UN
 
 Si Librii 
 
 C. K. DCDKN 
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 ft
 
 JULIAN FANE.
 
 JULIAN FANE. 
 
 % lUcmoir. 
 
 BY 
 
 ROBERT LYTTON. 
 
 ' All, not the music of his voice alone, 
 But his sweet melody of thought, which fed 
 Our minds with perfect harmony, is flown ! " 
 
 Lay of Brag i. By the Hon. Julian Fake. 
 
 WITH A PORTRAIT. 
 
 LONDON: 
 JOHN MURRAY, ALBEMARLE STREET. 
 
 1871.
 
 LONDON : 
 BRADBCRY, EVANS, AND CO., PRINTERS, WHITEFR1ARS.
 
 
 F/37 L 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 i 
 Introductory. — Parentage. Battle of Busaco. Lord Bur- 
 
 ghersh returns to England with Dispatches. His 
 Marriage. His Spanish Reports. At the Head- 
 quarters of the Allied Armies in Germany. Battle 
 of Leipzig. Accompanies the Triumphal Entry of 
 the Allies into Paris. Appointed Envoy to the Grand 
 Duke of Tuscany. Present at the Battle of Tolentino. 
 Signs the Convention of Caza Lanza. Lord and 
 Lady Burghersh return to Florence. — Birth of Julian 
 Fane 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 Childish Days. Intimacy between Mother and Son. 
 School Days. Thames Ditton. Harrow. His father 
 appointed British Minister at the Court of Berlin. 
 Ill-health. Life at Berlin. Precocious Musical 
 Faculty. Meyerbeer. The Diplomatic Service in 
 1 8 I 1. Taste for Poetry. Heinrich Heine. Prepa- 
 ration for the University. At Oakington .
 
 vi CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Fellow Commoner at Trinity. Characteristics. Choice 
 of Companions. The Apostles. Chancellor's Medal. 
 Letters. Demeanour towards Women. Return to 
 Berlin. Visit to Dublin. The Apostles at Blackwall. 
 Last Days at Cambridge. Recollections of his Fellow 
 Collegian, Mr. James. Gains from his College Life . 2 1 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 Qualities which fitted Julian Fane for Parliamentary 
 success counteracted by others of a different order. 
 Life at Apethorpe. Verses descriptive of Apethorpe. 
 Attache" at Vienna. Life there. Early Verses. Point 
 of view from which they should be regarded. Speci- 
 mens. Later unpublished Poetry . . . .67 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 Unpublished Translations from Heinrich Heine, and 
 
 sketch of Heine, by Julian Fane . . . .90 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 Life at Vienna from 1851 to 1856. Attached to the Earl 
 of Clarendon's Special Mission, and present at Paris 
 during the Congress of that year. Secretary of 
 Legation at St. Petersburgh, and life there from 
 L856 to 1858. Official Reports. Baron Brunow. 
 Secretary of Legation and Embassy at Vienna from 
 1898 to 1866. Life at Vienna. Habits, occupations, 
 characteristics 144
 
 CONTENTS. vu 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 " Tannhauser," and other Poems, written at Vienna. 
 Study of Shakespeare's Sonnets. Writings after that 
 model. Poems to his Mother 170 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 Report on Austrian Commerce . . . . .221 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 Visit to Venice. Taste for old Pictures. Opinions about 
 Modern Poets. Impressions of Wagner. Change of 
 House. Serious illness in consequence of it. Return 
 to England. Appointment to Paris. Marriage. 
 Paternity. Retirement from his Profession. Plans 
 for Life in England. Widowhood .... 24s 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 Mr. Vernon Harcourt's Recollections of Julian Fane . 2P>3 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 Failing Health. Continued Interest in Literature and 
 Public Affairs. Latest Employments. Poems ad 
 Matrem. Increasing Sufferings and Isolation. Sym- 
 pathy of Friends. Religious Belief. Designs for 
 the Future. Sonnets to his Mother. His Sister's 
 recollections. Last Hours. Latest written words. 
 The End. Tributes to his Memory . . . .277 
 
 APPENDIX 299
 
 JULIAN FANE. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 Introductory. — Parentage. Battle of Busaco. Lord Burghersh 
 returns to England with Dispatches. His Marriage. His 
 Spanish Keports. At the Head-quarters of the Allied 
 Armies in Germany. Battle of Leipzig. Accompanies the 
 Triumphal Entry of the Allies into Paris. Appointed Envoy 
 to the Grand Duke of Tuscany. Present at the Battle of 
 Tolentino. Signs the Convention of Caza Lanza. Lord and 
 Lady Burghersh return to Florence. — Birth of Julian Fane. 
 
 There is a small class of men endowed with 
 remarkable gifts, whose superiority must yet 
 remain always inadequately recorded. The evi- 
 dences of it are chiefly in the impression which it 
 makes upon those who have felt the personal in- 
 fluence of its possessors, and this impression is 
 incommunicable. It is impossible, indeed, that 
 such men should pass out of the world unmissed : 
 but they are like childless proprietors, who lay up 
 nothing for the distant heir. Their intellectual 
 opulence is hospitably lavished upon personal
 
 2 JULIAN FANE. 
 
 friends, and bequeathes to their posthumous fame 
 a title which can only be supported upon credit. 
 Yet the influence of these men upon the society 
 they adorn is too beneficent to be altogether 
 evanescent. Their presence animates and sustains 
 whatever is loveliest in social life. The world's 
 dim and dusty atmosphere grows golden in the 
 light of it. Their mere look rebukes vulgarity. 
 Their conversation elevates the lowest, and 
 brightens the dullest, theme. Their intellectual 
 sympathy is often the unacknowledged begetter 
 of other men's intellectual labour ; and in the 
 charm of their companionship we are conscious 
 of those benignant influences which the Greeks 
 called Graces, but which Christianity has con- 
 verted into Charities. 
 
 Such was the character of the man to whose 
 memory these pages are dedicated. Had health 
 and length of days been allotted to him, his rare 
 intellectual and moral worth would doubtless have 
 remained in evidence more durable than the 
 grateful memory of friends, or this imperfect 
 record of an existence too brief for the complete 
 fulfilment of its affluent promise.
 
 INTRODUCTORY. 3 
 
 Very little, however, of all that was in him, or 
 of all that came from him, survives in the few 
 literary remains which are here collected. They 
 are, indeed, but as broken fragments of dispersed 
 masonry, which can suggest to the passing tra- 
 veller no just idea of the general strength and 
 symmetry of the edifice wherein they once occu- 
 pied subordinate places. But the intrinsic value 
 of such a life as Julian Fane's must be estimated 
 by the rarity of its own loveliness, and is fully 
 expressed by its finished fulfilment of the finest 
 type of intellectual high breeding. He was, I 
 think, the most graceful and accomplished gen- 
 tleman of the generation he adorned ; and by this 
 generation, at least, appropriate place should be 
 reserved for the memory of a man in whose cha- 
 racter the most universal sympathy with all the 
 intellectual culture of his age was united to a 
 refinement of social form, and a perfection of 
 personal grace, which, in spite of all its intellec- 
 tual culture, the age is sadly in want of. There 
 is an artistry of life as well as of literature, and 
 the perfect knighthood of Sidney is no less precious 
 to the world than the genius of Spenser. 
 
 b2
 
 4 JULIAN FANE. 
 
 John Fane, Lord Burghersh, who, in 1841, 
 succeeded to the title and estates of his father 
 as eleventh Earl of Westmorland, had in 1803 
 entered the army, after taking his D.C.L. degree 
 a- Fellow Commoner at Cambridge. He served 
 on the staff of the Duke of Wellington (then Sir 
 Arthur Wellesley) from the beginning of the 
 !\ 'ii insular war till the victory of Busaco, and was 
 Bent to England with the news of this event by 
 Sir Arthur Wellesley, who, after the battle of 
 Talavera, had been created Viscount Wellington. 
 His health having suffered during the campaign, 
 he did not return to Spain, but obtained his 
 Lieutenant-Colonelcy whilst in England, and 
 married, in 1811, Priscilla Wellesley, the third 
 daughter of the third Earl of Mornington. To 
 hifl mother Julian was indebted for the early 
 cultivation of the many graces and talents which 
 he inherited from her. Before leaving Spain 
 Lord Burghersh had, in obedience to the instruc- 
 tions of Lord Wellington, visited various parts of 
 the Spanish Peninsula; and the reports which he 
 addressed from those places to the head-quarters 
 of the British army were so highly approved by
 
 LORD BURGHERSH. 5 
 
 the Commander-in-Chief, that in 1813, after the 
 expiration of the armistice of August (which was 
 immediately followed by the accession of Austria 
 to the alliance against Napoleon) Lord Burgh ersh 
 was, on the recommendation of Wellington, 
 selected by Lord Castlereagh as Military Attache' 
 to the head-quarters of the Allied Armies in 
 Germany, then commanded by Prince Schwart- 
 zenberg. His young wife accompanied him. 
 They left England in September ; but the diffi- 
 culties of travelling were great, and it was only 
 on landing at Stralsund (after a three weeks' 
 sea-voyage) that they first heard of the Battle of 
 Leipzig, which was fought on the 18th of 
 October* 
 
 Lord and Lady Burghersh accompanied the 
 triumphal entry of the Allies into Paris in 1814, 
 and in the autumn of the same year Lord Bur- 
 ghersh was appointed British Minister to the 
 Grand Duke of Tuscany. After the escape of 
 Napoleon from Elba, which was followed by war 
 
 * Lord Burghersh published an account of the proceedings of the 
 allied armies, which was much praised by military authorities, 
 and has been quoted by Sir W. Scott, and other historians of the 
 campaign.
 
 JULIAN FANE. 
 
 between Austria and Naples, Lord Burghersli 
 
 rejoined the Austrian head-quarters. He was 
 
 preseni at the Battle of Tolentino, and signed 
 
 the Convention of Caza Lanza, which brought 
 
 back the old King of Naples to his capital. 
 
 After the return of the king from Sicily, Lord 
 
 BurgluTsh resumed his post at Florence. "On 
 
 our way back there," says his wife, in one of her 
 
 letters, "we met at Viterbo an English messenger 
 
 bringing news of the Battle of Waterloo." The 
 
 young couple remained at Florence till the year 
 
 1830 ; and six children were born to them in that 
 
 city, one of whom Avas Julian Henry Charles 
 
 Fane, the subject of the present memoir.
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 Childish Days. Intimacy between Mother and Son. School Days. 
 Thames Ditton. Harrow. His father appointed British 
 Minister at the Court of Berlin. Ill-health. Life at Berlin. 
 Precocious Musical Faculty. Meyerbeer. The Diplomatic 
 Service in 1844. Taste for Poetry. Heinrich Heine. Pre- 
 paration for the University. At Oakington. 
 
 He was born on the 2nd October, 1827, and 
 was only three years old when his parents re- 
 turned to England. Wordsworth has ascribed 
 the most permanent tendencies of his own mind 
 to those influences of external nature which, 
 mingling with the unconscious acquisitions of 
 childhood, " lived along his life " through later 
 years. Perhaps the temperament of Julian Fane 
 may have been similarly favoured in childhood 
 by those sweet influences which haunt the purple 
 slopes of the Apennines and the sunny banks of 
 the Val d'Arno. He was not destined to revisit 
 Florence in after life ; but, when contemplating 
 all the flower-like grace of his luxuriant nature,
 
 8 JULIAN FANE. 
 
 T have sometimes thought there was a felicitous 
 fitness in the fact that to this fair child the gods, 
 who loved him, should have allotted so fair a 
 birthplace as "the city of flowers." Not many 
 years after their return to England, Lord and 
 Lady Burghersh were plunged into deep affliction 
 by the loss of a beloved daughter, who died at 
 the age of fifteen. Their elder boys were already 
 at school, and their only surviving daughter (now 
 Lady Rose Weigall) was still in the nurse's arms. 
 The companionship of the little Julian, to whose 
 education she devoted herself, then became the 
 chief solace of his mother ; and with her the child 
 remained till he was eleven years old. I cannot 
 better describe the peculiar character of their 
 intercourse at this period than by the touching 
 words in which she herself has alluded to it. 
 
 " His tender devotion to me during that time," 
 she says, "and the feeling and good sense he 
 showed, were much beyond his years. They laid 
 the foundation of that intense love and perfect 
 confidence which bound us together ever after. 
 Apart from filial and maternal affection, we were 
 the closest and most trusted friends to each other.
 
 LADY BURGHERSH. 9 
 
 Even his marriage did not abate in the least this 
 love and confidence." The education of Julian's 
 two brothers, who had chosen the army for their 
 profession, was more directly under the superin- 
 tendence of their father. It was the wish of Lord 
 Burghersh that his youngest son should be edu- 
 cated at Harrow and Cambridge ; but all other 
 arrangements for the boy's education he left, with 
 well justified confidence, to the judgment of his 
 wife. This accomplished woman was already the 
 friend and correspondent of many of the most 
 eminent men in Europe. She was herself a good 
 musician, and a painter whose power of execution 
 and knowledge of art were considerably beyond 
 those of a mere dilettante. The daily companion- 
 ship of such a mother must have been far more 
 instructive than any ordinary ' schooling ' to the 
 child ; who doubtless derived from it that intense 
 distaste of all vulgar and unintelligent pleasures, 
 and that instinctive appreciation of intellectual 
 and moral beauty, which gave select distinction to 
 the character of his after-life. 
 
 The regular school-days came, however, and in 
 the year 1838 the little Julian was sent to a
 
 10 JULIAN PANE. 
 
 private establishmenl at Thames Ditton. He was 
 then in his eleventh year; and he remained at 
 Thames Ditton till 1841, when he commenced 
 at Harrow the customary course of an English 
 boy's education. 
 
 Meanwhile, the Whigs had been in office, and 
 L..rd Burghersh on the shelf. But on the return 
 of the Tories to power Lord Burghersh re-entered 
 the foreign service as British Minister at the 
 Court of Berlin ; to which post he was appointed 
 by Lord Aberdeen in 1841. Shortly afterwards 
 his son Julian, in consequence of a severe fever 
 which had greatly weakened a frame already 
 delicate, was obliged to leave Harrow. He re- 
 joined his parents at Berlin; and the five years 
 passed with them in the Prussian capital con- 
 stituted one of the most important educational 
 periods of his life. 
 
 Berlin was, at that time, the residence and the 
 rendezvous of an unusual number of distinguished 
 men. To a thoroughly sociable temperament, 
 and the exquisite amiability of perfect high- 
 breeding, Lord and Lady Burghersh united a 
 keen taste for intellectual refinement. Lord
 
 SOCIETY AT THE BERLIN LEGATION. 11 
 
 Burghersh was himself an enthusiastic musician. 
 His wife was a woman whose society was as 
 delightful to artists and men of letters as to 
 statesmen and men of the world. In their hands 
 the hotel of the British Legation at Berlin 
 became a sort of continental Holland House, 
 where Genius and Beauty, Science and Fashion, 
 Literature and Politics, could meet each other 
 with a hearty reciprocal welcome. 
 
 Among the daily habitues of this agreeable 
 house were Alexander von Humboldt, whose habit 
 it was to dine there every Sunday; Kauch the 
 sculptor; Meyerbeer, whose conversation was as 
 brilliant as his music ; Felix Mendelssohn ; and 
 the painters Begas, Hensel, and Magnus. To the 
 honour of the Prussian Court be it said that all 
 these illustrious men were also among the most 
 frequent and honoured guests of the late king. 
 
 A letter in which their kindhearted and accom- 
 plished hostess has favoured me with some of her 
 personal reminiscences, makes touching reference 
 to this little group of eminent persons. "Tbey 
 are all gone," she writes, " and I know not if 
 their equals now exist ! Ranch, the sculptor, was
 
 I- JULIAN FANE. 
 
 the perfect mode] of a fine old grand seigneur, 
 botli in look and manner; though born in a 
 very humble position. With Humboldt, Meyer- 
 beer, and Ilauch, I kept up correspondence as 
 long as they lived. All knew and appreciated 
 the charm, the talents, and the beauty of the 
 dear boy who was then my pride and joy. 
 MEeyerbeer especially adored him; and admired 
 his singular musical talent, which, from his child- 
 hood, was remarkable. As a child, indeed, his 
 passion for music was so great that I feared it 
 might, if encouraged, interfere with his general 
 education, and I would not allow him any music 
 lessons. He literally never learned even the 
 notes of music ; which he much regretted in after- 
 life. Yet, ignorant as he was of all the rules of 
 tin.' art, his exquisite ear supplied the deficiency. 
 AVhilst yet quite a boy, he once played on the 
 pianoforte parts of a new opera of Meyerbeer's 
 which he had only heard the night before. Yet 
 he played them so correctly that Meyerbeer, who 
 was present, and who had not allowed any part of 
 his score to be seen, inquired, in great agitation, 
 ' Who can have given him the music ? ' and
 
 INSTINCT FOR MUSIC. 13 
 
 would not believe that he played it only from 
 memory, after one hearing." 
 
 His musical instinct was indeed extraordinary ; 
 and to it was probably attributable his keen sus- 
 ceptibility to beauty of sound in verbal expres- 
 sion, although both music and poetry were rather 
 the acconrplishrnents than the occupations of his 
 after life. Two of his musical compositions will 
 be found in an appendix to this Volume. I am, 
 myself, no competent judge of such composi- 
 tions. But I doubt if those who have not heard 
 them played and sung by himself, can fully 
 realize the effect which they once derived from 
 
 " The touch of a vanished hand, 
 
 And the sound of a voice that is still." 
 
 For, in all that was sung or said by him who 
 wrote them, there was a peculiar and quite in- 
 describable charm which seemed to flow directly 
 from the visible presence of the man himself. 
 
 At the time when Julian Fane entered the 
 diplomatic service, it was the custom for our 
 Ministers and Ambassadors abroad to attach, if 
 they pleased, to their Embassies and Missions,
 
 1 I. JULIAN FANE. 
 
 young men who were personally known to them, 
 and whom they thought likely to prove useful 
 or agreeable members of their Staff. These 
 appointments were not, of course, made directly 
 by the Ministers and Ambassadors themselves, 
 but by the Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs, 
 on the recommendation of the Ministers and 
 Ambassadors ; or, to speak with strict accuracy, 
 by the Crown on the recommendation submitted 
 to it by the Secretary of State, at the request of 
 the Ministers and Ambassadors. 
 
 The class of persons thus admitted to subordi- 
 nate employment in the foreign representative 
 service of the Crown, was practically limited to 
 the two categories of which it ought, as a general 
 rule, to be composed : young men of social 
 station and independent means, or young men 
 of more or less tested ability and marked promise. 
 The first fulfilled adequately the ornamental, 
 the second the operative, functions of a pro- 
 fession which combines the duties of national 
 representation with those of international nego- 
 ciation ; and of both the system had no higher 
 type than it was to find in Julian Fane.
 
 ATTACHE AT BERLIN. 15 
 
 Whether the like success will attend the modes 
 of selection more recently adopted remains to be 
 seen. Julian would undoubtedly have passed 
 with ease and distinction any competitive ex- 
 amination, for he was, from childhood, a good 
 linguist, and a rapid as well as an accurate 
 reader. But it may be doubted if such exami- 
 nations could have either tested or certificated 
 the peculiar qualifications he possessed for success 
 in diplomacy — the mingled sweetness and dignity 
 of his wondrous social charm, his quick and just 
 appreciation of character, his precocious know- 
 ledge of life, his pleasant wit and large good 
 humour, his rapidity and accuracy of generalisa- 
 tion, his persuasive power of exposition. 
 
 It was in the year 1844 he was thus officially 
 attached to his father's Mission at Berlin ; and he 
 was then only seventeen years of age. It is easy 
 to imagine the stimulating effect of daily inter- 
 course with such a society as I have described 
 upon the intelligence of a naturally quick-witted 
 and precocious boy. But there is a name more 
 conspicuous than any of those yet recorded which 
 must now be mentioned in connection with the
 
 L6 JULIAN FANE. 
 
 intellectual impressions at least indirectly re- 
 ferable to this period of his life, though its 
 positive influence may probably date somewhat 
 hiter. 
 
 In the German literature of the Restoration 
 there is little to admire. The mantle of Goethe 
 had not fallen upon any of his numerous disciples. 
 The romantic school had, on the whole, failed in 
 the mission which at first it seemed destined to 
 fulfil. The reaction against Eighty-nine had 
 converted patriotism into the instrument of des- 
 potism. The strong sarcastic voice of Brentano 
 (Bettina's brother) was silent in a cloister. 
 Gorres had suffered clue penance for the revolu- 
 tionary vagaries of his youth. Pedantry and 
 poltroonery had their own way. That great war 
 which rescued from the first French Empire the 
 international independence of Europe, had be- 
 queathed no political liberties to the populations 
 of Germany, whose victory, like the honey of 
 Virgil's bees, was profitable only to their pro- 
 prietors. But in 1825 the publication of the first 
 volume of the " Reisebilder " revolutionized the 
 whole literature of Germany, and placed it hence-
 
 HEIXBICH HEINE. 17 
 
 forth under the brilliant popular dictatorship of 
 Heinrich Heine. 
 
 About five years subsequent to the appointment 
 of Lord Burghersh to the Mission at Florence, that 
 is to say, in the year which witnessed, in England, 
 the Cato Street Conspiracy and the imprisonment 
 of Hunt, and, in France, the first great Parlia- 
 mentary triumph of the French Liberals, — there 
 happened to be living at Bonn a young law 
 student, who was the son of Jewish parents and 
 the pupil of Franciscan friars. From Bonn he 
 migrated to Gottingen, and shortly afterwards 
 appeared at Berlin as the enthusiastic disciple of 
 Hegel. There he was at once recognized as a 
 young man of precocious culture, and peculiar 
 genius, by Franz Bopp the philologist, Chamisso 
 the poet, Varnhagen von Ense, and one or two 
 other distinguished men. About this time he 
 unsuccessfully attempted to obtain for his pecu- 
 liar genius a wider recognition by the publication 
 of some dramatic poems, which all the splendour 
 of his subsequent reputation has not yet redeemed 
 from the oblivion to which they were immediately 
 consigned by the public. Possibly, his peculiar
 
 18 JULIAN FANE. 
 
 genius had not found in these poems its peculiar 
 form. This form, however, it did triumphantly 
 find in the f< Reisebilder." And, as I have said, 
 in the year 1825 the publication of that inimita- 
 ble book revealed to Germany, once for all and 
 once for ever, the existence of by far the greatest 
 poet she has produced from Goethe to the present 
 day. The " Reisebilder " was succeeded quickly 
 by the " Buch der Lieder," and a rapid torrent of 
 {lie intensest lyric song. 
 
 Throughout Germany, therefore, the disturbing, 
 almost bewildering, influence of Heine was in all 
 its freshest and fullest activity about the time 
 when Julian Fane, still a mere lad, was living at 
 Berlin. He did not himself at that time begin 
 the study of those writings, but an early acquired 
 and accurate knowledge of German (that invalu- 
 able implement of culture) enabled him not long 
 after to read them in their original language ; 
 and, although his naturally robust character in- 
 stinctively rejected all that was dangerously 
 perverse in Heine's influence, the impression that 
 was made upon him by his introduction into that 
 Classlsche Walimrgisnacld, which Goethe first
 
 RETURN TO ENGLAND. 19 
 
 imagined on the plains of Pharsalia and the 
 heights of Peneius, and which Heine subse- 
 quently realised and ruled, appears to have re- 
 mained throughout the whole of his after life. 
 His regular study of the poems began with his 
 first settled residence at Vienna, in 1851 ; and 
 the latest work on which he was engaged, when 
 stricken down by the painful malady that prema- 
 turely terminated his existence, was a critical 
 biography of the poet himself. Some of his 
 smaller pieces he had in the meanwhile, and at 
 various times, translated into English verse ; and 
 these translations, which (with his habitual dis- 
 like of publication) he printed only for private 
 circulation, have been noticed in the " Edinburgh 
 Review " by Lord Houghton, whose own admir- 
 able success in the same most difficult task gives 
 particular interest and authority to his opinion of 
 all similar undertakings. 
 
 Heine's future translator could not, however, 
 remain much longer in the capital of Hegel, 
 that first of Heine's " Gods " who afterwards 
 figured " in exile." He was approaching the age 
 
 of nineteen ; and in 1846 he returned to England 
 
 c2
 
 20 JULIAN FANE. 
 
 to prepare himself for the University, under the 
 tuition of the Rev. Mr. Whitaker, at Oakington. 
 The best part of a year was passed here; and his 
 exchange of the luxury and idleness of Berlin for 
 the simplicity and study of this quiet English 
 parsonage, was accounted always by Julian as one 
 of the beneficent occurrences of his life. To its 
 influence on him at a critical time, he attributed 
 much of what was best in his later life ; his only 
 regret was that it had not been of earlier date 
 and longer duration ; and some of his latest in- 
 structions for the education of his own children 
 were the fruit of this experience. In the course 
 of the following year he matriculated, as Fellow 
 Commoner, at Trinity College, Cambridge.
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 Fellow Commoner at Trinity. Characteristics. Choice of Com- 
 panions. The Apostles. Chancellor's Medal. Letters. 
 Demeanour towards Women. Return to Berlin. Visit to 
 Dublin. The Apostles at Blackwall. Last Days at Cam- 
 bridge. Recollections of his Fellow Collegian, Mr. James. 
 Gains from his College Life. 
 
 " I think," says Lord Houghton, in a letter to 
 the present writer, " that Julian Fane made the 
 most impression on me when he was at Cambridge. 
 I used to go up there often to see my old play- 
 fellows, and the natural, easy way he fell into his 
 place among them, after his independent and 
 luxurious life at Berlin, struck me as very estim- 
 able." The change from Berlin to Cambridge 
 was, indeed, a great one. But the luxury which 
 Julian Fane had learned from his Berlin expe- 
 riences to appreciate most, was the luxury of 
 intellectual society ; and he commenced his Uni- 
 versity life with the inestimable advantage of a 
 mind already too cultivated to find any attraction
 
 22 JULIAN FANE. 
 
 in those coarse and unintelligent amusements 
 which often waste the time and purse of under- 
 graduates, in whose educational career there is 
 no interposition between the public school and 
 the university. 
 
 " .Mr. Fane was entered at Trinity as one of my 
 pupils," writes Dr. Thompson, the present Master 
 of Trinity. "I was then senior tutor of the 
 College, in 1847 ; and he began to reside in the 
 October of that year. Though I believe he was 
 not much older than the average of under- 
 graduates, Mr. Fane had seen much more of the 
 world, and was far more generally accomplished 
 than the majority of his contemporaries. I never 
 had a pupil who impressed me at a first interview 
 more favourably ; and I look back with unmixed 
 pleasure on the whole period of our intercourse 
 as friends rather than tutor and pupil. He had 
 a fine and catholic taste in literature, and his 
 associates were, for the most part, men like- 
 minded with himself; not so much hard University 
 students (though there were such among the 
 number), as young men of active and inquiring 
 (and, in some cases, really original) minds. No-
 
 AT CAMBRIDGE. 23 
 
 thine: was more remarkable in Mr. Fane than 
 his marked preference for intellectual merit over 
 rank and position in society. One of his most 
 intimate friends was a sizar, — a clever and 
 cultivated person ; and, with one exception, I 
 do not remember that he was intimate with 
 any of the then fellow-commoners and noble- 
 men." 
 
 This love of intellectual society, combined with 
 a rare capacity for commanding the sympathy of 
 such society, soon rendered Julian Fane one of 
 the most beloved and brilliant members of a 
 curious social institution which may claim the 
 merit of having united in life-long friendship an 
 extraordinarily large number of successful and 
 remarkable men. In the year 1820 a certain 
 number of Cambridge undergraduates, who were 
 attracted to each other by a kindred taste for 
 literature, and a common reverence for free 
 inquiry (not then as generally tolerated as it is 
 now), founded amongst themselves at St. John's 
 College a small society for weekly essay and 
 discussion. Tomlinson, afterwards Bishop of 
 Gibraltar, was one of the founders of it, but, in
 
 2 1 JULIAN FANE. 
 
 tlic time of Julian Fane, it had migrated to 
 Trinity College, and had already been distin- 
 guished by the names of Charles Buller, Sterling, 
 Maurice, Tennyson, and many other young men 
 of subsequent eminence in literature or public 
 life. 
 
 This Society called itself a conversazione society. 
 But, owing to the fact that the number of its 
 resident members (undergraduates and bachelors 
 of arts) was limited to twelve, it soon became 
 known as the Society of the Cambridge Apostles : 
 — a name which was at first given to it, says 
 Mr. Christie, in derision. Apostles of intellectual 
 freedom in the Halls of Authority, its members 
 might, however, fairly consider themselves. Free 
 discussion, excluding no subject of intellectual 
 interest, was the object and the occupation of 
 their weekly gatherings. To ensure this freedom, 
 the annals of the Society have been kept secret. 
 But Mr. Christie, formerly Minister at Brazil, 
 who was himself an Apostle, contributed some 
 years ago to the pages of Macmillan's Magazine 
 an exceedingly interesting account of this Society. 
 In that article Mr. Christie quotes the high
 
 A DISTINGUISHED SOCIETY. 25 
 
 tribute paid to the intellectual freedom of the 
 Cambridge Apostles by Bishop Thirrwall, who 
 -was one of them himself. In the year 1834, 
 during the controversy which then raged on the 
 question of admitting Dissenters to University 
 degrees, Mr. Goulburn and others having ex- 
 pressed in Parliament much fear of the mis- 
 chievous effects of theological controversy amongst 
 undergraduates, Thirlwall scouted their alarm by 
 a reference to the Cambridge Apostles. "You 
 may be alarmed," said the future Bishop of 
 St. David's, " when I inform you that there has 
 long existed in this place a society of young men, 
 — limited, indeed, in number, but continually 
 receiving new members to supply its vacancies, 
 and selecting them in preference among the 
 youngest, — in which all subjects of the highest 
 interest, without any exclusion of those connected 
 with religion, are discussed with the most perfect 
 freedom. But, if this fact is new to you, let me 
 instantly dispel any apprehension it may excite, 
 by assuring you that the members of this Society 
 for the most part have been, and are, among the 
 choicest ornaments of the University : that some
 
 26 JULIAN FANE. 
 
 arc now amongst the ornaments of the Church : 
 and that, so far from having had their affections 
 embittered, or their friendships torn and lacerated, 
 their union has been one rather of brothers than 
 of friends." 
 
 Undoubtedly this sentiment of brotherhood is 
 a very noticeable quality of Cambridge Apostle- 
 ship. The members of this Society have been 
 through life the enthusiastic and often the 
 influential champions of each other's claims to 
 public notice. The fastidious delicacy and subtle 
 sweetness of Mr. Tennyson's poetry, for instance 
 (which were not immediately appreciable even to 
 Coleridge), might perhaps have withheld from 
 his genius the broad popular recognition which 
 is not even yet, and probably never will be, 
 accorded even to Shelley and Keats, had it not 
 been for the intelligence and perseverance with 
 which its most recondite beauties have been 
 sought out, proclaimed, defended against hostile 
 criticism, and gradually impressed upon the 
 public mind, by those of his brother Apostles 
 who, since quitting the University, have acquired 
 in various walks of life a reputation for intellect
 
 ADVANTAGES OF APOSTLESHIP. 27 
 
 and culture which gives authority to their literary- 
 taste and judgment. The effect of the Society 
 upon its members was thus not only stimulating 
 to their intelligence in youth, but also advan- 
 tageous to their success in manhood. The man 
 of genius who enters the great battle-field of life 
 a solitary soldier, must expect to find every man's 
 hand against him. He comes into the field with- 
 out followers, without comrades, without a leader 
 or a camp. If he is worsted in the combat he 
 will be shot like a freeshooter for lack of a recog- 
 nized uniform, and refused the conventional 
 courtesies of civilized warfare. To begin life as 
 ODe among a band of clever young men, who 
 sincerely admire themselves and each other, and 
 are prepared, each of them, to recognize in the 
 success of a comrade flattering evidence of their 
 personal sagacity, as well as an additional 
 triumph to their collective superiority, cannot 
 but be an immense practical advantage to those 
 who are so fortunate as to possess it. From this 
 point of view the Cambridge Apostles may be 
 regarded, like Balzac's Conseil de Treize, as a 
 sort of mutual - praise - society. But absolute
 
 88 JULIAN FANE. 
 
 mediocrity cannot puff itself into the dimensions 
 of genius, and certainly a Cambridge Apostleship 
 is a genuine order of merit. Almost all the 
 members of this Legion of Honour have in after 
 life worthily justified the admiration with which, 
 as undergraduates, they regarded each other. In 
 the long list of Cambridge Apostles may be men- 
 tioned, amongst men who succeeded in public life, 
 the names of Charles Buller, " lively as Luttrell, 
 logical as Mill ; "* Lord Stanley, the present Earl 
 of Derby ; Mr. Horsman ; Monckton Mimes, now 
 Lord Houghton ; Bishop Thirlwall ; Mr. Spencer 
 Walpole, who was Secretary of State for the 
 Home Department in Lord Derby's cabinet ; 
 Mr. Kenneth Macaulay, afterwards Member for 
 Cambridge; and Henry Lushington, Govern- 
 ment Secretary at Malta, whose biography has 
 been written by a more eminent brother Apostle, 
 Mr. Venables. Amongst others who have been 
 distinguished in literature and scholarship, may 
 be mentioned John Kemblc, the Anglo-Saxon 
 scholar; John Sterling, "the subject of two bio- 
 graphies by two such men as Julius Hare and 
 
 * " St. Stephen's," a Poem. By Lord Lytton.
 
 CAMBRIDGE APOSTLES. 29 
 
 Thomas Carlyle";* Alfred Tennyson, the Poet 
 Laureate ; Arthur Hallam, whose early death is 
 the subject of Mr. Tennyson's "In Memoriam;" 
 Edmund Lushington, Professor of Greek at Glas- 
 gow ; W. H. Thompson, Regius Professor of 
 Greek, and now the successor of Whewell as 
 Master of Trinity ; Blakesley, Canon of Canter- 
 bury ; the accomplished master in the Chelten- 
 ham Training College, Mr. Henry James ; Charles 
 Merivale, the historian ; Dr. Kennedy, Head 
 Master of Shrewsbury ; the late Dean Alford, 
 and the present Archbishop Trench, poets as well 
 as divines ; James Spedding, the biographer of 
 Bacon ; the versatile Tom Taylor ; Arthur Helps ; 
 Dr. Butler, the present young Head Master of 
 Harrow ; F. W. Farrar, the distinguished philo- 
 logist ; the present Sir Frederick Pollock ; Ver- 
 non Harcourt (Historicus) ; Frederick Maurice ; 
 and our two great philosophical lawyers, Henry 
 Sumner Maine and FitzJames Stephen. 
 
 The perfect freedom of thought and utterance 
 which has always given to the meetings of this 
 Society their especial charm, would be destroyed 
 
 * Macmillan's Magazine, Nov. 1SG4.
 
 30 JULIAN FANE. 
 
 by any publication of its discussions ; but I have 
 bei 11 assured by many of his fellow Apostles that 
 Julian Fane was the life and soul of their pleasant 
 gatherings, and the most brilliant member of the 
 little group which then comprised such men as 
 Earoourt, Maine, Henry James, and the present 
 Lord Derby. His general culture was probably 
 larger than that of most of his College contem- 
 poraries. In knowledge and experience of the 
 world he was certainly their superior. His accu- 
 rate memory and ready wit rendered immediately 
 available for conversational effect the whole of his 
 mental furniture ; and from an early observation 
 of mankind he had acquired the faculty which 
 gives appropriate application to the study of 
 books. His intellectual capital was all in ready 
 money, or so invested that it could be drawn out 
 at a moment's notice, to meet the most unex- 
 pected liability. This gave him, in discusssion, 
 an easy advantage over more heavily armed anta- 
 gonists, whose reserve forces could not be thrown 
 with equal rapidity upon the immediate point of 
 attack. His own intellectual resources were 
 indeed so well disciplined that they arranged
 
 PERSONAL TEAITS. 31 
 
 themselves without confusion in logical line of 
 battle at the first word of command. No man 
 was ever less cursed with the esprit du has de 
 Vescalier. In physical frame he was considerably 
 above the average stature. Notwithstanding the 
 angularity which great thinness gave to his bodily 
 framework, all its movements and gestures were 
 as graceful as those of a young pinetree marching 
 to the music of Orpheus. The genial effect of 
 his lively intelligence was greatly increased by a 
 singularly expressive flexibility of countenance, a 
 musical and finely modulated voice, and a rare 
 distinction of attitude and gait. I doubt if any 
 man, with the exception of Lablache, was ever so 
 consummate an artist in the management of his 
 facial muscles. I have seen him imitate the late 
 Lord Brougham, not only with a marvellous ex- 
 actitude of voice and gesture, but also with an 
 instantaneous transformation of feature which was 
 absolutely bewildering. His extraordinary mimetic 
 power may be imagined from the fact that he 
 could, without the aid of voice or action, and 
 solely by a rapid variation of physiognomy, con- 
 jure up before the eyes of the most unimpression-
 
 32 JULIAN FANE. 
 
 able spectator the whole pageant and progress of 
 a thunderstorm. 1 have often watched him per- 
 form this tour deforce, and never without seem- 
 in-- to see before me, with unmistakeable distinct- 
 ness, the hovering transit of light and shadow 
 over some calm pastoral landscape on a summer's 
 noon ; then, the gradually gathering darkness in 
 the heaven above — the sultry suspense of Nature's 
 stifled pulse — the sudden flash — the sportive 
 bickering play of the lightning — the boisterous 
 descent of the rain — the slow subsidence of all 
 the celestial tumult ; the returning sunlight and 
 blue air ; the broad repose and steady gladness 
 of the renovated fields, with their tinkling flocks, 
 and rainy flowers. The capacity of producing, at 
 will, such effects as these by the mere working of 
 a countenance which Nature had carved in the 
 calmest classic outlines, could only have resulted 
 from a very rare correspondence between the 
 intellectual and physical faculties; and it is no 
 slight moral merit in the possessor of such gifts, 
 that he rarely exercised them at all, and never for 
 the purpose of ungenerously ridiculing his fellow 
 creatures.
 
 1 1 
 
 COLLEGE FRIENDS. 33 
 
 "You will be the most unpopular man here," 
 said the present Lord Derby (who was somewhat 
 his senior) to Julian Fane, on the latter's arrival 
 at Cambridge. 
 " Why so ? " 
 
 "Because you are so tall that you will be 
 always looking down on your acquaintances." 
 
 " On the contrary ; I shall certainly be the most 
 influential man at Trinity, because my acquaint- 
 ances will be always looking up to me." 
 
 He was" never -without a pleasant and appro- 
 priate answer to the challenge of the passing 
 moment. " We were undergraduates together at 
 Trinity College, Cambridge," says Mr. Watson, 
 one of the ablest of his College contemporaries, 
 "and I used frequently to meet him in the society 
 of friends common to us both, who were more 
 intimate with him than I was. I can recal, even 
 after an interval of twenty years, the effect pro- 
 duced upon us all by his bright and genial presence. 
 J certainly never knew at that time, nor do I think 
 1 have ever since met with, any man whose social 
 qualities (understanding the term in its best sense) 
 were so distinguished as his. He possessed a 
 
 D
 
 :; I JULIAN FANE. 
 
 brilliant wit, a keen sense of humour, and an 
 unrivalled gracefulness of manner and expression. 
 Thus he was never at a loss for a reply, even 
 among the readiest. But his repartees were never 
 sullied by ill-nature, and never degenerated into 
 sarcasm. Nor did he, in his most playful sallies, 
 forget what was due to his own self-respect, or 
 wound the self-esteem of other men." 
 
 These words, as I transcribe them, recal to my 
 mind a somewhat amusing instance of Julian 
 Fane's conversational readiness, which I had the 
 opportunity of appreciating when he and I were 
 colleagues at Vienna. We happened to be dining 
 together with Baron Anselm Rothschild. One of 
 our fellow guests, an English Member of Parlia- 
 ment, and a veteran Goliath of that Liberal 
 Philistia which holds dominion in the north of 
 England, was somewhat dogmatically impressing 
 upon our minds the urgent necessity of Parlia- 
 mentary Reform. The conversation subsequently 
 turned upon the political institutions of Austria, 
 and in criticizing the then newly-established 
 
 Parliamentary system in that Empire, Mr. 
 
 exclaimed, " Sir, you cannot compare this Reichs- 
 
 I
 
 CONVERSATIONAL READINESS. 35 
 
 rath with the British Parliament. The British 
 Parliament is the most perfect political institution 
 which the world has yet witnessed. It faithfully 
 and forcibly represents all the political intelli- 
 gence, all the opinions, all the interests, of the 
 British Empire." 
 
 "Ah, Mr. ," said Julian Fane, "you have 
 
 quite convinced us ! Who could resist such an 
 argument against Reform ? " The table was in a 
 roar. 
 
 But to return to the writer who has favoured 
 
 me with his personal reminiscences of Julian Fane 
 
 at Cambridge, and who was not only an Apostle, but 
 
 a Fellow of Trinity, and the Second Wrangler of 
 
 his year. " Great as were Fane's social gifts," Mr. 
 
 "Watson continues, " they by no means represented 
 
 the whole of his remarkable and versatile nature. 
 
 His tastes were eminently intellectual, and his 
 
 companions were the hard readers and hard 
 
 thinkers among his contemporaries. For English 
 
 poetry, indeed, he seemed to have a perfect 
 
 passion; and the only occasion on which I ever 
 
 reinenibur to have seen his equanimity disturbed 
 
 was when an attempt was made by some mis~ 
 
 d2
 
 36 JULIAN FANE. 
 
 chicvous companions to goad him out of his 
 habitual self possession by unfair and flippant 
 criticisms on the work of a favourite author. 
 Finally, what impressed me more than all was the 
 genuine and hearty goodness of his disposition. 
 Though petted by society, possessing a large and 
 varied acquaintance with life in all its phases, and 
 subjected from an early age to influences which 
 would have produced, in an ordinary nature, a 
 mere blase man of the world, there was not a 
 trace of hardness or cynicism to be found in him. 
 He had very wide sympathies, ever ready to be 
 enlisted in any subject, however remote from his 
 own special tastes, and in any persons, whatever 
 their pursuits, provided only they were good and 
 generous. I believe that many poor students 
 (some perhaps who have since raised themselves 
 by their efforts, and some destined to lifelong- 
 obscurity) will remember the charm of his cheer- 
 ing society, and retain a grateful recollection of 
 the interest he manifested in their progress, and 
 his hearty unaffected solicitude for their success." 
 In confirmation of Mr. Watson's testimony to 
 the "genuine and hearty goodness of Julian
 
 TRUE CHARITY. 87 
 
 Fane's disposition," I might mention many acts 
 of his life which have come within my own ex- 
 perience. He was not of those whose right hand 
 is a babbler to their left. But one of the most 
 active and inexhaustible qualities of his nature 
 was its unbounded benevolence : charity, I would 
 say, if that word were not liable to a conventional 
 construction which, though perfectly respectable, 
 is very imperfectly christian. Certainly, however, 
 no man ever preserved pure, in the midst of a 
 necessarily worldly life, so deep a well-spring of 
 that genuine christian charity which springs not 
 from the intellect but the heart, not from duty 
 but from grace, and without whose divine sympa- 
 thy benevolence is barren and protection pitiless. 
 He very seldom would allow his name to appear 
 in the subscription list of any charity, but he 
 subscribed anonymously to many; wherever any 
 votes, or other patronage, were incident to such 
 subscriptions, he was always scrujmlously con- 
 scientious in the disposal of them; and one of the 
 last acts of his life affords characteristic illustra- 
 tion of the spontaneous loving kindness which 
 animated the whole course of it. In the course
 
 38 JULIAN FANE. 
 
 of the year which preceded his death he observed 
 in the Tvmesan advertisement containing an appeal 
 
 from "A. L." to some other initials, which implored 
 pity for the dreadful condition of one absolutely 
 reduced to want and despair. It ended with these 
 words : " For God's sake, and for the remembrance 
 of past happiness, gone for ever, send me the 
 means to leave this dreadful town." His quick 
 intuitive sympathy guessed at once the whole sad 
 story. He immediately forwarded to the address 
 given in the newspaper a ten-pound note, with the 
 request that it might be acknowledged in the 
 Times to "B. C." The acknowledgment was made 
 in these words : 
 
 "A broken-hearted mother and her child 
 acknowledge with deep gratitude, &c, &c." 
 
 Julian Fane did not compete for honours at 
 Cambridge. He was at no time of his life an 
 idle man ; but he was always a desultory reader 
 rather than a hard student. The only University 
 distinction which he sought to obtain (he had 
 gained a College prize for a prose essay the year 
 before) was the Chancellor's medal, and this he 
 won by a prize poem on the death of the Queen
 
 UNIVERSITY PRIZE POEM. 39 
 
 Dowager. This poem, " On the Death of Queen 
 Adelaide," was, says Dr. Thompson, " remarkable 
 for its Miltonic rhythm. It was a designed imita- 
 tion of the Lycidas, and in many respects a poem 
 of great promise, and above the average of such 
 compositions. Dr. Whewell, a good Miltonic 
 scholar, was, I remember, much struck by the 
 skill with which the metre was managed." 
 
 PerhajDS all that could be said for the poem, is 
 thus said fairly enough. Truth of feeling and 
 originality of utterance could hardly be looked 
 for in it, since all evidence of these qualities is 
 almost necessarily excluded by the imposed con- 
 ditions of such a task as the application of 
 Miltonic rhythm to an elegy on such an event. 
 But, assuming that the object of these exercises 
 (like that of modern Latin and Greek verses) is 
 to display familiarity with the style of some great 
 original poet, by closely imitating his peculiar 
 cadences, and copying his most characteristic ex- 
 pressions, then it must, I think, be admitted that 
 this particular prize poem on the death of Queen 
 Adelaide is a masterpiece of ingenious artificiality ; 
 and written more unmistakably "after the manner
 
 40 JULIAN FANE. 
 
 of Master John Milton" than Howe's Tragedy of 
 "Jane Shore" is "writ," as he informs us, "after 
 the manner of Master William Shakespeare." 
 
 The poem opens with an invocation to Mel- 
 pomene to descend, 
 
 " From fount Castalian and the Delphic steep," 
 
 and "in melting melodies to weep" a death which 
 " shall not lack some sad melodious tear." 
 In vain, however, 
 
 " the tears of Evening fall, 
 In vain the early breezes, as they sweep 
 Through the dark woodland, sigh ; and from the spray 
 Trilling their matins sweet the wild birds call ; 
 For she no more upon the dawning day, 
 
 Listening their joyous lay, 
 Shall bend her wistful eyes for ever closed ; 
 Closed in the night of death's long slumber deep, 
 But angels wake to guard her dreamless sleep." 
 
 Peace, Faith, Hope, Devotion, Love and Wisdom, 
 
 then appear in celebration of the virtues of the 
 
 estimable lady, who is described as a shepherdess, 
 
 followed by her "few faithful sheep " who hear 
 
 her voice 
 
 " no more, 
 Nor list her footfall on the path before 
 Climbing the height of Virtue's rugged steep."
 
 ON THE QUEEN DOWAGER'S DEATH. 41 
 
 The " Guardian spirits of the Isle," and their 
 attendant "Nymphs," are next called upon to 
 explain where they were " when wan-eyed Grief 
 was born," and allowed to darken the sunshine on 
 the happy face of the departed Queen Consort. 
 But, before they can reply, the Elegist truly 
 observes that the inquiry is useless, since they 
 could have done nothing to,avert her fate, for 
 
 " From on high proceeds the dread command, 
 And dire Necessity, with equal hand, 
 Slow, as she moves, dispassionate and stern, 
 Alike unto the gentle and the proud, 
 Scatters the lot from her capacious urn." 
 
 The fallacious character of earthly grandeur is 
 then deplored and illustrated by the fact that 
 
 " Innocent sleep, that loves the shadowy spot 
 By the lulled streamlet of the valley, flies 
 The sounding palace for the peaceful cot." 
 
 After which Echo rises " from her aery shell, by 
 Werra's silvery wave." 
 
 " Next, Father Thames, as with due dirges low 
 The decent pomp along his banks was led, 
 Rose from the stream, and clasp 'd his urn, and said : 
 ' Thee first my waters welcomed ; thee the bride 
 Of royal Clarence, foster'd on the main, 
 Whom now, sweet Queen, thou comest with fit train
 
 42 JULIAN FANE. 
 
 Once more to find, — sleep softly by his side. 
 Sleep : at thine ear my limpid waters flow, 
 And the voiced waves make music as they glide.' 
 Last reverend Camus, as he footed slow, 
 Heard the far echoes mourn, and from the tide 
 Which fair reflects his Granta's thoughtful brow, 
 Uprose, and spake," kc. 
 
 Finally, " Albion weeps no more," but 
 
 " As Memory haunts her sovereign's tomb, 
 She to the throne uplifts her happy face ; 
 There still she views the heavenly Virtues bloom, 
 And sweet Religion blossom in her place." 
 
 All this paraphernalia of Pagan mythology, and 
 geographical personifications, marched out to the 
 roll of Miltonic music in honour of the obsequies 
 of the poor amiable Queen, is rather too much of 
 labour misapplied and wasted. But if the boyish 
 exercise contains no direct evidence of original 
 poetic faculty, be it remembered that all possi- 
 bility of such evidence was a priori strictly 
 excluded by the prescribed conditions of it. No 
 one who has ever wasted time in the perusal of 
 University prize poems can fail to agree with Dr. 
 Thompson that its merits are very much " above 
 the average of such compositions." Certainly it 
 displays the possession of a highly cultivated ear, a
 
 THE MEDAL TWICE CONTENDED FOR. 43 
 
 trained faculty of composition, a great knowledge 
 and appreciation of Miltonic verse, a keen percep- 
 tion of the particular effects which are pleasing 
 in the eyes of academic judges, and a very skilful 
 subordination of all means to that end. 
 
 There are other and higher qualities, however, 
 more useful throughout life to their possessor, of 
 which this mere poem is a proof. Those qualities 
 are the patience and modest self-confidence mani- 
 fest in the fact that the skill displayed by it, and 
 the success achieved, represent its writer's second 
 attempt to win the Chancellor's Medal. The 
 want of success that attended his first is very 
 good-humouredly referred to in a letter to his 
 friend Henry James, from which, however, I will 
 take only the closing lines : 
 
 " I think I shall stop here another week : I want 
 to see Thompson, who will be up then. My affec- 
 tion for him grows with time. I pray you very 
 earnestly, write to me soon. I am all alone, the 
 glory of the town, the only Fellow Commoner in 
 Cambridge. I am not bored, however, because I 
 am engaged — on vjhat? I will tell you in my next ; 
 but I like letters, particularly from Cheltenham."
 
 44 JULIAN FANE. 
 
 It was probably on some poetic composition 
 that he was engaged ; for most of the contents 
 of a small volume of verse, which he published 
 shortly afterwards, appear to have been written 
 about this time. These verses are, for the most 
 part, merely the melodious expression of that 
 poetic temperament which, before circumstances 
 have yet determined the object and character of 
 their ambition, is the most common indication of 
 genius in the boyhood of men of various accom- 
 plishments. They must hardly be regarded as 
 the utterances of a spirit exclusively consecrated 
 to the priesthood of song, and ambitious of the 
 highest rank in that hierarchy. But no image of 
 Julian Fane would be complete if it failed to 
 illustrate the opulent manysidedness of him, in 
 which such verses find their appropriate value. 
 Poets, statesmen, orators, and thinkers there have 
 been, and will be again, whose attainments in the 
 special department of each could never, perhaps, 
 have been equalled by him, even had he devoted 
 to the exclusive development of any one of his 
 many and great talents the concentrated energies 
 of a life to which the fragility of his constitution
 
 AN EARLY SONNET. 45 
 
 denied longevity, whilst the favour of Fortune 
 absolved it from that necessity of definite labour 
 which gives motive power to latent capacity. 
 But I never met before, and have no hope to 
 meet again, a man in whom statesmen, poets, 
 and orators could immediately recognize so many 
 and such high potentialities of worthy achieve- 
 ment in their own departments of intellectual 
 activity : and I doubt if it be possible to select 
 from the boyish versification of any man whose 
 name is not recorded amongst those of acknow- 
 ledged poets, a specimen of verse more chastened 
 in expression, or more carefully completed in form, 
 than the following — 
 
 SONNET 
 
 TO A CANARY BIRD, TRAINED TO DRAW SEED AND WATER FROM 
 A GLASS WELL SUSPENDED TO ITS CAGE. 
 
 " Thou shouldst be carolling thy Maker's praise, 
 Poor bird ! now fetter'd, and here set to draw, 
 "With graceless toil of beak and added claw, 
 
 The meagre food that scarce thy want allays ! 
 
 And this — to gratify the gloating gaze 
 Of fools, who value Nature not a straw, 
 But know to prize the infraction of her law 
 
 And hard perversion of her creature's ways ! 
 
 Thee the wild woods await, in leaves attired,
 
 46 JULIAN FANE. 
 
 Where notes of liquid utterance should engage 
 Thy bill, that now with pain scant forage earns ; 
 So art thou like that bard who, God-inspired 
 
 To charm the world with song, was set to gauge 
 Beer-barrels for his bread — half-famish 'd Burns ! " 
 
 The echo of Miltonic studies lingers very grace- 
 fully along this pretty sonnet. A note of more 
 genuine and spontaneous sentiment is occasionally 
 also sounded by some of the love-poems in the 
 little volume from which I extract it ; and a letter 
 written at this time to Mr. James makes sportive 
 allusion to the boyish sentiment which probably 
 inspired them. This kind of boyish sentiment is, 
 perhaps, too vague and evanescent to deserve the 
 name of love ; although the tenderness and purity 
 of its transient influence deserve a better name 
 than caprice. It is only to certain rich natures 
 that such emotions come in boyhood ; and in 
 none but the most happily constituted disposi- 
 tions do they come and go with only good effect 
 upon the character in after life ; like those light 
 mists which are drawn forth at dawn by the 
 warm temperature of some fine and fertile climate, 
 and destined, when they disperse in rain or dew, 
 to fructify the soil they spring from. Nothing
 
 DEMEANOUR TOWARDS WOMEN. 47 
 
 was more noticeable in the maturity of Julian's 
 character than the sincerity and delicacy of all 
 its emotional manifestations. In his intercourse 
 with women, he united to an almost boyish 
 enthusiasm, a manly chivalry of sentiment, and 
 grave tenderness of gentle power, which found 
 exquisite expression in the charming courtesy 
 of his demeanour. Deferential, without timidity, 
 and cordial, without familiarity, there was always, 
 in his manner towards them, an indirect, un- 
 uttered, homage to the highest prerogatives of 
 their sex, combined with an equally indirect 
 indication of the reserved force of his own, which 
 must, I think, have been singularly flattering 
 and attractive. Like all men whose strength of 
 character is' of refined fibre, he had in his tem- 
 perament something of the heroically feminine 
 quality ; and this was felicitously reflected in the 
 mingled delicacy and power of his physical frame 
 and habitual gesture. 
 
 In the year 1848 he lost his eldest brother, and 
 on the 31st of May in that year he writes again 
 to his friend Henry James: "I arrived in town 
 od Friday night, just in time to see almost the
 
 48 JULIAN FANE. 
 
 last hour of consciousness of nxy poor clear 
 brother. I watched his bedside till Monday 
 night, when, at ten o'clock, he died in my arms — 
 tranquilly and effortless. The only consolation I 
 can have under the present circumstances is 
 afforded me by the reflection that I tended him 
 in his last hours, and that his latest breath was 
 drawn when I was with him. I shall not return 
 to Cambridge for some time. I may possibly go 
 down there for a fortnight after you are all gone 
 away, in order that I may save my term. I shall 
 be very happy if you can find time to write me a 
 line ; and I hope, if I am in London when you 
 pass through, that you will not forget to look up 
 3 T our old friend. I am anxious to know how your 
 reading goes on, and if you are sanguine about 
 your examination. * * * I am overwhelmed with 
 the most melancholy business — all the sad 
 offices of which a brother's death constitutes one 
 the discharger. 
 
 " Good-bye, my dear James, 
 " Yours very much, 
 
 "Julian Fane. 
 " 1 am not at all well myself."
 
 WORK IN PROSPECT. 49 
 
 In the summer of the same year he writes to 
 the same friend : 
 
 " I have in view the writing of a large — not 
 bulky, but serious poem. I can hardly as yet give 
 you any idea of its shape, since it has not yet 
 sufficiently worked itself out in my own mind, 
 but it is to treat largely of politics in a meta- 
 phorical form ; to touch upon the philosophy 
 suited to the present age ; to advocate a certain 
 system of reform in society ; to recognize the 
 Spirit of the Age, separating the spurious cant 
 which is prevalent concerning it from the indu- 
 bitable truth of its existence, and to endeavour 
 to point out the real course of action which by 
 its voice, now echoed throughout Europe, it directs 
 mankind to pursue. I meant to have begun im- 
 mediately this effort, but I now wish to write 
 first a poem in blank verse on a pretty and 
 touching Scotch tale, which I have long had in 
 my mind's eye." 
 
 The Scotch tale seems to have remained un- 
 written. I can find no trace of it amongst his 
 papers, and am sorry that nothing came of it; but 
 any interruption of time and thought must have
 
 50 JULIAN FANE. 
 
 been providential if it saved him from further 
 waste of either on the more ambitious design of 
 which also no trace remains. 
 
 An illness in the spring of 1849, by which he 
 lost a term, prevented him from taking his 
 Fellow Commoner's degree as M.A. until the 
 year 1850. But in the meanwhile he passed 
 the Christmas vacation at Berlin, doing some 
 occasional work at the Mission to which he was 
 already attached : and thence he writes to his 
 friend Henry James on the 4th of January, 
 1849, about the difficulties he has experienced in 
 ascertaining " what are the wants, or rather, I 
 should say, what are the attainable wants (for they 
 want everything) of the good Prussian people. 
 The town is perfectly tranquil in appearance (it is, 
 as you know, in a state of siege), but I believe that 
 a great deal of angry and bitter feeling is concealed 
 beneath the constrained and unnatural appearance 
 of calm which you everywhere meet with. My 
 belief is that the French will return before long to 
 monarchy. It appears to me that when once they 
 manage to shift themselves off that parapet, they 
 rush down into the depths of democracy with such
 
 QUITTING CAMBRIDGE. 51 
 
 rapidity that they are unable to remain at the 
 bottom when they have reached it : for the 
 impetus given them by the rapidity of their 
 descent propels them up the hill again on the 
 other side, where they eventually arrive at what 
 they started from." 
 
 On the 17th of June in the following year he 
 writes from Cambridge to the same friend. 
 
 " Your conjecture with respect to the allusion 
 in V. H.'s letter was correct. I have been sum- 
 moned back to Cambridge to superintend the 
 passage of my Exercise through the Pitt Press. 
 Many thanks for your felicitations; and more for 
 your promise of spending a week with me at 
 Cambridge before I leave its classic shades for 
 ever. I recite my Exercise on the 2nd of July, 
 and take my degree on the 4th, and shall pro- 
 bably go down on the following day. * * * 
 After leaving Cambridge, I proceeded directly to 
 Dublin, on a visit to my brother there, with whom 
 I remained a fortnight. I was quite delighted 
 with the city, and all it contains: men, beasts, 
 and buildings. Such gallant men, and such lovely 
 
 women ! such divine carmen, and such enchanting 
 
 e 2
 
 52 JULIAN FANE. 
 
 lamplighters! such nunneries, and oh! such nuns! 
 I worked very hard at sight-seeing (a stupendous 
 labour!) while I was there ; and in the first three 
 days I had seen all the notable things — and 
 nothings — in the town. The consequence of which 
 was that, in my waking hours, my mind was 
 coniplcxed with complicated recollections of 
 palaces, pigstyes, pictures, popery, potatoes, 
 politics, and pagodas, which chaos of things 
 also haunted me in my sleeping hours with 
 horrible nightmares. I set about, however, after 
 the first week, going over all my previous tracks 
 of sights once more, and came away with a 
 distinct idea of the city and its people, — having 
 learnt a little and seen a great deal. 
 
 " I have not yet read ' In Memoriam ' through ; 
 and will not, until I have done so, express any 
 opinion on it. What I have read gives me a 
 very high idea of its merits, and I look forward 
 with intense satisfaction to the pleasure (although 
 it can scarcely fail of being a melancholy one) of 
 reading it attentively through. 
 
 "I arrived in London on Tuesday the 11th, 
 and attended the dinner at Black wall on Wednes-
 
 A DINNER AT BLACKWALL. 53 
 
 day. Trench was president ; Yoal vice-president ; 
 and ' the number of the men was about twenty.' 
 Of these were four only belonging to the existing 
 Society, namely, Stephen, Watson, Yoal, and my- 
 f. I sat between Henry Hallam and Trench, 
 the former of whom charmed me exceedingly. 
 Trench, too, who is eloquent and tender-hearted 
 and earnest, I liked well. There was speechifying 
 without end and without aim, and I became 
 drowsy under the influence of verbose members 
 who insisted on thanking me for drinkino- their 
 health (which I didn't), and, in short, I was 
 delighted when Spedding got up and proposed 
 that at the next meeting the promiscuous oratory 
 should be quashed, and only those speak who 
 had something to say, and wit wherewith to 
 say it. The only speeches I cared to hear were 
 those of Venables and Tom Taylor, both of which 
 were very clever. I was, however, delighted at 
 having had an opportunity of meeting the elders, 
 with all of whom I was greatly pleased ; and I 
 advise you not to neglect another opportunity of 
 making their acquaintance." 
 
 The initials which occur in the beginning of
 
 54 JULIAN FANE. 
 
 this letter arc those of his College friend, Mr. 
 Vernon Harcourt, who, of all his Cambridge 
 acquaintances, was, I think, the one for whose 
 intellectual power he retained perhaps in after- 
 life the strongest admiration. Nor was the 
 friendship then commenced between them for a 
 moment suspended or diminished at any period of 
 their subsequent career. They remained to the 
 last firmly and tenderly attached to each other, 
 and my later chapters. will contain Mr. Harcourt's 
 recollections of the friend he loved so well. 
 
 I subjoin meanwhile a few brief notes on 
 Julian's College life by another most distinguished 
 contemporary. 
 
 " I clearly recollect," writes Mr. Sumner Maine, 
 "that, when my acquaintance with Julian Fane 
 began at Cambridge, I thought him much the 
 most brilliant young man I had met or seen. 
 The vivacity and readiness of his conversation, 
 his grace of person and manner, his hereditary 
 taste and skill in music, the amazing fluency 
 with which he spoke two or three foreign lan- 
 guages, the knowledge which his familiarity with 
 continental society had given him of things and
 
 ME. SUMNER MAINE'S RECOLLECTIONS. 55 
 
 people only seen at Cambridge through the im- 
 perfect medium of newspapers, would probably 
 have left this impression on my mind, even if 
 our acquaintance had not ripened into friendship. 
 But I ultimately knew him well enough to find 
 that my first impressions hardly did him justice. 
 I have always thought that there was something 
 not a little remarkable in his choice of associates 
 at Cambridge. There were several sets of men at 
 that time in the University, which might have 
 appeared to have natural attractions for a person 
 of his peculiar accomplishments and tastes, but 
 the society to which he actually attached himself, 
 consisted of young men who believed themselves 
 to be united by a common devotion to serious 
 thought, enquiry, and discussion — a devotion 
 which some of them, I dare say, carried to the 
 verge of affectation. It is probable that some, 
 though by no means all, of the subjects with 
 which his new friends occupied themselves were 
 new at that time to Julian Fane, but he took 
 them up with keen interest, his observations on 
 them were thoughtful and often original, and he 
 could quite hold his own in our debates.
 
 56 JULIAN FANE. 
 
 " If I had to single out one quality or capacity 
 which then distinguished him more than another, 
 I think T should say it was the faultlessness of his 
 taste. His own University success was in some 
 degree an illustration of this. Of all the hopeless 
 subjects which the authorities at Cambridge are 
 in the habit of prescribing with the professed 
 object of stimulating the poetical faculty in under- 
 graduates, the subject on which Julian Fane had 
 to write a Prize Poem was about the most hope- 
 less, but there was great good taste as well as 
 ingenuity in the selection of ' Lycidas ' as a 
 model, and the young writer followed the spirit 
 and rhythm of his original with a curious felicity. 
 In our frequent discussions on poetry I never 
 failed to be struck by his critical power. 
 
 " Julian Fane's profession allowed him to be 
 little in England after he quitted Cambridge, 
 and my own profession took me ultimately to 
 a distant countrv. The communications which 
 passed between us consisted chiefly in messages 
 expressing a hope on either side, never destined 
 to be fulfilled, that our personal intimacy might 
 one day be renewed. His diplomatic career and
 
 TRIBUTE OF ANOTHER COLLEGE FRIEND. 57 
 
 the promise of professional eminence and useful- 
 ness which he gave, are only known to me by 
 report ; but if much ability, great tact, great 
 versatility, and a power of attracting men growing 
 chiefly out of unfailing sweetness of disposition, 
 contribute to success in his profession, he ought 
 to have succeeded brilliantly, for all these qualities 
 were his in the days when he was familiarly 
 known to me." 
 
 The account of Julian's University life I will 
 now close with another sketch of him as he 
 appeared to his contemporaries there, by Mr. 
 Henry James, also a most intimate and valued 
 College friend. Mr. James has so justly and 
 delicately appreciated the character of his friend, 
 that I gratefully avail myself of his considerate 
 permission to print here the felicitous description 
 of it contained in this interesting record of his 
 personal recollections. 
 
 "To recal the Julian Fane of this period [1847 
 — 1850] is to remember the brightest hours of 
 the happiest of my College days. I believe that 
 all men felt exhilarated by his presence. He 
 brought to the discussion of graver topics such
 
 53 JULIAN FANE. 
 
 buoyancy of heart, and to lighter talk contributed 
 so much wit and gaiety and happy laughter, that 
 dulness and he were seldom found together. 
 Those who knew him only by name and by sight, 
 and drew their estimate of ' Fane of Trinity' from 
 hearsay comment, and such casual indications as 
 his habits and manner afforded, would probably 
 describe him as a singularly handsome and graceful 
 man, of a refined and sensitive nature, redeemed 
 from all charge of effeminacy by a manly dignity 
 of presence and a certain noble carelessness, who 
 held himself rather lightly aloof from the usual 
 pursuits of University men. He seldom attended 
 lectures, never boated, utterly disliked wine- 
 parties, very rarely was seen at a breakfast, cared 
 neither for billiards nor cards, never rode nor 
 drove, rarely visited the Union, and belonged to 
 no ' set.' It was but natural that coming up to 
 Cambridge after the experience of four years at a 
 foreign Embassy, his interest in College life — 
 though he was then under twenty — should differ 
 from ours, who rejoiced in it mainly as bringing 
 freedom from the restraints of school, and as 
 being our first introduction, to responsible life.
 
 ORDINARY LIFE AT CAMBRIDGE. 59 
 
 He saw in it only a delightful opportunity for 
 quiet reading, and for the cultivation of his special 
 sifts. His distribution of time was somewhat 
 unusual. Those who wished to have a walk with 
 him did well not to fix the meet at their own 
 rooms, but wisely sought his about one o'clock, 
 and supplemented the ineffective efforts of his 
 College servant to break his slumber. They broke 
 lightly enough, however, at a friend's voice, and 
 no more willing or more joyous companion could 
 one anywhere find. Neither monotonous roads 
 nor gloomy weather clisj^irited him. Indeed, I 
 never remember seeing him even for a moment 
 moody or despondent ; but he had always the air 
 of a man of faultless health and temper, to whom 
 simply to live was enjoyment. After hall his 
 wont was to retreat to some friend's rooms, and 
 there to sit at ease and talk and talk. Those 
 only who have known the infinite charm of his 
 conversation, can imagine how vividly the memory 
 of these hours lives for many of us. For myself 
 I owe to them, beyond the inexhaustible delight 
 which they opened to me in a friendship so warm 
 and kindly, the first germs of thoughts, and
 
 60 JULIAN FANE. 
 
 feelings, and tastes, which I have often since 
 recognized as most valuable possessions. Not 
 seldom we sat thus till midnight; though his 
 usual habil was to return about eight to his own 
 rooms, and sit up reading and writing till the 
 morning. 
 
 " His intellectual sympathies at this time were 
 essentially artistic. He took a very strong in- 
 terest in politics, and had a leaning towards 
 philosophy, but poetry and music he passionately 
 loved. Possibly many of his friends never heard 
 him read a line, for he most sensitively shunned 
 the reputation of an enthusiast, but sometimes, 
 as the memory of some favourite passage stirred 
 within him, he would glow with the fire of 
 Shakespeare's burning thought, or melt to the 
 tremulous tenderness of Tennyson or of Shelley. 
 His voice was then as a perfect instrument in a 
 master's hand, ready to utter the most intense 
 passion, or to vibrate to the lightest touch of 
 subtle feeling : yet not voice only was eloquent, 
 but every look and motion. The force of his 
 expression is witnessed to by the fact that I can 
 remember to this hour, as I read ' Hamlet ' or ' In
 
 POETRY AND MUSIC. 6] 
 
 Memoriam ' or many of Shelley's lyrics, his action 
 and tones as he read thern to me twenty years 
 ago ; and its excellence is attested, by my judg- 
 ment at least, as I find that I still can gain no 
 more delicate or more profound appreciation of 
 these passages than that which I caught thus 
 from him. Of his own poems of this period I 
 need not speak, as most of them have been pub- 
 lished. His power in music I was not able at all 
 adequately to measure, though I could not but 
 observe constantly how great was his love for it. 
 Ho had an exceedingly fine ear, and quite a 
 marvellous facility in remembering music he had 
 heard. He often composed, though as he knew 
 nothing at this time of musical notation he was 
 unable to write anything down. He not unfre- 
 quently would .sing over to me the airs to which 
 he had linked some favourite lyric. He very soon 
 banished his piano from his rooms, as he found 
 that it stole his thoughts from reading; and one 
 might well understand that, hearing how often in 
 the day they were unconsciously pursuing some 
 melody. 
 
 " It was a matter of regret to some of us, I
 
 G2 JULIAN FANE. 
 
 remember, that he did not take part frequently 
 in the Union debates. To my knowledge he spoke 
 there but once, when he created an impression — 
 it was in the midst of a debate on democracy — 
 rather by the announcement of certain startling 
 intelligence which he had that evening privately 
 received of the popular insurrection in Berlin, 
 than by any eloquence he displayed. He had 
 certainly the presence, the fire, and the gift of 
 ready thought and word which go to make an 
 orator. I doubt, however, whether he would not 
 always have needed a great occasion, and a highly 
 cultivated audience to call him forth. He did 
 not care much, I think, to persuade masses of 
 men, but rather to win those for whom he had 
 affection. Many of those who now so deeply 
 regret his loss will remember how powerfully he 
 could urge an argument in which his feelings 
 were engaged. Many too will recal with what 
 grace and vigour, and also with what infinite 
 humour he took his part in those more friendly 
 and free debates* which ' in another place ' were 
 waged 
 
 * An allusion to the Conversazione Society before described.
 
 AS A CAMBRIDGE APOSTLE. 63 
 
 ' On mind and art, 
 And labour, and the changing mart, 
 And all the framework of the land.' 
 
 " From his first entrance into that Society, he 
 eagerly embraced the tradition of fraternity which 
 he found to be one of its most cherished prin- 
 ciples. Always eager-hearted and unrestrained, 
 he found himself at once in a climate suited to 
 his genial and affectionate nature. He would 
 hardly have been the leader of thought amongst 
 us, even if we had been disposed to acknowledge 
 one, nor was he, as some others were, the recog- 
 nized champion of certain opinions to be held 
 against all comers. He was always, however, a 
 forward fighter, and brought a very tough lance 
 into the field. Still be will be rather remembered 
 amongst us, I think, for his brilliance and grace, 
 fa- his buoyant spirits, for his gentle wit and 
 happy raillery, for his generous warmth of heart 
 and quick sympathy, and for all those countless 
 courtesies which so much endeared him to us all. 
 
 " No one of his intimate friends could at any 
 period of his life, I imagine, speak of him with- 
 out enthusiasm. For myself no words would
 
 61 JULIAN FANE. 
 
 seem to me too strong to describe the admiration 
 
 which I felt for him in our College days. It is 
 
 possible, no doubt, to analyse this feeling to some 
 
 extent, and thus show in part to others, the 
 
 secret of the charm he exercised. This I have 
 
 tried to do : but words can no better paint the 
 
 beauty of a spirit finely touched by nature, than 
 
 they can describe the individual expression of a 
 
 face, or the tones of a voice. It will be at once 
 
 seen that I have attempted to recal him only as 
 
 he was when he ' wore the gown.' Distance and 
 
 diversity of life, though they never weakened our 
 
 friendship, from that time so far separated us as 
 
 of necessity to make my knowledge of him in the 
 
 maturity of his power very fragmentary. I have 
 
 but recorded my impression of him as he was 
 
 during a brief period of repose in his active life, 
 
 retracing the mere outline of a living picture 
 
 which always has been dear and now is sacred in 
 
 my memory. 
 
 "H. A. J." 
 
 " October, 1870." 
 
 A few words it will be right to add before pass- 
 ing from these College days. The delight in his
 
 EESULTS OF CAMBRIDGE LIFE. 65 
 
 companionship, then felt by all, has been in a 
 remarkable manner shown by these letters quoted 
 from some of the most distinguished of the men 
 who had the privilege of sharing it. But there 
 were also results from his Cambridge residence, 
 of which mention should not be omitted. 
 Prominently as we see the charm of his social 
 habits remaining in the recollection of all who 
 at that time came in contact with him, I have 
 reason to know that he was also acquiring while 
 there, notwithstanding a mode of life that seemed 
 adverse to the acquisition, gains in the way of 
 labour and study which were afterwards a very 
 precious possession to him. Underneath that 
 seemingly desultory life, he managed to find 
 time for much hard, steady work ; and it was 
 his own belief at a later time that the check 
 thus placed on the inclinations which his nature 
 might have led him more freely to indulge, had 
 been his greatest advantage brought away from 
 Cambridge. Many causes afterwards conspired to 
 weaken this ; but the determination with which 
 he went to College, and the degree of success that 
 attended the effort he there made to repair the
 
 GG JULIAN FANE. 
 
 interruptions to his previous education, were 
 influences that remained with him to the very 
 last not inoperative. The practical side of his 
 character, almost unconsciously to himself, had 
 been silently strengthened by them. " Every one 
 who knew him thoroughly," writes one who was 
 not a sharer in his College life, but who watched 
 closely his subsequent career, "must have felt 
 that what after all was pre-eminently remarkable 
 in him, was the strong practical understanding, 
 the upright, almost stern sense of justice, which, 
 mingling with so many light and bright qualities 
 as rose ever to the surface with him, constituted 
 the secret of his attraction to so many persons of 
 the most opposite tastes and tendencies." It was 
 in my opinion in an especial manner due to the 
 effect upon him of his work at Cambridge, that 
 this force of character found the means to make 
 itself thus variously felt, and that so many men 
 of opposite pursuits and temperaments liked him, 
 were influenced by him, and thought themselves 
 the better for their intercourse with him.
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 Qualities which fitted Julian Fane for Parliamentary success 
 counteracted by others of a different order. Life at Ape- 
 thorpe. Verses descriptive of Apetliorpe. Attache at Vienna. 
 Life there. Early verses. Point of view from which they 
 should be regarded. Specimens. Later unpublished Poetry. 
 
 M i:. James has referred in his sketch, to the 
 natural eloquence of Julian Fane, with some 
 doubt as to whether it was of a kind likely 
 to achieve a great Parliamentary success. My 
 own impression is that if, at any period of his life, 
 Julian Fane had entered Parliament, his success 
 as a speaker would have been immediate and 
 brilliant. But. I greatly doubt whether he either 
 would or could have taken an active or leading 
 part in the business of the House. He possessed 
 in a high degree all those qualities which recom- 
 mend a first speech to the favourable hearing of 
 such an assembly as the House of Commons. His 
 figure was lofty and striking; his countenance 
 expressive and eminently high bred ; his gesture 
 
 F 2
 
 08 JULIAN FANE. 
 
 naturally graceful. I !«■ had exquisite taste and 
 tact, thorough good humour and good sense, and 
 that tolerance of platitude which is so valuable a 
 quality in dealing with popular assemblies. But 
 with his passion for literature, he would probably 
 have broken loose from any prolonged servitude 
 to the vulgar drudgeries of Parliamentary life; 
 and, even if he could have resolved upon the 
 permanent subordination of his inbred tastes to 
 common-place business, the way would not have 
 been clear for him. 
 
 We all know what sort of career is offered by 
 English political life to any man who is too 
 conscientious to attach himself to party. I once 
 expressed to an eminent English politician my 
 surprise at the pledge he had given his con- 
 stituents to support a measure in which I was 
 unable to detect anything deserving the approval 
 of his acute and searching intellect. The reply 
 (made in all seriousness) was " If I had not given 
 the pledge, I could not have represented any 
 Liberal constituency ; and as I am not a Tory 
 there was no help for it." 
 
 His sister says of Julian, in a letter to the
 
 POLITICS AND A PROFESSION. 69 
 
 writer : " His scrupulous dread of, and contempt 
 for, deceit, or double motive, was (if it be possible) 
 carried to excess. It was certainly this which 
 made him renounce the ideas entertained for him 
 by others (and at times by himself) of Parliamen- 
 tary life. Clear-judging enough to see the weak 
 side of all parties, he was too conscientious to bear 
 the idea of attaching himself to any ; dread- 
 ing lest he should ever have to compromise 
 between bis party and his conscience; and he 
 carried this feeling to such an extent that it 
 induced him to give up all thoughts of the career 
 for which his tastes, as well as his abilities, really 
 most fitted him." It was probably the same 
 fastidious conscientiousness which also prevented 
 him from entering the Church : a profession 
 which, regarded merely as a profession, was at 
 all times very attractive to his contemplative 
 temperament ; and to which at one time he had a 
 strong inclination. 
 
 In 1st!), whilst he was still at Cambridge, the 
 state of his health necessitated change of air and 
 absolute repose of mind. Acting on the advice of 
 Lis physicians he returned to Apethorpe, the
 
 70 JULIAN FANE. 
 
 country scat of Lis father, who with the other 
 members of his family was then abroad. Here 
 his time was passed chiefly in the society of an 
 old keeper, and in the enjoyment of field-sports, for 
 which he retained to the last the keenest relish. 
 " He often recalled that time," says his sister, " as 
 one of the happiest in his life. He loved the 
 place, and everything about it ; and I have heard 
 him say, in later years, that, had he gone into the 
 Church (as was once thought of,) the life in the 
 old rectory at Cliffe (close to Apethorpe, and 
 in his father's gift) would have been more 
 congenial to his real tastes than the life which, 
 as it happened, he was destined to lead." His 
 affection for Apethorpe, and the tenacity of it, 
 have found touching expression in some delightful 
 lines written by him in the year 1860. By a few 
 delicately desciTptive touches, they set before us 
 a perfect picture of the old house he loved so 
 well ; and the reader will find in them adequate 
 evidence of the grace and strength of his later 
 versification. 
 
 " The moss-grey mansion of my father stands 
 Park'd in an English pasturage as fair
 
 AT APETHOEPE. 71 
 
 As any that the grass-green isle can show. 
 
 Above it rise deep-wooded lawns ; below 
 
 A brook runs riot thro' the pleasant lands, 
 
 And blabs its secrets to the merry air. 
 
 The village peeps from out deep poplars, where 
 
 A grey bridge spans the stream ; and all beyond, 
 
 In sloping vales and sweet acclivities, 
 
 The many-dimpled, laughing landscape lies. 
 
 Four-square, and double-courted, and grey-stoned, 
 
 Two quaint quadrangles of deep-latticed walls, 
 
 Grass-grown, and moan'd about by troops of doves, 
 
 The ancient House ! Collegiate in name, 
 
 As in its aspect, bike the famous Halls 
 
 Whose hoary fronts make reverend the groves 
 
 Of Isis, or the banks of classic Cam." 
 
 "He was never happier than when at Ape- 
 tho-rpe," (I quote from the letter of one who was 
 much with him in those days) " and never more 
 brilliant or more genial than when living there 
 with his country neighbours. He seemed to 
 take the liveliest interest in all the poor of the 
 village, and the dependants of his father's estate. 
 "With the keenest sense of humour and a rare 
 appreciation of character, it was his daily delight 
 to draw out their peculiarities. But in doing 
 so he threw himself heartily into all their in- 
 terests, and divined their feelings with a genuine 
 sympathy. In such intercourse he was gracious
 
 72 JULIAN FANE. 
 
 without being patronising, and familiar without 
 loss of dignity. From bis parents he inherited the 
 power of giving unaffected cordiality to all social 
 relations; and he was as anxious to please, as 
 considerate, and as attentive to the feelings of 
 others, when entertaining the humblest and least 
 gifted of his father's numerous country guests, as 
 amid the brilliant intellectual society in which I 
 have met him at other times." 
 
 In 1851, Lord Westmorland quitted Berlin, 
 and was appointed British Minister at Vienna. 
 Thither his son Julian accompanied him, in the 
 character of unpaid attache' to that Mission. He 
 was promoted to the rank of Second Paid Attache 
 in the winter of the same year, and to that of First 
 Paid Attache' in the summer of 1853. The duties 
 of First Paid Attache' to a large Mission are often 
 onerous. He organizes its mechanical work, and 
 assigns to each of his subordinates his appropriate 
 labour, for the adequate performance of which 
 the responsibility rests with him, not with them. 
 He keeps its archives and the various registers of 
 its current correspondence, political, commercial, 
 consular, and private. In German Missions it is
 
 ATTACH^ AT VIENNA. 73 
 
 generally the First Attache who undertakes the 
 principal work of translation, which is often heavy. 
 In addition to these duties Julian Fane, so long as 
 Lord Westmorland remained Minister at Vienna, 
 performed those of Private Secretary to his father. 
 All this while he continued to mix largely in 
 Viennese society ; of which, says one who knew 
 him at that time, " he was the life and soul ; 
 dancing at all the balls, acting in all the private 
 theatricals, frequenting the club, &c." Never- 
 theless his professional and social occupations did 
 not prevent him from assiduously prosecuting his 
 private studies, and cultivating his many accom- 
 plishments. After a long day of professional 
 business, followed by a late evening of social 
 amusement, he would return in the small hours 
 of the night to his books, and sit, unwearied, till 
 sunrise in the study of them. Nor did he then 
 seem to suffer from this habit of late hours. His 
 nightly vigils occasioned no appearance of fatigue 
 the next day. This was probably the most active 
 and animated period of his life; and I think that 
 during these years he read harder and more 
 systematically than at any later time. In the
 
 71 JULIAN FANE. 
 
 year 1852, he returned to England to superintend 
 the publication of a small volume of poems, of 
 which it is now time to speak. 
 
 Julian Fane was the perfect realization of a 
 character as rare perhaps as that of the poet, the 
 statesman, or the orator. But it is not any of 
 these, and it essentially differs from them all. It 
 is that of the man who partakes of them all, who 
 understands, judges, and feels them all. Of him 
 I use the word "accomplished" only in the highest 
 sense. The outcome of his complete individuality 
 was thoroughly original ; but it was not original 
 poetry, original eloquence, or original intellect. 
 It was original charm : a charm not only original 
 hut unique, and which included a high degree of 
 poetry, eloquence, and intellect. He was a man 
 of whom it might truly be said — 
 
 " All liberal natures his did hold, 
 As the Ark held the world of old." 
 
 His verses, therefore, must be regarded only as 
 one of the incidental products of his multitudinous 
 accomplishments, and as evidence of his many- 
 sided sympathy with all forms of intellectual
 
 CHAEACTEE OF EAELY POEMS. 75 
 
 beauty. From this point of view they are remark- 
 able. They are not the embodiments of those 
 great objective conceptions which constitute the 
 originality of creative poets ; nor yet are they 
 the spontaneous irrepressible bird-notes of that 
 genuinely lyric temperament which unconsciously 
 transmutes all subjective sensations into an 
 original music of its own. They have been written 
 partly to solace a passionate taste for poetry, partly 
 as the choicest forms of expression for domestic 
 affections deeply felt, and yet ideally contemplated. 
 In some childish verses written by him in his 
 schoolboy days, after alluding to the poet's desire 
 of fame, and prevision of posthumous renown, he 
 says— 
 
 " But I myself desire not 
 
 The joys which spring from such a source ; 
 I covet, know them, prize them, not ; 
 
 I feel not their inspiring force." 
 
 " Events," he says — 
 
 " in after years remain 
 
 Still fresh and clear to memoiy, 
 
 But we can never feel again 
 The bliss they gave in passing by: " 
 
 save by the aid of Poetry which revives our faded
 
 76 JULIAN FANE. 
 
 impressions, and restores not only the outward 
 image, but also the inmost emotions, of the past. 
 
 " And we behold our childhood's home, 
 
 Our days of youthfulness and joy, 
 The scenes thro' which we loved to roam 
 
 When yet we claimed the name of Boy." 
 
 "These," he concludes, "are the charms for 
 which I write : this the ambition of my soul ! " 
 "Whereto I find appended this pencil-mark in the 
 handwriting of later days : " God wot, the ambi- 
 tion is poor enough, and the rhymes worthy of it. 
 J. F." Yet these childish rhymes (poor, indeed, 
 as compared with the careful polish and deepened 
 strength of his later compositions) indicate very 
 truthfully the nature of those sentiments for 
 which his cultivated taste, and passionate love of 
 beautiful language, first prompted him to find 
 appropriate expression in verse. The lines thus 
 written were not challenges to fame, but sacred 
 gifts privately offered on the altar of household 
 affections. All his early verses are to be described 
 as of an essentially domestic character ; for the 
 most part they appear to have been prompted by 
 the daily incidents of personal friendship or family
 
 SELECTION OF POEMS FOR PUBLICATION. 77 
 
 affection ; and the subjects and titles of them will 
 sufficiently explain why I leave them undisturbed 
 in the sanctuary of those household gods to whose 
 gentle worship they were dedicated. "To my 
 mother, with a wreath of flowers;" "On re- 
 ceiving a note from two young ladies with only 
 the word wir in it ; " " To B , during sick- 
 ness ; " "On leaving Berlin, 1847;" "On my 
 father's birthday ; " " Lines to be repeated by 
 
 B to her mother on her birthday ; " " To B. ; " 
 
 " To Ernest Fane " (his brother) ; " To L." (his 
 dead sister); "To my mother;" "An Ode," 
 addressed to Jenny Lind, whose genius he warmly 
 admired, and for whom he had a cordial affection. 
 
 "A birthday choral ode;" "To K ■;" "To 
 
 , in the first leaf of her commonplace book ; " 
 
 " To B " (in French) ; " In memory of Lord 
 
 Belfast ; " " In memory of Lord Baglan ; " &c. 
 
 Out of a large number of verses written on such 
 subjects only a very limited selection could pro- 
 perly be made for publication. In that selection 
 he was assisted by his mother, to whom most of 
 tlicm-had been originally addressed. The small 
 volume published in 1852 was the result of their
 
 78 JULIAN FANE. 
 
 deliberations; and, says she, "we afterwards 
 laughed heartily at one of the criticisms denounc- 
 ing the number and variety of his amours, as im- 
 plied by the numerous names to which the verses 
 were addressed : the fact being that he and I 
 together had chosen and applied them, carefully 
 avoiding the names of friends." 
 
 From this little volume, I select the following 
 specimens of its writer's earliest poetry. 
 
 TO KATHLEEN. 
 
 When, in that hour which saw us part, 
 My faltering voice refused to tell 
 
 The anguish of an aching heart, 
 From thy sweet lips these accents fell i 
 
 ii. 
 " Thou leav'st me on a darkened strand, 
 
 And, fading from my faithful eye, 
 Like Light thou passest from the land, 
 
 And I will follow — or I die." 
 
 in. 
 
 I wait, I watch, as from a tower, 
 On leaden wings the minutes move I 
 
 Thou comest not, nor comes the hour 
 That brings me tidings of my love.
 
 PUBLISHED PIECES. 79 
 
 IV. 
 
 I wait — and Morning 1 comes indeed 1 
 
 I watch her glowing steps encroach 
 Upon the dark, and think to read 
 
 The signal of thy sweet approach ; 
 
 v. 
 
 Or draw, when twilight veils the world, 
 
 Vague promise from the rich array 
 Of clouds, like banners half unfurled, 
 
 That droop about the dying day. 
 
 VI. 
 
 So Morn and Eve, that slow succeed, 
 
 By turns my futile fancy fire, 
 And bring but lying thoughts to feed 
 
 An ever-unfulfilled desire. 
 
 VII. 
 
 But these blank, bitter hours that still 
 
 The daily death of hope renew, 
 Are weak to vancpiish Love, and kill 
 
 The cherished thought that counts thee true. 
 
 TO THE SAME. 
 
 Kathleen I my saint, thou art in heaven, 
 No griefs can cloud thy nature now ; 
 
 Thy sin (if sin it were !) forgiven, 
 A glory girds thy guiltless brow :
 
 80 JULIAN FANE. 
 
 And thou with all the sainted Dead, 
 
 Win) wateh (rod's throne with happy eyes, 
 
 Dwilli -t whore tours are never shed, 
 And only Pity sometimes sighs. 
 
 All ! turn not thy clear eyes below, 
 Lest thou, whose human tears would roll 
 
 Adown thy cheek, in streams of woe, 
 If ever sorrow dimmed my soul, 
 
 Should'st see me where I sit forlorn, 
 And rock and sway an aching breast, 
 
 And strive in vain, while so I mourn, 
 To lull my sleepless woe to rest : 
 
 Lest thou, my darling, noting this, 
 
 Should'st feel a vague sense o'er thee creep 
 
 Of something wanting to the bliss 
 Of Angel-souls — who cannot weep ! 
 
 TO THE SAME. 
 
 I sailing on life's ocean lone, 
 
 Knew thee, Kathleen ! whilst thou wast here, 
 A nature higher than my own, 
 
 And centred in a higher sphere ! 
 
 And looking on thee from afar, 
 Fair beacon-light to my frail bark, 
 
 I saw thee lapse, a falling star, 
 And slide into eternal dark !
 
 PUBLISHED PIECES. 81 
 
 Ay me ! what voice of piteous range, 
 
 AVhat song of sorrow from my lips 
 Can paint the black, the bitter change 
 
 That marred my life at thy eclipse ! 
 
 A helmless bark, by tempest torn, 
 
 At random on the wild waves cast, 
 Whose tattered colours float forlorn, 
 
 In signal, from the broken mast ! 
 
 Which sail-less drives, with rigging bare, 
 Before the whirlwind's withering breath ; 
 
 Blow on ! bleak blast of keen despair, 
 And dash it on the rocks of Death ! 
 
 ODE. 
 
 The year lies bound in wintry chains, 
 The keen frost sparkles in the air, 
 
 The snow-sheet whitens all the plains, 
 The leafless trees are black and bare ; 
 
 The swallow hath fled o'er the lea, 
 
 The songsters make no minstrelsy, 
 The bitter wind makes hollow moan ; 
 
 Around each household hearth a throng 
 
 Is gathered for the tale or song ; 
 
 But thou art not the groups among, 
 Thou sittest in the house alone ! 
 
 ii. 
 The year is up, and full of mirth, 
 The laughing plains are decked with green,
 
 82 JULIAN FANE. 
 
 Spring- walks upon the happy earth, 
 
 The venial breezes blow serene ; 
 
 The birds pour song- from every tree, 
 Beneath them hums the murmuring- bee, 
 
 The air is rife with merriest sound ; 
 All hearts are light— the hour is sweet, 
 Glad faces in the sunshine meet, 
 Both young and old leave their retreat, 
 
 But thou with Solitude art found ! 
 
 in. 
 Thou art not of a sullen mind, 
 
 For thou art loving, gentle, good ; 
 Thou art no hater of thy kind, 
 
 But thou adorest Solitude. 
 
 The Seasons change, the fleeting years 
 Pass on ;— in thee no change appears, 
 
 Thou art the same from day to day ; 
 Calm, quiet, amorous of rest, 
 But, with an equal temper blest, 
 Not bitter to the stranger guest 
 
 Who traverses thy lonely way. 
 
 IV. 
 
 All in thy solitary hours 
 What consolation dost thou find ? 
 
 Large comfort from those heavenly Powers 
 That brood about the lofty mind ; 
 
 The spirits of the Great and Good 
 
 Attend upon thy solitude, 
 With Wisdom's philosophic scroll ; 
 
 And from the bright immortal page 
 
 Of bard inspired, and reverend sage, 
 
 (The Wise and Just of every age) 
 Is fed the fountain of thy soul.
 
 PUBLISHED PIECES. 83 
 
 v. 
 
 Then let the silly blockhead prate 
 About " the joyous and the free ! " 
 
 And gTavely shake his empty pate, 
 And mourn the lot of such as thee ! 
 
 He knoweth not (himself unblest) 
 
 The calm contentment of that breast 
 "Where dwells divine Philosophy ; 
 
 She takes the salt from human tears, 
 
 She leaps the gulf of countless years, 
 
 And scorning abject doubts and fears, 
 Points upwards to her home— the sky ! 
 
 VI. 
 
 I will not say that thou art free 
 From thoughts which wring the tender heart : 
 
 The reflex of thy memory 
 May haply cause thy tears to start ; 
 
 Thou art so full of mystery, 
 
 I will not scan thy history, 
 But let me speak that which I know : 
 
 If gentle in thy thoughts and deeds 
 
 Thou, having sown thy generous seeds, 
 
 Hast reaped in tears a crop of weeds, 
 Thou hast great comfort in thy woe I 
 
 VII. 
 
 O'er countless wrongs the heart aggrieved, 
 In anguish for a space may brood ; 
 
 But happy he, who hath received, 
 And not requited, ill for good 1 
 
 The shining deeds by Virtue done, 
 
 (As through the tempest breaks the Sun) 
 Their rays through clouds of sorrow dart ; 
 
 G 2
 
 8-A JULIAN FANE. 
 
 And, whatso'er thy griefs, I know 
 A thousand virtuous acts bestow 
 (Though breaking through thick mists of woe) 
 Their heavenly sunshine on thy heart. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 But here I cease my minstrelsy, 
 Too fearful lest I miss my end ; 
 
 And, tender heart, in wounding thee, 
 Against my better thought offend. 
 
 Thou hast no need of words from me, 
 
 For thine own soul's divinity 
 Can lift thee from the world below ; 
 
 And, passing through thy upturned eyes 
 
 Into the regions of the skies, 
 
 Thy spirit can sublimely rise 
 Beyond the thoughts of earthly woe ! 
 
 SONG. 
 
 The winds are lulled in perfect sleep, 
 
 The slumbering leaves they are not stirred, 
 And only from his covert deep 
 
 The nightingale's sweet note is heard ; 
 He sings and trills, nor waiteth long 
 
 Ere from the hazel-copses nigh, 
 His happy mate her happiest song 
 
 Attunes into a sweet reply ! 
 
 So answer, dearest ! thou, nor wake 
 
 The echoes rudely to my ear, 
 Or this wild heart I feel will break 
 
 At sudden joy, to know thee near ;
 
 PUBLISHED PIECES. 85 
 
 But softly sing that, through the trees, 
 
 Thy voice, before thee on the pad, 
 Way reach rue like a plaintive breeze, 
 
 And like a sigh that is not sad. 
 
 TO MINNA. 
 
 Thy words imply that Love which bides 
 In human breasts, perforce must know 
 A rise and fall, an ebb and flow, 
 As constant as the ocean tides ; 
 
 Be it so ! with those whose petty cares 
 In narrow hearts have sown disease ; 
 Dearest ! thou art unlike to these, 
 Nor should thy love resemble theirs ; 
 
 Be thy rare love like that sweet sea 
 Which, peerless, owns enchanted waves, 
 And in still beauty tideless laves 
 The happy shores of Italy ! 
 
 A SIMILE. 
 
 A thronkd queen listening the musical love 
 Of thronging multitudes, resembleth thee 
 
 Seated upon the waters, and above 
 
 Bearing thy bold brow, beautiful and free, 
 While at thy sovereign feet the subject Sea
 
 86 JULIAN FANE. 
 
 Rolls — and vast multitudes of vocal waves, 
 
 With such strange din as Love and Liberty 
 Send from the wild hearts of new-franchised slaves, 
 Salute thy ear, and echo, Albion ! through thy caves. 
 
 AD MATREM. 
 
 If those dear eyes that watch me now, 
 With looks that teach my heart content : 
 That smile which o'er thy placid brow 
 Spreads, with Delight in pure concent : 
 And that clear voice whose rise and fall 
 Alternates, in a silver chime : 
 If these fair tokens false were all 
 That told the tale of fleeting Time — 
 I scarce should mark his swift career, 
 So little change has o'er thee passed, 
 So much thy Present doth appear 
 Like all my Memory holds most dear, 
 When she recalls thy perfect Past ! 
 Unchanged thou seem'st in mind and frame 
 Thy sweet smile brightens still the same : 
 In thy fair face is nothing strange ; 
 And when from out thy pure lips flow 
 Thy earnest words with grace, I know 
 Thy Wisdom hath not suffered change I 
 And so thy Presence, bland and glad, 
 Wherein no trace of change appear?, 
 Proclaims not that this day will add 
 A fresh sheaf to thy garnered years I 
 But Time himself proclaims his power, 
 And will not pass unheeded by : 
 At every turn his ruins lie,
 
 PUBLISHED PIECES. 87 
 
 I track his steps at every door ; 
 Or, musing with myself, I find 
 His signet borne by every thought, 
 From many a moral blemish wrought 
 By more of commerce with my kind ; 
 Who am not armed, as thou in youth, 
 To bear unhurt the brunt of Life, 
 To battle with the foes of Truth, 
 And issue scarless from the strife ; 
 Not pure, as thou, to pass unscared, 
 Where knaves and fools infest the ways, 
 By their rank censure unimpaired, 
 And spotless from their ranker praise. 
 And thus the slow year, circling round, 
 Mara with no change thy sold serene, 
 While I, though changed, alas ! am found 
 Far other than I should have been, 
 And only not at heart unsound, 
 Because thy love still keeps it green ; 
 Oh ! therefore, from that worst decay 
 To save me with Love's holiest dew, 
 Heaven guard thee, dear ! and oft renew 
 Return of this thy natal day : 
 And teach me, with each rolling year 
 That leaves us on a heartless Earth, 
 To love thee so, that Love may bear 
 Fruits worthier of thy perfect worth ; 
 And so, whatever ills betide, 
 "Whatever storms about me lour, 
 Though broken by the bolts of Pride, 
 And scorched by Envy's lightning power, 
 I shall not perish in the blast, 
 But prosper while thou still art nigh, 
 By my pure love preserved, and by 
 My guardian Spirit saved at last.
 
 83 JULIAN FANE. 
 
 The " Ode " which I have included among these 
 poems was written by Julian to the second wife of 
 his grandfather; an eccentric woman, whose life 
 had not been happy, but who possessed many fine 
 and generous qualities which were warmly appre- 
 ciated by her grandson. In all that have been 
 quoted, taken from the volume published in 1852, 
 the influence of various popular poets, and chiefly 
 of Mr. Tennyson, can doubtless be detected : but 
 I have already indicated the point of view from 
 which I think they should be regarded. Upon 
 a later page, however, will appear some poems 
 hitherto unpublished, which express the same 
 vividness of personal affection, deepened as the 
 years had passed, and which take from his 
 maturer thought and experience a higher cha- 
 racter. From his earliest boyhood to the latest 
 year of his life, his mother's birthday never came 
 and went without being greeted by him with a 
 tribute of song. Neither business, nor pleasure, 
 nor extreme jihysical pain ever interfered with 
 the religious regularity of these annual dedica- 
 tions of an affection exalted into piety by the 
 sacred tenderness and infinite depth of its devotion.
 
 LATER UNPUBLISHED POETEY. 
 
 89 
 
 Many of them were sonnets in the form of which 
 Shakespeare made such wonderful use, and which 
 later English poets have so little employed, that, 
 in the range of modern poetry, few happier 
 examples of it exist than Julian Fane's. He 
 made of it, as the Great Master had done, a 
 " key to unlock his heart." Originality of expres- 
 sion accompanies all intensity of genuine feeling ; 
 in the poetic nature it takes its highest and 
 happiest manifestations ; and what is merely 
 imitative in the manner of his sonnets "Ad 
 .Matrem," is no drawback from the pleasure with 
 which they will be read. Their source and inspi- 
 ration went deeper than any other emotion of his 
 life, and some of them are the best poetry he has 
 written.
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 Unpublished Translations from Heinrich Heine, and .sketch of 
 Heine, by Julian Fane. 
 
 In the month of November, 1855, Julian Fane 
 contributed to the Saturday Review an article 
 upon Heinrich Heine, which I believe to be the 
 first article published by that Review on the 
 subject. Many excellent ones upon it have since 
 appeared, both in the Saturday Review, and 
 other critical periodicals; and the life and works 
 of Heinrich Heine are now better known to the 
 English public than they were at the time when 
 Fane's notice of them was written. This article, 
 however, is still interesting. It contains one of 
 his excellent translations from Heine, and forms 
 an appropriate introduction to the others, to be 
 shortly given, in connection with which it is here 
 reprinted.
 
 CONTRIBUTION TO THE SATURDAY REVIEW. 91 
 
 HEINRICH HEINE, POET AND HUMORIST. 
 
 Heixrich Heixe commenced his literary career in 
 the year 1821. He then published, under the title of 
 Tout Jit id Sorrows, the first series of those lyrical 
 poems which compose the celebrated Book of Songs 
 [Buck der Lieder), and four years later appeared the 
 first portion of his Scenes of Travel (Beisehilder) — two 
 productions which at once established his fame as the 
 founder of a new school of German letters. The 
 latter work, written in prose, with interludes and 
 fragments of verse which have since been incorporated 
 into the Buck der Lieder, is neither a romance nor a 
 descriptive book of travels. It may rather be called a 
 picture of the times in which it was written. The 
 hopes and fears which then agitated the minds of men, 
 the conflict of opinions, religious, moral, and political, 
 which convulsed society, are, under many disguises, 
 and with much circumlocution, the themes of which 
 it treats. One of the chief aims of the scornful writer 
 was to revile that spirit of patriotism which, while 
 it roused the German people to throw off the yoke of 
 France, had taught them, in resisting French domi- 
 nion, to rebel also against French ideas and to repu- 
 diate the principles of the Eevolution. When that 
 national enthusiasm in Germany passed away with the
 
 92 JULIAN FANE. 
 
 causes that had engendered it, a profound melancholy 
 seemed to settle upon the nation. It might in part 
 have been produced by the reaction which naturally 
 followed a period of such fierce and enduring excite- 
 ment ; but the influence of disappointed hope, leading 
 to the relinquishment of long-cherished expectations, 
 was plainly to be traced in the sullen lethargy of the 
 people. The author of the Reisebilder denounced both 
 the hopes which had elated and the disappointment 
 which now T depressed his countrymen. Their follies 
 are the object of his contemptuous satire ; the glories 
 of the Consulate and Empire kindle his wild declama- 
 tion ; and the Emperor, transfigured in the imagina- 
 tion of a poet, becomes the hero of revolutionary 
 France — the rude inaugurator of a new era for men. 
 But there is no subject too grave, no theme too light, 
 for the supple pen of the brilliant writer. At one 
 moment, he assaults and takes by storm the strong- 
 holds of antiquated opinion ; at another, he describes 
 with infinite humour a tavern-supper; and an English 
 tourist, a schoolboy, a passing cloud, furnish him with 
 food for merriment or reflection as he pursues his 
 careless way. Into the province of Art the young 
 Reformer entered with an audacity which astounded 
 its sober and terrified guardians. Singing his wild 
 " C,a Ira," he proceeded with revolutionary zeal to 
 overturn the idols he there found enthroned. The
 
 ON HEINRICH HEINE. 93 
 
 romantic school, -with its nasal twang, must depart ; 
 the maudlin worshippers of a canting sentimentalism 
 must be thrust out ; senseless forms, from which the 
 spirit had long since fled, now get buried without 
 any rites of sepulture ; exact propriety and pompous 
 gravity are dismissed with a laugh, and pedantry 
 in all its sickly shapes must be banished from the 
 national literature. Great was the dismay, and great 
 also the indignation, produced by the feat of the 
 adventurous writer. His countrymen divided at once 
 into two hostile parties, one of which saw with alarm 
 and shame the attack made upon all that it had been 
 taught to consider venerable, while the other, gazing 
 with rapture on the havoc that had been done, hailed 
 its author as the chief of a happy revolution in the 
 histoiy of literature and art. 
 
 But if opinions were divided on the merits of the 
 Eeisebilder, there was one general acclamation to extol 
 the Book of Songs. Here was a mere youth writing 
 lyrics with a freshness of diction and terseness of ex- 
 pression which would have done honour to the great 
 Goethe himself, and with a grace of fancy which was 
 peculiarly his own. Those who had been accustomed 
 to look for the springs of poetry only in the artificial 
 sentiments of rose-coloured romance, and to receive 
 their inspiration in contemplating the characters and 
 acts of heroes of fiction, were now taught that a true
 
 94 JULIAN FANE. 
 
 poet could discern spiritual beauty in the unsophisti- 
 cated emotions of a rustic's heart, and could kindle 
 with enthusiasm in singing of the deeds and destiny 
 of his fellow-men. The Book of Songs was at once 
 appropriated by the people, and it has ever since been 
 rehearsed and sung by all the populations of Germany. 
 It was appropriated by the people because the beauty 
 of its inspirations was such as could be loved by the 
 most unlettered, and understood by those who could 
 give no reason for their admiration. Special culture, 
 producing technical knowledge, is necessary to him 
 who would thoroughly appreciate works of Art, and 
 the delight felt by the contemplator of its noblest 
 productions will generally be in exact proportion to his 
 apprehension of the skill required to execute them. 
 An ignorant lover of music may be pleased with a 
 symphony by Mendelssohn, but his pleasure will be 
 meagre compared with that of the student who can 
 trace intricate harmony to the subtle combinations of 
 the great master. There are, however, certain efforts 
 of art which, dealing with some familiar occurrence, 
 some vulgar scene or trite sentiment, present them 
 perfect in truth as recognized by every eye, and 
 perfect also in poetry as not recognized before by any 
 eye but that of the artist ; and to a large appreciation 
 of these no knowledge is needed. The humour of 
 Wilkie will tickle the soul of the unimaginative man
 
 POEMS CHARACTERIZED. 95 
 
 who gravely played at " blind-man's-buff " in the 
 house of his countiy-cousin last week ; and the sober 
 moralist, who yesterday rebuked, somewhat roughly, 
 the little girl whom he took for an incorrigible liar, 
 will melt to-day at the pathos of Wordsworth and 
 weep over "We are Seven." The genius of Heine 
 loves to busy itself with the actual world, and, com- 
 bining the humour of Wilkie with the pathos of 
 Wordsworth, has taught the simplest of his country- 
 men to be tender over the sorrows of a broken-hearted 
 clown, and to make merry with the selfishness of " a 
 generous man." Such poems as " Der arme Peter," 
 " Der brave Mann," and many others in a similar 
 style, have become national property, and it is to them 
 that the Book of Songs owes its great popularity. 
 
 But if, as has been above indicated, the author of 
 the Book of Songs showed, both in his selection and 
 treatment of some subjects, that he possessed qualities 
 in common with the gentle spirit of Wordsworth, he 
 discovered a far closer affinity to the fierce, fretful soul 
 of Byron. He had eagerly embraced, in common with 
 the youth of his day, the principles of Ethics and 
 Theology propounded by Hegel ; and in the philosophy 
 of the new school he had thought to find a theory of 
 the universe which could raise him above all vexations 
 of the spirit, and render him, as a demigod, superior 
 to " the ills that flesh is heir to." His first contact
 
 9G JULIAN FANE. 
 
 ■with the world served to dispel the flattering delusion, 
 and the bitterness of his disappointment vented itself 
 in a passion of satirical invective which respected 
 neither things human nor divine. The youth, who 
 had sung with the tenderness of Wordsworth, now 
 scoffed with the temerity of Voltaire, ridiculed with 
 the savageness of Swift, and railed with the spleen of 
 Byron. When the storm of his satire had somewhat 
 abated, his writings became the expression of a soul 
 that still doubted whether it should blandly smile or 
 bitterly scoff at humanity. The fiendish element of 
 sarcasm, in the man was counteracted by his great 
 human attribute of humour, and this in its turn was 
 tempered by the gentle charities of a kindly imagina- 
 tion which saved its possessor from genuine misan- 
 thropy. But from the day when his faith in the 
 philosophy he loved was shaken, Heine ceased to be an 
 earnest man, and the manifold inconsistencies of his 
 life and writings have followed as a natural sequel 
 upon the overthrow of all law in his moral being. 
 
 In the year 1830, being an exile from his own 
 country, he took an active part in the political feuds 
 of the day at Paris. He was of too liberal and 
 enthusiastic a nature to feel sympathy with the advo- 
 cates of reaction, and he lacked the firmness of cha- 
 racter arising from sincerity of conviction, which would 
 have led him boldly to declare for the revolutionary
 
 TIIEEE-FOLD CHAEACTER OF THE POET. 97 
 
 cause. While he avowed himself a Royalist, he wrote 
 with the license of an insurrectionary chief. If he 
 sometimes appeared as the earnest champion of Louis 
 Philippe and Casimir Perrier, he more frequently 
 displayed himself as the incorrigible humorist, who" 
 ridiculed all parties and believed in the principles 
 of none. To the true lover of liberty, who is ever the 
 true hater of anarchy, the political career of Heine is a 
 source at once of irritation and regret, and its history 
 must touch with unaffected sorrow the soul of every 
 true admirer of his rare genius. 
 
 In all his latter works he appears in a threefold 
 character — as the tender imaginative poet, the fresh 
 genial humorist, the snarling bitter cynic ; and with 
 mingled outbursts of pathos, merriment, and irony he 
 astonishes and perplexes his countrymen. They turn 
 to the volume named Neue Gedichte, and find poems 
 which are conceived with the simplicity of thought 
 befitting a child, and clothed in a purity of language 
 not unbecoming the lips of a saint. They turn to 
 Deut-«hl'in<l, < in Wintermarchen, and are assaulted by 
 the boisterous humour of a schoolboy, and by the 
 coarse sarcasm of a sceptic who jeers not at the things 
 ol this world alone. In liomanzero, his latest volume 
 of ] they find specimens of all his styles, and 
 
 illustrations of all his inconsistencies. It is com- 
 pounded of ballads and songs, which, in delicacy of 
 
 H
 
 98 JULIAN FANE. 
 
 conception and execution, rival the happiest efforts 
 of his youth ; of poems which prove that the flight 
 of time has neither refined the coarseness nor ex- 
 tracted the sting of his satire ; and of some pas- 
 sages in prose which could have heen written only 
 by the fantastic author of the Reisebilder and the . 
 Salon. 
 
 Those who admire with the largest and heartiest 
 appreciation Heine's incomparable humour (a humour 
 which has never been affected by the acutest torments 
 of bodily disease, and which the approach of death 
 itself is unable to subdue), cannot deny that he has 
 frequently and grossly abused the faculty by pervert- 
 ing it to low and libellous purposes. Indeed, the 
 wanton insults which he has heaped upon his country- 
 men, the unjustifiable personalities in which he has 
 indulged, and the effrontery with which he has 
 approached subjects the most sacred in the eyes of 
 the vast majority of his fellow-beings, do give evidence 
 of a certain moral turpitude in the man — out of which, 
 however, as from a fetid soil, have grown those pure 
 and perfect lilies of song with which he has adorned 
 the literature of his native land. It is impossible not 
 to condemn much that he has written ; it is scarcely 
 possible sufficiently to praise a great deal more ; and 
 while children and the purest of women love him for 
 the simple beauty of his songs, many a man little
 
 Heine's last days. 99 
 
 given to the affectation of purism abominates him for 
 the scurrilous ribaldry of his satires. If his country- 
 men perplex themselves in endeavouring to spell the 
 enigma of his character, it is perhaps because they 
 make the attempt upon very false principles. Surely 
 it is a vain labour to seek for consistency in the 
 thoughts, and consecutiveness in the acts, of the 
 greatest humorist of the age ; and the metaphysician, 
 who is only intent on discovering the Grund-idee, or 
 leading principle of a man's life, can scarcely hope to 
 gauge the character of Heinrich Heine. 
 
 The dying poet lies paralysed, blind, and bedridden 
 in an obscure lodging of the Rue d'Amsterdam at 
 Pa: raking of his great physical suffering and 
 
 distress, he pathetically says : " But do I indeed still 
 exist ! My body is gone so greatly to ruin, that there 
 remains scarcely anything but the voice, and my bed 
 reminds me of the sounding grave of Conjuror Merlin, 
 which is situated in the wood of Brozeliand, in Brittany, 
 under lofty oaks, whose tops taper, like emerald flames, 
 towards heaven. Oh! brother Merlin, I envy thee 
 -t 1 j , with their fresh breezes, for never a green 
 
 ;' rustles about this mattress-grave of mine in Paris, 
 where from morning to night I hear nothing but the 
 rattle of wheels, the clatter of hammers, street-brawls, 
 and the jingling of pianofortes." But amid the turmoil 
 of the mighty city, sleep, the "balm of hurt minds," 
 
 ii 2
 
 100 JULIAN FANE. 
 
 sometimes visits the dying poet, and then he dreams 
 of happier days : — 
 
 I dreamt that I was young once more, and gaysome ; 
 I saw the cottage on the high hill stand ; 
 I raced along the well-known pathway, playsome, 
 Swift-racing with Ottilia, hand in hand. 
 
 How bravely is the little body fashioned ! 
 Her deep blue eye, how fairy-like it shines ! 
 She stands ujton her small foot firmly stationed, 
 A form wherein with strength all grace combines. 
 
 Her cordial voice it sounds so frank and gracious, 
 Revealing all her soul, without eclipse ; 
 And all she says is thoughtful and sagacious ; 
 And like a pair of rosebuds are her lips. 
 
 It is not love upon my senses stealing — 
 My reason, undiseased, is at command ; 
 Yet wondrously her Being thrills my Being ; 
 And tremblingly I stoop and kiss her hand. 
 
 I think that at the last I culled a flower, 
 And gave it her, and then spake loud and free : 
 ' Yea ! be my wife, Ottilia, from this hour, 
 That I, like thee, may pure and happy be.' 
 
 What she replied I never may remember, 
 
 For suddenly I woke ; and I lay here, 
 
 Once more the sick-man, who in this sick-chamber 
 
 Disconsolate has lain full many a year. 
 
 Julian Fane's translations from Heine were
 
 QUALIFICATIONS FOR A TRANSLATOFv 101 
 
 never published. They were printed only for 
 private circulation ; but they attracted consider- 
 able attention from Heine's English admirers, and 
 were noticed by Lord Houghton, in an interesting 
 article on Heine, which appeared some years ago 
 in the Edinburgh Review. * 
 
 " The very lightness of these admirable lyrics," 
 says Lord Houghton, "makes it most difficult to 
 reproduce them in another tongue." 
 
 For such a task, however, Julian Fane was 
 exceptionally qualified. In the first place, he 
 was an excellent German scholar. In the second 
 place, he had a fine poetic taste, a great facility 
 of expression, and a cultivated ear. In the third 
 j)!;tce, he was free from that strong idiosyncrasy 
 of genius which makes it so difficult for one 
 < iriginal poet to throw himself completely into the 
 humour of another, and simply reproduce the 
 utterances of it, without any admixture of some 
 quality peculiar to his own mind. Shelley's. trans- 
 lations from Faust, for instance, are fragments 
 of fine original poetry, but they are very in- 
 adequate ami misleading reproductions of the 
 
 * July, 1850. The Translations were privately printed in 1854.
 
 10:2 JULIAN FANE. 
 
 original poetry of Goethe. There is in them 
 at least quite as much of Shelley's genius as of 
 Goethe's. 
 
 Lord Houghton proceeds to say in the article 
 to which I have referred, that " Mr. Julian Fane's 
 good scholarship renders his translations the most 
 agreeable to those who are acquainted with the 
 originals, but his attempt to transfer to another 
 language many of the most peculiar idioms and 
 most vivacious turns of thought, is frequently 
 unsuccessful." The first (unpublished) version of 
 Fane's translations from Heine was no doubt 
 more or less disfigured by the Germanisms to 
 which Lord Houghton objects. They constitute 
 a defect of which he was not himself unconscious ; 
 and, had he ever cared to publish these transla- 
 tions, I am persuaded that, before doing so, he 
 would have carefully removed from them all such 
 impediments to the full enjoyment of their other- 
 wise admirable reproduction of Heine's peculiar 
 style. From the version here for the first time 
 published, indeed, a great number of those foreign 
 idioms, and un-English terms of expression, which 
 were to be found in the version criticized by
 
 REVISION OF HIS HEINE TRANSLATIONS. 103 
 
 Lord Houghton * has been removed in conformity 
 with corrections penciled by the hand of the 
 translator in later years on the pages of the copy 
 from which it is now reprinted. He seems to 
 have been ensued hi the revision of these trans- 
 lations (probably in connection with the biography 
 of Heine which he then contemplated) when that 
 night came upon him 'wherein no man can work.' 
 But the defect of an occasional foreign idiom or 
 hardness of versification, is incomparably less 
 injurious to the value of any metrical translation, 
 than those defects of misinterpretation which 
 poets of the highest order have not escaped, in 
 the endeavour to assimilate their own forms of 
 expression to the genius of another man. 
 
 Let these translations speak for themselves, 
 however, -f* 
 
 * It is much to be regretted that Lord Houghton's own transla- 
 tions are not more numerous. They are all of them excellent. 
 
 f At the end of each translation are indicated the name of the 
 
 volume and the number of the page from which the original poeni 
 
 ken. 
 
 B. d. L. signifies Buch der Lieder. 
 
 N. G. , Ncue Gedichte. 
 
 R. „ Romanzero. 
 
 The numbering of the pages is the same in all the editions of 
 Heine's poems published by Hoffman and Kampe, Hamburg.
 
 ]() I JULIAN FANE. 
 
 THE FAIRIES. 
 
 The waves they plash on the lonely strand, 
 The Moon gives out her beams ; 
 A fair knight rests on the silvery sand 
 Begirt with happy Dreams. 
 
 The beautiful Fairies, fairy-bedight, 
 Rise out of the great Sea's Deeps ; 
 They softly draw near to the youthful knight, 
 And they think that he certainly sleeps. 
 
 Then, one with curious finger feels 
 The feathers that deck his bonnet ; 
 Another close to his shoulder-knot steals 
 And plays with the chain upon it. 
 
 A third one laughs and with cunning hand 
 XJnsheaths the sword from its keeper, 
 And, leaning against the glittering brand, 
 She watches well-pleased the sleeper. 
 
 A fourth, she flutters about and above, 
 And sighs from her little bosom : 
 " Ay me ! that I were thy true true love, 
 Thou beautiful Human blossom ! " 
 
 A fifth the knight's fair fingers clasped, 
 Filled with Love's longing blisses ; 
 A sixth plays coy for awhile, but at last 
 His lips and cheek she kisses.
 
 UNPUBLISHED PIECES. 105 
 
 The knight is crafty, nor thinks he soon 
 To open his eyelids wary, 
 But quietly lies, to be kissed in the Moon 
 
 By fairy after fairy. 
 
 N. G. page 157. 
 
 SIMPLE SIMON. 
 
 I. 
 
 Josiah and Jane dance blithe on the green 
 And carol and sing with pleasure ; 
 Poor Simon silently watches the scene, 
 And pale he looks beyond measure. 
 
 Josiah and Jane are Bridegroom and Bride, 
 All spruce in their holiday frock ; 
 Poor Simon, gnawing his nails, stands aside, 
 Aside in his dirty smock. 
 
 The simple Simon eyes the pair, mute ; 
 Then mumbles and mouths like a dumb thing 
 " Now if I weren't just a deal too 'cute, 
 I'd do to myself a something." 
 
 II. 
 
 " In my poor breast there lives a Woe 
 That frets my heart with worry ; 
 And where I stop and where I go 
 It makes me onwards hurry,
 
 10G JULIAN FANE. 
 
 " It draws mc to my sweetheart's side 
 As if Jane might appease it ; 
 But when into her eyes I've spied 
 I must away to ease it. 
 
 " Upon the Hill-top one's alone, 
 So many a time I hie there ; 
 And when atop I stand alone, 
 I stand alone and cry there." 
 
 III. 
 
 The simple Simon totters by, 
 Timid, and ashen-pale and shy ; 
 And as he threads the public ways 
 The people turn and stand at gaze. 
 
 The lasses whisper, full of gloom, 
 " There stalks a man from out his tomb ! " 
 Ah ! no — ye err, ye gentle lasses, 
 Not from, but to his tomb he passes. 
 
 Him hath his heart's sole joy forsook ! 
 Wherefore the grave's the fittest nook 
 Where he his sorrowing head may lay, 
 And sleep until the latter day. 
 
 B. d. L. page 52. 
 
 THE MOUNTAIN-ECHO. 
 
 Slow through the mountain-valley 
 Rode a knight young and brave ; 
 " Am I travelling now to my Love's embrace,
 
 UNPUBLISHED PIECES. 107 
 
 Or travelling towards the grave ? " 
 And the sullen echo answer gave, 
 " Towards the grave." 
 
 And the knight rode onwards and heavily sighed, 
 And he looked so pale and grave — 
 " And must I so young, so early die ! 
 No matter— there's peace in the grave." 
 And the sullen echo answer gave, 
 " Peace in the grave." 
 
 Then tears that rolled from the young knight's eyes 
 
 His pale cheeks 'gan to lave ; 
 
 " And can I alone in the grave find peace — 
 
 Ah ! well— then welcome the grave." 
 
 And the sullen echo answer gave 
 
 - Welcome the grave." 
 
 B. d. L. page 49. 
 
 THE PHCENIX. 
 
 Theee comes a hird flying out of the West, 
 Eastward he flies ; 
 Eastward towards his garden home 
 Where spices breathe and fragrantly grow, 
 Where Palm-trees rustle and fountains freshen- 
 And the rare bird sings as he flies : 
 
 " She loves him, she loves him, 
 nis image she bears in her little heart, 
 She bears it sweetly and silently hidden, 
 And knows it not herself.
 
 108 JULIAN FANE. 
 
 But in her dreams lie stands before her ; 
 She sues, she weeps and she kisses his hands, 
 And calls him by his name ; 
 And, calling, she wakes and lies in terror, 
 And presses her palms to her beautiful eyes- 
 She loves him, she loves him." 
 
 ***** 
 
 Against the mast on the high foredeck 
 I stood, and listened the strange bird's song. 
 Like dark-coloured steeds with silver manes 
 Careered the white-curled waves. 
 Like a flight of swans, with glimmering sails 
 The Heligolanders sailed afar, 
 Those Nomads bold of the North-Sea. 
 Above me, within the eternal Blue, 
 A white cloud poised ; 
 And beautiful shone the eternal Sun, 
 That rose of the Heavens, the fiery-glowing, 
 Which gladly glassed itself in the sea — 
 And the Sea and the Heavens and my own heart 
 In echo resounded, 
 " She loves him, she loves him ! " . 
 
 B. d. L. page 355. 
 
 QUERIES. 
 
 By the Sea, the desolate midnight-sea, 
 Stands a lonely youth, 
 
 His breast full of sorrow, his head full of doubt, 
 And with mournful lips he questions the waves. 
 
 " O tell me the riddle of Life, 
 The torturing, time-worn riddle,
 
 UNPUBLISHED PIECES. 109 
 
 O'er which so many a head hath ached — 
 Heads in Hieroglyphic Night-caps, 
 Heads in turbans and bonnets black, 
 Heads in full wigs, and a thousand other 
 Poor, perspiring heads of men. 
 Tell me, what signifyeth Man ? 
 "Whence does he come ? and whither goes ? 
 Who lives there above in the golden stars ? " 
 
 The waves, they mutter their ceaseless murmur, 
 The winds they blow and the clouds fly over, 
 The stars they glitter careless and cold, 
 And a Fool stands waiting an answer. 
 
 B. d. L. page 353. 
 
 A TRAGEDY. 
 
 Fly thou with me and be my wife, 
 And, on my heart reposing, roam ; 
 Far in a foreign-land my heart 
 Shall prove thy country and thy home. 
 
 If thou go not— behold ! I die. 
 And thou wilt lorn and lonely be ; 
 
 i though thou art at home — at home 
 As in a foreign-land thou'lt be. 
 
 II. 
 
 The hoar-frost fell in a night of spring, 
 On the delicate blue-bell flowers it fell, 
 And they were withered, and perished.
 
 110 JULIAN FANE. 
 
 A youth did love a maiden well, 
 Softly together from home they fled, 
 Nor father nor mother knew it. 
 
 They wandered hither, they wandered thither, 
 Their lot ne'er knew its lucky star, 
 Undone they were, and perished. 
 
 III. 
 
 Above their grave a Linden grows, 
 Birds sing, and through it the balm-breeze blows, 
 And under it, on the emerald grass, 
 The miller's son sits with his bonnie lass. 
 
 The breeze, it moans so soft and so weary, 
 The birds they sing so sweet and so dreary, 
 The garrulous lovers in silence sigh, 
 They weep ! — and themselves they know not why. 
 
 N. G. page 134. 
 
 ON THE BROCKEN. 
 
 Lighter grows the Eastern-Heaven 
 Where the Sun-beams are aglow, 
 Far and wide the mountain-summits 
 Through the mists' begin to show. 
 
 Had I seven-leagued boots, more fleetly 
 Over yonder mountain steeps 
 Than the very winds, I'd travel 
 Unto where my Darling sleeps.
 
 UNPUBLISHED PIECES. Ill 
 
 From the bed -whereon she slumbers 
 Gently lift the curtain-tips, 
 Gently would I kiss her forehead, 
 Gently kiss her ruby lips. 
 
 And still gentlier say, in whispers 
 To her lily-ear imparted : 
 " Dream thy dream that we are lovers, 
 And that we were never parted." 
 
 B. d. L. page 294. 
 
 FLUXKEYISM. 
 
 Rich Folk are to be gained I fear 
 Alone by flattest Flattery ; 
 Money is flat, my little Dear, 
 And it will flatly flattered be. 
 
 With incense-censer and with shovel 
 Serve thou the godlike, golden calves, 
 In dust and dirt before them grovel, 
 But, above all, praise not by halves. 
 
 Bread is so dear in these our days ! 
 Natheless at thy command is still 
 The honied phrase ; — wherefore bepraise 
 Maecenas' dog and feed thy fill. 
 
 R. page 173.
 
 112 JULIAN FANE. 
 
 THE HAUNTED KNIGHT. 
 
 THESE lived once a knight who was silent with woe, 
 His ashen cheeks furrowed with seams ; 
 Tottering, swerving and reeling he'd go, 
 Quite lost in his dreary dreams. 
 So wooden he looked, so clumsy, so daft — 
 The sweet little maids and the flowers they laughed 
 As he stumbled along with his dreams. 
 
 In the dullest corner oft sat he at home, 
 With all human kind he had broken ; 
 With arms outstretched through his room he would roam 
 And never a little word spoken ! 
 But when the midnight hour came round, 
 A wonderful singing and ringing 'gan sound 
 And a tap at the door came as token. 
 
 And his beautiful love steals in on tip-toes — 
 Flowing drapery floats from her arms ; 
 She blushes and glows like a beautiful rose, 
 Through her rich-jewelled veil peep her charms ; 
 Adown her fair form golden tresses shower, 
 Her sweet eyes glow with a sweetness of power — 
 They sink in each other's arms. 
 
 Her in his closest embrace the knight takes — 
 And his stiff, wooden form takes fire, 
 The pale cheek reddens, the Dreamer awakes, 
 And his Spirit mounts higher and higher ; 
 'But she, she roguishly teazes him now, 
 Casts her rich-jewelled veil o'er his eyes and his brow, 
 And, playful, provokes his ire.
 
 UNPUBLISHED PIECES. 113 
 
 Lo ! sudden, in Palace beneath the waves blue 
 The charmed knightjfinds himself sitter ; 
 He wonders — his eyes grow dazed at the view 
 Of its sheeny glory and glitter ; 
 But the Fairy is near him — she stands at his side, 
 The knight he is Bridegroom, the Fairy is Bride, 
 And her handmaids play on the Zither. 
 
 So sweetly they sing, and so sweetly they play, 
 And dance on their light feet airy ! 
 The knight feels his senses passing away, 
 And closer he clasps the Fairy — 
 Sudden, the lights all fade into gloom ; 
 And the knight sits alone in his lonely room, 
 In his gloomy Poet's chamber. 
 
 B. d. L. page 103. 
 
 THE PARSONAGE HOUSE. 
 
 The crescented Moon of Autumn 
 Forth from a white cloud peers ; 
 Lonely and still in the church-yard 
 The Parsonage house appears. 
 
 The Mother reads in her Bible, 
 The Son at the candle stares ; 
 Drowsily lolls the elder, 
 The younger daughter declares : 
 
 " God knows the days be dull here, 
 And the months how dull they be ! 
 Only when some-one gets buried 
 We get at something to see."
 
 114 JULIAN FANE. 
 
 The Mother looks up in answer, 
 " Thou err'st, there have died but four 
 Since the day they buried thy father 
 There, at the old church-door." 
 
 The elder daughter says, yawning, 
 " I'll not starve here with you, 
 To-morrow I'll to the Squire, 
 He's rich, and loves me too." 
 
 The Son breaks out in a hoarse laugh, 
 " Three Sportsmen lodge at the Dragon, 
 Money they make, and right gladly 
 They'll teach me the trick o'er a flagon." 
 
 The Mother hurls the great Bible 
 Sheer at his bony jowl : 
 " Wouldst thou, God-forgotten, 
 With thieving poachers prowl ! " 
 
 They hear a tap at the window, 
 They see two warning hands ; 
 There stands the buried Father 
 Dressed in his hood and bands. 
 
 B. d. L. page 197. 
 
 ES LIEGT DER HE1SSE SOMMER. 
 
 The golden glow of Summer 
 Is on thy fair cheek still ; 
 And in thy coy little heart, dear, 
 Is all the Winter's chill.
 
 UNPUBLISHED PIECES. 115 
 
 But this will change, believe me, 
 Beloved as thou art, 
 Winter will reign on thy cheek, dear, 
 All Summer in thy heart. 
 
 MISCELLANEOUS. 
 I. 
 
 Once on my bedarkened Being 
 Shone a fair face full of light ; 
 Now, that that bright face is vanished, 
 Dark I move, encloaked in night. 
 
 Children, when they sit in darkness, 
 Feel chill fears about them throng, 
 And their little fears to banish 
 Loud they sing a careless song. 
 
 I, a mad-cap child, in darkness 
 Sit, and carol forth my lay ; 
 Though the song delight you little, 
 It has charmed my fears away. 
 
 B. d. L. page 169. 
 
 II. 
 
 She fled before me like a Boe, 
 So shyly, and so fleetly ; 
 From cliff to cliff she lightly leapt 
 With flowing locks, so sweetly. 
 
 i 2
 
 116 JULIAN FANE. 
 
 But where the Kocks sink in the Sea 
 I laid my hand upon her ; 
 
 l softly there with softest speech 
 I wooed her and I won her. 
 
 Heaven-high we sat in heavenly bliss 
 And sweet contentment holy ; 
 Far, far beneath us in the Sea 
 The Sun descended slowly. 
 
 Far, far beneath us in the Sea 
 The beauteous Sun descended ; 
 The wild waves lightly o'er him leapt 
 In boisterous triumph blended. 
 
 Weep not ! the fair Sun lies not dead 
 Beneath yon sea-foam hoary ; 
 He hath but crept into my heart 
 With all his fiery glory. 
 
 N. G. page 52. 
 
 III. 
 
 Thotj lov'st me ! I had known it 
 Full many a happy year, 
 But when I heard thee own it 
 I shuddered, great with fear. 
 
 Then, wild with glad emotion, 
 I carolled o'er the Down ; 
 And went and wept by the Ocean 
 To see the Sun go down.
 
 UNPUBLISHED PIECES. 117 
 
 My heart, the Sun resembling, 
 Flames, fiery to behold, 
 And o'er Love's Ocean trembling, 
 It sinks all broad and gold. 
 
 N. G. page 50. 
 
 IV. 
 
 A a the Moon's sweet image trembles 
 In the restless Ocean wild, 
 She the while so high in heaven 
 Shining peaceful, calm and mild : 
 
 So thy Sold, my Darling, shining 
 Calm and mild, the Moon resembles ; 
 In my heart its reflex quivers, 
 Sole because my own heart trembles. 
 
 N. G. page 22. 
 
 V. 
 
 The Rose and the Lily, the Sun and the Dove, 
 I loved them all once with a lavishing love ; 
 
 i I love them no more, now I love only One — 
 The nameless, I tie blameless, the fearless, the peerless, 
 My heart's universal and mystical One, 
 Who herself is now Lily and Rose, Dove and Sun. 
 
 B. d. L. page 107.
 
 11 S JULIAN FANE. 
 
 VI. 
 
 I '. v cry morn I send thee violets 
 Which at day-break I have culled ; 
 And at night I bring thee roses 
 Which by twilight I have pulled. 
 
 Know'st thou what the figured flowers 
 
 Figure forth, and fain would say ? 
 Thou shalt love me all the night long, 
 And be true to me by day. 
 
 N. G. page 3B. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Fear not thou that I my passion 
 To the world shall e'er betray, 
 Though my lips sing of thy beauty 
 Many a metaphoric lay. 
 
 Underneath a bed of flowers 
 Lies, with purest perfume fraught, 
 That so thoughtful, glowing secret, 
 That so secret, glowing thought. 
 
 If sometimes a spark suspicious 
 Upward fly — yet tranquil be ! 
 In love-flames this world believes not, 
 Takes them all for Poetry. 
 
 N. G. page 34.
 
 UNPUBLISHED PIECES. 119 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Stars with golden, muffled footsteps 
 Walk through Heaven soft and light, 
 Fearful lest the Earth they waken 
 Slumbering in the arms of Night. 
 
 Mutely listening stands the Woodland, 
 Every leaf an emerald ear ; 
 And how still the shadowed Mountains 
 With their outstretched arms appear ! 
 
 Hark ! what sound ? Within my bosom 
 
 Rings the echo of that tone ; 
 
 Say, was it thy voice, my Darling ? 
 
 Or the Nightingale alone ? 
 
 N. G. page 37. 
 
 IX. 
 
 Through the woods I roam at even, 
 Through the dreamy woodland wide ; 
 And thy well beloved figure 
 Walks for ever at my side. 
 
 Is not this thy veil ? and is not 
 This thy face which I behold ? 
 ( )r are both but empty moonshine. 
 Through the fir-trees shining cold ? 
 
 Are they then, alas, my own tears 
 
 Which to earth so piteous glide ? 
 
 Or dost thou indeed, my Darling, 
 
 Wander weeping at my side ? 
 
 N. G. pago 47.
 
 120 JULIAN FANE. 
 
 X. 
 
 Thy face so lovely and so bright 
 I saw in dreams but yesternight, 
 So Angel-like it looks, so frail, 
 And ah ! so pale, so grievous pale. 
 
 The lips alone — thy lips are red, 
 But Death will shortly kiss them dead, 
 And quench that radiance of the skies 
 Which reigns in thy religious eyes. 
 
 B. d. L. Page 108. 
 
 XL 
 
 Thou art like some young flower, 
 So sweet, so pure, so fair ; 
 I watch thee ; — and a Sadness 
 Steals o'er me unaware. • 
 
 Methinks my hands, in blessing, 
 Above thy head should meet, 
 Praying that God preserve thee 
 So fair, so pure, so sweet. 
 
 B. d. L. page 215. 
 
 XII. 
 
 When two poor Lovers part, Dear, 
 They hand in hand take station, 
 And then set-to to weep, Dear, 
 And sigh without cessation.
 
 UNPUBLISHED PIECES. 121 
 
 We two — we did not weep, Dear, 
 Nor sigh, though broken-hearted ; 
 Our tears, Dear, and sighs, Dear, 
 They came when we were parted. 
 
 B. d. L. page 147. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 The world is so fair and the Heaven so blue, 
 And the breezes so blandly their soft way pursue, 
 And the flowers in the fields for kind looks sue, 
 And glimmer and wink in the morning dew, 
 And in happiness basking all men I view — 
 And yet from the world and from Life I would flee, 
 And down in the grave, Darling, nestle by thee. 
 
 B. d. L. page 129. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 WHEN, on my couch reclining, 
 I lie encloaked in Night, 
 A sweet and solemn picture 
 Steals in upon my sight. 
 
 And when the lid of Slumber 
 Shuts out the latest gleam ; 
 Then moves the solemn picture 
 And mingles with my dream.
 
 L22 JULIAN FANE. 
 
 But with my dreams at day-break 
 It will not now depart ; 
 So all day long - 1 bear it 
 \ bout me, near my heart. 
 
 B. d. L. page 216. 
 
 XV. 
 
 I slept in dark dreams— thro' the darkness 
 Her features I faintly could trace, 
 And sudden the indistinct likeness 
 Resembled her own living face. 
 
 Upon her dear lips, softly parted, 
 I conjured a wonderful smile ; 
 And thro' tears, that I viewed broken-hearted, 
 Glistened her dear eyes the while. 
 
 My tears, as I saw her so grieve, 
 Flowed down in a plentiful river ; 
 — Oh God I I can never believe 
 That I have lost thee for ever. 
 
 B. d. L. page 193. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 Fair in the Sunshine roll the waves 
 In golden glad emotion ; 
 Oh ! Brothers, when I perish, 
 Go sink me in the Ocean I
 
 rXPUBLISHED PIECES. 123 
 
 Old Ocean I ever have dearly loved ; 
 With, its harmonious swell, 
 Oft hath it soothed this fretful heart ; 
 We liked each-other well. 
 
 N. G. page 60. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 In the North a lonely Pine-tree 
 Stands on a bare, bleak height : 
 He slumbers, snowcapped and frozen, 
 Cloaked in a covering white : 
 
 He dreams and dreams of a Palm-tree 
 Which afar in the East doth stand, 
 Mutely in solitude pining 
 On a burning Table-land. 
 
 B. d. L. page 131. 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 The Lotos-flower, Sun-fearing, 
 Shrinks from Day's garish light ; 
 With down-drooped head appearing, 
 She dreams and waits for the Night. 
 
 The pale Moon is her lover ; 
 ed by the Moon, with grace 
 She wakes, and 'gins uncover 
 II' r in';< 1. ami In uutii'ul face ;
 
 L24 JULIAN FANE. 
 
 Then blooms and swoons and shivers, 
 Stares mute, and stands apart, 
 And sighs and weeps and quivers 
 "With Love and all its smart. 
 
 B. d. L. page 113. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 The delicate Water-lily- 
 Looks dreamily forth from the meer ; 
 The pale Moon greets her with glances 
 Of Passion and pain and fear. 
 
 Bashful she shrinks, and her shy face 
 Once more 'neath the wave 'gins cover — 
 And there she sees at her fair feet 
 The poor, pale, trembling Lover. 
 
 N. G. page 10. 
 
 XX. 
 
 A flowee I love — but which know not I ! 
 This makes me smart. 
 Into every flower's cup searching I spy, 
 And seek a Heart. 
 
 The flowers breathe sweet in the sweet Moonshine, 
 The Nightingale trills ; 
 I seek for a heart which is fair as mine, 
 And as deeply thrills.
 
 UNPUBLISHED PIECES. 125 
 
 The Nightingale sings and I know by her dreary, 
 Dear, dulcet tone, 
 
 That we both of us are both lone and weary, 
 Weary and lone. 
 
 X. G. page T. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 There lived a poor, old Monarch, 
 Whose locks were grey, whose heart was dried : 
 The poor, unyouthful Monarch 
 He took a youthful bride. 
 
 There lived a comely Page too, 
 Fair were his locks, his heart was green ; 
 He bore her train embroidered 
 Behind the youthful Queen. 
 
 You know the ancient story ? 
 i iunds so sweet ; it sounds so drear ! 
 They both must die !— the other 
 To each was far too dear. 
 
 N. G. page 28. 
 
 XXII. 
 
 The Cockneys in Sunday attire 
 Are rambling about o'er the plains; 
 They shout and they skip and perspire 
 And greet great Nature with pains.
 
 L86 
 
 JULIAN FANE. 
 
 Their -wondering tongues are describing 
 How all things romantic appear ; 
 Their long, long ears are imbibing 
 The Sparrow's poor chitterings clear. 
 
 But I — I darken my chamber, 
 Black cloth o'er the casement I lay ; 
 Some Ghosts, who my Being remember, 
 Come to pay me a visit to-day. 
 
 My old, prime Passion retumeth, 
 From Hades it comes forlorn ; 
 It sits by my side and moumeth, 
 And maketh my own heart niourn. 
 
 B. d. L. page 13.5 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 Sweet Fortune is a giddy girl, 
 And loves in no place long to stay ; 
 From off your brows she'll brush a curl, 
 And kiss you quick and flit away. 
 
 But Dame Misfortune scorning flurry, 
 Herself to your embrace commits ; 
 She says she's in no kind of hurry, 
 And on your bed sits down and knits. 
 
 K. page 118.
 
 UNPUBLISHED PIECES. 127 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 Tell me who first invented watches, 
 The measure of time by momently scratches ? 
 A shivering man with sorrow fraught, 
 lie sat through the winter-night and thought. 
 Counting the nibbles of mice in the wall 
 And the measured clicks of the woodworm small. 
 
 Tell me who first did kisses discover ? 
 The warm, glad lips of a happy Lover, 
 "Who kissed and, thoughtless, kissed away. 
 'Twas in the beautiful month of May, 
 And out of the Earth the wild flowers sprang, 
 And the Sun he laughed, and the little birds sang. 
 
 N. G. page 24. 
 
 XXV. 
 
 Thou dainty Fisherman's-daughter, 
 Paddle thy boat to the Land ; 
 Come hither, and sit beside me, 
 And chat with me, hand in hand. 
 
 Come, lay thy head on my bosom. 
 Nor all so fearful be ; 
 
 Ly, fair one, and daily 
 Thou trustcst yon boisterous Sea. 
 
 My heart resembles the Sea, my girl, 
 With its Sturm and Ebb and Flow, 
 And many a precious, priceless pearl 
 in its depths below. 
 
 B. d. L. page 17b.
 
 1-28 JULIAN FANE. 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 As I, by chance, on a journey 
 My Darling's family met, 
 Her Mother, her sweet little sister, 
 And Father all cried me " well-met." 
 
 And much of my health they questioned, 
 And heartily bade me hail ; 
 They said I had altered but little, 
 Only my face looked pale. 
 
 I asked after Aunts and Relations, 
 After many a tedious i 
 And after the dear little puppy 
 With his collar and bells of glass. 
 
 And after my married Darling 
 I asked, with a little delay, 
 And kindly they told me in answer, 
 She was in the family-way. 
 
 I offered my compliments kindly, 
 And lisped, with a pang of pain, 
 That they should give her my greeting 
 Again and again and again. 
 
 The little girl cried, interposing, 
 " Our puppy, with bells so fine, 
 Grew a great dog, and went mad, sir, 
 And had to be drowned in the Rhine." 
 
 The little one likens my Darling, 
 And chiefly in her smile ; 
 The very same eyes, the charming, 
 That broke my heart erewhile ! 
 
 B. d. L. page 174.
 
 UNPUBLISHED PIECES. 129 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 I wished to linger by thee 
 A pleasant hour or two ; 
 But you must hasten by me, 
 You had so much to do. 
 
 My soul was yours I vowed then, 
 'Twould be no changeling found, 
 But you, you laughed full loud then, 
 And curtsied to the ground. 
 
 You caused to ache with smarting 
 My passion, heartless Miss ; 
 And when we came to parting 
 Refused a parting kiss. 
 
 Yet think not I shall strangle 
 Myself, though tortured sore ; 
 All this to me, my Angel, 
 I J as happened once before. 
 
 B. d. L. page 220. 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 Tins young gentleman, so gracious, 
 1 1 reatly do I honor, Sirs ! 
 Oft he treateth me to oysters, 
 And to Rhinewine and Liqueurs. 
 
 atly fit his coat and breeches, 
 Xeat his cravat and his shoe ; 
 And so comes he every morning 
 And he asks me how I do. 
 
 K
 
 130 JULIAN FANE. 
 
 Then lie speaks of my attractions, 
 My bon-mots, my wit, my passion, 
 And assures me he will shortly 
 Set me in the blaze of fashion. 
 
 Then at many an evening party, 
 With rapt visage spouteth he, 
 Loud declaiming to the ladies, 
 My immortal poetry. 
 
 Oh, what joy ! that this our Earth of 
 Such a youth should still be bearer, 
 Now, in these our days, when daily 
 Good men rarer grow and rarer. 
 
 B. d. L. pago 22&. 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 On my dark night a new star 'gins to roll, 
 A star that smiles down comfort o'er my soul, 
 And augurs me a happy lot — 
 Dear Star, lie not ! 
 
 As to the Moon upheaves the boisterous Sea, 
 Even so my heaving soul, merry and free, 
 Yearns to thy holy light afar — 
 Lie not, Dear Star ! 
 
 N. G. page 11 T.
 
 UNPUBLISHED PIECES. 131 
 
 XXX. 
 
 Where fall my tears, immediate 
 The f airest flowers up-spring ; 
 And in my sighs a chorus 
 Of Nightingales sweet sing : 
 
 And if thou love me, little one, 
 I'll give thee all the flowers ; 
 And thou shalt hear the nightingale 
 Sing sweet among thy bowers. 
 
 B. d. L. page 107. 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 Ix the marvellous merry month of May 
 "When all the young buds pouted, 
 In mine own heart the flower of Love 
 L'nleafed itself and sprouted. 
 
 In the marvellous merry month of May 
 When all the wild birds chanted, 
 I sang her the song of passionate hope 
 Wherewith my whole soul panted. 
 
 B. d. L. page 106. 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 THEOUGH woods I wander weeping, 
 The thrush sits up on high ! 
 From branch to branch light-leaping 
 She sings " \\ I thou sigh ? " 
 
 k 2
 
 132 JULIAN FANE. 
 
 Thy sister, friend, trie Swallow 
 Can tell thee why I grieve 
 She dwells in cunning Hollow 
 'Neath Darling's casenient-eave. 
 
 B. d. L. page 173. 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 This shining Summer-morning, 
 I through the garden walk ; 
 The flowers they rustle and whisper, 
 But I in silence stalk. 
 
 The flowers they rustle and whisper, 
 And kindly my face they scan : 
 " Ah ! be not hard on our Sister, 
 Thou pale and sorrowful man ! " 
 
 B. d. L. page 144. 
 
 XXXIV. 
 
 Night sleeps on the silent Sea-shore 
 "Which the Ocean blandly laves ; 
 And from out the clouds the Moon comes, 
 And a voice from out the waves. 
 
 " Yonder youth there, is he crazy ? 
 Say, is he in love ? or mad ? 
 Sad he seems, yet passing merry, 
 Simultaneous sad and glad."
 
 UNPUBLISHED PIECES. 
 
 133 
 
 Soft the Moon with crafty visage 
 Smiles and speaks, as who should know it, 
 •• Yonder youth's in love and crazy, 
 And to boot he is a Poet." 
 
 N. G. page 48. 
 
 XXXV. 
 
 Inquisitive, the Swallow 
 Around us flies and dips, 
 Because my ear so closely 
 Is glued unto thy lips. 
 
 Full fain would she discover 
 The cause of all my blisses, 
 And if my ear thou'rt feeding 
 With syllables or kisses. 
 
 Nor do I know precisely 
 By which my soul is tingled ; 
 The kisses and the syllables 
 Are marvellously mingled ! 
 
 N. G. pag 5 
 
 XXXVI. 
 
 I 1 1 old her long-lashed eyelids to. 
 And kiss her lips and sigh ; 
 Now will she teaze me, teazo and sue 
 To know the reason why.
 
 184 JULIAN FAKE. 
 
 At latest eve, at morning too, 
 She seeks for some reply ; 
 " Why dost thou hold my eyelids to, 
 And kiss my lips and sigh ? " 
 
 I'll not show cause for what I do, 
 Myself I know not why ; 
 I hold her long-lashed eyelids to, 
 And kiss her lips and sigh. 
 
 N. G. page 61. 
 
 XXXVII. 
 
 If the flowers, the little ones, knew it, 
 How wounded is my heart ! 
 Then would they with me sorrow, 
 And weep to heal my smart. 
 
 And the Nightingales if they knew it, 
 How lorn I am and sad ! 
 They'd pour from dewy throttles 
 A song of solace glad. 
 
 And knew they of my sorrows, 
 The stars in golden glee : 
 The stars would from their Heaven 
 Come down to comfort me. 
 
 All these, they cannot know it ! 
 One, only, knows my smart ; 
 'Twas she herself disdained it, 
 Disdained and broke my heart. 
 
 B. d. L. page 122.
 
 UNPUBLISHED PIECES. 135 
 
 XXXVIII. 
 
 I with loving- ditties angled 
 For thy heart in playful sort, 
 And, in mine own mesh entangled, 
 Earnest now becomes my sport. 
 
 But when thou, with playful titter, 
 From my grave suit justly turnest — 
 Fiends of hell my soul embitter 
 And I shoot myself in earnest. 
 
 B. d. L. page 222. 
 
 XXXIX. 
 
 The violets blue of her azure eyes, 
 And the roses red of her cheeks pure dyes, 
 And the lilies white of her hands likewise — 
 They bud and they flower and blush full-blown, 
 And the cold little heart is withered alone. 
 
 B. d. L. page 129. 
 
 XL. 
 
 And hast Thou now forgotten wholly 
 That I possessed thy heart once solely ? 
 Thy fair little heart so false and so sweet, 
 A fairer and falser methiuks never beat.
 
 136 JULIAN FANE. 
 
 And hast thou forgotten the Pain and the Passion 
 "Which rent my poor heart in so cruel a fashion ? 
 I know not — was Passion more great than the Pain V 
 Alas ! I know only that great were the twain. 
 
 B. d. L. page 121. 
 
 XLI. 
 
 How shamefully thou hast treated me, 
 From mortal ears I withhold it ; 
 But I sailed far out on the deep blue Sea 
 And there to the fishes I told it. 
 
 I leave thee thy spotless name and brow 
 On the firm-set Land alone ; 
 For through the whole of the Ocean now 
 Thy Infamy is known. 
 
 N. G. page 58. 
 
 XLII. 
 
 Thy letter long, dear wronger, 
 Excites no terror strong, 
 Thou wilt not love me longer — 
 And yet thy letter's long ! 
 
 Twelve lines, all unerroneous, 
 Close-crowded I espy ; 
 That pen's more parsimonious 
 Which gives a man " Good-bye." 
 
 N. 0. page 33.
 
 UNPUBLISHED PIECES. 137 
 
 XLIII. 
 
 Shadowy kisses, Love of shadows, 
 Life of shadows, shadowy Fame ; 
 Think'st thou, foolish one, that all things, 
 All-unchanged, remain the same ? 
 
 That which most we love and cherish 
 Wanes and fades and dream-like flies, 
 And our hearts Oblivion seizes, 
 And a slumber seals our eyes. 
 
 N. G. page 57. 
 
 XLIV. 
 
 Aleeadt her dull curtain dreary 
 Wicked Night hath o'er us drawn ; 
 Ah ! we feel our Souls grow weary, 
 At each other gaze, and yawn. 
 
 Thou grow'st old and I still older, 
 Our sweet spring has blossomed by ; 
 Thou grow'st cold and I still colder, 
 As our Winter creepeth nigh. 
 
 Sweet things end in dreary fashion ! 
 After Passion's sweetest pain 
 Comes the pain without the passion — 
 Afterlife comes Death amain! 
 
 N. G. page 00.
 
 13S JULIAN FANE. 
 
 XLV. 
 
 Art thou really then so angry, 
 Really so incensed with me ? 
 I will tell all kinds of people 
 Thou hast used ine shamefully. 
 
 Oh ! ye lips — ye lips ungrateful ! 
 How can ye an ill word say 
 Of the man who has so dearly 
 Kissed you in a happier day ? 
 
 B. d. L. page 240. 
 
 XL VI. 
 
 Since from me they took my bride, 
 Laughter I have laid aside ; 
 Many a dull wag grinds his chaff, 
 But I, listening, cannot laugh. 
 
 Ever since they made her flee, 
 Weeping too is strange to me ; 
 From my heart wells misery deep, 
 But a tear I cannot weep. 
 
 B. d. L. page 133. 
 
 XLVII. 
 
 Fiest, I thought, " I cannot bear it ! 
 Never, let me perish now," 
 Yet I have both bome and bear it — 
 Only do not ask me how. 
 
 B. d. L. page 45.
 
 UNPUBLISHED PIECES. 139 
 
 XLVIII. 
 
 Bear with me, and use thy patience 
 If in this my latest song, 
 This my newest note, there echoes 
 Something of an ancient wrong. 
 
 Bear with me, for soon shall Silence 
 Seal the mem'ry of my smart, 
 And a fresher fount of music, 
 Gush from out the healed heart. 
 
 B. d. L. page 212. 
 
 THE BATTLE-FIELD AT HASTINGS. 
 
 Deep sighed the Abbot when the news 
 Reached Waltham's courts that day, 
 That piteously on Hastings' field, 
 King Harold lifeless lay. 
 
 Two Monks, Asgod and Ailric named, 
 Dispatched he to the plain, 
 That they might seek king Harold's corpse, 
 At Hastings 'mongst the slain. 
 
 The Monks they issued sadly forth, 
 And sad their steps retrace : 
 ' Father, loathesome to us is the World, 
 Fortune forsakes our race.
 
 140 JULIAN FANE. 
 
 " The Bastard, the base, lives Victor now, 
 Fall'n is the Righteous-Brave ; 
 Bands of armed robbers divide the land, 
 And make of the Freeman a slave. 
 
 " The raggedest Boor from Normandy 
 Now lords it o'er Britain's Isle ; 
 A tailor from Bayeux, gold bespurred, 
 I saw one ride and smile. 
 
 " Woe now to every Saxon born ! 
 Ye Saxon Saints beware, 
 Lest, Heaven itself unsafe, the scourge 
 Pursue and spurn you there. 
 
 " Now know we what disastrous doom 
 That comet should forebode, 
 Which erst, blood-red, through blackest Heaven 
 On fiery besom rode. 
 
 " At Hastings hath that evil star 
 Its evil potent wrought ! 
 Thither we went, to the battle-field, 
 And 'mongst the slain we sought. 
 
 " We sought to left, we sought to right, 
 Till, every hope resigned, 
 We left the field, and Harold the king, 
 His corpse we did not find. 
 
 Asgod and Ailric so they spake ; 
 His hands the Abbot clasped, 
 Down sat, despairing, sunk in thought, 
 Then sighed and said at last :
 
 UNPUBLISHED PIECES. 141 
 
 "At Greenfield, near the Harper's Stone, 
 In the wood's deepest dell, 
 Lone in a lonely pauper-cot 
 Doth swan-necked Edith dwell. 
 
 " ' Swan-necked,' men named her — for that erst 
 Her neck, of smoothest pearl, 
 Was swan-like arched — and Harold the king 
 He loved the comely girl. 
 
 " Her hath he loved and cherished and kissed, 
 And, lastly, abandoned, forgot ; 
 The years roll by — full sixteen years 
 Have watched her widowed lot. 
 
 " Brothers, to her betake yourselves, 
 And with her back return 
 To Hastings' field ; this woman's glance 
 Will there the king discern. 
 
 " Hither then to the Abbey-church 
 Do ye the body bring, 
 That we may yield it Christian rite, 
 And for the soul may sing." 
 
 The Monks at midnight reached the cot 
 Deep in the dark wood's hollow ; 
 " Wake, Bwan-necked Edith, and forthwith 
 Prepare our steps to follow ! 
 
 " Pate willed the Duke of Normandy 
 The fatal day should gain, 
 And on the field at Eastings lies 
 King Harold 'mongst the slain.
 
 142 JULIAN FANE. 
 
 " Come with us now to Hastings— there 
 We'll seek the corpse of the king, 
 And bring it back to the Abbey-church, 
 As the Abbot bade us bring." 
 
 No word the swan-necked Edith spake ; 
 Her cloak about her cast, 
 She followed the Monks ; her grizzly hair 
 It fluttered wild in the blast. 
 
 Barefooted, poor wretch, she followed o'er marsh, 
 Through brushwood and briar she flew : 
 Hastings at daybreak they hardly reached, 
 With its white chalk-cliffs in view. 
 
 The fog that folded the battle-field, 
 As 'twere in a snow-white shroud, 
 Eose slowly, the ravens flapped their wings 
 And horribly croaked and loud. 
 
 Some thousand corpses there lay strewn, 
 In heaps on the red earth grounded, 
 Stripped-stark, beplundered, mangled and maimed, 
 With carrion-horse confounded. 
 
 The swan-necked Edith waded on 
 Through blood with unsandalled foot ; 
 Meanwhile like darts from her staring eyes 
 The searchf ul glances shoot. 
 
 She searched to left, she searched to right, 
 And oft she turned unflurried, 
 To scare the famished ravens off ; 
 The monks behind her hurried.
 
 UNPUBLISHED PIECES. 143 
 
 The whole drear Day had watched her search, 
 The stars still see her seek ; 
 Suddenly from the woman's lips 
 Breaks shrill a terrible shriek : 
 
 Discovered hath Edith the corpse of the king ! 
 No longer need she seek ; 
 No word she spake, she wept no tear, 
 She kissed the pale, pale cheek. 
 
 She kissed the brow, she kissed the lips, 
 Her arms aboiit him pressed, 
 She kissed the deep wound blood-besmeared 
 Upon her monarch's breast. 
 
 And at the shoulder looked she too — 
 And then she kissed contented 
 Three little scars, joy- wounds her love 
 In Passion's hour indented. 
 
 Meanwhile the Monks from out the wood 
 Some twisted branches bring ; 
 This was the leafy bier whereon 
 They laid their slaughtered king. 
 
 They bore him towards the Abbey-church - 
 
 Whose aisles his bones should cover ; . . 
 
 The swan-necked Edith followed close 
 The pale corpse of her lover. 
 
 She sang the Burial-psalm in notes 
 Of meek and childlike woe ; 
 Dismal it sounded through the night — 
 The muttering monks prayed low. 
 
 R. pago 21.
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 Life at Vienna from 1851 to 1S56. Attached to the Earl of 
 Clarendon's Special Mission ; and present at Paris during the 
 Congress of that year. Secretary of Legation at St. Peters- 
 burgh, and life there from 1856 to 1858. Official Reports. 
 Baron Brunow. Secretary of Legation and Embassy at Vienna 
 from 1858 to 1865. Life at Vienna. Habits, occupations, 
 characteristics. 
 
 Julian Fane was transferred from the Mission 
 at Berlin, and attached to the Mission at Vienna 
 in the month of September, 1851. In the follow- 
 ing year, in the month of September, the Duke of 
 Wellington died ; and Julian accompanied his 
 father to England in order to attend the funeral 
 of the great Duke. The boy had always been a 
 great favourite of the old hero, and had passed 
 much of his childhood at Walmer and Strathfield- 
 saye. The Duke delighted in his childish wit, 
 and used often to chuckle over an answer given 
 by the little Julian to some one who asked him if 
 he knew the Duke. " Know him ? To be sure I
 
 MUSICAL COMPOSITIONS. 145 
 
 do," said the child. "Why I'm his near relation, 
 and very particular friend ! " 
 
 The short time which Julian now passed in 
 England anion 2; his old College friends, and occu- 
 pied only with his little volume of early poems, 
 (published in the summer of 1852), was probably 
 to his naturally quiet temperament a refreshing 
 relief from the constant and fatiguing excitement 
 of his A r ienna life. To this, however, he returned 
 very soon after the Duke's funeral. Amidst his 
 employments there, as we have seen, he had taken 
 up with great warmth the study of Heine ; and 
 when he returned he resumed with increased 
 fervour his interest in the songs and ballads of 
 that most lyrical of all modern poets. Many of 
 them he set to music of his own, and many he 
 sang with exquisite expression to the charming 
 and well-known music of Vesque Puttlingen, 
 better known by his assumed name of Hoven. 
 About this time, too, Julian had taught himself 
 to play with great perfection on the zither, a 
 musical instrument peculiarly Austrian; some- 
 thing between the harp and the guitar, and 
 probably not very dissimilar in the character of
 
 1-16 JULIAN FANE. 
 
 its music from the classic cithara. It was an 
 instrument adapted exclusively for Austrian airs, 
 and it was then the chief amusement of his 
 leisure hours to play upon it the national music 
 of Austria, of which he was extremely fond. 
 
 In the year 1855, Lord Westmorland resigned 
 his post, and retired into private life. His son 
 Julian returned with him from Vienna, and 
 remained that year in England. It will be 
 remembered that the Crimean war was closed in 
 1856 by the fall of Sebastopol and the Congress 
 of Paris ; at which England was represented by 
 the Earl of Clarendon and Lord Cowley. In the 
 February of this year, Julian Fane was attached 
 to Lord Clarendon's Special Mission, and accom- 
 panied his Lordship to Paris, where he remained 
 till the close of the Congress and the signature of 
 the Treaties of 1856. It was on this occasion 
 that I first became acquainted with him. 
 
 I was at the time attached to the Embassy at 
 Paris, which was, of course, cooperating with Lord 
 Clarendon's Extraordinary Mission, in the negocia- 
 tion of the Peace. My own official business, how- 
 ever, was then of a very subordinate and mechanical
 
 MY FIRST MEETING WITH JULIAN. 147 
 
 kind, which seldom brought me into professional 
 intercourse with Julian Fane, during his residence 
 in Paris. It was in society that we met oftenest ; 
 and I still vividly recal the strong sensation of 
 admiring curiosity with which I first beheld, as a 
 stranger, one who was destined to occupy, only a 
 few years later, a place which death has left for 
 ever vacant among the warmest affections of my 
 life. My attention was attracted, charmed, and 
 absorbed by the appearance of him immediately 
 on entering the salon of a French lady at whose 
 house we met for the first time ; and it was with 
 a lively glow of flattered national pride, that I 
 learned from our hostess that we were not only 
 colleagues but also countrymen. 
 
 There were assembled at that time in Paris all 
 the most brilliant representatives, young and old, 
 of European Diplomacy ; but, not excepting even 
 the stately and majestic grace of Prince Orloff, I 
 cannot remember among them all anyone whose 
 appearance was so immediately or so irresistibly 
 attractive as that of Julian Fane. 
 
 After the conclusion of peace he was appointed 
 Secretary of Legation at St. Petersburg. At the 
 
 L 2
 
 148 JULIAN FANE. 
 
 same time I was myself promoted to another post, 
 and we did not meet again for three years. It 
 was not without anxiety that Julian Fane's ap- 
 pointment to St. Petersburg was regarded by his 
 mother. In reality he was at that time a strong 
 man, so far as strength consists of capacity for 
 plrysical exertion. I have never met any young 
 man whose physical vitality appeared to me so 
 inexhaustible. Nor had his love of books at all 
 superseded his boyish delight in field sports and 
 all athletic exercises. In these he excelled no less 
 than in all things else to which his attention was 
 at any time heartily given. But his extreme 
 thinness (the more striking from his great 
 height*), added to the habitual pallor of his com- 
 plexion, gave him the appearance of great delicacy : 
 and it was with many fears as to the possible effect 
 on his constitution, of a climate so severe as the 
 Russian, that Lady Westmorland accompanied 
 her son to Sheerness ; whence he embarked for St. 
 Petersburg on the 16th of June, 1856. Her fore- 
 bodings were happily unfulfilled. The climate 
 appeared to agi-ee Avith him, and he liked his new 
 
 * It was 6 ft. 3 in.
 
 LETTER OF BARON BRUNOW. 149 
 
 place of habitation as well as he ever liked any 
 place out of England, which was the country he 
 preferred to all others. 
 
 To England he returned two years later, in 
 excellent health, and without having experienced 
 a day's illness during his residence at St. Peters- 
 burg. Amongst the many admirable Reports 
 which he addressed from St. Petersburg to the 
 Government at home, there is one upon the 
 trade of Russia which, shortly after it was laid 
 before Parliament, elicited from Baron Brunow, 
 the present Russian Ambassador in London, the 
 following letter — 
 
 "MON CHER AMI, 
 
 " Mille et mille remercimens de votre aimable 
 billet ******* 
 
 "Je vais dcrire moi-meme a Lord Westmor- 
 land, pour lui faire mes apologies, comme vous 
 dites en anglais. Mais j'ai encore uu meilleur 
 motif pour lui adresser quelques lignes ; et ce 
 motif vous regarde ■personnellement. Je suis dans 
 L'admiration do votre beau travail statistique sur 
 la Bussie ! C'est un ouvrage remarquable, mon
 
 150 JULIAN FANE. 
 
 chcr ami ; il faut absolument que j'en fasse com- 
 pliment a votre excellent pere. 
 
 "Si j'avais preVu que vous seriez un jour do 
 cette force, je crois que je vous aurais remis avec 
 plus de confiance les renes entre les mains, quand 
 vous me conduisiez en phaeton a Walmer 
 
 Castle! 
 
 " Mille amitie's 
 
 de votre tres-devoue' 
 
 Brunow." * 
 
 Thus between business and pleasure (with rare 
 capacities for both), varying politics with poetry, 
 and completing the study of books by the study 
 of men and things : never too idle to be serious, 
 
 * "My dear Friend, 
 
 ' ' A thousand thanks for your kind note. ***** 
 I am going to write to Lord Westmorland myself, to make him 
 my apologies, as you say in English. But I have a still better 
 motive for addressing him a few lines, and this motive personally 
 concerns you. I am full of admiration for your excellent statistical 
 report about Russia. It is a remarkable work, my dear friend, 
 and I must positively compliment your excellent father about it. 
 Had I foreseen that you would one of these days come out so 
 strong, I think I should have made over the reins to you with 
 greater confidence that day when you drove me in your phaeton to 
 Walmer Castle ! "
 
 DEATH OF LORD WESTMORLAND. 151 
 
 never too busy to be gay, but sowing and reaping 
 heartily the field of life allotted to him by Destiny : 
 Julian Fane continued to make the best of himself 
 by making the best of the world as he found it, 
 and to adorn a profession for which he was, 
 indeed, eminently fitted, but which was never, 
 I think, thoroughly congenial to his tastes or 
 aspirations. 
 
 In the year 1858 he was transferred from St. 
 Petersburg to Vienna ; whither he now returned 
 as Secretary of Legation. Here he was Charge' 
 d 'Affaires from the August to the October of that 
 year ; and was again in charge of the Mission, 
 from the July to the October of 1859, when 
 he was summoned to his father's death-bed. It 
 was in this year, and at Vienna, that I renewed 
 my acquaintance with him. 
 
 In the month of January, 1859, 1 was appointed 
 to the post of First Paid Attache at Vienna, 
 formerly held by Julian Fane. The year was that 
 of Lord Cowley's Special Mission to the Austrian 
 Emperor, and it was in casual company with this 
 Mission, which, on my way to my new post, I met 
 at Dresden, tbat I first entered within the ancient
 
 152 JULIAN FANE. 
 
 walls of Vienna. They have long since been 
 pulled down ; and many other old things have 
 also disappeared with them from the Capital of 
 the Empire of the Hapsburgs. 
 
 The great Prince Metternich was then alive. 
 Prince Paul Esterhazy (who had represented 
 Austria in London during the youth of Lord 
 Palmerston, when he and M. de Talleyrand were 
 colleagues) was not only alive, but in vigorous 
 health. Count Buol was then Imperial Chan- 
 cellor and Minister for Foreign Affairs. Count 
 Stephen Sze'chenyi, " the Great Magyar," was 
 still in his strange and tragic retirement, at a 
 lunatic asylum, at Dobling. Count Andrassy, the 
 present Hungarian Prime Minister, was an exile, 
 and under sentence of death for hisdi treason. 
 The English Minister at Vienna was then Lord 
 Augustus Loftus. When in 18G0 the British 
 Government decided on raising the Mission at 
 Vienna (or rather restoring it) to its ancient rank, 
 and making it an Embassy, Lord Augustus was 
 appointed to the Mission at Berlin, and Lord 
 Bloomfield to the Embassy at Vienna. At the 
 same time, Julian Fane was promoted from the
 
 FOUE YEARS OF INTIMACY. 153 
 
 rank of Secretary of Legation to that of Secretary 
 of Embassy, and left in this capacity at Vienna ; 
 where he remained till the 30th of December 
 IS60. I was appointed Secretary of Legation at 
 Copenhagen in the month of January, 1863 ; and 
 the period of my greatest intimacy with Julian 
 Fane was, therefore, only four years. During 
 those four years, however, the daily and hourly 
 intercourse between us was uninterrupted. From 
 almost the first moment of my arrival in Vienna 
 to the last of those four unforgotten years of my 
 life which it beautified and gladdened, his com- 
 panionship became, and continued to be, for me 
 the source of an ever-increasing intellectual and 
 moral delight. 
 
 "Die schonen Tage in Aranjuez 
 Sind nun zu Ende ! " 
 
 They are gone, those years of happy intercourse, 
 and gone for ever the beautiful and gracious 
 presence that made them what they were: but 
 along tin' lives of all who once lived in the sun- 
 light of if, the brightness of that presence still 
 shines out of the past, like the jewel which the
 
 ] 5 I JULIAN FANE. 
 
 Mexicans were wont to place amongst the ashes 
 of the departed to typify the heart. 
 
 Julian Fane's life at Vienna, during the whole 
 of the time we were there together, was very 
 different from what it had been in the days when 
 he was Attache to his father's Mission. He had 
 entirely ceased to go into the world ; and his 
 place in the society he had once adorned was 
 vacant. Never, except on compulsory official 
 occasions, did he quit the exclusive retirement in 
 which it was his choice to live during the whole 
 period of our intercourse. In every drawing-room 
 and in every club he was sure of enthusiastic 
 welcomes which he no longer cared to seek ; and 
 it was only when he put on his diplomatic uni- 
 form that he ever revisited that world of which 
 he had once been so conspicuous a member, and 
 by which his occasional apparition was now 
 greeted with a cordiality not altogether free from 
 a certain curiosity inspired by the mysterious 
 rarity of it. In this love of solitude there was no 
 admixture of misanthropy. It was not the refuge 
 of disappointed ambition, or satiated sensuality, 
 or failing health, or enfeebled spirits. A tempera-
 
 LIFE IN VIENNA. 155 
 
 ment more thoroughly social, a humour more 
 habitually cheerful, spirits more inexhaustibly 
 effervescent, were never given to mortal creature. 
 His society was like the sunshine of an eternal 
 summer on a land 
 
 " Where falls not hail, or rain, or any snow, 
 Nor ever wind blows loudly." 
 
 All in him was clear, and bright, and calm ; but 
 never monotonous ; a perpetual play of happy 
 influences ; " a meeting of sweet lights without a 
 
 name." 
 
 He retained, at this time, the habit of late 
 hours which he had contracted at an early age ; 
 and I remember saying to him, with a laugh at 
 the sight of our two faces in the looking-glass, 
 where they looked like a couple of lighted candles 
 in broad daylight, when we once bid each other 
 good-night at past seven o'clock on a summer 
 morning, " It is only going to bed that either you 
 or I will ever catch a sunstroke." He rarely rose 
 before noon, and generally rose much later. He 
 would then eat with great heartiness a substan- 
 tial breakfast. After reading his letters, looking
 
 156 JULIAN FANE. 
 
 through the morning papers, and receiving any 
 visitors who might then happen to call either on 
 business or for the simple pleasure of seeing and 
 talking with him, he would dress, and stroll down 
 to the Legation ; close to which his own house 
 was conveniently situated. He seldom remained 
 there more than a few moments (except on 
 Messenger days), as he was in the habit of doing 
 all his official work at home ; and, although in 
 the conduct of professional business he was a 
 methodical as well as a hard worker, yet he had 
 a wholesome impatience of that cumbrous bureau- 
 cratic harness which is a hindrance rather than 
 a help to the performance of really effective work. 
 From this hour of the day, that is to say from 
 half-past three or four in the afternoon till the 
 Vienna dinner hour of half-past five, it was his 
 daily habit to walk briskly in almost all weathers; 
 and in those pleasant walks we were frequent, 
 almost daily, companions. 
 
 Vienna was still at that time a fortified town. 
 Sometimes we walked all round the walls of it, 
 as if it were Jericho, blowing the trumpets of our 
 favourite authors. Sometimes, when the air was
 
 AMONG OUTLYING SUBURBS. 157 
 
 fresh and sunny, and gusts of far away things 
 came to us from the neighbouring hills, still snow- 
 capped, in the clear afternoons of the early spring, 
 we would strike across the grassy glacis upon 
 some voyage of discovery among the outlying 
 suburbs of the city. Sometimes, in gloomier 
 weather, we trudged by many a muddy street 
 into the dim Jews' quarter of the town ; peered 
 into misty ragshops ; haggled with curiosity dealers 
 for the purchase of cracked tea-cups ; and, like 
 schoolboys, popping air-guns at a rookery, let our 
 fancies shoot here and there amongst the dark 
 gabardined and bearded forms (those picturesque 
 Vienna Jews of a day already gone by ! ) that flitted 
 and babbled about us. Always, and everywhere, 
 something seen in the course of these pleasant 
 walks remained for ever afterwards identified in 
 my memory with some humorous anecdote, some 
 graceful fancy, some thoughtful observation, or 
 witty wuid of him whose companionship was all 
 their charm. To waste, in visiting less gifted 
 mortals, an afternoon which might be thus 
 delightfully employed, was out of the question. 
 Tin- staff of our Vienna Mission was at that time
 
 15S JULIAN FANE. 
 
 composed of some half-a-dozen young men who 
 were all remarkable for their agreeable social 
 qualities and high-bred manners ; all of them 
 cordially attached to each other and harmoniously 
 working together; and all of them worthy repre- 
 sentatives of a social type which is not very likely, 
 under existing arrangements of the Diplomatic 
 Service, to reappear in the ranks of it. The 
 perfect harmony which then prevailed amongst 
 the members of this Mission, as well as between 
 them and their chief, was greatly promoted by 
 the central influence of Julian Fane. His presence 
 amongst us was incompatible with any kind of 
 vulgarity, ill-temper, or coarseness. It effectually 
 guaranteed the Minister against the possibility of 
 disrespect on the part of his subordinates, whilst 
 at the same time it imperceptibly impressed upon 
 him the necessity of courtesy and consideration 
 in his intercourse with them. This was the best 
 security for efficiency in the general work of a 
 Mission, every one of whose members had a 
 corporate pride in the high character of it, and 
 was animated by a sense of the obligation which 
 is proverbially ascribed to noblemindedness. We
 
 MERBY LITTLE DINNERS. 159 
 
 were all of us bachelors in those days ; and when 
 we did not dine at the table of our chief (where 
 we did dine very frequently), it was our wont to 
 dine together either at some restaurant, or else in 
 each other's lodgings ; most often in those of Julian 
 Fane. His temperament made him lavishly 
 hospitable. He carried into the consideration of 
 all matters connected with cellar and kitchen 
 the same exquisitely fastidious taste that gave to 
 his general character such affluent aesthetic sus- 
 ceptibilities. No man better knew how either to 
 order or appreciate a good dinner. And how 
 pleasant they were, those merry little dinners at 
 his house! How careful the cookery, how easy 
 the conversation ! the wine so choice and old, the 
 wit so young and fresh, and both so unstinted ! 
 Dinners of this kind are only possible in the pure 
 light air of foreign life. In England we do not 
 understand them, nor would it profit us if we did. 
 In our heavy atmosphere, loaded, as it is, with so 
 much moral, as well as material, carbon, both soul 
 and body crave a stronger stimulant; and it is 
 only the into »n of party passion, or personal 
 
 ambition, or fierce speculation, that can exhilarate
 
 ]G0 JULIAN FANE. 
 
 our jaded powers of enjoyment. We even laugh 
 in a hurry, as though the end of the world were 
 at hand, and might catch us with the fool's-cap 
 on. There is, in London, a feverish competition 
 for the manufacture of jokes at so much per 
 week; and no wonder that these poor jokes come 
 into the world tired before they are born. 
 
 Those lounging, early after-dinner talks, in that 
 little bachelor boudoir (of which the memory of 
 Julian Fane so vividly recalls the image to my 
 mind ; with its pretty chintzes, and its flowers, 
 and its piano, as well as its books and dispatch 
 boxes, and all so fragrant with the fresh fumes of 
 the lightest Turkish tobacco) ; those talks inter- 
 spersed with snatches of music and song, or re- 
 citations of verse or prose ; and broken up so soon 
 in order not to miss the overture to the new Opera 
 or the first act of the new Play ;— how impossible 
 to fancy anything of the kind under the solemn 
 smoke of our business-burdened London ! 
 
 The Vienna evening begins for all the Vienna 
 world at the Opera or the Theatre ; both of them 
 excellent, because both of them are wisely main- 
 tained and controlled by the State, as great
 
 NIGHT AT ODDS WITH MORNING. 161 
 
 schools for the education of the aesthetic senti- 
 ment in all classes of society. And at both of 
 these great schools Julian Fane was a constant 
 attendant. It was not till about midnight that 
 his own evening began. Then, whoever might be 
 so fortunate as to find him alone, in dressing 
 gown and slippers, at his own fireside, a cigar in 
 his mouth and a book on his knee, was sure to 
 find him in the full perfection of his singular 
 charm. 
 
 The nights which I have thus so often passed 
 in tete-a-tete with Fane (long nights which yet 
 seemed so short !) are among the pleasantest 
 recollections of my life. But I despair of suc- 
 ceeding in any attempt to describe what con- 
 stituted the peculiar delight of them. It was 
 like playing on a musical instrument which is 
 never out of tune, and every one of whose keys 
 renders to the lightest touch the exact note 
 sounded from any particular part of a great 
 orchestra which the player may happen to be 
 thinking of. 
 
 Sometimes, the last new philosophical treatise, 
 or the last new poem, or a new novel or essay, 
 
 M
 
 102 JULIAN FANE. 
 
 would start a long sparkling train of enthusiastic, 
 but not undiscriminating, criticism. Sometimes 
 a doubt suggested as to the accuracy of some 
 casual Greek quotation would float the conversa- 
 tion far away over the illimitable sea of Hellenic 
 literature, where his enthusiasm would keep it 
 for hours hovering between Tragedians and 
 Idyllists — 
 
 " Like long-tailed birds of Paradise 
 That float thro' heaven and cannot 'light." 
 
 Occasionally the disputed derivation of some Ger- 
 man word, or the style of some popular ballad, 
 would send him rambling into the vast Teutonic 
 Forest far enough to stumble on Lindwurm 
 asleep under the lime tree destined to avenge his 
 death. Often some question of current politics 
 would carry us all through the night. In every 
 subject the freshness and vivacity of his interest 
 was always delightful. He was not an original 
 thinker ; and I cannot recal any subject in which 
 the curiosity of his mind had penetrated beyond, 
 or the independence of it refused allegiance 
 within, the frontier line laid down for opinion by
 
 QUALIFICATIONS FOR PRACTICAL LIFE. 163 
 
 the most influential intellects of his time. But if 
 he was never either in excess of the highest con- 
 temporary intellectual average in matters of 
 opinion, and never in antagonism with it, neither 
 was he ever below it. In practical life even the 
 most conscientious and cultivated minds must be 
 content to accept on authority the foundation for 
 a great many of their opinions. They have not 
 time to dig and delve, and lay stone upon stone 
 in the slow preparation of an edifice which is 
 needed for the immediate transaction of thought's 
 daily business. All they can do is to employ the 
 best rejDuted builders ; and this absence of all 
 intellectual eccentricity would have greatly 
 favoured his career, had Julian Fane devoted his 
 faculties to English public life. He would have 
 passed among politicians (and justly) for one of 
 those men who grow with the general growth of 
 opinion, and are best fitted for the current political 
 business of their age ; because the current never 
 either carries them beyond, or leaves them behind, 
 the point of view already reached and accepted by 
 the majority of well-educated and open-minded 
 men. I should, however, ill describe the charm 
 
 M 2
 
 161 JULIAN FANE. 
 
 of intimate intercourse with Julian Fane, if I 
 omitted from the description of it the pathos of 
 his music and the humour of his mimicry. It 
 was sometimes my chance to find him silently 
 overflowing with the hoarded fun of something in 
 the day's occurrence, or in the character or conduct 
 of one of our acquaintances, which had strongly 
 touched his satiric fibre. Then, up he would jump, 
 welcoming the occasion of my visit to relieve his 
 sense of humour without wounding the feelings of 
 any one ; and, too impatient for the shortest ex- 
 planatory prologue, would act before me to the life, 
 the scene or the man he was thinking of, with a 
 rare perfection in the perception and reproduction 
 of the ludicrous. Perhaps a few moments later 
 he would be at the piano playing and singing his 
 own compositions with a feminine tenderness of 
 sentiment and delicacy of expression which were 
 indescribably enchanting. 
 
 I remember an occasion when many of Julian 
 Fane's happiest qualities were simultaneously 
 illustrated (his literary enthusiasm, his sly fun, 
 and his supreme good-nature and dislike to give 
 pain) in the course of a conversation at which I
 
 RHYTHMIC PROSE. 165 
 
 was present with some other of his friends. He 
 had been speaking of the powerful, almost over- 
 whelming, but purely sensuous, impression often 
 made upon himself by the choice selection and 
 rhythmic arrangement of words in prose ; an 
 impression quite independent of the meaning, 
 and wholly due to the sound, of such words. All 
 present professed to have experienced the same 
 sensation, and each began to quote, or mention, 
 to the point some supposed masterpiece of prose 
 expression. Particular passages from the prose 
 of Milton, Cowley, Sir Thomas Browne, Ruskin, 
 Hazlitt, De Quincey, and Landor were cited as 
 examples. One man quoted Senancour, and 
 another George Sand. An elderly gentleman 
 of our party, who affected a fastidious taste in 
 literature, and was gifted by nature with a sepul- 
 chral gravity of countenance, and the deepest 
 bass voice that ever lodged in human lungs, had 
 been unwarily drifted by Fane's overflowing 
 animation away from his moorings in the safety 
 of a stately silence ; and, just as the subject of 
 the conversation was used out, and the conver- 
 sation itself at a pause, a voice which seemed to
 
 1G0 JULIAN FANE. 
 
 issue from a fathomless profundity of soul, ex- 
 claimed, " Ah, my dear Julian, no one is more 
 susceptible than I am to the influence you have so 
 well described, and I am never more powerfully 
 affected by it than when perusing the despatches 
 of the late Duke of Wellington." A glance from 
 Julian Fane suppressed the incipient laughter 
 which was about to overwhelm the speaker, and, 
 turning gravely to his sympathising friend, he 
 answered with as much good nature as presence 
 of mind, " Ah, my dear ! how well we under- 
 stand each other!" 
 
 I fear that throughout this chapter I have sadly 
 failed to reproduce in the imagination of its 
 readers the image of Julian Fane, such as it 
 remains in my own memory of the time I am 
 recording. Fortunately, however, his character as 
 it then was, in the full flower of his early manhood, 
 has been admirably delineated in a few words by 
 a great critic and a great man of letters, whose 
 appreciation of it is the best evidence of its worth 
 and beauty. The following letter is from Mr. 
 El win : 
 
 " You ask me to try and convey my impressions
 
 TRIBUTE FROM MR. ELWIN. 167 
 
 of Julian, and unfortunately, it is impossible for 
 me to describe him in words as vivid as the 
 picture in my mind. He had a combination of 
 delightful qualities, which intermingled or took 
 their turn, with a native ease that redoubled the 
 charm. He was rich in the literature of many 
 lands, and no subject had a greater zest for him ; 
 but, unless the conversation turned to it naturally, 
 he never said a word about books. He had an 
 inexhaustible fund of racy unhacknied anecdote; 
 but it was always drawn forth by the occasion, 
 and no one could aim less to be a teller of good 
 stories. He was an exquisite mimic, but never 
 used the faculty for the purpose of exhibiting his 
 skill ; and he only employed it in snatches to 
 give life and reality to a description. He had 
 a fertile vein of humour which brightened all his 
 conversation ; but he never looked out for oppor- 
 tunities to make a jest, and his sallies were just 
 a glancing touch and away again. Everything 
 which fell from him was spontaneous and genuine, 
 and was untainted with a trace of effort or osten- 
 tation. In the midst of his play of knowledge 
 and intellect, there was one preeminent charac-
 
 1G8 JULIAN FANE. 
 
 teristic. He had not the smallest particle of envy, 
 malice, or rivalry ; and though he spoke his 
 opinions without reserve, there always appeared 
 in his very censure an absolute freedom from ill- 
 nature. I never saw an indication that he had a 
 single drop of gall in his composition. 
 
 " The circumstances of his life had obliged him 
 to direct his thoughts to public affairs, and he 
 had reflected upon them largely. Yet his true 
 passion was for literature, which he had studied 
 with fervour; and he was equally familiar with 
 the old and the new. He was not better versed 
 in Shakespeare and Milton, than in Tennyson, 
 Browning, and Carlyle. His relish for these last 
 three moderns was intense. He entered into the 
 inner spirit of their works, and was very felicitous 
 in developing the characteristics of their genius. 
 His disposition came out strongly in his literary 
 judgments. His whole bent was to admiration ; 
 and while he had a distinct perception of defects, 
 his mind always fastened upon beauties, and 
 revelled in them. 
 
 " His manners, like everything else about him, 
 reflected his disposition. They were winning
 
 WHY NO SUFFICIENT MEMORIAL OF HIM. 169 
 
 beyond measure from their ease, kindness, and 
 cheerfulness. They seemed in themselves to be a 
 language, and it was the language of benevolence, 
 and good will. Every cottager and village child 
 understood, it in a moment; and as he talked 
 with them, they invariably felt, ' He is a friend.' 
 
 " He would have stamped his mind on his 
 writings, if his profession had not absorbed the 
 pick of his clay. He could not satisfy his fasti- 
 diousness unless he devoted his whole strength to 
 any literary undertaking ; and he was seldom 
 tolerant of the compositions he struck off hastily 
 in the leavings of his time. His extreme delight, 
 too, in the labours of others, interfered with his 
 own. "When the hour of leisure arrived he could 
 not resist the fascination of his favourite authors. 
 Hence there can be no sufficient memorial of him 
 now ; and even those who knew him best must be 
 content to describe the fruit of which they alone 
 have tasted the flavour."
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 "Tannhauser," and other Poems, written at Vienna.— Study of 
 Shakespeare's Sonnets. — Writings after that model. — Poems 
 to his Mother. 
 
 About the time I have been speaking of, 
 Richard Wagner, the poet and composer of what 
 has been ironically termed "The 'Zukunfts 
 Musik/" or "Music of the future," frequently 
 visited Vienna ; and I think it was at my own 
 house that Julian Fane first made his acquaint- 
 ance. With Wagner's music Fane was already 
 familiar. Art is a bon enfant ; and in music, as 
 in poetry (more perhaps in music than in poetry) 
 there is abundant supply for the satisfaction of 
 the most various tastes. The ear that is callous 
 to Beethoven may be agreeably titillated by 
 Verdi ; and vice versa. In neither case is there 
 any cause for pride or shame. The little boy 
 who, when asked whom he loved best, Papa or 
 Mama, frankly replied that he preferred Mutton-
 
 USE AND ABUSE OF CRITICISM. 171 
 
 chops, is infinitely more to be respected than the 
 juvenile humbug whose ready-made pretty answer 
 to such a question is safe from censure. If critics 
 would be content to criticize only what they 
 thoroughly understand and are capable of admir- 
 ing in art, instead of criticizing chiefly what they 
 ostentatiously profess themselves unable to under- 
 stand, and quite incapable of admiring, the lite- 
 rature of criticism would be more helpful and 
 more valuable than it is. Critics are intellectual 
 nutcrackers which the economy of labour has 
 placed at the service of the public. It is not 
 their business to reject all the hard nuts. If 
 the nuts were softer we could extract their 
 kernels without the aid of any such instruments. 
 "Whoever can stimulate and expand the general 
 capacity for sesthetic enjoyment is a benefactor. 
 But the natural physiology of the human mind 
 is sufficiently contractile to the touch of unac- 
 customed sensations, and needs no critical en- 
 couragement in the indulgence of its instinctive 
 indolence. Unfortunately, however, those to whom 
 the public looks for illumination in all matters of 
 art, appear to be persuaded that you cannot keep
 
 172 JULIAN FANE. 
 
 one candle alight without trying to snuff out all 
 the others. There is a story told of two post- 
 boys, who, in the exercise of their calling, en- 
 countered each other on the public highway. 
 Each was conducting a post-chaise ; and in each 
 post-chaise there happened to be a Jew. The post- 
 boys quarrelled as they passed alongside of each 
 other; and one of them, meaning to lash his 
 comrade, missed his aim, and whipped the Jew 
 in the post-chaise which his comrade was driving. 
 " Ah," cried the other indignant, " since you whip 
 my Jew, Til whip your Jew." So the two post- 
 boys laid about them; whipped their respective 
 Jews half dead ; and the post-boy whose Jew at 
 the end of this vicarious infliction was left the least 
 dead of the two, considered that he had gained 
 a great victory over the proprietor of the other 
 Jew. Art fares hardly better, in the person of 
 its suffering representatives, at the hands of the 
 rival critics who encounter each other whilst 
 conducting each his own protege along the high 
 road to immortality. Fortunately for the hap- 
 piness of himself, and the comfort of those about 
 him, Julian Fane had a large catholicity of taste
 
 NEVILLE TEMPLE AND EDWAED TEEVOE. 173 
 
 in art. His appreciation of Rossini and Mozart 
 did not render hirn incapable of appreciating the 
 more theatrical genius of Meyerbeer ; and his 
 appreciation of Meyerbeer's brilliancy of dramatic 
 effect did not diminish his admiration of Wagner's 
 greater intensity of dramatic conception. 
 
 The little poem of Tannhauser which, whilst at 
 Vienna, he published under a feigned name, and 
 which was written in conjunction with myself, 
 grew naturally out of his enthusiasm for the 
 genius he recognized, and his grateful sense of the 
 emotional satisfaction he enjoyed, in Wagner's 
 great opera of Tannhauser ; which prompted the 
 composition, and furnished the story, of it. 
 
 This poem was neither written nor published 
 as a serious production ; but rather as an intel- 
 lectual (or, if you will, mechanical), tour deforce; 
 in which the style and spirit of the Tennysonian 
 Idyl had been purposely imitated as the readiest 
 and most popular vehicle for the utterance of 
 impressions rendered vivid by an intense enjoy- 
 ment of the music which it was the object of the 
 poem to translate into words. 
 
 The book was published under a pseudonym,
 
 174 JULIAN FANE. 
 
 and every care was taken in the composition of 
 it to avoid whatever appeared likely to betray its 
 real origin and authorship. But the pseudonym 
 of Neville Temple, adopted by Julian Fane, was 
 composed from his family motto, " Ne vile fano;" 
 and some of his friends (of whom, I think, Lord 
 Russell was the first), remembering the motto, 
 ingeniously guessed the secret. For my own part, 
 I must say that the failure of the precautions 
 taken to keep secret the authorship of this little 
 book was very disappointing, when I found 
 myself identified with the serious pretensions 
 attributed to a poem which was regarded by the 
 authors of it simply as a literary sport in mask 
 and domino ; and not as any adequate represen- 
 tation of the character in which either of them 
 would greatly care to appear before the public on 
 behalf of any serious literary effort. It is obvious 
 that, in the composition by two writers of a single 
 homogeneous narrative poem, if either of the two 
 were to give free scope to his own idiosyncrasy 
 the result would be incongruous and discordant. 
 It was, therefore, necessary to adopt for common 
 use, some style more or less in common vogue,
 
 THE TOEM OF TANNHAUSER. 175 
 
 appropriate to pathetic narrative, and sufficiently 
 popular to form, as it were, a neutral ensign 
 under which to sail without hoisting their own 
 colours. The Terza ri/ma was too unfamiliar, and 
 not sufficiently adapted to the conditions of joint 
 composition. There remained the Spenserian 
 stanza, the Chaucerian couplet, and the blank 
 verse brought by Mr. Tennyson to the highest 
 perfection as an instrument for narrative. The 
 choice between these various styles was deter- 
 mined by Fane's enthusiastically appreciative 
 familiarity with every characteristic of the struc- 
 tures respectively given to blank verse by those 
 two great masters of it, Milton and Tennyson. 
 The experiment was suggested and commenced by 
 Julian Fane ; who started it with a certain num- 
 ber of lines, and passed these on to his fellow 
 workman, for the addition of so many more, to 
 be completed before their next meeting. The 
 charm of the undertaking was in the occasions 
 it afforded for these pleasant meetings. And 
 thus, a tour de role, by alternate contributions 
 to a structure built on neutral ground, this little 
 poem was rapidly completed in the course of a
 
 17G JULIAN FANE. 
 
 few evenings. I subjoin those parts of it which 
 were written by Julian Fane. 
 
 DESCRIPTION OF WARTBURG AND THE 
 VENUSBERG. 
 
 This is the Land, the happy valleys these, 
 
 Broad breadths of plain, blue-vein'd by many a stream, 
 
 Umbrageous hills, sweet glades, and forests fair, 
 
 O'er which our good liege, Landgrave Herman, rules. 
 
 This is Thuringia : yonder, on the heights, 
 
 Is Wartburg, seat of our dear lord's abode, 
 
 Famous through Christendom for many a feat 
 
 Of deftest knights, chief stars of chivalry, 
 
 At tourney in its courts ; nor more renown'd 
 
 For deeds of Prowess than exploits of Art, 
 
 Achieved when, vocal in its Muses' hall, 
 
 The minstrel-knights their glorious jousts renew, 
 
 And for the laurel wage harmonious war. 
 
 On this side spreads the Chase in wooded slopes 
 
 And sweet acclivities ; and, all beyond, 
 
 The open flats lie fruitful to the sun 
 
 Full many a league ; till, dark against the sky, 
 
 Bounding the limits of our lord's domain, 
 
 The Hill of Horsel rears his horrid front. 
 
 Woe to the man who Wanders in the vast 
 
 Of those unhallow'd solitudes, if Sin, 
 
 Quickening the lust of carnal appetite, 
 
 Lurk secret in his heart : for all their caves 
 
 Echo weird strains of magic, direful sweet, 
 
 That lap the wanton sense in blissful ease ; 
 
 While through the ear a reptile music creeps, 
 
 And, blandly busy, round about the soul 
 
 Weaves its fell web of sounds. The unhappy wight,
 
 JULIANS PART IN TANNHAUSEE. 
 
 177 
 
 Thus captive made in soft and silken bands 
 
 Of tangled harmony, is led away — 
 
 Away adown the ever-darkening caves, 
 
 Away from fairness and the face of God, 
 
 Away within the mountain's mystic womb* 
 
 To where, reclining on her impious couch 
 
 All the fair length of her lascivious limbs, 
 
 Languid in light from roseate tapers flung, 
 
 Incensed with perfumes, tended on by fays, 
 
 The lustful Queen, waiting damnation, holds 
 
 Her bestial revels. The Queen of Beauty once, 
 
 A goddess call'd and worshipp'd in the days 
 
 When men their own infirmities adored, 
 
 Deeming divine who in themselves sunim'd up 
 
 The full-blown passions of humanity. 
 
 Large fame and lavish service had she then, 
 
 Venus yclept, of all the Olympian crew 
 
 Least continent of Spirits and most fair. 
 
 So reap'd she honour of unwistful men, 
 
 Roman, or Greek, or dwellers on the plains 
 
 Of Egypt, or the isles to utmost Ind ; 
 
 Till came the crack of that tremendous Doom 
 
 That sent the false gods shivering from their seats, 
 
 Shatter'd the superstitious dome that blear'd 
 
 Heaven's face to man, and on the lurid world 
 
 Let in effulgence of untainted light. 
 
 As when, laid bare beneath the delver's toil 
 
 On some huge bulk of bimed masonry 
 
 In hoar Assyria, suddenly reveal 'd 
 
 A chamber, gay with sculpture and the pomp 
 
 Of pictur'd tracery on its glowing walls, 
 
 No sooner breathes the wholesome heavenly air 
 
 Than fast its colour'd bravery fades, and fall 
 
 Its ruin'd statues, crumbled from their crypts, 
 
 And all its gauds grow dark at sight of day ; 
 
 N
 
 178 JULIAN FANE. 
 
 So darken 'd and to dusty ruin fell 
 
 The fleeting glories of a Pagan faith, 
 
 Bared to Truth's influences bland, and smit 
 
 Blind by the splendours of the Bethlehem Dawn. 
 
 Then from their shatter'd temple in the minds 
 
 Of men, and from their long familiar homes, 
 
 Their altars, fanes, and shrines, the sumptuous seats 
 
 Of their mendacious oracles, out-slunk 
 
 The wantons of Olympus. Forth they fled, 
 
 Forth from Dodona, Delos, and the depths 
 
 Of wooded Ida ; from Athene forth, 
 
 Cithjeron, Paphos, Thebes, and all their groves 
 
 Of oak or poplar, dismally to roam 
 
 About the new-baptized earth ; exiled, 
 
 Bearing the curse, yet suffer'd for a space, 
 
 By Heaven's clear sapience and inscrutable ken, 
 
 To range the wide world, and assay their powers 
 
 To unregenerate redeem'd mankind : 
 
 If haply they by shadows and by shows, 
 
 Phantasmagoria, and illusions wrought 
 
 Of sight or sound by sorcery, may draw 
 
 Unwary men, or weak, into the nets 
 
 Of Satan their great Captain. She renown'd 
 
 ' The fairest,' fleeing from her Cyprian isle, 
 
 Swept to the northward many a league, and lodged 
 
 At length on Horsel, into whose dark womb 
 
 She crept confounded. Thither soon she drew 
 
 Lewd Spirits to herself, and there abides, 
 
 Holding her devilish orgies ; and has power 
 
 With siren voices crafty to compel 
 
 Into her wanton home unhappy men 
 
 Whose souls to sin are prone. The pure at heart 
 
 Natheless may roam about her pestilent hill 
 
 Untainted, proof against perfidious sounds 
 
 Within whose ears an angel ever sings
 
 Julian's part in tannhausee. 179 
 
 Good tidings of great joy. Nor even they, 
 
 Whose hearts are gross, and who inflamed with lust 
 
 Enter, entrapp'd by sorceries, to her cave, 
 
 Are damn'd beyond redemption. For a while, 
 
 Slaves of their bodies, in the sloughs of Sin 
 
 They roll contented, wallowing in the arms 
 
 Of their libidinous goddess. But, ere long, 
 
 Comes loathing of the sensual air they breathe, 
 
 Loathing of light unhallow'd, sickening sense 
 
 Of surfeited enjoyment ; and their lips, 
 
 Spurning the reeky pasture, yearn for draughts 
 
 Of rock-rebounding rills, their eyes for sight 
 
 Of Heaven, their limbs for length of dewy grass : 
 
 What time sharp Conscience pricks them, and awake 
 
 Starts the requicken'd soul with all her powers, 
 
 And breaks, if so she will, the murderous spell, 
 
 Calling on God. God to her rescue sends 
 
 Voiced seraphim that lead the sinner forth 
 
 From darkness unto day, from foul embrace 
 
 Of that bloat Queen into the mother-lap 
 
 Of Earth, and the caressent airs of heaven ; 
 
 Where he, by strong persistency of prayer, 
 
 By painful pilgrimage, by lengths of fast 
 
 That tame the rebel flesh, by many a night 
 
 Of vigil, days of deep repentant tears, 
 
 May cleanse his soul of her adulterate stains. 
 
 May from his sin-encrusted spirit shake 
 
 The leprous scales, — and, purely at the feet 
 
 Of his Redemption falling, may arise 
 
 Of Christ accepted. Whoso doubts the truth, 
 
 Doubting how deep divine Compassion is, 
 
 Lend to my tale a willing ear, and learn. 
 
 Full twenty summers have fled o'er the land, 
 A score of winters on our Landgrave's head 
 
 N 2
 
 180 JULIAN FANE. 
 
 Have shower 'd their snowy honours, since the days 
 "When in his court no nobler knight was known, 
 And in his halls no happier bard was heard, 
 Than bright Tannhiiuser. 
 
 The poem then, after describing the character 
 of Tannhiiuser, and the love felt for him by the 
 Princess Elizabeth, narrates his adventure with 
 Dame Venus ; the discovery and recognition of 
 him by Wolfram in the Wartburg Valley; the 
 love of Wolfram for Elizabeth ; Tannhauser's 
 acceptance of the Landgrave's invitation to the 
 combat of song ; the opening of this festival, and 
 the entrance of the minstrel knip-hts. The Land- 
 grave rises to address them : 
 
 a 
 
 ' well-beloved minstrels, in my mind 
 
 I do embrace you all, and heartily 
 
 Bid you a lavish welcome to these halls. 
 
 Oft have you flooded this fair space with song, 
 
 Waked these voiced walls, and vocal made yon roof, 
 
 As waves of surging music lapp'd against 
 
 Its resonant rafters. Often have your strains 
 
 Ennobled souls of true nobility, 
 
 Rapt by your perfect pleadings in the cause 
 
 Of all things pure unto a purer sense 
 
 Of their exceeding loveliness. No power 
 
 Is subtler o'er the spirit of man than Song — 
 
 Sweet echo of great thoughts, that, in the mind 
 
 Of him who hears congenial echoes waking,
 
 julian's tart in tannhauser. 181 
 
 Re-multiplies the praise of what is good. 
 
 Song cheers the emulous spirit to the top 
 
 Of Virtue's rugged steep, from whence, all heights 
 
 Of human worth attain'd, the mortal may 
 
 Conjecture of God's unattainable, 
 
 Which is Perfection. — Faith, with her sisters twain 
 
 Of Hope and Charity, ye oft have sung, 
 
 And loyal Truth have lauded, and have wreathed 
 
 A coronal of music round the brows 
 
 Of stainless Chastity ; nor less have praised 
 
 High-minded Valour, in whose righteous hand 
 
 Burns the great sword of flaming Fortitude, 
 
 And have stirr'd up to deeds of high emprize 
 
 Our noble knights (yourselves among the noblest) 
 
 Whether on German soil for me, their prince, 
 
 Fighting, or in the Land of Christ for God. 
 
 Sing ye to-day another theme ; to-day 
 
 Within our glad society we see, 
 
 To fellowship of loving friends restored, 
 
 A long-miss'd face ; and hungerly our ears 
 
 Wait the melodious murmurs of a harp 
 
 That wont to feed them daintily. What drew 
 
 Our singer forth, and led the fairest light 
 
 Of all our galaxy to swerve astray 
 
 From his fix'd orbit, and what now re-spheres, 
 
 After deflection long, our errant orb, 
 
 Implies a secret that the subtle power 
 
 Of Song, jterchance, may solve. Be then your theme 
 
 As universal as the heart of man, 
 
 Giving you scope to touch its deepest depths, 
 
 Its highest heights, and reverently to explore 
 
 Its mystery of mysteries. Sing of Love : 
 
 Tell us, ye noble poets, from what source 
 
 Springs the prime passion ; to what goal it tends ; 
 
 Sing it how brave, how beautiful, how bright,
 
 182 
 
 JULIAN FANE. 
 
 In essence how ethereal, in effect 
 
 How palpable, how human yet divine. 
 
 Up 1 up I loved singers, smite into the chords, 
 
 The lists are open'd, set your lays in rest, 
 
 And who of Love best chants the perfect praise, 
 
 Him shall Elizabeth as conqueror hail, 
 
 And round his royal temples bind the bays.' 
 
 He said, and sat. And from the middle-hall 
 
 Four pages, bearers of the blazon 'd urn 
 
 That held the name-scrolls of the listed bards, 
 
 Moved to Elizabeth. Daintily her hand 
 
 Dipp'd in the bowl, and one drawn scroll deliver'd 
 
 Back to the pages, who, perusing, cried : 
 
 ' Sir Wolfram of the Willow-brook, — begin.' 
 
 Up-rose the gentle singer — he whose lays, 
 Melodious-melancholy, through the Land 
 Live to this day — and, fair obeisance made, 
 Assumed his harp and stood in act to sing. 
 Awhile, his dreamy fingers o'er the chords 
 Wander'd at will, and to the roof was turn'd 
 His meditative face ; till, suddenly, 
 A soft light from his spiritual eyes 
 Broke, and his canticle he thus began : 
 
 ' Love among the saints of God, 
 
 Love within the hearts of men, 
 
 Love in every kindly sod 
 
 That breeds a violet in the glen ; 
 
 Love in heaven, and Love on earth, 
 
 Love in all the amorous air ; 
 
 Whence comes Love ? ah ! tell me where 
 
 Had such a gracious Presence birth ? 
 
 Lift thy thoughts to Him, all-knowing,
 
 JULIANS PART IN TANNHAUSER. IS 3 
 
 In the hallow 'd courts above ; 
 
 From His throne, for ever flowing, 
 
 Springs the fountain of all Love : 
 
 Down to earth the stream descending 
 
 Meets the hills, and murmurs then, 
 
 In a myriad channels wending, 
 
 Through the happy haunts of men. 
 
 Blessed ye, earth's sons and daughters, 
 
 Love among you flowing free ; 
 
 Guard, oh ! guard its sacred waters, 
 
 Tend on them religiously : 
 
 Let them through 3 T our hearts steal sweetly, 
 
 "With the Spirit, wise and bland, 
 
 Minister unto them meetly, 
 
 Touch them not with carnal hand. 
 
 ' Maiden, fashion'd so divinely, 
 Whom I worship from afar, 
 Smile thou on my soul benignly, 
 Sweet, my solitary star : 
 Gentle harbinger of gladness, 
 Still be with me on the way ; 
 Only soother of my sadness, 
 Always near, though far away : 
 Always near, since first upon me 
 Fell thy brightness from above, 
 And my troubled heart within me 
 Felt the sudden flow of Love ; 
 At thy sight that gushing river 
 Paused, and fell to perfect rest, 
 And the pool of Love for ever 
 Took thy image to its breast. 
 
 ' Let me keep my passion purely, 
 Guard its waters free from blame,
 
 184 JULIAN FANE. 
 
 Hallow Love, as knowing surely 
 It returneth whence it came ; 
 From all channels, good or evil, 
 Love, to its pure source enticed, 
 Finds its own immortal level 
 In the charity of Christ. 
 
 i 
 
 ' Ye who hear, behold the river, 
 Whence it cometh, whither goes ; 
 Glory be to God, the Giver, 
 From whose grace the fountain flows ; 
 Flows and spreads through all creation, 
 Covmter-charm of every curse, 
 Love, the waters of Salvation, 
 Flowing through the universe ! ' 
 
 And still the rapt bard, though his voice had ceased, 
 And all the Hall had murmur'd into praise, 
 Pursued his plaintive theme among the chords, 
 Blending with instinct fine the intricate throng 
 Of thoughts that flow'd beneath his touch to find 
 Harmonious resolution. As he closed, 
 Tannhauser rising, fretted with delay, 
 Sent flying fingers o'er the strings, and sang : 
 
 ' Love be my theme ! Sing her awake, 
 My harp, for she hath tamely slept 
 In Wolfram's song, a stagnant lake 
 O'er which a shivering star hath crept. 
 
 ' Awake, dull waters, from your sleep, 
 Rise, Love, from thy delicious well, 
 A fountain ! — yea, but flowing deep 
 With nectar and with hydromel ;
 
 julian's paet in tannhausee. 185 
 
 ' With gurgling murmurs sweet, that teach 
 My soul a sleep-distracting dream, 
 Till on the marge I lie, and reach 
 My longing lips towards the stream ; 
 
 1 Whose waves leap upwards to the brink, 
 With drowning kisses to invite 
 And drag me, willing, down to drink 
 Delirious draughts of rare Delight ; 
 
 ' Who careless drink, as knowing well 
 The happy pastime shall not tire, 
 For Love is inexhaustible, 
 And all-unfailing my Desire. 
 
 * Love's fountain-marge is fairly spread 
 With every incense-flower that blows, 
 With flossy sedge, and moss that grows 
 For fervid limbs a dewy bed ; 
 
 ' And fays and fairies flit and wend 
 To keep the sweet stream flowing free, 
 And on Love's languid votary 
 The little elves delighted tend ; 
 
 ' And bring him honey-dews to sip, 
 Rare balms to cool him after play, 
 Or with sweet unguents smooth away 
 The kiss-crease on his ruffled lip ; 
 
 ' And lilywhite his limbs they lave, 
 And roses in his cheeks renew, 
 That he, refresh'd, return to glue 
 His lips to Love's caressent wave ;
 
 186 JULIAN FANE. 
 
 ' And feel, in that immortal kiss, 
 His mortal instincts die the death, 
 And human fancy fade beneath 
 The taste of unimagined bliss ! 
 
 ' Thus, gentle audience, since your ear 
 Best loves a metaphoric lay, 
 Of mighty Love I warble here 
 In figures, such as Fancy may : 
 
 ' Now know ye how of Love I think 
 As of a fountain, failing never, 
 On whose soft marge I lie, and drink 
 Delicious draughts of Joy for ever.' 
 
 Abrupt he ceased, and sat. And for a space, 
 No longer than the subtle lightning rests 
 Upon a sultry cloud at eventide, 
 The Princess smiled, and on her parted lips 
 Hung inarticulate applause ; but she 
 Sudden was ware that all the hall was mute 
 With blank disapprobation ; and her smile 
 Died, and vague fear was quicken'd in her heart 
 As Walter of the Heron-chase began : 
 
 ' fountain ever fair and bright, 
 He hath beheld thee, source of Love, 
 Who sung thee springing from above, 
 Celestial from the founts of Light ; 
 
 ' But he who from thy waters rare 
 Hath thought to drain a gross delight, 
 Blind in his spiritual sight, 
 Hath ne'er beheld thee, fountain fair !
 
 julian's paet in tannhausee. 187 
 
 ' Hatli never seen the silver glow 
 Of thy glad waves, crystalline clear, 
 Hath never heard within his ear 
 The music of thy murmurous flow. 
 
 ' The essence of all Good thou art, 
 Thy waters are immortal Euth, 
 Thy murmurs are the voice of Truth, 
 And music in the human heart : 
 
 ' Thou yieldest Faith that soars on high, 
 And Sympathy that dwells on earth ; 
 The tender trust in human woith, 
 The hope that lives beyond the sky. 
 
 ' waters of the living Word, 
 fair vouchsafed us from above, 
 fountain of immortal Love 
 What song of thee erewhile I heard I 
 
 ' Learn, sacrilegious bard, from me 
 How all ignoble was thy strain, 
 That sought with trivial song to stain 
 The fountain of Love's purity ; 
 
 ' That fountain thou hast never found, 
 And shouldst thou come with lips of fire 
 To slake the thirst of brute Desire, 
 
 Twould shrink and shrivel to the ground 
 
 a 1 
 
 1 Who seeks in Love's pure stream to lave 
 His gross heart finds damnation near ; 
 Who laves in Love his spirit clear 
 Shall win Salvation from the wave/
 
 188 JULIAN FANE. 
 
 And now again, as when the plaintive lay 
 Of Wolfram warbled to harmonious close, 
 The crowd grew glad with plaudits ; and again 
 Tannhauser, ruffled, rose his height, and smote 
 Rude in the chords his prelude of reply : 
 
 ' What Love is this that melts with Ruth, 
 
 Whose murmurs are the voice of Truth ? 
 
 Ye dazed singers, cease to dream, 
 
 And learn of me your human theme : 
 
 Of that great Passion at whose feet 
 
 The vassal-world lies low, 
 
 Of Love the mighty, Love the sweet, 
 
 I sing, who reigns below ; 
 
 Who makes men fierce, tame, wild, or kind, 
 
 Sovran of every mood, 
 
 Who rules the heart, and rules the mind, 
 
 And courses through the blood : 
 
 Slave, of that lavish Power I sing, 
 
 Dispenser of all good, 
 
 Whose pleasure-fountain is the spring 
 
 Of sole beatitude. 
 
 ' Sing ye of Love ye ne'er possess'd 
 In wretched tropes — a vain employment ! 
 I sing the passion in my breast, 
 And know Love only in Enjoyment.' 
 
 To whom, while all the rustling hall was moved 
 With stormy indignation, stern up-rose, 
 Sharp in retort, Sir Wilfrid of the hills : 
 
 ' Up, minstrels ! rally to the cry 
 Of outraged Love and Loyalty ;
 
 JULIAN S PART IN TANNHAUSER. 
 
 189 
 
 Drive on this slanderer, all the throng-, 
 And slay him in a storm of song-. 
 Oh lecher ! shall I sing to thee 
 Of Love's untainted purity, 
 Of simple Faith, and tender Ruth, 
 Of Chastity and loyal Truth ? 
 As well sing Day's resplendent birth 
 To the blind mole that delves the earth 
 As seek from gross hearts, slough' d in sin, 
 Approval of pure Love to win ! 
 Rather from thee I'll wring applause 
 For Love, the Avenger of his cause ; 
 Great Love, the chivalrous and strong, 
 To whose wide grasp all arms belong, 
 The lance, the battle-axe, and thong, — 
 And eke the mastery in song. 
 
 ' Love in my heart in all the pride 
 Of knighthood sits, and at his side, 
 To do the bidding of his lord, 
 Martial Valour holds the sword ; 
 He strikes for Honour, in the name 
 Of Virtue and fair woman's fame, 
 And bids me shed my dearest blood 
 To venge aspersed maidenhood : 
 Who soils her with licentious lie, 
 Him will I hew both hip and thigh, 
 Or in her cause will dearly die. 
 But thou, who in thy flasby song 
 Hast sought to do all Honour wrong, 
 Pass on, — I will not stoop my crest 
 To smite thee, nor lay lance in rest. 
 Thy brawling words, of riot born, 
 Are worthy only of my scorn ; 
 Thus at thy ears this song I fling,
 
 190 JULIAN FANE. 
 
 Which in thy heart may plant its sting, 
 If rain'd Conscience yet may wring 
 Remorse from such a guilty thing.' 
 
 Scarce from his lips had parted the last word 
 When, through the rapturous praise that rang around, 
 Fierce from his seat up-rising, red with rage, 
 With scornful lip, and contumelious eye, 
 Tannhauser clang'd among the chords, and sang : 
 
 ' Floutest thou me, thou grisly Bard ? 
 
 Beware, lest I the just reward 
 
 On thy puff d insolence bestow, 
 
 And cleave thee with my falchion's blow, — 
 
 When I in song have laid thee low. 
 
 I serve a Mistress mightier far 
 
 Than tinkling rill, or twinkling star, 
 
 And, as in my great Passion's glow 
 
 Thy passion-dream will melt like snow, 
 
 So I, Love's champion, at her call, 
 
 Will make thee shrink in field or hall, 
 
 And roll before me like a ball. 
 
 ' Thou pauper-minded pedant dim, 
 
 Thou starveling-soul, lean heart and grim, 
 
 Wouldst thou of Love the praises hymn ? 
 
 Then let the gaunt hyena howl 
 
 In praise of Pity ; let the owl 
 
 Whoop the high glories of the noon, 
 
 And the hoarse chough becroak the moon ! 
 
 What canst thou prate of Love ? I trow 
 
 She never graced thy open brow, 
 
 Nor flush'd thy cheek, nor blossom'd fair 
 
 Upon thy parted lips ; nor e'er 
 
 Bade unpent passion wildly start
 
 Julian's part in tannhauser. 191 
 
 Through the forced portals of thy heart 
 To stream in triumph from thine eye, 
 Or else delicious death to die 
 On other lips, in sigh on sigh. 
 
 ' Of Love, dispenser of all bliss, 
 Of Love, that crowns me with a kiss, 
 I here proclaim me champion-knight ; 
 And in her cause will dearly fight 
 With sword or song, in hall or plain, 
 And make the welkin ring again 
 "With my fierce blows, or fervent strain. 
 But for such Love, as thou canst feel, 
 Thou wisely hast abjured the steel, 
 Averse to lay thy hand on hilt, 
 Or in her honour ride a tilt : 
 Tame Love, full tamely may'st thou jilt, 
 And keep bone whole, and blood unspilt.' 
 
 Outflash'd Sir "Wilfrid's weapon, and outleapt 
 
 From every angry eye a thousand darts 
 
 Of unsheath'd indignation, and a shout 
 
 Went up among the rafters, and the Hall 
 
 Sway'd to and fro with tumult ; till the voice 
 
 Of our liege lord roared ' Peace ! ' and, 'midst the clang 
 
 Of those who parted the incensed bards, 
 
 Sounded the harp of Wolfram. Calm he stood, 
 
 He only calm of all the brawling crowd, 
 
 "Which yet, as is its wont, contagion caught 
 
 From neighbouring nobleness, and a stillness fell 
 
 On all, and in the stillness soft he sang : 
 
 ' Oh ! from your sacred seats look down, 
 Angels and ministers of good ; 
 With sanctity our spirits crown, 
 And crush the vices of the blood I
 
 192 
 
 JULIAN FANE. 
 
 
 ' Open oiu 1 heai-ts and set them free, 
 
 
 That heavenly light may enter in ; 
 
 
 And from this fair society 
 
 
 Obliterate the taint of sin. 
 
 ' Thee, holy Love, I bid arise 
 Propitious to my votive lay ; 
 Shine thou upon our darken'd eyes, 
 And lead us on the perfect way ; 
 
 ' As, in the likeness of a Star, 
 Thou once arosest, guidance meet, 
 And led'st the sages from afar 
 To sit at holy Jesu's feet : 
 
 ' So guide us, safe from Satan's snares, 
 Shine out, sweet Star, around, above, 
 Till we have scaled the mighty stairs, 
 And reach'd thy mansions, Heavenly Love ! ' 
 
 Then, while great shouts went up of ' Give the prize 
 To Wolfram,' leapt Tannhauser from his seat, 
 Fierce passion flaming from his lustrous orbs. 
 And, as a sinner, desperate to add 
 Depth to damnation by one latest crime, 
 Dies boastful of his blasphemies — even so, 
 Tannhauser, conscious of the last disgrace 
 Incurr'd by such song in such company, 
 Intent to vaunt the vastness of his sin, 
 Thus, as in ecstacy, the song renew'd : 
 
 ' Goddess of Beauty, thee I hymn, 
 And ever worship at thy shrine ; 
 Thou, who on mortal senses dim 
 Descending, makest man divine.
 
 julian's tart in tanxiiausee. 193 
 
 ' Who hath embraced thee on thy throne, 
 And pastured on thy royal kiss, 
 He, happy, knows, and knows alone, 
 Love's full beatitude of bliss. 
 
 1 Grim bards, of Love who nothing know, 
 Now cease the unequal strife between us ; 
 Dare as I dared ; to Horsel go, 
 And taste Love on the lips of Venus.' 
 
 Here the dames and demozels, much scandal- 
 ized, hurry out of the hall — except the Princess ; 
 who remains, overwhelmed. The indignation of 
 the Knio-hts and Barons becomes tumultuous. 
 The Landgrave refers the case to their judgment. 
 They pronounce sentence of death. Elizabeth 
 expostulates, and intercedes for the life of Tann- 
 hauser. She is supported by Wolfram. Tann- 
 hauser is banished, under stringent prohibition to 
 reappear in the respectable and orthodox society 
 whose decorum he has so grievously outraged, 
 until after having obtained (if that be possible) 
 absolution from the Holy Father for his profligate 
 commerce with Dame Venus. At that moment 
 a company of Pilgrims on their way to Rome pass 
 under the castle walls. Their chaunt is heard by 
 Tannhiiuser, and, suddenly contrite and hopeful,
 
 194 JULIAN FANE. 
 
 with a grateful glance at the Princess, he rushes 
 out and joins the penitents in their pilgrimage to 
 the Holy City. Here the narrative is resumed 
 by Julian Fane, with a description of the sensa- 
 tions of Elizabeth by a simile which would not 
 pirhaps have been disdained by Milton, if the 
 theory of rotatory storms had been known in the 
 days of the Commonwealth. 
 
 As when the buffeting gusts, that adverse blow 
 
 Over the Caribbean Sea, conspire 
 
 Conflicting breaths, and, savagely begot, 
 
 The fierce tornado rotatory wheels, 
 
 Or sweeps centripetal, or, all forces join'd, 
 
 Whirls circling o'er the madden 'd waves, and they 
 
 Lift up their foaming backs beneath the keel 
 
 Of some frail vessel, and, careering high 
 
 Over a sunken rock, with a sudden plunge 
 
 Confound her, — stunn'd and strain'd, upon the peak 
 
 Poising one moment, ere she forward fall 
 
 To float, dishelm'd, a wreck upon the waves : 
 
 So rose, engender' d by what furious blasts 
 
 Of passion, that fell hurricane that swept 
 
 Elizabeth to her doom, and left her now 
 
 A helmless hull upon the savage seas 
 
 Of life, without an aim, to float forlorn. 
 
 Longwhile, still shuddering from the shock that jarr'd 
 The bases of her being, piteous wreck 
 Of ruin'd hopes, upon her couch she lay, 
 Of life and time oblivious ; all her mind
 
 julian's part in tannhauser. 185 
 
 Lock'd in a rigid agony of grief, 
 Clasping-, convulsed, its unwept woe ; her heart 
 Whelni'd in mute miseiy ; and her burthen'd brain 
 Blind with the weight of tears that would not flow. 
 But when, at last, the healing hand of Time 
 Had wrought repair upon her shatter'd frame ; 
 And those unskilTd physicians of the mind — 
 Importunate, fond friends, a host of kin — 
 Drew her perforce from solitude, she pass'd 
 Back to the world, and walk'd its weary ways 
 With dull mechanic motions, such as make 
 A mockery of life. Yet gave she never, 
 By weeping or by wailing, outward sign 
 Of that great inward agony that she bore ; 
 For she was not of those whose sternest sorrow 
 Outpours in plaints, or weeps itself in dew ; 
 Not passionate she, nor of the happy souls 
 Whose grief comes temper'd with the gift of tears. 
 
 So, through long weeks and many a weary moon, 
 Silent and self-involved, without a sigh, 
 She suffer'd. There, whence consolatiou comes, 
 She sought it — at the foot of Jesu's cross, 
 And on the bosom of the Virgin-spouse, 
 And in communion with the blessed Saints. 
 But chief for him she pray'd whose grievous sin 
 Had wrought her desolation ; God besought 
 To touch the leprous soul and make it clean ; 
 And sued the Heavenly Pastor to recall 
 The lost sheep, wander'd from the pleasant ways, 
 Back to the pasture of the paths of peace. 
 So thrice a day, what time the blushing morn 
 Crimson'd the orient sky, and when the sun 
 Glared from mid-heaven, or swelter'd in the west, 
 Fervent she pray'd ; nor in the night forewent 
 
 o 2
 
 19G JULIAN FANE. 
 
 Her vigils ; till at last from prayer she drew 
 
 A calm into her soul, and in that calm 
 
 Heard a low whisper — like the breeze that breaks 
 
 The deep peace of the forest ere the chirp 
 
 Of earliest bird salutes the advent Day — 
 
 Thrill through her, herald of the dawn of Hope. 
 
 Then most she loved from forth her leafy tower 
 Listless to watch the irrevocable clouds 
 Roll on, and daylight waste itself away 
 Along those dreaming woods, whence, evermore 
 She mused, ' He will return ; ' and fondly wove 
 Her webs of wistful fantasy till the moon 
 Was high in heaven, and in its light she kneel'd 
 A faded watcher through the weary night, 
 A meek, sweet statue at the silver shrines, 
 In deep, perpetual prayer for him she loved. 
 
 And from the pitying Sisterhood of Saints 
 Haply that prayer shall win an angel down 
 To be his unseen minister, and draw 
 A drowning conscience from the deeps of Hell. 
 
 Time ptrt his sickle in among the days. 
 
 Blithe Summer came, and into dimples danced 
 
 The fair and fructifying Earth, anon 
 
 Showering the gather'd guerdon of her play 
 
 Into the lap of Autumn ; Autumn stored 
 
 The gift, piled ready to the palsied hand 
 
 Of blind and begging Winter ; and when he 
 
 Closed his well-provender 'd days, Spring lightly came 
 
 And scatter'd sweets upon his sullen grave. 
 
 And twice the seasons pass'd, the sisters three 
 
 Doing glad service for their hoary brother, 
 
 And twice twelve moons had wax'd and waned, and twice
 
 julian's part in tannhauser. 197 
 
 The weary world had pilgrhn'd round the sun, 
 When from the outskirts of the land there came 
 Rumour of footsore penitents from Rome 
 Returning-, jubilant of remitted sin. 
 
 So chanced it, on a silent April eve 
 The westering sun along the Wartburg vale 
 Shot level beams, and into glory touch'd 
 The image of Madonna — where it stands 
 Hard by the common way that climbs the steep — 
 The image of Madonna, and the face 
 Of meek Elizabeth turn'd towards the Queen 
 Of Sorrows, sorrowful in patient prayer ; 
 When, through the silence and the sleepy leaves, 
 A breeze blew up the vale, and on the breeze 
 Floated a plaintive music. She that heard, 
 Trembled ; the prayer upon her parted lips 
 Suspended hung, and one swift hand she press'd 
 Against the palpitating heart whose throbs 
 Confused the cunning of her ears. Ah God ! 
 Was this the voice of her returning joy ? 
 The psalni of shriven pilgrims to their homes 
 Returning ? Ay ! it swells upon the breeze, 
 The ' Nwnc Dimittis ' of glad souls that sue 
 After salvation seen to part in peace. 
 Then up she sprung, and to a neighbouring copse 
 Swift as a startled hind, when the ghostly moon 
 Draws sudden o'er the silver'd heather-bells 
 The monstrous shadow of a cloud, she sped ; 
 Pausing, low-crouch'd, within a maze of shrubs, 
 Whose emerald slivers fringed the rugged way 
 So broad, the pilgrim's garments as they passed 
 Would brush the leaves that hid her. And anon 
 They came in double rank, and two by two, 
 With cumber'd steps, with wavering gait that told
 
 198 JULIAN FANE. 
 
 Of bodily toil and trouble, with, besoil'd 
 
 And tatter'd garments ; natheless with, glad eyes, 
 
 "Whence look'd the soul disburthen'd of her sin, 
 
 Climbing the rude path, two by two they came. 
 
 And she, that watch'd with what intensest gaze 
 
 Them coming, saw old faces that she knew, 
 
 And every face turn'd skywards, while the lips 
 
 Pour'd out the heavenly psalm, and every soul 
 
 Sitting seraphic in the upturn'd eyes 
 
 With holy fervour rapt upon the song. 
 
 And still they came and pass'd, and still she gazed ; 
 
 And still she thought, ' Now comes he ! ' and the chant 
 
 Went heavenwards, and the filed pilgrims fared 
 
 Beside her, till their tale well-nigh was told. 
 
 Then o'er her soul a shuddering horror crept, 
 
 And, in that agony of mind that makes 
 
 Doubt more intolerable than despair, 
 
 With sudden hand she brush'd aside the sprays, 
 
 And from the thicket lean'd and look'd. The last 
 
 Of all the pilgrims stood within the ken 
 
 Of her keen gaze — save him all scann'd, and he 
 
 No sooner scann'd than cancell'd from her eyes 
 
 By vivid lids swept down to lash away 
 
 Him hateful, being other than she sought. 
 
 So for a space, blind with dismay, she paused, 
 
 But, he approaching, from the thicket leapt, 
 
 Clutch'd with wrung hands his robe, and gasp'd, ' The knight 
 
 That with you went, returns not ? ' In his psalm 
 
 The fervid pilgrim made no pause, yet gazed 
 
 At his wild questioner, intelligent 
 
 Of her demand, and shook his head and pass'd. 
 
 Then she, with that mute answer stabb'd to the heart, 
 
 Sprung forward, clutch'd him yet once more, and cried, 
 
 ' In Mary's name, and in the name of God, 
 
 Received the knight his shrift ? ' And, once again,
 
 Julian's pakt in tannhauser. 199 
 
 The pilgrim, sorrowful, shook his head and sigh'd, 
 Sigh'd in the singing of his psalm, and pass'd. 
 
 Then prone she fell upon her face, and prone 
 Within her mind Hope's shatter'd fabric fell — 
 The dear and delicate fabric of frail Hope 
 Wrought by the simple cunning of her thoughts, 
 That, labouring long, through many a dreamy day 
 And many a vigil of the wakefid night, 
 Piecemeal had rear'd it, patiently, with pain, 
 From out the ruins of her ancient peace. 
 0, ancient Peace ! that never shall return ; 
 0, ruin'd Hope ! 0, Fancy ! over-fond, 
 Futile artificer that build'st on air, 
 Marr'd is thy handiwork, and thou shalt please 
 With plastic fantasies her soul no more. 
 
 So lay she cold against the callous ground^ 
 Her pale face pillow 'd on a stone, her eyes 
 Wide open, fix'd into a ghastly stare 
 That knew no speculation ; for her mind 
 Was dark, and all her faculty of thought 
 Compassionately cancell'd. But she lay 
 Not in the embrace of loyal Death, who keeps 
 His bride for ever, but in treacherous arms 
 Of Sleep that, sated, w r ill restore to Grief 
 Her, snatch'd a sweet space from his cruel clutch. 
 So lay she cold against the callous ground, 
 And none was near to heed her, as the sun, 
 About him drawing the vast-skirted clouds, 
 Went down behind the western hill to die. 
 
 Now Wolfram, when the rumour reach'd his ears 
 That, from their quest of saving grace retum'd, 
 The pilgrims all within the castle court
 
 200 JULIAN FANE. 
 
 Were gather'd, flock'd about by happy friends, 
 
 Pass'd from his portal swiftly, and ran out 
 
 And join'd the clustering crowd. Full many a face, 
 
 Wasted and wan, he recogniz'd, and clasp'd 
 
 Full many a lean hand clutching at his own, 
 
 Of those who, stretch'd upon the grass, or propp' d 
 
 Against the boulder-stones, were press'd about 
 
 By weeping women, clamorous to unbind 
 
 Their sandal-thongs and bathe the bruised feet. 
 
 Then up and down, and swiftly through and through, 
 
 And round about, skirting the crowd, he hm-ried, 
 
 With greetings fair to all ; till, fill'd with fear, 
 
 Half -hopeless of his quest, yet harbouring hope, 
 
 He paused perplex'd beside the castle gates. 
 
 There, at his side, the youngest of the train, 
 
 A blue-eyed pilgrim tarried, and to him 
 
 Turn'd Wolfram questioning of Tannhauser's fate ; 
 
 And learnt in few words how, his sin pronounced 
 
 Deadly and irremediable, the knight 
 
 Had faded from before the awful face 
 
 Of Christ's incensed Vicar ; and none knew 
 
 Whither he wander'd, to what desolate lands, 
 
 Hiding his anguish from the eyes of men. 
 
 Then Wolfram groan 'd, and clasp'd his hands, and cried 
 
 ' Merciful God ! ' and fell upon his knees 
 
 In purpose as of prayer — but, suddenly, 
 
 About the gate the crowd moved, and a cry 
 
 Went up for space, when, rising, he beheld 
 
 Four maids who on a pallet bore the form 
 
 Of wan Elizabeth. The whisper grew 
 
 That she had met the pilgrims, and had learn'd 
 
 Tannhauser's fate, and fall'n beside the way. 
 
 And Wolfram, in the ghastly torchlight, saw 
 
 The white face of the Princess turn'd to his, 
 
 And for a space their eyes met ; then she raised
 
 CLOSE OF THE POEM. 201 
 
 One hand towards Heaven, and smiled as who should say, 
 
 ' O friend, I journey unto God ; farewell ! ' 
 
 But he could answer nothing- ; for his eyes 
 
 Were blinded by his tears, and through his tears 
 
 Dimly, as in a dream, he saw her borne 
 
 Up the broad granite steps that wind within 
 
 The palace ; and his inner eye, entranced, 
 
 Saw in a vision four great Angels stand, 
 
 Expectant of her spirit, at the foot 
 
 Of flights of blinding brilliancy of stairs 
 
 Innumerable, that through the riven skies 
 
 Scaled to the City of the Saints of God. 
 
 Then, when thick night fell on his soul, and all 
 
 The vision fled, he solitary stood 
 
 A crazed man within the castle-court ; 
 
 Whence issuing, with wild eyes and wandering gait, 
 
 He through the darkness, groaning, pass'd away. 
 
 The handiwork of Julian Fane does not go 
 beyond the end of this passage : and the rest of 
 the poem need hardly he described, as it simply 
 follows the well-known legend which narrates 
 how the ^ood knisjht Tannhauser is refused 
 absolution until the withered staff upon which 
 it would seem that, even in the most flourishing 
 period of the Papacy, the Holy Father was in the 
 habit of leaning for support, shall have blossomed 
 into leaf ; how the good knight returns a broken- 
 hearted man, and dies ; and how a messenger
 
 202 JULIAN FANE. 
 
 then arrives from Rome, reporting that a miracle 
 has occurred (too late) in his favour, and that the 
 Pope's withered staff has put forth leaves. 
 
 But this poem is (for the reasons already 
 stated) no fair or adequate specimen of Julian 
 Fane's poetic faculty at the time when it was 
 written. Amongst others which he composed 
 during that period of his life, there are some 
 which I esteem myself fortunate in being able 
 to rescue from the oblivion to which his own 
 modesty would perhaps have consigned them 
 had his life been prolonged. These fully justify 
 the opinion expressed by Mr. Elwin, that Julian 
 Fane "would have stamped his mind on his 
 writings, if his profession had not absorbed the 
 pick of his day." I am persuaded that every 
 competent judge of an extremely difficult, and 
 rarely successful form of verse, will immediately 
 recognize in them not only merit of a high order, 
 but ample evidence of an original faculty which, 
 had he lived to cultivate it in the leisure of his 
 later life, might have enriched the literature he 
 so reverently loved, and so assiduously studied. 
 
 The sonnet, of all forms of verse, lends itself
 
 SONNET-WRITING. 203 
 
 most readily to the use of those who desire to 
 give to a commonplace sentiment the force of an 
 original utterance, and to invest a comparatively 
 small amount of thought with a very large 
 amount of aesthetic effect. But, for this very 
 reason, it is a form of verse which most severely 
 tests the art of the poet. It admits of no medio- 
 crity. It must be written with the fist instead 
 of the finger ; and yet with a delicacy of manipu- 
 lation of which none but the finest and most 
 skilful finger is capable. The number of those 
 poets who have succeeded in the composition of 
 it is exceedingly small, belonging to the first 
 rank only ; and even here the differences are 
 great. Masterly as are the sonnets of Milton, 
 Wordsworth, or Keats, those of Shakespeare have 
 a peculiar poetical physiology which places them 
 quite apart, constituting a separate group, related 
 to, but essentially differing from, all the others. 
 Turning away from the more ordinary form, 
 Julian Fane went back to this of Shakespeare ; he 
 loved and studied Shakespeare's sonnets till he 
 became saturated with the spirit of them ; and 
 the following series, written by him after his
 
 201 JULIAN FANE. 
 
 splendid model, mark an astonishing progess in 
 the development of his poetic faculty, when we 
 compare them with the selections from his early 
 poems which are printed in a preceding chapter 
 of this Memoir. They will usher in appropriately 
 those later and yet finer examples of the same 
 form to which a special reference has been 
 already made. 
 
 SONNETS. 
 
 If ever I, whose jealous care is bent 
 
 To guard thine eyes from taint of any tear, 
 
 To keep the current of thy calm content 
 
 Fair-flowing, and of every trouble clear — 
 
 If ever I, by language or by look, 
 
 By seeming slight of a discursive eye, 
 
 By heedless words for heedful speech mistook, 
 
 Or thought conjectured in a thoughtless sigh, 
 
 Have yielded thee but briefest taste, dear heart, 
 
 Of Love's sharp doubt whereon I daily feed, 
 
 I wronged myself most— lending thee that smart 
 
 From which to guard thee is my chief est heed. 
 
 Oh ! who that feels Love's fangs but must delight 
 To save the soul he loves from Love's despite.
 
 UNPUBLISHED SONNETS. 205 
 
 ii. 
 
 When in dark hours my wakeful thoughts do sum 
 The tears and troubles of a parted day, 
 Or else of pale Calamity to come 
 Conjecture the faint features with dismay — 
 Life seems so full of anger and of scorn, 
 So scant of pleasure, prodigal of pain, 
 That I would flee the wrathful fates unborn 
 And turn me to my Mother-Earth again : 
 To die were sweet, to lose Love's lasting sadness, 
 But sad it were to lose Love's seldom sweet ; 
 Love deals a death for every hour of gladness 
 But quickens that he tramples under feet : 
 
 Oh ! Love, 'tis dying — with thee to draw breath, 
 To die without thee were a double death. 
 
 in. 
 
 Where thy kind looks enkindle the bright air, 
 And every flower smells better for thy breath, 
 How sweet seems Life, how amiable, fair ! 
 And, oh how fierce the armed Terror, Death : 
 But when thy face, as sometimes Summer's pride 
 Is rack'd with clouds and lash'd with pitiless rain, 
 Lets all its fairness in a frown subside, 
 And all its Love grows shrouded in disdain — 
 Then would I flee — since most unkind thou art — 
 From Life — a Fury frenzied with despair, 
 To Death, young Death, not armed with any dart, 
 But crowned with poppies, who is mild and fair -. 
 
 Enchantress ! at the changing of whose breath 
 Dear Life grows hateful,— lovely, loathsome Death.
 
 20G JULIAN FANE. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Fain would I flee, when thou unkindest art, 
 
 From Life — a Fury, frenzied with despair, 
 
 To Death, young Death, not armed with any dart, 
 
 But crowned with poppies, who is mild and fair : 
 
 But when, by late remorsef ulness subdued, 
 
 Thou look'st contrition on some graceless deed, 
 
 And, all with sweet submissive tears bedewed, 
 
 Thy penitential eyes for pardon plead — 
 
 Then, while thy kind looks kindle the bright air, 
 
 And purple earth with paradisal blooms, 
 
 Life, changed to Loveliness, looks mild and fair, 
 
 And Death, grown terrible, his dart resumes : 
 
 What can I name thee but Enchantress still, 
 Who Life and Death dost beautify at will ? 
 
 What could he do, the faint and fluttering bird 
 
 Thou boldest in the hollow of thy hand, 
 
 If, to some freak of sudden frenzy stirr'd, 
 
 Thou dashed'st him to earth where thou dost stand ? 
 
 Nay, if the wildness of a wanton whim 
 
 Should prompt thy barbarous hand to score his eyes, 
 
 Or shed the plumage from each shuddering limb, 
 
 What could the little captive with his cries ? 
 
 He might not save himself by brittle beak 
 
 Nor tiny talons in tby palm incised ; 
 
 And if, unloved, he loved thee, and could speak, 
 
 Oh, what would profit him a plaint despised ? 
 
 Since, tortured, helpless, and unloved, as he, 
 I plead for pity, and find none in thee.
 
 UNPUBLISHED SONNETS. 207 
 
 VI. 
 
 Can I esteem thee base and love thee well, 
 And love thee base nor lose my self-esteem ? 
 When most my thoughts on thy demerits dwell 
 I strive to think they are not what they seem : 
 Thy falsehood is the unflattery of truth, 
 And thy disloyalty is faith belied, 
 Thy lack of charity is slandered ruth, 
 Thy coldness modesty mistook for pride ; 
 Thy miscalled scorn is like disdain no whit, 
 Nor thy dissemblance semblative of fraud — 
 They do but seem so to a forward wit 
 That loves not, even whom it loves to laud : 
 
 Thy merits only do I judge aright, 
 
 Thy faults are failings born of my despite. 
 
 vir. 
 
 Oh ! thro' what spell do I subserve a power 
 By forceful fraud usurped upon my soul, 
 And, once so proud to rise, now prone to lour, 
 Do hug oppression that did hate controul, 
 And both afflictions and affronts sustain 
 Nor yet rebel against my wretched state, 
 I that have scorned the scorn of Pride's disdain 
 And never bowed before the frown of Fate, 
 But held my front to whatsoever woes 
 And 'gainst beleaguering ills have stood at bay, 
 Have blow for blow requited on my foes 
 And borne me like a man in Fortune's fray ? 
 
 Love, that unmans me, — knows my bated cheer 
 And the blind bully flouts me without fear.
 
 20S 
 
 JULIAN FANE. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 'Tis true, I have misused thee in my speech 
 By seldom speaking what I oft forebore ; 
 The truant tongue sometimes will over-reach 
 Prudence that watches at his prison door ; 
 And sometimes Pride will overbear and break 
 The laws by Patience for his check designed, 
 And will assault Love's loyalty and make 
 A chaos in the kingdom of the mind ; 
 Then in wild insurrectionary rout 
 Against thee will my rabble thoughts rebel, 
 And long-gagged Indignation will cry out, 
 And Grief her tocsin in thy ears will knell : 
 
 Till Love, thy regent, doth the rout refute, 
 
 And slavish thought and servile tongue grow mute. 
 
 IX. 
 
 As one who, conscious of an enemy's eye, 
 
 But loth to look his foeman in the face, 
 
 "With strait regards peruseth earth or sky, 
 
 Shunning disaster for a little space ; 
 
 So outward turns my mind its strenuous glance, 
 
 Fearing to front a thought that dwells within — 
 
 So from my judgment looks my heart askance, 
 
 Seeking from wrath a brief reprieve to win : 
 
 For still 'tis sweet— how sweet a boon of grace, 
 
 Sad heart that shudderest at thy doom, declare — 
 
 Yet for one hour to shun the accursed face 
 
 Of thought that shows her foul who seems so fair : 
 
 Dear respite of the doom that comes, I know, 
 When Love in Thought discerns his deadly foe. 

 
 UNPUBLISHED POEM. 209 
 
 This series was never completed. Here is 
 another poem, elated October, 1865. 
 
 OAK AND FERN. 
 
 " See now, this fern, cut near the root, reveals 
 The semblance of an oak enfibred there. " 
 
 Old Play. 
 
 Bearing his image in her heart ; 
 "Who once to her was all in all, 
 A shade to screen her from the heat, 
 A shelter from the storm ; 
 Fiercely against whose mighty form 
 The bellowing tempest vainly beat, 
 And all the winds would brawl ; 
 Whose pleached branches had the power 
 To tame the fierce rain to a shower 
 And make the whirlwind musical ; 
 Who made the angry noon seem sweet, 
 As thro' his foliaged arms would fall 
 The mellow 'd light ambrosial 
 Upon her — lowly at his feet. 
 
 ii. 
 
 Bearing his image in her heart ; 
 
 As here within her gaze he grew 
 
 With leafy hands outstretch'd to love her 
 
 And lure her to his side, 
 
 Who stood in all his kingly pride 
 
 So near, and yet so far above her,
 
 210 JULIAN FANE. 
 
 The greatest that she knew ; 
 
 Till down the dreadful axe descended 
 
 That clove his life in twain, and rended 
 
 All his pride, and overthrew. 
 
 Hence, where she may not discover, 
 
 Beyond her simple ken and view, 
 
 They bore him ; but her heart keeps true 
 
 The picture of her parted lover, 
 
 in, 
 
 Bearing his image in her heart ; 
 
 The image of his leafy pride, 
 
 The semblance of the shape he wore 
 
 "When he stood by her side : 
 
 Whilst haply he, transform'd, away 
 
 In Carabee or far Cathay 
 
 Now breasts the billowy tide, 
 
 Bears Victory's flag above the roar 
 
 Of guns, where some high cause is tried, 
 
 Or, piled with grain of gold, may glide 
 
 In peace along the Libyan shore. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Bearing his image in her heart ; 
 
 Some woman left alone to pine, 
 
 "Who bears the likeness of her mate 
 
 Limn'd in her tender breast ; 
 
 The face she knew, the form she press'd, 
 
 The hand she clasp'd, the lips that late 
 
 Had kiss'd and call'd her ' mine ' ; 
 
 The image of her darling dead, 
 
 Not of that glory-circled head, 
 
 And seraph-form divine,
 
 POEMS ADDRESSED TO HIS MOTHER. 211 
 
 "Which haply guards the golden gate 
 Of Truth against the Arch-foe's line, 
 Or stands expectant at the shrine 
 "Where souls disjoin 'd for union wait. 
 
 Of the poems annually addressed by Julian 
 Fane to his mother, on each occasion of her birth- 
 day, I have already spoken. The series, begun at 
 a very early age (when he was yet a child), and 
 continued without interruption to the last year of 
 his life, would, if printed, fill a tolerably large 
 volume ; it would contain a quite extraordinary 
 variety of verse, composed in all kinds of metres, 
 (odes, songs, sonnets, and blank verse), all on the 
 same theme; nor would any other memorial of 
 him preserve, with a better chance of duration, 
 so many beautiful characteristics of his nature and 
 his genius. Perhaps the best of these votive 
 poems, however, are those which were written 
 in the few last years of his life. Among them 
 are a series of sonnets to which I have already 
 made special reference, written whilst he was at 
 Vienna, and to these I must limit what I now 
 print. 
 
 p 2
 
 
 212 JULIAN FANE. 
 
 AD MATREM. 
 
 (Vienna, March 13, 1862.) 
 
 This day that, like a jubilant herald clad, 
 Rises, the bright recorder of thy birth, 
 Trumpets a blast of joy that leaves me sad 
 To think how great thy good, how small my worth 
 Thou, of this human garden the sole Queen, 
 Fair to men's eyes and in the face of Heaven, 
 Bearest thine outward fair but as a screen 
 To that best beauty that within lies hidden ; 
 Love, Truth, and Charity — these seraphs three 
 Make up the fragrance of the sold, and these 
 Which with the sister graces dwell with thee, 
 Do more delight than all the graces please. 
 
 The flower's best beauty is of sweet scents rife, 
 And thy best praise lies in thy perfumed life. 
 
 ii. 
 
 But I, who trail my wild growth at thy feet, 
 Drawn to thy neighbourhood by love too dear 
 That shuns a distance, tho' it were more meet, 
 As making less my lowliness appear, 
 Bask in thy smile, and seek no light but thine, 
 Nor any beauty but from thee reflected, 
 Glad but of thy dear gladness which is mine, 
 And proud of love by thy love not rejected. 
 Near thee, annext by memory, I can dream 
 The world is free of falsehood and disdain,
 
 AD MATREM. 213 
 
 As, looking in thy face, who would not deem 
 Truth true, Love loyal, Charity humane ? 
 
 So thou but love me still without alloy 
 Earth seems a paradise and life pure joy. 
 
 in. 
 
 Oft, in the after days, when thou and I 
 Have fallen from the scope of human view, 
 When, both together, under the sweet sky 
 We sleep beneath the daisies and the dew, 
 Men will recall thy gracious presence bland, 
 Conning the pictured sweetness of thy face ; 
 Will pore o'er paintings by thy plastic hand, 
 And vaunt thy skill, and tell thy deeds of grace ; 
 Oh may they then, who crown thee with true bays, 
 Saying " What love unto her son she bore ! " 
 Make this addition to thy perfect praise 
 " Nor ever yet was mother worshipt more ! " 
 
 So shall I live with thee, and thy dear fame 
 Shall link my love unto thine honour'd name. 
 
 IV. 
 
 But be the date of thy sweet setting far ! 
 Distant the night be, and delayed that sorrow 
 Which, weeping thine eclipse, my morning star, 
 Will bid me follow thee ere dawn the morrow ! 
 For what to me were this mad masque and vain, 
 This sublunary tumult of sad noise, 
 Deprived my privilege to share thy pain 
 And be partaker of thy passing joys ?
 
 214 JULIAN FANE. 
 
 0, if thou sett'st some value on my days 
 Prolong- thine own ; and let thine office be, 
 Living-, to soothe me -with thy partial praise, 
 As I will live but to be loved of thee. 
 
 Take heed, dear heart, of life and love that give 
 To me my sole desire to love and live. 
 
 AD MATREM. 
 
 (London, March 13, 1S63.) 
 
 Oh what a royalty of song should greet 
 
 The unclouded advent of thy natal day ! 
 
 All things of musical utterance should meet 
 
 In concord of a many-sounding lay ; 
 
 Let the proud trumpet tongue thy noble praise, 
 
 The rolling drum reverberate thy fame, 
 
 Let fifes and flutes their fluttering voices raise, 
 
 And the glad cymbals tinkle to thy name ; 
 
 Let the clear horn play tribute to thy truth, 
 
 The deep-based viol tenderly intone 
 
 Thy womanly pity and large heart of ruth ; 
 
 But of my love let my voice sing alone : 
 
 Theme to my jealous lips most dear, most meet, 
 If that my voice, to voice it, were more sweet. 
 
 ii. 
 
 Nay, but thy sweetness shall my song replete 
 AVith sweetness, as the flower to the bee 
 That pastures in its petals lends the sweet 
 Whereof the honey savours. Not to me
 
 AD MATREM. 215 
 
 Belong the praise, if words that do rehearse 
 Thy loving kindness loving be, and kind ; 
 Tis but thy nature shining thro' my verse, 
 From the love-lighted mirror of my mind. 
 Thy beauty beautifies the rhythmic chime, 
 Thy grace makes gracious what is sung of thee, 
 Thy pureness praised doth purify my rhyme, 
 As thy loved nobleness ennobles me : 
 
 Praise thou the virtues that to thee belong 
 And then thy praise belongeth to my song. 
 
 in. 
 
 How many a year hath Time, with felon hand, 
 Filch' d from the sum of my allotted days 
 (Alas ! with no performance that may stand 
 In warrant of a well-earn'd meed of praise I) 
 Time hath the forehead of my life belined, 
 And dipt my youth with his accursed shears, 
 Hath made companionable Joy unkind, 
 And taught mine eyes the fellowship of tears ; 
 His false hands falsely have my mind assail'd, 
 Thence stealing many a secret of sweet pleasure -, 
 But his f oil'd fingers nothing have prevail 'd, 
 Against my heart — the casket of my treasure. 
 
 My love of thee preserved in its fresh prime, 
 I, robb'd, left rich ; how poor a thief is Time ! 
 
 IV. 
 
 Oh what to me were glory and renown 
 And the world's witness to my famous'd name, 
 Match'd with that love which caps me with a crown 
 of honour, far more honouring than fame !
 
 21G JULIAN FANE. 
 
 Fame sticks a feather in the front of fools, 
 
 And oft contracts the forehead and the eyes 
 
 Of Wisdom, when she flaunts it thro' the schools, 
 
 Flatter'd by Folly and no longer wise. 
 
 But that pure passion which I boast my own 
 
 Leads to true wisdom thro' the love of thee, 
 
 Makes me more proud than monarch on his throne, 
 
 Eicher possest, and more renown'd than he. 
 
 Kings' fame lives often but in fabling story, 
 True love in Heaven attains to truest glory. 
 
 Sometimes I think that from the blissful skies, 
 Where walk the angels in the land of God, 
 The happy spirits regard with rueful eyes 
 This sorrowing planet that with us they trod ; 
 Yea, and perhaps they hover with their wings 
 Over our households, and do gently come 
 Taking observance of familiar things, 
 Within the precincts of their whilom home : 
 Then do our lost ones, mother, from above 
 (Whose memory we keep verdant with our tears) 
 Mingle among us, and observe my love 
 How it increaseth with increase of years. 
 
 But they must love thee so, that I fear this : 
 Lest from my love they take thee to their bliss. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Oh may they leave me still my happy day 
 Which all its light of joy from thee doth borrow, 
 And not take all the wealth of stars away 
 Wherewith thou brightenest my night of sorrow !
 
 AD MATEEM. 217 
 
 Joy were quite joyless, widow'd of thy smile, 
 And dear Delight, orphan' d of thee, would grow 
 To Sadness, tenfold sadder than erewhile, 
 Wanting the salve of tears to soothe his woe. 
 hovering Angels, whom I seem to see, 
 Fair faces glad upon this day of mirth, 
 To her be gracious, and be kind to me, 
 Love her in Heaven, but let her live on earth. 
 
 Draw not, sweet Saints, my Saint unto your light ; 
 Whose life to me makes day of this world's night. 
 
 AD MATEEM. 
 
 (Yiexna, March 13, 1864.) 
 
 How sweet to me comes the recurrent time 
 
 Which, like the dawn unto the bird of day, 
 
 Or night to her that trills love's labour'd chime, 
 
 Or to the Theban statue the sun's ray, 
 
 Or, showering benedictions sweet as Spring 
 
 That crams the woods with harmonies of joy, 
 
 Doth teach my soul with all her powers to sing 
 
 And in song-service all her skill employ ; 
 
 Dear service dedicate to Song, who loves 
 
 To thee her sacrificial rites to pay, 
 
 The while thy son, her servant, as behoves, 
 
 Doth reverent tendance on thy natal day, 
 
 Which bids him once more greet thee with acclaim, 
 And chant anew thy sweet beloved name.
 
 21S JULIAN FANE. 
 
 ii. 
 
 AVI ion I consider how the years are gone 
 And see thy fair locks frosted into snow, 
 Hath time, I ask, thy younger worth undone, 
 Bedimm'd thy soul, or blurr'd thy beauty ? No ! 
 Time, that to most is tyrant grim and dread, 
 In course of nature unto thee proves kind, 
 "Who spreads pure silver on thy shining head, 
 And bright as gold preserves thy burnisht mind : 
 From Time thy mortal wins a mellowing grace, 
 And thine immortal learns but to aspire ; 
 A milder glory plays about thy face 
 Lit by the placid soul's seraphic fire : 
 
 The sweet mind rnirror'd in the gentle mien ; 
 Thy face so fair, because thy soul's serene. 
 
 in. 
 
 " A milder glory plays about thy face," 
 As late I saw it on the unhappy night 
 Grow fair before me, tender with all grace 
 And sweet companion of my woeful plight : 
 The fire-tongued fever coursed my shuddering veins 
 And my diseased thought was full of care, 
 And weary seem'd the world and all its pains, 
 As very languor bred a dull despair ; 
 When suddenly the dark began to grow 
 Bright, and a silver-lighted circle spread 
 Till thy fair face look'd comfort on my woe 
 And round about me healinsr effluence shed : 
 
 Then hope and health come back to me apace 
 Revived by virtue of thy vision'd face.
 
 AD MATREM. 219 
 
 IV. 
 
 vision'd face unutterably fair, 
 How oft when blackness muffled up the night 
 And tempest-laden was the surcharged air, 
 Nor any hope appeared of starry light, 
 How often, lucent as the f ull-f aced moon 
 When suddenly she rends the clouded fleece, 
 Hath thy sweet influence, like an unhoped boon, 
 Turn'd dark to bright, and tempest into peace ! 
 Queen of my night of sorrows hast thou been, 
 Whose countenance of good all evil mars, 
 Knowing to crown with hopeful light serene 
 Earth's darksome vault when most forlorn of stars, 
 
 And to convert clouds bodeful of despair 
 To silver-suited omens good and fair. 
 
 v. 
 
 Dost thou remember, sovereign of my heart, 
 
 Dost thou remember when the days were young 
 
 My child-love play'd a parasitic part 
 
 And round thee with a green affection clung ? 
 
 Since when, its annual service to approve 
 
 Upon thy natal day, all days among, 
 
 The clustering growth that clothes thee with its love 
 
 Puts forth some blossom of perennial song : 
 
 So, like a stately tree whose bole is gay 
 
 With crowded blooms, whose top to heaven towers, 
 
 Thou to the skies pursuest thy quiet way 
 
 By filial fancy garlanded with flowers. 
 
 The flowers are nought in odour or in hue 
 Save that love bred them, and that love is true.
 
 220 JULIAN FANE. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Music, and frankincense of flowers, belong 
 
 To this sweet festival of all the year. 
 
 Take, then, the latest blossom of my song, 
 
 And to Love's canticle incline thine ear. 
 
 "What is it that Love chaunts? thy perfect praise. 
 
 What is it that Love prays 1 worthy to prove. 
 
 What is it Love desires ? thy length of days. 
 
 What is it that Love asks 1 return of love. 
 
 Ah, what requital can Love ask more dear 
 
 Than by Love's priceless self to be repaid ? 
 
 Thy liberal love, increasing year by year, 
 
 Hath granted more than all my heart hath pray'd, 
 
 And, prodigal as Nature, makes me pine 
 
 To think how poor my love compared with thine !
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 Keport on Austrian Commerce. 
 
 It would be impossible to illustrate adequately 
 the versatility of Julian Fane's intelligence with- 
 out adding to the foregoing specimens of his 
 verse at least an equal number of selections from 
 the mass of official correspondence in which he 
 was simultaneously engaged. Unfortunately, how- 
 ever, there is scarcely one of his despatches or 
 reports which is not either too confidential, or else 
 too statistical, for insertion in such a memoir as 
 the present. The following Public Report on 
 Austrian commerce in the year 1864, must suffice 
 to show the lucidity and simplicity of his official 
 style, and how completely he was able to keep 
 apart the poetical and practical sides of his cha- 
 racter. It contains, moreover, some observations 
 which are still interesting although the figures 
 they refer to are now out of date.
 
 222 JULIAN FANE. 
 
 REPORT BY MR. FANE, HER MAJESTY'S 
 SECRETARY OF EMBASSY. 
 
 MR. FANE TO LORD BLOOMFIELD. 
 
 Vienna, May 10, 1864. 
 My Lord, 
 
 The commercial movement in Austria has of 
 late years attracted much attention in England, and 
 a very general conviction is entertained that if interna- 
 tional trade were not restricted by unwise legislation, 
 a rapid expansion would be given to those narrow com- 
 mercial relations which now subsist between Great 
 Britain and the Empire. The value of British exports 
 to Austrian territories in 1SG2 was 7 8 7,05 8 £. In 1863 
 it slightly exceeded 1,000,000/. sterling. That is to say, 
 Austria, with a population of about 35,000,000 souls, 
 takes from us less than one-eighth part of what is 
 taken by France; considerably less than one-fifth of 
 what is taken by Italy ; less than one-third of what is 
 taken by Spain ; not quite one-half of what is taken by 
 Belgium ; and something less than what is taken by 
 the Kingdom of Denmark.* 
 
 * Austria sent us in 1863 commodities to the value of 879, 4571., 
 being less than was sent us by Greece, and about one-third of 
 what we obtained from Denmark in the same year.
 
 REPORT ON AUSTRIAN COMMERCE. 223 
 
 The comparative stagnation of trade -which the fore- 
 going figures indicate is chiefly regretted by those 
 whose practical knowledge informs them that all the 
 conditions of an extensive interchange of commodities 
 are satisfied by the commercial capabilities and re- 
 quirements of either country ; and it is to many a 
 matter of disappointment — to some perhaps a subject 
 of complaint — that no measure has yet been carried 
 for placing the trade between the two countries upon 
 a more natural and satisfactory basis. And yet this 
 result, or more properly this absence of results, is clue 
 neither to apathy ou our part, nor to any original 
 refusal to negotiate on the part of Austria, but is 
 attributable to causes of which an intelligible explana- 
 tion may be best offered in the form of a brief narrative 
 of events. 
 
 The idea of an extensive commerce between Great 
 Britain and Austria is one which, as already intimated, 
 grows naturally out of a knowledge of the necessities 
 and superfluities of either country. Austria can 
 furnish England abundantly with many of the raw 
 staples she requires ; and English industry, if freed 
 from the trammels of obstructive legislation, can best 
 satisfy some of the most pressing needs of Austria. 
 Grain, wool, wine, hemp, hides, tallow, oil-seeds, 
 bristles, drugs, dyes, rags, tobacco, and dried pro- 
 visions, form a limited list of the commodities which
 
 224 JULIAN FANE. 
 
 the Empire can offer to England. In return England, 
 unless practically prohibited by the law of Customs, 
 can best supply the immediate wants of the population 
 of Austria for agricultural implements and machinery 
 of every description, for iron, steel, and hardware ; to 
 the general public she can offer many articles of 
 manufacture which will certainly be better, and, unless 
 exorbitantly taxed, cheaper than the home product ; 
 and to the humblest classes of the community she can 
 furnish, if permitted, an important article of food in 
 the produce of her vast herring-fisheries. 
 
 Under the existence of conditions so favourable to 
 the practice of international barter upon an extensive 
 scale, it is no wonder that a desire should have sprung 
 up for a revision of the commercial enactments which 
 have hitherto regulated and repressed trade between 
 the two countries. Accordingly, proposals of a prac- 
 tical character were submitted so far back as the early 
 summer of 1862, to the Austrian Government, and the 
 incidental communications which preceded this step 
 left no doubt of the desire entertained in influential 
 quarters to submit the proposals of England to a ready 
 consideration. 
 
 At the very moment, however, when this advance 
 had been made, the disapproval with which Austria 
 had watched the negotiation of a Commercial Treaty 
 between Prussia and France assumed the form of
 
 REPORT ON AUSTRIAN COMMERCE. 225 
 
 active opposition. That Treaty,* which acknowledges 
 its prototype in the Anglo-French Treaty, was the first 
 practical tribute paid in Germany to the principles of 
 economic science. It cannot, indeed, be said, in an 
 unrestricted sense, to involve free trade, since it does 
 not establish a purely revenue tariff. But it so effec- 
 tually repudiates the radical vices of the Zollverein 
 tariff, and substitutes for its ultra-protective Tables a 
 scale of duties comparatively so moderate, that it may 
 fairly claim the character of a thoroughly liberal 
 measure. If it be not the accomplishment, it is at 
 least the inauguration of free trade in Germany. 
 Prussia negotiated the Treaty not on her own account 
 only, but on behalf of the Zollverein ; and her object was, 
 and still is, to cause it to be accepted and ratified by all 
 the constituent States of the Great Commercial League. 
 The motives which impelled Austria to denounce 
 the commercial handiwork of Prussia were, no doubt, 
 of a complex character. It will be sufficient here to 
 indicate in a sentence their general scope. It was 
 obvious that if all the German States which, together 
 with Prussia, compose the Zollverein, should adopt the 
 Franco-Prussian Treaty, Austria, remaining strictly 
 protectionist, would find herself invested by a free- 
 trade coalition which would condemn her to complete 
 commercial isolation in Germany ; and her sagacity 
 
 * It was "paraphs" on the 29th March, 1862.
 
 226 JULIAN FANE. 
 
 apprehended that political and social estrangement 
 might speedily follow the alienation of material 
 interests. Unless, therefore, she were ready to abjure 
 her traditional principles of policy and commerce, it 
 was necessary, in order to avoid the isolation with 
 which she was threatened, that Austria should take 
 action in the critical conjuncture prepared for her by 
 the Franco-Prussian Treaty. Such action she accor- 
 dingly took by proposing (July 10, 18G2) to become her- 
 self a member of the Zollverein, declaring that she was 
 prepared to adopt in the main the tariff's of the League 
 (and eventually to co-operate in liberalizing them), so 
 that there might be no obstacle to her assuming at 
 once the rights and duties of membership. It was 
 probably not forgotten that one of those rights would 
 have empowered her to raise an authoritative voice 
 against the adoption by the Zollverein of the Franco- 
 Prussian Treaty. 
 
 As soon as Austria had taken this step she an- 
 nounced that it would be impossible for her to enter 
 into any commercial ai'rangement with a foreign Power 
 until her future commercial relations with Germany 
 were clearly defined ; and the negotiation with Eng- 
 land was accordingly suspended. 
 
 Prussia peremptorily rejected the proposition of 
 Austria to enter the Zollverein. Whatever motives of 
 a politic character might be thought to prompt her
 
 REPORT ON AUSTRIAN COMMERCE. 227 
 
 rejection, she was able to rest it upon purely logical 
 grounds. The avowed intention of Austria in entering 
 the Zollverein was to adopt, and ultimately to assist in 
 modifying, the existing Tariffs of the League ; and it 
 was precisely these Tariffs which Prussia, previously to 
 the negotiation of the Franco-Prussian Treaty, had 
 declared that she would not renew on their expiration 
 in 1865. There could be as little question of her con- 
 senting to their simple modification, since the Franco- 
 Prussian Treaty was the most emphatic declaration 
 she could make of her repudiation of the Protectionist 
 principles of which those Tariffs are the expression. 
 Prussia was therefore able to base her rejection of the 
 proposal of Austria on the impossibility of lending her 
 sanction to the avowed object which Austria had in 
 view. A controversial correspondence between the two 
 Governments arose on the subject, complicated as it 
 became by the disputed intepretation of a clause in 
 .the Treaty of 1853, and that correspondence remains 
 unconcluded at the present day. The relative position 
 of the polemical Powers, is, however, clearly definable, 
 and may be thus described : — 
 
 Prussia proposes, on the expiration of the Zollverein 
 at the close of the year 18G5, to reconstruct that Com- 
 mercial League on the basis of her Treaty with France 
 In other words she invites Germany to adopt the 
 principles of Free Trade. 
 
 Q 2
 
 22 S J l LI AN FANE. 
 
 Austria, on the other hand, proposes to hecome her- 
 self;! member of the Zollverein on conditions which 
 she lias formally specified in a recent publication. 
 Those conditions involve the maintenance by Germany 
 of Protectionist principles. 
 
 The publication above referred to, in which Austria 
 specifies the terms on which she proposes to join the 
 Zollverein, is termed " Project of a Customs Tariff, in 
 the sense of the Austrian proposals of 10th July, 1862, 
 to be arranged between Austria and the German 
 Zollverein for common adoption."* The tabular por- 
 tion of this work is arranged in four parallel columns, 
 of which the first shows the new scale of duties 
 proposed by Austria ; the second, the duties actually 
 levied under the existing Austrian Tariff; the third, 
 those at present levied by the Zollverein ; and the 
 fourth those leviable under the Franco-Prussian 
 Treaty. It is by collating the first and fourth of these 
 columns that a perception may be gained of the differ- 
 ence between the proposals made to Germany by 
 
 * This document lias been inaccurately spoken of as if it were 
 the Project of a Commercial Treaty for settling the customs duties 
 to be levied at the respective frontiers. Its object is, on the con- 
 trary, to abolish commercial frontiers by effecting the adoption of 
 a common tariff. The prefatory declaration of the work is that 
 the Franco-Prussian Treaty proposes to establish customs-duties 
 which, if carried into effect, would render impossible the continu- 
 ance of a self-supporting industry in Germany as well as in Austria.
 
 RErOET ON AUSTRIAN COMMERCE. 229 
 
 Austria and Prussia respectively, and a few of the 
 corresponding items may be here rapidly contrasted. 
 
 Cotton Manufactures. — On the "commoner" sorts 
 the new Austrian Tariff proposes a duty of 31. (30 
 norms); the Prussian (French Treaty) Tariff, one of 
 30s. (15 florins) per centner.* 
 
 On "fine " sorts the proposed Austrian duty is 71. 10s. 
 (75 florins) ; the Prussian, 41. 10s. (45 florins). 
 
 On "superfine" sorts the proposed Austrian duty is 
 15Z. (150 florins) ; the Prussian again 41. 10s. (45 florins), 
 
 Linens. — The proposed Austrian duty on "fine" sorts 
 is 51. (50 florins) per centner ; the Prussian, from 30s. 
 (15 florins) to SI. (30 florins). 
 
 On "superfine" the proposed Austrian duty is 15/. 
 (150 florins) ; the Prussian, 31 (30 florins), and in one 
 instance (thread-lace) 61. (GO florins). 
 
 Silks. — On the "common" sorts of silk manufactures 
 the proposed Austrian duty is 71. 10s. (75 florins), and 
 on "fine" sorts 15/. (150 florins) ; the corresponding 
 Prussian duties rising from 41. 10s. (45 florins) to 61, 
 (60 florins). 
 
 * The tariff of the Franco-Prussian Treaty provides two scales 
 of duties — one for immediate use, the other, more liberal, to come 
 into operation in 1866. The latter is alone quoted in the text, as 
 tliere is no question of changing the existing Zollverein tariff before 
 that year. The approximate English equivalents of sums in 
 Austrian florins are given without reference to the continually 
 fluctuating rates of exchange.
 
 280 JULIAN FANE. 
 
 It is difficult to offer a brief comparison of the duties 
 on iron and iron wares, owing to the conflicting classi- 
 fication of the Tariffs ; but an item may be given in 
 the duties leviable on 
 
 Machinery — the proposed Austrian scale rising from 
 4s. (2 florins) per cwt. to 15s. (7 florins 50 kreuzers) ; 
 the Prussian corresponding scale from Is. Qd. (75 
 kreuzers) to 4s. 6d. (2 florins, 25 kreuzers). 
 
 The few items above cited will serve to show how far, 
 and in what direction, the Austrian and Prussian pro- 
 posals differ from one another. The publication from 
 which they are taken has been forwarded, both offi- 
 cially and through private channels, to England, and 
 has doubtless undergone there a thorough examination 
 as to how far the scheme it embodies would be likely, 
 if carried into practice, to affect our commercial rela- 
 tions with Germany. It is, however, doubtful whether 
 the Tariff in question will ever receive practical appli- 
 cation. Highly protective as it is, it yet represents in 
 some instances a considerable reduction on the exor- 
 bitant duties actually levied in Austria, as may be seen 
 by comparing the first and second columns of the work 
 which embodies it. Hence it is regarded by a large 
 class in Austria as representing the price, involving 
 heavy sacrifices, which they are prepared to pay for 
 admission into the Zollverein, and if that condition be 
 not fulfilled, it is by no means certain that they would
 
 REPORT ON AUSTRIAN COMMERCE. 231 
 
 agree to the same terms for any less equivalent. But 
 if Austria remains of her present mind, what chance is 
 there of that condition being fulfilled 1 She insists, on 
 the one hand, on joining the Zollverein with a Pro- 
 tectionist Tariff. On the other hand, Prussia, by her 
 Treaty with France, is pledged in the witness of her 
 own people and of Europe to the principles of Free 
 Trade, and it would seem impossible that she should 
 now repudiate those principles by consenting to the 
 adoption of an avowedly Protectionist Tariff for the 
 whole of Germany. Such a course would indeed involve 
 nothing less than a commercial coup d'etat, of which 
 Prussia has as yet made no sign. 
 
 If the desire of Austria to enter the Zollverein should 
 prove impracticable, it is anticipated that she will 
 adopt one of these two courses : — 
 
 Either she will endeavour to form a Commercial 
 League of her own with such members of the existing 
 Zollverein as are least well-disposed towards the Franco- 
 Prussian Treaty ; or she may confine herself to nego- 
 tiating a new Commercial Treaty with the Zollverein 
 to replace the Treaty of 1853, which expires at the 
 close of next year. 
 
 The first of these courses, involving the dissolution 
 of the existing Zollverein and the repartition of its 
 component States into separate Leagues, is one which 
 historical analogy does not indicate as likely to be
 
 232 JULIAN FANE. 
 
 pursued. The idea has been more than once enter- 
 tained, and as often abandoned. Its realization could 
 only be rendered practicable by political combinations 
 which ma} r , perhaps, arise, but which it is not within 
 the province of this paper to contemplate. 
 
 The obstacle to the second course is offered by 
 Article XXXI. of the Franco-Prussian Treaty, which 
 embodies the " most favoured nation " clause in favour 
 of France, and which would bar Prussia from conceding 
 such exclusive privileges as Austria enjoys under the 
 Treaty of 1853. It is thought, however, that this 
 difficulty might be overcome by an understanding 
 between Prussia and France which would permit con- 
 cessions of a limited character to be made to Austria 
 in the supposed interests of her frontier trade, and 
 Austrian merchants appear now to be of opinion that 
 it is upon some such basis that the commercial rela- 
 tions between Austria and the Zollverein will even- 
 tually be renewed. 
 
 Either of these two courses would, however, condemn 
 Austria to another epoch of Protection. Is it impos- 
 sible to hope for better things? Is it irrevocably 
 decided that the opportunity for striking off the 
 shackles which impede the progress of this Empire 
 towards material prosperity shall be suffered to pass 
 unprofitably by ? It is certain that the simultaneous 
 expiration of the Zollverein and of the Treaty of 1853
 
 REPORT ON AUSTRIAN COMMERCE. 233 
 
 at the close of next year -will form a memorable crisis 
 in the life of Austria, and that the tenor of her 
 unwritten history will largely depend upon the cha- 
 racter of the commercial legislation which she may in 
 the interval determine to adopt. Impartial judges do 
 not doubt that much of present lethargy and collapse 
 in Austria is but the natural sequel to a past vicious 
 in its legislation, and that the future, teeming with 
 benefits or fruitful of calamity to her people, rests its 
 capital hope upon a wise application of the principles 
 of science. And so strongly does this conviction take 
 possession of the mind of an Englishman, who cannot 
 avoid contrasting the sorry results of one system in 
 Austria with the happy influences exercised by another 
 in his own country, that it will at once account, and if 
 necessary apologize, for recurrence to a theme which 
 has been frequently and freely discussed in preceding 
 Reports. And if this plea be admitted, it may perhaps 
 serve to assure those whose opinions have been cour- 
 teously, it is hoped, if not sparingly assailed, whether 
 by written or spoken argument, that it is indeed a 
 sincere belief in the efficacy of Free Trade to prosper 
 nations, and not the indefatigable attempt to foist 
 English manufactures upon unwilling customers, which 
 has prompted reiterated protests against the system 
 which they so indefatigably defend. The very in- 
 sinuation of selfish motives in the case implies that
 
 234 JULIAN FANE. 
 
 view of commercial liberty which is unhappily too 
 common in Austria, and according to which the re- 
 moval of barriers which obstruct the influx of external 
 trade is looked upon as a concession to the foreign 
 producer, instead of being regarded as primarily a 
 boon to the native consumer. If this fallacy had not 
 possessed the minds of those who most vehemently 
 attacked the Franco-Prussian Treaty, they would not 
 so persistently have cited against it the exploded 
 doctrine of equivalents ; and if they had been familiar 
 with the elemental law which teaches that the foreign 
 commodity imported into a country is always paid for, 
 directly or indirectly, with the produce of the industry 
 of that country, they would not have raised so loud an 
 outcry against injustice to German labour. But in- 
 deed the theory that to buy things produced at home 
 is to confer a national benefit, and that to purchase 
 foreign commodities is generally to inflict a national 
 loss, enjoys such popularity in Austria that it may not 
 unfrequently be found at the bottom of the minds of 
 those who profess themselves free-traders. To the 
 present generation of Englishmen who, having been 
 nurtured in the doctrines of political economy, are as 
 familiar with its rudiments as they are with the 
 multiplication-table, what is simple matter of fact may 
 appear incredible — 'that profession of free trade views 
 is frequently made abroad by grave and otherwise not
 
 REPORT ON AUSTRIAN COMMERCE. 235 
 
 unlearned men, who employ the term simply to express 
 approval of the reduction of custom duties where it can 
 be effected without obvious danger to the home manufac- 
 turer. In a word, the principles of economic science, 
 and the literature both English and foreign which 
 expounds and illustrates them, are generally ignored 
 in Austria ; and out of such ignorance springs a crop 
 of commercial fallacies which are injuring the vital 
 interests of the Empire. 
 
 The radical error which has underlain the com- 
 mercial legislation of Austria, and which, unless up- 
 rooted, will vitiate her future policy, is a misapprehen- 
 sion of the very elements which constitute national 
 wealth. The large fortunes realized by a few highly- 
 protected manufacturers are regarded as the symptoms 
 of public prosperity. That such a view should obtain 
 will perhaps not appear surprising when it is con- 
 sidered that the social position attained by successful 
 merchants enables them to lead, as practical and in- 
 fluential men, the opinions of statesmen and legislators 
 not specially instructed on matters appertaining to 
 commerce. If the converse of this proposition could 
 but once be impressed on the minds of the governing 
 body ; namely, that national wealth does not consist in 
 the great fortunes realized by individual merchants, 
 but is created by the saving of price to consumers, a 
 complete revolution in the commercial legislation of
 
 230 JULIAN FANE. 
 
 Austria would ensue. For it is impossible to believe 
 that the present system could survive a clear percep- 
 tion of the theoretical errors on which it reposes, and 
 of the enormous public injury which it inflicts. The 
 practical monopoly secured to the manufacturers by 
 the exorbitant duties levied on foreign merchandize is 
 simply an instrument in their hands for producing 
 artificial dearness, by which they are enabled to levy 
 on the public a formidable amount of taxation for their 
 own benefit. Moreover all experience teaches that, as 
 a rule, energy, thrift, and skill are not the charac- 
 teristic virtues of highly-protected traders ; so that in 
 addition to their wares being very dear, they are 
 generally speaking also very bad ; and in the purchase 
 of dear, bad articles, the public practically pays a tax 
 on the laziness and incapacity of the producer. If 
 tiiis result of Protection, with which the student is 
 familiar in theory, should be doubted in practice by 
 the advocates of the system, the citation of one fact, 
 out of many which might be recorded, may assist in 
 removing their scepticism. A purchaser who may be 
 denominated A, recently bought a piece of goods of an 
 Austrian manufacturer, B. Shortly after the bargain 
 had been concluded, A meets B, and accuses him of 
 having sold not only a dear, but an execrably bad 
 manufacture, which was already beginning to wear out. 
 B, after a little fencing, admits the justice of the accu-
 
 EEPOET ON AUSTEIAN COMMERCE. 237 
 
 saticm, but protests that it is not in human nature to 
 forego the pecuniary advantages offered to the native 
 manufacturer by the Austrian Tariff. " That Tariff," 
 he argues, " enables me to sell my goods dear, although 
 I make them bad. If I were to make them better, 
 which I could easily do with my excellent workmen, 
 the price of production would be increased, and my 
 gains diminished. Why should I forego profits which 
 the custom-duties decreed by the State enable me to 
 realize 1 " " And what say you," asked the astonished 
 A, " to the morality of your avowed practice 1 " " Oh, 
 that," replied B, " must rest with the conscience of the 
 State which ' protects ' me." 
 
 This is an individual avowal of the working of the 
 system, and a collective avowal of the same tendency is 
 involved in the clamorous protest of the manufacturers 
 against any real approach to Free Trade. What does 
 that protest imply but a confession that after years of 
 the strictest protection their goods are comparatively 
 so bad and so dear that even limited competition would 
 ruin them 1 The public may well ask when they will 
 consider themselves capable of encountering competi- 
 tion, and what improvements in their several crafts they 
 anticipate making during another period of Protection 
 which they have failed to make during the period now 
 past. In the great majority of cases there is simply 
 no ground for anticipating improvement under the
 
 238 JULIAN FANE. 
 
 present system, because even where the conditions of 
 progress exist there is no inducement to develops them. 
 According to the ingenuous confession of those chiefly 
 interested, the protective system makes it not "worth 
 their while" to improve their productions. Under 
 these circumstances to ask for continued immunity 
 from competition until they feel capable of enduring it, 
 is like the demand of timid children not to enter the 
 water until they feel confident that they can swim. 
 Competition has become the indispensable condition 
 of the acquisition in Austria of the art of successful 
 manufacture. 
 
 The manufacturers, indeed, boast that of late years 
 they have been able to realize unusually high profits 
 from a happy combination of extravagant protective 
 duties with a much depreciated currency. They 
 profess themselves under a double obligation to the 
 latter ; first, for enabling them to pay the costs of 
 their production in a currency debased from 20 to 40 
 per cent, below that in which they have received pay- 
 ment from their foreign purchasers ; and secondly for 
 preventing (through a reversal of the above conditions) 
 the practice of smuggling. Are the persons who make 
 this boast aware that the protective duties to which 
 they owe a portion of their enormous profits represent 
 simply a tax levied on the whole community for their 
 especial behoof, and that the depreciated currency
 
 REPORT ON AUSTRIAN COMMERCE. 239 
 
 which has contributed to their unusual gains is also 
 virtually a tax upon the community as well as a fraud 
 upon creditors 1 And if they are acquainted with 
 these simple propositions, are they prepared to demand 
 that they should continue to find the elements of their 
 own prosperity in the conditions of calamity to their 
 fellow citizens ? 
 
 It is more than probable that, as regards the great 
 majority of Austrian manufacturers, the foregoing- 
 question must be answered in a manner more favourable 
 to their humanity than to their knowledge. They 
 probably do not know the extent to which they act as 
 extortioners towards the community of which they 
 form part — an assumption which is warranted by the 
 ignorance of economic laws revealed in their occasional 
 utterances. So unacquainted, indeed, are they with 
 what commercial freedom tends to effect that, in their 
 recent alarm of what might follow the deliberations of an 
 Austrian and Prussian Commissioner at Prague, they 
 solemnly adjured the Government to eschew any 
 approach to Free Trade legislation, lest they should 
 endanger the future revenues of the State. " Let the 
 Government," they exclaimed, " beware of liberalising 
 the Tariff, for by so doing they will ruin many manu- 
 facturers, and in that ruin what rich sources of public 
 revenue, what capacity to sustain future taxation will 
 they not destroy ! " It is unfortunate for the appro-
 
 210 JULIAN FANE. 
 
 priateness of this exclamation, that both theory and 
 practice demonstrate that freedom of commerce un- 
 chains a force which, by extending and enriching the 
 area of taxation, multiplies enormously the sources 
 whence the public revenues may be most abundantly 
 derived. It may be of interest to glance for a moment 
 at the results of a liberal policy in Great Britain. In 
 the ten years from 1832 to 1811, when our commercial 
 legislation was comparatively stationary, Customs and 
 Excise duties were remitted to the amount of 1,317,000/. 
 net (i. e. in excess of similar taxes imposed) or at the 
 rate of 131,000/. a-year. During that period the 
 revenue from Customs and Excise increased by 
 1,707,000/., or at the rate of 170,000/. a-year, while 
 the increase of the export trade was 15,156,000/., 
 or at the rate of 1,515,000/. annually. These were 
 the results of our policy anterior to the epoch of 
 reform. But in the twelve years from 1842 to 1853, 
 during which our greatest reforms were effected, 
 Customs and Excise duties were remitted to the 
 amount of 12,209,000/. net, or at an annual rate of 
 1,017,000/. The effect on the revenue was that 
 Customs and Excise increased 2,656,000/., or at the 
 rate of 221,000/. annually, and the export trade during 
 the same period grew at the rate of 4,304,000/. a-year. 
 So that in the second period, when the remission of 
 duties was ninefold greater than in the first, both
 
 REPORT ON AUSTRIAN COMMERCE. 211 
 
 the revenue and the export trade grew with far greater 
 rapidity. 
 
 A paper has been prepared by the Board of Trade, 
 not contrasting the results of two periods of stationary 
 and progressive legislation, but showing the general 
 effects produced by the policy of Free Trade since its 
 inauguration up to the year I860. The benefits con- 
 feired by that policy on the trade, revenue, finances 
 and productive powers of the country are there illus- 
 trated by figures which should serve to encourage the 
 adoption by others of those just and liberal principles 
 of which they are the most convincing advocates. It 
 has, indeed, been insinuated by some not very learned 
 foreign critics that the bulk of the population in Eng- 
 land had not derived the benefits which it was predicted 
 would accrue to them from our reformed policy, as 
 was evidenced by the fact that the price of bread in 
 England remained pretty much what it had been in 
 the days of the sliding scale. But the practical effect of 
 the abolition of the corn laws, as demonstrated by the 
 Chancellor of the Exchequer in one of his splendid 
 efforts of rhetorical logic, was to create a regular and 
 steady trade of enormous magnitude. That trade has 
 created a corresponding demand for the commodities 
 of which the labouring classes are the producers (their 
 labour being an essential element in their production) ; 
 and it is the price which their labour has thus brought,
 
 E42 JULIAN FANE. 
 
 and not the price of slightly cheapened articles of 
 consumption, that forms the main benefit they have 
 received. And the corollary to the foregoing fact 
 well deserves the attention of those who may be con- 
 templating a reform of the commercial legislation of 
 Austria ; namely, that it is not by simply operating 
 upon the articles of consumption, that the greatest 
 benefits may be conferred upon the poorer classes, but 
 that the maximum of good is to be bestowed on them 
 by operating upon the articles which give them the 
 maximum of employment. 
 
 One of the first and most important effects which 
 freedom of trade would produce in Austria is, that it 
 would render the people what they are not — energeti- 
 cally industrious. It would, moreover, effect a whole- 
 some distribution of labour, which now congests in 
 certain localities to which it is artificially attracted ; 
 and, in tending to multiply and cheapen capital, 
 it w r ould operate in removing one of the causes 
 oftenest cited as a reason why Austrian trade cannot 
 successfully encounter competition. 
 
 But to predicate of Austrian industry that it must 
 succumb to competition is to assert that it is radically 
 bad. The statement is simply a gross exaggeration 
 on the part of those interested in maintaining the 
 existing tariff. If competition were admitted at once 
 into Austria, those native manufactures which are
 
 REPORT ON AUSTRIAN COMMERCE. 2±o 
 
 intrinsically sound would, in an atmosphere of rivalry, 
 progress and prosper ; those only which are intrinsi- 
 cally unsound would collapse. To uphold the latter 
 by artificial supports can be the desire of no true and 
 instructed Austrian patriot. Those who desire honestly 
 to maintain them must be ignorant of the public 
 injury they inflict. According to all precedent, compe- 
 tition in Austria would destroy what is evil and would 
 foster what is beneficial, not only by encouraging new 
 trades, but by urging into vigour those existing manu- 
 factures which, under the depressing influences of 
 protection, are incapable of developing the germs of 
 excellence which they possess. 
 
 There is another fallacy to be noticed among the 
 many which underlie the terror of Free Trade in 
 Austria. It seems to be assumed that whatever manu- 
 factures should come to be abandoned under the com- 
 petition introduced by Free Trade, there would be no 
 employment for the capital now invested in them ; as 
 if there could be any lack of such employment in a 
 country which only requires the judicious utilization 
 of capital to become the richest agricultural State in 
 Europe. But the Austrians love to vaunt the riches 
 of their soil, as if these were in themselves sufficient ; 
 as if it were unnecessary to supplement the prodigality 
 of Nature by the appliances of human skill. There is, 
 indeed, a popular proverb current in the Banat, that 
 
 r 2
 
 244 JULIAN FANE. 
 
 if rye be planted there it will come up wheat; but 
 even the produce of that pi'olific land would be compa- 
 ratively valueless without mechanical art to construct 
 the means of communication, to furnish cunning imple- 
 ments to the hand of toil, and to economize labour by 
 the substitution of machinery. However rich may be 
 large portions of the soil of Austria, her natural 
 resources urgently require development, and her agri- 
 cultural production might, beyond all question, be 
 vastly multiplied by the wise employment of capital 
 and skill. 
 
 While Austria possesses in her rich and friable soil 
 such great natural advantages for the growth of raw 
 produce, does she enjoy, it may be asked, any special 
 facilities or aptitude for manufacturing purposes ? If 
 the question were answered in the affirmative, it should 
 be proved that she possesses on the whole a redundant 
 population, that labour is cheap, that fuel is plentiful 
 and of convenient access, that machinery is good, that 
 capital is abundant. It is remarkable that the infor- 
 mation afforded on these very points by the manufac- 
 turers themselves is eminently unfavourable. In a 
 report by one of the Chambers of Commerce on the 
 proposed new Tariff it is asserted that Austrian indus- 
 try cannot successfully encounter competition because 
 labour is dear; because fuel, not lying contiguous to 
 the seats of manufacture, is not cheap ; because capital
 
 REPORT ON AUSTRIAN COMMERCE. 245 
 
 is scarce, and therefore dear ; because home-made 
 machinery is of an inferior order. It would scarcely 
 be possible to give better reasons against prosecuting 
 trades -which lack the essential elements of prosperity, 
 and which can only be feebly sustained by the artificial 
 props of Protection at a ruinous cost to the community. 
 
 These things are, of course, hidden to, or ignored 
 by, the manufacturers who have of late contributed 
 largely to the literature of Protection in the hope of 
 averting any extensive change in the commercial 
 legislation of Austria. They demand the continuance 
 of Protection, as if it were an inalienable right which 
 the State, without wronging them, could not revoke. 
 They speak of Free Trade as if the withdrawal of 
 Protection from those who now enjoy it were the alpha 
 and omega of political economy ; as if, in practice, it 
 offered no redress; as if, in withdrawing unjust protec- 
 tion from a few, it did not throw the protection of 
 justice over all ; as if, in a word, its tendency were 
 not to substitute general and true prosperity in the 
 place of prosperity which is fragmentary and false. 
 
 It is at least now believed by the most eminent 
 thinkers of Europe that the science, still young, but 
 yet with some radical development, to which the name 
 of political economy, or the economy of society, is 
 given, has its principles founded in abstract truth 
 and proved by the ordeal of practical experience ; and
 
 246 JULIAN FANE. 
 
 they, together with their humblest disciples, cannot 
 but desire to see the doctrines in which they believe 
 propagated both in theory and practice. It is this 
 desire, stimulated by the opportuneness of the occasion, 
 that has prompted the foregoing remarks, in the hope 
 that the principles advocated may yet receive at least 
 some attention before the Empire is again committed 
 to a long period of protective legislation. It is hoped 
 that Austria, whether alone or in partnership with 
 other States, may no longer be content to uphold an 
 illiberal commercial system ; but that she may elect to 
 enter upon the path of reform by initiating a course of 
 legislation which shall be cautious because provident, 
 and yet bold because instructed by science. The 
 application to Austria of those great commercial prin- 
 ciples which have pi-oved fruitfid of blessings to other 
 countries will assuredly in time entail upon her the 
 same beneficial results — results almost incalculable iu 
 the propitious influences which they exercise upon the 
 prospez-ity of trade, and, through trade, upon the 
 well-being and content of the people at large. 
 
 In continuation of the statistical information for- 
 warded in previous reports, annexed to the present 
 Report are the following tables : — * 
 
 Table 1 shows the area of the productive land in 
 the whole Empire. 
 
 * These tables are here omitted.
 
 
 REPORT ON AUSTRIAN COMMERCE. 247 
 
 Table 2 shows the number of cattle and other 
 animals, estimated upon the most recent data. 
 
 Table 3 gives the agricultural production, calculated 
 approximatively on the basis of official surveys and 
 valuations. 
 
 Table 4 shows the number of brandy distilleries ; 
 
 Table 5 of breweries ; and 
 
 Table 6 of sugar refineries. 
 
 Table 7 shows the receipts and expenditure of 
 railways ; 
 
 Table 8 the amount of postage ; and 
 
 Table 9 the length of, and traffic on, the State 
 telegraph lines. 
 
 I have, &c. 
 (Signed) JULIAN FANE.
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 Visit to Venice. Taste for old Pictures. Opinions about Modern 
 Poets. Impressions of Wagner. Change of House. Serious 
 illness in eonsequence of it. Return to England. Appoint- 
 ment to Paris. Marriage. Paternity. Retirement from his 
 Profession. Plans for Life in England. Widowhood. 
 
 Shortly before I parted from him at Vienna, 
 I was so fortunate as to succeed in persuading 
 Julian Fane to accompany me for a few weeks to 
 Venice ; a city which I was anxious to revisit, for 
 the sake of bearing with me to the bitter shores 
 of the Baltic a refreshened recollection of its 
 manifold beauties. He was not at first greatly 
 tempted by my proposal ; and I think that what 
 finally secured his acquiescence in it, was the 
 vehemence of my appeal to the occasion this visit 
 would afford him of comparing the impressions 
 made upon him by the sight of St. Mark's itself, 
 with those which were already so strongly 
 stamped upon his imagination by Mr. Ruskin's 
 gorgeous description of it.
 
 AT VENICE. 249 
 
 Of Mr. Buskin's writings he was a great 
 admirer, aud about the " Stones of Venice " he 
 had, I think, " a vision of his own," which he 
 cared not " to undo." 
 
 However, friendship, if not curiosity, prevailed 
 over this disinclination to disturb an ideal ; and 
 of the many pleasant days we passed together, 
 none were pleasanter to me than those which I 
 passed with Julian Fane at Venice. This, was 
 the first time he revisited Italy, the country of 
 his birth ; which he had quitted at an age too 
 early for remembrance. His tastes, tendencies, 
 and sympathies, as regards climate, scenery, and 
 ways of life, were so thoroughly English, that I 
 doubt if he would ever have felt that vehement 
 love of life in Italy which is rarely escaped 
 by those who have lived there for any length 
 of time. But the pictures at Venice made a 
 profound impression on him ; and developed in 
 him a taste which he had never before evinced, 
 but which he never afterwards ceased to cul- 
 tivate, for the works of the old masters, both 
 German as well as Italian. At the time of this 
 visit to Venice, he did not possess a singlu
 
 250 JULIAN FANE. 
 
 picture by any old master; yet he died (alas! 
 not many years afterwards) in possession of a 
 small but well selected number of good pictures ; 
 amongst which I remember a Gian Bellini and a 
 Lucas Chranach of unmistakable authenticity and 
 in admirable condition. 
 
 The intercourse between myself and Julian 
 Fane was terminated by my promotion to a dis- 
 tant post ; and our subsequent meetings were few 
 and far between. We were both of us too busily 
 employed for frequent correspondence ; and most 
 of the letters which I received from Julian Fane 
 subsequent to our separation in the year 1SG3, 
 refer exclusively to matters of no general interest. 
 Amongst them, however, is one from which I shall 
 here extract a few passages ; both because it 
 contains a description of his life at Vienna in the 
 summer of that year, and also because it indicates 
 the interest inspired in him by the writings of a 
 young poet whose star was at that time newly 
 risen upon the horizon, and who is now the ac- 
 knowledged head of a new school of English verse. 
 Referring in this letter to some of our minor 
 contemporary poets, he says : " True, what pro-
 
 LETTER TO THE AUTHOE. 251 
 
 digality of fancy, what dearth of creative imagi- 
 nation ! We have already filigree work of the 
 most exquisite design, and 'tis of no use multi- 
 plying that kind of handicraft in a world which 
 is full of it. What we want is massive work. 
 But that implies much of the precious raw ma- 
 terial. We have excellent artificers of poetry ; 
 but each artificer has only a very little gold to 
 work with, and is therefore forced to do minute 
 work. The desideratum is (to follow out the 
 metaphor) a mine-mind whose owner can dig 
 out of it great blocks of the true metal. Then, 
 if he be a good artificer to boot, we shall have 
 elaborateness as well as solidity in his work. If 
 not, we shall have rough-hewn things of great 
 price. ... By the way, I send you herewith a 
 lyric written by Swinburne, the author of two 
 plays, 'The Queen Mother' and 'Rosamond,' 
 which you probably know. Read it carefully (at 
 least three times), and let me know what you 
 think of it. I copied it from a manuscript, and 
 beg you to return the copy I send, as I have no 
 other. Now I come to my unworthy self. I have 
 realJy been seedy, but the case is not so bad as
 
 252 JULIAN FANE. 
 
 you seem to have feared. I caught a cold, and 
 neglected it, The cold, therefore, went in, instead 
 of coniing-ow^. When I did take it in hand by 
 unleashing drugs upon it, they hunted it from one 
 internal part to another. The process of digging 
 it out when it ran to ground at last, was tedious ; 
 and I growled horribly, not being used to much 
 physical suffering, thanks to my good stars. I 
 looked deplorably from sheer sulks; and hence 
 the consternation of my friends. I am now out of 
 the wood, however, and myself again for all pur- 
 poses of amusement, as dictated by Polonius, 'such 
 as dicing, gaming, drinking, fencing, swearing, 
 quarrelling, &c.' I am changing my lodgings; with 
 no regret, as I find my present wigwam intolerably 
 hot in summer. I have taken the second story of 
 the new house, outside the Schotten Thor. We 
 often looked at it together when it was a-building. 
 Do you remember ? 'Tis an enormous apartment 
 with eight rooms, two kitchens, and, alas ! a ruinous 
 rent to pay. But the charm of it is, that half the 
 rooms look south-west on the parade ground, and 
 will be sunny in winter; the other half, north-west 
 on the glacis, and will be cool in summer.
 
 ILLNESS IN VIENNA. 253 
 
 "I had lately a delightful evening at Lady 
 B.'s, with Wagner. He read us the libretto 
 of his new (serio-comic) opera, ' The Singers of 
 Nuremberg.' The work may almost be called 
 a satire on the art-critics of the day. It is full 
 of humour and wit ; sparkles with lively ver- 
 sification ; and is really rich in thought. He 
 declaimed it admirably, with much histrionic 
 power. I was greatly struck with the man as 
 well as his work." 
 
 The taking of the apartment described in this 
 letter was most unfortunate in its results. The 
 house was a new one, never before occnpied. The 
 walls of it were probably still damp. He caught 
 cold in it ; and the cold thus caught terminated 
 in a severe attack of pleurisy, from which his 
 health never permanently rallied. He was about 
 to revisit England when prostrated by this attack, 
 the gravity of which he concealed from his mother 
 as long as he was able to write. His recovery 
 from it was greatly due to the affectionate solici- 
 tude and hospitality of Lord and Lady Bloomiield, 
 by whom he was regarded and cared for with 
 all the tenderness which friendship derives from
 
 254 JULIAN FANE. 
 
 inborn kindliness of heart, and a sincere admira- 
 tion and esteem for the object of it. In the 
 spring of 18G4 his health was sufficiently revived 
 to enable him to undertake the journey to Eng- 
 land. He remained with his mother at Wim- 
 bledon during the summer of that year, and was 
 able, in the autumn, to accompany Lady West- 
 morland and his sister, Lady Rose, on a round 
 of visits in the north of England. 
 
 He continued to be, however, painfully sus- 
 ceptible to cold, and subject to a constant ten- 
 dency to cough. Notwithstanding the delicate 
 appearance of him, his rich fund of physical 
 strength and spirits, his overflowing and restless 
 vitality, and the apparent perfection of impunity 
 with which, in the indulgence of his versatile 
 activity of temperament, he then underwent 
 every physical and intellectual excitement, had 
 formerly been so remarkable that I used jokingly 
 to nickname him Bolingbroke. 
 
 Alas ! those days of impunity were over for 
 ever. His health was now at the mercy of the 
 slightest draught of air : and in the last series of 
 sonnets to his mother, which are printed in the
 
 MADE SECRETARY OF EMBASSY AT PARIS. 255 
 
 preceding chapter, there is sad record of his 
 physical sufferings. 
 
 In the year 1865 he was appointed Secretary of 
 Embassy at Paris. During the previous year a 
 great and very pleasing impression had been 
 made upon Lady Westmorland by the attractive 
 qualities and amiable disposition of Lady Adine 
 Cowper, during their intercourse at a country 
 house, where the two ladies happened to be 
 fellow guests. Julian Fane's protracted bachelor- 
 hood had long been a subject of regret to his 
 family ; his mother was fully cognizant of the 
 many latent qualities in his character which 
 peculiarly fitted him for the enjoyment of that 
 domestic life to which he seemed averse ; and her 
 solicitous maternal instinct, aided by a thorough 
 knowledge of his tastes and disposition, imme- 
 diately recognized in her young and charming 
 fellow guest the woman whom of all others she 
 could most cordially welcome as the wife of the 
 son to whom she was so tenderly and proudly 
 devoted. This sentiment appears to have been 
 mutual, for the young lady subsequently wrote 
 to one of her sisters : " If ever I marry, Lady
 
 25G JULIAN FANE. 
 
 Westmorland is the sort of person I should wish 
 my mother-in-law to be." It was not however 
 till the year 186G that Julian Fane and Lady 
 Adine Cowper became acquainted with each' 
 other. They first met whilst he was on a visit 
 to Lord and Lady Wensleydale at Ampthill. 
 Whilst there, he accepted an invitation from Lady 
 Cowper to Wrest ; and a few days after his arrival 
 at Wrest Park, he was engaged to Lady Adine. 
 The announcement of this betrothal occasioned 
 much surprise to the friends of the two betrothed. 
 But never was a marriage more harmoniously 
 assorted, or more felicitously complete in the 
 union of two appropriately associated natures, 
 than that which on the 29th September, 1866, 
 united in the flower of their young and beautiful 
 lives these two lovers, destined alas to be so soon 
 parted by death ! 
 
 Within the first month after his marriage, 
 Julian Fane was again attacked by a return of 
 his old symptoms. But the attack was short and 
 apparently slight. It did not prevent him from 
 resuming his official duties at Paris. It occasioned 
 no serious alarm either to himself or his friends,
 
 LADY ADINE. 257 
 
 and, in the rapidity of his recovery from it, his 
 doctors appeared to recognize the proof of a singu- 
 larly vigorous constitution. When shortly after- 
 wards his new home was blessed by the birth of a 
 daughter, the felicity of it was such as any Greek 
 philosopher might have well deemed dangerously 
 great. Lady Adine Fane not only shared, in all 
 its enthusiasm, her husband's devotional affection 
 for the mother by whom they were both cherished 
 with more than parental tenderness, but her tastes 
 and dispositions were also in all things the same 
 as his ; her sympathy and intelligence made her 
 one with him, in all the interests and objects, the 
 pursuits as well as the pastimes, of his life ; and 
 she so completely merged her sweet and gentle 
 spirit in his own, that 
 
 " always, thought in thought, 
 Purpose in purpose, will in will, they grew." 
 
 Their conjugal felicity was faultless : and for the 
 joys of paternity no man was ever more fitted by 
 temperament than this graceful, brilliant man of 
 the world, who seemed so little adapted to the 
 homely character of a paterfamilias. His delight
 
 258 JULIAN FANE. 
 
 in children had always been excessive, nor was it 
 greater than their delight in him. He had ever 
 been as much a favourite in the nursery as in the 
 salon. He thoroughly understood the feelings 
 and characters of those " good little men and 
 women ; " nor was he ever more charming than 
 when trying to please them. Meanwhile the 
 prospects of his domestic felicity were not brighter 
 than those of his public career. He had attained 
 to a position in his profession very much higher 
 than the rank he held in it : and, even under the 
 sterile routine of an undiscriminating seniority- 
 system of promotion, he was conspicuously marked 
 out by his professional reputation for appointment 
 to the next vacant mission in Europe. A long 
 life of public usefulness and private happiness 
 seemed to be before him. Suddenly, to the 
 surprise of all his friends, he resigned the Secre- 
 taryship of Embassy at Paris, and retired from a 
 profession of which he was one of the most 
 brilliant ornaments, and of which the highest 
 prizes lay so nearly in his grasp. 
 
 Julian Fane was doubtless conscious that his 
 health had seriously suffered from the uncon-
 
 INFLUENCE OF MARRIAGE. 259 
 
 genial climates and labours in which so many years 
 of his professional life had been passed. His 
 recent experience of the charm of domestic life 
 made him more than ever indifferent to the sterile 
 business and long-deferred rewards of such a pro- 
 fession. 
 
 No man's manhood is thoroughly completed 
 until he becomes chef de tribu, the head of 
 a home ; and permanently bound to a special 
 responsibility for the happiness and welfare of 
 those whose destiny he has deliberately attached 
 to his own, by the ties of matrimony and paternity. 
 When this responsibility has been seriously and 
 reverentially assumed, it generally brings about 
 one of those retours sur soi-meme, in which a 
 man takes stock of all his past experiences, and 
 makes a careful selection of investment in the 
 future. I doubt not that at this period of his 
 life Julian Fane was impressed by a just convic- 
 tion that the continued prosecution of a profession 
 which was incapable of satisfying his strongest 
 moral and intellectual requirements, would prove 
 fatal to the redemption and development of 
 powers which he recognized in himself. A really 
 
 s 2
 
 2G0 JULIAN FANE. 
 
 largo and independent character cannot but be 
 more or less narrowed and suppressed by daily 
 exercise in those subservient ingenuities whereby 
 a diplomatist must endeavour to give practical 
 effect to instructions, which, at the best, rarely 
 inspire him with any moral or intellectual enthu- 
 siasm. I doubt not that Julian Fane now felt his 
 hold upon life to be somewhat precarious ; and 
 that he seriously purposed to employ the remain- 
 ing years of his existence in some work which 
 should worthily exercise, and worthily represent, 
 all that was best and highest in his nature. This 
 resolution was doubtless also encouraged and con- 
 firmed by his wife's enthusiastic participation in 
 his own preference of a studious and contempla- 
 tive life. Moreover the prospect of habitual 
 separation from his mother and all who were dear 
 to him in England (the country of his predilec- 
 tion), became more and more intolerable to him in 
 proportion as he realized from his own sensations 
 the uncertainty of human life. He had just 
 received from the Government (which pressed him 
 to remain in his profession) the warmest approval 
 of the ability with which he had conducted the
 
 EETURN TO ENGLAND. 261 
 
 affairs of the Embassy at Paris during the period 
 between the departure of Lord Cowley and the 
 arrival of Lord Lyons. But he was already sighing 
 for the repose he needed to preserve his health, 
 and leisure to cultivate his literary tastes. 
 
 Without awaiting the speedy promotion of 
 which he was then certain, he quitted Paris; and, 
 with his wife and child, returned to his mother's 
 house in England. There, in the course of a few 
 months, he appeared to have entirely rallied from 
 the fatiguing effects of the sharp physical pain 
 with which he had been continually afflicted 
 during the year 1867. The summer of the year 
 1S6S was passed by himself and his wife at Ape- 
 thorpe, the old house he loved so well, which had 
 been placed at their disposal by his brother, the 
 jaresent Earl of Westmorland, for the confine- 
 ment of Lady Adine. There his second child, 
 a son, was born. In the meanwhile, he had 
 engaged on a long lease a small house at Fother- 
 inghay, about three miles from Apethorpe, and 
 had begun to furnish and prepare it for his 
 future homo. 
 
 The house thus ordered (with scrupulous regard
 
 2G2 JULIAN FANE. 
 
 to her approval whose tastes and wishes were so 
 congenial to his own) for the reception of the wife 
 he so dearly loved, and who was looking forward 
 with him to the early enjoyment of its rural re- 
 tirement, they were not destined to enter together. 
 Six weeks subsequent to her confinement, Lady 
 Adine continued to be so weak and suffering, that 
 her husband accompanied her to Wrest for change 
 of air. There however she became worse. They 
 sought in London the best medical advice ; and 
 sea-air having been recommended, proceeded 
 with their two children to Brighton. The expe- 
 riment was not successful. In compliance with 
 her urgent wishes, Lady Adine was removed by 
 her husband to the house of his mother, at 
 Wimbledon; and there, a fortnight afterwards, 
 she died.
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 Mr. Yernon Harcourt's Recollections of Julian Fane. 
 
 My Dear L., — 
 
 You have asked me to give you my im- 
 pressions of Julian Fane. In doing so you have 
 imposed upon me a task, which is to me at least, 
 the most difficult — I had almost said the most 
 impossible — of performance. Writing to you who 
 knew him later, but not less well, than I did, 
 description is needless ; hut how to convey to 
 others that unspeakable charm, that tender grace 
 which endeared his life and still consecrates his 
 memory to his friends — that I feel belongs to an 
 art of which I am not a master. 
 
 How am I to tell to those who do not know it 
 already, what Julian Fane was ? I can do it as 
 little as I could pourtray to you the exquisite 
 lineaments of some landscape which has struck 
 the imagination, and which dwells in the memory
 
 261. JULIxVN FANE. 
 
 for ever. I should succeed no better than if I 
 tried to convey to you the attractions of a woman 
 I have loved. No human being that I ever knew 
 combined in an equal degree the qualities which 
 attract in a man, and the charms which fascinate 
 in a woman. It would require the touch of the 
 author of "In Memoriam" to trace the delicate 
 features of such character, and to do justice to the 
 depths of love which he inspired. The hard bold 
 outlines of an active and eventful career are easily 
 recorded, and such a biography is not difficult to 
 compose. But this is only the dead skeleton of 
 existence — the tender tints, the graceful move- 
 ment, the living light which form the realities of 
 friendship and of love, belong to those mysteries 
 of life which defy analysis and are beyond the 
 reach of imitation. What I feel about Julian I 
 think you know; what I can tell you is very little; 
 and must be most inadequate to satisfy your 
 wishes or mine. 
 
 Our acquaintance, which soon ripened into a 
 friendship, as close I think as two men ever 
 enjoyed, began at Cambridge in 1848. I had 
 been absent abroad for a year, and found that he
 
 ME. VERNON HARCOURt's RECOLLECTIONS. 265 
 
 had entered at Trinity whilst I was away. I 
 remember as it were to-day the wine-party when I 
 first saw him. His was not a form easily forgotten. 
 We fell, I know not how, on the discussion of 
 Shelley's poetry. I know that we took opposite 
 sides, and that (as was likely to be the case) he 
 was right and I was wrong, and I learnt from him 
 afterwards to appreciate his favourite poet. Julian 
 seemed in himself the true presentment of the 
 " pard-like spirit beautiful and swift." From that 
 time we gravitated towards each other by that 
 sort of instinctive and indescribable attraction 
 which governs the attachments of youth. Perhaps 
 the very variety of our temperaments and the 
 difference of our dispositions bore no small share 
 in the bond that united us. The moment at which 
 our acquaintance began, was one of singular in- 
 terest in the history of the world. It was the very 
 crisis of the European Revolution of 1848. Julian 
 Fane came to Cambridge under very peculiar 
 circumstances. Though already attached to his 
 father's Mission at Berlin, and gifted as you know 
 with all the graces of mind and person, which 
 enable a man to shine in such a career, and to
 
 266 JULIAN FANE. 
 
 enjoy to the full the pleasures which society and 
 Courts afford, he determined of his own will to go 
 to College, and to prepare himself for it. He 
 buried himself for some time before he came to 
 Cambridge with a tutor in a country village at 
 nineteen years of age, when most men in his posi- 
 tion are content to consider their education com- 
 pleted, and to assume that the time for action and 
 enjoyment has arrived. I doubt if your profession 
 and his offer many examples of such a retraite. 
 It seems to me, remembering what he was, an act 
 of self-control still more extraordinary now, than 
 it did then, and was a proof of that powerful 
 determination to excel in the best way, in the best 
 things, which those who only knew him super- 
 ficially might never have suspected to underlie his 
 gentle and tender character. 
 
 Julian had lived too much in the world to be 
 shy, and he was of a disposition too open to be 
 reserved. When he was in the society of men, 
 he gave them of his best, and no one could, or 
 did, make himself more liked by those with whom 
 he lived. Most men affect that in which they are 
 conscious of excelling, and certainly no one was
 
 MR. VERNON HARCOURT's RECOLLECTIONS. 207 
 
 more capable of adorning the most brilliant 
 society, whether by the graces of his manner, or 
 the gifts of his mind, than Julian Fane. Yet, 
 what was remarkable in his case, he was very 
 little solicitous to seek opportunities of shining. 
 This was so at Cambridge, and remained so, even 
 to the end, when he necessarily mixed more in the 
 great world. As a fellow commoner at Trinity, he 
 enjoyed the advantage of associating on intimate 
 terms at the high table, with many distinguished 
 men of older standing than himself, and there are 
 many amongst the College authorities of his time 
 who retain, as I well know, a vivid recollection of 
 his delightful qualities. But his intimate friends 
 were few. He had a sort of sensitiveness and 
 fastidiousness all his life, which seemed to shrink 
 from the effort of making new acquaintances, but 
 which endeared him all the more to those who 
 enjoyed the happiness of his friendship. I had the 
 good fortune to be the means of introducing him 
 to a society at Cambridge, to which many genera- 
 tions of men (generations are short at College) 
 look back with grateful recollections of instructive 
 hours, and of pleasant and life-long friendship.
 
 208 JULIAN FANE. 
 
 I venture to say that amongst the generation to 
 which we belonged no figure remains more vividly 
 imprinted on the memory of all, than that of 
 Julian Fane. And " the Society/' as its disciples 
 loved to call it, counted amongst its members no 
 worthier associate, no more loyal or devoted adhe- 
 rent. To the last day of his life its membership 
 constituted that freemasonry of friendship which 
 still preserves that cherished institution in the 
 freshness of perpetual youth and of immortal age, 
 He was the salt and the life of those well re- 
 membered evenings. He was not fond of argu- 
 ment himself, but tolerant of the disputation of 
 others. He had interest in every topic and sym- 
 pathy with every mind ; and when graver discus- 
 sions were exhausted would delight us inexpe- 
 rienced schoolboys with the tales of the great 
 world outside, of which we had seen nothing, and 
 of which he knew as much as any man of fifty. 
 His early experience of life, without having har- 
 dened his heart, or damped his enthusiasm, had 
 sobered his judgment and gave him a prudence 
 and discretion beyond his years and ours, which 
 by its strangeness astonished and charmed us.
 
 ME. VERNON HARCOURt's RECOLLECTIONS. 269 
 
 He was as fit to conduct a delicate negotiation 
 at twenty as the oldest drplomate in the service. 
 Brought up in the atmosphere of foreign Courts, 
 he had a thoroughly popular and English fibre 
 in his nature. Though it was his fate and our 
 misfortune that he was called upon to live so 
 much in foreign countries, I believe he was never 
 really happy out of England. Yet so delicate 
 and considerate was he of the feelings of others, 
 that I doubt whether those with whom he was 
 called upon to associate, ever suspected how his 
 heart always " to his country turned with cease- 
 less pain, and dragged at each remove a lengthen- 
 ing chain." It was only when sitting over the 
 fire smoking his cigarette with an old friend that 
 he would confess with a groan how he longed to 
 exchange all the splendour of the capitals of 
 Eiu'ope for the society, the associations, the topics 
 of old Cambridge times and Cambridge men. M. 
 de Montalembert wrote once that he came to take 
 "an air-bath of liberty" in England. A return to 
 London seemed to produce much the same effect 
 on Julian Fane. Often he has said to me, "This 
 is the only place where one can talk about any-
 
 270 JULIAN FANE. 
 
 thing worth talking about." Excuse the extreme 
 chauvinisme of the remark, hut it was charac- 
 teristic of one of those unsuspected corners of his 
 mind known only to those who knew him well. 
 With al] that remarkable adaptiveness and plasti- 
 city which enabled him in a singular degree to 
 mould himself to persons and circumstances when 
 occasion required, he was still in his character, in 
 his intellect, and in his sympathy, English of the 
 English. 
 
 Julian's health, always delicate — indeed so deli- 
 cate that his prolonged life was more surprising 
 than his early death — prevented his taking any 
 part in the active physical exercises of College life. 
 Like many men in feeble health, he turned day 
 into night, and night into day. To awake him 
 past midday in his lodgings, was the daily and not 
 always easy office of his intimates. He was pas- 
 sionately fond of music, a taste to which lie had 
 an hereditary right; and had only banished his 
 piano because he thought it wasted his time too 
 much. He was studious of general literature, and 
 only followed the regular course of the University 
 sufficiently to take his degree with credit. He
 
 MR. VEENON HARCOURTS RECOLLECTIONS. 271 
 
 set his heart however on the University Prize for 
 English Verse, and Julian seldom failed in that 
 which he wished to accomplish. The subject was 
 not an easy one to treat — the death of Adelaide 
 the Queen Dowager. But the choice and graceful 
 verses, which showed how deeply his mind was 
 steeped in the Muse of Milton, well deserved the 
 preeminence they won. The idea was original, even 
 its imitation, and was worked out with the finish 
 and taste which belonged to all his compositions. 
 When we left Cambridge, his path and mine 
 diverged — he to diplomacy, I to law. We were 
 necessarily much divided, but our hearts, as you 
 know, were always one. You ask me for letters, 
 I have some of course, but not a great many. 
 We were both bad correspondents. Only to his 
 mother who was the central idol of his heart, 
 did he constantly write. But when he was in 
 England we were much together. His was 
 a heart to which absence brought no chill and 
 length of time no change. Of his diplomatic 
 career I need say nothing to you. You know it 
 better and can describe it more truly than anyone. 
 I think you can bear testimony that no man was
 
 27:2 JULIAN FANE. 
 
 ever better fitted for a post where temper and 
 prudence, commended by winning manners and 
 graceful courtesy, are needed to deal with difficult 
 negotiations and men of various minds. He had 
 just reached the first position in the second grade 
 of his profession and was ripe for the highest 
 post, when his health and strength gave way, and 
 the world which is " cold to all that might have 
 been," never learnt that future which his friends 
 were well able to foresee. 
 
 Though deeply interested in politics, Julian 
 was not by disposition a party politician. His 
 opinions were of a liberal complexion, but mode- 
 rate in tone. His early experience of the European 
 Revolution in 1848 had, perhaps, somewhat chilled 
 his faith in democratic progress. But on the 
 American Civil War, which I have always re- 
 garded as the true touchstone in our times of real 
 liberal belief, his sympathies were wholly on the 
 side of constitutional freedom, and against the 
 "chivalry " of rebellion and slavery. The strong 
 English instincts, to which I have already referred, 
 always preserved him from the dangers to which 
 his profession has been supposed to be obnoxious
 
 ME. VERNON HARCOURT's RECOLLECTIONS. 273 
 
 — I mean that of losing sympathy with the 
 habits and minds of his own country through the 
 influence of a foreign atmosphere, and association 
 with foreign manners of thought and of action. 
 He had a truly British love of political compro- 
 mise, which was, perhaps, all the stronger from 
 his experience of the evils consequent on the 
 incapacity of foreign politicians to accept such 
 a basis of action. I remember well how in the 
 vehement contest on the subject of the Reform 
 Bills of 1866 and 1867, whilst admitting the 
 inconsistency (not to use a stronger phrase) of the 
 Conservative Government in proposing a measure 
 of household suffrage, he insisted on the enormous 
 political advantage of effecting so great a revolu- 
 tion in the balance of political power without any 
 social disruption, and binding both parties in the 
 State to the policy of enfranchisement without 
 achieving a dangerous and mortifying triumph of 
 one section of people over another. He used to 
 say, " Depend upon it, such a thing as this could 
 not be done anywhere but in England without 
 fighting in the streets." I can only record the 
 immense advantage I derived (I am sure you have 
 
 T
 
 274 JULIAN FANE. 
 
 felt it too) of being able to look at English ques- 
 tions through the medium of a mind eminently 
 fair and impartial, and which had drawn its 
 experience from the knowledge of " many cities 
 and manners of men." 
 
 Of his domestic life what can I, what need I 
 say ? Our fortunes and misfortunes have been 
 too parallel to permit me to speak of them. There 
 are memories of joy and of sorrow which are not 
 to be forgotten, but which it is in vain to describe. 
 His life and his death alike dwell in my heart 
 like the strain of some beautiful poem, in which 
 the alternations of delight, and of pain, pursue 
 each other with a cadence of the deepest pathos 
 and seem to blend in one harmonious whole. It 
 is not given, I suppose, to the highest natures to 
 be very happy; what the world calls happiness 
 should be made of coarser fibre and of " sterner 
 stuff than this." 
 
 The last time I saw much of Julian was at 
 Jjotheringhay (a name consecrated to misfortune), 
 where he had prepared a home for Adine and his 
 children. He went there only to lay her in the 
 grave. I joined him a short time after her death ;
 
 MR. VERNON HARCOURT's RECOLLECTIONS. 275 
 
 when he was (I think he knew this himself) 
 stricken with a mortal disease. He was very calm 
 and almost happy, in a solitude which was only 
 broken by the prattle of his little children. You 
 know all his life what a passion he had for being 
 alone. It seemed to grow upon him in his sor- 
 rows. Yet as ever his heart reverted to his early 
 days, his early life, and his early friends. We 
 talked of old things and of old times as we did at 
 Cambridge, but I felt that we should not do so 
 much longer. Next to his mother and his home, 
 I think Cambridge had the first place in his 
 affections. He could not rest till he had taken 
 Adine there, to introduce her to the old haunts 
 that he loved so well. 
 
 That so finished and complete a man should 
 have perished so untimely — that the world should 
 know so little of that which is best and highest 
 and most lovely in the midst of it, is not the less 
 sad, because it was so common. You and I, my 
 dear L., were amongst the few, the very few, 
 to whom it was permitted, to know all that Julian 
 was; and whatever else may come to us, it is a gift 
 for which we shall always feel supremely grateful. 
 
 t 2
 
 270 JULIAN FANE. 
 
 If you are able in any degree to convey to others 
 less fortunate, a sense of that delight which we 
 have so often drunk in his companionship, you will 
 have achieved a work well worthy of achieve- 
 ment ; and I cordially bid you God speed, wishing 
 that I had the power, as I have the will, to assist 
 you in it. 
 
 Yours ever, 
 
 W. V. H. 
 
 April, 1871.
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 Failing Health. Continued Interest in Literature and Public 
 Affairs. Latest Employments. Poems ad Matrem. Increas- 
 ing Sufferings and Isolation. Sympathy of Friends. Religious 
 Belief. Designs for the Future. Sonnets to his Mother. 
 His Sister's Eecollections. Last Hours. Latest Written 
 Words. The End. Tributes to his Memory. 
 
 From the shock of Lady Adine's death, Julian 
 Fane never recovered. The remaining days of 
 life were to him few and sad. "I thank God," 
 says his mother, "that I was with him through 
 that dreadful time, and that we were never after- 
 wards separated, except now and then for a few 
 days. He was, in his deep grief, perfect, — as 
 indeed in all the relations and circumstances of 
 life. Doing all that was right ; and submitting 
 with patience and calmness (after the first sharp 
 paroxysm of his great anguish) to the will of God. 
 He did not see anyone but me during the week 
 we remained at Wimbledon." He then went to 
 Apethorpe to attend the funeral; and thence took
 
 
 278 JULIAN FANE. 
 
 possession of his melancholy home at Fothering- 
 hay ; where his children joined him from Wrest, 
 whither they had returned from Brighton during 
 Lady Adine's illness. He was also joined there 
 by his mother, who found him sadly broken by 
 grief, as well as physical pain, and afflicted by a 
 continuous cough. On the advice of his physi- 
 cians he sought change of air in the Isle of 
 Wight, but there his cough grew worse. In the 
 summer, still suffering, he returned to Wimble- 
 don. Thence he visited his wife's family at Wrest 
 and Pansh anger ; but with no relief from the 
 bodily discomfort, which was doubtless aggravated 
 by all that he was still morally suffering under 
 the sense of his recent bereavement. He returned 
 for the winter to his mother's house in London. 
 There, his health rapidly declined, till in the month 
 of January, 1870, his sufferings assumed the form 
 of an affection in the throat which deprived him 
 of the power of swallowing any liquid. 
 
 Yet, to the latest hour of his life, he retained 
 the liveliest interest in every great political and 
 social question which affected the moral and 
 intellectual welfare of his fellow creatures. This
 
 LATEST EMPLOYMENTS. 279 
 
 was an interest purely unselfish, and which had 
 survived all possibility of personal participation 
 in the triumph of any cause by which it was 
 inspired. His passion for literature continued 
 also to the last, It was with fast-failing health, 
 and spirits cruelly shattered by his recent loss, 
 that he wrote for the Edinburgh Review a long 
 and careful criticism (much altered by the Editor) 
 of Mr. Browning's poem of " The Ring and the 
 Book." That exquisite consideration for the 
 feelings of all around him which so largely con- 
 tributed to the peculiar charm of his character, 
 was increased instead of being impaired by the 
 intensity of his own sufferings. Nor did the 
 extremest physical pain and weakness prevent 
 him, even in the last struggle of his prolonged 
 death-agony, from greeting with its accustomed 
 tribute of grateful song the return of that day 
 which was so dear to him as the birthday of his 
 mother. The following sonnet, addressed to her 
 some months after the birth of his first child, a 
 daughter, is in sad contrast with the two others 
 here printed below it ; ' which were written after 
 the death of his wife.
 
 2S0 JULIAN FANE. 
 
 AD MATREM. 
 
 (London, March 13, 1868.) 
 
 Thou tiny blossom hanging- on the hough 
 Of life ; my baby, lapt in gentle rest, 
 Time was when softly on a mother's breast 
 I slept in peace, as thou art sleeping now. 
 And eyes as full of love's ineffable light 
 As those that o'er thy slumbers vigil keep, 
 Kept patient watch above my infant sleep, 
 And hands as true and tender clasp'd me light. 
 Ah, happy mother, may thy child prove true ! 
 Ah, happy child, deserve thy mother's love ! 
 My Saint, I crave thy blessing on these two, 
 Crave thou for them a blessing from above. 
 
 Then take me to thy heart, and we will seek 
 No words to say what words can never speak. 
 
 AD MATREM. 
 
 (FoTHERINGHAY, MARCH 13, 1869.) 
 I. 
 
 " Could I outpour all treasures of all art, 
 " And beggar language to enrich my verse, 
 " I could not paint thee perfect as thou art, 
 " Nor half thy praise, nor half my love rehearse." 
 — So did I sing while yet the woods were green, 
 And all life's landscape blithe and debonair,
 
 SONNETS TO HIS MOTHER. 281 
 
 But now that birds are mute and boughs are bare, 
 
 Will not song- mock the solitary scene ? 
 
 The solitary scene ! for now no more 
 
 The sweet mate sits beside me on the tree ; 
 
 Fled to the peaceful Paradisal shore, 
 
 The sweet mate who was glad I sang for thee. 
 
 Ah, can she yet be touch'd by mortal thing ? 
 
 Almost methihks from Heaven she bids me sing. 
 
 II. 
 
 Sometimes there comes in drear December's dark 
 An earth-awakening joy-compelling day ; 
 And for a moment the long silent lark 
 Mistakes the month, and almost finds his lay. 
 So must this day, thou most beloved soul, 
 Which sacred is, and dedicate to thee, 
 Tho' earth were wrapp'd in snow from pole to pole, 
 Draw from my lips one snatch of melody 
 To call thee perfect in thy peerless grace ; 
 How good, how true, how tender, who shall tell ? 
 Thou ministering angel in the place 
 Where sorrow comes, she only knows thee well. 
 And I, whose heart with Sorrow hath been one, 
 Bless beyond words who so hath blest her son. 
 
 The peculiar and painful affection of the throat, 
 from which, ever since the beginning of the year 
 in which these two last sonnets are dated, Julian 
 Fane had been a constant sufferer, was accom- 
 panied by a gradual extinction of voice. This loss of 
 voice was almost complete for nearly a year before 
 the end of his great sufferings. The impossibility
 
 
 2S2 JULIAN FANE. 
 
 of swallowing liquids added to his other torments 
 the agony of constant thirst, which could only be 
 alleviated by sucking small pieces of fruit. His 
 own intense sensitiveness to the sight of physical 
 pain made him shrink from seeing any of the old 
 and attached friends, who, during his long mortal 
 combat with the malady to which he finally 
 succumbed, were constant in their visits and 
 hopeful to the last. He could not bear to witness 
 the pain with which he knew they would contem- 
 plate his own. And, with the exception of his 
 mother and sister, who were in constant atten- 
 dance upon him, no one but his brother (and he 
 only for a few moments) was ever admitted into 
 the profound seclusion of his sick room. Lord 
 Clarendon (whose own valuable life was shortened 
 by his conscientious and unremitting attendance 
 to the minutest business of the laborious office he 
 then held) never failed during the whole of this 
 time, to call every Sunday in the hope of seeing 
 and cheering, by his kindly sympathy, the young 
 friend whose bright intelligence and many en- 
 dearing qualities were appreciated by no one more 
 warmly than the statesman under whom he had
 
 THE END APEEOACHING. 283 
 
 served during the greater part of his brilliant but 
 prematurely broken career. 
 
 The poor sufferer would not allow himself the 
 luxury of even once again beholding the chief and 
 friend to whom he was cordially and gratefully 
 attached. But, knowing the interest still retained 
 by Julian Fane in all public affairs, Lord Claren- 
 don continued to pass many an hour out of the 
 afternoon of the only day in the week which 
 found him comparatively free from official busi- 
 ness, in affectionate endeavours to alleviate the 
 solitude of that sick-chamber which he never 
 entered, by imparting to Lady Westmorland (and 
 with all the charm of his own rare conversa- 
 tional powers), in order that she might communi- 
 cate it to her son, whatever he thought likely to 
 interest Julian in the political gossip of the week. 
 Mr. Vernon Harcourt also, Julian's most intimate 
 friend, came daily, hoping against hope, to that 
 sad house, for news of the sick man who had not 
 the courage to receive him. It was only by 
 putting her ear close to his lips, and supporting 
 his powerless and wasted arm upon her shoulder, 
 that his mother was able to hear and understand
 
 2St JULIAN FANE. 
 
 the faint utterances which even thus were not 
 articulated without an effort. For a bug while 
 he shrunk from seeing his children, who, since 
 the commencement of his mortal suffering, had 
 remained with their maternal grandmother, Lady 
 Cowper, at Wrest. He dreaded the possibility of 
 their being frightened by the sight of him. But 
 six weeks before his death he sent for them, and 
 saw them daily. His mind dwelt constantly, and 
 with the most solicitous forethought, upon the 
 subject of their education and future lives. On 
 this subject he spoke much with his sister, whom 
 he appointed guardian to his two little orphans, in 
 the event of his death ; for which (though never 
 despondent) he was fully and calmly prepared. 
 Two months before it happened he executed 
 his will, and made every arrangement for the 
 fulfilment of his last wishes. 
 
 "We had," says Lady Westmorland, in a letter 
 to myself, "several conversations, during his last 
 illness, upon religious subjects, about which he 
 had his own peculiar views. The disputes and 
 animosities between High and Low Church, and 
 all the feuds of religious sectarianism, caused him
 
 EELIGIOUS BELIEF. 285 
 
 the deepest disgust. I think, indeed, that he 
 carried this feeling too far. He had a horror of 
 cant; which I also think was exaggerated : for it 
 gave him a repulsion for all outward show of 
 religious observances. He often told me that he 
 never missed the practice of prayer, at morning 
 and evening, and at other times. But his 
 prayers were his own : his own thoughts in his 
 own words. He said that he could not pray 
 in the set words of another; nor unless he "was 
 alone. As to joining in Family Prayers, or 
 praying at Church, he found it impossible. He 
 constantly read the New Testament. He depre- 
 cated the indiscriminate reading of the Bible. 
 He firmly believed in the efficacy of sincere 
 prayer ; and was always pleased, when I told him 
 I had prayed for him. When I perceived that 
 the end of his sufferings could not be lone: 
 delayed, I felt certain it would be useless to 
 propose to him to see a clergyman. But I did 
 write to Mr. Maurice (who was at Cambridge), 
 a kind friend of mine, and one whom Julian much 
 admired and liked, — to come to town; thinking 
 that perhaps at last he might sec him, and that
 
 286 JULIAN FANE. 
 
 lie would be a comfort to us all. By some 
 accident, my letter did not reach him as soon as 
 it ought ; and though he immediately hurried 
 to town, he arrived a few hours after life had 
 departed. The day before, I had read the prayers 
 for the sick at his bedside ; and he said he liked 
 to hear them from my voice. He knew they 
 came from my heart." 
 
 Here, I cannot forbear to add, that having had 
 many opportunities, in the course of my own 
 intimacy with him, of knowing what were the 
 religious opinions and feelings of Julian Fane, 
 at the time when he was in the full vigour of his 
 intellectual faculties, and the maturity of his self- 
 knowledge, I am persuaded that (except in so far 
 as they doubtless grew more intense as his mind 
 grew more and more spiritualised by suffering and 
 the contemplation of approaching death) those 
 opinions and feelings underwent no change, but 
 supported him to the last under great sorrow of 
 heart and grievous bodily affliction. His mind, 
 spontaneously attracted by the spiritual beauty 
 which it recognized as the pervading atmosphere 
 of an indefinite and boundless tract of Christian
 
 DESIGNS FOR THE FUTURE. 2S7 
 
 sentiment, flowed easily round and over all inci- 
 dental dogmatic obstructions ; fully satisfied with 
 possessing the simplest and most efficacious stimu- 
 lant to the exercise of the virtues of reverence, 
 sincerity, benevolence, comj)assion, fortitude, and 
 loving kindness, which were naturally active in 
 him, and which kept his character in harmony 
 with his creed. 
 
 Let me add, that among his papers I find many 
 indications of a literary activity abruptly sus- 
 pended ; notes and materials for a biography of 
 Heinrich Heine ; notes for criticisms of books ; the 
 commencement of a novel and a play ; and various 
 unfinished lyrics. Also the scattered memoranda 
 of some apparent excursions into physical science. 
 In fact, the first year of his retirement from pro- 
 fessional life was passed by him in all the vague 
 and delicious luxury of a hungry intellect turned 
 out to literary grass. For the first time he found 
 himself in possession of what appeared to be 
 unlimited leisure to browse at will over every 
 province of literature, to follow his curiosity into 
 every department of study, and to indulge his 
 fancy in every kind of literary experiment. And
 
 2S8 JULIAN FANE. 
 
 Ik fore the first blades cropped from this boundless 
 field of intellectual nurture and enjoyment bad 
 been digested and assimilated, the life they were 
 already enriching was stricken down and swept 
 away. 
 
 "So far from being impatient of his dreadful 
 illness," says the sister who was then his constant 
 companion, " he more than once told me that 
 it had been good for him ; and he frequently 
 expressed his gratitude to a doctor w T ho had given 
 him a very unfavourable opinion of his case a year 
 before, and been blamed for so doing by his 
 friends. He said that the warning then received, 
 had given him opportunities of thought for the 
 future of his children, and for the retrospect of his 
 own life ; which he was glad to have had before 
 his bodily pain and weakness became excessive. 
 He spoke much in connection with the subject of 
 his children (and especially his boy), about what 
 he conceived to have been the mistakes and errors 
 of his own life ; and it was in these conversations 
 that his real nature appeared in its most perfect 
 form. His strongest characteristic had ever been 
 an intense love of, and reverence for, truth ; and
 
 his sister's recollections. 289 
 
 an equal abhorrence of everything approaching to 
 falsehood or deceit, which he regarded as the most 
 inexcusable sin. He desired for his children a 
 thorough veracity of character, and a reverence 
 for the beauty of moral purity, far more than any 
 intellectual gift or inherited talent. He used to 
 tell me that the thing he envied and respected 
 most in the world, was a perfectly pure moral 
 sense, so strong as to make a man prefer death 
 to compromise between double motives. He 
 instanced the character of one of his friends who, 
 without any intellectual brilliancy, was con- 
 spicuously conscientious in the moral conduct of 
 his life, as the model which he would most wish 
 his children to emulate. He often, at this time, 
 regretted what he thought to have been desultory 
 in his own life, and dwelt with great earnestness 
 on the importance of regular habits of work. He 
 said he could wish that his son should be obliged 
 to work for some definite object in life ; but that 
 in any case he desired for him a profession. His 
 love for and delight in his children was extreme. 
 But, even in this, his natural unselfishness 
 appeared. For, however much he might wish for 
 
 v
 
 290 JULIAN FANE. 
 
 tlicir society, lie was nervously fearful of inter- 
 fering with any arrangements for their advantage. 
 And he who had all his life been petted and 
 adored by those about him, showed in his last 
 illness a thoughtfulness for others, and an ab- 
 sence of selfishness which would, I believe, have 
 astonished even those who knew him best. He 
 continued nearly to the last (though so shut out 
 from the world,) to take great interest in politics 
 and public events. The principal topics of the 
 moment were the Irish Land Bill and the Educa- 
 tion Bill, every detail of which he followed with 
 the deepest sympathy in their success. Tolerant 
 as he was of all fair and honest criticism, nothing 
 so intensely disgusted and exasperated him as the 
 petty spite of party, and the miserable imputation 
 of mean or selfish motives to public men in whose 
 conduct his own impartial and generous judgment 
 distinctly recognized a courageous rectitude of 
 purpose. It was this feeling which so strongly 
 enlisted his sympathies in the triumph of those 
 two great measures." 
 
 Generous indeed and gentle, high-minded and 
 full-hearted, was this man's exquisite humanity, to
 
 LAST WORDS WRITTEN BY HIM. 291 
 
 the last hour of his visible presence in a world 
 through which he had passed from childhood to 
 maturity uuhardened by that high temperature of 
 pleasure and prosperity which so often indurates 
 the heart as quickly as hot water indurates an 
 egg. But the end of his earthly sojourn was now 
 at hand. On the evening of the 12th of March, 
 1870, his physical suffering was excessive. The 
 following day was the birthday of his mother. 
 That day had never yet dawned upon a deeper 
 sorrow than it now reawakened in the soul of her 
 he loved so well. For the first time in all the 
 long course of their tender intercourse she could 
 not look forward to that accustomed and trea- 
 sured tribute of dedicated song wherewith her son 
 had never yet failed to honour the advent of this 
 day. Yet she found what she dared not, could not, 
 anticipate. There lay upon her table, when she 
 rose on that saddest of all her birthday anniver- 
 saries, a letter in the old beloved handwriting ; 
 which, with a few simple utterances of devoted 
 affection, contained the two following sonnets. 
 They are the last words ever written by Julian 
 Fane. But this golden chain of votive verse into 
 
 tj 2
 
 293 JULIAN FANE. 
 
 which from liis earliest years lie had woven, with 
 religious devotion, the annual record of a lifelong 
 affection, was not broken till life itself had left 
 the hand that wrought it. 
 
 AD MATREM. 
 
 (London, March 13, 1870.) 
 
 When the vast heaven is dark with ominous clouds, 
 
 That lower their gloomful faces to the earth ; 
 
 When all things sweet and fair are cloak'd in shrouds, 
 
 And dire calamity and care have birth ; 
 
 When furious tempests strip the woodland green, 
 
 And from bare boughs the hapless songsters sing ; 
 
 When Winter stalks, a spectre, on the scene, 
 
 And breathes a blight on every living thing ; 
 
 Then, when the spirit of man, by sickness tried, 
 
 Half fears, half hopes, that Death be at his side, 
 
 Outleaps the sun, and gives him life again. 
 
 O Mother, I clasp'd Death ; but, seeing thy face, 
 Leapt from his dark arms to thy dear embrace. 
 
 ii. 
 So, like a wanderer from the world of shades, 
 Back to the firm earth, and familiar skies, 
 Back to that light of love that never fades — 
 The unbroken sunshine of thy blissful eyes, 
 I come — to greet thee on this happy day 
 That lets a fresh pearl on thy life appear ; 
 That decks thy Jewell 'd age with fresh array, 
 Of good deeds done within the circled year ;
 
 DEATH. 293 
 
 So art thou robed in majesty of grace, 
 
 In regal purple of pure womanhood ; 
 
 Throned in thy high pre-eminence of place ; 
 
 Sceptred and crown'd, a very Queen of Good. 
 Receive my blessing, perfect as thou art, 
 Queen of all good, and sovereign of my heart. 
 
 A few days before he died, his incessant suffer- 
 ing was somewhat relieved by the exhaustion 
 growing out of its prolonged endurance. The 
 natural hopefulness of his nature revived ; and he 
 said to his mother, " I really believe I shall pull 
 through — after alL" He got up, dressed and 
 shaved ; and from that moment he passed his 
 days upon his sofa, until the last but one, which 
 found him too weak to leave his bed. Mean- 
 while, however, all pain had ceased. He became 
 drowsy, and dozed constantly. On the 18th of 
 Aj3ril (1870) he was apparently free from all suf- 
 fering save that of extreme debility. Midnight 
 came. He told his servant to remove the candle 
 from before his eyes, saying that he wished to 
 sleep. The room was darkened ; he turned softly 
 to his rest ; and those that watched him withdrew 
 into the next chamber in order not to disturb the 
 sleeper. When shortly afterwards his brother
 
 291 JULIAN FANE. 
 
 re-entered from the adjoining room to see if he 
 were yet asleep, he was lying quite still, with a 
 deep smile upon his face. He seemed to be (and 
 was) in a sweet sound slumber. It was the 
 slumber of death. 
 
 Thus painlessly, after long physical suffering, 
 and without a struggle or a sigh, passed away 
 from earth the soul of Julian Charles Henry Fane. 
 It has left behind it, here below, no abiding 
 monument of its beauty and its strength, save 
 in the memories of those that knew him. Yet 
 his short life was not in vain. It enriched the 
 world with a realized and animated ideal of much 
 that is rarest and most beautiful in human 
 character ; and they who yet mourn the loss of all 
 that departed with him from the lives once 
 beautified and bettered by his own, will re-echo 
 the language in which he himself has lamented a 
 similar departure of loveliness from earth, when 
 they recal to mind these lines of one of his 
 earliest poems — 
 
 " Ah, not the music of his voice alone, 
 But his sweet melody of thought, which fed. 
 Our minds with perfect harmony, is flown ! "
 
 TRIBUTES TO HIS MEMORY. 295 
 
 " Never," said a writer in the Pall Mall Gazette, 
 " did Julian Fane fail to make a friend of anyone 
 who came within the sunshine of his refined and 
 gentle nature." 
 
 " There was in him," wrote Mr. Henry Reeve to 
 his sister, " something of that finer sense and feel- 
 ing which marked him out as a being of another 
 world, for whom this common life of ours is too 
 coarse and too cold. Those who knew him will 
 never forget the charm of his manners and con- 
 versation." 
 
 "Every one who knew him," says Sir Roderick 
 Murchison, " felt keenly how much original talent 
 there was in him, combined with the most engag- 
 ing manners." 
 
 In a letter written shortly after the death of 
 Julian Fane, Mr. Motley the historian, and late 
 American Minister in England, says, " It will 
 always be most delightful for me to remember 
 the circumstances which brought me into close 
 intimacy with Julian Fane during several years, 
 and enabled me thoroughly to appreciate his re- 
 fined and delicate nature, his graceful, pOetic, and 
 subtle intellect, and the singular and remarkable
 
 296 JULIAN taxi:. 
 
 charm of manner which his great personal beauty 
 so much enhanced. Besides the many literary 
 and artistic tastes with which I had the pleasure 
 of finding myself in warm sympathy with him, 
 there were stronger ties between us which made 
 his friendship especially dear to me. It happened 
 to be a momentous epoch in the history of my 
 country, at which patriotism became not a senti- 
 ment only, but a passion ; and in which we found 
 ourselves drawn very closely to those who shared 
 our convictions and our faith. I never found any- 
 one out of America more unwavering in his belief 
 and sympathy, or more intelligent and apprecia- 
 tive as to the causes and progress of that great 
 conflict, than he was." 
 
 Lauclatis laudari is the best order of merit ; 
 and these evidences of the impression made by 
 Julian Fane upon men of intellect and heart, are 
 so precious that I need not apologize for placing 
 them on record. On hearing of his death Lord 
 Clarendon wrote to Lady Westmorland, " I feel as 
 if one very near and dear to myself had passed 
 away. God give you strength to bear the irrepar- 
 able loss of such a son, and such a man!" Nor
 
 
 
 TRIBUTES TO HIS MEMORY. 287 
 
 was it only in England that his loss was felt. 
 Wherever any portion of his life had been passed 
 he left many mourners. In a very touching letter 
 which it is impossible to read without a high 
 appreciation of its writer's character, Her Majesty 
 the present Queen of Prussia wrote to his mother, 
 " Apres avoir connu ce fils, si distingue depuis son 
 adolescence, et apres avoir pu juger de ce qu'il est 
 dcvenu dans l'e'cole de la vie, comment ne pas 
 deplorer sa perte, a, la fois penible pour sa famillo 
 et pour son pays ! " 
 
 " From those who loved him," wrote Mr. Forster, 
 " are gone the joy of such a presence as they will 
 hardly again see here, the brilliancy and beauty 
 of such intercourse as they can never hojDe to 
 renew."

 

 
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