vAm 
 
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 '1 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 SANTA BARBARA 
 
 PRESENTED BY 
 
 JOHN & ANNA Gl LLESPI E
 
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 ■fr-^*^
 
 My Long Life
 
 h<oJUj (^^-'-^^ : ^^..^
 
 My Long Life^ 
 
 An Autobiographic Sketch 
 
 By 
 
 Mary Cowden-Clarke 
 
 Author of 
 
 "The Concordance to Shakespeare," "The Girlhood of 
 
 Shakespeare's Heroines," " The Iron Cousins," 
 
 Etc., etc. 
 
 " I count myself in nothing else so happy, 
 As in a soul remembering my good friends" 
 
 Shakespeare 
 
 New York 
 
 Dodd, Mead and Company 
 
 1896
 
 Copyright, 1896, 
 Bv DoDD, Mead and Company. 
 
 JSttibErsttg ^rrss: 
 John Wilson and Son, Cambridge, U.S.A.
 
 MY LONG LIFE.
 
 My Long Life. 
 
 Having been asked to write my reminis- 
 cences of m5^self and of my family, and of 
 the persons distinguished in literature or 
 art whom I have known, I have the rather 
 consented because I have been blessed with 
 a greatly privileged and happy life. 
 
 I was born on the 2 2d of June, 1809, in 
 the same house where my father, Vincent 
 Novello, was born — No. 240 Oxford Street, 
 or, as it was then called, Oxford Road, for 
 it still bore some traces of a somewhat 
 suburban exit from that western quarter of 
 London. Its vicinity to Hyde Park and 
 Kensington Gardens, its closeness to Edge- 
 ware Road and Bayswater Road, its com- 
 manding from its attic storey a distant 
 view of the Surrey Hills, combined to pro- 
 duce a rural as well as urban effect to the
 
 4 MY LONG LIFE. 
 
 impression upon my earliest days. I used 
 to watch the waggon that jogged past our 
 door of an evening, with its tarpaulin cover 
 and its lantern swinging at its rear, and 
 thinking how delightful it would be to take 
 a journey into the country lolling inside 
 this comfortable conveyance. The early 
 market-carts that rumbled by of a morning, 
 with their supply of fresh vegetables and 
 fruit, bringing a delicious air from the 
 region of meadows full of buttercups and 
 daisies, made me long to be out among 
 the lanes and fields these carts came from. 
 But even Hyde Park, where I was in- 
 trusted to convoy my younger brothers 
 and sisters, supplied me with enjoyment 
 of those fine old elm-trees, those stretches 
 of grass I beheld. Such things as half- 
 penny little mugs of curds and whey were 
 extant in those days, — sold near to the 
 Park entrance, then called Cumberland 
 Gate, now known as the Marble Arch ; 
 and which dainty refection seemed prop- 
 erly rustic and appropriate. The railing
 
 MY LONG LIFE. 5 
 
 adjacent to the gate was, at that period, 
 permitted to be strung with rows of printed 
 old-fashioned ballads, such as ' Cruel Bar- 
 bara Allen,' etc. 
 
 To give an idea of the then neighbour- 
 hood, there was a small stationery shop in 
 Quebec Street, kept by a Miss Lavoine, 
 where we children bought slates and slate- 
 pencils ; and a certain bakery in Bryan- 
 ston Street that had a curved iron railing 
 below its shop window, which tempted us 
 to spend some of our pocket money in 
 pennyworths of old-world gingerbread 
 figure-cakes, in the shape of lions, tigers, 
 horses, dogs, cocks, and hens, castles, al- 
 phabets and other objects, besides selling 
 crisp squares of ' parliament,' crunched by 
 us with considerable satisfaction. A few 
 doors farther down Oxford Street there 
 was a grocer's shop kept by a Mr. Harvey, 
 whose snow-white hair and jet-black eyes 
 remain pictured in my memory, and who 
 used, when my mother bought tea and 
 sugar of him, to make up a small packet
 
 6 MY LONG LIFE. 
 
 of the caraway comfits that occupied one 
 of his shop windows, together with heart- 
 shaped horehound, etc., presenting the 
 aforesaid packet to us. We must have 
 been conscientiously brought-up httle 
 people ; for once, when a young man I 
 had never seen before was standing behind 
 the counter in lieu of the master, and was 
 proceeding to make up the usual packet, 
 I said to him : ' Did Mr. Harvey allow 
 you to give us those sugar-plums ? ' He 
 smiled and replied : ' I am doing this for 
 him. I am Mr. Harvey's son.' I may 
 mention here another instance of our con- 
 scientious bringing-up. 
 
 I went to a party of young people, 
 where they were playing at a round game 
 of cards, and they asked me to join them. 
 When the nursery-maid came to fetch me 
 home, the lady of the house offered me 
 some silver, saying : ' Take this seven-and- 
 sixpence, you have won it.' ' I thought,' 
 I replied, ' that we were playing with coun- 
 ters; I saw them on the table, ma'am. I
 
 MY LONG LIFE. 7 
 
 did not know we were playing for money. 
 I have none, and could not have paid if I 
 had lost. Therefore I can't have won, and 
 can't take that silver.' When I went home 
 and told my mother what had happened, she 
 said : ' You did well to refuse the money, 
 and gave the right reason for doing so.' 
 
 One of the children's parties we were 
 invited to every year was given on the 
 Feast of the Holy Innocents by an old 
 French gentleman and his sister, Mr. and 
 Miss Lamour. He was very kind to chil- 
 dren, though so notoriously irate at whist 
 that we recognised him many years after 
 at Nice by the description a gentleman 
 gave of him as the man who most lost his 
 temper at whist ever known. But on 
 those old-time parties of the Holy Inno- 
 cents' evening, Mr, Lamour used to play 
 the violin for us while we danced, and en- 
 couraged us to sing after helping round 
 high piles of muffins and crumpets, and 
 finally sending each little child home with 
 a packet of cakes, and almond9 and raisins.
 
 8 MY LONG LIFE. 
 
 Another of our urban delights in those 
 days was watching, from the window of 
 our front-parlour nursery, ' the soldiers ' 
 as they passed by from the barracks in 
 Portman Street to parade in Hyde Park. 
 First came a magnificent and imperious 
 drum-major, who, notwithstanding the 
 importance with which he wielded his tall 
 staff of office, seeming solemnly to pick his 
 way with it, used to cast a smiling eye 
 toward the group of young faces that 
 peered admiringly over the low, green 
 blind at him and his brilliant troop pre- 
 ceded by its band of music. 
 
 One of the chief figures among these 
 was a black man, who brandished and 
 clashed a pair of dazzling cymbals ; and 
 another was also a black, who upheld 
 a kind of oriental standard that had 
 horse tails dangling therefrom, and jing- 
 ling bells pendant from a central silver 
 crescent. 
 
 I do not know whether these figures 
 still form part of the British military band,
 
 MY LONG LIFE. 9 
 
 but they impressively dazzle and give pic- 
 turesqueness to my memory of it in that 
 epoch. They add brilliancy to those 
 mornings, and strengthen the contrast 
 they afford with the dimness of the pre- 
 vious evenings, for Oxford Street was then 
 lighted at night by oil lamps, gas lighting 
 not being invented. 
 
 Opposite to our house was Camelford 
 House, where Prince Leopold and Prin- 
 cess Charlotte resided when in town, and 
 a pleasant sight it used to be to me to 
 watch the Prince with the Princess beside 
 him — he driving his curricle, with its 
 glittering steel bar across, the prancing 
 horses and the outriders in their green and 
 gold Coburg livery — setting forth to 
 take an airing round Hyde Park. Once I 
 saw her going to Court, the indispensable 
 hoop tilted sideways to enable her to take 
 her seat in the carriage, and the equally 
 indispensable huge plume of feathers 
 then required for Court costume. When 
 her early death threw all England into
 
 lo MY LONG LIFE. 
 
 mourning — for no one, however poor, 
 but had at least a scrap of crape about them 
 — my father set to music Leigh Hunt's 
 touching verses, — 'His departed love to 
 Prince Leopold.' 
 
 My two brothers, Alfred and Edward, 
 when quite little boys, were sent to a Mr. 
 Foothead's in the New Road, and I used 
 to escort them there, we three trundling 
 our hoops along Baker Street, after 
 stopping to peep through the railings 
 round the gardens of Montague House 
 and think of the legend about Mrs. Mon- 
 tague's finding her son (whom she had 
 lost when straying in the streets) in the 
 person of a little sooty climbing boy, who 
 had been stolen by a master chimney- 
 sweep, had been unwittingly sent to the 
 very house where he was born, that he 
 might sweep its chimneys, but had, by 
 some subtlety of instinctive sympathy, 
 crept into one of its beds and was found 
 there by his own mother. 
 
 Our parents were bountiful in providing
 
 MY LONG LIFE. ii 
 
 us with books ; plain, unornate books, — 
 very unlike the present juvenile volumes, 
 full of highly-coloured illustrations, often 
 scarcely read by their young recipients, so 
 lavishly are these gifts bestowed by fond 
 relations and friends, — but fewer in num- 
 ber, and diligently perused over and over 
 again, reread and treasured by us young 
 Novellos. First, there was Mrs. Bar- 
 bauld's ' Charles-Book ' (as we used to call 
 it); then came Miss Edgeworth's ' Frank,' 
 ' Rosamond ' and ' Parents' Assistant ' ; 
 Day's ' Sandford and Merton ' ; the wise 
 and cheerful ' Evenings at Home ' ; ^ A 
 Visit for a Week ' ; ' The Juvenile Trav- 
 ellers ' ; ' The loo Wonders of the World ' ; 
 ' The Book of Trades ' and ' ^sop's Fables.' 
 Often, after a hard day's teaching, my 
 father used to have his breakfast in bed 
 next morning, when we children were 
 allowed to scramble up to the counterpane 
 and lie around him to see what new book 
 he had bought for us, and listen to his de- 
 scription and explanation of it. Never can
 
 12 MY LONG LIFE. 
 
 I forget the boundless joy and interest with 
 which I heard him tell about the contents of 
 two volumes he had just brought home, as 
 he showed me the printed pictures in them. 
 They were an early edition of ' Lamb's 
 Tales from Shakespeare.' And what a 
 vast world of new ideas and new delights 
 that opened to me! — a world in which I 
 have ever since much dwelt, and always 
 with supreme pleasure and admiration. 
 
 On Sundays I knelt beside my mother in 
 the Portuguese Embassy's Chapel, South 
 Street, Grosvenor Square, where my father 
 was organist for six-and-twenty years. A 
 central figure in the picture that small 
 sanctuary has painted on my memory is 
 that of my godfather, the Reverend Wil- 
 liam Victor Fryer, as he officiated at the al- 
 tar, irradiated by the light from the tall wax 
 candles thereon, and when he stood in the 
 pulpit delivering the sermon. His attitude 
 here was simple yet impressive, and it is 
 the attitude represented in the pencil por- 
 trait of him, drawn by Wageman, who was
 
 MY LONG LIFE. 13 
 
 famous for his correct likenesses. I have 
 that portrait still, and it shows Mr. Fryer 
 standing with raised hand, holding a cam- 
 bric pocket-handkerchief, his most usual 
 position while preaching. It was from 
 the Reverend William Victor Fryer that I 
 obtained my second name, Victoria; and 
 from my mother my first name, Mary. 
 To him my father dedicated his first work, 
 ' Sacred Music,' in two vols. ; and this, with 
 several Masses composed by himself, be- 
 sides introducing Mozart's and Haydn's 
 Masses for the first time in England, were 
 performed at South Street chapel by my 
 father. His organ-playing attained such 
 renown that it attracted numerous persons, 
 even among the nobility, whose carriages 
 waited for them outside while they lingered 
 to the end of the service, and after ; for it 
 was playfully said that his 'voluntaries' — 
 intended to ' play out ' the congregation — 
 on the contrary, kept them in, listening to 
 the very last note. 
 
 The evening parties at 240 Oxford Street
 
 14 MY LONG LIFE. 
 
 were marked by a judicious economy 
 blended with the utmost refinement and 
 good taste ; the supper refection was of 
 the simplest, — Elia's ' Chapter on Ears ' 
 eloquently recording the ' friendly supper- 
 tray ' and draught of true ' Sutheran Beer ' 
 which succeeded to the feasts of music 
 provided by the host's playing on the 
 small but fine-toned chamber organ, which 
 occupied one end of the graceful drawing- 
 room. This was papered with a delicately- 
 tinted pink colour, showing to advantage 
 the choice water-colour paintings by Varleyj 
 Copley, Fielding, Havell and Cristall that 
 hung around. These artists were all per- 
 sonally known to Vincent Novello, and 
 were not unfrequent visitors on these oc- 
 casions. The floor was covered by a plain 
 grey drugget, bordered by a beautiful gar- 
 land of grapes and vine-leaves, designed 
 and worked by my mother herself. Be- 
 sides the guests above named, there were 
 often present Charles and Mary Lamb, 
 Leigh Hunt, John Keats and ever-wel-
 
 MY LONG LIFE. 15 
 
 come, ever young-hearted Charles Cowden- 
 Clarke. My enthusiasm — child as I was 
 
 — for these distinguished visitors was 
 curiously strong. I can remember once 
 creeping round to where Leigh Hunt's 
 hand rested on the back of the sofa upon 
 which he sat, and giving it a quiet kiss, — 
 because I heard he was a poet. And I 
 have even now full recollection of the rev- 
 erent look with which I regarded John 
 Keats, as he leaned against the side of the 
 organ, listening with rapt attention to my 
 father's music. Keats's favourite position 
 
 — one foot raised on his other knee — still 
 remains imprinted on my memory ; as also 
 does the last time I saw him, half-reclining 
 on some chairs that formed a couch for him 
 when he was staying at Leigh Hunt's 
 house, just before leaving England for 
 Italy. Another poet reminiscence I have, 
 
 — of jumping up to peer over the parlour 
 window-blind to have a peep at Shelley, 
 who I had heard was leaving, after a visit 
 he had just paid to my father upstairs.
 
 i6 MY LONG LIFE. 
 
 Well was I rewarded, for, as he passed 
 before our house, he gave a glance up at 
 it, and I beheld his seraph-like face, with 
 its blue eyes, and aureoled by its golden 
 hair. 
 
 An enchanting treat of those childish 
 years was what we called ' a day in the 
 fields.' Our place of assembling was gen- 
 erally some spot between Hampstead and 
 Highgate (no Regent's Park or Zoological 
 Gardens then in existence !) and there we 
 met, by appointment, Leigh Hunt and his 
 family, the Gliddons and their families, our 
 company being often enhanced in bright- 
 ness by the advent from town of lively 
 Henry Robertson and ever-young Charles 
 Cowden-Clarke. The picnic part of our 
 entertainment was cold lamb and salad 
 prepared by my mother, she being an ac- 
 knowledged adept in the dressing of this 
 latter. Other toothsome cates supple- 
 mented the out-of-door dinner, while more 
 intellectual food was not wanting. Leigh 
 Hunt once read out to us Dogberry's
 
 MY LONG LIFE. 17 
 
 ' Charge to the Watchmen/ and another 
 time gave us the two scenes, from Sheri- 
 dan's ' Rivals,' between Sir Anthony and 
 his son. Leigh Hunt's reading aloud 
 was the perfection of spirited perusal. 
 He possessed innate fascination of voice, 
 look and manner. While he was in Horse- 
 monger Lane Jail for the libel on the 
 Prince Regent, Mr. John Clarke, master of 
 the school at Enfield, in accordance with 
 his son Charles's wish, used to send by 
 him fresh vegetables and fruit to Leigh 
 Hunt from the Enfield garden. This was 
 the school where John Keats was educated, 
 and where he learned to love poetry from 
 his ' Friend Charles,' as he styles him in 
 his noble ' Epistle to Charles Cowden- 
 Clarke.' 
 
 When Leigh Hunt left prison, my 
 father asked him to sit for his portrait to 
 Wageman, — a dearly-prized portrait that 
 I still have near me in my own room. It 
 is the very best likeness I have ever seen 
 of him ; and well do I remember his poet
 
 1 8 MY LONG LIFE. 
 
 face and his bent head, with its jet-black 
 hair, as he wrote his name beneath the 
 pencil drawing. 
 
 During our childhood we had some 
 healthful changes to other air than that of 
 London. On one occasion my parents 
 took us, by one of the earliest steam-vessels 
 that plied on the Thames (called a Mar- 
 gate Hoy), for a short trip to the seaside. 
 As this steamer left the London Docks, I 
 heard a man in a wherry bawl out jeer- 
 ingly, — ' I say ! bile up yere kettle ! ' We 
 had made some way down the river when 
 a portion of the machinery broke, and 
 there was much confusion and alarm on 
 deck among the passengers. My dear 
 mother bade me hide my head in her lap 
 and remain still. I did so, and she praised 
 me for my quiet and obedience. The 
 vessel managed to reach the shore ; we 
 disembarked ; and I remember my father 
 carrying the then baby in his arms while 
 we ail walked across the fields towards 
 Milton or Settingbounie, at one of which
 
 MY LONG LIFE. 19 
 
 places, on the Kentish High Road, we had 
 to stay till next day, when we could pro- 
 ceed on our journey by the stage-coach. 
 We were still young children when our 
 parents removed from 240 Oxford Street 
 to 8 Percy Street, Bedford Square ; and 
 soon after our removal thither, my mother 
 resolved to take us to Boulogne-sur-Mer 
 for a thorough ' sea change,' and in order 
 that we might gain some idea of French 
 and French environments. We travelled 
 by the stage-coach to Dover (there were 
 no railways then), but when we arrived 
 there, it was found that the wind did not 
 serve for the sailing-packet to cross the 
 Channel, so we had to stay for three days 
 at an inn, till we could embark. When we 
 reached our destination, we boarded in the 
 house of a very stout, good-natured woman, 
 with numerous stalwart sons, — fishermen 
 all. Halfway up the Grande Rue, leading 
 from the lower town to the high town, 
 there was a school kept by a Mr. Bonnefoy, 
 who had a comfortable, motherly woman
 
 20 MY LONG LIFE. 
 
 for a wife ; and she not only brought up 
 well her own children, but took kindly care 
 of the schoolboys. Here my mother de- 
 cided to leave my eldest brother, Alfred, 
 for a twelvemonth, that he might learn to 
 speak the language ; and so thoroughly was 
 this accomplished, that he spoke it fluently, 
 and even, he said, began to think in French, 
 thus familiar had it become. When we 
 other children returned home, dear, kind 
 Mary Lamb offered to give me lessons 
 in Latin, and to teach me to read verse 
 properly — an offer eagerly accepted for me 
 by my father and mother. I used, there- 
 fore, to trudge regularly, on appointed 
 mornings, to Great Russell Street, Covent 
 Garden, where the Lambs then lived ; and 
 one morning, when I entered the room, I 
 saw a lady sitting with Miss Lamb, whom 
 I heard say, — ' Oh, I am now nothing but 
 a stocking-mending old woman.' This 
 lady had straight, black brows, and looked 
 still young, I thought, and had a very in- 
 telligent, expressive countenance. When
 
 MY LONG LIFE. 21 
 
 she went away, Miss Lamb said, — ' That 
 is the excellent actress, Miss Kelly. Look 
 at her well, Victoria, for she is a woman to 
 remember having seen.' And, indeed, this 
 was no other than the admirable artiste to 
 whom Charles Lamb addressed his two 
 sonnets ; the one beginning, — 
 
 * You are not Kelly of the common strain,' 
 
 and the other, on her performance of ' The 
 Blind Boy,' beginning, — 
 
 * Rare artist, who with half thy tools or none 
 Canst execute with ease thy curious art.' 
 
 On a subsequent morning, a boy came 
 rushing into the room and dashed through 
 the repetition of his Latin lesson with a 
 rapidity that dazzled me, and fired me with 
 ambition to repeat my conjugations in the 
 same brilliant style. When the boy was 
 gone — it was Hazlitt's son, whom Mary 
 Lamb also taught his Latin grammar — I 
 began trying to scamper through my lesson, 
 but Mary Lamb wisely stopped me, and 
 advised me not to attempt what was not in
 
 22 MY LONG LIFE. 
 
 my sober, steady way. She said, ' It is 
 natural to him, but not to you. Best be 
 natural in all you do, and in all you at- 
 tempt.' Her reading poetry was beauti- 
 fully natural and unaffected ; so that her 
 mode of beginning Milton's ' Paradise Lost' 
 for me still remains on my mind's ear. In 
 curious contrast with Mary Lamb's lessons 
 were some that were given, once upon a 
 time, when a certain old Scotch gentleman 
 was engaged to teach Latin and arithmetic 
 to my brothers, Alfred and Edward, I being 
 allowed to share in the instruction received 
 from him. This Mr. Ferguson was a 
 placidly pedantic person, and when the 
 servant-maid knelt down near him to lay 
 the fire ready for lighting, he leaned down 
 and told her how she could best place the 
 coals 'so that the sulphureous particles 
 should soonest ignite.' 
 
 A very pleasant incident was enjoyed by 
 me in a few weeks' sojourn I had at a 
 farmhouse near Tunbridge, whither my 
 parents sent me, they knowing the worthy
 
 MY LONG LIFE. 23 
 
 people whose farm it was. Delightful 
 were those early mornings when I was de- 
 spatched to another farm, about half-a-mile 
 off, that I might drink new milk from the 
 cow, after a walk through green lanes be- 
 fore breakfast. In those matutinal walks I 
 was invariably accompanied by a kitten, 
 who had taken a fancy to me, or who, per- 
 haps, knew that she was to have a saucer 
 of milk given to her when we arrived. I 
 remember one morning a man on horse- 
 back stopped his steed to look with an 
 amused laugh at a little girl followed by a 
 kitten, like a dog, along a lane, the two 
 quite alone in that quiet spot. Nutting 
 and blackberrying for hours of an afternoon 
 were delights to me ; and fetching up the 
 ducks before nightfall was a grand privilege 
 allotted to me. Glorious were those bak- 
 ing-days, when feasts of new-made bread, 
 a Kentish delicacy called 'huff kins,' — a sort 
 of mufifin plentifully buttered and eaten 
 hot, — and a superb pork pie, containing 
 alternate layers of potato, sage, and dairy-
 
 24 MY LONG LIFE. 
 
 fed pork, formed the delicious periodi- 
 cally-appointed cates. But above all other 
 joys to me was the finding, in an out-of- 
 the-way corner of the farmhouse, an old 
 edition of ' Sir Charles Grandison.' The 
 book was printed in double columns, and 
 had pictures in it. One which particularly 
 interested me was that where Sir Hargrave 
 Pollixfen is carrying off Miss Byron after 
 the masquerade, bearing her forcibly into a 
 chariot, meaning to marry her against her 
 will. Ever after that first introduction to 
 the story, the book, when I became allowed 
 to read it, remained a favourite with me, 
 and I have often been conscious of wishing 
 that its many volumes were as many more. 
 From Percy Street my parents removed 
 to an old-fashioned house and garden on 
 Shacklewell Green ; and my two elder bro- 
 thers were sent to Mr, Yule's academy, 
 near at hand. Here my brother Alfred's 
 familiarity with French stood him in good 
 stead, for he not only translated with ease 
 and correctness the page of ' Recueil
 
 MY LONG LIFE. 25 
 
 Choisi ' assigned to him and to his school- 
 fellows as their daily task ; but ' the boys ' 
 used to get possession of ' Novello's slate ' 
 and copy out his translation as their own. 
 
 It was while we lived at Shacklewell that 
 my father and mother received letters from 
 Leigh Hunt (who was then in Italy), intro- 
 ducing the widowed Mrs. Shelley and Mrs. 
 Williams, who were returning to England 
 after their terrible bereavement. He de- 
 scribed Mrs. Wollstonecraft's daughter as 
 ' inclining, like a wise and kind being, to 
 receive all the consolation which the good 
 and kind can give her ; ' adding, ' She is as 
 quiet as a mouse, and will drink in as much 
 Mozart and Paesiello as you choose to 
 afford her.' Accordingly, many were the 
 occasions when delicious hours of music 
 and quiet, but animated and interesting, 
 talk were planned for the two beautiful 
 young women able and willing to enjoy 
 such ' delights,' and choosing not unwisely 
 'to interpose them oft.' To meet thus 
 were frequently invited my uncle, Francis
 
 26 MY LONG LIFE. 
 
 Novello, who had a charming bass voice 
 (he was the bass singer at South Street 
 Chapel during the period when his brother 
 Vincent was organist there) ; Henry Rob- 
 ertson, as excellent a tenor singer as he 
 was excellent in lively companionship ; my 
 father's pupil, Edward Holmes, a sterling 
 musician and admirable judge of literature, 
 moreover, a great admirer of the two lady 
 guests, and Charles Cowden-Clarke, who 
 shared in all these attainments and predi- 
 lections, with his never-failing, youthful 
 enthusiasm. Mornings and afternoons 
 witnessed numerous ' goings through ' of 
 Mozart's ' Cosi fan tutte,' ' Don Giovanni,' 
 ' Nozze di Figaro,' and various songs of 
 Paesiello, besides other choice compositions 
 by other composers ; and not a few even- 
 ings were spent by these well-pleased asso- 
 ciates in prolonged discourse on attractive 
 topics, till — forgetful of the lapse of time 
 — the ladies declared they ' must go,' and 
 were accompanied back to town by our 
 gentleman guests, only too pleased to be
 
 MY LONG LIFE. 27 
 
 their escort. It was at this period that 
 Mrs. Shelley wrote my name on a copy of 
 her ' Frankenstein ' which I had already 
 devoured when given to me by my father, 
 but which I ardently desired should have 
 the glory of her name and mine together 
 on its blank page. My father was her de- 
 clared adorer, and she his, while Edward 
 Holmes was equally unreserved in his be- 
 witchment of her ; and they both united in 
 attributing to Charles Cowden-Clarke a de- 
 cided enthralment by the graces of Mrs. 
 Williams. Playful and mutual gaiety was 
 the result ; while my dear mother joined in 
 the jest, — even her husband's and Mrs. 
 Shelley's avowed interchange of fascination. 
 The Italian form of name evidently lin- 
 gered musically in Mrs. Shelley's ear, for 
 she invariably addressed my father as 
 ' Vincenzo,' and his brother as 'Francesco.' 
 She gave my father a tress of her mother's 
 hair, knowing that he had always had a 
 great admiration for Mary Wollstonecraft, 
 although without being personally ac-
 
 28 MY LONG LIFE. 
 
 quainted with her. This tress Mary Shel- 
 ley accompanied by an affectionate little 
 note to my father, in Italian, which tress 
 and note are still in my possession, care- 
 fully preserved under glass, and treasured, 
 among other relics of the kind, in a collec- 
 tion of hair I have. i 
 We were still residents at Shacklewel! 
 Green, when my parents resolved to send 
 me for a time to Boulogne-sur-Mer, that I 
 might acquire the French language ; and 
 they confided me to the care of the friendly 
 and estimable Bonnefoy family. Old Mon- 
 sieur Bonnefoy was one of the most excel- 
 lent of tutors, and certainly one of the most 
 simple-minded of men. The naive way in 
 which he allowed himself to be supposed 
 utterly unaware of the preparations for a 
 due celebration of his birthday (which was 
 kept, according to continental custom, on 
 his namesake Saint's day, the feast of S^. 
 Pierre) was quite remarkable. ' The boys' 
 were allowed to go into the fields and 
 gather armfuls of Marguerites without
 
 MY LONG LIFE. 29 
 
 Monsieur Bonnefoy noticing that his 
 scholars did not come to school at the usual 
 hour; his entering the school-room with 
 complete ignorance of the boy mounted on 
 a chair behind the door, ready to drop a 
 daisy crown on his master's head, and 
 wholly unprepared for the shout of ap- 
 plause that was to burst from the assembled 
 concourse of scholars when the coronation 
 feat was accomplished, formed a triumph 
 of utter unconsciousness. He had, on 
 ordinary occasions, what he considered an 
 ingenious contrivance for obtaining atten- 
 tion when he addressed the boys, by 
 twitching a string, attached to a ball, that 
 lifted a moveable cover, beneath which 
 appeared the word ' Silence ! ' and though 
 I believe it rarely obtained the desired 
 object more effectually than a similar 
 sound of bell-jangling performed in the 
 French House of Parliament (which I 
 once witnessed when in Paris), yet Monsieur 
 Bonnefoy seemed perfectly satisfied with 
 the effect he produced in his schoolroom.
 
 30 MY LONG LIFE. 
 
 It was between the morning and afternoon 
 hours of school that my kind old master 
 gave me his daily lesson in French, and 
 very pleasant he made these lessons, giv- 
 ing me ' dictation ' from small entertaining 
 anecdotes and short stories, contained in a 
 book he chose for the purpose, besides 
 imparting the drier instruction of grammar, 
 spelling, etc., etc. My parents had thought- 
 fully taken a season ticket of admission to 
 the theatre for Monsieur Bonnefoy and for 
 me, as one of the very best means of my 
 gaining familiarity with colloquial French ; 
 so my old master and I used to trudge to- 
 gether, very willingly, to the playhouse 
 whenever there was performance there. 
 Thus I had the advantage of an introduc- 
 tion to Beaumarchais' ' Mariage de Figaro,' 
 and to some of Moliere's fine comedies, 
 besides other lighter and shorter dramatic 
 pieces. There was an actor of the name 
 of Duhez, who played admirably the part 
 of Alceste in Moliere's ' Misanthrope,' and 
 whose look and manner still remain visible
 
 MY LONG LIFE. 31 
 
 to my memory, while the recollection of 
 such amusing trifles as ' Mes derniers vingt 
 sous,' ' Le phis beau jour de ma vie,' etc. etc., 
 leave the impression of several agreeably- 
 spent evenings. On those evenings when 
 the theatre was not open, Monsieur Bonne- 
 foy generally took me a walk up to the high 
 town, and we had pleasant strolls round the 
 ramparts there, which commanded fine 
 views and pure air, and where he used to 
 talk incessantly, telling me much of the 
 time of his juvenile days, when there was 
 talk of an intended invasion of England by 
 Napoleon Buonaparte, and when he, young 
 Bonnefoy, served for a time on board one 
 of the frigates then lying off Boulogne, and 
 of his own skill in navigation, acquired even 
 in that brief service. He was naively 
 proud of his knowledge, whatever its kind, 
 and as naively expressed his pride thereon. 
 On one occasion, when my father's pupil, 
 Edward Holmes, paid me a visit at Bou- 
 logne, on his way to Paris, I remember 
 Monsieur Bonnefoy 's indulging in openly-
 
 32 MY LONG LIFE. 
 
 shown, amused scorn at the Englishman's 
 astronomical ignorance by looking for the 
 rising moon in the wrong quarter of the 
 heavens. From our walks round the ram- 
 parts of the high town, we passed by a cer- 
 tain bookseller's shop, kept by a friend of 
 Monsieur Bonnefoy's ; and he never failed 
 to stop and have a chat with this friend, 
 who was a lively, laughing man, and who 
 used to show us any new works that he 
 had added to his store. My days at Bou- 
 logne were passed most pleasantly and 
 profitably as regarded my parents' views 
 in sending me there. My health was 
 strengthened, and my appetite was more 
 vigorous than I have ever experienced it 
 elsewhere. Early every morning I accom- 
 panied Madame Bonnefoy to the market- 
 place, which occupied a broad space in 
 front of the Cathedrale. It formed a 
 brilliant and animated scene, — the peasant 
 women with their many-coloured costumes, 
 the fishwomen with their baskets slung at 
 their backs, their high white caps, long
 
 MY LONG LIFE. 33 
 
 gold earrings (some mere dangling pen- 
 dants, others formed like acorns), their 
 short petticoats and wooden shoes, — all 
 these people chattering and screaming in 
 broad patois at the very top of their voices. 
 Amidst them Madame Bonnefoy good- 
 humouredly made her way, steadily making 
 her purchases for the day's consumption, 
 piling into a large basket, carried by one 
 of the ever re^?idy J etmes filles, at hand for 
 that purpose. Eggs bought by the quar- 
 ter-hundred at a time, butter in gigantic 
 pats of the size and shape of a pine-apple, 
 fresh vegetables and meat for the pot-au- 
 feu, set on to seethe and stew as soon as 
 we went back to the house. Madame 
 Bonnefoy was a super-excellent cook, and 
 she devoted her culinary skill to the well- 
 being of her household. At stated periods 
 she made enormous loaves of pain de 
 menage, huge slices of which, buttered 
 with unsparing hand, I used to dispose of 
 with marvellous gusto. During the fore- 
 noon I studied my lessons ready for my 
 3
 
 34 MY LONG LIFE. 
 
 mid-day tuition from Monsieur Bonnefoy ; 
 and in the evening came the theatre, or the 
 walk and talk on the ramparts with him. 
 
 On my return to England, it was agreed 
 that I should begin my intended pro- 
 fession — that of a governess; and an 
 eno-asrement was soon found for me in the 
 family of a gentleman and lady named 
 Purcell, four of whose children I was to 
 teach. The ' four ' proved really to be 
 five, for the youngest was oftener sent to 
 the schoolroom than kept in the nursery. 
 However, nothing could be kinder to me 
 than the lady of the house. I was taken 
 down, late one evening, in their chariot to 
 their country residence at Cranford, and it 
 was a curious experience to find myself 
 seated in the dark, with perfect strangers 
 beside me, and being driven to a spot I 
 had never seen. But when I saw it next 
 morning I found it a most attractive cot- 
 tacre orne. Its q;round-floor rooms were 
 fitted up in the tastefullest style, one with 
 a trellised papering of honeysuckles, in-
 
 MY LONG LIFE. 35 
 
 terspersed with mirrors let into the wall ; 
 another with roses, chandeliers, girandoles, 
 and so on, that took my girlish fancy im- 
 mensely. Before seeing this pretty in- 
 terior I had been into the garden, for I 
 was always an early riser ; and, moreover, 
 I wanted a quiet hour to make myself 
 acquainted with my new surroundings, and 
 also to look over the lessons I should 
 have to give my young pupils during the 
 day. Even thus immediately I experi- 
 enced the kindness of my lady-employer ; 
 for when she learned that I had asked 
 whether I might eat an apple that I found 
 fallen on the grass, she gave me leave to 
 take an apple from the tree whenever I 
 felt inclined to eat one before breakfast. 
 So young was I, that I was no more than 
 two years older than my eldest pupil, and 
 I soon became popular with her and her 
 brothers when they found that, after 
 lessons were over, I used to tell them stor- 
 ies and even made a small theatre for them, 
 with books stuck up for side-scenes, and
 
 36 MY LONG LIFE. 
 
 paper dolls for the actors and actresses. 
 One of these paper performers became so 
 great a favourite with the children that 
 they called her ' Norah ' (she generally 
 represented some faithful nurse or equally 
 estimable character), and invariably gave 
 her a round of applause when she made 
 her appearance. The fame of these theat- 
 rical entertainments reaching the ears of 
 the children's mamma, she condescended 
 to be present at one of them, and gave her 
 hearty approval. One of my chief anx- 
 ieties while I was a governess was lest my 
 pianoforte teaching and playing should 
 not fulfil the expectation of my employers ; 
 for whenever I was requested to come up 
 to the drawing-room and play a duet 
 with either of my pupils, the second one 
 always executed her part with unusual 
 carelessness, infinitely less well than she 
 played at other times. I remember espe- 
 cially one evening when I suffered an 
 agony of nervousness while playing with 
 Miss Celia an arransrement for four hands
 
 MY LONG LIFE. 37 
 
 of the fine overture to Weber's ' Freischiitz ' 
 ( which overture, by-the-bye, had the un- 
 precedented compHment of being in- 
 variably encored at the theatre this 
 first season of the opera's being brought 
 out in London), for we both played so 
 miserably that I pictured to myself the 
 company in the drawing-room saying, 
 ' Can this be Vincent Novello's daughter ?' 
 On the approach of winter, the family 
 returned to town and occupied their house 
 in Montague Square. This was a great 
 pleasure to me, for I was nearer home 
 and I could have news of my dear ones 
 often. My father and mother indulged 
 me with frequent letters, though at that 
 time the postage of a letter from even so 
 near a place as Shacklewell to London 
 was actually three-pence ! But what trea- 
 ures of parental tenderness and, fond en- 
 couragement those letters were. One of 
 them from my father and one from my 
 mother I have still, I 'm grateful to say. 
 These letters used to be brought into the
 
 38 MY LONG LIFE. 
 
 school-room for me by Joe, a black ser- 
 vant, who had been a devotedly-attached 
 attendant upon Mrs. Purcell when she was 
 a young child in the West Indies, and she 
 had brought him with her to Europe, where 
 she retained him in her service as footman. 
 He was an excellent fellow, sweet-natured 
 and kindly. When he entered the school- 
 room with a letter in his hand, his white 
 teeth would gleam through his grinning 
 lips, his eyes would sparkle with gladness 
 knowing that he brought me happiness 
 in this missive from my parents. It was 
 Joe whom his mistress sent to attend 
 me when she wished that I should go to 
 the evening services of Compline and 
 Tenebrse at South Street Chapel, as well 
 as accompanying the children to Mass 
 and Vespers there ; and I remember how 
 odd it seemed to me to be followed in 
 the street by a footman. 
 
 But besides my letters from home came 
 another great and unexpected joy to me, 
 in the shape of visits now and then from
 
 MY LONG LIFE. 39 
 
 ever-cheerful-spirited Charles Cowden- 
 Clarke, who lent me books and brought 
 me direct news from my parents. So 
 bright, so genial, so inspiriting was his 
 presence, that he seemed as though he 
 had seen but scarce two decades of exist- 
 ence, though in reality he had fully en- 
 tered upon his third. Well might he 
 thank that Divine Giver ' for youth and 
 mirth and health,' as he had done that 
 very year before, when he wrote his 
 beautifully devout 
 
 HYMN TO GOD. 
 
 In Thy large temple, — the blue depth of space, — 
 And on the altar of Thy quiet fields, 
 (Fit shrine to hold the beauty of thy love), 
 Great Spirit ! with earnest cheerfulness I place 
 This off ring, which a grateful heart now yields, 
 For all those high and gracious thoughts that rove 
 O'er all Thy works ; for all the rare delights 
 Of eye and ear, — harmonious forms and strains, 
 Of deepest breath ; for each ensuing spring. 
 With all its tender leaves and blossoming : 
 And dainty smells that steam from dropping rains ; 
 For sunlit days, and silent, shining nights, 
 For youth, and mirth, and health, though dashed by 
 smarts
 
 40 MY LONG LIFE. 
 
 (As luscious creams are tinged with bitterness) ; 
 For Hope, sweet Hope ! unconscious of alloy ; 
 For peaceful thoughts, kind faces, loving hearts, 
 That suck out all the poison from distress, — 
 For all these gifts I offer gratitude and joy ! 
 
 The books he brought to Montague 
 Square reminded me of two that he had 
 given, some years before, to my sister 
 Ceciha and to me, when we were Httle 
 girls, and had each hemmed six silk 
 pocket-handkerchiefs for him. The book 
 he gave to Cecilia was Mary Lamb's 
 ' Mrs. Leicester's School,' and the one he 
 gave to me was Charles Lamb's ' Adven- 
 tures of Ulysses.' It bears on its blank 
 page the words, ' Victoria Novello, from 
 her sincere friend, Charles Cowden-Clarke, 
 2 2d of February, 1819.' This, his first 
 gift to me, is on the library shelf opposite 
 to me as I write. 
 
 I ought to have mentioned that an 
 exceptionally proud gratification was mine 
 when I earned my first five-pound note 
 (my salary was twenty pounds a year), 
 and I lay with the precious morsel of
 
 MY LONG LIFE. 41 
 
 paper all night under my pillow. Next 
 morning I was kindly allowed a holiday, 
 when I asked leave to 0:0 and take the 
 note to my mother myself. 
 
 It gives me pleasure to record another 
 and very special instance of my lady- 
 employer's amiable consideration for me. 
 Once she gave a grand ball at her house, 
 and she presented me with a sprigged 
 muslin frock, and dressed my hair with 
 her own hands, in order that her young 
 governess might appear prettily in the 
 dancing-room. 
 
 When spring came around, a super- 
 lative treat was planned for me by Charles 
 Cowden-Clarke, who asked my mother 
 and me to meet at his modest London 
 lodging, that we might go with him to 
 Covent Garden Theatre and hear the 
 new opera of ' Oberon,' which had been 
 composed expressly for the then manager 
 there, Charles Kemble, in consequence of 
 the marked success of the previous opera, 
 Der Freischutz. Permission was (with
 
 42 MY LONG LIFE. 
 
 the usual indulgence I met with from Mrs. 
 Purcell) granted me to accept this invita- 
 tion, and a most memorable event it 
 proved to be. The meeting with my 
 beloved mother, the reception by our 
 sprightly host, the delicious April sunshine 
 pouring through the green Venetian blinds, 
 the fine engraving popped on the table 
 for our inspection, began the harmonious 
 entertainment most harmoniously. While 
 he and I lingered near each other, looking 
 together at the picture (it was a print from 
 Raphael's ' School of Athens '), the young 
 girl's heart learnt its own secret — that it 
 had given itself entirely to him who was 
 by her side. Then came the delight of 
 witnessing the first night's performance 
 of Carl Maria Weber's enchanting fairy 
 opera, the composer himself appearing in 
 the orchestra and conducting the music. 
 First-rate singers, first-rate instrumental- 
 ists, first-rate painters (for Roberts and 
 Stanfield contributed some of the fine, 
 poetic scenes) combined to make that
 
 MY LONG LIFE. 43 
 
 first night of ' Oberon ' a never-to-be- 
 forgotten occasion. 
 
 As the season advanced, my health gave 
 way so visibly that my parents resolved to 
 withdraw me from my situation, where the 
 noise and fatigue inevitable upon the daily 
 presence of five young children had pro- 
 duced overwhelming headaches and almost 
 total loss of appetite. Their mamma was 
 kind and attentive to me in a most un- 
 wonted degree of personal care from a lady 
 in her position to a young girl in mine. 
 She generally came into the room where 
 I and my pupils took our early dinner, 
 and more than once ordered something for 
 me that she thought might tempt me to eat, 
 always accompanying the meal by a special 
 glass of wine to give me strength. But 
 when all failed to restore me, and I was to 
 leave her employment, she put the climax 
 to her amiable conduct by telling me that if 
 ever I resumed governess-ship she hoped I 
 would let her know, in order that she might 
 have an opportunity of re-engaging me.
 
 44 MY LONG LIFE. 
 
 Sea air having been recommended for 
 me, my father and mother took me, one 
 of my brothers and one of my sisters, to 
 a pretty spot called Little Bohemia, not 
 far from Hastings, where we spent many 
 weeks, taking early plunges in the sea of 
 a morning, long walks during the day, 
 and pleasant talks in the evening. My 
 brother Alfred was fond of being read to, 
 therefore I usually had a book in my hand 
 as we wandered through the pleasant neigh- 
 bourhood, and read to him many an amus- 
 ing or interesting narrative. Hollinton 
 Wood, Old Roar, etc., etc., were the scenes 
 of our rambles, and much we enjoyed 
 them in their rural beauty. That summer 
 there was a very singular blight, or rather 
 two blights. One was a visitation of the 
 minutest black insects, who settled on our 
 necks, shoulders, arms, faces, — in short, 
 whenever the skin was uncovered and al- 
 lowed them to settle upon it. The other 
 blight was inimical to the first blight, being 
 no other than myriads of ladybirds, who
 
 MY LONG LIFE. 45 
 
 devoured the black insects and swarmed 
 to such an extent on all the vegetation 
 around that every twig of the hedges 
 looked like branches of reddest coral. 
 
 By the time we returned to Shacklewell, 
 I was wonderfully improved in health, so 
 much had I benefited by my summer at 
 the seaside and by the exercise in the 
 open air which I had been able to take. 
 Life was very bright to me. Charles Cow- 
 den-Clarke came oftener and oftener down 
 from town to see us, and when he could 
 not come, he would send a letter to Bruns- 
 wick Square, where my father taught on 
 Tuesdays and Fridays at Miss Campbell's 
 school for twenty-seven years. Happy the 
 girl whose letters from and to the man 
 she prefers are conveyed by her own father. 
 Our mutual sympathy became more and 
 more confirmed, until on the ist of 
 November that year (1826) we were 
 affianced to each other. I, being so young, 
 — only seventeen, — he had first written to 
 my parents, asking their approval of his
 
 46 MY LONG LIFE. 
 
 suit and their consent to his making 
 known to me his wish that I should be- 
 come his wife, knowing how truly I should 
 be glad he took this course of appealing 
 to them first. They, esteeming and loving 
 him as they did, were rejoiced to learn 
 this prospect of happiness for their 
 daughter, and gave him their cordial 
 consent. 
 
 The first walk in London that my 
 Charles and I took together after this 
 event, we went to Leicester Square, where 
 dwelt a pleasant old jeweller, Mr. Chandler, 
 who knew us Novellos well, his acquaint- 
 ance with our family dating from the time 
 when he had had friendly intercourse with 
 my maternal grandfather ; and ever since, 
 whatever trinket-purchasing or trinket- 
 mending was needed, Mr. Chandler was 
 applied to. Now, I was taken thither in 
 order to choose an engagement ring, and 
 I remember old Mr. Chandler's roguish 
 smile and remark when he perceived that 
 I tried it on the third finger of my left
 
 MY LONG LIFE. 47 
 
 hand. The ring was a very simple one, — 
 a half-hoop of garnets, — for knowing that 
 my betrothed was not a rich man, I stipu- 
 lated that it should not be a costly ring; 
 but it was a charming one to me, and 
 Mr. Chandler told us it had been faceted 
 by a clever diamond-cutter. He was, ac- 
 cording to his wont, full of entertaining 
 and intelligent chat, and among other 
 curiosities showed us Queen Elizabeth's 
 watch, which was of the thickness of 
 clasped hands. 
 
 In the course of that day's walk, we 
 passed several shops where Charles wanted 
 to enter and buy various knacks for me ; 
 but I exercised my new right of despotic 
 authority, and forbade him to squander 
 his money, which I hoped he would hoard, 
 as I intended to begin helping him to 
 economise henceforth. I resumed, more 
 warmly than ever, my desire to earn 
 some contribution to our family income, 
 as it was my parents' kind promise that I, 
 as well as this new well-loved member
 
 48 MY LONG LIFE. 
 
 thereof, should continue to reside with 
 them after our marriage. Meanwhile, they 
 removed from Shacklewell to No. 22 
 Bedford Street, Covent Garden, and it 
 was here that I made my first attempt in 
 literary production. My only confidant 
 was my sister Cecilia. I wrote one short 
 paper, entitled ' My Arm Chair,' signed 
 merely ' M. H.' These initials I meant to 
 represent ' Mary Howard,' because my 
 father had, in his juvenile days, enacted the 
 part of Sir John Falstaff as Mr. Howard at 
 some private theatricals. I sent my paper 
 to the ofiice where Hone's ' Table Book ' 
 was published, and to my great joy, and 
 to that of my sister-confidant, my paper was 
 promptly accepted, making its appearance 
 in an early subsequent number of that in- 
 teresting periodical. To figure in the same 
 volumes where dear and honoured Charles 
 Lamb was contributing his selections from 
 ' The Garrick Plays ' was in itself a greatly- 
 to-be-prized distinction, but my happiest 
 triumph was when I showed the paper to
 
 MY LONG LIFE. 49 
 
 my Charles, telling him it was written by 
 a girl of seventeen, and watched his look 
 of pleased surprise when I told him wJio 
 that girl was. I may here mention that 
 this contribution of mine to Hone's ' Table 
 Book ' was followed by five others, respec- 
 tively entitled, 'My Desk,' 'My Home,' 
 ' My Pocket-Book,' ' Inn Yards,' and a 
 paper on the ' Assignats ' in currency at 
 the time of the French Republic of 1792. 
 The paper was headed by a printed fac- 
 simile of an ' Assignat di dix sous', from 
 one that had been given to me by my kind 
 old tutor, Monsieur Bonnefoy. 
 
 A very delightful visit to the West of 
 England was the one I made that summer 
 to Mrs. John Clarke (who, after the loss of 
 her husband, had gone to live at Frome, 
 in Somersetshire, with her unmarried 
 youngest daughter) in order that I might 
 make the acquaintance of my future 
 mother-in-law. Her married daughter, 
 Mrs. Towers, resided at some miles distant 
 from her, at Standervvick. It was to Mrs. 
 4
 
 50 MY LONG LIFE. 
 
 Towers that Charles Lamb addressed the 
 following pleasant sonnet, written in her 
 album : — 
 
 * Lady Unknown, who crav'st from me, Un- 
 known, 
 The trifle of a verse these leaves to grace, 
 How shall I find fit matter? with what face 
 Address a face that ne'er to me was shown? 
 Thy looks, tones, gestures, manners and what 
 
 not, 
 Conjecturing, I wander in the dark. 
 I know thee only sister to Charles Clarke ! 
 But at that name my cold Muse waxes hot. 
 And swears that thou art such a one as he ; 
 Warm, laughter-loving, with a touch of madness, 
 Wild, glee-provoking, pouring oil of gladness 
 From frank heart without guile. And if thou be 
 The pure reverse of this, and I mistake, — 
 Demure one, I will like thee for his sake.' 
 
 She was the authoress of three books 
 for young people, ' The Children's Fireside,' 
 ' The Young Wanderer's Cave,' and ' The 
 Adventures of Tom Starboard,' and in 
 Leigh Hunt's ' Literary Examiner ' for 
 December 13th, 1823, appeared her clever 
 ' Stanzas to a Fly that had survived the 
 Winter of 1822.'
 
 MY LONG LIFE. 51 
 
 My reception by Charles's mother was 
 all that I could have hoped of affectionate 
 cordiality. It was evident that she ' took 
 to me ' (as the phrase is) at once. She 
 had a way of putting her hand upon my 
 knee caressingly, when I sat by her side 
 and she talked to me, — a token of liking 
 that Charles told me he had never seen 
 her give, excepting to one young lady 
 whom she had known, and was very fond 
 of, in the old Enfield times. Curiously 
 enough, she more than once inadver- 
 tently called me by that young lady's name 
 instead of my own, as if I somehow re- 
 minded her of the girl she had so much 
 loved. 
 
 At first, when evening came, Mrs. 
 Clarke used to leave her youngest daugh- 
 ter in one parlour to receive the visit of a 
 neighbouring gentleman to whom Eliza 
 was engaged, while Charles and I were 
 left in the other parlour, with the idea that 
 the two couples of lovers might like to be 
 sole company for each other; but very
 
 52 MY LONG LIFE. 
 
 soon Charles and I went upstairs to fetch 
 down his mother, as we told her we could 
 not afford to lose so many hours of her 
 society, now that we had come on purpose 
 to be as much with her as possible. But 
 she made us go out of mornings to enjoy 
 rambles in the picturesque vicinity ; one of 
 our frequent resorts being the lovely park 
 of Orchard Leigh. Here it was so peace- 
 ful, and we were so much to ourselves, that 
 the cows used to come up and look at us 
 as strange beings who had wandered there 
 they knew not how, and who were too 
 quietly occupied with each other to need 
 being any further noticed. 
 
 One of the very earliest excursions 
 planned for us by Charles's mother was a 
 drive over to Standerwick. On our way 
 thither we passed through the Marquis 
 of Bath's beautiful estate, — Long Leat. 
 It so chanced that while the carriage ran 
 by the side of a broad sheet of water there, 
 we had a rare and interesting sight. A 
 pair of swans rose from the lake and took
 
 MY LONG LIFE. 53 
 
 flight to a short distance, affording the 
 seldom-seen view of swans in the air. 
 
 On reaching the dwelling of the Towers 
 family, Mrs. Towers entered the room with 
 her youngest child in her arms, beaming 
 with smiles at our advent. She and her 
 brother were warmly attached to each other, 
 and the friendship she at once formed with 
 his chosen future wife never ceased as long 
 as she lived. In consequence of our hav- 
 ing to return early to Frome, lunch was 
 promptly laid on the table, and I recollect 
 observing the tasteful mode in which it 
 was arranged, with the exquisite effect of 
 colouring produced by a large bowl of 
 snowy curds and whey in contrast with a 
 ruby-hued heap of gooseberry jam near it 
 in the centre of the hospitable board. Mrs. 
 Towers was as famous for her home-made 
 jams and other dulcet preparations as for 
 her books and verses. 
 
 This visit to Charles's mother made me 
 regret more than ever, — as I had often 
 regretted before, — that I had never known
 
 54 MY LONG LIFE. 
 
 his father. He had retired from the school 
 at Enfield, and had gone to reside at 
 Ramsgate before any meeting of our re- 
 spective families had taken place ; but 
 Charles always averred that he knew his 
 father and I would have sympathised with 
 each other intensely, and would have be- 
 come fast friends. He was a man of nobly 
 liberal opinions, of refined taste in litera- 
 ture, was as gentle-hearted as he was wise, 
 and as wise as he was gentle-hearted. In 
 his youth he had been articled to a lawyer 
 at Northampton, and ran the risk of hav- 
 ing to hang a man, in consequence of being 
 deputed to fulfil the sheriff's office, because 
 of the absence from town of the regularly- 
 appointed executioner. The whole night 
 was spent in an agony of mind by John 
 Clarke while endeavouring to find a sub- 
 stitute for the task so inexpressibly repug- 
 nant to him ; therefore, next morning, 
 when he had succeeded, he resolved there 
 and then to leave a situation that had sub- 
 jected him to so horrible a chance, and at
 
 MY LONG LIFE. 55 
 
 once renounced the legal profession, for 
 which he had never felt any liking, and 
 adopted that of school-master, for which 
 he was eminently fitted. He was always 
 highly esteemed and affectionately re- 
 garded by his scholars, several of whom, 
 after they quitted his Enfield school, be- 
 came men of noted ability, — John Keats, 
 Edward Cowper, and Edward Holmes 
 being among the number. 
 
 Another visit of signal interest that year 
 was one that I paid to Mr, and Mrs. Leigh 
 Hunt, by their invitation, while they lived 
 at Highgate. I must have always had a 
 touch of romance in my disposition, — even 
 as long back as when, quite a child, I had 
 crept round the sofa to kiss his hand, as 
 I have already recorded. Leigh Hunt, to 
 my imagination, had ever appeared an ideal 
 poet in visible form, and I regarded him 
 with a kind of idolatry, an enthusiasm of 
 reverential affection. Thus, to stay in the 
 same house with him ; to be the companion 
 of his walks about such charming environs
 
 56 MY LONG LIFE. 
 
 as Hampstead, Caen Wood, Muswell Hill, 
 and Freiern Barnet ; to listen to his con- 
 fidential talk after breakfast, in his flowered 
 morning-gown, when he would discuss with 
 me his then literary projects in a style 
 which showed he felt he had near him one 
 who could thoroughly understand and ap- 
 preciate his avowed views, — all formed a 
 bewitching combination that rendered this 
 visit indeed a memorable one to me. He 
 was then full of a project for writing a book 
 to be called * Fabulous Zoology,' which was 
 to treat of dragons, griffins, cockatrices, 
 basilisks, etc., etc. He was also busy with 
 translations from French epigrammatic 
 poets, and he would murmur some happily- 
 turned line in the English rendering he 
 contemplated from Clement Murot or other 
 similar author. He had likewise a fancy 
 for producing a volume of fairy tales, one 
 of which was to be entitled ' Mother Fowl,' 
 as a kind of punning name for a heroine, 
 reminding the reader of ' Mother Goose,' 
 only in this respect, — because 'Mother
 
 MY LONG LIFE. $7 
 
 Fowl ' was to have been conspicuous for 
 foulest dirty ways of mischief, besides 
 being grimiest of the grimy herself. 
 
 Having confessed to a touch of romance 
 in my disposition, I may here give an addi- 
 tional proof of its likelihood, by owning 
 that while Leigh Hunt was in Italy I had 
 indulged girlish visions of the delight it 
 would be to me if I could gain a large for- 
 tune, carry it thither myself, and lay it at 
 his feet. Again, when he returned thence 
 to England, and I chanced to hear him sing 
 one of Tom Moore's Irish melodies (' Rich 
 and rare were the gems she wore '), I was 
 so excited by the sound of his voice after 
 that lapse of time, that I found the tears 
 silently streaming down my cheeks. 
 
 Another visit, but of a very different 
 kind, that year, was paid by my Charles 
 and me together. He took me to see 
 William Hone, who was then detained, by 
 temporary money difficulties, ' within the 
 rules ' of the King's Bench Prison. So 
 dingy and smoky were the regions through
 
 58 MY LONG LIFE. 
 
 which we had to pass ere we arrived there, 
 that a morsel of smut found its way to my 
 face and stuck thereon during the first 
 portion of our interview with Mr. Hone. 
 When Charles perceived the black intruder, 
 he quickly puffed it off, and went on with 
 his conversation. A day or two after- 
 wards, when Hone again saw Charles, he 
 said to him : ' You are engaged to Miss 
 Novello, are you not.? ' ' What makes you 
 think so ? ' was the reply. ' I saw you 
 familiarly blow a smut off the young lady's 
 face, to which familiarity she made no ob- 
 jection ; therefore, I naturally guessed you 
 were engaged to each other.' Hone's 
 ' Table Book ' had succeeded to his ' Every 
 Day Book ' ; and it was to this last-named 
 publication that Charles Lamb paid the 
 gracefully-worded compliment in the con- 
 cluding stanza of his lines to Hone : — 
 
 ' Dan Phoebus loves your book — trust me, friend 
 Hone — 
 
 The title only errs, he bid me say ; 
 For while such art, wit, reading there are shown, 
 
 He swears, 't is not a work of every day^
 
 MY LONG LIFE. 59 
 
 A similarly witty and elegant compli- 
 ment was paid to his friend, Leigh Hunt, 
 by Charles Lamb, in these lines that 
 ended some he addressed to him at the 
 time when each Wednesday brought out 
 that delightful periodical called ' The 
 Indicator': — 
 
 ' I would not lightly bruise old Priscian's head 
 Or wrong the rules of grammar understood ; 
 But, with the leave of Priscian be it said, 
 The Indicative is your Potential Mood. 
 Wit, poet, proseman, partyman, translator, — 
 Hunt, your best title yet is Lidicator.^ 
 
 To this periodical my mother was god- 
 mother. There had been some difficulty 
 in finding a name for it; and she not 
 only suggested the one ultimately adopted, 
 but she supplied the following passage — 
 which formed the heading of each number : 
 — ' There is a bird in the interior of Africa 
 whose habits would rather seem to belong 
 to the interior of Fairyland ; but they have 
 been well authenticated. It indicates to 
 honey-hunters where the nests of wild bees 
 are to be found. It calls them with a
 
 6o MY LONG LIFE. 
 
 cheerful cry, which they answer, and on 
 finding itself recognised, flies and hovers 
 over a hollow tree containing the honey. 
 While they are occupied in collecting 
 it, the bird goes a little distance, where 
 he observes all that passes ; and the hunters, 
 when they have helped themselves, take 
 care to leave him his portion of the food. 
 This is called the Ctuulus Indicator of 
 Linnaeus, otherwise the moroc, bee-cuckoo, 
 or honey-bird. 
 
 * " Then he arriving round about doth flie 
 And takes survey with busie, envious eye ; 
 Now this, now that, he tasteth tenderly." 
 
 Spenser.' 
 
 I cannot forbear quoting the conclud- 
 ing droll paragraph of a short article that 
 appeared in the first number of the ' Indi- 
 cator ' on the ' Difficulty of finding a 
 
 NAME FOR A WORK OF THIS KIND.' Leigh 
 
 Hunt is describing a company of his 
 friends helping him by suggesting titles : 
 ' Some of the names had a meaning in 
 their absurdity, such as " The Adviser, or
 
 MY LONG LIFE. 6i 
 
 Helps for Composing " ; *' The Cheap 
 Reflector, or Every Man his Own Looking 
 Glass " ; " The Retailer, or Every Man 
 his Own Other Man's Wit " ; " Nonsense, 
 to be continued." Others were laughable 
 by the mere force of contrast, as " The Croc- 
 odile, or Pleasing Companion"; " Chaos, 
 or the Agreeable Miscellany " ; " The 
 Fugitive Guide " ; " The Footsoldier, or 
 Flowers of Wit " ; " Bigotry, or the Cheer- 
 ful Instructor " ; " The Polite Repository 
 of Abuse " ; " Blood, being a Collection 
 of Eight Essays." Others were sheer 
 ludicrousness and extravagance, as " The 
 Pleasing Ancestor " ; " The Silent Re- 
 marker " ; " The Tart " ; " The Leg of 
 Beef, by a Layman " ; " The Ingenious 
 Hatband " ; " The Boots of Bliss " ; " The 
 Occasional Diner " ; " The Toothache " ; 
 " Recollections of a very Unpleasant 
 Nature"; "Thoughts on a Hill of Con- 
 siderable Eminence " ; " Meditations on a 
 Pleasing Idea " ; " Materials for Drink- 
 ing " ; The Knocker, No. i " ; " The
 
 62 MY LONG LIFE. 
 
 Hippopotamus at Cards " ; " The Arabian 
 Nights on Horseback," with an infinite 
 number of other mortal murders of com- 
 mon sense, which rose to "push us 
 from our stools," and which none but the 
 wise or good-natured would ever think of 
 laughing at.' 
 
 In the next year to that of which I have 
 been writing, my parents removed from 
 Bedford Street to No. 66 Great Queen 
 Street, Lincoln's Inn Fields ; and Charles 
 became urgent with them to let me fix a 
 day for our marriage. It took place with 
 a quiet simplicity that particularly pleased 
 us both. My dear father and mother 
 were the only persons with us when, early 
 in the morning of 5th July, 1828, we drove 
 to Bloomsbury Church. Two milkmaids 
 chanced to be standing near as we went 
 up the steps, and I heard one of them say : 
 ' That 's the bride.' A neat white satin 
 cottage bonnet and a white muslin dress — 
 both the work of mv own hands — were all
 
 VINCENT NOVELLO.
 
 MY LONG LIFE. 63 
 
 the wedding adornments that denoted me 
 to them. A sweet peaceful solemnity was 
 in the tranquilly-uttered words of the 
 ceremony ; but the clerk, after the service, 
 indulsced in a smile as he observed me 
 about to sign my new name in the register 
 book, remarking that many brides made 
 this mistake, and directing me to write, 
 for the last time, my maiden name. I 
 remember rather wondering at my own 
 perfect calmness during the service, for I 
 had determined not to follow Charlotte 
 Grandison's example of hesitation at say- 
 ing the word ' obey,' but to speak ' love, 
 honour and obey ' with the full tone that 
 should express the true wish of my heart 
 to faithfully keep this vow. Well might I, 
 with such a man as he was who had chosen 
 me, and whom I had long known, esteemed, 
 respected, admired and warmly loved. 
 
 On our return we found breakfast ready 
 laid, certain of the plates having upon 
 them a gift each, which my mother had, 
 with her usual kind thought, provided for
 
 64 MY LONG LIFE. 
 
 the bride to present to her young brothers 
 and sisters. This pleasant meal and pres- 
 entation being over, and the wedding- 
 dress exchanged for a thicker muslin and 
 plainer cottage bonnet of straw, we pre- 
 pared to leave the dear home to which we 
 were soon to return. My mother's sweet, 
 penetrating voice followed us forth, utter- 
 ing the few but tender words, ' Take care 
 of her, Charley.' Be it here noted, that as 
 soon as Charles became one of the family 
 he was invariably called by that boyish 
 form of his name, proving how ever-young 
 was his nature to the last hour of his ex- 
 istence. He had decided upon making his 
 native Enfield our honeymoon quarters, 
 therefore we took our way to the Bell 
 Inn in Holborn, whence the Edmonton 
 stage-coach started. On our way thither 
 he laughingly told me of a man who had 
 said to his new-made wife an hour after 
 their espousals, ' Hitherto, madam, I have 
 been your slave, now you are mine.' When 
 we reached Edmonton we alighted from the
 
 MY LONG LIFE. 65 
 
 coach, and crossed the stile beyond which 
 were the fields that lie between that place 
 and Enfield. Brilliant was the July sun, 
 blue the sky, whereon dainty little white 
 cloudlets appeared like tufts of swandown, 
 scarcely moved by the light summer air. 
 We lingered, leaning on the wooden railing 
 that surmounted the miniature bridge over 
 the rivulet, where Keats used to watch the 
 minnows ' staying their wavy bodies 'gainst 
 the streams,' and on along the ' footpath ' 
 which his ' friend Charles ' had ' changed 
 for the grassy plain,' when, on parting 
 at night, between their respective homes, 
 Keats says, ' I no more could hear your 
 footsteps touch the gravelly floor.' The 
 very words with which the young poet 
 concluded this, his ' Epistle to Charles 
 Cowden-Clarke,' seemed then and there 
 to be fulfilling, for he goes on to say, ' In 
 those still moments I have wish'd you joys 
 that well you know to honour,' and the 
 'joys' of that day certainly crowned with 
 reality the affectionate aspiration. Farther 
 s
 
 66 MY LONG LIFE. 
 
 on we went, entering the meadow skirted 
 by the row of sapling oaks planted by 
 Charles's father, — the bag of acorns for the 
 purpose being carried by the little son, — 
 until we came to the wall belonging to the 
 end of the schoolhouse garden, behind 
 which wall was an arbour where Charles 
 used to read to Keats Spenser's exquisite 
 ' Epithalamion,' and where they talked 
 poetry together, the elder of the two in- 
 troducing the younger to the divine art, 
 and ' first taught him all the sweets of 
 song,' finally lending him Spenser's ' Faerie 
 Queene,' to Keats's infinite rapture. We 
 took up our abode at a rural hostelry called 
 * The Greyhound,' kept by a comfortable 
 old man and his daughter, named Powell. 
 This hostelry possessed a pleasant sitting- 
 room overlooking ' the green ' and its 
 spreading oak tree, and as pleasant a 
 sleeping-room, with its window screened 
 by a vine trained across it, casting a 
 verdant, softened light within. It was to 
 the period of our sojourn here that Charles
 
 MY LONG LIFE. 6^ 
 
 Lamb referred in a letter he afterwards 
 wrote to Charles, saying, — ' When you 
 lurked at " The Greyhound." Benedicks 
 are close, but how I so totally missed you 
 at that time, going for my morning cup of 
 ale duly, is a mystery. 'Twas stealing a 
 match before one's face in earnest. But 
 certainly we had not a dream of your pro- 
 pinquity. ... I promise you the wedding 
 was very pleasant news to me, indeed.' 
 
 Enchanting were the daily long walks 
 we took, and enchanted ground seemed 
 the lovely English rural lanes and meadows 
 we passed through, visiting all the most 
 notable points around that vicinity so 
 dearly associated as it was to us. Often 
 did we turn at once into the roadway 
 where the charming old schoolhouse stood 
 (it was under a stranger's mastership now), 
 and look up at its curious front of rich 
 red brick, moulded into designs represent- 
 ing garlands of flowers and pomegranates, 
 together with heads of Cherubim, over two 
 niches in the centre of the building, which,
 
 68 MY LONG LIFE. 
 
 on one of its bricks, bore the figures 171 7. 
 This frontage was, indeed, esteemed so 
 curious and interesting as a specimen of 
 bygone English domestic architecture, that 
 when, subsequently, the schoolhouse was 
 bought for a railway station the company 
 kept the front carefully, and it was pre- 
 served in the exhibition buildings of the 
 Kensington Museum, where I had the 
 pleasure of seeing it when I visited 
 England many years afterwards. 
 
 Between the ' two niches ' just mentioned, 
 there was a window of a room in which, dur- 
 ing some childish illness, Charles had been 
 put to sleep apart from the other boys, and 
 the little fellow — thinking this a capital 
 opportunity — had crept out on to the lead 
 flat over the entrance door, that he might 
 properly and closely inspect the pome- 
 granate, garlands, and Cherubim, which 
 he had heard extolled by his elders. 
 
 Opposite to the schoolhouse was a bend 
 of the New River, in neighbouring portions 
 of which winding stream Charles and his
 
 MY LONG LIFE. 69 
 
 schoolfellows had enjoyed many a luxurious 
 plunge, and, after bathing, had disdained 
 to use towels, but dried themselves by 
 scampers over the grassy fields close to 
 its shores. Farther on, beyond the school- 
 house, the road led beneath a small wooded 
 acclivity, but large enough to have allowed 
 Charles, when a young lad, to imagine it 
 a forest peopled with dragons, lions, ladies, 
 knights, dwarfs, and giants, while he gazed 
 at this spot from a window which com- 
 manded a view of it. The road terminated 
 at a place called Ponders End, but as it 
 possessed no particular interest we gener- 
 ally made this the returning point. 
 
 Other days we took the exactly opposite 
 direction, going past the house where 
 Richard Warburton Lytton (grandfather 
 of Lytton Bulwer, afterwards Lord Lytton) 
 resided. He had been very kind to Charles 
 when quite a young boy, lending him books 
 and talking pleasantly to him while tak- 
 ing: exercise on what was then called a 
 ' chamber-horse.'
 
 70 MY LONG LIFE. 
 
 Proceeding farther, we came to a house 
 with a garden, that had a pond abutting 
 on the road. In this pond were some 
 beautiful water-lilies in full bloom, and 
 we always used to stop and look at them ; 
 for it so chanced that they were the first 
 I had ever seen. Then we came to a 
 stile, giving entrance to a series of deli- 
 cious green fields, which were exchanged 
 for a path through a small wood, then 
 more fields, until we reached Winchmore 
 Hill. The exceeding beauty of this dis- 
 trict had been charmingly described by 
 Charles, in a short paper called ' Walks 
 round London,' No. i, which appeared in 
 Leigh Hunt's ' Literary Pocket Book,' or 
 ' Companion for the Lovers of Nature and 
 Art,' in the year 1820. 
 
 Sometimes we wandered as far as Theo- 
 bald's Park and White-Webb's Wood, 
 traditionally said to be the place where 
 the conspirators in James the First's reign 
 used to meet. My remembrance of it is 
 that of a quiet, umbrageous spot, delight-
 
 MY LONG LIFE. 71 
 
 ful for a rest after a pedestrian ramble. 
 Very frequently we made our way back, 
 from one of these walks, to our hostelry, 
 along a rustic path which ran parallel with 
 the chief street of Enfield; partly because 
 it was more tranquil and retired, partly 
 because it was more shady, and lastly, 
 because it was near to a rookery, which 
 had peculiar attraction for us, being the 
 abode of birds, watched of an evening by 
 Charles and his schoolfellows, who used 
 to look up and shout to the black train as 
 it came home to roost, * Lag, lag, laglast ! ' 
 Once, however, we were startled by the 
 report of a gun, and saw some dark object 
 fall, that reminded us of the feathered 
 victim of Caspar's magic shot in Weber's 
 ' Freischiitz ' ; but it was probably some 
 harmless gamekeeper occupied in the dis- 
 charge of his duty. 
 
 On our return to town we were wel- 
 comed to our parents' home, making it 
 happily ours in every sense of the word, 
 and it continued thus wherever their
 
 72 MY LONG LIFE. 
 
 domicile might be situated. For twenty 
 years we enjoyed that privilege of living 
 with them, — a privilege as delightful as 
 rare. 
 
 Ere quite settling down, Charles Lamb 
 invited us to spend a week with him and 
 his sister (who were then living at Chase- 
 side, Enfield), to make amends for our 
 having ' lurked at " The Greyhound," ' 
 when he ' had not a dream of our propin- 
 quity.' How fully and delightfully that 
 visit enabled us to behold him in his in- 
 dividuality of whimsical humour as well 
 as his thoroughly tender and kind nature ! 
 His lifelong devotion to his sister had 
 been practically proved ; but his mingled 
 playfulness of treatment and manner 
 towards her were once indicated in his 
 once saying to us, with his arch smile, ' I 
 always call my sister Marie when we are 
 alone together, Mary when we are with 
 friends, and Moll before the servants.' 
 
 He was as fond of long walks as we 
 were, and had equal admiration for Enfield
 
 MY LONG LIFE. 73 
 
 and its environs as we had. He showed 
 us the very spot where a dog had been 
 pertinacious in following him, and whom 
 he sought to get rid of by tiring him out{!\ 
 had given up the contest of perseverance, 
 and had dropped down under a hedge 
 dead beat. He took us to Cheshunt and 
 to Northam, with the hope of finding a 
 famous old giant oak-tree we had sever- 
 ally heard was to be seen at one or other 
 of these places ; but the search was vain 
 in both cases. The disappointment was 
 small, but the pleasure of the walks infi- 
 nite. On one especial occasion, when 
 Fanny Kelly chanced to come down from 
 London to see the Lambs at Chaseside 
 when we were there, a walk was proposed 
 which took us past a picturesque ford, at 
 a little distance from a wayside waggon- 
 inn. Beside this country inn were pleasant 
 shady seats, and Lamb proposed we should 
 tarry awhile and rest. Neither Fanny 
 Kelly nor we two declining the pro- 
 posal, but glad to please him, and glad to
 
 74 MY LONG LIFE. 
 
 have the pleasure of sitting there with 
 him and his sister, and the delightful 
 actress, we loitered, leisurely sipping our 
 draughts of malt, in a companionship 
 most pleasant to me to remember. By- 
 the-bye, I may record that I won Charles 
 Lamb's increase of esteem (on some occa- 
 sion when I was speaking of my father's 
 having made me at rare times acquainted 
 with that ' Lutheran Beer,' porter, alluded 
 to in Elia's ' Chapter on Ears ') by saying 
 that I preferred Barclay & Perkins's 
 brewage to Whitbread's, or any other 
 brewers that I had ever tasted. He was 
 fond of testing people's capacity for under- 
 standing his mode of indulging in odd, 
 bluntish speeches, but which contained a 
 certain quaint evidence of familiar liking. 
 Once, when we were returning from a walk, 
 and Mary Lamb took the opportunity of 
 calling in to make some purchases she 
 needed at a village linen-draper's shop near 
 Winchmore Hill, her brother, standing by 
 with us, addressed the mistress of the shop
 
 MY LONG LIFE. 75 
 
 in a tone of pretended sympathy, say- 
 ing : ' I hear that trade 's falling off, Mrs. 
 Udall, how's this?' The stout, cherry 
 woman only smiled and answered good- 
 humouredly, for it was evident that she 
 was acquainted with Charles Lamb's whim- 
 sical way, he being familiarly known at the 
 shops where his sister dealt. 
 
 Another time, during this visit to 
 the Lambs, he had given his arm to me, 
 and left my husband to escort Miss Lamb, 
 who walked at rather more slow a pace 
 than her brother, while we were going to 
 spend the evening at the house of a 
 somewhat prim lady school-mistress. On 
 entering the room, Charles Lamb intro- 
 duced me to this rather formal hostess 
 
 with the words, ' Mrs. , I 've brought 
 
 you the wife of the man who mortally 
 hates your husband,' and when the lady 
 replied by a polite inquiry after Miss 
 Lamb, hoping she was quite well, Charles 
 Lamb said, ' She has a terrible fit of 
 tooth-ache this evening, so Mr. Cowden-
 
 yd MY LONG LIFE. 
 
 Clarke remained to keep her company.' 
 Soon after this, the two appearing, Lamb 
 went on to say, ' Mrs. Cowden-Clarke has 
 been telling me, as we came along, that 
 she hopes that you have sprats for supper.' 
 The lady's puzzled look, contrasted by 
 the smiling calmness with which we 
 stood by listening to him, were precisely 
 the effects that amused Lamb to produce. 
 I have heard him say that he never stam- 
 mered when he told a lie. This was 
 in humorous reference to the slight hesi- 
 tation in his speech which he often had 
 when talking. 
 
 On the last evening of this delightful 
 visit, Charles Lamb (who was fond of 
 whist and had asked us whether we were 
 good hands at the game, we disclaiming 
 any such excellence ; this had brought his 
 rejoinder of ' Oh, then, I '11 not ask you 
 to play; I hate playing with bad players') 
 said, ' Let 's have a game of whist, just 
 to see what you are like ; and at the 
 end of the trial he burst out with, ' If
 
 MY LONG LIFE. 'j-j 
 
 I had known you could play as well 
 as this, we would have had whist every 
 evening.' 
 
 He was the cordialest of hosts, — 
 playful, genial, hospitably promotive of 
 pleasureable things, walks, cheerful meals, 
 and the very best of talk. It had been 
 said of him that he always said the best 
 thing of the evening, when even the finest 
 spirits of the time met together. His 
 hospitality, while we were visiting him 
 that memorable week, the incidents of 
 which I have been recording, was charac- 
 teristically manifested one day, in his 
 own peculiarly whimsical way, by his 
 starting up from dinner, hastening to 
 the front garden gate, and opening it 
 for a donkey that he saw standing there, 
 and looking, as Lamb said, as if it wanted 
 to come in and munch some of the grass 
 growing so plentifully behind the rail- 
 ing. 
 
 When we returned home to enter upon 
 our intended course of life, my Charles at
 
 78 MY LONG LIFE. 
 
 once made himself truly one of the family, 
 taking a brotherly interest in Alfred's 
 preparations for soon beginning business 
 as a music-seller; in Edward's attendance 
 at Mr. Sass's School of Design, having 
 shown decided talent for drawing, and 
 possessing an ardent desire for becoming 
 an artist; in Clara's already manifest 
 vocal ability (she was but three years old 
 when she startled her parents by singing 
 correctly the tune of ' Di tanti palpiti^ 
 which she had merely heard played on a 
 barrel-organ in the street ; and I often 
 afterwards used to see my father call her 
 to the piano, with her doll in her arms, to 
 sing some song of Handel's or Mozart's 
 that he had taught her, while still a mere 
 child) ; and in the lessons of the two 
 youngest girls, which lessons Charles gave 
 them himself. The two children used to 
 lie down on the carpet, one on each side of 
 his chair, with their slates and their books 
 before them, while he continued his own 
 writing, until his little pupils should be
 
 MY LONG LIFE. 79 
 
 ready to repeat the lessons they had 
 learned. 
 
 He busied himself with the articles he 
 had to write for the ' Atlas ' newspaper, 
 on the staff of which he was engaged for 
 notices of the ' Fine Arts.' And with 
 papers on ' Theatricals ' for the ' Examiner ' 
 newspaper. This latter-named engage- 
 ment afforded us most congenial enter- 
 tainments for our evenings, since it took 
 us perpetually to the different theatres, 
 sometimes having to go to two of them 
 on the same evening, — perhaps a new 
 comedy at Drury Lane or Covent Garden 
 followed by a new farce at the Haymarket 
 or Lyceum. Not being able to afford a cab, 
 we used to trudge on foot to each of these 
 appointed houses, Charles with his dress- 
 coat and waistcoat covered by a cloak, I 
 with ' full dress,' needed for the ' Dress 
 Circle,' similarly enveloped. Heartily did 
 we enjoy these necessary economies ; as 
 indeed, then and long afterwards, we did 
 during the period when they had to be
 
 8o MY LONG LIFE. 
 
 practised. Mutual esteem and passionate 
 attachment made poverty (or perhaps I 
 should say very small means) seem scarcely 
 an evil, but, on the contrary, something to 
 be cheerfully and willingly borne, being 
 borne together and for the sake of each 
 other. Moreover, we had the blessing of 
 generously kind parents, who let us con- 
 tribute our share of the household expenses 
 at such convenient periods as best suited 
 our earned receipts. These were added 
 to by Charles's acceptance of a thoroughly 
 uncongenial post as editor of, and writer 
 in, a periodical entitled ' The Repertory of 
 Patent Inventions.' But he and we all 
 took refuge from the dryness of the task 
 by making it the subject of constant 
 laughter and jest in our family circle. 
 Not one of us read it ; not one of us cared 
 even to look at it, save on a single occasion, 
 when Charles, having indulged himself by 
 writing a rather facetious article on some 
 heavy newly-invented manufacture, was 
 rebuked by a communication from a per-
 
 MY LONG LIFE. 8i 
 
 son signing himself ' Fairy ' (of all names 
 in the world !) for writing so lightly on such 
 a weightily important theme ! To recur to 
 the pleasanter subject of the theatrical 
 notices Charles had to write, and the 
 theatre-goings they involved for us both. 
 We had before then had the good fortune 
 to see the very best acting ; that of Edmund 
 Kean, Dowton, Munden, Liston, the elder 
 Mathews, Miss Kelly, Mrs. Davenport, etc. 
 The first named I had seen in his rarely 
 performed part of Lzike, in a play called 
 * Riches,' and also as Sir Giles Overreach 
 in Massinger's ' A New Way to pay Old 
 Debts.' As Luke I remember his entrance 
 while supposed to be desperately poor, 
 — his head bent, his whole frame stooping, 
 his clothes of the meanest, and bearing 
 beneath his arms and dependent from his 
 hands various bundles he had been ordered 
 to carry. Of his Sir Giles Overreach I 
 chiefly remember the death-scene. Kean 
 lay prostrate near to the footlights, his 
 face and figure clearly visible to the
 
 82 MY LONG LIFE. 
 
 audience, and fearfully true to the ebbing 
 of life was the picture they presented. In 
 ' Othello,' a striking point was the mode 
 in which he clung to the side-scene when 
 uttering the words, ' Not a jot, not a jot,' 
 in Act iii., scene 3, as if trying to steady 
 himself against the heart-blow he was 
 receiving. Towards the latter portion of 
 his career, Kean most frequently played 
 Shy loch, and grand was his playing 
 throughout. But a superb piece of action 
 and voice was his, as he delivered the 
 speech, concluding with the words — ' The 
 villany you teach me, I will execute ; and 
 it shall go hard, but I will better the 
 instruction.' He seemed positively to 
 writhe from head to foot as he poured 
 forth his anguished recapitulation of his 
 own and his nation's wrongs, of his deadly 
 hatred of the wrongers, and of his as 
 deadly determination to have his revenge 
 upon them. Dowton's great part of Dr. 
 Cantwell in 'The Hypocrite' (Gibber's 
 translated version of Moliere's ' Tartuffe ' )
 
 MY LONG LIFE. 83 
 
 was impressed upon my memory, if only 
 by the tone of his voice — subdued, would- 
 be-meek — while Cantwell is sustaining 
 the appearance of prone devotion, and the 
 insolent loudness of the tone, when, the 
 mask thrown off, he proclaims himself 
 master of the house and all its inmates. 
 In the first place he calls to Sir John 
 Lambert's Secretary, softly and mildly, 
 ' Charles ! ' in utter contrast with the 
 mode in which he roughly and peremp- 
 torily calls out to him, in the latter case, 
 • Seyward ! ' The two so remarkably dif- 
 fering tones still seem to reach my ears 
 as I write. 
 
 Munden could be impressive in grave 
 characters as well as great in ultra-comic 
 power, celebrated by Charles Lamb in his 
 Elia paper, entitled ' On the Acting of 
 Munden.' Besides seeing him in old 
 ' Cockletop ' and in ' Crack the Cobbler,' 
 I witnessed his admirable performance of 
 old Dornton in the ' Road to Ruin,' a 
 perfect gentleman in bearing and conduct,
 
 84 MY LONG LIFE. 
 
 a sorrowful father grieved by his son's 
 indiscretions. His very commencement 
 in the opening scene — ' Past two o'clock 
 and Harry not yet returned ' — rings 
 touchingly even now upon my hearing, 
 accompanied as the words were by the 
 sad and anxious look upon his face while 
 drawing the watch from its fob. Liston, 
 the inimitable, also could be excellent in 
 pathetic parts, although so famed for his 
 surpassing comic performances. He, too, 
 had been written of by Charles Lamb, 
 who, in one instance, wrote what he 
 named ' The Biographical Memoir of Mr. 
 Liston ' — absurdly fictitious but cer- 
 tainly most humorous. The character I 
 saw him play, where he had one scene of 
 profound pathos, was Russet, in Colman's 
 play of ' The Jealous Wife.' The father's 
 agony, when he fears that his daughter 
 has been carried off by a libertine young 
 man, amounted to the tragic in its storm 
 of mingled rage and grief. Few witness- 
 ing his power of serious acting in that
 
 MY LONG LIFE. 85 
 
 scene could believe that a man who so 
 often made them burst into roars of laugh- 
 ter was one and the same individual. I 
 heard that Liston once laid a wager with 
 Kean (who had said that nothing could 
 disturb his seriousness while on the stage) 
 that he could succeed in making him 
 laugh even there. Once, when Kean was 
 playing Rolla, a procession of veiled Vir- 
 gins of the Sun had to enter and pass 
 before him. The first virgin, as she 
 passed, suddenly raised her veil, con- 
 fronted Kean with the irresistible visage 
 of Liston, and the wager was won, for 
 Kean went off into an incontrollable fit of 
 laughter. We used not infrequently to 
 meet Mr. and Mrs. Liston at the Lambs' 
 apartments while they lived in Russell 
 Street, Covent Garden ; and I once heard 
 Mrs. Liston sing. It was in a small 
 operatic afterpiece. She had a very sweet 
 voice, a fair complexion, and a dumpling 
 figure, which caused some wag to say she 
 looked like a fillet of veal upon castors.
 
 86 MY LONG LIFE. 
 
 Another of our early dramatic treats 
 had been seeing the elder Mathews in his 
 celebrated ' Entertainments,' in which he 
 not only represented one, but often several 
 different personages. There was a scene, 
 where two burglars were supposed to be 
 stealing into a house with intention to rob. 
 So quickly were the changes of garment 
 effected, while passing behind a screen, or 
 darting swiftly and noiselessly off and on 
 the side scenes, so amazingly well altered 
 were the manner, voice, and look of the 
 two thieves, that it was scarcely possible 
 to believe them to be the same individual. 
 A scene in another of these ' Entertain- 
 ments ' was a London street at night, 
 where a watchman's box occupied the 
 centre of the stage. Mathews, as an old 
 watchman, entered, and after a grumbling 
 speech went into his box to have a cosy 
 nap. Then, successively, came along the 
 front of the stage some of the actors most 
 popular in that day, supposed to be re- 
 turning home after the night's perform-
 
 MY LONG LIFE. 87 
 
 ance at the theatre. Even now I can 
 hear the intonation of Kean's voice and 
 imitation of his look as given by Mathews 
 while passing before the watch-box ; then 
 Braham, then Liston and several others 
 followed, all equally ' done to the life ' by 
 the wonderfully accurate mimic. One of 
 his most famous impersonations in still 
 another of these ' Entertainments ' was an 
 old Scotchwoman, garrulous and full of 
 anecdote ; and yet another, — a father of a 
 family conducting his youngsters through 
 the illuminated marvels of Vauxhall Gar- 
 dens, perpetually slapping and cuffing them 
 to keep them in order before him, and 
 calling out — ' Keep together ! keep to- 
 gether, I tell you ! I brought you out to 
 make you happy, why can't you keep 
 together ? ' 
 
 During the time of our theatre-goings 
 after marriage, we still saw delightful 
 dramas, wherein Kean, Dowton, Munden, 
 etc., were the chief performers at Drury 
 Lane and Covent Garden, while at the
 
 88 MY LONG LIFE. 
 
 other houses we had the gratification of 
 witnessing many ' First Nights ' of pecuHar 
 interest. Charles's engagement to write 
 the theatrical notices of course afforded 
 peculiar opportunity for this privilege. 
 Thus we were present when several of 
 Douglas Jerrold's plays came out, — his 
 ' Housekeeper,' ' Nell Gwynne,' ' The 
 Prisoner of War,' ' Time Works Won- 
 ders,' etc., — and we had the pleasure of 
 seeing the author himself in the principal 
 character of his ' Painter of Ghent,' when 
 he played it for the first few nights. We 
 saw Liston's first appearance in Poole's 
 ' Paul Pry,' at once making a prodigious 
 ' hit' At the Olympic we were among 
 the audience when Madame Vestris ap- 
 peared as ' Orpheus,' clad in the smallest 
 amount of clothing I had ever then seen 
 worn upon the stage. Her figure was per- 
 fection. She looked like an exquisite 
 Greek statue. In a shop window in Ox- 
 ford Street there used to be seen a san- 
 dal of Madame Vestris's, her foot being
 
 MY LONG LIFE. 89 
 
 renowned for its small size and great 
 beauty. 
 
 Our evenings at the theatres brought us 
 frequently into companionship with that 
 super-excellent critic, William Hazlitt, 
 who was likewise occupied in writing the- 
 atrical notices, — those for the ' Times ' 
 newspaper. It was always a treat to sit 
 beside him, when he talked delightfully ; 
 and once, on going to his own lodging, he 
 showed us a copy he had made of Titian's 
 ' Ippolito dei Medici,' and conversed finely 
 upon Titian's genius. Hazlitt's gift in 
 painting was remarkable. A portrait he 
 took of his old nurse, — a mere head, — 
 the upper part of the face in strong 
 shadow from an over-pending black silk 
 bonnet edged with black lace, while the 
 wrinkled cheeks, the lines about the mouth, 
 with the touches of actual and reflected 
 light, were given with such vigour and 
 truth, as well might recall the style of the 
 renowned Flemish master, and actually 
 did cause a good judge of the art to say
 
 90 MY LONG LIFE. 
 
 to Hazlitt, — ' Where did you get that 
 Rembrandt ? ' 
 
 At the theatre we frequently beheld 
 Godwin, with his eyes fixed upon the stage, 
 his arms folded across his chest, while his 
 glistening bald head — which somebody 
 had said was entirely without the organ of 
 veneration — made him conspicuous even 
 at a distance ; and similarly beheld was 
 Horace Smith, whose profile bore a re- 
 markable likeness to that of Socrates (as 
 known to us through traditional delinea- 
 tion), and whose ' Rejected Addresses ' 
 were so admiringly and risibly known 
 to us. 
 
 When the first anniversary of our wed- 
 ding came round, Charles and I indulged 
 ourselves with accepting his sister's invi- 
 tation to spend a fortnight's visit to her 
 and her family at Standerwick. A pleas- 
 ant and even memorable time it was to us. 
 The house stood near to a wooded spot, 
 where we could hear a certain kind of 
 thrush, called a storm-cock, sing the whole
 
 MY LONG LIFE. 91 
 
 day long, with a perseverance native to 
 him, perched on the top of a high tree. 
 Mr. and Mrs. Towers, delightfully hospi- 
 table and intent upon making our stay in 
 every way delightful to us, taking us 
 charming walks to see all the most pic- 
 turesque spots around them, and fur- 
 nishing the most interesting topics of 
 conversation, versed as they both were in 
 literature ; while Mr. Towers was an enthu- 
 siastic lover of music, no mean performer 
 on the pianoforte himself, besides being 
 skilful and practical in chemistry. It was 
 at their breakfast-table one morning that 
 regret was expressed with regard to there 
 being no concordance to Shakespeare in 
 existence. Eagerly, as is my nature, I 
 immediately resolved that I would under- 
 take this work, and, accordingly, when 
 after breakfast a walk was proposed over 
 to Warminster, I took with me a volume 
 of Shakespeare, a pencil and paper, and 
 jotted down my plan, beginning with the 
 first line of my intended book. During
 
 92 MY LONG LIFE. 
 
 our walk we chanced to pass an enclosure 
 where some sea-gulls were kept and were 
 screaming loudly. I have never heard 
 that sound since but I have associated 
 it with that day of commencing my sixteen 
 years' work. 
 
 Besides his theatrical and fine art 
 notices, Charles busied himself with writ- 
 ing some books he had in hand. One 
 was a tasteful boy's book, called ' Adam 
 the Gardener ' ; another was his beauti- 
 fully-rendered ' Tales from Chaucer,' and 
 a third named ' Nyren's Cricketer's Guide,' 
 which was the result of putting into read- 
 able form the recollections of a vigorous 
 old friend who had been a famous cricketer 
 in his youth and early manhood, and who, 
 in his advanced age, used to come and 
 communicate his cricketing experiences 
 to Charles with chuckling pride and com- 
 placent reminiscence. 
 
 It was in this same year of 1829 that 
 my father and mother took a journey to 
 Germany for the purpose of conveying to
 
 MY LONG LIFE. 93 
 
 Mozart's sister, Madame Sonnenberg (who 
 was then out of health and in poor cir- 
 cumstances), a sum of money which had 
 been subscribed by some musical admirers 
 of her brother's genius. My father had 
 been the originator of this subscription, 
 and undertook all its contingent expenses 
 himself; therefore, it was with pleased 
 zeal that he went on this expedition to 
 Salzburg. He kept a diary during its 
 progress, and records with enthusiasm its 
 incidents. Extracts from this diary are 
 given in my ' Life and Labours of Vincent 
 Novello.' 
 
 Ere the close of the year, Madame 
 Sonnenberg died, and Vincent Novello 
 crowned his tribute of respect to her by 
 getting up a performance of her illustrious 
 brother's ' Requiem,' with organ accom- 
 panied by few but choice instruments and 
 voices. It so chanced that the interest- 
 ing performance was the one which ter- 
 minated the renowned series that had 
 rendered South Street Chapel so attractive
 
 94 MY LONG LIFE. 
 
 to musical hearers; for soon after it was 
 closed, and the Portuguese Embassy no 
 longer had services there. 
 
 It was on their way back from Germany 
 that my parents achieved the accomplish- 
 ment of their desire to place their daugh- 
 ter Clara in the Academy of Singing for 
 church music at Paris, where Monsieur 
 Choron was head-master of the establish- 
 ment. My father called upon him and 
 obtained leave for Clara to enter herself 
 as candidate at the approaching election 
 which was to take place, a vacancy for a 
 pupil then presenting itself. My mother, 
 with her usual energetic decision and 
 prompt activity, immediately set out to 
 fetch Clara in time for the day of trial. 
 On the eve, one of those who were to be 
 her judges chancing to hear her rehears- 
 ing, thought it must be a girl of at least 
 fifteen to whom he listened, so fine was her 
 style, so round and full was her tone. 
 Her father had taught her so well, and 
 had so accustomed her to execute Handel's
 
 MY LONG LIFE. 95 
 
 noblest sacred songs, as well as Mozart's 
 and other operatic composers' arias, that 
 she was thoroughly versed in them. 
 Therefore, next day, when she went through 
 her ordeal, she was as unperturbed and 
 calm as if she were at home ; yet she was 
 so child-like and small of stature that she 
 had to be placed upon a low stool in order 
 to be seen by her umpires, and she had 
 attained so few summers of life, that the 
 self-possession and ability with which she 
 sang the ' Agnus Dei ' from Mozart's Mass 
 in F., No. I, and Dr Arne's, ' The Soldier 
 tired,' caused her to be unanimously pro- 
 nounced the successful candidate against 
 nineteen competitors. That calm self- 
 possession, when she sang, lasted always ; 
 and her voice in its silvery sweetness, with 
 potency of tone, exists still at her now ad- 
 vanced age. Her artistic career was a 
 series of brilliant successes (among them was 
 her having been received by the respective 
 sovereigns at their courts of Windsor, Ber- 
 lin, and St. Petersburg with even kindly
 
 96 MY LONG LIFE. 
 
 graciousness ) ; and her domestic life since 
 has been a very happy one. 
 
 About this period my father removed 
 from Great Queen Street to No. 67 Frith 
 Street, where his son Alfred was to begin 
 business as a music-seller. Very modest 
 was the shop-front, — merely a couple of 
 parlour windows and a glass door display- 
 ing a few title-pages bearing composers' 
 names of sterling merit, with Vincent 
 Novello's as editor; but this simple begin- 
 ning led to an eminent result, — that of a 
 sacred-music warehouse universally dealt 
 with by the musical world. It affords a 
 striking example of the success that attends 
 genuine love of art and zeal in promoting 
 the diffusion of its means for cultivation 
 on the part of him who edited, together 
 with industry, punctuality, and regularity 
 on the part of the young publisher, aided 
 as they were by the practical counsel and 
 moral encouragement of her who devoted 
 herself to the chief aims of her husband 
 and son, — indeed, of all her children. On
 
 MY LONG LIFE. 97 
 
 the evening of the 15th February, 1830, 
 my Charles and I were at the Lyceum 
 Theatre, where a French company were 
 giving performances. We saw Potier, a 
 celebrated comedian, play in ' Le Chiffon- 
 nier,' and ' Le Cuisinier de Buffon.' A few 
 hours after we left the theatre it was burnt 
 to the ground. My brothers, Alfred and 
 Edward, awakened by the glare in the 
 sky, jumped out of their beds and ran off 
 to see the conflagration. When they re- 
 counted at breakfast-time what had hap- 
 pened during the night, it maybe imagined 
 how fervent was our gratitude at having 
 escaped so great a peril. 
 
 Not long after that event my husband 
 and I spent a wonderful hour with Cole- 
 ridge. Charles had been requested by his 
 acquaintance, Mr. Edmund Reade, to take 
 a message for him to the venerable poet, 
 respecting a poem lately written by Mr. 
 Reade, called 'Cain.' Rejoiced were we to 
 have this occasion for a visit to Coleridge, 
 who then resided at High gate, in Mr. Col- 
 7
 
 98 MY LONG LIFE. 
 
 man's house, and who had formerly been 
 known to Charles at Ramsgate, through 
 Charles Lamb's introduction. When I 
 was introduced to him as Vincent Novello's 
 eldest daughter, Coleridge was struck by 
 my fathers name, knowing it to be that 
 of a musician, and forthwith plunged into 
 a fervid and eloquent praise of music, 
 branching into explanation of an idea he 
 had, that the creation of the universe must 
 have been accompanied by a grand pre- 
 vailing harmony of spheral music. 
 
 In that same spring we saw Fanny 
 Kemble play Portia in ' The Merchant of 
 Venice ' for her first benefit. We had 
 been in the house the previous autumn 
 when she made her debut on the stage in 
 the character of Juliet ; her mother, Mrs. 
 Charles Kemble, reappearing, for that 
 night only, as Lady Captilet, Mrs. Daven- 
 port acting the nurse, and Charles Kemble, 
 Mercutio. The enthusiasm of the public 
 was naturally great, for it was known that 
 the young debutante had chosen the dra-
 
 MY LONG LIFE. 99 
 
 matic profession in the hope of saving the 
 fortunes of the theatre, then at a low ebb 
 and under the lesseeship of her father, while 
 the reappearance of her mother created 
 additional interest. It seems but yester- 
 day that we saw the real tears flowing 
 down Mrs. Charles Kemble's cheeks at the 
 hearty welcome of applause that greeted 
 her from the audience, or beheld the ani- 
 mated entrance of Charles Kemble as he 
 sprang forward at the commencement of 
 act ii. with the elasticity of youth, although 
 we heard that he was past sixty years of 
 age. He was then one of the most grace- 
 fully vivacious of actors in characters that 
 required personal attraction and charm 
 of manner. His Archer in the ' Beaux's 
 Stratagem,' where a gentleman undertakes 
 to pass for a footman, was so unmistaka- 
 bly the former, while paying court to a 
 lady in gaily free style, that no wonder 
 Mrs. Sullen finds him well-nigh irresistibly 
 polished and winning in speech and man- 
 ner. His Captain Absolute, his Benedick,
 
 lOO MY LONG LIFE. 
 
 his Faulconbridge^ his Cassio, were all 
 perfect, and we had the pleasure of seeing 
 him in all these characters. As Cassio, I 
 remember my father saying that, in scene 
 2, act iii. of * Othello/ Charles Kemble 
 looked like a drunken man trying to ap- 
 pear sober, instead of a sober man trying 
 to look drunk, as many actors do. As 
 Faulconbridge he seemed the embodiment 
 of English chivalry, while in the scene with 
 his mother, Lady Faulconbridge, his manly 
 tenderness, his filial coaxing way of speak- 
 ing and putting his arm round her as he 
 thanks her for having made Richard Coeur 
 de Lion his father, was something to be 
 grateful for having witnessed. No one 
 but Elliston could compete with Charles 
 Kemble for his supremely winning mode 
 of enacting a wooer. We saw Fanny 
 Kemble many times and in her best parts, 
 thinking so well of her acting that we 
 found it strange when, years afterwards, 
 we read her slio^htinsf mention of herself as 
 a performer. Certainly her Julia in Sher-
 
 MY LONG LIFE. loi 
 
 idan Knowles's play of 'The Hunchback' 
 was a piece of nobly-conceived and exe- 
 cuted impersonation, while the way in 
 which she looked and acted the queen- 
 mother in her own play of ' Francis the 
 First ' was quite admirable. That a young 
 girl of fifteen should have written that 
 strong play was in itself a patent proof of 
 her innate strength and talent with keen 
 perception of dramatic fitness. The second 
 anniversary of our wedding day was spent 
 delightfully at Cambridge. My father had 
 been asked by the authorities of the Fitz- 
 william Museum there to examine the large 
 collection of musical manuscripts in their 
 library; and he accordingly visited Cam- 
 bridge many times at his own expense for 
 that purpose. On this occasion he made 
 his visit a family holiday, taking with him 
 his wife, his son Edward, my Charles, and 
 me. Much of his time was spent in mak- 
 ing copies of some of these MSS., chiefly 
 those by masters of the ancient Italian 
 school, such as Buononcini, Clari, Caris-
 
 102 MY LONG LIFE. 
 
 simi, Leo, Martini, Palestrina, Stradella, 
 etc., and some of these MSS. were subse- 
 quently printed and published by him 
 under the name of ' The Fitzwilliam 
 Music.' 
 
 My brother Edward had made such 
 good use of his studies under Mr. Sass, 
 and had worked so diligently at home, 
 practising in oils as well as in water- 
 colours, that he made use of his visit to 
 Cambridge by taking copies of some of 
 the fine pictures in the Fitzwilliam Mu- 
 seum. His beautiful copy of Rembrandt's 
 ' Dutch OfHcer ' (life size) and of Annibale 
 Caracci's ' St. Roch and the Angel ' were 
 the result of his painting there, and are 
 still among our preserved treasures that 
 we owe to him in the picture-gallery of 
 our present Italian home. Edward's 
 steady perseverance and industry — more 
 or less characterising all my father's chil- 
 dren, and inherited from him — existed in 
 a remarkable degree in our young artist. 
 He was scarcely ever without a paint-
 
 MY LONG LIFE. 103 
 
 brush in his hand during the day ; and of 
 an evening, when reading aloud was going 
 on, he had always pen and pencil before 
 him, wherewith he made sketches of the 
 various characters in the books thus pe- 
 rused. His original pictures are several: 
 — My father's portrait (a perfect likeness), 
 my mother's, my sister Clara's, his own 
 face, wearing various expressions; Illus- 
 trations to Charles's ' Tales from Chaucer,' 
 ' St. John preaching in the Wilderness,' 
 and a large family picture of fourteen 
 figures, — my father at the pianoforte, sur- 
 rounded by his wife and children and one 
 or two musical friends. Some dainty 
 water-colour pictures he also produced, — 
 four poetical representations of ' The Four 
 Seasons,' and a lovely one of ' Christ near 
 His Tomb, seen by Mary Magdalene, who 
 takes Him for the Gardener,' besides many 
 others in the same style. The copies 
 Edward made of celebrated pictures are 
 numerous; among them are Rubens's 
 ' Triumph of Silenus,' Titian's ' Entomb-
 
 I04 MY LONG LIFE. 
 
 ment of Christ,' Raphael's ' Head of a 
 Friend,' Vandyke's ' Head of the Young 
 Duke of Buckingham,' etc., etc. All these 
 paintings, amounting to more than a hun- 
 dred, by one who was still in his youth, for 
 we lost him a few months ere he attained 
 his twenty-third birthday. 
 
 While we were at Cambridge we were 
 introduced to some of its Fellows, and 
 we enjoyed many delicious wanderings in 
 the gardens belonging to the different 
 colleges. At that of Pembroke, Charles 
 took his hat off beneath the tree said 
 to have been planted by Milton. At St. 
 John's, we stood and gazed many times, 
 admiring the beautiful architecture of its 
 chapel, and lingered listening to the 
 ' murmur of innumerable bees' above our 
 heads among the tall lime-trees of the 
 noble avenue. In these gardens we had 
 a rather amusing incident. We had taken 
 a basket containing some almond cakes 
 to crunch while we sat to rest, but when 
 we quitted the gardens we had forgotten
 
 MY LONG LIFE. 105 
 
 our intention and left the basket and its 
 contents on one of the seats. One of the 
 Fellows, finding this supply of goodies, 
 disposed of them on the spot, but hear- 
 ing afterwards who were their owners 
 and that we were leaving Cambridge, he 
 sent us a basket of similar cakes, inscribed 
 with the words, ' Viaticum for the journey.' 
 He was a very agreeable gentleman, and 
 for some time after kept up the acquaint- 
 ance he had made with us at Cambridge. 
 During our stay in that noble place of 
 learning, I was so fortunate as to hear 
 a Greek oration delivered by one of the 
 students there. The sonorous beauty of 
 the language gratified my ear with a 
 lasting recollection of its rich sound. 
 My husband availed himself of the advan- 
 tage gained from this visit, by writing 
 two letters on the Fitzwilliam Museum 
 at Cambridge for the ' Atlas ' newspaper, 
 and in the autumn of that year, Leigh 
 Hunt's ' Tatler ' having been started, 
 Charles was engaged to write several of
 
 io6 MY LONG LIFE. 
 
 its theatrical and operatic notices, when 
 its editor was occasionally otherwise em- 
 ployed in literary work. We were still 
 living in Frith Street, when a few weeks 
 of anxiety came to me. My husband was 
 not quite well, and grew so weak that 
 when we went for change of air to our 
 dear old Enfield, he — so stout a walker 
 and so swift a runner — had to take my 
 arm once as we slowly ascended Windmill 
 Hill together. Enfield air not effecting 
 the cure we had hoped, we returned to 
 town ; and there my mother prescribed 
 a daily mutton-chop and a glass of port 
 wine at noon. The mutton-chop I took 
 pleasure and pride in cooking myself, and 
 I think I may venture to affirm that never 
 was mutton-chop better broiled. Certain 
 it is that this strengthening regime brought 
 the much-desired cure. We continued to 
 practise the strict economy we had early 
 agreed to observe; and, among other 
 savings of expense, I made all the clothes 
 I wore, as well as my husband's dress
 
 MY LONG LIFE. 107 
 
 waistcoats. One of these I especially re- 
 member, for it was embroidered on black 
 satin, with a wreath of ivy leaves and 
 berries in their natural colours as its 
 border. I mention these particulars in 
 order to show that a woman who adopts 
 literary work as her profession need not 
 either neglect or be deficient in the 
 more usually feminine accomplishments of 
 cookery and needlework. 
 
 We spent very happy days at this junc- 
 ture. My father had the joy of seeing 
 his sons and daughters beginning their 
 several appointed pursuits in life prosper- 
 ously, and of having them in his own 
 home give evidence of the musical talent 
 they inherited from him, and the pro- 
 ficiency they had severally attained there- 
 in. Among his younger daughters he 
 had soprano voices, and his eldest daugh- 
 ter supplied him with a meek counter- 
 tenor. His sons Alfred and Edward had 
 each a bass voice, and his son-in-law, 
 Charles, sang tenor. No day passed with-
 
 io8 MY LONG LIFE. 
 
 out my father's own canon 4 in 2, ' Give 
 thanks to God,' being sung as a grace 
 after dinner ; and no first of May was 
 allowed to pass without my husband's 
 song, ' Old May Morning,' set to music 
 by my father, being invariably sung by us 
 to him. We had not yet left Frith Street 
 when a most memorable musical evening 
 took place there. It was just after Mali- 
 bran's marriage with De Beriot, and they 
 both came to a party at our house. De 
 Beriot played in a string quartette by 
 Haydn, his tone being one of the love- 
 liest I ever heard on the violin, — not ex- 
 cepting that of Pagan ini, who certainly 
 was a marvellous executant. Then Mali- 
 bran gave, in generously lavish succession, 
 Mozart's ' Non piu di fiori,' with Will- 
 man's obligato accompaniment on the 
 Corno di bassette ; a ' Sancta Maria ' of 
 her host's composition (which she sang at 
 sight with consummate effect and expres- 
 sion) ; a tenderly graceful air, ' Ah, rien 
 n'est doux comme la voix qui dit je
 
 MY LONG LIFE. 109 
 
 t*aime,' and lastly a spirited mariners' song, 
 with a sailorly burden, chiming with their 
 rope hauling. In these two latter she 
 accompanied herself ; and when she had 
 concluded, amid a rave of admiring plau- 
 dits from all present, she ran up to one 
 of the heartiest among the applauding 
 guests, Felix Mendelssohn, and said, in 
 her own winning, playfully imperious 
 manner (which a touch of foreign speech 
 and accent made only the more fascinat- 
 ing), — ' Now, Mr. Mendelssohn, I never 
 do nothing for nothing ; you must play 
 for me now I have sung for you.' He, 
 * nothing loath,' let her lead him to the 
 pianoforte, where he dashed into a won- 
 derfully impulsive extempore, — masterly, 
 musician-like, full of gusto. In this mar- 
 vellous improvisation he introduced the 
 several pieces Malibran had just sung, 
 working them with admirable skill one 
 after the other, and finally in combina- 
 tion, the four subjects blended together 
 in elaborate counter-point. When Mendels-
 
 no MY LONG LIFE. 
 
 sohn had finished playing, my father 
 turned to a friend near him and said, — 
 ' He has done some things that seem 
 to me to be impossible, even after I have 
 heard them done.' A strong proof was 
 given of the effect Mendelssohn had pro- 
 duced upon the musical soul of the host 
 of the evening by his writing, the very 
 next morning, the canon just alluded to, 
 which the composer entitled ' A Thanks- 
 giving after Enjoyment.' The visit Men- 
 delssohn was then paying to England was 
 the first season of a German operatic com- 
 pany's performance in London, at the 
 Italian Opera House, in the Haymarket ; 
 and the morning after it had given Beet- 
 hoven's * Fidelio,' with Haitzinger as Flor- 
 estan^ and Schroeder Devrient as Leonora, 
 Mendelssohn called upon my father, and 
 sitting near the pianoforte, turned every 
 few minutes to the instrument, playing 
 favourite ' bits ' from the opera of over- 
 night. My father was so enchanted with 
 this young musician's genius, that one
 
 MY LONG LIFE. in 
 
 of his friends said to him, — ' Novello, 
 you '11 spoil that young man.' The reply 
 was, — ' He 's too genuinely good to be 
 spoiled.' I had the privilege of being 
 taken by my father to hear Felix Men- 
 delssohn play on the St. Paul's organ, 
 and a masterful piece of pedal-playing it 
 was. The last time I heard him in Eng- 
 land was at a concert of the Philhar- 
 monic Society, when he played Bach's 
 fusfue on his own name. At one of the 
 DiJsseldorf festivals, I had the privilege of 
 meeting Mendelssohn a good deal. He 
 conducted his own fine psalm, ' As the 
 hart pants,' played some of his own com- 
 positions ; and I even had the rare privi- 
 lege of hearing him sing, at a morning 
 rehearsal, when he wanted to give the 
 artist who was to sing the song in the 
 evening a precise idea of how he wished 
 a particular passage to be rendered. His 
 voice was small — like that of many 
 composers — but capable of most musi- 
 cian-like expression. He was very com-
 
 112 MY LONG LIFE. 
 
 panionable and easy in manner. Once 
 he and I had a quiet talk together, he 
 leaning on the back of a chair and ask- 
 ing news of the London Philharmonic 
 Society, while, on another morning, he 
 invited us (my mother and Clara, with 
 whom I was at that time in Diisseldorf 
 for a holiday on the Rhine) to go with 
 him to the public gardens and taste some 
 Maitrank, as we had not already made 
 acquaintance with that famous Rhenish 
 beverag-e. He was much amused at our 
 saying it was ' nice, innocent stuff,' and 
 warned us not to imagine it ' too 
 innocent.' 
 
 Another delightful musician who, while 
 he was in London, came to see my 
 father, was Hummel. He, like Mendels- 
 sohn, was great in improvisation. So 
 symmetrical, correct, and mature in con- 
 struction was it, that, as my father's musical 
 friend, Charles Stokes, observed, ' You 
 might count the time to every bar he 
 played while improvising.'
 
 MY LONG LIFE. 113 
 
 Early in 1834 my father removed from 
 Frith Street to 69 Dean Street, his son 
 Alfred's music-selling business having so 
 much increased as to require larger prem- 
 ises. It was the year of the Westminster 
 Abbey festival. My father was engaged 
 to preside at the organ, and his daughter 
 Clara, Miss Stephens, and other vocalists 
 were the singers on this notable occasion. 
 I remember hearing Miss Stephens saying, 
 just before she entered the choir to sing 
 ' I know that my Redeemer liveth,' ' Any 
 young girl I knew, however great her ex- 
 cellence in singing might be, I would 
 never advise to enter the profession if she 
 suffered from nervousness. I have never 
 got over that which I feel when I have to 
 sing before the public' She had then 
 been an established favourite for years, 
 and was especially famed for singing 
 ballads exquisitely. Her ' Auld Robin 
 Gray ' was noted for its pathos and beauty. 
 The remark she made at the abbey was 
 elicited by Clara's enviable calmness and
 
 114 MY LONG LIFE. 
 
 absence of anything like trepidation while 
 singing the lovely air allotted to her, 
 ' How beautiful are the feet.' That quiet 
 truthfulness, that pure, firm, silvery voice 
 precisely suited the devout words. And 
 as regards Clara's subsequent singing of 
 the very song Miss Stephens had then to 
 sing, it was remarkable for the pious 
 fervour of its pouring forth. Clara said 
 that she always felt, while singing ' I know 
 that my Redeemer liveth,' that she was 
 performing an act of faith. When she was 
 at the Court of Berlin, some years after- 
 wards, his Prussian Majesty always asked 
 her to repeat to him that particular song 
 each time she went to the palace. 
 
 It was while we were living at Dean 
 Street that my sister Cecilia's marriage 
 took place. She had already made a 
 good musical career ; for she — like us all 
 — had begun early an active entrance upon 
 industrial life. She had sung in various 
 musical pieces at London theatres, and 
 had pleased greatly as an opera-singer
 
 MY LONG LIFE. 115 
 
 for two seasons at Edinburgh. She married 
 Mr. Serle, author of several dramas and 
 two romances, besides being editor for 
 some years of a London newspaper. At 
 Cecilia's wedding-breakfast we first made 
 acquaintance with that fine wit, — dear 
 Douglas Jerrold. Hardly a greater mis- 
 take could be made than to attribute bit- 
 terness or ill-nature to Douglas Jerrold's 
 sharpest sarcasms, as sometimes was the 
 case by those who merely heard of them 
 and did not know his real nature. We, 
 who did know him, understood them 
 better. He was deeply earnest in all 
 serious things, and very much in earnest 
 when dealing with less apparently im- 
 portant matters, which he thought needed 
 the scourge of a sarcasm. His concern 
 for the object of his satirical quips was 
 often at the root of them ; and he would 
 pour forth his keen flights of pointed 
 arrows chiefly with the view of rousing 
 to improvement his butt, whom he knew 
 capable of better things, and on whom
 
 ii6 MY LONG LIFE. 
 
 the shafts of his ridicule might tell to 
 good purpose rather than harm. This 
 was the origin of many of the sharp things 
 he said against woman ; for instance, such 
 as those he wrote in ' The Man made of 
 Money,' ' Mrs. Caudle's Lectures,' etc. 
 He reserved to himself the right to snub 
 the Mrs. Jerichos and the Mrs. Caudles 
 among the sex, to rebuke their shrewish 
 use of tongue, their hen-peckings, their 
 unworthy wheedling and meannesses ; but 
 he had faith in the innate worth of woman- 
 hood, and its superiority to such base- 
 nesses, where it trusts its own honest nature 
 and disdains resorting to such degrading 
 tricks of hectoring or coaxing. Of 
 woman's generous unselfishness and quiet 
 heroism Jerrold had full perception, as we 
 had many opportunities of noticing, in 
 some of the side remarks he occasionally 
 let fall in conversation with us. 
 
 As a token of his belief that he was 
 entirely understood and appreciated by my 
 Charles and me, I may mention that when
 
 MY LONG LIFE. 117 
 
 he brought his ' Mrs. Caudle's Lectures ' as 
 a presentation copy to mc, he had written 
 in its blank page, — ' Presented with great 
 timidity, but equal regard, to Mrs. Cowden- 
 Clarke, by Douglas Jerrold.' His promp- 
 titude as well as stinging power in retort 
 is well known ; the words that excited his 
 reprisals had scarcely issued from the 
 mouth of him who spoke them, when out 
 sprang Jerrold's reply. To the man who 
 said, ' Ah, Lamartine and I row in the 
 same boat,' the answer, ' Not with the 
 same scull, though,' was given without a 
 second's pause. 
 
 Many a charmingly witty letter did we 
 receive from Douglas Jerrold ; many a 
 delightful hour of talk did we enjoy with 
 him ; and he became a dear and admired 
 friend of ours. 
 
 ' Poor and content is rich and rich 
 enough,' truly and wisely says our beloved 
 Shakespeare ; certain it is that my husband 
 and I verified to the utmost these words. 
 We were happiest of the happy, not only
 
 ii8 MY LONG LIFE. 
 
 while practising strictest economy, but 
 in availing ourselves of every literary 
 or artistic means for gaining addition to 
 our scanty income. One of these means 
 presented itself in an engagement to sing 
 in the services of Somers Town chapel, 
 where my brother Alfred sang bass and 
 led the choir. This engagement was the 
 means of our hearing Cardinal Wiseman 
 preach a beautiful and learned sermon 
 upon altar pieces, one of them having 
 been a recent donation to that chapel. 
 His learning — great as it was — always 
 seemed to be ready stored at his command, 
 but never allowed to be brought out os- 
 tentatiously. We had the great pleas- 
 ure of hearing him deliver a lecture at the 
 Marylebone Institution, on the influence 
 of words at various epochs of ' civilisation 
 in the world.' He showed how far supe- 
 rior, in impressive effect, were such simple 
 words as ' graveyard,' ' God's acre,' to the 
 more classically-derived names, — ' necrop- 
 olis,' or ' cemetery ; ' or such an expression
 
 MY LONG LIFE. 119 
 
 as 'child-murder ' to 'infanticide.' I shall 
 not easily forget the manner in which he 
 discussed the absolute necessity of keep- 
 ing one's temper as the best, nay only, 
 means of obtaining and preserving ' power.' 
 He seemed to rise several inches as he 
 drew up his person to its full height in 
 pronouncing that single word. He was of 
 rotund proportions, and he used to relate 
 with great gusto the circumstance that 
 when he was staying at Lord Clifford's 
 house, Ugbrook Park, one of the maid- 
 servants there, who had been told that his 
 proper title was ' your Eminence,' used to 
 say, as she dropped her reverential curtsey, 
 ' Yes, your Immense.' This same damsel 
 — who evidently possessed no accurate 
 ear — when twelve Jesuits were on a visit 
 to Ugbrook, said, ' There 's a matter of 
 a dozen Jezebels come here.' Cardinal 
 Wiseman's lecture on ' William Shake- 
 speare ' is one of the very best commen- 
 taries on our greatest poet that I know. 
 It was printed and published in 1865, after
 
 I20 MY LONG LIFE. 
 
 its author's decease ; but the preface states 
 that the Cardinal would have desired ' it 
 should be given to the people of England 
 as the last work he undertook for their 
 sake.' 
 
 Another source of gaining increase of 
 pelf arose out of Charles's gift in reading 
 aloud untiringly, together with his possess- 
 ing a speaking voice so full, so flexible, 
 so varied in expression and intonation, 
 that it was peculiarly fitted for addressing 
 a large audience. These natural advan- 
 tages suggested to me the idea that he 
 would succeed capitally as a lecturer ; and 
 on telling him this, we talked the matter 
 over together (according to his wonted 
 habit of consulting his wife on all projects), 
 and he not only adopted the idea, but set 
 to work at once in selecting subjects from 
 among his favourite poetic authors, and in 
 forming plans for obtaining engagements 
 to deliver his lectures when written. The 
 complete success that crowned this under- 
 taking cannot be better manifested than
 
 MY LONG LIFE. 121 
 
 by quoting from what his friend, the en- 
 thusiastic Shakespearian, Mr. Sam Tim- 
 mins, wrote when requested to give a 
 record of Charles Cowden-Clarke's career 
 as lecturer. The following is the passage 
 to which I allude : ' He began the great 
 work of his life — the public lectures on 
 Shakespeare and other dramatists and 
 poets — which made his name throughout 
 Great Britain, and secured him crowded 
 and delighted audiences. His lecturing 
 career commenced at a period when me- 
 chanics' institutions were waning in in- 
 terest, and a demand was growing for 
 lectures of a more literary and attractive 
 character than merely scientific lectures, 
 even with many experiments and demon- 
 strations, could supply. The lecture-room 
 was just beginning to be the school-house 
 of the middle classes, whose education had 
 been imperfect, but who had acquired the 
 desire to learn more. Such a demand 
 Cowden-Clarke was especially qualified to 
 supply, and his lectures soon became the
 
 122 MY LONG LIFE. 
 
 great attraction at " Atheneum," and " In- 
 stitute," and " Lecture-hall," all through the 
 land. His lectures were really " lectures," 
 read from MS. most carefully prepared 
 and splendidly and clearly written in the 
 old style " round hand " which Lamb ad- 
 mired. They were not, however, merely 
 " read," but every word was given with 
 such earnestness and force that every 
 hearer caught the enthusiasm of the 
 lecturer, and was led to go home and 
 read more. 
 
 * As a lecturer, Cowden-Clarke had very 
 special qualifications. He had a pleasant, 
 cheerful, ruddy face, a charming humour 
 of expression, a clear, pleasant voice, and 
 a heartiness and drollnessof manner which 
 won the audience as soon as he appeared. 
 His were careful essays, the result of long 
 and patient study, full of acute and subtle 
 criticism, and always throwing new lights 
 on the subject in hand. The expectations 
 of his audience were aroused, and they 
 were never disappointed. His good taste
 
 MY LONG LIFE. 123 
 
 secured audiences who never entered a 
 theatre, and to whom the drama generally 
 was a sealed book. He lectured on Shake- 
 speare, — his fools, his clowns, his kings ; 
 on special characters or plays ; and every 
 library soon found an increased demand 
 for Shakespeare's works, and new editions 
 were soon forthcoming. It is no exag- 
 geration to say that very much of the 
 increased interest in Shakespeare among 
 English readers is to be traced to the 
 lectures of Cowden-Clarke. One of his 
 hearers once hit the secret of his success. 
 " You like what you are talking about, 
 and therefore you make your hearers like 
 it too." Throughout Great Britain he was 
 ever welcome, and his loss as a lecturer 
 was never fully made up, for he combined 
 so many attractions of subject, style, treat- 
 ment, personation, and humour as are 
 very rarely found united in one person. 
 While his analysis of dramatic characters 
 was masterly and searching, and his 
 touches of pathos delicately suggestive.
 
 124 MY LONG LIFE. 
 
 the full force of his delineations came out 
 in his representation of comic characters 
 from Shakespeare and Moliere especially. 
 He was not a mere rhetorician, elocution- 
 ist, or actor. He never attempted to per- 
 sonate the characters, but only to read 
 with such interest and power as to realise 
 the very " form and fashion " of each. He 
 was, in fact, as dramatically successful as a 
 " reader " of the highest class as Dickens 
 when reading his own stories ; and Cow- 
 den-Clarke's range was wider and his char- 
 acters more varied.' 
 
 Charles's first-delivered lecture (' On 
 Chaucer ') was at Royston in 1835, '^^^^ ^^ 
 at once achieved success ; receiving such 
 unanimous plaudits and testimonies of ad- 
 miration not only from his audience, but 
 from several residents in the town, who, 
 hearing the impression he had produced, 
 invited him to their houses and became 
 permanent friends. This was the case in 
 many places where he subsequently lec- 
 tured ; men of distinguished talent and
 
 MY LONG LIFE, 125 
 
 eminence forming lifelong friendships with 
 him. At first, when he lectured at pro- 
 vincial institutions, he took me with him ; 
 but finding this naturally diminished our 
 profits, we agreed to forego this pleasure 
 by limiting it to my accompanying him to 
 the railway station when he left, and meet- 
 ing him there when he returned home. 
 Our daily interchange of letters made the 
 best compensation for absence from each 
 other ; and he never failed in sending me 
 one — sometimes two — daily. His hand- 
 writing was a nobly clear one. He pre- 
 ferred reading his lectures from his own 
 MS. even to reading them from print, 
 when some of them, in after years, ap- 
 peared in book form. When he was in 
 London he kept brother Alfred's ledgers 
 and day-books posted up, and he made 
 fair copies of almost everything that he or 
 I wrote for publication. In order to en- 
 sure perfectly effective delivery when lec- 
 turing, he invariably rehearsed the lecture 
 to be given in the evening by reading it
 
 126 MY LONG LIFE. 
 
 aloud that same morning. When he was 
 in town, he read it to me ; when away 
 from town, he read it aloud to himself, so 
 unsparing of pains was he in everything 
 he undertook. While thus engaged in 
 his lecturing and book-keeping, Charles 
 still maintained his other writing in liter- 
 ary work. He wrote ' The Musician about 
 Town,' and a lovely tale called ' Gentle- 
 ness is Power, or the story of Caranza 
 and Aborzuf,' for the ' Analyst Magazine.' 
 He was almost an exceptional husband in 
 his generous mode of making the mascu- 
 line prerogative of complete marital sway 
 cede to his idea of the right and happiness 
 of conjugal equality. He brought every 
 guinea he earned to me to take care of, 
 and whenever I consulted him on any 
 needful purchase, his answer always was : 
 — 'It is as much your money as mine, do 
 what you think well with it ; buy what 
 you think proper, and what we can best 
 afford.' After some time of our living in 
 Dean Street, my father removed to Bays-
 
 MY LONG LIFE. 127 
 
 water, where we first inhabited No. 4, 
 Craven Hill, and subsequently No. 9, 
 which was called ' Craven Hill Cottage.' 
 These houses were pleasantly simple, and 
 had a field, skirted by a row of fine 
 tall trees, in front of them ; trees also 
 ruthlessly hewn down, when so-called 
 ' improvements ' in later years were com- 
 menced. Both our Craven Hill home- 
 steads had small gardens behind them, 
 beyond which gardens was still another 
 field. But I have learned that the whole of 
 this pretty locality has given place to mod- 
 ernly built ranges of tall edifices, fashionable 
 houses, and ' desirable residences.' When 
 we removed to Bayswater, Alfred still 
 went up to business at 69 Dean Street ; 
 and my sister Sabilla organised a singing 
 class there for young ladies, to which she 
 and I went on the appointed days each 
 week. My father, with his wonted assi- 
 duity wherever music was concerned, in- 
 variably used to hear me go through the 
 pieces that were to be performed every
 
 128 MY LONG LIFE. 
 
 morning before I went up to town with 
 my sister, who wished me to join those of 
 her pupils who had counter-tenor voices. 
 Sabilla's artistic career was a congenial 
 one. She was a favourite concert-singer 
 for some years ; she made her debut on 
 the stage in Rossini's ' Sa Gazzaladra ' ; 
 she sang his ' Semiramide ' and other 
 prima-donna parts in Dublin ; she was an 
 admirable teacher of vocalisation, and wrote 
 an excellent treatise on ' Voice and Vocal 
 Art.' My father had the delight of seeing 
 his children succeed in all the professional 
 careers they themselves had respectively 
 chosen, and our life at Bayswater was a 
 very cheerful and interesting one. We 
 had for neighbours there two that were 
 especially productive of pleasure to us. 
 Mrs. Loudon and her daughter Agnes 
 occupied one house in Porchester Ter- 
 race, while the Reverend Mr. Tagart and 
 his family resided at another in the same 
 road, which was close to Craven Hill, — so 
 close, that a hood and shawl over my dress
 
 MY LONG LIFE. 129 
 
 sufficed me for going to visit at either 
 house. At Mrs. Loudon's we met the 
 Landseers. — Edwin and Charles ; Martin, 
 the painter of ' Belshazzar's Feast,' etc. ; 
 his clever-headed and amiable daughter, 
 Miss Martin ; Joseph Bonomi and his 
 wife, who was another daughter of Martin ; 
 Owen Jones ; Noel Humphreys ; Samuel 
 Lover, author of that sprightly novel, 
 ' Rory O'More ' ; William Jerdan and 
 others. Of Edwin Landseer we heard 
 the amusing incident of his having been 
 at the English Court when the King of 
 Portugal was on a visit to our Queen, and 
 the celebrated painter of animals being 
 presented to him, his Portuguese Majesty 
 graciously said : ' I am very glad to see 
 you, Mr. Landseer, for I am very fond of 
 beasts.' We also heard of Edwin Land- 
 seer's wonderful feat when some one was 
 talking of being able to write or draw 
 with the left hand, and he remarked : ' I 
 think I can not only draw with my left 
 
 hand, but I can draw with both hands at 
 9
 
 I30 MY LONG LIFE. 
 
 once.' Whereupon he took up two pen- 
 cils and actually drew a horse with one 
 hand and a dog with the other, at the 
 same time. 
 
 At the Reverend Mr. Tagart's house 
 we met serene-spirited Emerson and 
 other noted Americans ; and one morn- 
 ing Mrs. Tagart sent round a message 
 telling me that, if Charles and I would 
 go and lunch with her, she expected 
 Mrs. Gaskell to come and see her then, 
 knowing how glad we should be to meet 
 the authoress of * Mary Barton ' (a book 
 that Charles Dickens had written his 
 thanks for, and admiration of, to Mrs. 
 Gaskell herself). It was just like Mrs. 
 Tagart's thoughtful kindness to send us 
 this welcome invitation. The lady guest 
 proved to be a remarkably quiet-mannered 
 woman ; thoroughly unaffected, thoroughly 
 attractive ; so modest that she blushed 
 like a girl when we hazarded some ex- 
 pression of our ardent admiration of 
 her ' Mary Barton.' So full of enthusiasm
 
 MY LONG LIFE. 131 
 
 on general subjects of humanity and 
 benevolence that she talked freely and 
 animatedly at once upon them with 
 us ; and so young in appearance and 
 manner that we could hardly believe her 
 to be the mother of two daughters she 
 mentioned in terms that showed them 
 to be no longer children. 
 
 It was while we were living at Craven 
 Hill that I finished my ' Concordance to 
 Shakespeare,' writing the last line of 
 the work on my dear mother's birthday, 
 the 17th of August, 1 84 1. When, later 
 on, it was published, the correction of 
 the proofs and seeing it through the Press 
 occupied a considerable time of additional 
 labour. I there wrote my ' Kit Barn's 
 Adventures and my novel of ' The Iron 
 Cousin ' ; but before these two books were 
 published we took a most delightful holi- 
 day journey to Italy in 1847. ^^ ^^^ t)ut 
 a month to spare from our several avoca- 
 tions, but on consultation together we re- 
 solved to make the sacrifice ; for, as my
 
 132 MY LONG LIFE. 
 
 brother Alfred truly observed, ' If we had 
 no engagements to give up, we should be 
 as badly off as to be without any.' Ac- 
 cordingly, he gave up some of his, 
 and my sister Sabilla some of hers ; 
 but thoroughly we enjoyed our trip with 
 our dear parents. From Ramsgate to Os- 
 tend, through Germany, by the Rhine, to 
 Switzerland, by the Lake of Lucerne to 
 that of Como, on to Milan, Verona, and 
 Venice, where we spent an enchanting 
 few days ere we took our way back to 
 England. We had brought with us the 
 the four green-bound books in which my 
 father had collected and arranged for us 
 two hundred and five of the choicest com- 
 positions, such as Mozart's ' Ave Verum,' 
 Leonard Leo's ' Kyrie eleison,' Wilbye's 
 ' Flora gave me,' Linley's ' Let me careless,' 
 etc., etc. These unaccompanied concerted 
 pieces my father entitled ' Music for the 
 open air,' and they enabled us to give 
 him the enjoyment of his favourite 
 gratification whenever he and we spent
 
 MY LONG LIFE. 133 
 
 a day in the fields or took a journey. In 
 Venice they were specially welcome com- 
 panions, for they accompanied us when- 
 ever we were in our gondola, gliding 
 about seeing the most remarkable spots 
 in that uniquely beautiful city of the sea ; 
 and then, on reaching the most retired 
 and quiet of the lagoons, indulging in a 
 family quartett. When our gondolier, 
 Antonio, perceived this, he generally chose 
 one of the less-frequented water streets, 
 and we once overheard him say to one 
 of his fellow-gondoliers, — ' My English 
 people often sing, I can tell you, and 
 well, too ! ' On our return home we 
 found that Mrs. Loudon was getting up, 
 for performance at her house, Sheridan's 
 play of the ' The Rivals.' Her daughter 
 was to play Lydia Languish, while Al- 
 fred, Sabilla, and I had been ' cast ' for 
 three of the characters, — nay, four, for 
 my brother was to double the parts of 
 the Coachman and David, while Sabilla 
 was to play Lucy, and I was to enact
 
 134 MY LONG LIFE. 
 
 Mrs. Malaprop. Other friends of Mrs. 
 Loudon sustained the rest of the char- 
 acters, and the performance, which took 
 place the loth November, 1847, was com- 
 pletely successful, — so successful, indeed, 
 that it had to be repeated next evening, 
 and again on the 12th of the ensuing 
 January, 1848. 
 
 These private theatricals led to one of 
 the most peculiarly bright episodes of my 
 life. At a party at Mrs. Tagart's house I 
 was introduced by Leigh Hunt to Charles 
 Dickens, with whom we had been for some 
 time acquainted through his delightful 
 books, and he had been always spoken of 
 in our family circle as ' dear Dickens ' or 
 ' darling Dickens ' ; therefore it may easily 
 be conceived how pleased and proud I felt 
 to be thus personally made known to him. 
 He and I fell at once into liveliest con- 
 versation ; and just before he was taking 
 leave, he said, * I hear you have been play- 
 ing Mrs. Malaprop lately.' I answered, 
 ' Yes ; and I hear you are going to get up
 
 MY LONG LIFE. 135 
 
 an amateur performance of the " Merry 
 Wives," so I could be your Dame 
 Quickly' I saw that he did not take this 
 seriously ; accordingly, I wrote to him, a 
 day or two after, telling him I was in 
 earnest when I had made the offer to act 
 Dame Quickly, if he cared to let me do so. 
 The note I received in reply began with 
 a sentence that threw me into a rapture of 
 excitement and delight. The sentence was 
 as follows : — 
 
 ' Dear Mrs. Cowden-Clark, — I did not 
 understand, when I had the pleasure of 
 conversing with you the other evening, that 
 you had really considered the subject and 
 desired to play. But I am very glad to 
 understand it now, and I am sure there 
 will be a universal sense among us of the 
 grace and appropriateness of such a proceed- 
 ing. . . . Will you receive this as a sol- 
 emn " call " to " rehearsal " of " The Merry 
 Wives " at Miss Kelly's theatre to-morrow 
 Saturday week, at seven in the evening } '
 
 136 MY LONG LIFE. 
 
 Although I am naturally shy, I have 
 never felt shy when acting ; but it must be 
 confessed that ' rehearsal ' was somewhat 
 of a heart-beating affair to me, as I had to 
 meet and speak before such a group of 
 distinguished men as John Forster, editor 
 of the * Examiner ' ; Mark Lemon, editor 
 of ' Punch ' ; John Leech, its inimitable 
 illustrator ; the admirable artistes, Augus- 
 tus Egg and Frank Stone, all of whom 
 were fellow-actors in Charles Dickens's 
 Amateur Company. But he, as manager, 
 presenting me to them with his usual grace 
 and kindliness, together with my own firm 
 resolve to speak out clearly, just as if I 
 were at performance instead of rehearsal, 
 helped me capitally through this first and 
 most formidable evenino;. On the ni^ht 
 when ' The Merry Wives ' was first per- 
 formed at the Haymarket Theatre (15th 
 of May, 1848), I felt not a shadow of that 
 stage fright, although I had to make my 
 entrance before a select London audience. 
 As I stood at the side scene with Augustus
 
 MY LONG LIFE. 137 
 
 Egg (who played simple Master Slender s 
 man-servant), waiting to go on together, 
 he asked me whether I felt nervous. ' Not 
 in the least,' I replied. ' What I feel is 
 joyful excitement, not alarm.' Augustus 
 Egg's artist eye remarked the appropriate- 
 ness of my costume, and added, ' It looks 
 not so new as those made by the theatrical 
 robe-makers, but as if it had been worn 
 in the streets of Windsor day by day. I 
 answered, ' Well it may, for I made it 
 myself, and with material already part of 
 my own wear.' I had had the advantage 
 of Colonel Hamilton's obliging suggestions 
 and sketches, as well as hints I took from 
 Kenny Meadow's picture of Dame Quickly 
 in the ' Illustrated Shakespeare,' published 
 by Lyas in 1843. 
 
 The performance of ' The Merry Wives ' 
 at the Haymarket Theatre was followed by 
 that of Ben Jonson's ' Every Man in His 
 Humour,' and Kenny's farce of ' Love, Law 
 and Physic,' on the next evening but one 
 (17th May, 1848). In the former I played
 
 138 MY LONG LIFE. 
 
 Tib, Cob's wife ; and in the latter, Mrs. 
 Hillary ; and for both these characters I 
 made my own dresses. In one of her 
 concluding scenes, when Mrs. Hillary pre- 
 tends to be a rich Spanish lady, and tries 
 to obtain a proposal of marriage from 
 Lubin Log, I made a sparkling addition 
 to the velvet dress I donned, by ornament- 
 ing it with a set of stage-diamond buttons, 
 which had belonged to Elliston, had been 
 bought by my sister Cecilia, and was 
 kindly lent by her to me for this purpose. 
 Besides these large buttons, farther effect 
 was produced by a brilliant tiara of the 
 same stage-gems, with which I fastened 
 the high Spanish comb and veil I wore ; 
 and Mark Lemon, who enacted Lubin 
 Log admirably, used to make a point of 
 kissing his hand to these diamonds, show- 
 ing what was his chief attraction in wooing 
 this supposed heiress to millions. Charles 
 Dickens, supreme as manager, super-ex- 
 cellent as actor, and ardently enthusiastic 
 in his enjoyment of exercising his skill in
 
 MY LONG LIFE. 139 
 
 both capacities, organised a series of pro- 
 vincial engagements for the performance 
 of his amateur company. At Manchester, on 
 the 3rd June, 1848, we played ' The Merry 
 Wives' and 'Animal Magnetism'; at 
 Liverpool, on the 5th June, 1848, 'Merry 
 Wives ' and ' Love, Law and Physic ' ; at 
 Birmingham, on 6th June, ' Every Man in 
 His Humour ' and ' Animal Magnetism.' 
 At Birmingham again, on the 27th June, 
 1848, ' Merry Wives,' ' Love, Law and 
 Physic,' and * Two o'clock in the Morning ' ; 
 at Edinburgh, on the 17th July, 1848, 
 ' Merry Wives,' ' Love, Law and Physic,' 
 and * Two o'clock in the Morning'; at 
 Glasgow, on the i8th July, 1848, 'Merry 
 Wives ' and ' Animal Magnetism ' ; and at 
 Glasgow, on the 20th July, 1848, we gave 
 ' Used up,' ' Love, Law and Physic,' and 
 ' Two o'clock in the Morning.' It was 
 our last performance together, and we not 
 only felt regret at the time for this close of 
 our happy comradeship, but dear Charles 
 Dickens's letters for a long time afterwards
 
 I40 MY LONG LIFE. 
 
 expressed his pain at its cessation. Genial, 
 kind, most sympathetic, and fascinating was 
 his companionship, and very precious to 
 me was his friendship. 
 
 In the autumn of that year my dear 
 mother's health became so delicate that 
 our medical adviser counselled her re- 
 moval to a warmer climate ; and she chose 
 Nice (then Italian) for the proposed pur- 
 pose. My sister Sabilla gave up all her 
 pursuits in England and accompanied her 
 abroad ; and they took up their abode in a 
 pleasant set of apartments in a house that 
 had a garden stretching down to the sea- 
 shore, and was so truly southern that it 
 had rose hedges taller than the height of 
 a man, besides having abundance of 
 orange-trees skirting its paths. The next 
 year, Alfred, Charles, and I (with my father, 
 who remained at Nice) took a journey, to 
 spend some weeks with my mother and 
 Sabilla, during the long vacation, when my 
 brother could be best spared from his bus- 
 iness, and a delightful time we had.
 
 MY LONG LIFE. 141 
 
 On our return to Bayswater we three 
 began what we called our ' trihominate ' 
 homestead ; and we tried to make it as 
 cheerful and happy as we could, lessened 
 as it now was by the absence of our dear 
 ones. Weekly interchange of long, closely- 
 written letters between my mother and me 
 kept us mentally together, in their minute 
 details of what took place daily at each 
 home. We were interested in her im- 
 proved health and daily drives in the Nice 
 picturesque environs or walks in the Nice 
 garden ; while she followed all our dis- 
 posals of time in England. They were 
 mostly thus : My dear men-folk went up 
 to the Dean Street music warehouse every 
 morning after breakfast ; I attended to our 
 household arrangements, and worked away 
 at my writing (' The Girlhood of Shake- 
 speare's Heroines,' etc.) during the day, 
 and then had the joy of walking to meet 
 my men-folk on their way home to din- 
 ner, generally taking the path which led 
 through Kensington Gardens and Hyde
 
 142 MY LONG LIFE. 
 
 Park as our line for meeting. We resolved 
 to take advantage of the long vacation 
 each year for a journey to Nice, when I 
 used to take the MSS. of those books I 
 had in hand with me, that I might have 
 the pleasure of reading them to my mother, 
 and consulting with her as to her opinion 
 and judgment respecting them. In her 
 drives and walks she always made me her 
 companion until the time arrived for our 
 return to England. On one of these Nice 
 visits of ours we saw Clara for the first time 
 after she was married to Count Giglincci 
 on the 22 November (St Cecilia's day), 
 1843, as they had always since their mar- 
 riage dwelt in his patrimonial mansion at 
 Fermo on the shores of the Adriatic. But 
 at this juncture they had come to Nice for 
 a change, and were contemplating Clara's 
 resumption of her artistic career. We 
 also then made acquaintance with her four 
 children — two sons and two daughters — 
 who, I must say, were the most adorable 
 human cherubs I ever beheld. My readers
 
 MY LONG LIFE. 143 
 
 may believe me, and would believe me,couId 
 they have seen them, with their fair com- 
 plexions and floppy golden curls, dancing 
 about in their grandmamma's garden. 
 
 We were preparing for our yearly visit 
 to Nice in 1854 when a telegram reached 
 us to let us know that our beloved mother 
 had sunk into eternal rest on the 23rd July. 
 Of our misery at this irreparable loss I 
 say nothing, even if I could find words to 
 give it expression. 
 
 In 1856 my brother Alfred resolved to 
 retire from business, which he made over 
 to his faithful and able manager, Mr. 
 Henry Littleton, who had been for many 
 years known to him as an excellent aid 
 and seconder in all his views. The name 
 of ' Novello & Company ' was still retained ; 
 and its present form of ' Novello, Ewer & 
 Company ' adopted at a later date. 
 
 Nice was selected as the spot which the 
 * trihominate ' preferred, for the sake of 
 its climate and for the sake of its associa- 
 tions ; also because my father, my sister
 
 144 MY LONG LIFE. 
 
 Sabilla, and the young Giglinccis were 
 dwelling there. These latter became our 
 chief source of brightness, and producer of 
 the cheerfulness we strove earnestly to 
 maintain. The boys Giovanni and Mario, 
 had been placed by their parents in col- 
 lege, while the two little girls, Porzia and 
 Valeria, were established (under the care 
 of a worthy couple, friends of the Count) 
 in a house near to ours, Maison Qtiaglia. 
 Charles made it a pleasure to give 
 Clara's little girls lessons in writing, and 
 in correct reading of, as well as learning 
 by heart, English verse ; while to see him 
 with one of them on his knee, repeating 
 her ' Gay's Fables,' fondling his silver hair, 
 and calling him her ^dearest boy,' filled 
 my heart with happy feeling. Invariably 
 these lessons were at a table on which 
 stood a case of English barley-sugar, im- 
 ported expressly, and from it Porzia and 
 Valeria were permitted to help themselves 
 at the conclusion of their so-called ' tasks,' 
 these being rather play work than task
 
 kA;- ■ 
 
 ' l.,;J//, J I ':! 
 
 
 J ALFRED NOVELLO.
 
 MY LONG LIFE. 145 
 
 work. From then to the present time 
 these two darh'ngs have been as dear to 
 me as if they were my own children. 
 
 Time passed smoothly on during our 
 residence at Nice. Charles and I steadily 
 pursued our literary work, he bringing out 
 his ' Riches of Chaucer,' and his ' Carmina 
 Minime,' besides editing the text of 
 Nichol's ' Library Edition of the British 
 Poets,' while I was engaged by the Messrs. 
 Appleton of New York to write ' World- 
 noted Women,' and to edit their edition 
 of Shakespeare. This last work was the 
 source of peculiar pride and gratification 
 to my husband and me, inasmuch as it 
 made me the first (and as yet, only) woman 
 editor of our great poet. We took daily- 
 walks together, and more than once got 
 up before dawn to see the sun rise, and 
 Charles continued a favourite practice of 
 his in reading a bit from some favourite 
 author to me before we all met at our first 
 meal. 
 
 Although his public delivery of lectures
 
 146 MY LONG LIFE. 
 
 had ceased on his leaving England, yet m}^ 
 husband frequently read one of them to our 
 friends in our Nice parlour, and he never 
 relinquished a time-honoured custom he 
 had of readinsf one to us while we stoned 
 raisins, blanched almonds, cut candied 
 fruit, etc., for the Christmas pudding, 
 which we continued to make yearly in 
 honour of dear old England. 
 
 Count Giglincci and his wife, our Clara, 
 used to flit over to Nice whenever they 
 could get away from her renewed engage- 
 ments, in order to see their children ; and 
 this brought us delightful music, as well 
 as was the cause of a great treat, when 
 Tamburini came one afternoon to our 
 house and sang with Clara several deli- 
 cious operatic duets. He kept wonderfully 
 young and alert, and was very gay and 
 bright in society. He laughed playfully, I 
 recollect, at my having taken part in a 
 Mendelssohn trio, wherein Clara and her 
 daughter, Porzia, sang the two soprano 
 parts, my counter-tenor being correct, but
 
 MY LONG LIFE. 147 
 
 very mild in tone, as usual. Both Clara's 
 daughters, although such mere youngsters 
 still, were already musically gifted, and at 
 six o'clock one morning (my birthday) 
 Charles and I were awakened by hearing 
 Clara, Porzia, and Valeria sing, under our 
 window, Mendelssohn's charming trio, 
 ' Hearts feel that love thee.' 
 
 Cecilia's daughter Mary, my god-daugh- 
 ter, having been sent to school at Nice 
 while we were there, Sabilla got up a 
 charming series of concerts for the three 
 girls, — Mary, Porzia, and Valeria, — for 
 which they were to make out the pro- 
 grammes themselves and sing the pieces 
 appointed for each performance. 
 
 More than one distinguished person 
 were visitors of ours while we were at 
 Nice, among others Mr. Francis Child, an 
 ardent Chaucerian then, and Professor at 
 Harvard College, Cambridge, America, 
 since. He is author of a poem called 
 ' The Child of Bristowe,' written in delight- 
 fully antique style and true to Chaucer's
 
 148 MY LONG LIFE. 
 
 manner, which he sent to us some years 
 afterwards. A friend of his — who also 
 became one of ours — was likewise at Nice 
 when he was there. This was Mrs. John 
 Farrar, authoress of * Advice to Young 
 Ladies ' and ' Recollections of Seventy 
 Years.' She was most energetically kind 
 and serviceable to sufferers during the 
 American war between North and South, 
 and as clever as she was good. 
 
 An illustrious visitor gratified us by 
 staying at our house for a few days, — no 
 other than Richard Cobden, who had been 
 known to my brother Alfred in England 
 at the time of the ' Anti-Corn Law League.' 
 Easy, familiarly at home with us, he used 
 to read his English newspapers aloud to 
 us or chat with us as if he had been one 
 of our family circle for years, and when 
 on one Christmas Eve we made our tradi- 
 tional plum-pudding (Mrs. Cobden help- 
 ing us to prepare its ingredients), he kept 
 up entertaining conversation the while. 
 Next day, when the pudding was to
 
 MY LONG LIFE. 149 
 
 be eaten, and he with my brother and 
 sister were engaged to discuss its merits 
 at a neighbouring friend's house, Cobden 
 looked up at Charles and me (who were 
 standing on the terrace steps remaining 
 at home to keep house) and expressed 
 his hearty regret that we should not be 
 of the party to enjoy this truly British 
 'consecrated cate.' 
 
 When Nice came under French rule, 
 we found many of its ways so much 
 changed that we resolved to leave it for an 
 Italian residence, and fixing upon Genova 
 as a proved excellent climate, Alfred took 
 Charles and me with him to see if we 
 could find a suitable house there. We 
 went over one (very near to that we have 
 since dwelt in for more than thirty years) 
 which was so curious that a description of 
 it, and our journey to and from Genova 
 on that occasion, was written by me in a 
 paper entitled ' The Cornice Road in Rain ' 
 (though altered by the editor of the 
 ' Atlantic Monthly Magazine ' to, I think,
 
 I50 MY LONG LIFE. 
 
 the less individually appropriate name of 
 ' An Italian Rainstorm'), because my kind 
 friend, James T. Fields, had requested me 
 to contribute an article to that magazine. 
 
 Before that year (i860) was ended, 
 Alfred and Sabilla went again to Genova 
 to renew his search for a domicile that we 
 should all like; and when he returned 
 home to Nice he told us that he had 
 bought the house and garden then called 
 Pallazzo Massone, and subsequently named 
 Villa Novello. On the eleventh of the 
 following April, Alfred and Sabilla took 
 possession of his new purchase, but Charles 
 and I remained at Nice with my father 
 until our villa should be put in order for 
 his reception, as there were many alter- 
 ations needed to anglicise it and make it 
 more comfortable to live in. Alas ! that 
 reception was destined never to be. Dur- 
 ing the spring and summer my dear father 
 was better than he had been for some time 
 before. He read my preface to ' World- 
 noted Women,' and the one to my Ameri-
 
 MY LONG LIFE. 151 
 
 can edition of Shakespeare, saying of the 
 latter, in his encouraging way, — ' It does 
 you great credit, my dear.' He resumed 
 his reading of some of his favourite books, 
 which previously he had not cared to do. 
 He had all his life been a great admirer of 
 Walter Scott's fine novels, and the one he 
 last was reading ( 'The Fair Maid of Perth ') 
 I found face downwards at the page where 
 he had left off when he was taken ill. 
 Throughout that illness I had the privilege 
 of attending upon him night and day. 
 Patient, gentle, affectionate, he blessed 
 me in the tenderest terms, in words that 
 have been to me a most precious bequest 
 ever since. Without pain, but desirous 
 of rest, he expired in the evening of 9th 
 August, 1864. 
 
 A fitting memorial was allowed by the 
 Dean and Chapter of Westminster Abbey 
 to be placed in the North Transept there, 
 in the shape of a stained-glass window, its 
 appropriate subject being a Saint Cecilia, 
 the patron saint of music.
 
 152 MY LONG LIFE. 
 
 My brother Alfred fetched my Charles 
 and me to Genova from Nice, where my 
 sister Sabilla, with her usual unselfish 
 activity in helping us, stayed to take the 
 trouble of collecting our most-prized 
 belongings, — pictures, books, etc., etc., and 
 causing them to be safely conveyed to our 
 new abode. Being perched on a prom- 
 ontorial cliff, more than a hundred feet 
 above the sea, this villa commands a mag- 
 nificent view of the harbour and bay of 
 Genova, beyond which trends the coast 
 of the Riviera for sixty miles, half-way to 
 Nice, affording sight of gorgeous sunsets, 
 often increased in beauty by the crescent 
 moon and visiting planets. The expanse 
 of sky and sea, the grandeur of this western 
 view, cannot be taken from us ; but, other- 
 wise, we have been the victim — as we 
 were at Craven Hill — of so-called 'im- 
 provements.' When we first came here 
 there was a small grove of cypress-trees, 
 marking the spot where lay the remains 
 of numerous persons who died from a
 
 MY LONG LIFE. 153 
 
 visitation of cholera one season long be- 
 fore. In this small grove was annually 
 sung a dirge for the repose of the souls 
 of those who lay beneath, by some priests 
 from the neighbouring church of San 
 Giacomo, at early dawn, and the sound of 
 their solemn chaunting rose softly and 
 soothingly to our ears as we lay and lis- 
 tened in the coming on of morning light. 
 Then came a time when a decree from 
 high quarters swept away the peaceful 
 cypresses, and substituted a battery of 
 heavy guns, with what Leigh Hunt calls 
 * the foul cannon's ever-gaping mouth,' 
 turned seaward. On the eastern side of 
 our cliff-demesne there were three minia- 
 ture cemeteries, — one dedicated to the 
 Swiss Protestants, one to the Hebrews, and 
 one to the members of the Greek Church, 
 — all three united amicably, side by side, 
 by a wooded enclosure of cypresses and 
 one graceful cedar-tree. Through this 
 cluster came goldenly the glories of sun- 
 rise, and amid this shade more than one
 
 154 MY LONG LIFE. 
 
 blackbird and thrush built their nest, and 
 in the springtime a faithful nightingale 
 (William Morris's 'brown bird') would 
 linger there for a day or two on its way 
 to the closer shelter of the Pegli Woods ; 
 and every April a pair of hoopoes would 
 visit us from Africa, abide a fortnight or 
 three weeks, familiarly pecking about the 
 green slope immediately beneath our win- 
 dows, and only taking refuge with slow 
 flight, plunging into the thicket of cy- 
 presses when startled by chance from its 
 grassy meal of insects. The dark verdure 
 of these cemetery trees was enlivened, on 
 our side of the enclosure wall, by a lush 
 overgrowth of roses, bignonias, westaria, 
 etc., while up some of the slender boles 
 and boughs clambered the snowy sprays 
 of the rincas, and in autumn the gorgeous 
 crimson of the Virginia creeper richly 
 draped them. The loveliness of these 
 three cemeteries was ruthlessly snatched 
 away from us by the intrusion of a ' new 
 road,' that cut through our croquet-
 
 MY LONG LIFE. 155 
 
 ground, our vineyard, and our east garden, 
 — that moreover led from nothing to no- 
 where, and that had its principal portion 
 dedicated to drilling recruits of a morning 
 when practising their 'goose-step,' and of 
 an afternoon to a rabble of boys out of 
 school who finish their education by stone- 
 throwing and general mischief. Now, to 
 crown this disturbance of our peaceful 
 residence, two large steam hammers, smok- 
 ing and banging away from morning to 
 evening, were erected beneath our win- 
 dows, to drive piles into the sandy soil ; 
 on these was built an ugly and thoroughly 
 useless circular terrace, overlooking the 
 sea, bare of trees, exposed to rain, dust, 
 wind, and glare, but which the architect 
 thereof declared, with effusive admiration 
 of his own design, ' would serve for the 
 inhabitants of Genova to contemplate the 
 horizon.' Fortunately for us, these dev- 
 astations were accomplished below the 
 level of our house, so that our sea views 
 still remain visible.
 
 156 MY LONG LIFE. 
 
 But to return to the period when we 
 first lived here. My earliest piece of writ- 
 ing, in our new house, was one I had much 
 at heart. It was ' The Life and Labours 
 of Vincent Novello,' for I earnestly wished 
 there should exist a record of the immense 
 amount of musical work which his indefat- 
 igable industry and devotion to music had 
 achieved, together with the very numerous 
 publications which he had brought out to 
 supply the world of music with delight, 
 and to advance the knowledge and prac- 
 tice of this enchanting art. My health 
 had not been strong since his loss, and 
 it was deemed advisable that I should 
 have change of air and scene ; accordingly, 
 Sabilla, Charles, and I indulged ourselves 
 with an excursion to see the Corregsio 
 pictures at Parma, and the Caracci pic- 
 tures at Bologna. Alfred remained at 
 home to superintend the masons employed 
 about the house, and to look to the ar- 
 rangement of our garden, which had been 
 little better than a cabbage-ground before
 
 MY LONG LIFE. 157 
 
 our advent. To give an idea of the task 
 he had in hand, — he projected, and after 
 some considerable time effected, the mak- 
 ing of a piece of road, by way of a carriage 
 drive, between the entrance gate and our 
 house door. He had to build up a sup- 
 porting wall against the earth of our west 
 walk; he pulled down some ramshackle 
 out-houses that formed part of the old 
 edifice, and substituted a terrace, paved 
 with Pompeian tiles, beneath our western 
 windows, preserving opposite to them the 
 only tree we found here, a graceful bay- 
 laurel, which Alfred kindly called my tree, 
 and subsequently trained up its bole, and 
 among its central branches, a climbing 
 red rose. Beyond the bay-laurel tree a 
 grass plot, or moderate-sized lawn, with 
 a small fountain, backed by a sculptured 
 group of boys at play, surrounded by 
 variegated canes, a group of magnolias, 
 a Cedrus deodara, a eucalyptus, and a 
 wellingtonia, — both of these trees not 
 taller than an umbrella when he first
 
 158 MY LONG LIFE. 
 
 had them planted, but now giants of fifty 
 feet high. 
 
 In that same year we took a short 
 spring flight to a neighbouring bathing- 
 place called Acqua Santa, and in the sum- 
 mer a longer flight to Turin, Paris, and 
 London, where we saw again many dear 
 old English friends, heard the Handel 
 festival in the Crystal Palace, and were 
 present at two of Charles Dickens's ' read- 
 ings.' One was the ' Christmas Carol,* 
 and the ' Trial from Pickwick,' the other 
 was from ' Nicholas Nickleby,' — ' Boots at 
 the Holly Inn,' and ' Mrs. Gamp.' 
 
 In the autumn I saw for the first time 
 Italy's grand tragic actress, Ristori, espe- 
 cially great, I thought, in ' Ginditta ' and 
 in ' Elisabetta, Regina d'Inghilterra.' We 
 had already made delighted acquaintance 
 with two of the most excellent comic actors, 
 Toselli and Pieri. Toselli we had first 
 seen in Nice, where he played many cap- 
 ital characters in the Piedmontese dialect. 
 His style was exquisitely peculiar in hu-
 
 MY LONG LIFE. 159 
 
 mour, and Charles was so enthusiastic in 
 his applause that we afterwards heard that 
 Toselli had said, ' Whenever my Inglese 
 is among the audience, I always play better 
 than usual.' 
 
 It may be judged how prolonged was 
 the work of putting our Genoese house 
 into order, when I mention that it was 
 only in November that our dining-room 
 was completed, and we able to eat our 
 first Christmas dinner therein. A certain 
 Signor Boccardo was its clever decorator, 
 and so excellent in all respects was his 
 work, that its beautiful design and the 
 stable colours he used have lasted well till 
 now. The walls of our picture gallery 
 were painted from architectural designs 
 of Salisbury Cathedral, and our vestibule 
 and staircase have frescoes copied from 
 Raphael's ' Hours.' The walls of our 
 music room we found ornamented in the 
 antique Genoese style of arabesque paint- 
 ing and relievo medallions. This ornamen- 
 tation had been strangely covered over
 
 i6o MY LONG LIFE. 
 
 with whitewash by former occupants (!), 
 but was restored by an Italian artist whom 
 Alfred employed for the purpose. 
 
 The next year, 1863, is chiefly memo- 
 rable to me from its being the one in which 
 we were requested by Messrs. Cassell & 
 Company to edit their annotated edition 
 of Shakespeare, and we began the work 
 on the ist of September. It was rather 
 an anxious task, as we had to ' work to 
 time,' for the edition was originally brought 
 out in weekly numbers ; but we never failed 
 once in regular pre-supply of the requisite 
 matter for the printers. Beside his joint- 
 editing with me, Charles made a fair copy 
 of the '14,533 Notes,' 'Shakespeare Pre- 
 face,' etc., which we wrote for this work, as 
 well as of the one which followed it ; for 
 immediately upon its completion, we began 
 a book that we had long contemplated, 
 — ' The Shakespeare Key.' We finished 
 our annotated edition on the i6th March, 
 1868, and began our 'Shakespeare Key' 
 two days after, on the i8th March, 1868,
 
 MY LONG LIFE. i6i 
 
 finishing the latter on the 17th June, 1872. 
 These nine years of steady, hard work 
 were not without their relief of pleasant 
 recreations. We had the pleasure of see- 
 ing many friends, both those who resided 
 in Italy and those who were merely pass- 
 ing through Genova on their way to or 
 from Rome, Florence, etc. I kept a visi- 
 tors' book wherein to note these latter, 
 its pages having three columns : one for 
 the name of the visitor, one for the name 
 of the introducer, one for the date of the 
 visit here. Besides seeing friends, we had 
 much delightful music. My sister Sabilla 
 got up some charming 'Mattinate'; for 
 which she prepared the programme with 
 the greatest care, selecting the most choice 
 compositions of the best masters, and 
 engaging the best available artists here 
 for their due performance. With these 
 were several of our friends, musically ac- 
 complished, and she always provided 
 * supplements ' from her own family, in 
 case of unforeseen disappointments from
 
 i62 MY LONG LIFE. 
 
 those whose names had been previously 
 announced to sing or play. Thus, some- 
 times, my father's unaccompanied selec- 
 tions in the green book were given ; at 
 other times, Sabilla herself sans: an aria 
 or Alfred a favourite bass song. Besides 
 these home concerts (which took place in 
 our picture gallery here), Sabilla wrote 
 and got up some musical charades, sung 
 and acted by ourselves and a few friends, 
 which were a decided success. A special 
 musical treat was enjoyed by us during 
 that nine-year interval, for in 1864 I had 
 the delight of hearing for the first time, 
 and several times after, Gounod's immortal 
 opera of ' Faust,' given at the Carlo Felice 
 Theatre here. But at the close of that 
 interval of diligent,'literary labour we gave 
 ourselves a complete holiday, going to 
 Turin on the 17th July, 1872, not return- 
 ing home until the 2d of September. 
 While we were at the then capital of Italy 
 we took the opportunity of going through 
 the then lately completed tunnel of the
 
 MY LONG LIFE. 163 
 
 Mont Cenis Pass, intending to make a 
 short excursion into France ; but when we 
 arrived on the northern side of the tunnel 
 we found so utterly break-down-looking 
 a vehicle to convey us from the station, 
 that I hesitated to get into it. Where- 
 upon I heard the driver say to his com- 
 panion, ' Mais comment ! cette Dame ne vent 
 pas montes da^is cette belle Calec/ie ! ' We 
 were offered the alternative of mounting on 
 mules, but to this caracoling style of travel 
 we preferred walking. The inn at Modane, 
 where we were to pass the night before 
 proceeding farther, proved to be worthy of 
 its * belle Caleche' for we ate through a 
 positive haze of flies, and slept in a room 
 that was somewhat suggestive of a pigstye, 
 as regards dirt and inconvenience. We 
 resolved to give up proceeding farther, and 
 returned at once to Turin, for we heard 
 that there was a break in the road between 
 St. Jean, Maurienne, and St. Michael. We 
 enjoyed several delightful drives about the 
 Turinese environs, to Stupinigi, Veneria
 
 i64 MY LONG LIFE. 
 
 Reale, La Crocetta, Rivoli, Moncalieri, and 
 frequently by the spacious Piazza L'Armi, 
 beyond which was a road that had, at one of 
 its turnings, a particularly graceful statute 
 of a nymph at a fountain. The museum, 
 picture gallery, and the King's Garden were 
 frequent haunts of ours ; we were taken by 
 one of its distinguished authorities, Signor 
 Lumbroso, to the Biblioteca del Re; and 
 we were so fortunate as to hear Mozart's 
 charming opera, ' Cosi fau tutte,' very well 
 performed at the Zerbino Theatre. 
 
 During the next few years we were not 
 wholly idlers in the way of literary work. 
 Charles wrote an article on ' The Old 
 Schoolhouse at Enfield ' for the ' St. James's 
 Magazine,' and we wrote together our 
 ' Recollections of Writers,' which first 
 appeared serially in successive numbers of 
 the ' Gentleman's Magazine,' and sub- 
 sequently was published in book form ; 
 while I amused myself with writing verses, 
 feeling encouraged to do so by the honour 
 I had had some years before of Charles
 
 MY LONG LIFE. 165 
 
 Dickens ofivinq; insertion in his ' All the 
 Year Round ' to two of m}^ verse-stories, 
 'The Yule Log' and 'Minnie's Musings,' 
 besides six sonnets on 'Godsends,' and a 
 few stanzas entitled ' Time's Healing.' 
 In 1873 I wrote 'The Trust,' and 'The 
 Remittance,' printed in England that year, 
 and in America in 1874. 
 
 Having been requested to contribute to 
 a charitable scheme in Rome, we wrote 
 our ' Idyl of London Streets,' and sonnet 
 on ' The Course of Time,' to be printed 
 in Rome as a booklet for that purpose, 
 and it appeared in 1875. 
 
 On the 15th of December, 1876, my 
 Charles's eighty-ninth birthday was cele- 
 brated by our family circle with even more 
 than usual brightness, — bright as his own 
 ever-young nature. Verses from his wife, 
 letters from friends at a distance, presence 
 of friends living near, smiles from relatives 
 around him, a huge cake lighted by wax 
 tapers (eight green for the decades, nine 
 white for the years), and, to crown all.
 
 i66 MY LONG LIFE. 
 
 favourite pieces from the green-bound 
 music books sung to him by his nephews 
 and nieces, made the day a supremely 
 happy one. On the 19th of February, 
 1877, we took our last walk together on 
 the terrace, resting between whiles beneath 
 the bay-laurel tree, and looking up grate- 
 fully at the clear, blue Italian sky. 
 
 On the 13th of March, 1877, the spring 
 sun shining on his bed, I received his last 
 smile, and watched beside him till he drew 
 his last breath. The marble that marked 
 his grave had inscribed on one of its sides 
 his chosen crest — an oak-branch ; his 
 chosen motto — Placidum sub libertate 
 quietem ; his name and the date of his 
 birth and death ; on the reverse side was 
 inscribed his own characteristically trust- 
 ful, cheerful-spirited 
 
 HIC JACET. 
 
 Let not a bell be toll'd, or tear be shed 
 
 When I am dead ; 
 Let no night-dog, with dreary howl, 
 Or ghastly shriek of boding owl
 
 MY LONG LIFE. 167 
 
 Make harsh a change so cahn, so hallowed ; 
 
 Lay not my bed 
 Mid yews and never-blooming cypresses, 
 
 But under trees 
 Of simple flower and odorous breath, 
 The lime and dog-rose ; and beneath 
 Let primrose cups give up their honied lees 
 
 To sucking bees, 
 Who all the shining day, while labouring, 
 
 Shall drink and sing 
 A requiem o'er my peaceful grave. 
 For I would cheerful quiet have ; 
 Or, no noise ruder than the linnet's wing 
 
 Or brook gurgling. 
 In harmony I Ve lived, — so let me die, 
 That while 'mid gentler sounds this shell doth lie 
 The spirit aloft may float in spheral harmony. 
 
 That summer I was invited by Count 
 Giglincci and Clara to spend some weeks 
 with them in their house at Fermo. I 
 found it a truly interesting antique Italian 
 mansion. On its ground floor was a suite 
 of apartments, adjoining each other in the 
 style of royal palaces, — a billiard-room, an 
 ante-room, a ball-room, a music-room, etc., 
 etc. A staircase built in the thickness of 
 a wall led up to an upper range of rooms, 
 where the family lived their daily domestic
 
 i68 MY LONG LIFE. 
 
 life. A private chapel formed part of the 
 edifice ; and once, when Clara took me 
 down to the basement portion of the house, 
 I saw a highly-ornate sedan chair, which 
 used to convey ancestral countesses Gig- 
 lincci to the church or to the opera, — for 
 there was a spacious opera-house and a 
 stately cathedral. The cathedral is on the 
 summit of the hill on which Fermo is 
 situate, and it is a very fine and large 
 cathedral for so small a town as Fermo. 
 Along the upper range of rooms above 
 alluded to, there runs a long and wide 
 corridor, at one end of which is a colossal 
 window, commanding a noble view of the 
 Apennines, including the mountain known 
 as the ' Gran sesso d' Italia.' The front 
 of the house faces towards the champaign, 
 stretching down the hill's descent until it 
 reaches the Adriatic Sea, dotted by fishing 
 vessels with their variously coloured sails. 
 Anything more hospitably affectionate 
 and solicitously careful to soothe my 
 thoughts than the reception I met with
 
 MY LONG LIFE. 169 
 
 from my dear ones in this picturesque 
 spot cannot be imagined. My sister 
 Clara, when I had rested a day after my 
 journey, asked me if I would like her to 
 sing to me. With joy I accepted, and we 
 adjourned at once downstairs to the music- 
 room, called ' the red drawing-room.' 
 Clara bade me choose the song I should 
 best like to hear her sing first, and I chose 
 her Westminster Abbey festival song 
 ' How beautiful are the feet,' its angelic 
 promise bringing balm to the soul. She 
 generously went on to the recitatives in 
 ' The Messiah,' and then sang Mozart's 
 lovely ' Deh vieni e non tardur,' her voice, 
 just its own unrivalled beauty of tone, pure 
 in style, potent in appeal to the heart. 
 
 After that first evening of musical bliss 
 I had many more, for Clara sang to me, 
 accompanied by her daughter Porzia, who, 
 with her sister Valeria, gave me many 
 delicious treats of favourite vocal and 
 pianoforte duets. I never heard Clara 
 say, ' Shall we go down into the red
 
 I70 MY LONG LIFE. 
 
 drawing-room ? ' but a thrill of joy ran 
 through me, and were I to enumerate 
 all the enchanting things she sang for me, 
 or that her two daughters sang and 
 played for me, the reader would envy me 
 the time I spent so delightfully at Fermo. 
 One afternoon's music I must recur 
 to, for the sake of the picture it gave 
 me. One of the Giglincci cousins, Conte 
 Geppino Vinci, brought his violin, and 
 accompanied Clara in Spohr's song ' When 
 this scene of trouble closes,' and Gugliel- 
 mi's ' Gratias agimus,' Porzia playing the 
 pianoforte accompaniment. The little 
 baby Vinci having been brought and laid 
 upon a cushion at her father's feet, she 
 looked up at him, listening to the music 
 and cooing soft approval ; the entire group 
 thus affording a regale for eye as well 
 as ear. Another very southern picture 
 was enjoyed by me there. One forenoon 
 Clara called to me to come into the cor- 
 ridor, that I might see one of their peasant 
 girls, who had brought her (according
 
 MY LONG LIFE. 171 
 
 to the Italian custom among a proprietor's 
 tenantry, and which Shakespeare has so 
 appropriately introduced in his ' Merchant 
 of Venice,' where old Gobbo brings ' a 
 dish of doves ' as an intended present to 
 his son's master, Shylock) a basket of 
 fruit. There stood the girl, her black 
 eyes and hair beneath a bright kerchief, 
 her gleaming white teeth, snowy bodice, 
 her coloured apron and striped skirt, and 
 the rich tint of the apricots in her basket, 
 formed a glowing portrait not to be for- 
 gotten by me. Several delightful drives 
 were taken for me and with me, by the 
 Count and Clara, through fields and vine- 
 yards belonging to his tenantry ; and once 
 I was taken to a magnificent old oak 
 tree, beneath which I was allowed to stand 
 and gather a spray of oak, similar to a 
 ' chosen crest ' I knew and loved. On my 
 return home to Genova, when I chanced 
 to be speaking to my sister Sabilla of my 
 liking for Northern air, and of my weak- 
 ened eyes, she proposed that we should
 
 172 MY LONG LIFE. 
 
 take a journey together to Coblentz, where 
 lived a celebrated oculist, whom I could 
 consult. I answered ' Why not ? ' and 
 thus summarily was this journey agreed 
 upon ; so summarily, too, was it put into 
 practice, that we set forth a day or two 
 after, taking the route by the Mont Cenis 
 Pass, to Basle, where, as we sat at tea 
 and supper, I told Sabilla that I already 
 felt the beneficial influence of the Northern 
 air, its freshness, its invigorating quality, 
 for I ate with better appetite than I had 
 done for months past. On arriving at 
 Coblentz we took up our abode at pleas- 
 ant Pension Ernen. It was close to our 
 oculist's house; it was on the road from 
 the town, its garden abutted on the de- 
 lightful Anlagen by the side of the river 
 Rhine, an Anlagen specially patronised by 
 the Empress Augusta, who contributed 
 funds to its proper and tasteful keeping 
 up, and who visited it often. It was 
 shaded by trees, it had a Restauration^ 
 where people drank coffee and ate cakes,
 
 MY LONG LIFE. 173 
 
 and was here and there adorned by 
 sculptured figures and groups of vases. 
 We frequently walked there, and many 
 times made it our way to entering the 
 town. Once, while sitting quietly on one 
 of the numerous seats placed in recesses 
 there, we had the pleasure of seeing a 
 woodpecker make its way up the bole of 
 a tree, and actually * tapping ' the bark 
 as he proceeded clingingly towards its 
 branches. 
 
 Our hostess, Fraulein Ernen was admir- 
 ably fitted for her vocation, careful of 
 the comfort and well-being of her boarders, 
 — almost all of them patients of our oc- 
 ulist. At the very Teutonic early dinner- 
 hour of two o'clock, we found at the table 
 several pleasant, chatty people, among 
 whom was Mr. Henley, the artist, his seat 
 being next mine. He courteously ad- 
 dressed me, and told me many entertaining 
 anecdotes of the persons who had been his 
 sitters for their portraits, — royal person- 
 ages and others. Among them he men-
 
 174 MY LONG LIFE. 
 
 tioned Nathaniel Hawthorne, saying he 
 was so sensitive a sitter that the most 
 timid young girl did not surpass him in 
 shyness. On our visit to the famous ocu- 
 list he pronounced that my eyes required 
 daily dropping into them a certain remedy, 
 therefore daily we visited him. We found 
 him a lively, almost boyish-mannered man, 
 but kindly and skilful. As a specimen 
 of the former characteristic, once, on my 
 happening to say that I had never heard 
 the famous song ' Die Wacht am Rhein,' 
 that created such universal enthusiasm at 
 the time of the German war, he (having 
 been in one of its campaigns) immediately 
 sang the song for me at full voice, and 
 flourishing the camel-hair pencil he was 
 using for applying the remedy to my eyes, 
 with outstretched arm on high. As a 
 specimen of his kindliness of nature, when 
 I chanced to speak of the lovely, tender 
 scene of young Prince Arthur pleading for 
 his eyes to be spared from burning by 
 Hubert, in Shakespeare's play of ' King
 
 MY LONG LIFE. 175 
 
 John,' our oculist took down a German 
 version of the tragedy and read the scene 
 aloud with tears in his eyes. At another 
 time he laughingly recounted to us how 
 he had bought a blind horse, cured it 
 himself, and found it a useful steed during 
 the campaign and ever after. 
 
 During our stay at Coblentz, we re- 
 newed our acquaintance with Madame 
 Rosa Mendelssohn, whom we had known 
 at Nice, while she and her husband had 
 been staying there for a short time. She 
 and her niece, Miss Thormann, received us 
 most cordially, and the visit was a mem- 
 orable one. In the room where we first 
 went there was an interesting bas-relief 
 medallion-portrait (size of life) of the then 
 lately deceased Professor Benjamin Men- 
 delssohn, her husband. Each side of the 
 medallion were pots of ivy, trained up to 
 surround the head like a wreath or gar- 
 land. The dining-room was delightful, 
 bowed in shape, the front with windows 
 looking towards the pretty road in which
 
 176 MY LONG LIFE. 
 
 the house stood, the back with a wide 
 door opening on a staircase that led 
 divergingly to the garden at the rear of 
 the house, and this door was kept wide 
 open all the time we dined, so that it 
 seemed as though we were dining in an 
 arbour. In the room was a cuckoo-clock 
 that chimed its fluting notes while we ate 
 our dainty dinner, which included Rhine 
 salmon and roast venison. After dinner 
 we took coffee in the music-room, and as 
 we passed into it, we crossed through a 
 smaller one, where hung an interesting 
 water-colour sketch by Felix himself, — a 
 view of that very village of Horchheim 
 (where we then were visiting), as seen 
 from its music-room window. Miss Thor- 
 mann — an accomplished amateur pianist 
 — played several of Felix's ' Lieder,' one 
 or two of Schumann's compositions, and 
 a little-known Beethoven Sonata. Men- 
 tion having been made by Madame Men- 
 delssohn and Miss Thormann of a concert 
 to be given at Ems by 'a wonderful young
 
 MY LONG LIFE. 177 
 
 Spanish violinist,' — Pablo di Sarasate, — 
 Sabilla invited both ladies to go over 
 with her to Ems and hear the concert, 
 but as Madame Mendelssohn declined 
 making the exertion, Miss Thormann 
 only accepted. 
 
 Of course we took many a delightful 
 walk and drive to the various enchanting 
 spots on the banks of the Rhine within 
 easily accessible distances, among others 
 to a village on the opposite side of the 
 river (the road to which passed near to the 
 fortress of Ehrenbreitstein) called Ahren- 
 berg, where we found a pretty little church, 
 its interior fitted up with tasteful cande- 
 labra in the form of lilies and leaves in 
 their natural colours, and some grotto- 
 work. Another excursion was a drive to 
 Giilz on the river Mosel, where we crossed 
 the ferry in our carriage, and returned by 
 the opposite side to Coblentz. When we 
 went to take leave of Madame Rosa 
 Mendelssohn, we saw Felix's younger 
 daughter and her five children. One of
 
 178 MY LONG LIFE. 
 
 them, a little baby, had its fingers placed 
 by Sabilla on the pianoforte as if playing, 
 as she said that Felix's grandchild ought 
 early to accustom its hands to that position. 
 We left Coblentz on the 30th September, 
 took similar route back, and arrived in 
 Geneva on the 4th October. We had 
 much home-music, and I heard Patti 
 when she sang in the ' Barbiere di Sivig- 
 lia' here in that year; and on March i ith, 
 1878, Sabilla and I went for a change to 
 Rome. Of the grandeur there I saw but 
 little in comparison with that we were 
 compelled to leave unseen, for a gentle- 
 man who was asked in what time Rome 
 could be thoroughly visited, said, — ' I 
 can't say, for I have lived in Rome only 
 forty years.' But we enjoyed many of its 
 noblest picture-galleries. We, of course, 
 did not fail to make a pilgrimage to dear 
 John Keats's tomb, neighboured by that of 
 glorious Shelley's heart, and we took more 
 than one drive out into the picturesque 
 Campagna.
 
 MY LONG LIFE. 179 
 
 One of our very first visits was paid to 
 the American minister, George Perkins 
 Marsh, who had been so generous as to 
 have lent us his rare copy of Florio's 
 * Second Frutes ' while we were editing 
 our ' Annotated Shakespeare.' This cu- 
 rious work of Florio's, on our careful 
 examination of it, caused us to feel sure 
 that it (as well as Florio's Italian and 
 English Dictionary) had been well known 
 to, and much used by, Shakespeare him- 
 self. Mr. Marsh was a distinguished 
 philologist, besides being an able states- 
 man. He had been thoroughly appre- 
 ciated and frequently conversed with by 
 the amiable and highly-accomplished 
 Queen Margaret, who is one of the most 
 gracious of sovereigns. At Mrs. Marsh's 
 receptions we were more than once grati- 
 fied visitors, and met there several distin- 
 guished persons. She had long been an 
 affectionate friend of Clara and her two 
 daughters, asking the two latter to make 
 tea and preside at her afternoon tea-table
 
 i8o MY LONG LIFE. 
 
 on many occasions of these receptions. 
 We also made the acquaintance of Miss 
 Brewster, a descendant of the Brewster 
 who had been one of the patriots that 
 sailed in the ' Mayflower,' when the ship 
 left England and arrived at the Plymouth 
 Rock in America. She showed us a tea- 
 set that had been fac-similed from the one 
 used aboard that renowned vessel. While 
 we were in Rome we enjoyed some special 
 music. A concert given by Signor Sgam- 
 bati, the most exquisite of Italian pianists. 
 Another concert given for a charitable 
 purpose, wherein a lady (born a Russian 
 princess, but married to a German pro- 
 fessor) played on the pianoforte in mas- 
 terly style, and on which occasion, Madame 
 Ristori recited (I may say, acted) the 
 sleeping-scene of Lady Macbeth, sup- 
 ported by a lady and gentleman who rep- 
 resented the waiting-gentlewoman and 
 the doctor. To show how careful really 
 great artistes are, I may mention that 
 Ristori asked my sister Clara to hear her
 
 MY LONG LIFE. i8i 
 
 recite and rehearse this scene before she 
 performed it at the concert. 
 
 An early and memorable visit Sabilla 
 and I paid to Joseph Severn, the generous, 
 hearted artist who gave up his then 
 engagements to accompany his friend, 
 John Keats, to Italy, when the young poet 
 was in a decline that ended in his death. 
 We found Severn himself on a sick-bed, 
 arranged in his studio, and opposite to 
 him, the portrait he was painting from 
 memory, when taken ill, of Keats, still so 
 dear to him. He spoke to us cheerily, 
 and with interest, of all that most engaged 
 the thoughts of us three. 
 
 On our return home to Genova from 
 Rome, we resumed our usual life of home 
 music and home occupations; but in June, 
 having received an invitation, from our 
 kind friends, Mr. and Mrs. Littleton, to 
 visit them, we left for England. During 
 my stay there I superintended the bring- 
 ing out of our ' Recollections of Writers,' 
 then in course of printing in book-form.
 
 1 82 MY LONG LIFE. 
 
 We visited our favourite English picture 
 collections, — the choice one at the Dul- 
 wich Gallery ; the ever-beautiful National 
 Gallery, where we found some fine addi- 
 tions, such as the Turner collection, etc., 
 and at the Aquarium we saw gathered 
 together some of George Cruikshank's 
 admirable illustrations ; though I own I 
 regretted not seeing among them those 
 he made for my ' Kit Barn's Adventures.' 
 We paid a visit to Lady Shelley, who was 
 then at her town-house on the Chelsea 
 Embankment. She invited us to go and 
 see her at Boscombe, where she and Sir 
 Percy had collected most interesting relics 
 of his illustrious father ; but, unfortunately, 
 we were unable to accept the invitation. 
 On our way back from England we visited 
 the Paris Exhibition of that year, and 
 spent a fortnight at Aix-les-Bains, where 
 we heard a fine instrumental concert given 
 by the orchestra from the Regio Teatro 
 at Turin, and were taken by a friend into 
 the Gambling Room, in which we saw two
 
 MY LONG LIFE. 183 
 
 fanatic players seated at the gambling- 
 table, to secure places, an hour beforehand, 
 and on our returning after the concert, we 
 saw these wretched gentlemen, with ex- 
 cited eyes and burning red cheeks, deep 
 in play. 
 
 In July, 1879, Sabilla and I resolved to 
 go and enjoy the Mozart Musical Festival 
 at Salzburg, inviting our niece Porzia to 
 accompany us, and a great enjoyment it 
 proved, — our visit thither being exactly 
 fifty years after my father's, to take the 
 subscribed sum to Madame Sonnenberg, 
 the great composer's sister. We were re- 
 ceived with marked kindliness by the 
 authorities there, and shown particular 
 attention. 
 
 As a fitting commencement to the festi- 
 val, I went a pilgrimage to the house where 
 Mozart was born, the font whereat he was 
 baptised, and the dwelling where he lived, 
 loved, and wrote. A gay look of jubilee 
 and bright expectancy pervaded the streets, 
 where long pennons and flags of all colours
 
 i84 MY LONG LIFE. 
 
 hung floating from upper windows and 
 reached to ground floors ; while troops of 
 visitors from all parts flocked through the 
 thoroughfares in holiday travelling trim. 
 On the evening of 17th July, when the 
 first of the three days' concerts took place, 
 a large company was assembled in the 
 * Aula Academica,' where the executants 
 were already stationed in their places on 
 the platform, and ' ready-tuned.' The 
 very first chord of Mozart's finest over- 
 ture served well to announce the suprem- 
 acy of the famed Vienna Orchestra. Herr 
 Hans Richter presided as conductor ; and 
 a more excellent one it has never been 
 my good fortune to hear — though I have 
 heard Michael Costa, Chelard, and Felix 
 Mendelssohn themselves. Beethoven's 
 Seventh Symphony, with its sublimely 
 poetical slow movement and exquisitely 
 playful Scherzo, closed the evening's musi- 
 cal feast. The day's enjoyment harmon- 
 ised well with the evening's entertainment ; 
 for a town of choicer loveliness in situation
 
 MY LONG LIFE. 185 
 
 and scenery is rarely to be seen. Placed 
 on the banks of a rapid stream, the River 
 Salbach, surrounded by green heights and 
 distant mountains, well-wooded slopes on 
 which picturesque castles and lordly man- 
 sions are perched, shores along which 
 brightly and variously-coloured houses 
 range in the neatness and grace of adorn- 
 ment that characterises German dwellings, 
 — this spot forms an endless succession of 
 pictures and charming landscapes, besides 
 affording scope for enchanting drives amid 
 lanes and woodlands. As a final touch, — 
 which would have rejoiced the heart of 
 Walter Scott himself, who knew, none 
 better, that good fare crowns be fittingly 
 the enjoyment of Nature's romantic scenery 
 and refined art pleasure, — the eating in 
 Salzburg was of the best ; trout that would 
 have had Isaac Walton's cordial com- 
 mendation, chickens delicate and ' tender 
 as morning dew,' with Alpine butter and 
 fresh cream, made each day's repast a 
 feast worthy of the ' Musikfest' at night.
 
 i86 MY LONG LIFE. 
 
 On the morning of i8th July there was an 
 open-air entertainment on the Kapuziner- 
 berg, consisting of a four-part song for 
 men's voices, an address delivered by Herr 
 Banmeister, a celebrated actor who had a 
 grand speaking voice, with fervour of deliv- 
 ery and excellent enunciation. The touch- 
 ing words he poured forth, in powerful 
 tones, were so sonorous that they reached 
 the opposite hills, which echoed back the 
 praises of our divine Mozart with thrilling 
 effect. 
 
 On reaching the point of the Capucin 
 Hill, where a small summer-house stands, 
 I found an eager crowd assembled, some 
 in the full blaze of the sunshine, under 
 parasols and umbrellas, some seeking 
 scraps of shade skirting the enclosure, 
 some clustering beneath the adjoining 
 trees, and a fortunate few on a rickety 
 wooden bench under the eaves of a wood- 
 cutter's cottage near the spot. Some of 
 the Festival Committee gentlemen came 
 to my sister Sabilla and myself, asking us
 
 MY LONG LIFE. 187 
 
 to enter the summer-house, which had the 
 peculiar interest of being the actual spot 
 where Mozart composed his opera of ' Die 
 Zauberflbte.' It is fitted up with exact 
 models of the table at which he wrote, and 
 of the chair in which he sat when occu- 
 pying this summer-house. Its walls are 
 hung round with pictures, photographs, 
 and innumerable tributary wreaths ; on 
 the table lay an open Mozart album, in 
 which we were requested to inscribe our 
 names, as the daughters of Vincent 
 Novello, who, exactly half a century before, 
 this very month, in the July of 1829, came 
 to Salzburg to convey to Mozart's sister 
 (then in failing health and means) a sum 
 of money subscribed by the musical pro- 
 fessors of London as a testimony of their 
 admiration for the great composer's genius, 
 and of their sympathy with his sister in her 
 declining age. Strangely moving was it 
 to stand beneath the little summer-house 
 roof, looking forth upon the very moun- 
 tains and woods and river and picturesque
 
 i88 MY LONG LIFE. 
 
 town that Mozart beheld when he raised 
 his eyes from his MS. ; strange to sit in 
 the chair he occupied, listening to the 
 strains he composed ; strange to be in the 
 very place where, fifty years before, my 
 own father had come to visit the birth- 
 place of his favourite composer, and the 
 spot which had witnessed the birth of 
 some of that composer's finest composi- 
 tions. With reverential humility we com- 
 plied with the committee's request, and 
 placed in the Mozart album our photo- 
 graphs and the following inscriptions : — 
 
 ' I pray you let us satisfy our eyes (and ears) 
 With the memorials and things of fame 
 That do renown this city.' 
 
 Shakespeare's 'Twelfth Night,' Act IIL Scene 3. 
 
 Mary Victoria Cowden-Clarke {borii, 
 
 Novello). — Salzburg, July, 1879. 
 
 IMPROMPTU ACROSTIC. 
 
 S alzburg, for ever will thy name recall 
 A pleasant mem'ry to my mind ; when all 
 B ut as a dream of beauty shall appear 
 I llumined by art's glow, remote but clear ;
 
 MY LONG LIFE. 189 
 
 L ov'd Mozart seems to tread thy busy streets, 
 L ost though he be to mortal ken, he meets 
 A t ev'ry moment my admiring eyes. 
 
 N ot Uke the empty visions that arise 
 
 O ut of the misty past. No, Mozart lives 
 
 V ividly present, while his music gives 
 
 E ternal rapture, ever freshly born, 
 
 L ovely as Spring, as radiant as the mom. 
 
 L ong as art love shall exist, Mozart's name 
 
 O 'er all shall triumph in the rolls of fame. 
 
 Salzburg, July i8th, 1879. 
 
 Schumann's two glorious compositions, 
 the ' Andante and Variationem,' and 
 Quintette completed the intense satisfac- 
 tion afforded to us by this truly delightful 
 ' Salzburger Musikfest.' 
 
 From Salzburg we went to Vienna, 
 where our first delight was hearing an 
 evening service in the glorious cathedral. 
 The lovely Gothic interior, the blaze of 
 silver (with gold rays from the centre) of 
 the rich altar-piece, the kneeling priests 
 in white and gold vestments, the warm 
 colouring of the stained-glass windows, 
 with the general low light of the arched 
 stone walls just revealing the many
 
 I90 MY LONG LIFE. 
 
 antique monuments that abound there, all 
 thoroughly enchanted me. An early visit 
 we of course paid to the Belvedere Gallery, 
 containing whole rooms full of Rubens, 
 that make one wonder how a man's life 
 could suffice to cover so much canvas with 
 so much magnificent painting, and with 
 such noble poetry of his imagination, 
 besides being an ambassador. A room 
 full of Velasquez, with portraits of children 
 deliciously true to aristocratic nature, a pic- 
 ture of Murillo's — a boy St. John with a 
 lamb — exquisite. A lovely little low long 
 picture by Domenico Feti (a painter I 
 had never heard of before), the Death of 
 Leander, and the Despair of Hero, charm- 
 ingly poetical in idea and treatment ; in 
 short, room after room of beauties and 
 riches innumerable. Another small gallery, 
 consisting but of three rooms, at the 
 Schonbrunn Palace kept us lingering by a 
 canaletto — quite astounding for truth to 
 nature, and open-air effect, with perfect 
 perspective, — of a house and grass-plot
 
 MY LONG LIFE. 191 
 
 toward the right-hand front of the picture, 
 and another house rather backwards. In 
 the Lichtenstein Gallery, besides the numer- 
 ous treasures of Vandyke, Rembrandt, and 
 Rubens that it contains, we came upon a 
 bewitching picture by the last-named 
 artist, a Perseus and Andromeda, with 
 little loves flying about, two trying to 
 mount Pegasus, two helping to unfasten 
 the chains of Andromeda, etc., etc., all of 
 them exquisite. 
 
 When we left Vienna we went up to 
 Dresden, which I at once named, and ever 
 after spoke of, as ' Delightful Dresden.' 
 The store of riches, crown jewels, precious 
 crystals, etc., in the ' Green Vault ' there, 
 was not half so attractive to us as the 
 picture-gallery, where we were almost daily 
 haunters of its rooms. 
 
 Many a drive we took in the charming 
 ' Grosse Garten ' and into the country be- 
 yond, visiting several of the picturesque 
 environs that abound in the vicinity. We 
 frequently made our way to the public
 
 192 MY LONG LIFE. 
 
 square in front of the palace to hear a fine 
 military band playing in one of its angles ; 
 and on the first occasion of our doing 
 this, were so struck with the beauty of the 
 performance, its admirably breathed out 
 pianos, its perfect crescendos, and precision 
 of togetkerhood, that I could not resist the 
 temptation to applaud ; and, catching the 
 bandmaster's eye, I clapped my hands 
 obviously. He, with brisk military 
 promptitude, raised his hand to his helmet, 
 saluted and smiled, with a little sudden 
 bow, as our carriage passed on rapidly. 
 One evening, soon after our arrival, we 
 went to the Sommertheater in the Grosse 
 Garten, where was performed a piece en- 
 titled ' Die Kinder des Capitan Grant,' 
 which entertained me beyond words, as a 
 perfect reminder of my old Coburg and 
 Surrey theatre times. A captain and his 
 boy son left to perish on a desert island 
 by a treacherous mate and crew, a bottle 
 (containing news of their condition) mi- 
 raculously reaching their friends in a castle
 
 MY LONG LIFE. 193 
 
 in Glasgow. The said friends, with their 
 comic servant and the two other children 
 of Captain Grant (a boy and a girl) setting 
 off in a yacht to save their esteemed Cap- 
 tain Grant. Their various adventures on 
 reaching South America ; Mexican guides, 
 false and faithless, leading them where a 
 volcano bursts, and its lava interrupts their 
 path ; a mysterious Patagonian chief (who 
 expresses himself in fluent Hoch Deutsch\ 
 friendly and protective, and who dies from 
 having heroically sucked the poison from 
 a snake-bite in the girl child's leg ; attacks 
 of wild Indians, shouts, pistol-shots innu- 
 merable (in fact, from what I could make 
 out, pistol-shots were invariably introduced 
 when extra excitement and interest and 
 row were needed); more wanderings; a 
 dance of ballet-girls and men with lanterns 
 in a Mexican temple festivity; a sudden 
 remorse and reform of the ' treacherous 
 mate,' who turns up at the most unexpected 
 moment, and offers to conduct the search 
 party to the exact spot where he aban- 
 13
 
 194 MY LONG LIFE. 
 
 doned Captain Grant and his son ; a 
 change of scene to a desolate part of the 
 desert island, with Captain Grant and his 
 son at the last extremity of starvation and 
 cold, an iceberg having closed them in 
 from the open sea and their last hope of 
 rescue; an affecting scene (really prettily 
 done) of the father half resolving to shorten 
 the sufferings of his exhausted and sleeping 
 son by stabbing him with the knife he 
 still has ; his last appeal to Heaven with 
 the boy kneeling beside him, — when the 
 mid-scene of iceberg draws away, and the 
 yacht is seen approaching in full sail. 
 ' God save the Queen ' is played, the party 
 of friends rush on, and the curtain falls 
 amid general meeting and happiness. 
 
 The very next day a quite different 
 series of theatrical entertainments com- 
 menced for us. The opening of the Hof- 
 theater for that season was announced to 
 take place in the evening, the performance 
 being ' Die Wiederspenstige.' I heard 
 this title with indifference, but what was
 
 MY LONG LIFE. 195 
 
 my awakened interest, when, asking Sabilla 
 to explain, she told me this piece was the 
 German version of Shakespeare's ' Taming 
 of the Shrew.' We then of course immedi- 
 ately took stalls, and went to what proved 
 the beginning of an Elysium of play-going ; 
 not only then, but in several subsequent 
 visits to ' Delightful Dresden.' The Hof- 
 theater itself is lofty, spacious, cool, airy ; 
 the performances commence punctually 
 at seven, allowing return home seldom 
 later than ten o'clock. The scenery 
 superb; the artists — dramatic and vocal 
 — excellent; the pieces chosen are artis- 
 tically instructive, as well as artistically in- 
 teresting, being alternately dramatic and 
 operatic ; the former selected from the 
 best dramatists, the latter selected from 
 composers of classic celebrity, besides those 
 of more modern dates ; so that the audience 
 becomes more cultivated in dramatic 
 authorship and in musical composition of 
 various styles. On that first evening we 
 beheld two admirable performers, Dettmer
 
 196 MY LONG LIFE. 
 
 as Petruchio, EUmeureich as Katharina. 
 His acting was entirely to my taste ; 
 giving the assumed harshness of dictator- 
 ship with (in soliloquy) the real liking that 
 Petruchio has for his chosen wife. His 
 speaking voice equalled that of Salvini 
 for beauty and richness of tone. EUmeu- 
 reich was charming, and proved to be 
 equally so in characters she subsequently 
 played, — of high tragic, or genteel comedy 
 impersonation. We became such inveter- 
 ate playgoers that, during the more than 
 two months of our stay in Dresden, we 
 scarcely missed a single evening of per- 
 formance. But besides our theatre music, 
 we enjoyed many a magnificent mass of 
 Mozart and other composers at the Hof- 
 kirche; and several admirably sung 
 motetts, etc., by well-trained boy singers 
 at the Lutheran Vesper Service in the 
 Kreuzkirche. The precision and perfectly 
 in tune singing of those boys in unaccom- 
 panied pieces by Bach, Mendelssohn, and 
 other composers, was a delight to hear.
 
 MY LONG LIFE. 197 
 
 One evening we went to hear a concert 
 of Hungarians (announced in the pro- 
 gramme as ' Zigeuner-Kapelle Farkas 
 More aus Budapest '), which was an 
 extraordinarily interesting thing to hear. 
 National, peculiar, very wild, three of the 
 pieces were called ' Czardas,' and were 
 especially curious. Rapid and eccentric 
 in the extreme; and in two of them a 
 young violinist of the party executed what 
 seemed to be an impetuous improvised re- 
 citative movement, accompanied by merely 
 two violins, a viola (extraordinarily large 
 in size) and violoncello; while at its close, 
 the whole orchestra (including double bass, 
 clarinet, oboe, and a very large zithern, 
 admirably played) joined in like a choral 
 conclusion. 
 
 On leaving Dresden we made Eger 
 our first halting-place, in order to make 
 a pilgrimage to the house where Wallen- 
 stein was murdered ; because we had seen 
 Schiller's ' Wallenstein ' magnificently got 
 up at the Dresden H of theater. We
 
 198 MY LONG LIFE. 
 
 found the spot (the Rathhaus) where the 
 murder took place, grim and quaint 
 enough to be quite in keeping with 
 its tradition ; an old half-Gothic portal 
 giving entrance to a dingy old court- 
 yard, round which were stuck various 
 carved stones and rude images of old 
 German warriors and monumental re- 
 cords of their doings ; a balustraded 
 gallery of dark wood running round the 
 courtyard interior of the first floor, — like 
 our old English inn yards. On the 
 left side, beneath the huge portal, was 
 an entrance door standing open, where 
 at once ascends the antique stair-case 
 so well represented in the scene of ' Wal- 
 lenstein's Tod ' at the Hoftheater. The 
 artistic scene-painter there must have 
 gone himself to Eger and taken a sketch 
 of the actual spot, and then enlarged it 
 for stage representation, — the effect was 
 so true, and yet so picturesquely im- 
 proved. 
 
 We made a short stay at Munich that
 
 MY LONG LIFE. 199 
 
 we might renew the acquaintance Sa- 
 billa and I had made with the Art Gal- 
 leries of the Pinacothek and Glyptothek 
 on our return journey from England in 
 1862. The International Exhibition at 
 Munich was open at the time of our se- 
 cond visit, but although it consisted en- 
 tirely of paintings and sculpture, I did not 
 find a single specimen that I should have 
 cared to possess. Sabilla and Porzia were 
 able to procure tickets for a performance at 
 the Opera House of Wagner's ' Gotterdam- 
 merung;' but I preferred staying quietly 
 indoors, looking out upon the open square, 
 beyond which I could see the tower of 
 the quaint old Frauenkirche, lighted by 
 the setting sun and gradually by the cres- 
 cent moon and single planet star, while 
 I thought of the many blessings I had 
 in my long life to compensate for its 
 sorrows. 
 
 We returned to Gen ova b}'' the Bren- 
 ner Pass ; where, instead of the snow 
 and ice which we were told we should
 
 20O MY LONG LIFE. 
 
 encounter, we found sunshine, blue sky, 
 and charming transit through lovely 
 green Tyrol. 
 
 In 1880 our villa was honoured by a 
 visit from the Kronprinzessin of Ger- 
 many, then staying at Pegli. Her Royal 
 Highness was graciously interested by 
 a portrait of our sister Clara, painted by 
 Magnus of Berlin, who had given les- 
 sons in painting to Her Royal Highness, 
 — herself a proficient in that art. 
 
 Having been so gratified by our Ger- 
 man tour of 1879, we resolved to go thither 
 the very next year ; so, after paying a 
 delightful visit to friends at Stressa, on 
 the Lago Maggiore, we went up to Nu- 
 remberg, where we saw Albert Durer's 
 studio, preserved just in the state it was 
 when he worked there ; and an exhibition 
 of Kranach's antique paintings, where the 
 custodian was an old woman with a head 
 precisely like one of Kranach's epoch, so 
 queer and antiquated was it. 
 
 At Bambero: we visited an admirable
 
 MY LONG LIFE. 201 
 
 lady pianist, a friend of ours years be- 
 fore in England, who played to us again 
 with quite her former excellence. She 
 was peculiarly great in Beethoven's Sona- 
 tas, all of which she knew by heart. We 
 made some stay at Cassel ; making our 
 first visit to the picture-gallery there, 
 which is rich in Renibrandts. Our drives 
 were frequent and delightful. One, from 
 Wilhelmsthal to Wilhelmshohe through 
 magnificent woods, remains vividly in 
 my memory ; for, on approaching the 
 former-named palace, as we drove up 
 the avenue leading thereto, we saw a 
 large party of gentlemen picnicking under 
 the trees who, when they saw us 
 approaching, made animated signs to the 
 coachman to halt. Then one of the 
 gentlemen flew to the side of the carriage, 
 bearing in his hand a superb-sized foam- 
 ing tankard, which he presented to us 
 ladies, and from which each of us ladies 
 in turn drank from, I exclaiming, Lebe 
 hoch DeutscJiland ! The gentleman smiled
 
 202 MY LONG LIFE. 
 
 and looked delighted (indeed, he and his 
 whole party seemed in exuberant spirits, 
 but went through the ceremony in the 
 highest good taste and politeness), and 
 then he handed the tankard up to the 
 coachman, who quaffed it off with abun- 
 dant relish. As we drove away, the band 
 which was with the party sounded a 
 flourish of trumpets in honour of us. 
 Altogether we thought it a pretty, charac- 
 teristic, and most German incident. 
 
 One morning early, while we were at 
 Cassel, what should greet our delighted 
 ears before we were up, but a charming 
 serenade given by the military band to 
 their general, who lived next door to us ! 
 First a magnificent chorale — simple in 
 its strain, but full of the most enchant- 
 ing chords — breathed out entrancingly 
 with the most exquisite precision of tune, 
 the most perfect toget/ierhood in be- 
 ginning and ending phrases ; the most 
 true and intense feeling for due expression 
 in sentiment ; next was played a brisk
 
 MY LONG LIFE. 203 
 
 Hungarian dance, then a quick march ; 
 and lastly a very brilliant piece, the sub- 
 ject with which it commenced being 
 taken from the padlock song in Mozart's 
 ' Zauberflote.' From Cassel we went up 
 to Berlin. My experience of the Prussian 
 capital was not very favourable ; for 
 constant rain prevailed during most of 
 our time there, preventing our enjoying 
 as much as we could have desired to visit. 
 But the picture gallery, the museum, and 
 Ranch's studio, afforded us much art plea- 
 sure ; while a drive to the park and mauso- 
 leum of Charlottenburg was extremely 
 interesting to us. But we were so for- 
 tunate as to see Otto Devrient play 
 Alephistophcles, in his own adaptation 
 for the stage of Goethe's ' Second Part 
 of Faust' His acting was perfection, 
 and marvellous in appropriate diabolism. 
 One touch particularly struck us. In 
 the scene where there is a royal recep- 
 tion, Devrient's face suddenly changed to 
 a look of shuddering disgust ; and we then
 
 204 MY LONG LIFE. 
 
 perceived that it was when a train of 
 ecclesiastics and robed bishops entered 
 the presence. Otto Devrient was one of" 
 that famous family of Devrients who for 
 years had been first-rate actors and 
 actresses. I had seen Madame Schroeder- 
 Devrient during the first performance 
 of the German company in London ; had 
 seen Emile Devrient play Faust at the 
 St James's Theatre there ; and I had seen 
 a younger Devrient play Sebastian in 
 Shakespeare's ' Twelfth Night ' in Dres- 
 den. Yearnings of remembrance of this 
 last named city seized us, and we left 
 Berlin for ' Delightful Dresden.' On ar- 
 rival we found finer weather to add to our 
 exhilaration at finding ourselves again in 
 our favourite Saxon capital. The season 
 at the Hoftheater had just commenced, and 
 we at once plunged into the old enjoy- 
 ment of theatre -going every evening ; 
 punctual attendance at the Hofkirche for 
 High Mass, and at the Kreuzkirche ves- 
 per service, where the boy choir was so
 
 MY LONG LIFE. 205 
 
 excellent, etc., etc. A few changes had 
 taken place there since our previous visit. 
 Ellmeureich was married, but still re- 
 mained on the stage. A delicious bari- 
 tone, Degele, was singing in various parts 
 with excellent effect ; while the acting of 
 Dettmer as Macduff in Shakespeare's 
 ' Macbeth,' deserves special record. I can 
 never forget him in the grand scene of the 
 fourth act, when news is brought to him of 
 his wife and children being put to death 
 by the tyrant. It was the truest and most 
 affecting expression of manly anguish I 
 ever beheld. His fine flexible voice, with 
 its power of breaking when expressing 
 strong emotion, aided him to perfection, 
 and his gestures were profoundly indica- 
 tive of mental torture, without a tinge 
 of exaggeration. Dettmer had the curi- 
 ous gift of being able to turn pale (a gift 
 I have heard was possessed by the French 
 actor Talma), and at the passage where 
 Malcolm says : ' Ne'er pull your hat 
 upon your brows ; give sorrow words,'
 
 2o6 MY LONG LIFE. 
 
 — when the hat was removed Dettmer's 
 face was deathly white. 
 
 To Q-ive an idea of Ellmeureich's varied 
 power in acting, I may mention that her 
 Viola in Shakespeare's ' Twelfth Night ' 
 was bewitchingly playful ; while her imper- 
 sonation of Goethe's Gretchen in the first 
 part of 'Faust' was profoundly moving. 
 Pure, innocent, winningly childlike, happy 
 at first; broken, despairing, lost at last. 
 Her madness, while Faust weeps with re- 
 morse at her feet, was perfectly haunting, 
 and really affected Sabilla and me for a 
 long time after. 
 
 A very interesting day was spent by us, 
 when we went to visit the ' Saxon Switzer- 
 land.' We were favoured by fine weather ; 
 we drove by the left banks of the River 
 Elbe, crossed the ferry at Pilnitz, pro- 
 ceeded by a gentle rise all the way through 
 picturesque villages and amid fine views. 
 We passed the day on the fine cliff called 
 the ' Bastei,' wandering about among its 
 rocky summits, conveniently made acces-
 
 MY LONG LIFE. 207 
 
 sible by connect! !ig bridges and well-kept 
 paths. Another excursion was to Meis- 
 sen, where we ascended the crag on 
 which are perched the antique cathedral 
 and castle. A particularly interesting 
 ceremony we witnessed (from a window), 
 which took place on the Altmarkt Platz. 
 The edges of the large platz were lit- 
 erally crammed with people ; windows and 
 roofs, even, were full of excited gazers ; 
 while the central space was marked off by 
 gigantic festoons of green wreaths sur- 
 mounted by close, bead-like rows of white 
 lamps (green and white being the colours 
 of Saxony), beneath which rose a wooden 
 amphitheatre of seats erected for the 
 reception of the relations of those who 
 had fallen at Sedan (the day being the 
 anniversary of the victory obtained there). 
 Within this amphitheatre was an open 
 space, where gradually assembled various 
 processions, civic and military, with their 
 several bands of music and some hundreds 
 of young ladies wearing white, and sashes
 
 2o8 MY LONG LIFE. 
 
 of the national colours with garlands of oak 
 leaves on their heads. The sight of these 
 falling in, two by two, and forming a long 
 line round the statue in the centre, and 
 extending towards the throned and crim- 
 son-laid stand prepared for the King and 
 Queen of Saxony and their Court, was 
 extremely beautiful ; the more so, as most 
 of these fair girlish heads had magnificent 
 tresses of hair falling from their green 
 wreaths on to their shoulders and down 
 their backs. 
 
 Precisely as the clock struck eleven, the 
 royal carriages drove up, and as the Court 
 party alighted and took their places be- 
 neath the canopy, the whole assembly 
 cheered, waved hats and handkerchiefs, 
 while the bands struck up ' God save the 
 Queen ' (the German national air being 
 the same as ours). Then the chorus of 
 young ladies and of students (also wearing 
 chaplets on their heads) sang Handel's 
 grand ' Hallelujah Chorus ' with fine ef- 
 fect ; a speech was delivered to the King
 
 MY LONG LIFE. 209 
 
 by a Dresden magnate ; Wagner's stately 
 and effective ' Kaiser Marsch ' was played 
 by the united bands; and at a signal, the 
 tall draperies around the central statue 
 were rapidly lowered, and the ' Germania ' 
 was displayed to view amid universal 
 cheering and waving of hats and handker- 
 chiefs. Lastly, the King and Queen and 
 Court party stepped down from their dai's, 
 and walked round the central space amid 
 more cheering and waving, and closely 
 examined the statue and the green wreaths 
 which the young ladies had placed upon 
 the steps at its base. After this, the 
 royalties stepped into their carriage-and- 
 four, driving off amid acclamations. 
 
 We had made acquaintance with three 
 amiable American ladies, — a mother and 
 two daughters ; the mother almost as 
 fresh-complexioned and young-looking as 
 her daughters. One of the daughters was 
 taking lessons in pianoforte playing, the 
 other in singing. These two young ladies 
 flew into our room one afternoon with a 
 14
 
 2IO MY LONG LIFE. 
 
 couple of white rosebuds in their hand, 
 which they presented to Sabilla and me 
 in token of the pleasure they had just 
 had in reading my two verse stones, 
 ' The Trust ' and ' The Remittance.' The 
 young lad)^ who was then studying singing 
 was no other than Miss Agnes Hunting- 
 ton, who subsequently made so success- 
 ful an operatic career in London and in 
 America. 
 
 We witnessed in the Grosse Garten an 
 interesting celebration of the ' Albertverein 
 Fest.' In the large space near the lake, a 
 kind of tent-temple had been erected for 
 the royalties ; and immediately on the 
 verge of the sheet of water, seats had been 
 arranged for the Court party. In the mid- 
 dle of the lake a large flat stage, placed 
 across and upon several firmly-moored 
 barges, was visible to the thousands who 
 stood on the banks, forming a variegated 
 edge on the green sward around the water. 
 On the moored stage, acrobats, slack-rope 
 dancers, etc., etc., displayed their feats.
 
 MY LONG LIFE. 211 
 
 and could be seen by the Court and the 
 crowd most conveniently. There were 
 military bands stationed at regular dis- 
 tances in the gardens ; and there were 
 stalls held by celebrities and by ladies and 
 gentlemen, where toys and knick-knacks 
 were sold for the charity. One of these 
 stalls was held by a clever comic actor 
 named Lober, who caused shouts of 
 laughter as he humorously disposed of 
 stacks and stacks of gingerbread to eager 
 purchasers. So perfect was the order 
 maintained, yet the freedom allowed, that 
 Sabilla and I were able to walk leisurely 
 behind the platform on which the royalties 
 were seated ; and when they descended 
 the steps thereof, and got into their car- 
 riages, we were standing within fifty paces 
 from them. No pushing, no elbowing 
 among the crowd ; but quiet and orderly 
 they stood, just raising their hats respect- 
 fully as the King and Queen passed. In 
 the evening there was a performance in 
 the Sommertheater, at which the royalties
 
 212 MY LONG LIFE. 
 
 were present. The King and Queen 
 laughed heartily, and came in quite sim- 
 ple fashion to that small barn of a theatre, 
 seeming thoroughly to enjoy themselves. 
 We were close to them, and could see 
 the Queen's sweet and amiable face com- 
 pletely well. We were told that she took 
 special interest in the particular charity 
 for which this ' Gartenfest ' was got up 
 each year; so that she made a point of 
 enjoying its gaieties with her people. 
 
 We took our leave of ' Delightful Dres- 
 den ' and its unrivalled H of theater with a 
 piece called ' Prinz Friedrich von Hom- 
 burg,' in which my admirable Dettmer 
 played to perfection, and Ellmeureich was 
 her usual graceful and fascinating self. 
 In one of its scenes, Dettmer had occasion 
 to introduce most appropriately his singu- 
 lar power of turning pale in a moment of 
 intense emotion, so that I was more than 
 ever convinced of his possessing this gift, 
 and also more than ever charmed with his 
 full and touching voice.
 
 MY LONG LIFE. 213 
 
 The next year, 1881, was marked by 
 quite different, though quite as interesting, 
 experiences. Sabilla and I were invited 
 by our friends, Mr. and Mrs. Littleton, to 
 visit them again ; but as their house in 
 Sydenham was undergoing complete res- 
 toration, they were staying in London 
 for the first portion of our return to Eng- 
 land. This afforded an opportunity for us 
 to hear some charming recitals of Rubin- 
 stein, who was giving a series in the St. 
 James's Hall. This was an especial treat 
 for me. I, who had heard all the most 
 celebrated pianists for years at the Phil- 
 harmonic Society (of which my father 
 was one of the original instigators and 
 first members, and had taken me regularly 
 to hear its concerts, ever since I was quite 
 a young girl), John Cramer, Thalberg, 
 Dohler, Pauer, etc., etc., felt extreme eager- 
 ness to hear Rubinstein, of whom I had 
 often heard, but whom I had never heard 
 play. What especially charmed me in his 
 playing that season was the extremely
 
 214 MY LONG LIFE. 
 
 appropriate and characteristic style in 
 which he played the respective composi- 
 tions of each composer he selected for 
 performance at his several recitals. I felt, 
 so to say, as if he played Mozart, Mozar- 
 tianly ; Beethoven, Beethovenishly ; Weber, 
 Weberishly, and so on, while his own 
 compositions he delivered with a spirit and 
 effect that appeared to me to be peculiarly 
 suited to them. I particularly admired his 
 own manner; no breaking the time, no 
 exaggerated tricks. 
 
 One day Mr. Littleton went with me 
 to the South Kensington Museum, and 
 helped me to find the fa9ade of the dear old 
 school-house at Enfield, which had been 
 placed in what were called ' The Exhibi- 
 tion Buildings,' and was beautifully pre- 
 served ; the pomegranate garlands and the 
 cherub heads being quite complete. 
 
 On my birthday a delightful surprise 
 had been prepared for me. My kind 
 friend Mr. Littleton had had printed for 
 me my verse volume of ' Honey from the
 
 MY LONG LIFE. 215 
 
 Weed,' and he brought me the first bound 
 copy as a birthday pleasure. Its graceful 
 and appropriate cover — ferns and weeds, 
 with a bee hovering over them extracting 
 their sweets — had been designed by his 
 son, Mr. Alfred Littleton, so that a com- 
 bination of interest was contained in this 
 generous gift. 
 
 That same evening we had a rehearsal 
 of Sheridan's comedy of ' The Rivals,' as I 
 had been asked to play Mrs. Malaprop in 
 the private theatricals which were to take 
 place at Westwood House as soon as the 
 rebuilding there should be completed. 
 This was accomplished early in July, when 
 we all left London and took up our abode 
 at Sydenham, where there was to be a 
 garden party on the 9th July, and three 
 performances of the intended private 
 theatricals later on. The whole trans- 
 formation of the mansion and projected 
 doings there seemed to me to be quite an 
 Aladdin-Palace kind of celerity in achieve- 
 ment, but I was installed in a peaceful
 
 2i6 MY LONG LIFE. 
 
 apartment called ' Mrs. Cowden's room,' 
 where my friends amiably placed a portrait 
 of Shakespeare over the mantelpiece, and 
 where I could write at perfect leisure, for 
 I was then finishing my story of ' Uncle 
 Peep and I,' which I had begun at the 
 commencement of the year in compliance 
 with a request made by Mrs. Huntington 
 that I would write a book for American 
 children, having written so much that 
 their elders enjoyed. By dint of working 
 all night by gaslight, and of perpetual 
 hammering and knocking all day, every- 
 thing was ready for the garden party, 
 which went off brilliantly ; hosts of invited 
 friends, a Hungarian band on the lawn, 
 and a part song (sung by amateur ladies 
 and gentlemen) especially composed for 
 the occasion, called ' Congratulatory Ode 
 to commemorate the restoration and re- 
 opening of Westwood House, Sydenham, 
 on the 9th July, 1881.' 
 
 The three performances of Mark 
 Lemon's pleasant farce ' Domestic Econ-
 
 MY LONG LIFE. 217 
 
 omy' (in which Mr. Augustus Littleton 
 played the husband who stays at home to 
 make the pudding, and Sabilla the wife 
 who goes out to hoe potatoes), and Sheri- 
 dan's comedy of ' The Rivals' (in which 
 Mr. Alfred Littleton played Captain 
 Absolute^ and I Mrs. Malaprop), took 
 place on the 25th, 26th, 27th July. The 
 first and third of these performances were 
 for friends, w^hile the second performance 
 (by the kind thoughtfulness of Mr. Little- 
 ton and his sons) was given for the 
 entertainment of the household servants 
 and all the workpeople who had been 
 employed in the restoration of Westwood 
 House (amounting to nearly 200). One 
 of these workmen was heard to say of Mrs. 
 Malaprop, ' That is n't really an old woman, 
 it 's a young woman got up old.' I thought 
 this a very genuine and gratifying testi- 
 mony to my being able to act well at 
 seventy-two years of age. I may mention, 
 as a characteristic trait of my liking for 
 preserving matters that possess a charm of
 
 2i8 MY LONG LIFE. 
 
 sympathetic remembrance for me, that I 
 then played Mrs. Malaprop in the same 
 carefully-kept costume (made by myself 
 from an exquisitely painted china silk given 
 to me by an enthusiastic lady who heard 
 I was going to act in 1847), ornamented 
 with the same stage diamonds, and that I 
 used the same fan, the same pink three- 
 cornered note for Captain Absolute s inter- 
 cepted one to Lydia Languish, and the 
 same large letter with a huge seal for that 
 which Sir Anthony writes (both brought 
 out of Mrs. Malaprop' s pocket in the scene 
 where she causes Captain Absolute to read 
 from his the words, ' The old weather- 
 beaten she-dragon who guards you '). And 
 I possess the same dress, now that I am 
 writing this at eighty-six years old. So 
 much for innate individuality of disposi- 
 tion ! One of the interesting visits we 
 paid was to Sir Henry Bessemer and his 
 lady, who invited us to dine at their charm- 
 ing house on Denmark Hill. He had 
 laid out its grounds and the interior of the
 
 MY LONG LIFE. 219 
 
 dwelling itself in the most artistic and 
 scientific style imaginable. As simple- 
 mannered as original-minded, he escorted 
 us round himself, showing and explaining 
 to us his many ingenious and beautiful 
 contrivances. One of the apartments 
 leading into a conservatory, he had both 
 fitted up with mirrors so placed as to give 
 what Dan Chaucer calls 'sly reflections,' 
 and produced a curiously pleasant effect. 
 He took me in to dinner, and conversed, 
 in easily familiar terms, of tlie mode in 
 which a tunnel is carried through a moun- 
 tain, because I had asked how it was that 
 the engineers at each end could conduct 
 it so straightly as to meet precisely at the 
 point needed. We took our way back to 
 Genova by Coblentz, Wiesbaden, Frank- 
 furt, Stuttgart, and Innsbruck and the 
 Brenner Pass, where we were favoured 
 by distant views of the Dolomite Peaks, 
 made visible to us by brilliant moonlight. 
 
 On our return home, having been asked 
 to contribute a paper to the ' Century
 
 220 MY LONG LIFE. 
 
 Magazine,' I wrote, ' Leigh Hunt ; a De- 
 scriptive Sketch,' and to please a fancy I 
 had for attempting a story which should 
 be quite comprehensible and interesting, 
 yet containing not one single name, I 
 wrote ' A Story without a Name,' which 
 was published in ' The Girl's Own 
 Paper.' 
 
 1882 began pleasantly with a visit 
 from our friend, Mr. Littleton, who, after 
 that, made it an annual one for several 
 succeeding years, spending some weeks 
 in this more genial climate during the win- 
 ter season. He invited us to Westwood 
 again, that we might hear Gounod's grand 
 work, ' The Redemption,' which was to be 
 performed at the Birmingham Festival 
 that August. Accordingly, in June, we 
 went to England, where we were in good 
 time for rehearsals of an amateur per- 
 formance that was to take place in July. 
 The entertainment consisted of Shake- 
 speare's ' As you Like It,' in which Sabilla 
 acted Audrey preceded by a prologue
 
 MY LONG LIFE. 221 
 
 which I had been asked to write and de- 
 liver myself. I made it in the form of a 
 dialogue between Mrs. Malaprop and Mrs. 
 Cowcien, so that it afforded scope for 
 numerous Malapropisms that decidedly- 
 amused the audience. 
 
 That August, having an invitation from 
 our dear and many-year friend, Alexander 
 Ireland, to visit him and his family at 
 Bowden, near Manchester, I travelled up 
 and spent a pleasant few days there. 
 They gave a large party of notabilities 
 there one evening to meet me, which 
 honour somewhat abashed my shyness, 
 but which I felt grateful for as a proof of 
 my friend's goodness. 
 
 On the 23d August we went to hear 
 the rehearsal of ' The Redemption,' con- 
 ducted by the glorious composer himself. 
 
 At its conclusion, Gounod mustered 
 sufficient English to address the orchestra 
 with these kindly, courteous words : — 
 
 ' Gentlemen, I could rather have believed 
 to have been a second performance than
 
 222 MY LONG LIFE. 
 
 a first rehearsal, so correctly have you 
 played.' 
 
 On the 25th we travelled down to Bir- 
 mingham, and on the 26th we heard the 
 first rehearsal of ' The Redemption,' pre- 
 vious to which we sat near to Gounod, to 
 whom we were introduced, and he intro- 
 duced to us his daughter Jeanne. 
 
 I said, ^ Ah, la Dodelinette?'' and he 
 answered, ' Oui, la Dodelmette^ for it was to 
 her that he had dedicated his charming 
 lullaby thus named, and which he saw that 
 we knew. 
 
 The next evening Gounod was invited 
 to dine with us by Mr. Littleton, and as 
 Sabilla and I could speak French, he, 
 much to my delight, was seated near to 
 us. 
 
 He took me in to dinner, and he and I 
 being next each other I could enjoy his 
 bright conversation to perfection. Mr. 
 Littleton told him that he had already 
 made arrangement for ten different per- 
 formances, at various provincial towns,
 
 HENRY LITTLETON.
 
 MY LONG LIFE. 223 
 
 for the performance of ' The Redemption,' 
 at which Gounod frankly manifested his 
 satisfaction ; and when I began to ecsta- 
 cise on the sublimity of the work, he owned 
 that he nearly shed tears as he wrote its 
 concluding bars, so intensely had he felt 
 the delight of composing it. 
 
 When I told him how keenly I sympa- 
 thised with this feeling, and how I 
 thought that, upon the completion of a 
 work into which one has put one's heart, 
 one feels inspired to commence another, 
 he said, ' Comi7iencer un oeuvre d'arl quon 
 aime, est comme un mariage d amour.'' 
 And as he uttered the words, what spark- 
 ling expression there was in his eloquent 
 eyes ! 
 
 After dinner he accompanied his 
 daughter in the song, ' Loin du Pays,' by 
 himself, and afterwards in the song, ' Sou- 
 viens toi que je t'aime ' from his opera of 
 Mireille. She sang with charming senti- 
 ment and feeling. Just before he began 
 accompanying her she made us laugh by
 
 224 MY LONG LIFE. 
 
 saying Non.papa, tu te irompes,' because he 
 had made some slight variation in the open- 
 ing passage. The idea of telling my 
 adored Gounod that he tripped in music 
 seemed to me beyond measure strange 
 and droll. 
 
 The morning when Gounod came to 
 call upon us to take leave, he had left his 
 hat on the table, and I, on his departing, 
 took it to him saying, ' ^e suis fdchee de 
 vous presenter voire ckapemi, M. Gounod^ 
 He promptly replied, ' Je crois que vous ne 
 me mettriez pas a la porte, nesi-ce pas' 
 
 He was altogether fascinating to me 
 personally as well as composerly. 
 
 I met several distinguished gentlemen 
 at that Birmingham Festival, two of whom. 
 Professor Mahaffy and Mr. Edward Broad- 
 field, were drawn thither by the superla- 
 tive treat of music we then had, and who 
 occupied seats near to ours during its per- 
 formance. 
 
 One morning I had the pleasure of 
 hearing Mr. Barnby try over the ' Sanctus '
 
 MY LONG LIFE. 225 
 
 in Gounod's just-composed MS. Mass, 
 and I heard that Gounod had said, in his 
 finely imaginative way, ' When I com- 
 posed that " Sanctus " I seemed to see the 
 assembled multitude kneeling in devout 
 contemplation of the holy mystery.' 
 
 From Birmingham we returned to 
 Westwood, and thence we left for the 
 Continent, on the loth of September, 
 taking our way back by Coblentz to 
 Munich. 
 
 After taking tickets there for the Bren- 
 ner Pass, we heard that there was talk of 
 interruption on the railway line, and that 
 we should not be able to get beyond 
 Botzen. Inundation was hinted at, but 
 spoken of as insignificant. 
 
 When we reached Sterzig, some gentle- 
 men and ladies came kindly with um- 
 brellas, asking us whether we would not 
 halt there, but hearing that the hotel was 
 a quarter of a mile off, and seeing there 
 was a heavy rain pouring down, we 
 thought the risk of taking severe colds 
 15
 
 226 MY LONG LIFE. 
 
 seemed worse than proceeding, so we 
 asked the guard whether he was going on 
 to Brixen. He said Yes, but added that 
 telegrams had been received to say that 
 no more accommodation of any kind was 
 to be had there. Nevertheless, we, know- 
 ing that there were more houses at Brixen 
 than we could see at Sterzig, resolved to 
 ' stick to our ship,' as we told the guard, 
 and proceed with him to Brixen. 
 
 On arrival there, Sabilla saw an omnibus 
 waiting, and we made for it, but were told 
 by its driver that it was engaged by some 
 Herrschaft. We replied that we would 
 ask them to permit us to share it with 
 them, and we jumped in. 
 
 The driver, finding that his expected 
 Herrschaft did not appear, drove us into 
 Brixen, telling us he knew of a house 
 there, kept by people who might be per- 
 suaded to let us lodge with them. 
 
 In a narrow, arcaded street he drove up 
 to the premises of a prosperous wax-candle 
 maker and soap-boiler, and, after a parley
 
 MY LONG LIFE. 227 
 
 with the owner's family, we were taken 
 into the house. 
 
 Passing through the curious vaulted 
 basement, that looked like a smuggler's 
 cave stuffed full of casks and packing- 
 cases, we were conducted upstairs, where 
 we found large and clean rooms, bedizened, 
 Tyrolese fashion, with pictures and cruci- 
 fixes, clocks, toy china and an extremely 
 curious wooden figure, life-size, of St. Carlo 
 Borromeo, which we were assured had 
 been sculptured by a blind man. The 
 Tyrolese are very artistic, and are especially 
 clever in wood-sculpture. 
 
 Most fortunate we esteemed ourselves ; 
 the people, kind as possible, giving up 
 their best sleeping-room to us and making 
 us thoroughly comfortable and at home 
 with them. The daughter used to fly 
 about with a stentorian voice and cheery 
 face, evidently enjoying the scrimmage* 
 dashing on a straw hat to fetch water from 
 the well or to the ' Elephant Hotel ' for 
 our meals. Of an evening she used to
 
 228 MY LONG LIFE. 
 
 clamber on to a chair and place a light 
 beneath a picture of the Madonna, while 
 often we used to hear, before retiring for 
 the night, the Litany being chanted by 
 youthful voices in a chamber above. 
 
 Of this energetic maiden her mother 
 told us a characteristic anecdote, that 
 when the hospital at Brixen had been 
 struck by lightning and burnt, her daugh- 
 ter had carried down some of the patients 
 pick-a-back, which other maidens would 
 not do, so her courage was known in all 
 Brixen. This daughter, ' Lotte,' gave us 
 sad news of cottages washed away, fields 
 destroyed, etc., and the cruel rain con- 
 tinued to carry sorrow and desolation 
 with it. At the post-office were stacks of 
 post parcels awaiting possibility of transit, 
 while the letters were carried on men's 
 backs over the high mountains, and the 
 poor fellows were working day and 
 night. 
 
 An odd, old-world custom was still re- 
 tained in Brixen, which is represented in
 
 MY LONG LIFE. 229 
 
 Mendelssohn's opera ' Son and Stranger,' 
 as well as in Wagner's ' Meistersanger,' 
 and which had a curiously-mingled effect 
 of implied peril and assurance of protec- 
 tion from danger. A watchman with his 
 dog passed the house where we were stay- 
 ing, every hour between ten p. m. and 
 three o'clock a. m., announcing the hour 
 and exhorting to prayer in a quaint call. 
 This — while the inundations went on, 
 and the dull, continuous downpour of 
 rain accompanied the sound of the watch- 
 man's voice — was most impressive, but 
 when the weather somewhat cleared, I 
 used to listen to the hourly announcement 
 and exhortation with revived hope and trust. 
 The walks we were then able to take were 
 very interesting, and on the whole our en- 
 forced month's stay at Brixen had been 
 productive of good. The pure fresh air, 
 its kindly people, its interesting cathedral 
 and environs, had improved our health 
 and gratified our taste. The hospitable 
 Kirchbaumers were kindly courteous to
 
 230 MY LONG LIFE. 
 
 the very last moment, coming up to the 
 station with us, seeing us off with tears in 
 their eyes. Finding that return, by the 
 remainder of the Brenner Pass, to Italy 
 was still impracticable, we retraced our 
 way, and went back through Munich, 
 Karlsruhe, and round by the Mont Cenis 
 Pass to Genova. 
 
 In the autumn of that year an enor- 
 mously large comet was visible from our 
 house here. I got up several times at 
 four o'clock in the morning to see it 
 thoroughly. It extended along the east- 
 ern quarter of the heavens, fiery-red and 
 portentous in magnitude, making one 
 think of Milton's words, — ' Like a comet 
 burn'd, that fires the length of Ophiuchus 
 huge in the arctic sky.' 
 
 The next year, 1883, I was asked to con- 
 tribute to the 'St. Nicholas Magazine,' a 
 periodical for children, and I sent for in- 
 sertion my juvenile drama called ' Puck's 
 Pranks ; ' and Mrs. Meynell requesting me 
 to send her a paper on ancient cookery
 
 MY LONG LIFE. 231 
 
 for the magazine she was editing (' Merry 
 England '), I wrote ' On English Cookery 
 in Shakespeare's Time,' that she much 
 approved. 
 
 In the summer Sabilla and I took our 
 usual change to cooler and inland air. We 
 made our first acquaintance with Baden- 
 Baden, which we subsequently frequently 
 visited. From Baden-Baden, that summer, 
 we went to our pleasant Rhenish quarters 
 at Coblentz, remaining there some weeks, 
 and returning home to Genova. There, 
 in the winter, we had a series of admirable 
 lectures on English literature, delivered by 
 Mr. James Cappon, a most welcome and 
 exceptional treat in Genova. He paid us 
 several visits at our house here, and we 
 found him as excellent in conversation as 
 in lecturing. 
 
 We made a novel experience in 1884 by 
 ffoing throusfh the St. Gothard Tunnel into 
 Germany, and were enchanted by the 
 scenery we passed through, and much 
 pleased with the capital arrangements of
 
 232 MY LONG LIFE. 
 
 the railway line all along. We made a 
 longish stay at Carlsruhe, seeing it 
 properly for the first time. Its mixture 
 of ducal court refinement, with the sim- 
 plicity of a country town, impressed me 
 so fascinatingly that I wrote four sonnets, 
 comparing it with my favourite Enfield 
 and Dulwich for peculiar charm. 
 
 When 1885 began, and Mr. Littleton as 
 usual came to see us in January, he invited 
 us to go and visit him and Mrs. Littleton 
 in the summer, and go with them to hear 
 Gounod's ' Mors et Vita ' at the Birming- 
 ham Festival in August. There was also 
 to be an amateur performance at West- 
 wood of Ross Neil's charming play of 
 ' The King and the Angel,' its subject 
 being the one given in prose by Leigh 
 Hunt, called ' King Robert of Sicily,' in 
 verse by Longfellow under the same title, 
 and by William Morris, entitled ' The 
 Proud King.' So tempting a proposal 
 was, of course, accepted by Sabilla and me ; 
 and on the i8th July the promised per-
 
 MY LONG LIFE. 233 
 
 formance took place most brilliantly. I 
 found that Ross Neil has introduced a 
 beautifully dramatic and true-to-nature 
 incident, by making a woman one of the 
 means of effecting the transformed king's 
 reform. She is a princess, betrothed to 
 the king, treated by him, during his 
 haughty, overbearing first self, with neglect 
 and indifference, but who, by gentle and 
 tenderly considerate behaviour to him in 
 his period of transformation to a wretched 
 outcast, aids in awakening him to a sense 
 of his previous misconduct. The Birming- 
 ham Festival's first introduction to the 
 public of Gounod's grandly devout ' Mors 
 et Vita ' was an immense treat to me, 
 though I sadly missed the presence of its 
 great composer, who was unable to come 
 over to England. I tried to content my- 
 self with thinking of all he had said and 
 looked when I had met him during the 
 performance of * The Redemption,' three 
 years before. During this return to Bir- 
 mingham I was taken by my dear, kind,
 
 234 MY LONG LIFE. 
 
 long-esteemed friend, Mr. Sam Timmins, 
 to see the Shakespeare Library, and it was 
 pleasant to me to see almost every other 
 person that passed touch his hat to him as 
 we walked there together. The building 
 for the library was noble in itself, but the 
 collection of treasures within was magnifi- 
 cent, and the order preserved — both in 
 the accommodation of readers and in the 
 arrangement of books — was perfectly 
 admirable. Of course, the room especially 
 dedicated to the Shakespeare Library was 
 the chief point of interest to my guide and 
 to me, and he had one of the curators, with 
 the keys of the bookcases, to open for my 
 inspection some of the rarest and choicest 
 volumes preserved there. Then he took 
 me into the chief reading-room, where 
 there was a bust of himself, and told me of 
 George Dawson (who for some time was 
 believed to have been the originator of the 
 idea of this library) having delivered a 
 speech on the very spot where we stood, 
 to the effect that it was Mr. Timmins who,
 
 MY LONG LIFE. 235 
 
 in reality, was the first to originate the 
 idea, and to promote its fulfilment. As I 
 sat there, Mr. Timmins reading to me, in a 
 low voice, an extract from this identical 
 speech, eloquent and fervent in the 
 extreme, I was deeply touched, and the 
 reader himself was full of emotion. The 
 whole visit was peculiarly interesting, and 
 both Mr. Timmins and I congratulated 
 ourselves on having thus been able to 
 achieve it, having looked forward to it for 
 some years. I showed him the miniature 
 ring I wear, telling him I had brought his 
 friend C. C. C. (my other self), to be with 
 me in this noble Shakespeare Library ; 
 and Mr. Timmins feelingly alluded to the 
 times when my beloved came to lecture in 
 Birmingham, and when their first inter- 
 view took place as referred to in the two 
 sonnets I addressed to our constant friend. 
 On leaving, I was taken to a large book 
 kept for the purpose of registering visitors, 
 and he asked me to sign my name therein, 
 which signature I found, to my great
 
 236 MY LONG LIFE. 
 
 gratification, came next to that of no less 
 a personage than Russell Lowell. I may 
 here be permitted to mention that I have 
 ever felt grateful for the liberal way in 
 which distinguished Shakespearians have 
 treated me with a Q.Qxd\2i\. fraternity as one 
 of their brotherhood. In America, as well 
 as England, this has been the case. Even 
 now, as I write, comes a letter from Mr. 
 Timmins, dated February 2 2d, 1896, 
 giving me an account of the intended 
 celebration of Shakespeare's birthday on 
 the 23d of April. As long ago as when 
 the Reverend N. J. Halpin wrote his 
 ' Dramatic Unities of Shakespeare,' pub- 
 lished in 1849, he sent me his book and 
 corresponded with me ; Dr. Ingleby did 
 the same, and nowadays Frederick Haines, 
 one of the trustees of the Shakespeare 
 birthplace, at Stratford-on-Avon, writes me 
 delightful letters, while Richard Savage, 
 its librarian, sends me dried flowers from 
 the garden there. From America I have 
 received such continued courtesies and
 
 MY LONG LIFE. 237 
 
 kindnesses that I have felt as if we had, 
 in Shakespeare's words, ' shook hands as 
 over a vast, and embraced, as it were, from 
 the ends of opposed winds.' Dr. Horace 
 Howard Fiirness sends me each volume of 
 his magnificent ' Variorum Edition of 
 Shakespeare ' as it is successively pub- 
 lished ; Dr. W. J. Rolfe has sent me his 
 ' Friendly Edition of Shakespeare' with 
 generous hand, calling me its godmother 
 because I gave it that name; Professor 
 Hiram Corson has presented me with the 
 books he has written on that and other 
 poetical subjects, besides paying me a visit 
 here when he came to Europe ; and Mr. 
 George H. Calvert sent me his ' Shakes- 
 peare ; a Biographic and Esthetic Study,' 
 and also several works he wrote on various 
 themes. From charming Celia Thaxter 
 we had a visit one Christmas, when she 
 gaily helped us stone raisins, etc., for our 
 Christmas pudding, and told us ghost- 
 stories, and proved herself the exact 
 being that dear Mr. James T. Fields de-
 
 238 MY LONG LIFE. 
 
 scribes her in one of the many delightful 
 letters he wrote, telling me that he always 
 called her ' the laughing girl,' and when he 
 sent me her poetical prose book, ' Among 
 the Isles of Shoals.' On taking leave of 
 us that Christmas she gave me a dainty 
 volume of her ' Poems,' many pages of which 
 she adorned by sketches, in natural colours, 
 of flowers, weeds, etc., dashed across the 
 page. Mrs. James Field we likewise saw 
 more than once on occasions when she 
 was in Europe. Her books of poems, 
 * Under the Olives,' and her ' Singing 
 Shepherd,' were her kind gifts to me. 
 Miss Sarah Orne Jewett, her attached 
 friend, always accompanied her when she 
 came to see us, and from her I have 
 received several of her vivid literary 
 pictures of American life. Similar ameni- 
 ties of correspondence and presents of 
 her clever works I have had from Miss 
 Imogen Guiney ; so that from American 
 ladies — and several others unmentioned 
 here — I have received abundant and
 
 MY LONG LIFE. 239 
 
 memorable tokens of friendly feeling. In 
 the November of that year I began writing 
 my ' Shakespeare's Self, as revealed in his 
 Writings,' and it was printed in the 
 American Magazine, ' Shakespeariana,' 
 for April 1886. 
 
 One of the performances of Wagner's 
 ' Parsifal ' at Bayreuth being announced to 
 take place in the last-named year, Sabilla 
 and I resolved we would go thither. Ar- 
 rangements having been made with the 
 authorities, who appointed quarters for the 
 accommodation of the numerous visitors 
 thronging thither, we were so fortunate as 
 to have had selected for us apartments in 
 the house of a particularly hospitable 
 couple, with whom we soon felt quite at 
 home, so kindly attentive were they to 
 our every comfort and convenience. The 
 town beins: at some distance from the the- 
 atre, we engaged a small carriage, belong- 
 ing to our hosts, for the whole of our stay 
 at Bayreuth. The performances were 
 arranged with excellent care and fore-
 
 240 MY LONG LIFE. 
 
 thought ; between each act trumpets 
 sounded the call from the opera of ' Lo- 
 hengrin,' and the audience were able to 
 enjoy a refection at the Restauration out- 
 side the theatre, no one but those who 
 had been present there being allowed to 
 take seats at each meal. The music was 
 admirably given; the players in the or- 
 chestra, stationed out of sight, took their 
 places, ready-tuned ; and the vocal artistes 
 were all excellent. Besides ' Parsifal,' the 
 ' Tristan and Isolde ' was performed ; but 
 I must own that I was so much affected 
 by a sense of weariness, after listening 
 to ' Parsifal ' and subsequently to the first 
 act of ' Tristan and Isolde,' that I pre- 
 sented my ticket to our obliging host- 
 ess, who was an enthusiastic Wagnerite. 
 I am a warm admirer of Wagner in 
 his poetical treatment of ' Der fliegende 
 Hollander ' and ' Tannhauser,' the first 
 of which the composer has been said to 
 denounce as ' too melodious,' but which I 
 find beautifully and appropriately weird ;
 
 MY LONG LIFE. 241 
 
 while the imaginative charm he has 
 imparted throughout the Venus-haunted 
 knight's career in ' Tannhauser ' is, to 
 me, completely bewitching. 
 
 From Bayreuth we took flight to our 
 'Delightful Dresden,' which we found 
 attractive as ever, though we deeply re- 
 gretted the loss of our admirable actor, 
 Dettmer, and of the as admirable baritone, 
 Degele, who had both died in the interim. 
 However, very soon after our revisits to 
 the Hoftheater, we learned to appreciate 
 the versatile talent of an actor named 
 Klein, who impersonated, with equal 
 verity. President la Roquette (a real man 
 living in Louis XIV. 's time, and said to 
 have been the prototype of Moliere's 'Tar- 
 tuffe ') ; the cruel and implacable Duke of 
 Alva ; a lively Spanish page ; a self-made 
 rich merchant, with white hair ; and a 
 middle-aged major, still youthful enough 
 in manner to be irresistible to young- 
 ladies. In all and each of these char- 
 acters Klein was wonderfully true to 
 
 nature. 
 
 16
 
 242 MY LONG LIFE. 
 
 One evening after our arrival, while we 
 were seated in our usual places in the 
 stalls, a pencilled note was brought to us 
 by the stall-keeper, on which was written : 
 ' Look up to the box on the right of the 
 royal one, and you will see some friends 
 who love you.' They proved to be the 
 three ladies Huntington, whom we had 
 known before in Dresden in 1880; and 
 when we met on the grand staircase, 
 after the performance, they spoke most 
 earnestly and affectionately to us. Our 
 stay in Dresden was as entirely agreeable 
 as our visits there had always been on 
 previous occasions ; and we returned to 
 Genova by Zurich and the St. Gothard 
 Pass. 
 
 The editor of ' The Girl's Own Paper ' 
 having requested me to send him a 
 contribution, I wrote ' Shakespeare as 
 the Girl's Friend,' which was printed in 
 the number for 4th June 1887. Later on, 
 my ' Story Without a Name,' and my 
 'Benemilda; or the Path of Duty' also
 
 MY LONG LIFE. 243 
 
 appeared in that graceful periodical. In- 
 viting our niece Valeria to accompany 
 us that summer, we went to Brunnen, 
 and took up our abode in the Waldstat- 
 terhof, on the shore of the lake of the four 
 cantons, surrounded by the glorious 
 mountain snow peaks. Amid that sub- 
 lime scenery I wrote my Centennial 
 Biographic Sketch of Charles Cowden- 
 Clarke.' This, and my ' Memorial Son- 
 nets,' etc., kind Mr. Littleton caused to 
 be printed in order that I might have 
 copies to give to friends. 
 
 From Brunnen we proceeded to Baden- 
 Baden, where we much enjoyed our time, 
 for we were so fortunate as to make ac- 
 quaintance with several musically and 
 generally accomplished families, who be- 
 came lasting friends of ours whenever we 
 subsequently revisited Baden-Baden's deli- 
 cious greenwood shades. 
 
 In my opinion, it is extremely pleasant 
 to see how the young ladies come in from 
 the kitchen, where they had been engaged
 
 244 MY LONG LIFE. 
 
 in household superintendence, and in 
 acquiring practical experience, still wear- 
 ing their neat little white aprons with 
 bibs, and then seat themselves at the 
 pianoforte to take part, with one of their 
 parents, in some duet by a favourite com- 
 poser. It seems to me that this wise 
 combination of domesticity and skill in 
 music forms a perfect feminine education, 
 as wise as it is productive of pleasure. 
 And it was our gratification to witness 
 more than one instance of this judicious 
 bringing up young ladies, rendering them 
 able to become thoroughly competent 
 mistresses of a house when they marry, as 
 well as artistically accomplished compan- 
 ions to their husbands. 
 
 In our summer journey, the following 
 year, we were accompanied by our niece 
 Porzia, whom we invited to enjoy the 
 cooler air of Tyrol and Germany. Very 
 soon after our arrival at Innsbruck, Sa- 
 billa made the welcome discovery that a 
 peasant play was to be given at the Som-
 
 MY LONG LIFE. 245 
 
 mertheater not far of¥, in the afternoon ; 
 so we all three drove there, and found a 
 small neat theatre, built of boards, in a 
 Restauration Garten, and where we took 
 our tickets for the best places (like the 
 stalls) at a franc each. All the perform- 
 ers were amateurs, mostly peasants, and 
 the first actress the wife of a shoemaker ! 
 She was perfectly charming ; and the rest 
 were more than respectable. The piece 
 was of the high romantic style, and con- 
 sisted of a mediaeval story pertaining to 
 a certain castle near to Innsbruck. It 
 was called ' The Tournament of Kron- 
 stein,' and most of the characters figured 
 in antique armour, while the widow- 
 countess-heroine wore picturesque mediae- 
 val costumes. She looked like an old- 
 master portrait, was refined in her voice, 
 her look, her movements, and was alto- 
 gether thoroughly unconventional and 
 interesting. 
 
 One day, opposite to us at table cT hote^ 
 we saw two ladies take their seats very
 
 246 MY LONG LIFE. 
 
 quietly, one of them wearing a simple 
 white frock, and looking so girlish, that 
 Sabilla whispered to me, — ' Though that 
 young lady looks so unpretending and 
 quiet, she seems to me to be accustomed to 
 be " a somebody." ' On speaking to her, 
 after dinner, we found that she was no other 
 than the superlative pianiste, Fanny Davies, 
 and she said, ' I had already recognised 
 you, for you had been pointed out to me at 
 the Birmingham Festival as Vincent No- 
 vello's daughters. She became delight- 
 fully familiar and friendly with us, and 
 generously offered to play to us. The 
 obliging master of the hotel lent us his 
 own parlour, which had a better piano- 
 forte in it than the one in the reading- 
 room ; and many an evening's superb treat 
 of music by the best composers did 
 Fanny Davies give us. Ever after, she 
 has been called by me ' my Charmer ' ; 
 and numerous have been the charming 
 feasts she has given us, when meeting 
 her in Germany, or when she favoured
 
 MY LONG LIFE. 247 
 
 us by visits to us here in Genova. From 
 Innsbruck we went to Munich, where 
 Sabilla and Porzia were much interested 
 to hear the early opera of Wagners 
 called ' Die Feen,' which was got up 
 with the usual poetry and beauty that 
 distinguished the performances at the 
 Munich Hoftheater. 
 
 We left Munich for Stuttgart, where we 
 daily used to listen to the fine military 
 band on the Platz, and to the chorale that 
 was each noon to be ' blasen ' from the 
 tower of the Stifts Kirche, a curious 
 antique ceremonial observed there. It 
 was most interesting to hear this old 
 chorale blown by instruments sounding 
 like a gigantic i^olian harp up there, 
 among the angles of architectural or- 
 namentation belonging to the quaint old 
 church. 
 
 One evening a Generalissimo having ar- 
 rived, a serenade was given to him, which 
 I enjoyed throughout. At eight o'clock the 
 sound of a military band became audible.
 
 248 MY LONG LIFE. 
 
 and soon came moving on in double file 
 a long array of soldiers bearing coloured 
 lanterns and playing a bright march. 
 Then they drew up at the angle of the 
 two streets on which our hotel abutted, 
 and began with an appealing fanfare of 
 trumpets. Then followed two grave 
 pieces — like chorales — sounding forth 
 majestically and full-toned. Then fol- 
 lowed a quick, brisk movement, upon 
 which the entire vast crowd burst forth 
 with loud and enthusiastic ' Hocks'' ; while 
 the Generalissimo presented himself at the 
 window and saluted the crowd. The 
 whole thing was a sight and sound never 
 to be forgotten, and I thought myself 
 fortunate to have had so many opportuni- 
 ties of enjoying German summers and 
 delightful Italian home-winter-residence, 
 enhanced by English comforts and dear, 
 ever-loved English ties. 
 
 We made some stay at Carlsruhe on our 
 return journey, and were charmed with that 
 delightful lyric artiste, Mailhae, who acts
 
 MY LONG LIFE. 249 
 
 as finely as she sings. As Reiza, in 
 Weber's opera of ' Oberon/ she was ex- 
 quisite, especially in the last aria; so 
 descriptive of utter grief and despair, she 
 was content to remain perfectly motion- 
 less, with one arm drooping at her side, 
 and the other listlessly lying across her 
 person, while her head inclined gently 
 down, giving completely the effect of com- 
 plete woe-begone sense of loss. In other 
 characters she is quite as dramatically 
 natural. As Catherine the Shrew (in 
 Gotz's opera taken from Shakespeare's 
 ' Taming of the Shrew') she was admi- 
 rable ; and in the gay little Tyrolese after- 
 piece she enacted a rustic maiden, making 
 her easy, active, playful and pouting all in 
 turn, with bewitching effect. 
 
 The year 1889 opened brilliantly for us. 
 Miss Fanny Davies and Miss Grist paid us 
 a flying visit here in Genova, when ' my 
 Charmer ' played us, in her wonted gener- 
 ous and perfect style, Mendelssohn, Chopin, 
 Rubinstein, etc., and in the evening the
 
 250 MY LONG LIFE. 
 
 ladies enjoyed a performance at the 
 Marionette Theatre, to which Sabilla in- 
 vited them as an ItaHan curiosity of enter- 
 tainment. We made a change in our 
 summer excursion that year, thinking we 
 would try if a less distant one might prove 
 equally effectual as a refuge from too per- 
 petual residence by the seaside. Accord- 
 ingly, we went to a beautiful spot on the 
 north side of one of the Turinese Hills, 
 called San Genesio. Magnificent view 
 towards the Val d'Aosta, finely-wooded 
 environment, and a spacious, well-built 
 hotel promised well. Delicious wander- 
 ings in the woods, with occasional luxu- 
 rious rests on commodiously-placed seats 
 under the trees, made our days pass pleas- 
 antly, and during our stay I had the excep- 
 tional delight of seeing many a sunrise, 
 besides beholding an eclipse of the moon 
 from its commencement to its close. A 
 rural touch about some of the ways of the 
 house brought us acquainted with a flight 
 of pigeons, three of them being special
 
 MY LONG LIFE. 251 
 
 friends of ours. They used to come as 
 regularly as possible for crumbs from our 
 hands ; and once, when Sabilla and I had 
 taken refuge in a shady reading-room, 
 where its half-closed shutters and open 
 door made the excessive heat bearable 
 while she was playing on the pianoforte for 
 me, in trotted our three feathered friends, 
 evidently come to seek for us. 
 
 However, notwithstanding the many at- 
 tractions of San Genesio, we agreed that, 
 being in Italy, it did not afford sufficiently 
 cool air for our summer need, so we went 
 straight to Lucerne, where we found re- 
 markable contrast from our just-left sojourn 
 at San Genesio to this Swiss resort, with 
 its more than a thousand feet above the 
 sea coolness and its crowded hotel. Dur- 
 ing our stay there, whom should we see 
 arrive but Mr. Alfred Littleton and Dr. 
 Dulcken — the former, as always, full of 
 amiable courtesy and attention to me, the 
 latter, one of the best of conversers, who 
 generally took his seat beside mine, and
 
 252 MY LONG LIFE. 
 
 gave me what Dr. Johnson calls ' good 
 talk; 
 
 Some time afterwards a gentleman darted 
 out of a room on the opposite side of the 
 corridor to ours, and said, ' I think one of 
 you ladies is Mrs. Cowden-Clarke.' Sabilla 
 pointed to me, whereupon he began, ' I 
 want to speak a word with you,' and then 
 proceeded to tell me that he was Mr. 
 Armstrong, that his father was the Ameri- 
 can publisher who wished to bring out a 
 new and complete edition of my ' Girlhood 
 of Shakespeare's Heroines.' This project 
 was, to my great joy, ultimately carried 
 out, and more than forty years after the 
 first edition had been printed in London, 
 this new and complete one was simultane- 
 ously published by Messrs. Armstrong of 
 New York and Messrs. Hutchinson of 
 Paternoster Square, London. I may here 
 take occasion to say that all my experience 
 of publishers has been most agreeable. 
 Contrary to the prejudiced opinion some- 
 times expressed, that authors and pub-
 
 MY LONG LIFE. 253 
 
 lishers are often antagonistic in their trans- 
 actions, I have invariably met with courtesy 
 and kindliness. Ever since an interview 
 I once had with Lord Byron's John 
 Murray, another that I had with Mr. Col- 
 burn, I have been treated with considera- 
 tion, and even with amiability. I cannot 
 forget, for instance, that when I wrote to 
 Messrs. Longman & Company, requesting 
 them to give me a particular article I 
 wanted from an expensive book they were 
 bringing out, saying that I could not then 
 afford to purchase the whole work, and 
 mentioning that my father had in former 
 years taught Miss Longman to play the 
 organ, the reply I received was not only 
 couched in most obliging terms, but was 
 accompanied by the gift I had requested. 
 
 I may also mention the behaviour of 
 Messrs. Manning &: Mason when they 
 had printed my ' Concordance to Shakes- 
 peare,' and I went to their establishment 
 in Ivy Lane in order to sign my name 
 to each copy, all was prepared for me
 
 254 MY LONG LIFE. 
 
 with utmost regard to my convenience 
 during the long day I spent there from 
 early morning to late evening, listening 
 to each hour that boomed from the bell 
 of St. Paul's cathedral. I must not omit 
 to record that from American publishers 
 I have likewise received tokens of marked 
 regard. Messrs. Munroe, Messrs. Roberts 
 of Boston, Mr. J. P. Putnam, and Messrs. 
 Appleton of New York, have each and all 
 shown me much that proves the courtesy 
 of publishers to authors. My dear Mr. 
 James Fields was noted for his goodness 
 to authors, and to him I not only am 
 indebted for numerous delightful letters, 
 but also for treasured gifts of his own 
 poems and essays, his charming ' Yester- 
 days with Authors,' and his ' Letter to 
 Leigh Hunt in Elysium,' written in a 
 style remarkably akin to the playful spirit 
 of Leigh Hunt's own manner 
 
 From Lucerne we went to Lugano and 
 stayed at the Hotel du Pare, which I re- 
 membered had been so rapturously de-
 
 MY LONG LIFE. 255 
 
 scribed by a gentleman whom my Charles 
 and I had met at Arona as long ago as 
 1862, that I had often longed to visit this 
 particular hostelry. It proved a realisa- 
 tion of my wish ; being a monastery con- 
 verted into a hotel, and containing fine 
 long corridors with plenteous side-rooms. 
 Moreover, the apartment appointed for 
 Sabilla's and my reception overlooked a 
 garden in which there was a Moresco 
 alcove, where an excellent band played, 
 morning and evening, a capital selection 
 of music. On the evening of our first 
 arrival at Lugano, this band breathed 
 out its enchanting sounds, while a soft 
 moonlight gave perfection to this com- 
 bination of beauty. Deeply grateful did 
 I feel for having had so many of my 
 dearest and highest ideals vouchsafed to 
 me during my long and exceptionally 
 blest life. The whole of our stay in 
 Lugano was most pleasant to us, and 
 we did not return to Genova until the 
 end of September,
 
 256 MY LONG LIFE. 
 
 At Easter, in the following year, we 
 had another melodious flying visit from 
 'my Charmer,' Fanny Davies, but when 
 the summer came we ourselves flew from 
 Italian heat to seek change into cooler 
 inland air ; and having so much enjoyed 
 our autumnal experience at Lugano, we 
 thought we would try whether we could 
 find freshness there. Our reception was 
 pleasant, the same congenial apartment 
 overlooking the garden, but, alas ! no band 
 in the Moresco alcove, the season not 
 being the one when the players resorted 
 there. However, we were not without 
 music, for a nightingale saluted us on 
 arrival, carolling in ' full-throated ease ' 
 among the trees of the hotel garden^ one 
 end of which overlooks the lake. As a 
 farther regale to our music loving ears, 
 one day, as we were pacing up and down 
 one of the Ions: corridors- we heard the 
 sounds of a pianoforte, and, on inquiry, 
 learned that it was the daughter of the 
 house practising. The playing was so
 
 MY LONG LIFE. 257 
 
 good, and the pieces played so excellent, 
 that we asked whether it would be con- 
 sidered indiscreet were we to beg admis- 
 sion to listen. The reply from the mother 
 of the young lady was most courteous, 
 and when we knocked at the door of the 
 room next day, we were received with 
 fascinating sweetness of manner, and were 
 played to for at least an hour, with charm- 
 ing liberality, pieces by Chopin, Schumann, 
 etc., etc. We were indulged with several 
 of these artistic treats by this accomplished 
 young lady player, who was as simple- 
 mannered and girlish-gay as she was 
 skilled in music ; for when Sabilla gave 
 her a copy of her ' Bluebeard ' books, she 
 skipped about the room with joy. Eng- 
 lish, as well as French and Italian, were 
 known to her, besides German, so that she 
 could enjoy the perusal perfectly. We, 
 of course, took some drives along the 
 finely-kept, steep roads around Lugano, 
 but notwithstanding its many attractions, 
 its persevering heat made us feel that we 
 17
 
 258 MY LONG LIFE. 
 
 should do well to remove into hiorher and 
 cooler air ; therefore, we took leave of the 
 obliging proprietors of the Hotel du Pare 
 and their charming daughter with heartiest 
 feelings of gratitude. The courtesy of 
 the proprietor took final climax in the 
 mode wherewith he arranged our depar- 
 ture, for we found awaiting us at the door 
 his own carriage and pair to convey us to 
 the station, while he himself issued from 
 his cloistral court-yard and presented us a 
 choice bouquet each, from his daughter, 
 with her best remembrances. He was 
 interested when he found we were going 
 to Baden-Baden, as he himself was a 
 native of that place, and he stood for some 
 minutes telling us of the Grand Duke and 
 Duchess of Baden, and of the Duchess of 
 Mechlinburg-Strelitz, who had given him 
 a diamond ring which he showed us, and 
 said how gracious they had been to him 
 when they stayed at his hotel. In thank- 
 ing him for all his courtesies to us, we 
 told him that it seemed as if he took us
 
 MY LONG LIFE. 259 
 
 for some of these royalties, he treated us 
 so distinguishably. We halted for a night 
 in the St. Gothard Hotel at Lucerne, 
 obtaining from the window of our room a 
 fine view of the chief portion of the town 
 on the opposite side of the lake, while the 
 lake itself was crowned by heights as far 
 as the Rigi Culm, forming a noble pano- 
 rama. It was illumined by myriads of 
 lights — electric ones, gas ones, red and 
 green ones — giving the effect of a superb 
 and extensive illumination, while near at 
 hand were the lights of the railway station 
 and its illuminated clock. These brillian- 
 cies s:ave sufficient lioht in our room to 
 enable us to dispense with candles when we 
 went to bed — a dispensation that always 
 pleases me. Next morning, at dawn, I 
 still enjoyed the spacious prospect, though 
 under a very different aspect. Without 
 getting up from my bed I could see 
 Lucerne and its two spires, in a grey veil 
 of mist, looking very like that wonderful 
 picture by Cuyp, ' A View of Uort,' which
 
 26o MY LONG LIFE. 
 
 I once saw at the Exhibition of Old 
 Masters in London. Then, at sunrise, my 
 scene was lighted up brilliantly, and lasted 
 thus for a short interval, till, later on, 
 though the sky clouded over, it still 
 afforded me an exquisite picture. 
 
 On arriving at Baden-Baden, we almost 
 immediately found our health and spirits 
 improve from the change to the green at- 
 mosphere that has always seemed to me 
 to distinguish that picturesque spot. Its 
 early hours, its orderly way of providing 
 for the comfort and convenience of visitors, 
 its artistic resources, its friendly hospitali- 
 ties combine to make it a specially health- 
 ful as well as agreeable sojourn to us, and 
 I ov/e it most grateful regard. On arrival, 
 we heard that Dom Pedro, the Emperor of 
 Brazil, was again there. We had had 
 gracious notice from him when he had 
 been in Baden-Baden at the time our niece 
 Valeria was with us in 1887, and His Im- 
 perial Highness was as gracious as ever 
 towards us, while our curtseys were deeper
 
 MY LONG LIFE. 261 
 
 than ever, since in the interim he had lost 
 his throne. One day we had the oppor- 
 tunity of hearing a discourse from the 
 celebrated religious reformer, Pere Hya- 
 cinthe, in the English Church at Baden- 
 Baden. His discourse was chiefly con- 
 cerning his ardent desire to see peace and 
 goodwill and mutual forbearance between 
 all churches and forms of religious wor- 
 ship. His manner was earnest, and, at 
 the beginning, tranquil, but rose into ve- 
 hemence and urgency as he proceeded. 
 His French was, of course, perfect, his 
 enunciation was clear, his voice effective. 
 He was very eloquent, inasmuch as he was 
 never for a moment at a loss for pertinent 
 expressions and telling phrases. He had 
 a way of lapsing occasionally into quite 
 familiar manner and utterance, then rising 
 into more emphatic and florid appeal. He 
 dwelt with hearty congratulation on the 
 present possibility of speaking out freely 
 on matters of belief and form of worship, 
 in contrast with the former suppression of
 
 262 MY LONG LIFE. 
 
 opinion and oppression of liberal ideas. 
 We had resolved to walk back, so we 
 strolled leisurely along the ever-lovely 
 Lichtenthaler AUee, till we reached the 
 milk establishment where the cows assem- 
 ble at five o'clock in the afternoon, afford- 
 ing delicious drink to dozens of children 
 and invalids. The extreme heat made a 
 frothed-up tankard of the lily-white bev- 
 erage very welcome to us. As the water 
 of the spring near to us had a bitter taste, 
 and we were still thirsty that evening, 
 which was overpoweringly hot, our ever- 
 willing maid, Pasquina, ran out to fetch 
 us some from a picturesque fount near 
 the Trinkhalle, that water being famed 
 for its purity. The fitting-up of this 
 pretty little spring is most tasteful. It 
 issues from a rock overgrown with green 
 climbers, amid which a tube, in the form 
 of a serpent (the emblem of health), seems 
 to be sliding down the rock, and affords 
 a perpetually gushing stream of this clear 
 spring water.
 
 MY LONG LIFE. 263 
 
 There was an organ performance on the 
 6th September, which seemed so appro- 
 priate in date for celebration of the 
 anniversary of our dear father's birthday, 
 that Sabilla and I went to hear it in the 
 Protestant church, where the performance 
 took place. What a glorious instrument 
 is the organ, and how tenderly is it 
 associated in my thought. We renewed 
 acquaintance with a delightful composer 
 and amiable old gentleman — Herr Rosen- 
 hain ; and he invited us to his weekly 
 matinees whenever we felt inclined to 
 drive out to his villa at Lichtenthal. We 
 naturally availed ourselves of this invita- 
 tion very often ; but when we said we 
 hoped we should not be indiscreet in 
 doing so, he replied, ' I cannot see too 
 much of those I like, or too little of those 
 I dislike.' On one of these occasions, 
 when we arrived at Villa Rosenhain, and 
 had carriaged thither, Fanny Davies and 
 Miss Grist, we found that there was a 
 rehearsal going on in the music-room, so
 
 264 MY LONG LIFE. 
 
 that we were requested to take seats in the 
 hall until the rehearsal was over. While 
 we stayed there, who should come in but 
 Clara Schumann (who had just arrived in 
 Baden-Baden), and she remained also 
 quietly in the hall, whispering to us, and 
 leaving her hand in mine as she talked 
 cordially to me. I remember feeling 
 curiously thrilled as I stood clasping the 
 hand that had been dear to Robert Schu- 
 mann, and had so ably interpreted his 
 compositions. When we entered the 
 music-room we had the treat of hearinor 
 
 O 
 
 Herr Rosenhain's concerto, arranged for 
 two pianofortes, played by himself and 
 Fanny Davies in admirable style ; then 
 followed some of Schumann's songs, suns: 
 by an amateur gentleman with a charming 
 tenor voice, and in a style so refined, so 
 distinct an enunciation of words, so touch- 
 ing in expression, that we complimented 
 him afterwards. He took our praises 
 with evident gratification; but said that 
 he owned to being rather nervous while
 
 MY LONG LIFE. 265 
 
 singing the Schumann songs, as he did 
 not feel quite sure whether Madame Schu- 
 mann might approve the manner in which 
 he sang them. Herr Rosenhain had a 
 very agreeable mode of introducing cer- 
 tain of his guests to each other ; and 
 among others that morning he presented 
 to Sabilla a gentleman who remembered 
 being at the Bonn Festival when she sang 
 there, and recollected Spohr there, as well 
 as the incident of Liszt's lending his gilt 
 chairs for our Queen and Prince Albert, 
 when they unexpectedly arrived there, as 
 Liszt always travelled with his own .splen- 
 did furniture. That same morning Herr 
 Rosenhain introduced us to an extremely 
 interesting personage — a sweet-faced, 
 sweet-mannered young lady, who smiled 
 and curtseyed to us — no other than 
 charming Cecile Mendelssohn, grand- 
 daughter of Felix, and namesake of his 
 pretty wife. She became one of the most 
 delightfully constant friends we made in 
 Baden-Baden, and felt an immediate in-
 
 266 MY LONG LIFE. 
 
 terest in our having known her illustrious 
 grandfather when he was just about the 
 age of her own when we met her. She 
 has since married, and still retains her 
 renowned name, as she wedded her cousin, 
 Herr Otto Mendelssohn Bartholdy. 
 
 Altogether our stay in Baden-Baden 
 that year was one of the most productive 
 of enjoyment w^e ever had there. 1891 
 being the year appointed for another 
 Mozart Musikfest in Salzburg, we resolved 
 to go thither again that summer. The 
 effect of his own superb Requiem being 
 performed in the cathedral where he had 
 so often worshipped, was to me ineffably 
 imposing. The fine Viennese orchestra 
 and several famed artistes played and sang, 
 accompanied by the organ, while, as I 
 listened, I beheld a brilliant ray of sun- 
 light stream through the stained-glass 
 window opposite to me, seeming as though 
 the spirit of the divinely inspired composer 
 himself were present. From Salzburg we 
 went up to ' Delightful Dresden,' as it had
 
 MY LONG LIFE. 267 
 
 been a long promise to our niece Valeria 
 that we would take her there some day ; 
 and she and her brother Giovanni, whom 
 we also invited, were with us during our 
 very pleasant sojourn on this occasion. 
 We made it our rule, as before, to enjoy 
 every performance at the Hoftheater, 
 where a really fine actor, named Drack, 
 inspired us with ardent admiration. He 
 impersonated Hamlet and other Shake- 
 spearian characters with true poetic and 
 artistic inspiration. His Coriolanus, for 
 instance, in which I could well remember 
 Macready, appeared to me to be worthy of 
 all praise. Our later years have passed 
 placidly in alternate summer visits to 
 Germany and enjoyment of home music 
 with home pursuits, literary or social. 
 Speaking of literary pursuits, I may men- 
 tion that much of my reading, latterly, has 
 been peering into favourite old books, with 
 sparing perusal of modern ones ; and I 
 refer to the fact of niy retaining the con- 
 scientiousness that was encouraged in me
 
 268 MY LONG LIFE. 
 
 by my dear mother while I was a child, 
 for the sake of showing how in old age the 
 same characteristic exists. A volume of 
 farces, which has its table of contents 
 marked by her with a pencilled cross 
 against those pieces she forbade me to 
 read, has caused me never to peruse those 
 particular farces. Coarseness has ever 
 been my abhorrence ; for well does Shelley 
 say in his noble ' Defence of Poetry,' — 
 ' Obscenity is blasphemy against the divine 
 beauty in life ; ' and Sir John Lubbock, in 
 his charming book, ' The Pleasures of 
 Life,' says, — ' The soul is dyed by its 
 thoughts ; we cannot keep our minds pure 
 if we allow them to be sullied by detailed 
 accounts of crime and sin.' 
 
 Therefore, I allow myself to revel in my 
 beloved poets, and some very favourite 
 novels, etc., on my shelves, thinking I may 
 as well indulge my now less-strong eyesight 
 with looking only into preferred books, 
 especially if they have the advantage of 
 being printed in clearly legible type.
 
 MY LONG LIFE. 269 
 
 My sister Sabilla laughingly says I 
 might have taken for the motto of this 
 book the words on the sun-dial in front of 
 our Italian dwelling here, Englished thus: 
 ' I denote only the hours of sunshine.' 
 But I am thankful for the ' rose-coloured 
 spectacles ' I am said to wear, and I can- 
 not do better than conclude with lines that 
 truly show my — 
 
 OLD AGE PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 In lieu of vain regret for days long flown, 
 I 'm thankful for the joys that 1 have known : 
 When conscious that I now see less, hear less, 
 And walk less well, I think of happiness 
 Bestowed on me in fullest, dearest measure. 
 And hug to inmost heart the God-sent treasure. 
 Oh, Memory ! that still is granted me — 
 For dearest, truest blisses, ecstasy 
 Of love and intellectual discourse, 
 For faculties alert and body's force ; 
 For power to enjoy Life's choicest gifts ; 
 For energy to ponder theme that lifts 
 The soul in lofty speculation on 
 High mysteries that youth delights to con, 
 But Age has learnt with calmness to accept 
 Unquestioned, as beyond our ken inept ; 
 For readiness of pen, that then expressed
 
 270 MY LONG LIFE. 
 
 With ease the thoughts that yearned to be confessed 
 
 In words ; for sympathy desired, and found 
 
 As soon as wished, from one whose wisdom sound 
 
 And tender eagerness to lend his aid 
 
 Were ever generously, promptly laid 
 
 At my behoof. Though years have now bereft 
 
 Me of these blessings manifold, those left 
 
 I 'm deeply grateful for ; and more than all. 
 
 For memories that former joys recall, 
 
 Dear memories, on which I dwell and live, 
 
 Renew my sense of youth, relume, revive 
 
 My inner fire of heart, my warmth of trust, 
 
 My feeling that our Heavenly Father must 
 
 Be bounteous and benign, as He hath shown 
 
 Himself to be to me and to my own 
 
 Beloved one, who made me happy wife 
 
 Throughout our earthly perfect married life.
 
 INDEX. 
 
 Albertverein Fest, the, 
 
 2IO. 
 
 " Analyst Magazine," the, 
 
 126. 
 Armstrong, Mr., 252. 
 " Atlas," the, 79. 
 
 Baden, Grand Duke of, 
 258. 
 
 Bantneister, Herr, 186. 
 
 Barnby, Mr., 224. 
 
 Bartholdy, Otto Mendels- 
 sohn, 266. 
 
 Bath, Marquis of, 52. 
 
 Bessemer, Sir Henry, 218. 
 
 Birmingham Festival, the, 
 224. 
 
 Boccardo, Signor, 159. 
 
 Bonn Festival, the, 265. 
 
 Bonnefoy, Monsieur, 19, 28. 
 
 Bonomi, Joseph, 129. 
 
 Brewster, Miss, 180. 
 
 Broadfield, Edward, 224. 
 
 Calvert, George H., 237. 
 Camelford House, 9. 
 Cappon, James, 231. 
 Century Magazine, the, 219. 
 Chandler, Mr., 46. 
 Charlotte, Princess, 9. 
 Chaucer, Dan, 219. 
 
 Chelard, 184. 
 
 Child, Francis, 147. 
 
 Choron, Monsieur, 94. 
 
 Clarke, Eliza, 51. 
 
 Clarke, John, 17; character- 
 istics of, 54. 
 
 Clarke, Mrs. John, 49. 
 
 Clifford, Lord, 119. 
 
 Cobden, Richard, 148. 
 
 Colburn, Mr., 253. 
 
 Coleridge, 97. 
 
 Col man, Mr., 98. 
 
 Copley, 14. 
 
 Corson, Dr. Hiram, 237. 
 
 Costa, Michael, 184. 
 
 Cowden-Clarke, Charles, 15, 
 16, 26, 39; poem by, 39; 
 attentions paid to Mary 
 Novello, 41 ; engagement 
 to Mary Novello, 45 ; mar- 
 riage, 62 ; interest mani- 
 fested in the Novellos, 78; 
 contributes various arti- 
 cles, 79 ; becomes an edi- 
 tor, 80 ; books of, 92 ; 
 health breaks down, 106; 
 career as a lecturer, 121 ; 
 later writings, 126; cele- 
 bration of eighty-ninth 
 birthday, 165 ; death, 166; 
 biographic sketch, 242.
 
 2/2 
 
 INDEX. 
 
 Cowden-Clarke, Mary, birth 
 of, 3 ; early impressions, 
 4 ; conscientious training, 
 6 ; pleasures of early life, 
 7 ; generosity of parents, 
 1 1 ; early books read by, 
 1 1 ; early religious life, 
 13 ; youthful enthusiasm 
 for distinguished people, 
 15; studies with Mary 
 Lamb, 20 ; goes to Bou- 
 logne-sur-Mer, 28, instruc- 
 tion from Mr. Bonnefoy, 
 29; return to England, 34 ; 
 becomes a governess, 34; 
 letters from home, 37; first 
 earnings, 40; health breaks 
 down, 43 ; recovery of, 44 ; 
 engagement to Charles 
 Cowden-Clarke, 45 ; se- 
 lects engagement-ring, 47; 
 first literary effort, 48; 
 visit to West of England, 
 49 ; affectionate reception 
 by Charles's mother, 51; 
 visit to Leigh Hunt, 55; 
 visit to William Hone, 57; 
 marriage, 62; visit to 
 Charles Lamb, 72 ; first 
 wedding anniversary, 90 ; 
 meeting with Coleridge, 
 97; second wedding anni- 
 versary, 10 1 ; visit to 
 Cambridge, loi; "Con- 
 cordance to .Shakespeare," 
 and later writings, 131; 
 journey to Italy, 131 ; 
 letter from Charles Dick- 
 ens, 135 ; experiences as 
 
 an amateur actress, 134; 
 death of mother, 143; resi- 
 dence at Nice, 145 ; only 
 woman editor of Shakes- 
 peare, 145 ; residence at 
 Genova, 149 ; death of fa- 
 ther, 151; "Life and La- 
 bours of Vincent Novel- 
 lo," 156; edits annotated 
 edition of Shakespeare, 
 160; death of husband, 
 166; visit to Clara, 167; 
 trip to Coblentz, 1 72 ; visit 
 to Paris Exhibition, 182; 
 visit to Salzburg, 183; 
 again plays Mrs. Mala- 
 prop, 215 ; return home, 
 2ig; visit to Manchester, 
 221; visit to the Conti- 
 nent, 225 ; later literary 
 work, 230, 242, 252; re- 
 cognition by other authors, 
 236 ; pleasant relations 
 with publishers, 252; later 
 life, 267. 
 
 Cowper, Edward, 55. 
 
 Cramer, John, 213. 
 
 Craven Hill Cottage, 127. 
 
 Cristall, 14. 
 
 Cruikshank, George, 182. 
 
 Davenport, Mrs., 81. 
 Davies, Fanny, 246, 249, 
 
 256, 263. 
 Dawson, George, 234. 
 De Beriot, 108. 
 Degele, 241. 
 
 Dettmer, 195,205, 212,241. 
 Devrient, Emile, 204.
 
 INDEX. 
 
 273 
 
 Devrient, Otto, 204. 
 Devricnt, Schioeder, iio. 
 Devrienl, Madame Schroe- 
 
 der, 204. 
 Dickens, Charles, 130; letter 
 
 to jNIrs. Cowden-Clarke, 
 
 135- 
 Dohler, 213. 
 Dom Pedro, 260. 
 Dtuvton, Si ; acting of, 82. 
 Dulcken, Dr., 251. 
 
 Egg, Augustus, 136. 
 Ellmeureich, 196, 206, 212. 
 Emerson, Ralpli Waldo, 130. 
 Enfield, school at, 17. 
 Ernen, Fraiilein, 173. 
 '• Every Day Book," the, 58. 
 " Examiner," the, 79. 
 
 Farrak, Mrs. John, 148. 
 
 Ferguson, Mr., 22. 
 
 Feti, Domenico, 190. 
 
 Fielding, 14. 
 
 Fields, James T., 150, 237, 
 254. 
 
 Fields, Mrs. James T., 238. 
 
 Fitzwilliam Music, the, 102. 
 
 Fpothead, Mr., 10. 
 
 Forster, John, 136. 
 
 Fryer, Rev. William Victor, 
 godfather of Mary Cow- 
 den-Clarke, 12; Wage- 
 man's portrait of, 13. 
 
 Furness, Dr. Horace How- 
 ard, 237. 
 
 Gaskfxl, Mrs., 130. 
 Giglincci, Count, 142. 
 
 Giglincci, Giovanni, 144. 
 Giglincci, Mario, 144. 
 Giglincci, Porzia, 144. 
 Giglincci, Valeria, 144. 
 "Girl's Own Paper," the, 
 
 220, 242. 
 Godwin, 90. 
 Gounod, Charles, 221, 222, 
 
 2'''? 22J 22^. 
 
 Gounod, Jeanne, 222. 
 Grant, Captain, 193. 
 Grist, Miss, 249, 263. 
 Guiney, Miss Imogen, 238. 
 
 Haines, Frederick, 236. 
 
 Haitzinger, 1 10. 
 
 Halpin, Rev. N. J., 236. 
 
 Hamilton, Colonel, 137. 
 
 Harvey, Mr., 5. 
 
 Havell, 14. 
 
 Hawthorne, Nathaniel, 174. 
 
 Hazlitt, William, 89; gift in 
 painting, 89. 
 
 Henley, Mr., 173. 
 
 Hie jacet, 166. 
 
 Holmes, Edward, 26. 
 
 Hone, William, 57; Lamb's 
 lines to, 58. 
 
 Hummel, 112; grtat in im- 
 provisation, 1 12. 
 
 Humphreys, Noel, 129. 
 
 Hunt, Leigh, touching verses 
 of, 10; perfection in read- 
 ing aloud, 17; imprison- 
 ment of, 17; Wageman's 
 portrait of, 17; the ideal 
 poet, 55 ; Lamb's tribute 
 to, 59. 
 
 Huntington, Agnes, 210. 
 
 18
 
 274 
 
 INDEX. 
 
 Hyacinthe, Pere, 261. 
 Hymn to God, 39. 
 
 " Indicator," the, 59 ; dif- 
 ficulty in finding a name 
 for, 60. 
 
 Ireland, Alexander, 221. 
 
 Ingleby, Doctor, 236. 
 
 International Exhibition at 
 Munich, 199. 
 
 Jerdan, William, 129. 
 Jerrold, Douglas, plays of, 
 88 ; characteristics of, 115. 
 Jewett, Sarah Orne, 238. 
 Jones, Owen, 129. 
 
 Kean, Edmund, 81 ; won- 
 derful acting of, 82. 
 
 Keats, John, 14, tomb of, 
 178. 
 
 Kelly, Miss, the actress, 
 21 ; visit to Charles Lamb, 
 
 73- 
 Kemble, Charles, 41, 98; 
 
 acting of, 99. 
 Kemble, Mrs. Charles, 98. 
 Kemble, Fanny, 98. 
 Kensington Museum, 68. 
 Klein, 241. 
 Knowles, Sheridan, loi. 
 
 Lamb, Charles, 14 ; son- 
 net to Mrs. Towers, 50 ; 
 lines to Hone, 58; tribute 
 to Leigh Hunt, 59; pecu- 
 liar characteristics of, 74; 
 a cordial host, 77. 
 
 Lamb, Mary, 14 ; teacher of 
 
 Mary Cowden-Clarke, 20. 
 Lamour, Mr. and Miss, 7. 
 Landseer, Charles, 129. 
 Landseer, Edwin, 129. 
 Lavoine, Miss, 5. 
 Leech, John, 136. 
 Lemon, Mark, 136, 216. 
 Leopold, Prince, 9. 
 Liston, 81 ; first appearance 
 
 of, 88. 
 Liston, Mrs., 85. 
 " Literary Pocket Book," 
 
 the, 70. 
 Littleton, Alfred, 215, 217, 
 
 251. 
 Littleton, Henry, 143, 181, 
 
 213, 220, 222, 232. 
 Lober, 211. 
 Long Leat, 52. 
 Loudon, Mrs., 128, 133. 
 Lover, Samuel, 129. 
 Lowell, James Russell, 236. 
 Lubbock, Sir John, 267. 
 Lytton, Richard Warburton, 
 
 69. 
 
 Mahaffy, Professor, 224. 
 Mailhae, 248. 
 Malibran, 108. 
 Marble Arch, the, 4. 
 Margaret, Queen, 179. 
 Marsh, Ceorge Perkins, 179. 
 Martin, 129. 
 Martin, Miss, 129. 
 Mathews, 81 ; acting of, 86. 
 Meadow, Kenny, 137. 
 Mechlinburg-Strelitz, Duch- 
 ess of, 258.
 
 INDEX. 
 
 275 
 
 Mendelssohn, Professor 
 Benjamin, 175. 
 
 Mendelssohn, Cecile, 265. 
 
 Mendelssohn, Felix, 109; 
 great in improvisation, 
 III ; as a conductor, 184. 
 
 Mendelssohn, IMadame Ro- 
 sa, 175, 177. 
 
 Meynell, Mrs., 230. 
 
 Montague House, legend of, 
 
 ID. 
 
 Moore, Tom, 57. 
 Morris, William, 154. 
 " Mother Fowl," 56. 
 Mozart, 183. 
 Mozart Musical Festival, 
 
 183. 
 Mundcn, 8r, acting of, S3; 
 
 Lamb's Elia paper on the 
 
 acting of, S3. 
 Murot, Clement, 56. 
 Murray, John, 253. 
 
 National Gallery, the, 
 182. 
 
 Neil, Ross, 232, 233. 
 
 Novello, Alfred, early life of, 
 10; begins business, 96; 
 eminent success of, 96; 
 retires from business, 143. 
 
 Novello, Cecilia, marriage 
 of, 1 1 4. 
 
 Novello, Clara, 78 ; brilliant 
 artistic career, 95 ; marries 
 Count Giglincci, 142. 
 
 Novello, Edward, early life 
 of, 10; success as an art- 
 ist, 102; works of, 103. 
 
 Novello, Francis, 25. 
 
 Novello, Mary. [Sec Mary 
 Cowdcn-Clarke.] 
 
 Novello, Sabilla, 127; artis- 
 tic career of, 128, admira- 
 ble teacher, 128. 
 
 Novello, Vincent, father of 
 Mary Cowden-CIarke, 3 
 set Leigh Hunt's verses to 
 music, 10; organist at the 
 Portuguese Embassy's 
 Chapel, 12; performed 
 masses for the first time 
 in England, 13; " Life and 
 Labours of," 93; collects 
 subscription for Madame 
 Sonnenberg, 93 ; tribute 
 of respect to death of 
 Madame Sonnenberg, 93; 
 death, 151 ; memorial win- 
 dow to, 151. 
 
 Old Age PuiLosoniY, 266. 
 
 Paris Exhibition, the, 182. 
 Patti, Adelina, 178. 
 Pauer, 213. 
 Pieri, 158. 
 
 Portugal, King of, 129. 
 Portuguese Embassy's Cha- 
 pel, 12. 
 Potier, 97. 
 Purcell, Mr., 34. 
 
 Reade, Edmund, 97. 
 " Repertory of Patent Inven- 
 tions," the, 80. 
 Richter, Hans, 1S4. 
 Ristori, 158, 180. 
 Robertson, Henry, 16.
 
 276 
 
 INDEX. 
 
 Rolfe, Dr. W. J., 237. 
 Rosenhain, Herr, 263, 264, 
 
 265. 
 Rubinstein, 213. 
 
 St. Nicholas Magazine, 
 
 the, 230. 
 St. Pierre, the feast of, 28. 
 Sarasate, Pablo di, 177. 
 Sass, Mr., 78. 
 Savage, Richard, 236. 
 Saxony, King of, 208. 
 Schumann, Clara, 264. 
 Schumann, Robert, 264. 
 Serle, Mr., 115. 
 Severn, Joseph, 181. 
 Sgambati, Signer, 180. 
 " Shakespeariana," 239. 
 Shelley, Mary, 25, 182. 
 Shelley, Percy Bysshe, 15. 
 Smith, Horace, 90. 
 Sonnenberg, Madame, sister 
 
 of Mozart, 93 ; death of, 
 
 93- 
 Stephens, Miss, 113. 
 Stokes, Charles, 112. 
 Stone, Frank, 136. 
 Sullen, Mrs., 99. 
 
 " Table Book," the, 58. 
 Tagart, Rev. Mr., 128. 
 
 Tamburini, 146. 
 
 " Tatler," the, 105. 
 
 Thalberg, 213. 
 
 Thaxter, Celia, 237. 
 
 Thormann, Miss, 175, 176. 
 
 Timmins, Sam, 121, 234, 
 235, 236. 
 
 Toselli, 158. 
 
 Towers, Mrs., 49; Lamb ad- 
 dresses sonnets to, 50 ; 
 books written by, 50. 
 
 Ugbrook Park, 119. 
 
 Vakley, 14. 
 Vestris, Madame, 88. 
 Villa Novello, 150. 
 Vinci, Conte Geppino, 170. 
 
 Wageman, portrait of Rev. 
 William Victor Fryer, 13 ; 
 portrait of Leigh Hunt, 1 7. 
 
 Weber, Carl Maria, 42. 
 
 Westminster Abbey Festi- 
 val, the, 113. 
 
 Williams, Mrs., 25. 
 
 Wiseman, Cardinal, ir8; 
 great learning of, 11 8. 
 
 Wollstonecraft, Mary, 25. 
 
 Yule, Mr., 24.
 
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