visit to, u . 93 the car

nival at , 94Rouen, visit to, i. 23 1 sq.

Rubens, portrait of, by Vandyck,

at Althorpe, ii. 34; paint ing by ,his works at Antwerp , 99 ;

at Mechlin, 101 visit to his

summer retreat at Stein, near

Brussels, a paint ing by in

W indsor Cas tle, 102Rushton Hall, visit to, 11. 24sq.

the portraits at,£6. assoc ia ted

by tradition with GunpowderPlot conspirators, £6.

Ruskin, Mr.

,i. 392 , ii. 85 visit to ,

at Oxford, 107 ; his St . George’sSociety, 108

Russell, Dr. W . H . , the author’sfirst meet ing with him,i. 3 1 5 ;

accompanies him to the FrancoPrussian war, 329 ; anecdote

about the Russell mot to, 335 ;

INDEX.

RUS

generous act of, 355 ; at Ver

sailles, 383 ; in Paris after the

great fire, 393 ; at Ascot races,

408 ; his condolence with the

author on the loss of his brother,ii. 105 letter from, on the year

i 877, 169

Russell,Earl

, i. 38 1

Russell family, portraits of, by ar

t ists from Holbein to Lawrence,

at Woburn Abbey, ii. 1 2 sq.

ALA,Mr. G . A.

,i. 397, u . 149,

288, 290

Salo (Lake of Garda) , descriptionof, i. 237 sq.

,240 sq.

Salt Lake City, a visit to, 11. 1 88 sqq.

San Francisco, visits to, ii. 19 1 sq. ,

23 1

Santa Severina, Prince René di, 11.

298, 301 principal in a duel, 333sqq.

Scarborough, visit to, 11 . 80Scheveningen, visit to, ii. 96 sq.

Schimmelpenninck, Baron, Mr.

Motley’s estimation of him, 11. 95

sq. visit to, 96 sq.

School of Instruction, Woolwich,

the author passes through the, i.

397

Scotland, North, state of in the

seventeenth century, i. 66

Scott, Sir G ilbert, on St. Alban’sAbbey, 11 . 8 sqq.

Sculpture, gallery of, at Woburn

Abbey, n. 14Sedan, the French catastrophe at,

i. 366 sq. effect of the news on

the Parisians, 368

Sedgwick, Professor, visit to, at

Cambridge, i. 208 sq. his admi

ration for the Princess of Wales,

226

379

Spencer, Georgiana, the beautifulDuchess of Devonshire, i. 109

her port raits at Castle Howard,

1 1 1 the misery of her domest ic

life, 260 her poetic talent, 262

SPE

Selby Abbey, visit to, 1 1. 63Selwyn, George; letters from the

Earl of Carlisle to, i. 105 sq.

Sensational news, a day of (April26

,i. 207

Sentinel Dome (Yosemite Valley) ,the view from

,ii. 241 sq.

Sevenoaks, visit to, i. 408Sevigne, Mdme. de, visit to her old

house in Paris,ii. 109

Seville Cathedral, ii. 3 10, 3 1 5Seymour Haden, visit to his studio,ii. 83

Shah of Persia, the, his visit to

Trentham,i. 40, ii. 73 ; anecdote

of,£6.

Shakespeare, the Kesselstadt‘ mask ’ of

,11. 340. (See also

S”afford-ou-Avan)Sherwood Forest

,visit to, i. 41 3

Shoeburyness, the author’s art illerydr ill at, as a Volunteer, i. 398

S iege of Paris, the, effects of, on the

city, i. 387 sqq.

S inclair, Lady Isabel, story of thetragedy wrought by, i. 49

S isters of Mercy, in the FrancoPrussian war, i. 341 , 359 ; one

dressed as a man, 360

Sneyd, Mr. Ralph, at Trentham,i.

x96

Social Science Congress (Aberdeen) , the author president of

the Art sect ion at, ii. 1 59 ad

dress on that occasion, 160

Soult, Marshal, the price he got

for his picture-plundering in

Spain, i. 8 sq.

Spain, incidents of a tour in,1 1.

380

SFO

port raits of, at Althorpe, u .

34Sport , ill effects of the silly mania

for,among the richer classes, ii.

16

S tafford House, an Art Palace, i.

1 ; great ly admired by Rogers,

the poet , £6. often visited by

Queen Victoria,2 Lami

’s paint

ing of,2 ; illustrious guests re

ce ived at, 3 ; Lord Beaconsfield’s

description of, 4; its great hall,

the cite/id’a’uzfre ofWyatt , 5 its

possible future dest iny, 6 its

decorat ions and art -t reasures, 7

description of paintings in the

gallery of, 7 sqq . the Lenoir

Collection at,ii. 65 sqq.

S tafford,Marquis of. See Gower ,

(second ) LordS t. Albans

,description of the

Abbey of,1 1 . 7 sqq.

Stamford,Lord Burleigh

’s tomb in

S t . M ichael’s Church at , ii. 5 1

S tanfield, C larkson, paintings by,

at Trentham,i. 35

S tanley, Dean, his tribute to the

memory of the Earl of Carlisle, i.

19 1

S tanley, Mr. (the African explorer) ,a guest at Dunrobin, i. 41 1

St . Cloud,ut terly ruined during the

siege of Paris, i. 386

Stein (near Brussels) , the summer

retreat of Rubens,ii. 101

S tirling-Maxwell

, Sir W .,visit to,

at Keir, i. 41 2

Stoneleigh Abbey, visit to, 1 1 . 49S t. Petersburg, visits to, ii. 294sqq . ,

300

S tratford-on-Avon, beauty of the

dri ve to it from W arwick, ii. 42account of a visit to, 43 sqq . ; the

renovation of Shakespeare’sbirthplace, 44 description of the

INDEX.

SUT

house, 44sq . relics of the poet,

45 the state of his burial-place,46

S trawberry H ill, descript ion of,

i. 3 1o sq . ; visit to, 3 1 3 sq .

Studley Royal, visit to Lord Ripon

at,ii. 1 1 8

Sultan Abdul Aziz, his visit to

England , i. 280

Sumner, Charles, a guest at Stafford

House, i. 3Sutherland family, the, have almost

always been on the popular and

Liberal side in polit ics, i. 55 sq .

Sutherland Fencibles their

old colours at Dunrobin, i. 62Sutherland

, (first) Duke of. See

Granville, George

Sutherland H ighlanders, the regi

ment raised at her own expense

by Elizabeth , Countess of Sutherland

,i. 6 1

Sutherland, John, (fifi eenth) Earl of,and his Countess, story of their

murder,i. 48 sqq . ; his son

’s w ife

was Lady Jane Gordon, who hadbeen married to Bothwell, 50Sutherland, (present) Duke of, i. 1 3,

ii. 66

Sutherland, (second) Duchess of,

account of her family, i. 97 sqq .

her mother, 109 ; in attendance

on Queen V ictoria, 147, 149 sq .

letter from the Queen to,1 5o sq . ;

at the Prince of Wales’s mar

riage, 160 ; beginning of her long

illness, 165 visited by the Queen,her admiration for Mr. Glad

stone, 1 70 ; at Chiswick, 1 7 1

visits Berlin, 1 80 sqq. her ad

dress to the Volunteers at Dun

robin, 1 89 sq. ; her attachment to

an old servant , 2 1 7 her love for

Chiswick House, 2 58 ; her death ,3 16 sq. Mr. Gladstone’s and

382

TRE

of Culloden’a guest at , 39 ; the

old guest-chamber, its uncanny

character and its adornments,

£6. the Shah of Persia a visitor

at , 40 ; W edgwood and Hugh

Minton guests at , 41 Prescott,

the American historian’s,account

of his visit to, 42 ; anonymous

conundrum on, 43 ; Noble’smonument to the Duchess of

Sutherland in the church at,

398, 401 Mr. Gladstone’s insc ript ion thereon, 401 ; visit of

the P rince of Wales to, 410 ;funeral of Lord Albert Gower at,ii. 104; marriage of Mr. H .

Chaplin to Lady Florence Gowerat, 143 Christmas-tide spent at ,

144sq. ,2 54sq.

T reves, the cathedral of, i. 36 1

Trochu, General , i. 37 1 , 373 firstPresident of the Third Republic ,375

Tuffs, Robert , the author’s art ist ic

valet , ii. 89

Tuileries, the, a ball at, i. 293 ; avisit to, after Sedan, 37 1 sqq. ;

destruction of, 392 , 394Turin, a visit to, ii. 278

N IVERS ITY Boat Race, view

of, from Chiswick, i. 205ANDYCK , paint ings by, in

Stafford House, i. 9 in

Arundel Castle, 1 37 at Hatfield,ii. 5 at Castle Ashby, 1 8 ; portrait of Rubens by, at Althorpe,34; paintings by, at WarwickCastle, 37 at Wentworth House,

1 19 in Turin, 279

Vanity Fair,’the author

’s connec

t ion w ith, ii. 146 sqq .

INDEX.

WAL

Van Loon collect ion, the, at Am

sterdam,ii. 97 sq.

Varennes, visit to, ii. 1 24sq .

Vaucouleurs (Joan of Arc’s birt h

place) , a sojourn at, in theFrancoPrussian war, i. 354sq.

Velasquez, portrait by, at W oburn,11 . 1 3

Venice,visits to, i. 164sq.

, 320

Verrio, paintings by, at Burleigh

House, ii. 50

Versailles, the Prussians at , i. 386

Vesuvius, a visit to, ii. 284V iceroy of Egypt, his visit to England, i. 280

V ichy, visits to, i. 1 52 sq., 2 1 5 sq.

V ienna, visit to, i. 320

Vinoy, General, i. 378, 388Virginia Water, Doré

’s visit to, 11.

1 5 1

Voltaire, the original mask of hishead by Hudon, ii. 1 39

AGGA-WAGGA (Australia) ,a visit to, ii. 207

Wagner, concert conducted by him

at the Albert Hall, ii. 1 54W aldeck, Count, a Parisian cente

narian, visits to, ii. 78 sqq . ; his

reminiscences, 78 sq. paintingof Marie Antoinette (from me

mory) by, 79 ; letter from to the

author, 80 ; story of the payment

for his paintings at the Ecole des

Beaux-Arts, 82

Waldegrave, Lady, visits to, at

Strawberry H ill, i. 3 10 sq. , 3 1 3

Wales, Prince and Princess of, their

marriage, i. 1 56 the Princess an

excellent horsewoman, 2 2 5 sq. ;

their first visit to Sutherland, 2 54illness of the Prince ,404 thanksgiving service on h is recovery,

405 ; the Prince at the lying-in

INDEX.

WAL

state of Napoleon I I I . , 11 . 7 1 ;

fancy dress ball given by, 92 the

Prince present at a meeting of

the Academical Dramatic Club(Cambridge) , 1 27 ; their visit to

the Duchess of Westminster in

her last illness, 345 sq .

Walmer Castle, visit to Earl Granville at , ii. 86

Walter, Mr., jun.

,the author

’s tra

velling compan ion through theYosemite Valley, ii. 23 1 sqq.

Ward,Mr. E . M .

,ii. 87 his death,

270 ; his works, 27 1Ward, Mr. S . Uncle Lord

Rosebery’s recommendat ion of,

ii. 248 ; visits to at Brevoort

House, New York, 248, 263associat ion with

,£6. visit to

Longfellow with, 264sqq. visits

the author at W indsor, 320Warrender

, Sir George, built thesecond Cliveden, i. 1 3 ; anec

dote of, 19Warwick Castle, beauty of the ap

proach to it by road, ii. 36 ; the

work of restoration after the fire,

37 the portraits, £6. the collec

tion of Limoge enamels, 38

Warwick, the Leicester Hospital,

its chapel and inmates, ii. 38 sq.

the Beauchamp Chapel in St .

Mary’s Church, 39 ; the Priory

(Canons Regular) , 40 ; Guy’sCliff and its legend, 40sq. ; avenue

of Scotch firs at, 40

Washington, George, visit to the

home of his ancestors, in Nort h

amptonshire, ii. 28 sq.

Waterford, Lady, visits to, at Ford,i. 41 2 , ii. 1 53

Watling Road, the Roman, 11. 10

Watts, Mr.

,h is port rait of Garibaldi, i. 1 75 visit to him at

Little Holland House, 3 14; his

383

W IL

portrait of the late Duke of New

castle,ii. 62

Wedgwood, a guest at Trentham,

i. 41 the first Marquis of Staf

ford was his patron and friend,

74W elbeck Abbey, visit to, 1 1 . 63Wellington, the Duke of

,reminis

cences of, i. 1 17 sq.

W ensleydale, Lord, visits to, at

Ampthill, i. 230, 2 76

W entworth House, visit to, 1 1. 1 19W estmacott

,h is marble statue of

Mary Queen of Scots, at Hard

wicke Hall,ii. 60

Westminster, Duchess of (LadyConstance Gower) , i. 26

, 42 , 1 191 33. 28s. 3 1 5. 404. ii 89m.

99, 103, 1 54, 1 72 , 202,her illness, 341 visited

by the Queen, 342 ; and by the

Prince and Princess of Wales,

345 her last days, 345 sq .

Westminster, Marquis of, purchased

Cliveden, i. 27 ; marriage to

Lady Constance Gower, 1 19 ;raised to a dukedom

,ii. 86 ; t e

joicings on that occasion at

Chester and Loch More, 99 sq.

Whewell, Dr. ,his death and

funeral, i. 226 sqq.

Whistle-jacket (the famous chestnut horse), Stubbs’s life-size

picture of, at Wentworth House,

1 1. 1 19

Whistler, Mr.,11. 85

Wh itehead, Mr., the author

’s com

panion at Yokohama, ii. 229 sq.

‘the great runningfrogofTokio,

Whitehurst, Mr. , correspondent in

Paris of the Daily Telegraph,’ i.

382

W ilberforce, B ishop (of Oxford) , i.2 1 2

384 I NDEX.

W IL

W ilde, O scar, n. 1 35, 1 53, 320

W impole, visit to, i. 2 56

W indsor,the beauty of, 1 1. 1 27 ; the

author’s residence at

,142 , 1 50 ;

thunderstorm at, 302 sq.

\Vingfield, Louis, i. 329W inter Palace

, the (St. Petersburg) ,a visit to, ii. 296

W'

iseman, Cardinal, his high esti

mate of Longfellow, ii. 269\Vissenbourg, the battle of

,i. 335

sqq .

W oburn Abbey, descript ion of,11 .

1 1 sqq . ; the portraits at , 1 2 ; the

care taken of its art -collect ion,1 3 sq. curiosities at, 14 its

sculpture gallery, £6. the gar

dens,£6.

Woerth, the battle of, i. 339 sqq . ;the scene after the fight, 343 sq .

Wolff, panels painted by, at Clive

den,i. 2 5

Wollaton, description of, 11 . 53 sq.

W oolwich, art illery drill at , i. 397

VVrest (Bedfordshire) , visit to LadyCowper at

, i. 28 1

YOS

Wyatt, Sir D igby, the arc h i tect ,

h is chef d’awvre, at S ta ffo rd

House, i. 5 ; his work at C a s t le

Ashby, ii. 20

EDDO (or Tokio) , a vis it to,

ii. 224 descript ion o f the

place, 22 5 the temples , 2 2 6 sq .

stories of enormous frogs , 2 2 8

sq.Yokohama, the voyage from H ongKong to, ii. 220 descrip t ion of

the place and of the nat ives , 2 2 1

sqq. ; a tea-

garden there,

2 2 3

native forms of politeness , 2 24;Japanese boatmen, 230York, Duke of

, founder of S tafford

House, i. 4Yosemite Valley , the, inciden ts of

a visit to,ii. 23 1 sqq . ; horrors of

travel there,2 34sq . ; prairie dogs

and owls,235 Mar iposa Forest,

236 ; Allder Creek, 237 N evada

falls, Mirror Lake,

’2 38

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My Reminiscences - Forgotten Books

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