Fifty-One Years of Victorian Life Part 6

[Sidenote: THOUGHT-READING]

Meantime I may mention a quaint bit of palmistry or thought-reading connected with him. We had a friend, Augusta Webb of Newstead, now Mrs.

Fraser, who was an expert in this line. She was calling on me one day when I mentioned casually that I had met Mr. Arnold, whose _Light of Asia_ she greatly admired. She expressed a great wish to meet him, so I said, "He is coming to dine this evening--you had better come also." She accepted with enthusiasm. He sat next to me, and to please her I put her on his other side. In the course of dinner something was said about favourite flowers, and I exclaimed, "Augusta, tell Mr. Arnold his favourite flower." She looked at his hand and said without hesitation, "I don't know its name, but I think it is a white flower rather like a rose and with a very strong scent." He remarked, astonished, "I wish I had written it down beforehand to show how right you are. It is an Indian flower." (I forget the name, which he said he had mentioned in _The Light of Asia_), "white and strong-smelling and something like a tuberose." It is impossible that Augusta could have known beforehand. Her sister told me later that she did occasionally perceive a person's thought and that this was one of the instances.

To return to Thomas Hughes, who originally gave me Lowell's poems. He was an enthusiast and most conscientious. On the occasion when, as I said before, he stayed at Middleton he promised to tell my boy Villiers--then six and a half years old--a story. Having been prevented from doing so, he sent the story by post, carefully written out with this charming letter:

"_February 1st, 1880._

"MY DEAR LITTLE MAN,

"I was quite sorry this morning when you said to me, as we were going away, 'Ah, but you have never told me about the King of the Cats, as you promised.' I was always taught when I was a little fellow, smaller than you, that I must never 'run word,' even if it cost me my knife with three blades and a tweezer, or my ivory dog-whistle, which were the two most precious things I had in the world. And my father and mother not only told me that I must never 'run word,' for they knew that boys are apt to forget what they are only told, but they never 'ran word' with me, which was a much surer way to fix what they told me in my head; because boys find it hard to forget what they see the old folk that they love do day by day.

"So I have tried all my long life never to 'run word,' and as I said I would tell you the story about Rodilardus the King of the Cats, and as I can't tell it you by word of mouth because you are down there in the bright suns.h.i.+ne at Middleton, and I am up here in foggy old London, I must tell it you in this way, though I am not sure that you will be able to make it all out. I know you can read, for I heard you read the psalm at prayers this morning very well; only as Mama was reading out of the same book over your shoulder, perhaps you heard what she said, and that helped you a little to keep up with all the rest of us. But a boy may be able to read his psalms in his prayer book and yet not able to read a long piece of writing like this, though I am making it as clear as I can. So if you cannot make it all out you must just take it off to Mama and get her to look over your shoulder and tell you what it is all about. Well then, you know what I told you was, that I used to think that some people could get to understand what cats said to one another, and to wish very much that I could make out their talk myself. But all this time I have never been able to make out a word of it, and do not now think that anybody can. Only I am quite sure that any boy or man who is fond of cats, and tries to make out what they mean, and what they want, will learn a great many things that will help to make him kind and wise. And when you asked me why I used to think that I could learn cat-talk I said I would tell you that story about the King of the Cats which was told to me when I was a very little fellow about your age. And so here it is."

The story itself is a variant, very picturesquely and graphically told, of an old folk-tale, which I think appears in Grimm, of a cat who, overhearing an account given by a human being of the imposing funeral of one of his race, exclaims, "Then I am King of the Cats!" and disappears up the chimney.

[Sidenote: TOM HUGHES AND RUGBY, TENNESSEE]

Tom Hughes, at the time of his visit to Middleton, was very keen about the town which he proposed to found on some kind of Christian-socialist principles, to be called "New Rugby," in Tennessee. It was to have one church, to be used by the various denominations, and to be what is now called "p.u.s.s.yfoot." What happened about the church I know not, but I have heard as regards the teetotalism that drinks were buried by traders just outside the sacred boundaries and dug up secretly by the townsmen. Anyhow, I fear that the well-meant project resulted in a heavy loss to poor Hughes. I recollect that Lord Galloway's servant suggested that he would like to accompany Mr. Hughes to the States--"and I would valet you, sir."

Hughes repudiated all idea of valeting, but was willing to accept the man as a comrade. All he got by his democratic offer was that the man told the other servants that Mr. Hughes did not understand real English aristocracy. Which reminds me of a pleasing definition given by the Matron of our Village Training School for Servants of the much-discussed word "gentleman." She told me one day that her sister had asked for one of our girls as servant. As we generally sent them to rather superior situations, I hesitated, though I did not like to refuse straight off, and asked, "What is your brother-in-law?" "He is a gentleman," was the answer.

Observing that I looked somewhat surprised, the Matron hastened to add, "You see, my sister keeps a temperance hotel, and in such a case the husband does not work, only cleans the windows and boots and so on."

Whereby I gather that not to work for regular wages is the hall-mark of a gentleman! But a girl was not provided for the place.

I believe that Henry James was first introduced to us by Mr. Lowell, and became a frequent visitor afterwards. He was an intimate friend of my uncle the Dean of Hereford and of his mother-in-law Mrs. Kemble.

Under the name of Summersoft he gives a delightful description of Osterley in his novel _The Lesson of the Master_. "It all went together and spoke in one voice--a rich English voice of the early part of the eighteenth century." The Gallery he calls "a cheerful upholstered avenue into the other century."

[Sidenote: CARDINAL NEWMAN]

One dinner at Norfolk House lingers specially in my memory; it was in the summer of 1880 and was to meet Dr. Newman not long after he had been promoted to the dignity of Cardinal--an honour which many people considered overdue. A large party was a.s.sembled and stood in a circle ready to receive the new "Prince of the Church," who was conducted into the room by the Duke. As soon as he entered a somewhat ancient lady, Mrs.

W-- H--, who was a convert to "the Faith," went forward and grovelled before him on her knees, kissing his hand with much effusion, and I fancy embarra.s.sing His Eminence considerably. My aunt, the d.u.c.h.ess of Westminster, who was very handsome but by no means slim, was standing next to me and whispered, "Margaret, shall we have to do that? because I should never be able to get up again!" However, none of the Roman Catholics present seemed to consider such extreme genuflections necessary. I think they made some reasonable kind of curtsy as he was taken round, and then we went in to dinner. Somewhat to my surprise and certainly to my pleasure, I found myself seated next to the Cardinal and found him very attractive. I asked him whether the "Gerontius" of the poem was a real person, and he smiled and said "No," but I think he was pleased that I had read it. I never met him again, but in October 1882 I was greatly surprised to receive a book with this charming letter written from Birmingham:

"MADAM,

"I have but one reason for venturing, as I do, to ask your Ladys.h.i.+p's acceptance of a volume upon the Russian Church which I am publis.h.i.+ng, the work of a dear friend now no more. That reason is the desire I feel of expressing in some way my sense of your kindness to me two years ago, when I had the honour of meeting you at Norfolk House, and the little probability there is, at my age, of my having any other opportunity of doing so.

"I trust you will accept this explanation, and am

"Your Ladys.h.i.+p's faithful servant, "JOHN H. CARDINAL NEWMAN."

The book was _Notes of a Visit to the Russian Church_ by Lord Selborne's brother, Mr. W. Palmer, edited and with a Preface by Cardinal Newman. I have never been able to understand what he considered my kindness, as I thought the Great Man so kind to me, a young female heretic.

CHAPTER V

BERLIN AND THE JUBILEE OF 1887

I find it difficult to recall all our foreign travels. In 1876 I paid--with my husband--my first visit to Switzerland, and three years later we went again--this time making the doubtful experiment of taking with us Villiers aged six and Margaret (called Markie) aged three. Somehow we conveyed these infants over glaciers and mountains to various places, including Zermatt. We contrived a sort of awning over a _chaise a porteurs_ carried by guides--but they did a good bit of walking also. I was really terrified on one occasion when we drove in a kind of dog-cart down precipitous roads along the edge of precipices. The children sat on either side of me--their little legs too short to reach the floor of the carriage. I had an arm round either, feeling--I believe justly--that if I let go for a moment the child would be flung into s.p.a.ce. Jersey was walking--the maid, I suppose, with courier and luggage--anyhow I had sole responsibility for the time being. Our courier was excellent, and no matter where we arrived contrived to produce a rice-pudding on which the children insisted. It is unnecessary to describe the well-known scenes through which we pa.s.sed. Switzerland impressed me, as it does all travellers, with its grandeur and beauty--but I never loved it as I did the South and, later on, the East.

[Sidenote: SARAH BERNHARDT]

Another winter we went--after Christmas--with Villiers only--to Biarritz; again I did not think it southern enough in sky and vegetation to rival the Riviera, though the pinewoods, and great billows rolling in from the sea, were attractive. Soon afterwards we embarked in a governess--a clever young woman called Ada Mason, who was recommended by Lady Derby. She had been a show pupil at the Liverpool Girls' College, and before we engaged her permanently she went to complete her French education in Paris. She stayed with us till she married in Australia. In March 1883 we took Villiers, Markie, and Miss Mason to the Riviera, Florence, and Venice. I do not know that there is anything exceptional to record. I observe in a short journal which I kept on this occasion that Jersey and I while in Paris went to the Vaudeville to see Sarah Bernhardt in _Fedora_. My comment is: "She acted wonderfully but I did not think much of the play.

The great coup was supposed to be when the hero gave her a bang on the head, but as that used to make the ladies faint he contented himself with partially throttling her when we saw it." I suppose French ladies are more susceptible than English. Once in after years I went with a friend to see the divine Sarah in _La Tosca_. I thought the torture part horrid enough, but when La Tosca had killed the wicked Governor my companion observed plaintively, "We did not see any blood," as if it were not sufficiently realistic.

On this same journey abroad we visited, as on various other occasions, the Ile St. Honorat and Ste Marguerite, a picnic party being given on the former by Lord Abercromby and Mr. Savile. The d.u.c.h.esse de Vallombrosa brought Marshal McMahon, and special interest was excited on this occasion since Bazaine had lately escaped from what had been formerly the prison of the Masque de Fer. Jersey went with some of the party to Ste Marguerite, and Marshal McMahon told Mr. Savile that he did not connive at Bazaine's escape, but that Madame Bazaine came to him and asked when he would let her husband out. He replied, "In six years, or six months, if he is a _bon garcon_"; so she went out saying, "Then I shall know what to do," and slammed the door after her, with the evident purpose of unlocking another door, which she accomplished.

Marshal McMahon must have been a fine fellow, but hardly possessed of French readiness of speech if this story which I have heard of him is true. He was to review the Cadets at a Military College--St. Cyr, I think--and was begged beforehand to say a special word of encouragement to a young Algerian who was in training there. When it came to the point the only happy remark which occurred to him was, "Ah--vous etes le negre--eh bien continuez le!"

From Cannes we went to several other places, including Spezzia, Genoa, Venice, and Florence. We saw all the orthodox sights in each place and at Florence dined with Mr. John Meyer and his first wife, who, if I remember rightly, was a Fitzgerald. He was in the exceptional position of having no nationality--he was somehow connected with Germany and Russia (not to speak of Judaea) and had been in South America and Switzerland. He had been a Russian, but had lost that nationality as having been twenty-five years absent from that country. He wanted to become an Englishman, as his wife wanted to send her boy to school in England, but it would mean a lengthened residence or a private Act of Parliament costing 3,000. In the end the nice Mrs. Meyer who entertained us on this occasion died, and he bought an Italian Marquisate and turned into an Italian! He married as his second wife a beautiful Miss Fish, and I last saw them in their charming villa near Florence.

The Meyers were pleasant hosts, and it was at the dinner which I have mentioned that I first made the acquaintance of a telephone. They had asked some people to come in after dinner, and to show how the instrument worked telephoned to invite an additional guest. I never encountered a telephone at a private house in London till long afterwards.

Our younger children, Mary and Beatrice, stayed during our absence at our little Welsh home--Baglan House, near Briton Ferry--a place which all our children loved.

[Sidenote: DEATH OF GILBERT LEIGH]

In 1884 a great sorrow befell our family. My brother Gilbert, then M.P.

for South Warwicks.h.i.+re, went in August of that year to America with Mr. W.

H. Grenfell--now Lord Desborough--with the object of getting some bear-shooting in the Rockies. Towards the end of the month they began camping--but the hunting was not good, as Indians had previously driven the part of the country which they visited with the view of getting game for their side. Mr. Grenfell's journal records frost at the end of August and heavy snow on the night of September 1st. On September 12th they pitched a camp in the Big Horn Mountains on a charming spot close to a clear, rocky river with trees and high walls on either side. On Sunday the 14th, a boiling hot day, they had an hour's wash in the river, and after luncheon Gillie started off down the Ten Sleeper canon alone on his horse--he was never seen alive again. For a whole week Mr. Grenfell and the three men whom they had with them searched in every possible direction, and at last, on the 21st, they found my brother lying dead at the foot of a precipice from which he had evidently fallen and been instantaneously killed--"a terrible way," writes Mr. Grenfell, "to find a friend who had endeared himself to all--always cheery and ready to make the best of everything--nothing put him out"--"his simplicity, absence of self-a.s.sertion, and quaint humour made him a general favourite--whatever happened he never complained and did not know what fear was."

The news did not reach England till some three days later, and it is impossible to dwell on the terrible sorrow of all who loved him so dearly.

My brother Dudley was mercifully in the States at the time of the fatal accident, and my uncle James Leigh set off at once to bring the body home; but the long wait--till October 20th--was unspeakably trying most of all for my poor parents, who were broken-hearted. My mother put a bunch of white rosebuds on his coffin, for when a little boy he had said one day that his "idea of love was a bunch of roses."

I will only add her verses on her firstborn son:

"He is gone, and gone for ever, 'Coming home again' now never-- If 'tis cold he feels it not, Recks not if 'tis scorching hot, But by children circled round Roams the happy hunting-ground, Pure in heart and face as they, Gladsome in G.o.d's glorious day.

"If I see him once again Will he tell me of his pain?

Did he shout or cry or call When he saw that he must fall?

Feel one pang of mortal fear When the fatal plunge was near?

Or to the last--to fear a stranger-- Think to triumph over danger?

"I think so--on his marble face Fright and terror left no trace-- Still--as if at Stoneleigh sleeping, There he lay--all the weeping Broke in streams from other eyes Far away.

But to him come not again Cold or heat or grief or pain."

Gilly was truly "to fear a stranger." He had, as Mr. Grenfell recounts, been six times before to the Rocky Mountain country and always had extraordinary adventures--once he rode his horse along a ledge till he could neither go forward nor turn, and had to slip over its tail and climb out, leaving the animal to s.h.i.+ft for itself. Two cowboys roped and got the saddle and bridle off and left the horse, which somehow backed out and got down without injury.

[Sidenote: IN ITALY, 1884]

Earlier in the year 1884 Jersey, Lady Galloway, and I made a pleasant tour among the Italian Lakes, including a run to Milan for Easter Sunday, where we heard some of the splendid service in the Cathedral. We took with us Villiers, his last trip abroad before his regular schooldays. He had attended Miss Woodman's cla.s.ses during two or three London seasons, and had had a visiting tutor from Oxford--Mr. Angel Smith--for the past year or so at Middleton; but on May 1st, after our return from the Lakes, he went to Mr. Chignell's, Castlemount, Dover, where he remained till he went to Eton three years later. He had an unvaryingly good record both for the lessons and conduct while at Castlemount.

I have no special recollection of the two following years, so pa.s.s on to 1887. That winter Lady Galloway was in Russia and was to stay in Berlin with the Amba.s.sador, Sir Edward Malet, and his wife, Lady Ermyntrude, on her return. The Malets very kindly invited me to meet her and to spend a few days at the Emba.s.sy. I arrived there on February 21st, and found Lady Galloway and her sister-in-law Lady Isabel Stewart already installed. The following afternoon the routine of German court etiquette--now a thing of the past--began. Lady Ermyntrude took us to leave cards on the various members of the Corps Diplomatique and then proceeded to present Mrs.

Talbot (now Lady Talbot) and myself to Grafin Perponcher, the Empress's Obermeisterin. She was a funny old soul in a wig, but regarded as next door to royalty, and it was therefore correct to make half a curtsy when introduced to her. It was a great thing to have anyone so kind, and yet so absolutely aware of all the shades of ceremonial, as Lady Ermyntrude, to steer us through the Teutonic pitfalls.

[Sidenote: COURT BALL IN BERLIN]