vm
ffifife-4n>.
SHE!?;?, v v I H I
5
Hi
LIBRARY
THE UNIVERSITY
OF CALIFORNIA
SANTA BARBARA
PRESENTED BY
JOHN Sr ANNA GILLESPIE
Jfl
m 1 I Mm
■ '.■-•• ;-- r ' Hi
■H
THE STOEY OF MY LIFE
v
'
THE
STORY OF MY LIFE
BY
AUGUSTUS J. C. HARE
AUTHOR OF ''MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE :
" THE STORY OF TWO NOBLE LIVES "
ETC., ETC.
Volume II.
NEW YORK
DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY
1896
'
Copyright, 1S96,
By Dodd. Mead and Company,
tHnttorrsitti ^rcss:
John Wilson and Son. Cambridge, U.S.A.
CONTENTS.
Page
Work in Northern Countries 1
Home Life with the Mother 89
English Pleasures and Roman Trials 211
Last Years of Esmeralda 402
The Roman Catholic Conspiracy I'M
Last Years with the Mother 466
Index to Vols. I. and II 555
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
VOL II
Page
At Durham 4
On Allen Water, Ridley Hall 12
Ford Castle, the Terrace 19
View from Holmhurst. (Full-page woodcut) . . To face 21
Entrance to Holmhurst : " Huz and Buz " 23
Alderley Church and Rectory 28
Wark worth, from the Coquet 77
Winton Castle 79
The Cheviots, from Ford 84
Carrozza 92
Roman Theatre, Aries ... 98
Hotel du Mauroy, Troyes 99
The King of Bohemia's Cross, Crecy 100
S. Flaviano, Montefiascone 104
Ostia , 108
Theatre of Tusculum 100
Amalfi 113
Courmayeur 124
Anne F. M. L. Hare. From G. Canevari. (Photogra-
vure) To face 128
Ars 133
Tours 100
vin LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
Page
\' \ 1 1 ;_T« H 1 1 «"• 1 1 H 17<>
l'au 171
Betharram 182
Biarritz L88
The Pas de Roland L90
S. Emilion Cathedral Door L92
Amboise 194
Anne F. M. L. Hare. From Swinton. (Photogravure.)
To face 210
The Coronation (hair, Westminster 213
Bamborough Castle 218
The Sundial Garden, Ford 220
The Fountain, Ford 221
Ford Castle, the Terrace 233
Elizabeth, Lady Stuart de Rothesay. From a miniature,
by Mrs. A. Dixson. ( Photogravure) . . . To face 236
The Pass of Bracco 253
At P«.rt.» Venere 264
La Spina, Pisa 201
Contadina, Valley of the Sacco 202
The Bridge of Augustus, Narni 293
The Mediaeval Bridge, JSTarni 204
View from the Boboli Gardens. Florence 296
Bolmhurst, from the Garden 200
Lady Angusta Stanley. (Photogravure) T<> face 301
Altm, Barnes Church 302
Bodryddan 312
S. Remy 322
From Maison S. Francois, Cannes ... .... 323
Bocca Wood, Cannes 325
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS i X
Page
Maison S. Francois, Cannes 326
Maria Hare. (Line engraving) To fac< 326
Cagnes 329
Antibes 331
Le Puy 333
Royat 334
In the Dean's Garden, Canterbury 338
Arthur Penrhyn Stanley, Dean of Westminster. (Photo-
gravure) To face 339
Courtyard, Deanery, Westminster 341
Palace Garden, Peterborough 344
Fontaines 361
Arc de S. Cesaire, Aliscamps, Aries 362
At Savona 363
Sestri 365
Castle of Este . 397
Petrarch's Tomb, Arqua 399
Tomb of the Count of Castelbarco, Verona 400
Esmeralda's Grave 432
Mary Stanley. (Photogravure) To face 441
Joigny 468
Porte d'Arroux, Autun 472
Ford Castle, the Library I7.~»
Bar-le-Duc 482
Bridge of Bar-le-Duc 483
Mantua 485
Vicenza 486
Vicenza from Monte Berico 187
The Prato della Valle, Padua 488
Siena 489
x LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
Page
s. Gemignano 490
The Hotel ilr Londres during the Flood 495
8. Antonio, Pisa, during the Flood 491)
\'iiw (torn tlic Via Gregoriana 505
Nniii 511
Tivoli • 513
Bracciano 516
Grave of Augustus \\ . Han 1 , Rome .~>1 s
From the Loggia dei Lanzi 520
Piazza S. Domenico, Bologna 521
Cluny 524
Cloister of Fontenay 525
St. Martin.-. Canterbury 532
Henry Alford, Dean of Canterbury. (Photogravure.)
To face 532
The Church Fane, Hurstmonceaux 545
X
WORK IN NORTHERN COUNTIES
" Ad ogni uccello suo nido par bello."
— Italian Proverb.
" O my life ! have we not had seasons
That only said, Live and rejoice ?
That asked not for causes or reasons,
But made us all feeling and voice."
— Lowell.
Ox our arrival in England, we were delighted with
our little Holmhurst, which we arranged to be as
much like Lime as possible, while many of the
plants and shrubs we had brought with us, were, in
the garden, a perpetual reminder of our old home.
To my mother, however, our return was greatly
clouded by the loss of her only brother, my Uncle
Peurhyn, who died at Sheen while we were at Men-
tone, passing away most peacefully, surrounded by
his family. This uncle is one of the few figures con-
nected with my childhood with whom I have no asso-
ciations but those of unvarying kindness, and in later
years we had been brought nearer to him in our long
winter visits at Sheen, and we missed him greatly.
My Handbook (nominally Murray's) of Oxfordshire,
Buckinghamshire, and Berkshire had been published
during our winter absence : my little book " A Winter
at Mentone" appeared soon after our return. With
Murray's Handbook I had taken as much pains as if
VOL. II. 1
•J THE STOR1 OF MY LIFE [18
it wen appear in my own name, and felt as
strongly the responsibility of what Miss Edgeworth
calls •• irremediable words," once past the press. The
•• Winter at Mentone" fell perfectly flat, but Murray
sed with the laudatory notices which fol-
lowed the appearance of the Handbook, that he asked
me to select any other counties I liked. 1 chose Dur-
liam and Northumberland, and after the middle of
Jnlv went there for three months. In undertaking
these comities. 1 again assented to an arrangement by
which I was never repaid for my work ; but the work
- one which I liked extremely, bringing me in con-
tact with endless interesting persons, enabling me to
be much with " Cousin Susan."' who gave me a second
home at Ridley Hall, and opening a held of historic
study of the most interesting kind. ( >n the way
north I went to the Vaughans at Doncaster. of which
Dr. Vaughan had lately become Vicar.
my Mother.
" L . July '24. 1861. The people here are a per-
petual amusement to Kate, they are so quaint and original.
She spoke to one old woman the other day about her sinful
ways and the necessity for amendment. • Xa. na. Mrs.
Vaughan." she replied. • I be got too old for Mr. Satan noo :
he canna hurt I noo." Another old woman who was
brought into the hospital swore dreadfully all night long,
great annoyance of her neighbours ; hut when they
complained she said. -"Wal. I niver did it afore I coomed
here, hut I Ik? gettin' old. and I canna help it — and it 's the
will ' G 1. and I canna help it."
•• Kate said to an old man. • "What are you so low about,
my man'?' -Why." he said, -what wi' faith, and gas,
and balloons, and steam-in^ines a-booming and a-rizzlincr
1861] WORK IX NORTHERN COUNTIES 3
through t' warld, and what wi' t" arth a-going round once
in twenty-four hours. I "m fairly muzzled and stagnated.'
"I have been to call on the daughters of ' Presence-of
mind Smith.' who was Dean of Christ Church, and to the
close of his life used to tell this story of himself. • In my
life,' he said, ' there has been one most fortunate incident.
A friend of mine persuaded me to go out with him in a
boat upon a lake. I did not wish to go, but he persuaded
me, and I went. By the intervention of Providence, J
took my umbrella with me. We had not been long on the
lake when the violence of the waves threw my friend out
of the boat drowning, and he sank. Soon, as is the case
with drowning persons, he came up again, and clutched
hold of the side of the boat. Then such, providentially,
was my presence of mind, that I seized my umbrella and
rapped him violently on the knuckles till he let go. He
sank, and I was saved.' ''
When I arrived at Durham. I presented myself at
once to my cousins the George Liddells, who lived at
a dingy brick house in the suburb called Old Elvet.
They had never seen me before, but welcomed me
with the utmost kindness and hospitality, making me
quite at home with them. I took a little lodging
close by, but thev made me dine with them almost
every day. and I went constant expeditions with
them, staying to dinner at the neighbouring hous -.
Elemore, Aldin Grange. &c. Durham itself I always
found charming. The smoke only gave a pictures, pi e-
ness of its own. and on Sunday there was a Sabbath
7 *J
of nature, for when the chimneys ceased smoking, the
birds began to sing, the flowers to bloom, and the sky
to be blue. Sunday, however, was a severe day with
J 7 l
the George Liddells, almost entirely spent in _ ing to
THE STORY OF MY LIFE
[1861
church, reading prayers, and listening to long sermons
at home. Even on ordinary days, after long morning
prayers, we were expected to read all the Psalms and
Le-sons tor the day. verse by verse, before we went
out. Bui with all this, George Liddell was the very
dearest and kindest of old men. and 1 was very fond
too of his wife — "Cousin Louise" — who was most
amusing and original.
AT DURHAM.
Other cousins, who were intensely good to me at
this time, were old Henry Liddell, brother of my
great-uncle Lord Ravensworth, and his wife, who was
daughter of Thomas Lyon of Hetton, my great-grand-
mother's youngest brother. I had known them first
at Bath many years before, where they were kind to
me when I had very few friends. With them lived
their daughters Charlotte and Amelia, and their
youngest son William, a very tall, very excellent, and
very shy clergyman, who was his father's curate at
1861] WORK IN NORTHERN COUNTIES 5
Easington. Here I paid my first visit to them. It
is an ugly village in the Black Country, but the Lid-
dells' house was most comfortable, having the sea
close by, with delightful sands and rocks, and many
wooded " denes " running down to it, of which Castle
Eden is especially beautiful.
I remember one day, after returning from Easing-
ton, dining with Dr. Phillpotts, the celebrated Bishop
of Exeter, who had a Canonry at Durham. He was
very old, and was obliged to have a glass of wine
given to him to obtain strength to go in to dinner,
and every one wished him good-night when he left
the dinner-table. He was good enough also to send
for me alone to wish success to my book, &c. It was
my only sight of this kindly old man, though I knew
his daughter well, and valued her many good quali-
ties. They both died shortly afterwards. Amongst
the company at the Bishop's were Mr. and Mrs. John-
son of Akeley Heads, whom I also visited at their
own beautiful place, which is on a high terrace over-
looking Durham. It came to them in a curious way.
Mr. Johnson was at school at Durham, and went out
with his two elder brothers to spend the day with a
rich old uncle who lived there. The eldest brother
was his uncle's heir. They were sent to play in the
garden, and seeing there a beautiful ripe peach upon
the wall, they were unable to resist it, and ate it up.
Soon the uncle came into the garden to look for thai
identical peach. "Where is my peach gone?' he
said. The three boys were dreadfully frightened, and
the two eldest denied knowing anything about it, but
the youngest said, "We picked it and ate it up."
6 THE STORY OF MY LIFE [1861
The old man said nothing, but went home and altered
his will thai very afternoon, and when he was killed
by an accident three weeks afterwards, his youngest
nephew was found to be the heir of Akeley Heads.
1 was frequently invited by Dean Waddington, who
was a man of stately presence, " grand seigneur, fas-
tueux, honime dn monde," and had a great reputation
for learning and cleverness; but in my acquaintance
with him he seemed to care for nothing but his din-
ner, and his chief topic of conversation was his sherry
of 1815, for which he gave £V1 a dozen. " What
with diner a la Russe, crinoline, and pale sherry," he
said one day, "England is fast going to the dogs."
To my Mother.
"Dilston, August 28. The Greys gave me a warm wel-
come to Dilston — Mr. Grey being agent for the Greenwich
Hospital Estates there, and a great agriculturist. Dilston
is lovely. The house stands on a terraced height, covered
with hanging woods, beneath which flows the Devil's
Water, the most beautiful of Northumbrian rivers, with
trout dancing about in its transparent brown currents, and
floating away over its crumpled-looking rocks. On the
hilltop is the ruined castle of the Earl of Derwentwater,
with his nursery, now overgrown by huge elder-trees, and
the little chapel beneath which he was buried at night be-
side his ancestors. Below is the old grey pointed bridge,
upon which, as he rode over, he repented of his rebellion
and turned hack to the castle, when his wife threw her tan
at him, and calling him a coward, drove him forth to his
destruction."
"Ridley Hall, Sept. 1. 'How happily the days of
Thalaba roll by' might he applied to all the dwellers at
Ridley Hall; for 'Cousin Susan' is so truly genial to her
1861] WORK IX NORTHERN COUNTIES 7
many guests, that they cannot fail to enjoy being with
her."
" Chillingham Castle, Sept. 6. I went with Cousin Susan
to spend two days at Matfen, Sir Edward Blackett's, a
large modern Tudor house with a church beside it, looking
into a great park, and entered through a stately gothic
hall. Sir Edward and Lady Blackett have not been mar-
ried many years, but four of his daughters by his first wife
are now out. Lady Blackett also had another Northum-
brian husband, Mr. Orde of Whitfield, and, as daughter of
Sir Charles Lorraine, was once thought a great beauty.
Sir Edward drove me to see Aydon, a curious old castle
which belongs to him.
" Yesterday I came to Chillingham from Belford, a
beautiful drive, over hills first, and then descending into
moorland, purple with heather, and bounded by the
Cheviots, which rose deep blue against the sunset sky.
The castle, which is partly as old as King John, is built
round a great courtyard, from which nights of stone steps
go up to the principal apartments. On the stairs I found
Lord Tankerville, a handsome middle-aged man, with grey
hair, romping with his children. He is quite charming,
so merry and so courteous. He took me at once to my
room, which is high up in one of the old towers, and at
eight we dined. Lady Tankerville is sister of the Duke
of Manchester, very pretty, and looks quite a girl, though
her three boys must be eight, nine, and ten years old."
" Chillingham, Sept. 8. This park is quite as beautiful in
its way as any scenery abroad, and much more so, I think,
than any in Scotland. It is backed by the Cheviot Hills,
and often broken into deep dells, with little streamlets
rushing' down them, and weird old oaks whose withered
branches are never cut off, sheltering herds of deer.
Great herds too of wild cattle, which are milk-white, and
s
8 THE STORY OF MY LIFE [1861
have lived here undisturbed from time immemorial, come
rushing everv now and then down the hillsides like an
army, to seek better pasture in the valley. Deer of every
kind are to be seen upon the hills, and Lady Tankerville
hunts them furiously, tiring out twelve horses in succes-
sion, placed to await her at different points in the park.
Nothing can he more lovely than the evening effects each
dav I have been here, the setting sun pouring streams of
golden light into the great grey mysterious basins of the
Cheviots, amid which Marnhon died and Paulinus bap-
ti/.ed the ancient Northumbrians.
•• If the place is charming, the people are even more so.
The family is the happiest and most united I have ever
seen. Lord Tankerville is the best and kindest of human
beings. Lady Tankerville, whose spirits are so exuberant
she scarcel}' knows how to get rid of them, dotes on her
' Hossinun,' plays with her children, gallops on her horses,
hunts her deer, and manages her household, with equal
vivacity, She is the most amusing person possible, is
never ill, laughs fine-ladyism to scorn, and scrambles about
the park, regardless of colds and crinolines, in all states of
the weather. The three little boys, Charlie, Georgie, and
Peddie, are all quite as engaging in their different ways,
and the two little girls are lovely little creatures.
" The prettiest story of an acceptance I ever heard of is
that of Lord Tankerville. He was playing at billiards
with Lady Olivia Montagu -when he proposed, but she gave
no definite answer. At last she said, 'I think we must go
into the drawing-room now ; we have been away long
enough.' — ' But what may I think, what may I say ? ' he
asked in agitation. 'Say that we have played our game,
and that you have won,' she answered.
"Yesterday, as soon as luncheon was over, Lady Tank-
erville and 1 set off for a regular good sketching, in which
she soon outstripped me, for her drawings are first-rate.
In some she has been helped by Landseer, who is often
1861] AVORK IN NORTHERN COUNTIES 9
here, and who has added beautiful misty backgrounds, and
put herds of deer into her fern.
" In the park is a beautiful old Peel tower, the home of
the Hepburns."
" Chillingham, Sept. 10. Lord Tankerville says, 'I do
not see why any one should ever go away from a place as
long as he can make himself happy there.' On that prin-
ciple I should certainly never leave Chillingham, which is
the pleasantest place I ever was at. I feel as if I had
known Lord and Lady Tankerville all my life, his kind-
ness and her fun make one so entirely at home ; and as
for Charlie, Georgie, and Peddie, there never were such
little boys.
" Yesterday I was awakened by the servant saying that
an order had just come out to have breakfast ready in
twenty minutes, as we were all going to Dunstanborough
for the day. So we hurried down, and as soon as we had
eaten our breakfast, set off in two little basket-carriages
across the park and up the steep hills to the moors. At
the top we found a larger carriage, packed with luncheon,
and with plenty of wraps, for the day was most unpromis-
ing; but Lady Tankerville had quite made up her mind
that it should be fine, and that we would enjoy ourselves ;
and so we most certainly did. The drive across the moor-
lands was charming, such sweeps of purple heather, with
blue mountain distance. Then, after twelve miles, we
descended through the cornland to Dunstanborough, and
walked through the sandhills covered with rye-grass and
bloody cranesbill to the castle, on a reef of basaltic rocks
overhanging the sea, Avhich in one place roars up beneath
in a strange cavern, known as the Rumbling Churn. Lady
Tankerville and I drew Queen Margaret's Tower, where
she was concealed after the battle of Hexham, and then we
picknicked and rambled about. Coming home we told
stories. A tremendous shower came on, and then the sky
Ill THE STORY OF MY LIFE [1861
cleared for B -olden sunset over the mountains, and a
splendid descent into the old deer-park/'
» Bamborough Castle, Sept. 12. Yesterday, at four, we
set off on a gypsy picnic from Chillingham — little 'Co'
(Corisande) on a pony, with the tea-things in panniers;
Lady Tankerville, a fat Mr. Athelstane from Portugal,
Charlie, Georgie, Peddie, and I walking. The pouring
morning turned into a beautiful afternoon, and we had a
delightful scramble through the ferny glades of the park,
and up the steep craggy hills to the moorlands. Here
Lady Tankerville went off through the heather to look
after her little girl, and I told the three boys the story
of Littlecot Hall, till the Shetland pony, ' Piccolomini,'
arrived by the longer path. Then we lighted a fire between
two rocks, and Lady Tankerville and her children boiled
a kettle and cooked omelets over a fire of heather and fern,
and beautiful grapes, greengages, jam, and cakes unfitted
us for the eight o'clock dinner. Then we came down like
bushrangers, breaking a path through the bracken, a great
deal taller than ourselves, and seeing in the distance the
herds of wild white bulls. One or two people came to
dinner, but it was just the same simple merry meal as
usual.
" The Tankervilles sent me here to-day — twelve miles
— in their carriage."
" Bamhorouyh Castle, Sept. 13. It is very pleasant, as
you will imagine, to be here again, and I have much
enjoyed the delightful sands and the splendid green waves
which came rolling in all yesterday afternoon. It was a
lovely evening, warm enough to enjoy sitting out on the
seat amongst the tall bent-grass, and to watch IIolv Island
quite distinct in the sunset, with all the little fleet of red-
sailed herring-boats coming round from North Sunderland.
Old Mrs. Liddell sits as usual in her deep window and
1861] WORK IN NORTHERN COUNTIES H
looks tlirough the telescope. Amelia wanders about with
her black spaniel, and Charlotte rides furiously on the
sands when out, and talks incessantly, though pleasantly,
when in.''
" Bamborough, Sept. 16. Yesterday I set off at 8 A. m.
in a dogcart for Holy Island, one of the castle cart-horses
being harnessed for the purpose, and the castle joiner
going with me to find old wood for repairs. It was a wild
morning, but gleams of light made the country pictu-
resque, and Warren Bay looked very striking, backed by
its angular purple hills, and strewn with pieces of wreck,
over which sea-birds were swooping. Only one bit of
sand was visible when we reached the ford, but the horse
plunged gallantly in. Then we had a very rough crossing
of a quarter of an hour in a boat tlirough the great green
waves to the island, where we landed on the yellow rocks.
Close by, on the green hill, stand the ruins, so well
described in ' Marmion,' of St. Cuthbert's Abbey, the old
cathedral of Lindisfarne — rather small after descriptions,
but beautiful in colour, and its massive round pillars, with
patterns upon them, almost unique in England. Beyond,
was the still blue harbour filled with fishing-boats, and the
shore was lined with men and women packing herrings in
barrels of salt. At one corner of the bay rises the castle
on a conical hill like a miniature Mont St. Michel, and
Bamborough and Dunstanborough are blue in the hazy
distance."
"Sept. 17. Stephen Denison is here (my cousin by lii^
marriage with Miss Fellows 2 ), and I have been with him
to pay a long visit to Grace Darling's 2 old father, an inter-
esting man, with as much information as it is possible for
1 Susan, 5th daughter of Thomas Lyon of Hetton, married the Rev.
J. Fellowes of Shottesham.
2 The heroine of the wreck of the Forfarshire, Sept. 5, 18-'i8.
[2
Till-: STORY OF MY LIFE
[1861
any one to have who has Lived since he was one year old
mi a desolate island rock tending a lighthouse. He lent
us his diary to read, which is very curious, and an awful
record of wrecks and misery."
" Ridley Hall, Sept. 19. Cousin Susan and her old
friend Miss Coulson, with 'the boys' (the dogs), were
ON ALLEN AVATER, KIDLEY HALL
waiting to welcome me in the avenue, when I got out at
the private station here. The house is quite full of people,
to whom it is amusing to help to do the honours. Great
is the autumnal beauty of the place. I have been with
( lousin Susan up the Birky Brae, and down by the Craggy
Pass and the Hawk's Nest — streams of sunlight falling
upon the rocks and river, and lighting up the yellow and
red leaves which now mingle with the green. The dogs
walked with ns to church to-day — Tarlie was allowed to
enter with the family, and Bloomer with the maids, but
1861] WORK IN NORTHERN COUNTIES 13
Perette, Bianca, Fritz, and the Chowdy-Tow were sent
back from the door !
" We have had a remarkable visit from an old Miss
Clayton, an eccentric, strangely-attired, old, very old lady,
who had travelled all the way from Chesters, on North
Tyne, to see Staward Peel, and then had rambled on foot
hither down the rocks by the Allen. Both she and her
friend had fallen into the river in crossing the stepping-
stones above the wood, and arrived, carrying a large reti-
cule basket, and dripping with wet and mud, about five
o'clock ; yet, as soon as she had been dried and fed, she
insisted on setting off again on foot to visit Haltwhistle
and Bellister Castle before going home at night ! "
" Streatlam Castle, Sept. 25. I came with Cousin Susan
to this curious place, to which our cousin Mr. Bowes ' has
welcomed us very cordially. The house is in a hollow —
an enormous building of the last century, enclosing a
mediaeval castle. I sleep in the ghost-room, looking most
grim and weird from its black oak with red hangings, and
containing a tall bed with a red canopy. Here the only
existing local Handbook says that ' the unfortunate Mary
Queen of Scots expired in captivity.' I am afraid the
next Handbook will be obliged to confess that she was
beheaded at Fotheringay.
" The long galleries are full of family portraits — Hyl-
tons, Blakistons, and Bowes's — one of whom, Miss Bowes
of Streatlam, was Mrs. John Knox ! More interesting to
me is the great picture of Mary Eleanor, the unhappy
Countess of Strathmore, 2 walking in the gardens of Pauls-
Walden. This house was the scene of her most terrible
suffering's."
x b
"Streatlam Castle, Sept. 27. This is the oddest house
I ever was in ! Everything is arranged for you, from the
1 Only son of John, 10th Earl of Strathmore, and Mary Milner.
2 Mary Eleanor Bowes, 9th Countess of Stratlmiore.
14 THE STORY OF MY LIFE [18G1
moment you get up till the moment you go to bed, and
you axe never allowed to deviate from the rules Laid down:
I even write this in time stolen from the half-hour for
dressing. We are called at eight, and at ten march in to
breakfast with the same procession as at dinner, only at
this meal 'Madame Bowes' does not appear, for she is then
reclining in a hath of eoal-hlaek aeid, which "refreshes her
system," but leaves her nails black. After breakfast we are
all set down to employments appointed for the morning.
At twelve Madame appears, having painted the underlids
of her jet-black eyes with belladonna. At two the bell
rings for luncheon, and we are fetched if not punctual to
an instant. At three we are all sent out driving (the
coachman having exact orders where to take us) immense
drives (twenty-four miles to-day) in an open barouche and
pair. At seven we dine in great splendour, and after-
wards we sit in the oak drawing-room and talk about our
ancestors !
" The town of Barnard Castle is most picturesque, with
a ruined castle of the Baliols. Dickens, in early life, used
frequently to come down and stay there with some young
artist friends of his. The idea of ' Humphrey's Clock '
first sprung from Humphrey, the watchmaker in the town,
and the picture in the beginning of the book is of the
clock over the door of his shop. While at Barnard Castle,
Dickens heard of the school at Bowes which he afterwards
worked up as Dotheboys Hall. Many of these schools, at
£15 and £20 a year, existed at that time in the neighbour-
hood, and were principally used for the sons of London
tradesmen, avIio, provided their sons got a moderate educa-
tion, cared little or nothing what became of them in the
meantime. Dickens went over to see the school at Bowes,
and was carefully shown over it, for they mistook him for
a parent coming to survey it, with a view of sending his
son there. Afterwards the school was totally ruined. At
one of Mr. Bowles's elections, the Nicholas Nickleby or
1861] WORK IN NORTHERN COUNTIES 15
former usher of the school, who was then in want of a
place, wrote to him to say in what poverty he was. He
'had formerly been living with Mr. Shawe at Bowes, and
they had been happy and prosperous, when Mr. Dickens's
misguided volume, sweeping like a whirlwind over the
schools of the North, caused Mr. Shawe to become a victim
to paralysis, and brought Mrs. Shawe to an untimely
grave.' "
"Morpeth Rectory, Oct. 8. My present host is Mr.
Francis Grey, an old likeness of his nephew, Charlie
Wood : his wife, nee Lady Elizabeth Howard is as sweet-
looking as she is charming.
" Friday morning was pouring, with a thick sea-fog
hiding the country. Nevertheless Mr. Grey did not think
it too bad for a long expedition, and drove me in his little
pony-carriage a dreary twelve miles to Wallington, where
we arrived about half-past twelve. Wallington is a huge
house of the elder branch of the Trevelyans, represented
in the North by Sir Walter, who is at the head of teetotallers
and Low Churchmen, while his wife is a great friend of
Ruskin, Rossetti, and all the Pre-Raphaelites. It is like a
French chateau, with tall roofs and chimneys, enclosing a
hall, once a court, which Lady Trevelyan and her artists
have covered in and painted with beautiful fresco studies
of Northumbrian birds, flowers, and insects, while the
intervening spaces are filled with a series of large pictures
of the chief events in Northumbrian history — very curious
indeed.
" Lady Trevelyan 1 is a little, bright, black-eyed woman,
who was charmed to see us, and more to see my drawings,
which Mr. Grey had brought. Any good opinion of me,
however, which they led her to entertain was quelched by
my want of admiration for some wretched little scraps by
Ruskin — very scratchy sketches, after his manner. After
1 Paulina, daughter of the Rev. D. Jermyn.
16 THE STORY OF MY LIFE [1861
Luncheon, which was as peculiar as anything else (Lady
Trevelyan and her artists feeding solely on artichokes and
cauliflowers), we went to the upper galleries to look at
more pictures.
" YTesterday morning we went to the fine old Morpeth
Church, which has been "restored,' one of the stained
windows having been put in by a poor old woman in the
village. We saw her afterwards in her garden gathering
cabbages, and I told her I had seen the window. 'Eh,
hinnie,' she said, * and ain't it bonnie? and I be going to
case it i' marble afore I dee, to mak it bonnier.' And
then she said, 'And noo come ben, hinnie, my dear, and
see me hoose ; ' and she showed me her cottage."
" The Greys are one of the families who have a sort
of language of their own. A bad cold the Greys always
call a Shelley, because of a famous cold old Lady Shelley
had when she came to stay with them. This was the Lady
Shelley who, when her carriage, full of people, upset, and
there was a great entanglement of legs, called out to the
footman, who came to extricate them, 'John, the black
ones are mine — the black ones are mine.' "
" Warkworih, Oct. 6. It is very pleasant being here
with my kind Clutterbuck cousins, 1 and this old-fashioned
house, though small, is most refined and comfortable, with
its pervading smell of rose-leaves and lavender."
" TJte Bock, Alnwick, Oct. 10. I am now staying with
the father of a college friend, Charlie Bosanquet, in a
pleasant old-fashioned house, an enlarged ' Peel tower.'
The family are very united, genial and kind; are friends
of the Arnolds, Gaskells, &c, and related to Mr. Erskine
of Linlathen. I like Charlie Bosanquet so much in his
own home, that I am quite ashamed of not having tried to
1 Mrs. Clutterbuck was Marianne, youngest daughter of the Hon.
Thomas Lyon of Hetton, my great-grandmother's youngest brother.
1861] WORK IN NORTHERN COUNTIES 17
cultivate him more when at Oxford. Yesterday he drove
me to Craster Tower, the old castellated house of the
Crasters, a very ancient Northumbrian family, now well
represented by the old Squire and his wife, their three tall
daughters, and seven stalwart sons, one of whom was at
college with me. After luncheon we went over the tower,
its vaulted cellars and thickly Availed rooms, and then
walked to the wild heights of Dunstanborough, with its
ruins overhanging the waves, and large white gulls floating
up from the ' caverned shore ' of ' Marmion.' Then we went
to Embleton to see one of the curious fortified rectories of
the North — fortified against the Scots."
'•'■Ford Castle, Oct. 15. I enjoyed my visit at Rock
increasingly, and we made interesting excursions to Fal-
loden and Howick. At the former we dined with Sir
George and Lady Grey. On Sunday the beautiful little
Norman chapel at Rock was filled from end to end with
the whole population of the village, all responding, all
singing, and forty-three (in that tiny place) remaining to
the Sacrament. Mrs. Bosanquet says they are truly a
God-fearing people. They live (as all over Northumbria )
bound by the year like serfs, close around the large
farms. At Rock the people seem perfectly devoted to the
Bosanquets, who are certainly quite devoted to them.
' My Missis herself can't feel it more than I do,' said the
gamekeeper when he heard the sailor son was coming
home.
" Yesterda}- morning I set off directly after breakfast
with Charles Bosanquet, in the sociable, on a long expe-
dition. It was a really lovely day, and the drive over the
wild moorlands, with the pink and blue Cheviot distances,
was quite beautiful. At one we reached Hedgeley, where
we had been asked to luncheon at the fine old house of the
Carrs, looking up a mountain ravine, but a soldier-son first
took us up to Crawley Tower, a neighbouring ruined Peel.
VOL. II. 2
IS THE STORY OF MY LIFE [1861
At three we came on to Roddam, where an uncle and aunt
of Charlie Bosanquet's live — a beautiful place, with a
terraced garden almost overhanging the moorlands, and a
dene stretching up into the Cheviots. I had ordered
a gig to meet me and take me to Ford, where I arrived
aboul half-past six, seeming to lie driving into a sort of
gothic castle of Otranto, as we passed under the portcullis
in the bright moonlight. 1 found Lady Waterford sitting
with her charming old mother. Lady Stuart de Rothesay.
. . . Her drawings arc indescribably lovely, and her sing-
ing most beautiful and pathetic. Several people appeared
at dinner, amongst them Lord Waterford (the brother-in-
law •), who sat at the end of the table, a jovial white-headed
young-old man."
" Ford Castle, Oct. 17. Being here has been most
pleasant, there is so much to do and see both indoors and
out. Lady Waterford is perfectly charming. . . . She is
now occupied in putting the whole architecture of the
castle hack two centuries. Painting is her great employ-
ment, and all evening she makes studies for larger draw-
ings, which she works upon in the mornings. She is going
to make a * Marmion gallery' in the castle to illustrate the
poem.
"Yesterday we went to Palinsburn, where Paulinus
baptized, and on to Branxton to see .Mr. Jones, who is the
great authority about the battle of Flodden, which he
described to us till all the dull ploughed fields seemed
alive with heroes and armies. He is coming to-night to
talk about it again, for Flodden seems to be the great
topic here, the windows of the castle looking out upon the
battle-field. The position of the different armies and the
site of Sybil's Well are discussed ten times a day, and
Lady Waterford herself is still sufficiently a stranger here
to be full of her first interest about it.
"To-day the pony-carriage took me part of the way to
1861]
WORK IX NORTHERN COUNTIES
19
the Rowting Lynn, a curious cleft, and waterfall in the
moorland, with a k Written Rock,' supposed to have been
the work of ancient Britons. Thence I walked by a wild
path along the hills to Nesbitt, where I had heard that
there was a chapel of St. Cuthbert, of which I found no
vestiges, and on to Doddington, where there is a Border
castle. If you look on the map, you will see that this was
doing a great deal, and I was very glad to get back at five
to hot tea and a talk with Lady Stuart."
W
■:--•-• ■ -' :■■■?... c -... --■
FORD CASTLE, THE TERRACE.
"Boddam, Oct. 20. I had not promised to return here,
and I was received almost rapturously, so welcome is any
stray guest in this desolate place. . . . Sunday here was a
curious contrast to that at Rock, for though there is a
population of nine hundred, the Rector waited for us to
begin afternoon service, as no one else came ! ''
" Boddam,, Oct. 22. Yesterday was terribly dark and
cold, but we went a long expedition across the moorland
20 THE STORY OF MY LIFE [1861
to the Raven's Burn, a wild tumbling rivulet in a chaos of
grey rocks, and thence by the farm of 'Blaw Weary' —
picturesquely perched upon rocks which were covered
with white goats, like a bit of Roman Campagna — to
the 'Raven's Rock' in a rugged cleft of the moorland.
To-day I have been to Linhope Spout, a waterfall at the
end of a gorge, and to-morrow we go to the Three Stone
Burn, where there are Druidical remains."
" Bipley Castle, Yorkshire, Oct. 25. Lady Ingilby (who
is sister of Mr. Bosanquet of Rock) kindly pressed my
coming here on my wa}^ south, and here I am. It is a line
old castle added to, about four miles from Harrogate, with
beautiful gardens and a lovely neighbourhood. At the
head of the stairs is the portrait of a Nun, who is said to
descend from her picture at night and tap at the bedroom
doors, when, if any one says, ' Come in ' — in she comes.
Eugene Aram was the gardener here, and the Ingilbys
have all his letters. Cromwell insisted on taking the
castle, but the then Lady Ingilby, a staunch Royalist
known as 'Trooper Jane,' would not let him have either
food or rest there, and sat opposite him all the night
through with two loaded pistols in her girdle/"
"Hickledon Hall, Yorkshire, Oct. 27. Sir Charles
Wood's carriage was waiting at Doncaster for me and a
very nice young Seymour. 1 Charlie seems delighted to
have me here, and I think Sir Charles quite charming, not
a bit as if he had the government of all India upon his
shoulders."
Many of the visits which I paid in 1861 laid the
foundation of after friendships, but chiefly that to
Ford, whither I went again and again afterwards,
1 Afterwards Lord Wilfred Seymour.
H
ai
X
X
s
o
a
o
fa
1861] WORK IN NORTHERN COUNTIES 21
and where I have passed some of the happiest days
of nry life. Lord and Lady Tanker ville, after a few
years, passed out of my horizon — I never have quite
known how or why. The Liddells, Mrs. Clutterbuck
and her daughters, and the saintly Lady Ingilby,
added much to my enjoyment for several years.
This was especially happy for me, as I see by my
journals of the time how in the following winter
I felt more than ever depressed by the constant
snubbing I received from different members of my.
immediate family. Such snubs are trifling in them-
selves, but, like constant dropping of water in one
place, they wear away the spirit at last. All this
time my sister was bravely exerting herself in cheer-
ing her mother and aunt, as well as in a clever (and
eventually successful) scheme for the improvement
of their fortunes. Miss Hughan (afterwards Lady
John Manners) showed her at this time an unwearied
kindness which I can never forget.
To my Sister.
" Holmlmrst, Dec. 18, 1861. I went to-day to see three
ladies take the veil in the convent at Hastings. I had to
get up in the cold early morning and be in the chapel by
half-past eight. At nine the Bishop of Brighton arrived
in a gold robe and mitre, and took his place with his back
to the altar, leaning against it. Then a side door opened,
and a procession came in singing — some nuns, and the
three brides of Christ dressed in white watered silk, lace
veils, and orange flowers. There were six little brides-
maids also in white veils and wreaths. The brides looked
ghastly livid, and one of them would have fallen if a nun
had not rushed forward to support her. The Bishop then
22 T1IE STORY OF MY LIFE # [1861
made them an address, the point of which was that they
were not going into a convent for their own benefit or that
of the world, but Eor 'the consolation of Christ' — that
was to be their work and duty through life — 'the consola-
tion of Christ for the sins of the world.' Then he fixed
his eyes upon them like a basilisk and cried, 'Venite.'
They tottered, quivered, but scarcely moved; again in a
louder voice he called •Venite; 1 they trembled and
advanced a few steps. Once more * Venite,' and they all
three fell down prostrate at his feet.
"Then the most solemn music was played, the most
agonising wailing dirges were sung, and the nuns coming
behind with a great black pall, spread it over the prostrate
figures. It was as if they were dead. The bridesmaids
strewed flowers, rosemary and laurestinus, as they sang
out of their books: the spectators cried and sobbed till
they were almost hysterical ; but nothing was to be seen
but the sunlight streaming in upon a great black pall.
"Then all the saints of the monastic orders were in-
voked and responded to, and then the nuns closed in, so
that no one could see how the three novices were hurried
away, only to reappear in their nun's dress. Then they
received the Sacrament.
••It is impossible to say how well this little Holmhurst
seems suited to the mother. There is still a lingering of
autumnal leaves and flowers, and the grey castle rises
against a gleaming sea. Thinking of her, and of our
home view as it is now, one cannot help recalling Keble's
lines : —
' How quiet shows the woodland scene,
Each flower and tree, its duty done,
Reposing in decay serene,
Like weary men when age is won.
Such calm did age as conscience pure
And self-commanding heart ensure,
Waiting their summons to the sky,
Content to live, but not afraid to die.'"
1861]
WORK IN NORTHERN COUNTIES
23
Journal.
" Holmhurst, Dec. 27. It was on Monday, the 16th,
that I was sitting in my study in the twilight, when the
mother came in suddenly. She had been down to Hast-
ings with Mrs. Colegrave and Miss Chichester to see
Florence Colegrave at the convent, and there first heard
the dreadful news of the event of Saturday. Seeing her
so much agitated terrified me to the last degree. I
.thought that it was Arthur who was dead, and when I
heard that it was the Prince Consort, the shock was
ENTRANCE TO HOLMHURST: HUZ AND BUZ.
almost as great. It seems impossible to realise that one
will not be able to say 'the Queen and Prince Albert' any
more : it is a personal affliction to every one, and the feel-
ing of sympathy for the Queen is overpowering. The
Prince sank from the time he read the letter about the
deaths of the King and Princes of Portugal. Then they
tried to persuade him not to see the messengers win)
returned from taking- the letters of condolence: he insisted
24 THE STORY OF MY LIFE [1861
upon doing SO, and never rallied. . . . From the first the
Prince thought that he should not live, and from the
Wednesday Sir Henry Holland thought so too, and wrote
in the first bulletin. ' Hitherto no unfavorable symptoms,'
to prepare the public mind; but the Queen came into
the anteroom, saw the bulletin, and scratched out the
'hitherto: ' she would entertain no idea of danger till the
last. 1 . . . When the Prince was dying, he repeated the
h\ urn -Rock of Ages.' ... A letter from Windsor Castle
to Mr. P. describes the consternation and difficulty as to
how the Queen was to be told of the danger : no one would
tell her. At last Princess Alice relieved them all by say-
ing, " I will tell her,' and took her out for a drive. During
the drive she told the Queen that the Prince could not
recover. When he died, the Queen gave one piercing,
heart-rending scream, which echoed all over the castle,
and which those who stood by said they could never for-
get, and threw herself upon the body. Then she rose and
collected her children and spoke to them, telling them that
they must rally round her, and that, next to God, she
should henceforth look to them for support.
" C. W. sends an odd story about the King of Portugal.
After his death, Princess Alice made a drawing of him
lying dead, and, at the top of the drawing, the gates of
heaven, with Queen Stephanie waiting to receive the spirit
of her husband. A little while after, M. Lavradio sent
the Queen a long account of the King's illness, in which
it was said that when the King lay dying he fell into a
deep sleep, and woke up after some little time saying thai
he had dreamt, and wished he could have gone on dream-
ing, that he lav dead, and that his spirit was going up to
heaven, and that at the gates he saw ' Stephanie ' waiting
t<> welcome him in. Everything fresh that one hears of
Prince Albert makes one realise, 'Le prince e'tait grand,
1'homme l'dtait davantage.' " 2
1 Arthur Stanley's account. 2 Montesquieu.
1861] WORK IN NORTHERN COUNTIES 25
In the course of the winter I was at Miss Leices-
ter's house in Wilton Crescent, and saw there Miss
Marsh and Sir Culling Eardley, both of whom told
me much that was curious. I remember Sir Culling
Eardley' s saying, " I feel sure that the destruction
of the temporal power will be the end of the Papacy,
and I am also sure that there is one person who
agrees with me, and that is Pio Nono ! ' : He also
told me that —
" One morning Mrs. Pitcairn at Torquay told her hus-
band that she had been very much disturbed by a dream.
She said she had seen her little boy of four years old car-
ried into the house dreadfully crushed and hurt, and that
all the principal doctors in the town — Madden, Mackin-
tosh, &c. — had come in one after the other to see him.
" Her husband laughed at her fears, but said, ' Whatever
you do, don't tell this to the boy; it would only frighten
him unnecessarily.' However, Mrs. Pitcairn did not
promise, and when her husband was gone out, she called
her little boy to her, and taking him on her knee, spoke
to him very seriously, saying, ' If anything happened to
you now, where would you be ? ' &c.
"That afternoon, the little boy went with his elder
brother to see some new houses his father was building.
In crossing the highest floor, the ill-fastened boards gave
way, and he fell, passing through all the floors, into the
cellar. Half-an-hour afterwards his mother saw him car-
ried into the house, and all the doctors come in to see him,
one after another, in the exact order of her dream.
"The little boy recovered; but four years after, his elder
brother, playing on the shore at Babbicombe, pulled down
some rocks upon himself, and was killed upon the spot."
In March 1862 an event occurred which caused a
great blank in our circle, and which perhaps made
26 THE STORY OF MY LIFE [1861
more change in my life than any other death outside
m\ own home could have clone — that of my aunt
Mrs. Stanley.
Journal.
" Holmhurst, March 23, 18G2. In March last year dear
Uncle Penrhyn died. Aunt Kitty was with him, and fell
it deeply. Now she also, on the same day of the same
week, the first anniversary of his death, has passed away
from us — and eh! what a blank she has left! She was
long our chief link with all the interest of the outside
world, writing almost daily, and for years keeping a little
slate always hanging to ner davenport, on which, as each
visitor went out, she noted down, from their conversation,
anything she thought my mother might like to hear.
"Five weeks ago Arthur went to join the Prince of
Wales at Alexandria. He was very unwilling to leave
his mother, but he took the appointment by her especial
request, and she was delighted with it. He took leave of
her in the early morning, receiving farewells and blessings
as she lay on the same bed, from whence she was unable
afterwards to speak one word to her other children. When
he went, my mother was very ill with bronchitis. Aunt
Batty also caught it, but wrote frequently, saying that
' her illness did not signify, she was only anxious about
my mother. ' It did signify, however. She became rapidly
weaker. Congestion of the lungs followed, and she grad-
ually sank. The Vaughans w T ere sent for, and Mary was
with her. We were ready to have gone at any moment,
if she had been the least bit better, but she would not
have been able to have spoken to the mother, perhaps not
have known her, so that I am thankful for my sweet
mother's sake that she should have been here in her quiet
peaceful home.
"There were none of the ordinary features of an illness.
Aunt Kitty suffered do pain at all: it was a mere passing-
out of one gentle sleep into another, till the end.
1861] WORK EN NORTHERN COUNTIES 27
" Kate wrote — ■ ' What a solemn hour was that when
we were sitting in silence round her bed, watching the
gradual cessation of breathing — the gradual but sure
approach of the end! Not a sound was heard but the sad
wailing of the wind as her soul was passing away. She
lay quite still : you would hardly have known who it was,
the expression was so changed — Oh no, you would never
have known it was the dear, dear face we had loved so
fondly. And then, when all ceased, and there was still-
ness, and we thought it had been the last breath, came a
deep sigh, then a pause — then a succession of deep sighs
at long intervals, and it was only when no more came that
we knew she was gone. Charles then knelt down and
prayed for us, " especially for our dear absent brother, that
he might be comforted " — and then we rose up and took
our last look of that revered countenance.'
"When people are dead, how they are glorified in one's
mind ! I was almost as much grieved as my mother her-
self, and I also felt a desolation. Yet, on looking back,
how few words of tenderness can I remember receiving
from Aunt Kitty — some marigolds picked for me in the
palace garden when I was ill at Norwich — a few acknowl-
edgments of my later devotion to my mother in illness —
an occasional interest in my drawing: this is almost all.
What really makes it a personal sorrow is, that in the
recollection of my oppressed and desolate boyhood, the
figure of Aunt Kitty always looms forth as that of Justice.
She was invariably just. Whatever others might say, she
never allowed herself to be biassed against me, or indeed
against any one else, contrary to her own convictions.
"I went with Mary and Kate to the funeral in Alderley
churchyard. We all assembled there in the inner school-
room, close to the Rectoiy, which had been the home of
my aunt's happiest days, in the centre of which lay the
coffin covered with a pall, but garlanded with long green
wreaths, while bunches of snowdrops and white crocuses
28
THE STORY OF MY LIFE
[1801
fell tenderly over the sides. ' I know thai my Redeemer
liveth ' was sung as we passed out of the church to the
churchyard, where it poured with rain. The crowds of
poor people present, however, liked this, for k blessed,"
they said, ' is the corpse that the rain falls on.' '
During this sad winter it was a great pleasure to
us to have our faithful old friend the Baroness von
Bunsen at St. Leonards, with two of her daughters —
Al.DKRLEY CHURCH AND RECTORY.
Frances and Matilda. She had been near my mother
at the time of her greatest sorrow at Rome, and her
society was very congenial at this time. We were
quite hoping that she would have made St. Leonards
her permanent winter-home, when she was recalled to
live in Germany by the death of the darling daughter
of her heart — Theodora von Ungern-Sternberg —
soon after giving birth, at Carlsruhe, to her fifth child.
1861] WORK IN NORTHERN COUNTIES 29
In this winter I went to stay at Hnrstmonceaux
Rectory with Dr. Wellesley, who was never fitted to
be a country clergyman, but who never failed to be
the most agreeable of hosts and of men. In person
he was very like the Duke of Wellington, with black
eyes, shaggy eyebrows, and snow-white hair. His
courtesy and kindness were unfailing, especially to
women, be their rank what it might. A perfect
linguist, he had the most extraordinary power of imi-
tating Italians in their own peculiar dialects. Most
diverting was his account of a sermon which he heard
preached in the Coliseum. I can only give the
words — the tone, the gestures are required to give it
life. It was on the day on which the old Duke of
Torlonia died. He had been the great enemy of the
monks and nuns, and of course they hated him. On
that day, being a Friday, the Confraternita della
Misericordia met, as usual, at four o'clock, in SS.
Cosmo and Damiano in the Forum, and went chant-
ing in procession to the Coliseum. Those who re-
member those days will recall in imagination the
strong nasal twang of " Sant' Bartolome, ora pro
nobis ; Santa Agata, ora pro nobis ; Sant' Silvestro,
ora pro nobis," &c. Arrived at the Coliseum, the
monk ascended the pulpit, and began in the familiar
style of those days, in which sermons were usually
opened with " How do you do ? " and some remarks
about the weather.
"Buon giorno, cari fratelli raiei. Buon giorno, care
sorelle — come state tutti? State bene? Oh, mi fa
piacere, mi fa molto piacere! Fa bel tempo stasera, non
30 THE STORY OF MY LIFE [18C1
h vero? un tempo piacevole — cielo sereno. Oh ma piace-
vole
S THE STORY OF MY LIFE [1862
I took in the aunt, a timid old lam the sick-room at home was called forth by the
suffering of my sister, who had struggled bravely
under the depression of her mother's ceaseless despair
and wilful refusal to be comforted, but upon whom
that struggle was beginning to tell most severely.
My mother allowed me to have her at Holmhurst
a great deal this winter, and she was no trouble,
but, on the contrary, a constant source of interest to
my mother, who, while deprecating the fact of her
Roman Catholicism, became full of respect for her
simple faith, large-hearted charity, and reality of
true religion — so different from that of most per-
verts from the national faith of England. In her
changed fortunes, accustomed to every luxury as she
had been, she would only see the silver linings of
all her clouds, truly and simply responding to
Thackeray's advice —
" Come wealth or want, come good or ill,
Let young and old accept their part,
And bow before the Awful Will,
And bear it with an honest heart."
At Christmas my mother suffered terribly, and
was so liable to a sudden numbness which closely
threatened paralysis, that by day and night remedies
had always to be prepared and at hand. In the
1863] HOME LIFE WITH THE MOTHER 91
last days of January she was moved to London, and
immediately felt benefited ; but the doctors who
then saw my mother agreed with our old friend
Dr. Hale at St. Leonards that it was absolutely
necessary that she should go abroad. This gave rise
to terrible anxiety. I remember how then, as on
many other occasions when I was longing to stay at
home, but felt certain the path of duty lay abroad,
all my difficulties were enormously added to by
different members of the family insisting that my
mother ought to stay at home, and that I knew it,
but " dragged her abroad for my own pleasure and
convenience." This tenfold increased my fatigue
when I was already at the last gasp, by compelling
me to argue persistently to misinformed persons in
favour of my convictions, against my wishes. On
February 16 we left home, and went by slow stages
to Hyeres, whence we proceeded to Nice.
To my Sister.
" Pension Bivoir, Nice, March 16, 1863. We stayed at
Hyeres ten days, but did not like the place at all, though
it has a tropical vegetation, and there are pretty corkwoods
behind it. The town is a prolonged village, clouded with
dust and reeking with evil odours. . . . We took a vet-
turino from Les Arcs to Cannes, but found prices there
so enormously raised, that we decided on coming on here.
This place also is very full, but we like our tiny apartment,
which has the sea on one side, and a beautiful view across
orange-groves to the snow mountains on the other. The
mother already seems not only better but — quite well !
We have found a great many friends here, including
Sir Adam Hay and all his family, and Lord and Lady
92
THE STORY OF MY LIFE
[1863
Charles Clinton, the latter charming and most affection-
ate' ly attentive to the mother."
The spring Ave spent at Nice is one of those I
look back upon with the greatest pleasure — my
mother recovered so rapidly and entirely, and was
so pleased herself with her own recovery. The
weather was beautiful, and as I was already in heart
looking forward to drawing as the one lucrative
employment which would not separate me from my
CARROZZA. 1
mother, I devoted myself to it most enthusiastically,
inwardly determined to struggle to get a power of
colour which should distinguish me from the herd
of sketchers and washers, and I made real progress
in knowledge and delicacy. It was the greatest
help to me in this, as it was the greatest pleasure
in everything else, to have our dear old friend
1 From " South-Eastern France."
1863] HOME LIFE WITH THE MOTHER 93
Lady Grey with her niece Miss cles Voeux settled
close by us, and I constantly drew and made excur-
sions with them, dining with them afterwards : my
only difficulty being that my mother was then often
left alone longer than I liked, with only Lea as a
companion. During the close of our stay I had some
really adventurous expeditions with Miss Des Voeux,
Mrs. Robert Elice, and Miss Elice along the bed of
the Var and up Mount Chauve and to Aspromonte ;
with Miss Des Voeux and the Stepneys to Carrozza
and Le Broc, proceeding with the carriage as far as
it would go, and then on chairs lashed upon a bul-
lock-cart — the scenery most magnificent ; and with
a larger party to the glorious Peglione.
Acldie Hay was often the companion of our excur-
sions, and deeply attached himself to the mother,
sitting by us for hours, while we drew at Villeneuve
or other mountain villages. His sister Ida did the
honours at splendid parties which were given by
Mr. Peabody the philanthropist, so I was invited to
them. Mr. George Peabody — "Uncle George," as
Americans used to call him — was one of the dullest
men in the world : he had positively no gift except
that of making money, and when he was making
it, he never parted with a penny until he had made
hundreds of thousands, and then he gave vast sums
away in charity. When he had thus become quite
celebrated, he went back to America, and visited his
native place of Danvers, which is now called Peabody.
Here some of his relations, who were quite poor
people, wishing to do him honour, borrowed a silver
tea service from a neighbour. He partook of their
94 THE STORY OF MY LIFE [18G3
feast, and, when it was over, he looked round and
said, "I am agreeably surprised to find that you
are in such very good circumstances as to Avant
nothing that I could do for you," — and he did
nothing for them.
There was, however, at least one very interesting
story connected with George Peabody's life. He was
going to Berlin for some important financial meeting,
in which he was to take a prominent part. On the
way his carriage broke down, and he was in despair
as to how he was to get on, when a solitary traveller
passed in a carriage and offered to take him up.
Soon they began to converse. " I had a remarkably
good dinner to-night," said George Peabody ; " guess
what it was." — " Well, I guess a good turkey." —
" Better than that," said Peabody, slapping his
companion on the knee. " Well, a piece of Welsh
mutton." — "Better than that," with another slap;
" why, I 've had a prime haunch of venison from a
Scotch forest." Soon they were approaching Berlin,
and every one saluted the carriage as it passed.
••May I ask to whom I am so much indebted for
my drive?" said Peabody. "Well, guess," said his
companion, as they were passing some soldiers who
saluted. "Well, I guess you're a captain in the
arnn-." — " Better than that," said the stranger,
slapping Peabody on the knee. "Well, perhaps
you 're a general." — " Better than that," with an-
other slap. " Well, Sir, I am — the Crown Prince of
Prussia."
At Mr. Peabody's parties I always used to see the
old King Louis of Bavaria, then a dirty, dissipated
1863] HOME LIFE WITH THE MOTHER 95
old man, though Munich will ever bear witness to
the great intelligence he showed in early life.
At dinner at Lady Grey's I used to meet Dr.
Pantaleone, who was then practising at Nice as a
Roman exile. Here are some fragments of his
ever-amusing conversation : —
" What is gout, Dr. Pantaleone ? "
" Why, the Clerici Canonici do say it is the divil, and
the doctors do say it is in the nerves, and the statesmen
do say it is Lord Palmerston or Lord John Russell, as the
case may be ! "
"Have you studied the subject much?"
" Ah, yes ! oh, it is beautiful to follow the gout. But
I have felt it too, for my grandfather he did eat up all his
fortune and leave us the gout, and that is what I do call
cheating- his heirs ! "
" I have never had gout, but I have had rheumatism."
" Ah, 3-es ; rheumatism is gout's brother."
"Why is Mr. B. in love with Miss M.?"
" Why, you see it is an ugly picture, but is beautiful
encadn'. She has £1500 a vear — that is the cadre, and
the husband will just step into the frame and throw the
old picture into the shade ! "
" They seem to be giving up the Bishops in Piedmont."
" Yes, but they must not do it : it is no longer wise.
With us all is habit. We have now even been excom-
municated for three years, and as we find we do as well
or rather better than before, we do not mind a bit."
"I have often been miserable when I have lost a patient,
and then I have cursed myself for wasting my time and
sympathy when I have seen that the relations did not
90 THE STORY OF MY LIFE [1SG3
mind. It is always thus. Thus it was in that dreadful
time when the Borghese lost his wife and three children.
1 was so grieved I could not go near the Prince. Some
days afterwards I met him in the garden. 'Oh, M. le
Prince,' I said, 'how I have felt for you!' — 'Dr. Panta-
leone,' he replied, k if I could have them hack again now I
would not. for it was the will of God, and now I know
that they are happy. ' Then 1 did CUTSe myself. ' All. yes,
you are quite right, M. le Prince,' I said, and I did go
away, and I never did offer condolences any more."
"Do you know Courmayeur?"
" Yes. that is where our King (Victor Emmanuel) goes
when he wants to hunt. And when Azeglio wants the
King hack, he writes to his ministers, 'The tyrant wants
to amuse himself ' — because his enemies do call him
the tyrant."
'•It is a dreadful thing not to remember. I had a
friend once who married an Italian lady. One day they
were at a [(arty, and he went out in the course of the
evening. Nothing was thought of it at the time; Italians
often do go out. At last his wife became excited —
agitated. They tried to calm her, but she thought he
had posed her there and gone away and left her for ever.
She flew home, and there he was comfortably seated by
his fireside. 'Oh, Tommaso, Tommaso!' she exclaimed.
'Che. (die!' he said. 'Oh, why did you leave me?' she
cried. 'Oh,' said he, striking his forehead, 'I did forget
that I was married ! ' " x
"There was a poor woman whose son was dreadfully
ill, and she wanted to get him a doctor; but somehow,
1 The celebrated Porson was given to such utter fits of absence
thai he forgot he was married and dined out on the very day of the
ceremony.
18(53] HOME LIFE WITH THE MOTHER 97
instead of going for the doctor, she fell asleep, and dreamt
that her son was ill, and that she was going for the doctor.
She went first (in her dream) to the house of the first
physician in the town, but, when she arrived, the door was
crowded with a number of pale beings, who were congre-
gating round it, and calling out to those within. So the
woman asked them what they were, and they said, ' We
are the spirits of those who have been killed by the
treatment of this doctor, and we are come to make him
our reproaches.' So the woman was horrified, and hurried
away to the house of another doctor, but there she found
even more souls than before ; and at each house she went
to, there were more and more souls who complained of the
doctors who had killed them. At last she came to the
house of a very poor little doctor who lived in a cottage in
a very narrow dirty street, and there there were only two
souls lamenting. ' Ah ! ' she said, ' this is the doctor for me ;
for while the others have killed so many, this good man in
all the course of his experience has only sent two souls
out of the world.' So she went in and said, ' Sir, I have
come to you because of your experience, because of your
great and just reputation, to ask you to heal my son.' As
she talked of his great reputation the doctor looked rather
surprised, and at last he said, ' Well, Madam, it is very flat-
tering, but it is odd that you should have heard so much
of me, for I have only been a doctor a vnek? Ah ! then
you may imagine what the horror of the woman was — he
had only been a doctor a week, and yet he had killed two
persons ! ... So she awoke, and she did not go for a
doctor at all, and her son got perfectly well."
In May we went to spend a week at Mentone,
seeing old haunts and old friends ; thence also I
went for three days with Lady Grey to S. Remo,
where we drew a great deal, but I did not then
vol. ii. — 7
98
THE BTOR? OF MY LIFE
[1863
great U admire S. Remo. We stayed a few days at
Aries, where M. and Madame Pinus, the Landlord of
the Hotel du Nord and his wife, had become quite
intimate friends In dint of repeated visits. Each
time we stayed at Aries we made some delightful
excursions: this time we went to S. Gilles. Then by
a lingering journey, after our fashion of the mother's
well-days, loitering to see Valence and Rocheniaure,
ROMAN THEATRIC. ARLES. 1
we reached Geneva, where we had much kindly hos-
pitality from the family of the Swiss pasteur Vaucher,
with whose charming daughter we had heroine great
friends at Mentone two years before. We were
afterwards very happy for a fortnight in the pleasant
Pension Baumgarten at Thun, and went in einspanners
in glorious weather to Lauterhrunnen and Grindel-
wald. On our way north, we lingered at Troyes. and
1 From « South-Eastern France."
1863J
HOME LIFE WITH THE MOTHER
99
I also made a most interesting excursion from Abbe-
ville to St. Riquier and the battlefield of Crecy,
where the old tower from which Edward III. watched
the battle still stood, 1 and the cross where the blind
King of Bohemia fell amid the corn-lands.
It was the 9th of June when we reached Holni-
hurst, and on the 15th I went to Arthur Stanley's
HOTEL DU MAUROT TROTES/
house at Oxford for the Commemoration;, at which
the lately married Prince and Princess of Wales were
present, she charming all who met her as much by
her simplicity as by her grace and loveliness. " No
1 Now (1805) pulled down.
2 From " North-Eastern France."
100
THE STOKV OF MY LIFE
[is.;:;
more fascinating and lovely creature." said Arthur,
••ever appeared in a fairy-story." Mrs. Gladstone
was at the ( -anonry and made herself very pleasant
to everybody. " Your Princess is so lovely, it is
quite a pleasure to be in the room with her.' 1 I heard
her say to the Prince of Wales. "Yes, she really is
very pretty," he replied.
Afterwards 1 went to stay with Miss Boyle, who
had lately been " revived," and it was a most curious
THE KING OF BOIIKMIa's CHO&S. CRECY. 1
visit. Beautiful still, but very odd, she often made;
one think of old Lady Stuart de Rothesay's descrip-
tion of her — " Fille de Venus et de Polichinelle."
To my Mother.
" Portishcad, June 27, 1863. Miss Boyle is quite brim-
ming with religion, and, as I expected, entirely engrossed
by her works. She preaches now almost every night.
She began a sort of convertive talking instantly. She
asked at once, 'Are you saved?' &c. She seems to have
in everything ' une grancle liberty avec Dieu,' as Madame
de Glapion said to Madame de Maintenon. She thinks
1 From "North-Eastern France."
1863] HOME LIFE WITH THE MOTHER 101
Arthur an infidel, and said that there had been a meeting
of six thousand people at Bristol to pray that his influence
at Court may be counteracted. Speaking of this, on the
spur of the moment she had up the servants and prayed
for ' our poor Queen, who is in ignorance of all these
things.' Then, at great length, for me, ' Thy child and
servant who is just come into this house.' She said she
had put off her meeting for the next day on my account,
but I begged that she would hold it, even though the bills
were not sent out.
" On Friday she did not appear till one. We dined at
three, and then an ' Evangelist ' came in, who also asked
at once 'if I was saved,' and then knelt down and made
a long prayer, k O God, I thank Thee that I am a saved
sinner,' with a sort of litany of ' Yes, bless the Lord,' from
Miss Boyle. Then I was prayed for again: it felt very
odd.
" Then we went off in a fly, with one of the maids and
another Evangelist called Mr. Grub, a long drive through
a series of country lanes to solitary farm-houses amongst
the hills. It was like the description in ' The Minister's
Wooing.' At one of the houses a young woman came out
and said to me that she ' hoped we were one in Christ.'
" From a turn of the road I walked down to Pill, the
rude town on the Avon where Miss Boyle preaches almost
every evening to the wharfingers and sailors, nearly two
hundred at a time. I saw her pulpit in the open air close
to the river, with the broad reaches of the Channel and
ships sailing in behind it. When she preaches there it
must be a very striking scene. Numbers of people crowded
round to ask — ' Isna Lady Boyle a-cooming down 7 '
and all the little children, k Is Lady Boyle a-cooming ?
Tell us. Mister, where 's Lady Boyle ? '
" When we returned to the other village, St. George's,
Miss Boyle and her maid were sitting on a well in an old
farmhouse garden, singing beautiful revival hymns to a
102 THE STORY OF MY LIFE Ll' s,i:!
tronp of mothers and Little children, who listened with
delight. As the crowd gathered, she came down, and
standing with her hack against the fly, beneath sonic old
trees in the Little market-place, addressed the people.
Then Miss Boyle prayed; then the Evangelist preached.
Then came some revival hymns from Dick Weaver's hymn-
book. The people joined eagerly, and the singing was
Lovely — wild, picturesque choruses, constantly swelled by
new groups dropping in. People came up the little lanes
and alleys, listening and singing. (ireat waggons and
Luggage-vans passing on the highroad kept stopping, and
the carters and drivers joined in the song. At last Miss
Boyle herself preached — most strikingly, and her voice;,
like a clarion, must have been audible all over the village.
She preached oil the ten lepers, and words never seemed to
tail her, but she poured out an unceasing stream of elo-
quence, entreating, warning, exhorting, comforting, and
illustrating by anecdotes she had heard and from the ex-
periem es of her own life. The people listened in rapt
attention, but towards the end of her discourse a quantity
of guns and crackers were let off (dose by by agents of a
hostile clergyman (Vicar of Portbury), and a fiddle inter-
rupted the soft cadences of the singing. On this she
prayed aloud for 'the poor unconverted clergyman, that
God would forgive him," but when she had done, the
people sang one of Weaver's hymns, ' He is hurrying -- he
is hurrying — lie is hurrying down to hell.' Some of the
clergy uphold her, others oppose. She has had a regular
tight with this one. The meeting was not over till past
nine; sometimes it lasts till eleven. The people did not
seem a bit tired: I was. and very cold."
I seldom after this saw my old friend, Miss Boyle.
I could not press her coming to Holmhurst, because
she forewarned me that, if she came, she must hold
1863] HOME LIFE WITH THE MOTHER 103
meetings in the village. A sister of John Bright
declared, " I always agree with my old gardener, who
says ' I canna abide a crowing hen ; ' and latterly
I have been of much the same opinion.
We left home again for Italy on the 26th of
October. In those days there was no railway across
the Mont Cenis, but my mother enjoyed the vetturino
journey along the roads fringed with barberries.
Beyond this, travelling became difficult, owing to the
floods. At Piacenza we were all ejected from the
train, and forced to walk along the line for a great
distance, and then to cross a ford, which made me
most thankful that my mother was tolerably well at
the time.
Journal.
" Nov. 7, 1863. We left Bologna at 5 A. m. In the
journey to Vergato the colouring was beautiful, the amber
and ruby tints of autumn melting into a sapphire distance.
At Vergato we engaged the coupe' of the diligence, and
had a pleasant passage over the Apennines, sometimes
with four, sometimes with seven horses in the ascent. The
richness of the autumnal glory was beyond description — a
tossing torrent, rocky moss-grown forests of old oaks and
chestnuts, their leaves golden in death : here and there
thickets of holly and box : an old castle on a rock : a
lonely old town (La Porretta) in a misty hollow : and then
a grand view from the top of the pass over purple billowy
mountains. The scenery becomes suddenly Italian — per-
fectly Italian — in the descent, cypresses and stone-pines,
villas and towers, cutting the sky and relieved upon
the delicate distance: and in the depth Pistoia, lying
like a map, with dome and towers like a miniature
Florence." ■
104
THE STOllV <)F MY LIFE
[1863
At the station of Ficulle near Orvieto, where the
railway to the south came to an end altogether at
that time, the floods were out all over the country,
and there were no carriages — everything being quite
disorganised. We arrived at a miserable little sta-
tion, scarcely better than a small open shed, in tor-
rents of rain, at twelve o'clock in the day, and had
to wait till the same hour of the day following, when
carriages would arrive from Orvieto. Alter some
S. FI.AVIANO MONTKFIASCOXK.
time my mother was conveyed to a wretched little
inn, but it was necessary for some one to remain to
guard the luggage, and knowing what a fearful hard-
ship it would be considered by our cross-grained man-
servant, John Gidman, I remained sitting upon it,
without any food except a few biscuits, in pitch dark-
ness at night, and w r ith the swelching rain beating
1 From •• Days near Rome."
1803] HOME LIFE WITH THE MOTHER 105
upon my miserable shed, for twenty-four hours. It
was a very unpleasant experience.
When at length we got away, we had to take the
road by Montefiascone and Viterbo, which was then
almost untravelled, and the postboys took advantage
of the utter loneliness of the road and disturbed state
of the country to be most insolent in their demands
for money. Sometimes they would stop altogether
in a desolate valley and refuse to let their horses go
an inch farther unless we paid a sort of ransom. On
such occasions we always took out our books and
employed ourselves till they went on from sheer
weariness. We were never conquered, but it made
the journey very anxious and fatiguing.
It was with real thankfulness that we reached
Rome on November 12, and engaged the upper apart-
ment of 31 Piazza di Spagna, our landlady being the
pleasant daughter of Knebel the artist, who lived in
some little rooms above us, with her brother Tito
and her nurse Samuccia.
The first clays at Rome this winter were absolute
Elysium — the sitting for hours in the depth of the
Forum, then picturesque, flowery, and " unrestored,"
watching the sunlight first kiss the edge of the
columns and then bathe them with gold : the wan-
derings with different friends over the old mysterious
churches on the Aventine and Coelian, and the find-
ing out and analysing all their histories from differ-
ent books at home in the evenings : the very drives
between the high walls, watching the different effects
of light on the broken tufa stones, and the pellitory
and maiden-hair growing between them.
106 THE STORY OF MY LIFE [1863
We were also especially fortunate this winter in
our friends. At first I much enjoyed very long walks
with a Mi - . 1 and Mrs. Kershaw, who Lived beneath us.
Taking little carriages to the gates, we wandered
forth to the A(|ueduets and Roma Vecchia, where we
spent the day in drawing and picking up marbles,
not returning till the cold night-dews were creeping
up from the valleys, and the peasants, as we reached
the crowded street near the Theatre of Marcel Ins.
were eating their fritture and chestnuts by lamplight,
amid a jargon of harsh tongues and gathering of
strange costumes.
We saw much of the handsome young Marchese
Annihale Paolucci di Calholi. in the Gkiardia Nobile,
whose wife was an old friend of early Hurstmonceaux
days, and whose children, especially the second son,
Raniero, have always remained friends of mine. This
is the family mentioned by Dante in - k Purgatorio,"
xiv. —
"Questo e il Rinier; quest' v. il pregio e 1' onore
Delhi casa da Calboli."
Old Lady Wenlock 2 came to the Hotel Europa
close beside us, and was a constant pleasure. My
mother drove with her frequently. She scarcely ever
said anything that was not worth observing, and her
reminiscences were of the most various kinds. She
it was who, by telling my mother of her own strong
wish and that of other people to possess some of my
sketches, first suggested the idea of selling my draw-
1 Rev. E. Kershaw, afterwards chaplain to Earl De la Warr.
- Caroline, daughter of Richard, Lord Braybrooke, widow of the
first Lord Wenlock.
18(33] HOME LIFE WITH THE MOTHER 107
ings. We amused ourselves one evening by putting*
prices on the backs of sketches of the winter — highly
imaginative prices, as it seemed to us. Some time
afterwards Lady Wenlock had a party, and asked for
the loan of my portfolio to show to her friends : when
they came back there were orders to the amount
of £60.
Other friends of whom we saw much this winter
were old Lady Selina Bridgeman, sister of my
mother's dear friend Lady Frances Higginson ; and
Lord and Lady Hobart. Lord Hobart was afterwards
Governor of Madras, but at this time he was exces-
sively poor, and they lived in a tiny attic apartment
in the Via Sistina. At many houses we met the long-
haired Franz Liszt, the famous composer, and heard
him play. Mr. and Mrs. Archer Houblon also were
people we liked, and we were drawn very near to
them by our common interest in the news which
reached us just after our arrival in Rome of the en-
gagement of Arthur Stanley, just after his appoint-
ment to the Deanery of Westminster, to Lady Au-
gusta Bruce (first cousin of Mrs. Houblon), the person
whom his mother had mentioned as the one she would
most like him to marry.
A little before Christmas — a Christinas of the old
kind, with a grand Papal benediction from the altar
of St. Peter's — Henry Alford, Dean of Canterbury,
and his family came to Rome. With them I went
many delightful expeditions into the distant Cam-
pagna : to Ostia, with its then still gorgeous marbles
and melancholy tower and pine : to Castel Fusano,
with its palace, like that of the Sleeping Beauty, rising
108
THE STORY OF MY LIFE
[1863
lovely from its green lawns, with its pine avenue and
decaying vases with golden-flowered aloes, and beyond
all the grand old Eoresl with its deep green recesses
and gigantic pines and hays and ilexes, its deep still
pools and its ahysses of wood, bounded on one side by
the Campagna, and on the other by the sea; to Col-
latia, with its woods of violets and anemones, and its
purling brook and broken tower; to Cerbara, with its
■ WS$$SS$
OSTIA. 1
colossal caves and violet banks, and laurustinus wav-
ing like angels' wings through the great rifts ; to
Veii, with its long circuit of ruins, its tunnelled Ponte
Sodo and its mysterious columbarium and tomb.
Another excursion also lives in my mind, which I
took with Harry and Albert Brassey, when we went
out very early to Frascati, and climbed in the gor-
geous early morning to Tusculum, where the little
crocuses were just opening upon the dew-laden turf,
and then made our way across hedge and ditch to
Grotto Ferrata and its frescoes.
1 From " Days near Rome."
1864] HOME LIFE WITH THE MOTHER 109
I have always found — at Rome especially — that
the pleasantest way is to see very little, and to en-
joy that thoroughly. " Je n'avale pas les plaisirs, je
sais les gouter."
In the spring our sketchings and excursions were
frequently shared by our cousins, Maria and Mary
Shaw-Lefevre, who came to Rome with their maternal
aunt, Miss Wright, whom I then saw for the first
time, but who afterwards became the dearest of my
friends — a nominal " Aunt Sophy," far kinder and
far more beloved than any real aunt I have ever
known.
But most of all does my remembrance linger upon
the many quiet hours spent alone with the mother
THEATRE OF TUSCUI.TM. 1
during this winter, of an increasing communion with
her upon all subjects, in which she then, being in per-
fect health, was able to take an active and energetic
interest. Especially do I look back to each Sunday
afternoon passed in the Medici Gardens, where she
would sit on the sheltered sunny seats backed by the
great box hedges — afternoons when her gentle pres-
ence, when the very thought of her loved existence,
made all things sweet and beautiful to me, recalling
Cowper's lines —
1 From " Days near Rome."
HO THE STORY OF MY LIFE [1864
"When one that holds communion with the skies
Has filled her urn where these pure waters rise,
And once more mingles with us meaner things,
'Tifl e'en as if an angel shook his wings;
Immortal Eragrance tills the circuit wide,
Ami tills ns whence her treasures are supplied."
These afternoons with the mother are my real
Roman memories of 1863-64— not the hot rooms,
not the evening crowds, not the ceremonies at St.
Peter's !
This year I greatly wished something that was not
compatible with the entire devotion of my time and
life to my mother. Therefore I smothered the wish,
and the hope that had grown up with it. Those
things do not — cannot — recur.
One day in the spring, mother and I drove to our
favorite spot of the Acqua Acetosa, and walked in the
sun by the muddy Tiber. When we came back, we
found news that Aunt Esther was dead. She had never
recovered from a violent cold which she caught when
lying for hours, in pouring rain, upon her husband's
grave. Her death was characteristic of her life, for
with the strongest sense of duty and a determination
to carry it out to the uttermost, no mental constitu-
tion can possibly be imagined more happily con-
structed for self-torment than hers. My mother
grieved for her loss, and I grieved that my darling-
had sorrow. . . . How many years of heartburnings
and privation are buried forever out of sight in that
grave! Requiesccdin pace. 1 believe that I have en-
tirely forgiven all the years of bitter suffering that
she caused me. " He who cannot forgive others,
breaks the bridge over which he must pass himself:
1864] HOME LIFE WITH THE MOTHER HI
for every man hath need to be forgiven," was a dic-
tum of Lord Herbert of Cherbury. I believe that I
really feel this ; still " les morts se preterit aux recon-
ciliations avec une extreme facilite," as Anatole
France says. 1
We did not go to many of the services. The most
impressive processions we saw were really those of
the bare-footed monks who followed the funerals,
many hundreds of them, each with his lighted candle :
we used to hear their howling chant long before they
turned the corner of the Piazza di Spagna.
To MY SlSTEU.
"31 Piazza di Spagna, Rome, Feb. 1864. Manning is in-
defatigable in proselytising. I once went to hear him
preach at San Carlo : anything so dull, so wholly unimpas-
sioned, 1 never heard. There was a great function at the
Minerva the other day as a protest against Renan. Michel-
angelo's statue of Christ was raised aloft and illuminated.
A Dominican friar preached, and in the midst of his sermon
shouted, ' Adesso, fratelli miei, una viva per Gesu Cristo ! '
and all the congregation shouted 'Viva.' And when he
finished he cried 'Adesso tre volte viva per Gesu Cristo!'
and when they were given, 'E una viva di pin,' just as if it
were a toast. The Bambino of Ara Cceli has broken its
toe ! It was so angry at the church door beino- shut when
it returned from its drive, that it kicked the door till one
of its toes came off, and the monks are in sad disgrace.
" The old Palace of the Caesars, as we have always called
it, is being superseded by immense scavi, opened by the
French Emperor in the Orti Farnesiani : these have laid
1 All Mrs. Julius Hare's family of her generation have passed
away: all to whom the story of my child life as connected with her
could give any pain.
L12 THE STORY OF MY LIFE [1864
bare such quantities of old buildings and pavements, that
the Orti are now like a Little Pompeii."
We left Rome before Easter, and spent it quietly at
Albano, where we had many delightful Ar Dr. Bell. He said at once, k It is bronchitis, hut there
is no danger, nothing to he feared." On Friday, Mama
was tip as early as usual. Father Galway came to see her,
also Lady Lothian. Mama was cheerful, and they saw no
cause for anxiety. Every hour made me more anxious.
Mama kept saying, ' Esmeralda, you cannot keep quiet,
what is the matter with you? I am not ill." On Saturday
I thought Mama worse, and more so on Sunday, though
she got up and came downstairs. Lady Lothian came at
two o'clock, then Father Galway. Mama talked to Father
Galway about her past life, and seemed quite cheerful.
She sat up till nine o'clock. When Mama was in bed,
she said, ' I am better, I think; go to bed, you are so tired,
and do not get up again.' I went to my loom and wrote
a letter to Father Galway, as I dreaded that a change
might take place in the night, and wished that the letter
might be ready to send. I went to .Mama several times.
... It was at two o'clock that she laid her hand upon my
head and said, with a great effort, ' Esmeralda, I am going
from you.' ... In a few minutes she began to say the
Gloria. I repeated the Belief, the Our Father, and the
Mail Mary. . . . Soon after five o'clock Father Galway
was here, and then Lady Lothian came with a nun of the
Misdricorde as a nurse. Mama was then better, and seemed
surprised to see Father Galway. T remained praying in
the next room with the nun and Lady Lothian. At seven,
I went in to Mama. She did not then believe she was
dying, but said she was ready to make her last confession.
The nuns of the Precious Blood had brought the relic of
the True Cross. At a quarter past eight o'clock Father
Galway had heard Mama's confession; he then said she
1864] HOME LIFE WITH THE MOTHER 115
must be raised before she could receive the Last Sacra-
ments. We all went into the room. Lady Lothian made
every effort to raise Mama. She stood on the bed, and
tried to raise her; it was no use; we all tried in turn.
The nun of the Misericorde suggested raising Mama on
sheets. It must have been dreadful agony. There were a
few deep moans, but at last the nuns and Lady Lothian
did raise Mama. Then she received Extreme Unction ;
the nuns, Lady Lothian, and I kneeling around. Father
Galway approached the bed, and said to Mama that she
was going to receive the Bodjr and Blood of our Lord —
' Could she swallow still? ' She said w Yes ' audibly. She
fixed her eyes on Father Galway; her face was for the
instant lighted up with intensity of love and faith. There
was a pause. Her breathing had in that moment become
more difficult. Father Galway said a second time the
same words, and again, with a great effort, Mama said
' Yes. ' She then received the Holy Viaticum, and in that
solemn moment her eyes opened wide, and a beautiful calm
peaceful look came over her countenance, — and this calm
look never left her through all the long hours till half -past
three o'clock when she breathed her last. When she was
asked anything, she always answered, ' Pray, pray. ' Once
she opened her eyes wide, and with a long parting look
said, ' Do not worry. ' — she passed her hand over my head :
she liked to see me kneeling by her side.
" Francis did not arrive till Mama had received the Last
Sacraments. I met him on the stairs, and said, ' Francis,
you are too late.' He staggered against the wall, and
with a cry of agony exclaimed, * It is impossible.' Father
Galway was then saying the prayers of the agonising, the
responses being taken up by the nuns and Lady Lothian.
Lady Williamson and Lady Georgiana Fullerton had also
arrived, but I do not think Mama knew them. At two
o'clock Mama asked for Lady Lothian, for she always
missed her when she left the room and asked for her back
11G THE STORY OF MY LIFE [1864
again, asked her to pray, and tried hard to say something
to her aboul me. I Led Francis into the room, and Lady
Lothian said to .Mama, ' Francis, you remember Francis, '
and Mama said * Yes." and then she blessed him. Francis
buried his head in his hands, his whole frame quivering
with sobbing. .Mama fixed her eyes on him with a kind
parting look, and then closed them again. Lady Lothian
then said, ' William* (for he and Edith had come), and
Mama said k Yes,' and she opened her eyes again and
blessed William. Father Galway at intervals took up the
prayers for the dying, — and then, at last, while Francis,
William, Auntie, and Lady Lothian were kneeling at the
foot of the bed, and the nuns supporting Mania, the words
were heard — k Go forth.' There was a slight, hardly
audible, rattle in Mama's throat. Father Galway turned
round to me, and said, ' Now you can help her more than
you did before," and began the prayers for the dead — the
live joyful mysteries of the Rosary. The overpowering
awe of that solemn moment prevented any outburst of
grief; a soul had in that instant been judged. For long I
had prayed that Mama might make a good death, and this
prayer was answered. All Father Galway 's devotion
before and afterwards to each and all of us, -all Lady
Lothian's untiring kindness, I can never tell you, it was
so beautiful. Then came long days of watching by the
body. The nuns of the Precious Blood sent their large
crucifix and their high silver candlesticks; the room was
hung in black and white. Auntie is sadly altered, but
always patient and self-sacrificing. I was with Lady
Lothian a week: how that week went by I cannot tell,
and now there are lawyers. I long for rest. There is
such a blank, such a loneliness. I like to be alone with
our Blessed Lord, and to shut out the world."
"May 18. Probably I have told you everything up to
the time of the death, three weeks last Monday, and still
1864] HOME LIFE WITH THE MOTHER 117
i
I can hardly realise it. Those last hours are so vivid.
My thoughts are going back. Was there anything that
could have been done that was not done to save Mania's
life? was there anything she wished for that was not done?
because her breathing was so difficult she could only artic-
ulate the shortest words. There was one sentence she
tried to say to Lady Lothian, and over and over again she
began it with such an anxious look that Lady Lothian
should understand it, but it was impossible. It began "' j£ x
with Es . . . da, and ended with her, but the intermediate
words were lost.
" After all was over, Lady Lothian took me by the hand
and led me gently to the sofa in the other room. After
some time the nun of the Misericorde fetched me into the
room of death, and we began to light torches round the
bed, and watch those dear remains, and there we watched
and prayed for the dead for long, long hours. I ordered
a person to watch from eleven at night until the morning,
when the nun of the Misericorde went in. She had been
resting in my bedroom next door, and we had been taking
up alternately, in the stillness of the night, the prayers for
dear Mama. Then began the watching through the day.
The Abbe de Tourzel, Father Galway, William, Edith,
Lady Lothian, and Lady G. Fullerton came in turn to
watch, and so the day passed, and the night, and Tuesday.
On Tuesday evening Francis came up. The whole room
had been transformed. When he entered the door, he
stopped and looked around, then he went round the bed,
stooped over Mama, and said, k Oh sister, Mama does not
look dead, ' then he sat down, buried his head in his hands,
and there he remained for an hour and a half without mov-
ing. And then he left, and others came and joined in the
Rosary and Litany for the dead, and then came the second
night, and on Wednesday there were watchers through the
day. On Wednesday I first felt the great fatigue, but
that day also passed praying and watching. The next
118 THE STORY OF MY LIFE [1864
day Lady (J. Fullerton came and took me to her house
while those dear remains were Laid in the coffin. In the
evening the nun who was watching would not let me see
Mama again, but I got lip early the following morning and
went into the room, and I cannot tell you what the agony
of that moment was: — I became senseless and was carried
out. The coffin was closed and stood in the middle of the
room, which looked like a chapel. The crucifix stood at
the head of the coffin, huge silver candlesticks near and
around, — the room draped in black and white, and a
bouquet of fresh flowers at the head of the coffin.
Watchers succeeded each other, Miss Turville several
times. Mrs. (ialton, and so through Thursday and Friday.
( )n Friday evening Lady Lothian took me away.
"The body was carried to the church at Farm Street at
halt-past eight on Friday evening, as it was my wish that
it should remain before the Blessed Sacrament throughout
the night. Low Masses commenced at seven o'clock, at
which time persons began to assemble. At ten o'clock
were the Requiem and High Mass. The coffin was placed
on a catafalque in front of the high altar, surrounded by
burning tapers. Francis was on the right, William on the
left, the four nuns at the foot, Lady Williamson, Lady
Hardwicke, Sir Hedworth, Lord Normanby, Col. Augustus
Liddell, Victor Williamson, and many others, stood near
them. The chapel was full, the wailing chant very impres-
sive. There was one person, an old man tottering with
grief, whom every one saw, and every one inquired who
he was. At eleven o'clock six bearers came up the centre
of the church, and slowly the coffin was carried out. The
family followed. Lady Lothian came out of one of the
seats and implored me not to follow to the cemetery.
The crowd closed in behind the coffin. Lady Lothian and
I remained in the church; after a time we returned to her
house. Everything appeared indistinct from that time.
Now William will tell the rest.
1864] HOME LIFE WITH THE MOTHER 119
(Continued by William.) ""The four carriages started
along the road; by the side ran the weather-beaten white-
haired gentleman, and every one still inquired who he was.
We reached Kensal Green at half-past one. The coffin
was carried into the chapel, and laid upon another cata-
falque, where it was asperged. After a very impressive
oration by Father Galway, the procession left the chapel
headed by the four nuns. Then came the priests, then all
the others following the coffin, and last of all the white-
haired unknown. As the coffin was lowered, the responses
were chanted by the nuns, and at the same time a gleam
of sunshine burst forth, being the only one that appeared,
throwing a strong light over everything.
" That day the nuns and Father Galway went to see my
sister, who was terribly exhausted. On Monday morning
the white-haired unknown came to Bryanston Street and
asked for Miss Hare. He was sent on to Lady Lothian.
Sister was alone (now she dictates the rest). The door
opened, and as I looked, I saw a white-haired old man,
who seemed almost as if he had not strength to come for-
ward. I went up to him. Tears were streaming down
his face ; he clasped my hands in his, and exclaimed, ' Ah !
Mademoiselle ! ' and his sobs choked him and prevented
him from saying any more, and I, in my turn, exclaimed,
' Oh! Lamarre, c'est vous! ' It was indeed Lamarre, our
old cook from Palazzo Parisani! His was the most touch-
ing sorrow I ever saw. ' Celle que j'ai servie, celle que
j'ai v\\ Mama had been Loved,
how much she had been esteemed in her life, how many
there were who were deeply attached to her, who felt the
sorrow as 1 felt it. Theo came the days of long Letters
of condolence from Prance, from Italy, from Pisa, from
Victoire, whose heart seemed breaking, and where the
funeral mass was said with great pomp, sixty of the Pisan
clergy attending, who sent me a list n\ their names. At
Rome the Duchess Sora a\ ill have a funeral mass said at
San Claudio, and all the clergy and friends who knew
Mama well will be present to offer tip their prayers."
According to Roman custom, the death was an-
nounced to acquaintances by a dee]) mourning paper
inscribed : —
•• Hare j>itt/ on me, have ]>it>/ on me. at least you, unj
friends." — I«>is xix. 21.
Of your charity pray for the soul of
Mrs. ANN FRANC ES II A R E,
(Widow of Francis George Hare, Esq., brother of the late Archdeacon
I lav of Lewes, Sussex), who departed this life, after a short illness,
on the 25th of April 1864, aged sixty-three years, fortified with all the
rites of Holy Church. On whose soul sweel Jesus have mercy.
/,' quiescat in pace. Aim n.
••Afflicted in few things, in many shall they be well rewarded,
because God has tried them." — Wisdom, iii. 5. 1
It was Mr. Trafford who responded to the an-
nouncement of the death which had been sent to
Madame cle Trafford: —
" Chdteau A- Beaujour, par Onzain, Cher et Loire, ee
1 Mai 1864! Croyez, ma chere Demoiselle, que nous
1 Placed on the doors of Catholic churches and chapels.
1864] . HOME LIFE WITH THE MOTHER 121
partageons lien votre douleur, mais femme propose, et
Dieu dispose. Vous savez que Madame de Trafford avait
prevu ce qui est arrive. . . . Madame de Trafford vous
dira encore * Esperance et Confiance. '
"E. W. Trafford."
To my Sister.
"'Florence, May 22, 1864. This morning we have re-
ceived your most touching account of the last hours, of
which we had so longed to know something. You may
imagine with what breathless interest we have followed
every- detail.
"... 1 have seen poor Mr. Landor several times. He
has a small lodging in the Via della Chiesa. where he
' sits out the grey remainder of Ins evening, ' as Coleridge
would describe it. He is terribly altered, has lost the use
of his hearing and almost of his speech, and cannot move
from his chair to his bed. I think he had a very indistinct
recollection who I was. but he remembered the family,
and liked to say over the old names — ' Francis. Augustus,
Julius, i miei tre imperatori. I have never known any
family 1 loved so much as yours. I loved Francis most,
then Julius, then Augustus, but I loved them all. Francis
was the dearest friend I ever had. ' He also spoke of the
Buller catastrophe. ' It was a great, great grief to me.'
I did not tell him what has happened lately: it was no use,
he can live so short a time. 1
" When he last left the Villa Landore. it was because
Mrs. Landor turned him out by main force. It was a
burning day, a torrid summer sun. He walked on dazed
down the dusty road, the sun beating on his head. His
1 He died on the 17th of the following September.
" Oh, let him pass ! he hates him much
That would upon the rack of this rough world
Stretch him out longer." — King Lear.
L22 THE STORY OF MY LIKE [1864
life probably was saved by his meeting Mr. Browning,
who took him home. Aiter some time Browning asked to
take him to the Storys' villa at Siena, and lie stayed with
them a Long time. Mrs. Storj says that nothing ever more
completely realised King Lear than his appearance when
he arrived, with his long flowing white locks and his wild
Ear-away expression. But after a day of rest he seemed
to revive, lie would get tip very early and sit for hours
at a little table in the great hall of the villa writing verses
— often Latin verses.
"One day he wrote, and thundered out, an epigram on
his wife : —
• From the first Paradise an angel once drove Adam ;
From mine a fiend expelled me : Thank you, madam.'
" Then he would tell the Storys interesting things out
of his long-ago, describing Count D'Orsay and Lady
Blessington, with Disraeli sitting silently watching their
conversation, as if it were a display of fireworks. He was
always courteous and kind — a polished gentleman of the
old school. At last Browning arranged for him to go to
a lodging of his own, but he went to spend their little
girl's birthday with the Storys. He walked to their villa
along the dusty road in his old coat, but when he came
in, he unbuttoned it, and with one of his old volleys of
laughter showed a flowered waistcoat, very grand, which
k D'Orsay and he had ordered together,' and which he had
put on in honour of the occasion.
" After he was living in Florence, Mrs. Browning told
him one day that she had just got Lord Lytton's new r book
k Lucile. ' — ' Oh, God bless my soul ! ' he said, ' do lend it
to me. ' In an hour he sent it back. ' Who could ever
read a poem which began with But ? ' However, he was
afterwards persuaded to read it, and shouted, as he gen-
erally did over what pleased him, ' Why, God bless my
soul, it 's the finest thing I ever read in my life.'
UK"***
I •
1864] HOME LIFE WITH THE MOTHER 123
" Mrs. Browning did not think he was properly looked
after at Florence, and sent her excellent maid, Wilson, to
care for him. But it did not answer. Wilson cooked him
a most excellent little dinner, and when he saw it on the
table, he threw it all out of the window; it was too
English, he said."
In returning north from Italy, we made an excur-
sion to Courmayeur, driving in a tiny carriage from
Ivrea along the lovely Val d'Aosta, and lingering to
sketch at all the beautiful points. In France we had
an especially happy day at Tonnerre, a thoroughly
charming old town, where the people were employed
in gathering the delicious lime-flowers which lined
the boulevards, for drying to make tisanes.
There was a subject of painful interest to us dur-
ing this summer, which it is difficult to explain in a
few words. Mv sister's letter mentions how, when
Italima was
God."
r.
-
-
-
■ :-
IjrOj ^ LZ.C
-
.£>
_L'-
■
75
:
i
: t-:-5;r-
....
' - - -
i-
-
_ — z.
h:::i : - ' ~y. : -.:-. ...■:.-.-.
*" T «Miff irrw T rirr _'-_-■
szud ffexe I sat -1 -wMMfesfel -:■".
< mfcai -ami T?t^iL «oe azm. ~ .ud it is -vtj* Lab£
""I remand
A r . alburn BbA» • .
'_(L _-r;J ~_-r —-:--■-'- '-■ - -■ ■■' - - -:-'• _- ~_--'l_ "'I"
' iZ"--r~ "_'-- - - --r- - ■— '—- •-'.---'-- - '.'.-——• - - " - -
_— H "Lit; ~" • — - - '
: r
-_-- r -__- '_-. :" — - _ -_• i _- .- .
was dse one i^© mi Mi fine, n - ii wag ^oag-
- - - «-a- -mt*rrf;r rm Tut — " . ~
""Kzn_ . -
- ■ — - ~--~-~~— i
'— ~jz i- i ~-i ■- : — — "-- -- - — - ~—-~ - - -
~-'. : ::^J — ~i zirzZi i _ - ri- r~-~ _^_- " :__ ~ r^ — >
Zi^_ - " _ - — — ' - —
- -.___:._ Z _. ~ - " Z - 1
3fc. Hon. &• . r-£L-rZe
144 THE STORY OF MY LIFE [1864
gel up when the King- came in. The King and Queen
always came quite simply in a carriage and four with the;
prickers riding before in crimson liveries. There was a
particular point in the avenue at which the prickers were
visible from the windows, and when they were seen, my
grandfather used to ring the bell and ask if there was a
round of beef in the house. He was generally answered
in the affirmative, and then it was all right, for none of the
royal party took luncheon, only the Queen used to have
a particular kind of chocolate brought to her: my father
generally offered it on a tray, after they had been about
half-an-hour in the house. They used to take an interest
in everything, and if any one ventured to rehang their
pictures, they would say, ' Mr. So-and-so, why have you
rehung your pictures?' I remember the King one day
asking my grandfather if he had read the memoirs which
every one was talking about at that time. They were
those of the Due de St. Simon, La Grande Mademoiselle,
&c, and my father said no, he had not seen them. The
King came again within the fortnight, and my grandfather
did not see him coming down the avenue, nor did he know
the King was in the house, till there was a kind of fumbling
outside the door, and the King, who would not let any
one come to help him, opened the door, with a great pile
of volumes reaching from his waist to his chin, saying,
1 Here, Mr. Grenville, I have brought you the books we
were talking about.' But as the King came through the
door, the books slipped and fell all about on the floor: my
grandfather could not move, and the King began to pick
them up, till some one came to help him and put them on
the table for him.
"The scene on the terrace at Windsor on Sundays was
the prettiest thing. It was considered proper that every
one in the neighbourhood who could should go ; those who
were in a position of life to be presented at court stood
in the foremost rank. The presence of the King was
1864] HOME LIFE WITH THE MOTHER 145
announced by the coming of ' Lavender, ' a kind of police-
man-guard, who used to clear the way and always preceded
the royal family; he was the only kind of guard they had.
The Queen wore evening dress, a sort of cap with a string
of diamonds, and a loose flowing kind of gown; there was
no such thing then as demi-toilette. After her came the
princesses, or any of the princes who happened to have
come down from London, or, on fine days, some of the
Cabinet Ministers. The royal family stopped perpetually
and talked to every one. I remember the King coming
up to me when I was a very little girl, and dreadfully
frightened I was. ' Well, now, ' said the King, ' and here
is this little girl. Come, my dear, take off your bonnet, '
he said (for I wore a poke), and then he added, ' I wanted
to see if you were like your mother, my dear. '
" It was Miss Burney who gave the impression of Queen
Charlotte as being so formidable. Nothing could be more
false ; she was the kindest person that ever lived, and so
simple and unostentatious. The fact was that Miss Burney
had been spoilt by having been made a sort of queen in
Dr. Johnson's court. The day ; Evelina ' came out Dr.
Johnson said to her, ' Miss Burney, die to-night, ' meaning
that she had reached the highest point of fame which it
was possible to attain. Queen Charlotte made her one of
her readers, for she was passionately fond of being read to
while she worked. But Miss Burney was one of those
people afflicted with mauvaise honte. She could not read
a bit, and the Queen could not hear a word she said.
' Mama the Queen, ' said the Duchess of Gloucester to me,
' never could bear Miss Burney, poor thing! ' So the
Queen invented some other place in her extreme kindness
to Miss Burney, to prevent having to send her away, and
in that place Miss Burney was obliged to stand.
"An instance of Queen Charlotte's extreme kindness was
shown when she made Lady Elizabeth Montagu one of her
ladies-in-waiting, out of her great love to Lady Cornwallis.
VOL. II. — 10
14G THE STORY OF MY LIFE [1864
When Lady Elizabeth arrived at court, the Queen sent
for her and said. ' My dear, vmi have no mother here, so
I must beg that you will consider me as your mother, and
if you have any trouble or difficulty, that you will come
to me at once.' When Lady Elizabeth went to her room.
she found the bed covered with new things — new dresses,
a quantity of black velvet to make the trains which were
worn then, and a great many ornaments. k My dear." said
the Queen, ' you will want these things, and it will he a
year before your salary is due: I thought it might not be
convenient to you to buy them just now. so you must
accept them from me."
"Another day, when Lady Elizabeth had been ill in the
evening and unable to go with the Queen to a. concert,
early in the morning she heard a knock at her door while
she was in bed, and the Queen came in in her dressing-
gown, with what we called a coinbing-cloth (which thc\
used because of the powder) over her shoulders, and all
her hair down. * May 1 come in, Lady Elizabeth?' sin-
said. ' I heard you were ill, and there is nothing stirring
to-day, so I came to beg that you will not think of getting
up, and that you will send for everything you can wash
for. Pray think of everything that it is right for you to
have." "
"Mrs. Fry came to Escfick once, and was pleased to see
our gardens and the few little things we had to show her.
' Friend Caroline, I like thy pig-styes,' she said/'
During this and the following summer I was often
with my sister in London, and saw much of her
friends, persons who have been entirely lost to me,
never soon again, since the link which I had to them
in her has been broken. Thus at Esmeralda's house
1864] HOME LIFE WITH THE MOTHER 147
I often saw the gentle sisters of the Precious Blood
and their sweet-looking Mother, Pierina Roleston.
She was utterly ignorant of worldly matters, and
entirely governed by her priests, but her own char-
acter was of a simplicity much like that of the Cure
d'Ars. She once described to me Maria de Matthias,
and the story of the foundation of her Order.
" Oh, I wish you could see the Mother-General : she is
so simple, such a primitive person. When she wants any
thing, she just goes away and talks to our Blessed Lord,
and He gives it to her. Sometimes the nuns come and say
to her, ' What can we do, Mother? we have no flour,
we cannot bake; ' and she answers, l Wiry should you be
troubled? Are not the granaries of our Master always
full ? We will knock at them, and He will give us some-
thing. '
" One day there was nothing at all left at Acuto : there
was no bread, and there was no money to buy any. But
Mother-General had just that simple faith that she was
not at all troubled by it, and she even brought in live
additional persons, five workmen who were to make some
repairs which were necessary for the convent. When they
came, she made the nuns come into the chapel, and she
said, ' Now, my children, you know that we have nothing
left, and we must pray to our Master that He will send us
something ; ' and she herself, going up to the altar, began
to talk to Our Blessed Lord and to tell Him all her needs.
t Dear Lord, ' she said, ' Ave have nothing to eat, and I am
just come to tell you all about it, and to ask you to send
us something; and I am in debt too, dear Lord. I owe
twenty-five scudi for your work ; will you send it to me ? '
and so she continued to talk to Our Blessed Lord, just
telling Him all she wanted.
" At that moment there was a knock at the door, and a
14S TUP: STORY OP MY LIFE [1864
young man put a paper into the portress's hand, only say-
ing these words — " Pray tor the benefactor. ' The portress
brought the paper to the Mother-General in the chapel,
and she opened it and said, ' My children, give thanks:
the Master has sent US what we asked for.' It was the
twenty-live scndi. Mother-General was not surprised.
She knew that our Blessed Lord heard her, and she felt
sure He would answer her. Soon after the convent bell
rani; for the dinner-hour. The nuns were coining down-
stairs, but there 1 was nothing for them to eat. The Mother-
General said, however, that the Master would send them
something, and indeed, as they reached the foot of the
stairs, the door-bell rang, and a large basket of food was
left at the door, sent by some ladies in the neighbourhood.
' See how our Lord has sent dinner to us,' said the Mother-
General.
"The Mother-General is an educated person, really
indeed quite learned, considering that in the time of her
youth it was not thought well to teach girls much, for fear
they should learn anything that is evil.
" When the Mother-General was a young person, as
Maria de Matthias in Vallecorso, she was very worldly
and gay. But she heard ' the Venerable ' (Gaspare del
Bufalo) preach in Vallecorso, and, as he preached, his eye
fixed upon her, he seemed to pierce her to the very soul.
When she went home, she cut off all her hair except the
curls in front, and turned her gown inside out, and wore
her oldest bonnet. She thought to please our Lord in
this way, and she remained for seven years shut up in her
father's house, but all that time she was not satisfied, and
at last she went to ' the Venerable ' and asked him what
she was to do, for she wished to do something for our
Blessed Lord. And the Venerable said to her, ' You must
go to Acuto, and there you will be told what you must
do.' She had never heard of Acuto, but she went to a
friend of hers, also named Maria, and inquired where
1864] HOME LIFE WITH THE MOTHER 149
Acuto was, for she was ordered to go there. The friend
said she would go with her, and ordered out her horse,
but the horse was a wild horse, 1 and she did not know
how to ride it. Maria de Matthias, however, went up to
the horse and patted it, saying, k You must not be wild,
you must become calm, because it is necessary that we
should go to Acuto: you and 1 have to go in obedience,
and I cannot walk, for it is twelve hours' journey.' When
the Mother had thus spoken to the horse, it became quite
mild, and, hanging down its head, went quite gently, step
by step, and the Mother rode upon it. When they had
gone half-way, she wished that the other Maria should
ride, and the Mother got off, and Maria climbed upon a
wall to mount the horse, but with her the horse would not
move an inch, and then Maria felt it was not our Lord's
will that she should mount the horse, and the Mother con-
tinued to ride to Acuto. When they arrived, and the
Mother got off the horse, it became again immediately
quite wild, and when Maria attempted to touch it, it was
in such a fury that it kicked and stamped till the fire
came out of the ground.
" The priest of Acuto was waiting to receive the Mother,
and she remained there teaching a school. She believed
at first that this only was her mission, but in a short time
the children began to call her ' Mother,' and to ask her to
give them a habit. The first nun who received the habit
was a little child of eight years old, who is now Mother
Caroline, Superior of the Convent at Civita Vecchia.
"The Mother-General often preaches, and she preaches
so powerfully that even the priests crowd to hear her.
When the people see her come forward to the edge of the
altar-steps and begin to speak, they say ' Hark ! the great
Mother is going to talk to us, ' and there is fixed silence
and attention. She generally begins by addressing them
as ' Brothers and Sisters,' and then she teaches them.
1 I give, of course, the words of Pierina.
150 THE STORY OF MY LIFE [1804
"The Mother-General cannot write. When she is
obliged to write a letter, she kneels down and kisses the
feet of the Crucifix and asks Our Lord to help her, and
letters of hers which she has written in this way, in the
most beautiful hand, are [(reserved. When there are no
flowers l"i' the altar she says, 'Our Master's flowers arc
always blooming; He will send us some:" and that day
flowers come.
"After her death Sister Caterina appeared three times
to Sister Filomena, and begged her to tell the Mother not
to be troubled, for that the Sisters would suffer yet for
four months longer, and then that they would have all that
they needed. That day four months Lady Londonderry
gave ns a house.
"' The Venerable ' left a prophecy that an English sub-
ject should come to join his Order in Italy, and then go
back to found the female Order in England. When 1
took the veil, it was remembered that the Venerable had
said this.
"Don Giovanni Merlini used to accompany ' the Ven-
erable * on his missions. The Venerable ' used to say,
' Take care of Don Giovanni, for he is a saint.' Don
Giovanni is still living at the little church of the Crociferi
near the Fountain of Trevi."
At this time my sister went frequently to see and
consult Dr. Grant, the Bishop of Southwark. She
believed him to be quite a saint, and fancied that he
had the gift of healing, and she delighted to work for
others under his direction. But Esmeralda was
always willing to believe in or to find out saints of
the nineteenth century. It was by Dr. Grant's
advice, I believe, that she went to visit a mm of
saintly attributes who lived near him, the Soeur
Marie Anne. Of this visit she wrote : — " Soeur
1864] HOME LIFE WITH THE MOTHER 151
Marie Anne was quite full of canonizations and of all
that was going on about the Venerable Lab re, because
she said that when she was a child, she had once
seen him as a venerable pilgrim, going through a
village, when the boys stoned him. She had been so
struck, so saisie by his appearance, that she went up
to him and said, ' Forgive me, but I hope that you
will not refuse to tell your name.' — ' Labre,' he said
and the name Labre had stuck by her to that day.
She implored me to get up a special veneration for
the Venerable Labre, but I said that I really coidd
not for he was too dirty."
In 1863, under the direction of her priests, and
with the assistance of many Catholic friends, Esme-
ralda had published a " Manual of the Dolours of
our Lady," which she caused to be translated into
almost every language of Europe and to be dissem-
inated among all its nations ; this she did through
the medium of foreign converts. In her " retreats "
and in her religious life Esmeralda had for some
years been brought nearer to many of her former
friends with the same interests, but especially to
Lady Lothian, Lady Georgiana Fullerton, and to
a Miss Bradley, a recent pervert to the Church of
Rome. By them she had been induced to join the
society of " Les Enfants de Marie ; " a society of
persons united together by special acts of devotion
to the Virgin, and works of charity conducted in her
honour. In sorrow, faithfully borne, the beauty and
power of holiness had become hourly more apparent
to Esmeralda. But she could never join in the exag-
geration which led many of these ladies to invest
L52 THE STORY OF .MY LIFE [1864
the Virgin with all the attributes of our Lord Him-
self, as well as with the perfection of human sym-
pathies. I remember as rather touching that when
tin' Dowager Lady Lothian was writing to Esmeralda
about her son as being so "fearfully Protestant/' she
said. "It is very trying to know that one cannot
share one's thoughts with any one. I try to make
our dear Mother more my companion, hut I am
tempted sometimes to remember how Our Lady, in
all her sorrows, never can have had that of anxiety
about her son's soul. I know that she has it in and
for us, her adopted children, but she never can have
felt it about Our Lord."
From the devotion which Esmeralda felt to the
Blessed Virgin followed her especial interest in the
Order of the Servites. who had lately been estab-
lished in London, and who always wore black in
sympathy with the sorrows of Mary. The very
name had an interest for Esmeralda, derived as it
was from the special love shown to the Madonna by
seven noble Florentines, the founders of the Order.
which induced the children to point at them in the
streets, saying, "Guardate i servi di Maria."' For
the Servites Esmeralda never ceased to obtain con-
tributions.
Another confraternity in which my sister had
entered herself as an associate, together with Lady
Lothian and most of her friends, was that of " The
Holy Hour" — first instituted by the beatified nun,
Margaret Mary Alacoque of Paray le Monial, a con-
vent near Monceaux les Mines, 1 for which her ad-
1 Paray le Monial, now so constant a resort of pilgrimages, was, up
In this time, almost unknown.
1864] HOME LIFE WITH THE MOTHER 153
mirers, and my sister amongst them, had worked a
splendid carpet, to cover the space in front of her
altar. The rules of this society set forth that it
" is established as a special manner of sharing the
agony of our Divine Lord, and of uniting in asso-
ciated prayer for reparation of insults offered Him
by sin. The associates of this devotion thus form
a band of faithful disciples, who in spirit accom-
pany our Saviour every Thursday night to the scene
of His agony, and share more particularly that watch
which Our Blessed Lady and the Apostles kept on
the eve of the Passion. With this end in view, the
associates spend one hour of Thursday evening hi
mental or vocal prayer upon the Agony in the
Garden, or other mysteries of the Passion.'" Thus
every Thursday night my sister repeated : —
" O Lord Jesus Christ, kneeling before Thee I unite
myself to Thy Sacred Heart and offer myself again to Thy
service. In this hour when Thou wert about to be be-
trayed into the hands of sinners, I, a poor sinner, dare to
come before Thee and say, fc Yes, Lord, 1 too many times
have betrayed and denied Thee,' but Thou, who knowest
all things, knowest that I desire to love Thee, that I desire
to comfort Thee insulted by sin, that I desire to watch
with Thee one hour, and to cry before Thy throne, 'O
Lord, remember me when Thou coniest into thy king-
dom ! ' And therefore, with my whole heart, I now prom-
ise before thee —
"When the mysteries of Thy life and Passion are
denied : the more firmly will I believe in them and defend
them with my life.
"When the spirit of unbelief, coming in like a flood,
seeks to quench our hope : I will hope in Thee and take
refuge in Thy Sacred Heart.
154 THE STORY OF MY LIFE [1864
•• When blinded men obstinately shut their hearts to
Thy love: I will love Thee who hast shown me an ever-
lasting love.
" When the Majesty and power of Thy Divinity are
denied: I will say to Thee — day by day--* My Lord and
m\ God! '
" When Thy law is broken and Thy sacraments pro-
faned: I will keep Thy words in my heart and draw near
to thy holy altar with joy.
"When all men forsake Thee and flee from Thy ways:
J will follow Thee, my .Jesus, up the way of sorrow, striv-
ing to hear Thy cross.
"When the evil one, like a roaring lion, shall seek
everywhere the souls of men: 1 will raise Thy standard
against them and draw them to Thy Sacred Heart.
" When the Cross shall be despised for the love of pleas-
ure and the praise of men: I will renew my baptismal
vows, and again renounce the devil, the world, and the
flesh.
" When men speak lightly of Thy Blessed Mother and
mock at the power of Thy Church : I will renew my love
to the Mother of God, hailing her as "Our life, our sweet-
ness, and our hope,' and will again give thanks for the
Church that is founded upon the rock."
At my sister's house, I now, at least on one occa-
sion, met each of my brothers, but we never made
the slightest degree of real acquaintance ; indeed, I
doubt if 1 should have recognised either of them if I
had met him in the street. When my eldest brother,
Francis, came of age, he had inherited the old Ship-
ley property of Gresford in Flintshire, quantities of
old family plate, &c, and a clear £3000 a year. He
was handsome and clever, a good linguist and a toler-
1864] HOME LIFE WITH THE MOTHER 155
able artist. But he had a love of gambling, which
was his ruin, and before he was seven-and-twenty
(October 1857) he was in the Queen's Bench, with-
out a penny in the world, with Gresford sold —
Hurstmonceaux sold — his library, pictures, and plate
sold, and £53,000 of debts. After Francis was
released in 1860, he went to join Garibaldi in his
Italian campaign, and being a brave soldier, and,
with all his faults, devoted to military adventure and
impervious to hardships, he was soon appointed by
the Dictator as his aide-de-camp. He fought bravely
in the siege of Capua. His especial duty, however,
was to watch and follow the extraordinary Contessa
della Torre, who rode with the troops, and by her
example incited the Italians to prodigies of valour.
Of this lady Francis said —
" The Contessa della Torre was exceedingly handsome.
She wore a hat and plume, trousers, boots, and a long
jacket. She was foolhardy brave. When a shell exploded
by her, instead of falling on the ground like the soldiers,
she would stand looking at it, making a cigarette all the
time. The hospital was a building surrounding a large
courtyard, and in the centre of the court was a table where
the amputations took place. By the side of the surgeon
who operated stood the Contessa della Torre, who held the
arms and legs while they were being cut off, and when
they were severed, chucked them away to join others on a
heap close by. There were so many, that she had a heap
of arms on one side of her and a heap of legs on the other.
The soldiers, animated bj r her example, often sang the
Garibaldian hymn while their limbs were being taken off,
though they fainted away afterwards.
" When the war was over, the Contessa della Torre
156 THE STORY OF MY LIFE [1864
retired to Milan. Her first husband, the Count della
Torre, she soon abandoned ; her second husband, Signor
Martino, a rich banker, soon abandoned her. Lately she
has founded a Society for the Conversion of the Negroes
of Centra] Africa, of which she appointed herself patron-
ess, secretary, and treasurer; and, obtaining an English
Clergy List, wrote in all directions for subscriptions. Of
course many clergj took ao notice of the appeal, hut a
certain proportion responded and sent donations, which it
is needless to say were not applied to Central Africa."
After the siege of Capua, Francis was very ill with
a violent fever at Naples, and then remained there
for a long time because he was too poor to go away.
It was during his stay at Naples that he formed his
friendship with the K.'s, about which my sister has
left some curious notes.
" When Francis first went to Naples, he had his
pay, was well to do, and stayed at the Hotel Victoria.
Amongst the people who were staying in the house and
whom he regularly met at the tnble-oVhdte^ were an old
Mr. K. and his daughter. Old Mr. K. was a very hand-
some old gentleman and exceedingly pleasant and agree-
able; Miss K. was also handsome, and of very pleasing
manners: both were apparently exceedingly well off.
After some time, the K.*s went to Rome, where they
passed some time very pleasantly. When they returned,
the siege of Capua was taking place, and it was a source
of great surprise to the Garibaldian officers to see the
father and daughter constantly walking about arm in arm
with the most perfect sang-froid in the very teeth of the
firiner, shells bursting: all around them. The Garibaldians
remonstrated in vain: the K.'s remained unhurt in the
heat of every battlefield, and appealed to bear charmed
lives.
1864] HOME LIFE WITH THE MOTHER 157
" Some time after, it transpired that the K.'s had no
money to pay their bills at the Victoria. They were
much respected there, having been there often before, but
they could not be allowed to remain without payment, so
the landlord told them they must leave. They went to
another hotel, where the same thing happened. Then
they went to a lodging.
" One day Francis met them coming down under the
arch in the Chiaja. He turned round and went with them
to the Villa Reale. As they went, Miss K. spoke of the
great distress which was then prevalent in Naples, and
said that a gentleman had just begged of them in the
street, and that they had nothing to give him. 'Before
I would be reduced to that,' she said, 'I would drown
myself.' — ' Yes, and 1 too would drown myself,' said Mr.
K. ; but what they said did not strike Francis till after-
wards. When they reached the Villa Reale, they walked
up and down together under the avenue. Miss K. was
more than usually lively and agreeable, and they did not
separate till nightfall, when the gates of the Villa were
going to be shut.
" At two o'clock the next morning, Francis was awak-
ened by the most dreadful and vivid dream. He dreamt
that he stood on the little promontory in the Villa Reale,
and that he saw two corpses bobbing up and down a short
distance off. The dream so took possession of him, that
he jumped up, dressed himself, and rushed down to the
Villa, but the gates were shut when he got there, and he
had to wait till they were opened at four o'clock in the
morning. He then ran down the avenue to the promon-
tory, and thence, exactly as he had seen in his dream, he
saw two corpses bobbing up and down on the waves a short
distance off. He called to some fishermen, who waded in
and brought them to land, and he then at once recognised
Mr. and Miss K. They must have concealed themselves
in the Villa till the gates were closed, and must then have
]58 THE STORY OF MY LIFE [1864
deliberately climbed over the railing of the promontory,
and then tied each other's ankles and wrists, and, alter
filling their pockets with heavy stones, leapt off into the
Bea.
"Capua they had vainly hoped would destroy them.
'"Some time after Francis found that Mr. K. had once
been exceedingly rich, but had been ruined: that his wife,
who had ;i large settlement, had then left him, making him
a handsome allowance. A few days before the catastrophe
this allowance had been suddenly withdrawn, and Mr. K.
with the daughter who devoted herself to him, preferred
death to beggary."
It may seem odd that I have never mentioned my
second brother, William, in these memoirs, but the
fact is, that after he grew up, I never saw him for
more than a few minutes. It is one of the things
I regret most in life that I never made acquaintance
with William. T believe now that he was misrepre-
sented to us and that he had many good qualities ;
and I often feel, had he lived till I bad the means
of doing so, how glad I should have been to have
helped him, and how fond I might have become of
him. At Eton be was an excessively good-looking
boy, very clever, very mischievous, and intensely
popular with bis companions. He never had any
fortune, so that it was most foolish of his guardian
(Uncle Julius) to spend £2000 which had been
bequeathed to him by " the Bath aunts," in buying
him a commission in the Blues. 1 only once saw
him whilst he was in the army, and only remember
him as a great dandy, but I must say that he had
the excuse that everything he wore became him.
1804] HOME LIFE WITH THE MOTHER 159
After lie left the army he was buffeted about from
pillar to post, and lived no one knows where or how.
Our cousin Lord Ravensworth was very kind to him,
and so was old Lady Paul ; but to Hurstmonceaux or
Holmhurst he was never invited, and he would never
have been allowed to come. I have often thought
since how very odd it was that when he died, neither
my mother nor I wore the slightest mourning for
him ; but he was so entirely outside our life and
thoughts, that somehow it would never have oc-
curred to us. He had, however, none of the cold
. self-contained manner which characterised Francis,
but was warm-hearted, cordial, affectionate, and
could be most entertaining. After his mother's great
misfortunes he went to Spain on some temporary
appointment, and at Barcelona nearly died of a fever,
through which he was nursed by a lady, who had
taken an extraordinary fancy to him ; but on his
return, when it was feared he would marry her, he
took every one by surprise in espousing the very
pretty portionless daughter of a physician at Clifton.
During the year 1864 I constantly saw my Lefevre
cousins and found an increasing friendship for them.
Sir John always showed me the greatest kindness,
being full of interest in all my concerns. I consulted
him on many subjects, feeling that he was the only
person I had ever known, except my mother, will-
ing to take the trouble of thinking how to give the
best advice and perfectly disinterested in giving it ;
consequently I always took his advice and his
only. His knowledge was extraordinary, and was
only equalled by his humility and self-forgetfulness.
160 THE STORY OF MY LIFE [1864
Many were the interesting reminiscences of other
days which he delighted to call up — many the
remarkable parallels he drew between present events
and tin isc he remembered — many the charming
stories lie told me. One of these, which has always
struck me as very grand and dramatic, I have so
often repeated that I will make a note of it here : —
" Within the memory of those still living there resided
in Madrid a family called Benalta. It consisted of Colonel
Benalta, a man of choleric and sharp disposition; of his
wife, Madame Benalta; oi his young daughter; of his
little son Carlos, a boy ten years old; and of the mother of *
Madame Benalta, who was a woman of large property and
of considerable importance in the society at Madrid. On
the whole, they were quoted as an example of a happy and
harmonious family. It is true that there were, however,
certain drawbacks to their being completely happy, entirely
harmonious, and the chief of these was that Colonel
Benalta, when his temper was not at its best, would fre-
quently, much more often than was agreeable, say to his
wife, ' My dear, yon know nothing: my dear, you know-
nothing at all: you know nothing whatever.' This was
very disagreeable to Madame Benalta, hut it was far more
unpleasant to the mother of Madame Benalta, who con-
sidered her daughter to he a very distinguished and gifted
woman, and who did not at all like to have it said,
especially in public, that she knew — nothing!
"However, as I have said, on the whole, as Madrid
society went, the Benaltas were quoted as an example of
a happy and harmonious family.
"One day ( 'olonel Benalta w r as absent on military duty,
but the rest of the family were assembled in the drawing-
room at Madrid. In the centre of the room, at a round
table, sat Madame Benalta and her daughter working. At
1864] HOME LIFE WITH THE MOTHER 161
a bureau on one side of the room sat the mother of Madame
Benalta, counting out the money which she had just re-
ceived for the rents of her estates in Andalusia, arranging
the louis-d'ors in piles of tens before her, and eventually
putting them away in a strong box at her side. At another
table on the other side of the room sat little Carlos Benalta
writing a copy.
" Now I do not know the exact words of the Spanish
proverb which formed the copy that Carlos Benalta wrote,
but it was something to the effect of ' Work while it is
to-day, for thou knowest not what may happen to-morrow. '
And the child wrote it again and again till the page was
full, and then he signed it, ' Carlos Benalta, Sept. 22nd, '
and he took the copy to his mother.
" Now the boy had signed his copy ' Carlos Benalta,
Sept. 22nd,' but it really was Sept. 21. And Madame
Benalta was a very superstitious woman; and when she
saw that in his copy Carlos had anticipated the morrow
— the to-morrow on which ' thou knowest not what may
happen ' — it struck her as an evil omen, and she was very
much annoyed with Carlos, and spoke sharply, saying that
he had been very careless, and that he must take the copy
back and write it all over again. And Carlos, greatly
crestfallen, took the copy and went back to his seat. But
the mother of Madame Benalta, who always indulged and
petted Carlos, looked up from her counting and said,
' Bring the copy to me. ' And when she saw it she said
to her daughter, ' I think you are rather hard upon Carlos,
my dear ; he has evidently taken pains with his copy and
written it very well ; and as for the little mistake at the
end, it really does not signify; so I hope you will forgive
him, and not expect him to write it again.' Upon which
Madame Benalta, but with a very bad grace, said, ' Oh, of
course, if his grandmother says he is not to write it again,
I do not expect him to do it; but I consider, all the same,
that he ought to have been obliged to do it for his care-
VOL. II. — 11
L62 THE STORY OF MY LIFE [1864
lessness.' Then the grandmother took ten louis-d'ors
from the piles before her, and she tore the copy out of
the book and rolled them up in it, and scaled the pared,
and she wrote upon the outside, ' For my dear grandson,
(ailos Benalta; to be given to him when I am dead!"
And she showed it to her daughter and her grand-daughter,
and said, ' Some day when I am passed away, this will be
a little memorial to Carlos of his old grandmother, who
loved him and liked to save him from a punishment.' And
she put the packet away in the strong box with the rest «>l
the money.
"The next morning the news of a most dreadful tragedy
startled the people of Madrid. The mother of Madame
Benalta, who inhabited an apartment in the same house
above that of her daughter and son-in-law, was found mur-
dered in her room under the most dreadful circumstances.
She had evidently fought hard for her life. The whole
floor was in pools of blood. She had been dragged from
one piece of furniture to another, and eventually she had
been butchered lying across the bed. There were the
marks of a bloody hand all down the staircase, and the
strong box was missing. Everything was done that could
be done to discover the murderer, but unfortunately he
had chosen the one day in the year when such a crime was
difficult to trace. As Mademoiselle Benalta was not yet
' out, ' and as the family liked a quiet domestic life, they
never went out in the evening, and the street door was
known to be regularly fastened. Therefore, on this one
day in the year, when the servants went on their annual
picnic to the Escurial, it was supposed to be quite safe to
leave the street door on the latch, that they might let
themselves in when they returned very late. The mur-
derer must have known this and taken advantage of it;
therefore, though Colonel Benalta offered a very large
reward, and though the Spanish Government — so great
was the public horror — offered, for them, a very large
1864] HOME LIFE WITH THE MOTHER 163
reward, no clue whatever was ever obtained to the
murderer.
U A terrible shadow naturally hung over the house in
Madrid, and the Benalta family could not bear to remain
in a scene which to them was filled with such associa-
tions of horror. By the death of the poor lady, Madame
Benalta's mother, they had inherited her estates in Anda-
lusia, and they removed to Cordova. There they lived
very quietly. From so great a shock Madame Benalta
could not entirely rally, and she shrank more than ever
from strangers. Besides, her home life was less pleasant
than it had been, for Colonel Benalta's temper was sharper
and sourer than ever, and even more frequently than before
he said to her, ' My dear, you know nothing: you really
know nothing at all. '
" Eleven years passed away, melancholy years enough to
the mother, but her children grew up strong and happy,
and naturally on them the terrible event of their childhood
seemed now quite in the far-away past. One day Colonel
Benalta was again absent on military duty. Madame
Benalta was sitting in her usual chair in her drawing-
room at Cordova, and Carlos, then a young man of one-
and-twenty, was standing by her, when the door opened
and Mademoiselle Benalta came in. ' Oh, mother, ' she
said, ' I 've been taking advantage of our father's absence
to arrange his room, and in one of his drawers I have
found a little relic of our childhood which I think per-
haps may be interesting to you: it seems to be a copy
which Carlos must have written when he was a little boy. '
Madame Benalta took the paper out of her daughter's hand
and saw, ' Work while it is to-day, for thou knowest not
what may happen to-morrow,' and at the bottom the
signature k Carlos Benalta, September 22nd,' and she
turned it round, and there, at the back, in the well-known
trembling hand, was written, ' For my dear grandson
Carlos Benalta, to be given to him when I am dead.'
104 THE STORY OF MY LIFE [18C1
Madame Benalta had just presence of mind to crumple
up the paper and throw it into the hack of the tire, and
then she It'll down upon the floor in a lit.
" From that time Madame Benalta never had any health.
She was unable to take anypart in the affairs of the house,
and scarcely seemed aide to show any interest in anything.
Her husband had less patience than ever with her, and
more frequently abused her and said. ' My dear, you know
nothing;' but it hardly seemed to affect her now; her
life seemed ebbing away together with its animation and
power, and she failed daily. That day-year Madame
Benalta lay on her death-bed, and all her family were
collected in her room to witness her last moments. She
had received the last sacraments, and the supreme moment
of life had arrived, when she beckoned her husband to her.
As he leant over her, in a calm solemn voice, distinctly
audible to all present, she said, k My dear, you have always
said that I knew nothing: now I have known two things:
I have known how to be silent in life, and how to pardon
in death," and so saying, she died.
" v It is unnecessary to explain what Madame Benalta
knew."
In later years, in Spain. I have read a little book
by Fernan Caballero, " El Silencio en la Vita, y el
Perdono en la Muerte," but even in the hands of the
great writer the story wants the simple power which
it had when told by Sir Juhn.
The winter of 1864-G-5 was a terribly anxious one
at Holmhurst. My mother failed daily as the cold
weather came on, and was in a state of constant and
helpless suffering. I never could bear to be away
from her for a moment, and passed the whole clay by
1864] HOME LIFE WITH THE MOTHER 165
the side of her heel or chair, feeding her, supporting
her, chafing her inanimate limbs, trying by an energy
of love to animate her through the weary hours of
sickness, giddiness, and pain. We were seldom able
to leave one room, the central one in the house,
and had to keep it as warm as was possible. My
recollection lingers on the months of entire absence
from all external life spent in that close room, sitting
in an armchair, pretending to read while I was cease-
lessly watching. My mother was so much worse
than she had ever been before, that I was never very
hopeful, but strove never to look beyond the present
into the desolate future, and, while devoting my
whole thoughts and energies to activity for her, was
always able to be cheerful. Still I remember how,
in that damp and misty Christinas, I happened to
light upon the lines in " In Memoriam " —
"With trembling fingers did we weave
The holly round our Christinas hearth ;
A rainy cloud possess'd the earth,
And sadly fell our Christmas Eve."
And how wonderfully applicable they seemed to
our case.
To my Sister.
" Holm-hurst, Dec. 17, 1864. How we envy you the
warmth of Italy! Had we known how severe a winter
this was likely to be, we also should have started for Italy
at all risks, and I feel that I have been very wrong ever to
have consented to the mother's staying in England, though
she seemed so weary of travelling and so much better in
health, that I could not believe the effect would be so bad.
The cold is most intense. After a month of wet, we have
166 THE STORY OF MY LIFE [1864
had two days of snow with black east wind, and now it is
pouring again, but the rain freezes as it falls.
"The dear mother is perfectly prostrated by the cold,
and looks at least twenty years older than in the summer.
She has great and constant pain, and trembles so greatly
as to be quite unable to feed herself, and she can do noth-
ing whatever all day, so that she is very miserable. Of
course I am dreadfully and constantly anxious about her,
and the dread of paralysis haunts me night and day. I
need not say how sweet, and gentle, and uncomplaining
my poor darling- is, but one can see she suffers greatly,
and ' the pleasures of an English winter,* which some of
the family have always been urging her to enjoy, consist
in an almost total non-existence on her part, and constant
watching on mine."
Gradually the consciousness came to all around her
that the only chance of my mother's recovery would
be from taking; her abroad. How I longed to follow
the advice given in "Kotzebue's Travels" when he
urges us to take pattern by our ancestors, who were
content to sit still and read the injunction in their
Bibles, " Let not your flight be in the winter." Yet
this year even poor Lea, generally so averse to leav-
ing home, urged us to set off. Then came the diffi-
culty of how to go, and where. We <\rr'n\rd to turn
towards Pau and Biarritz, because easier of access
than Cannes, and because the journeys were shorter:
and then there was the constant driving down to look
at the sea. and the discovery that, when it was calm
enough, my mother was too ill to move, and when
she was better, the sea was too rough. At last, on
the 20th of January, we left home in the evening.
1865] HOME LIFE WITH THE MOTHER 16
—
To my Sister.
" Bordeaux, Jan. 28, 1865. I cannot say what a com-
fort it is, amid much else that is sad and trying, to think
of you safe at Palazzo Parisani, in the home of many
years, with the devoted auntie and the two old domestic
friends to share your interests and sorrows and joys — so
much left of the good of life, so much to gild the memory
of the past. I know how you would feel the return to
Rome at first — the desolate room, the empty chair, the
unused writing-table; and then how you would turn to
' gather up the fragments that remain, ' and to see that
even the darkest cloud has its silver lining. . . . No, you
cannot wish your mother back. In thinking of her, you
will remember that if she were with you now, it would
not be in the enjoyment of Rome, of Victoire, and Parisani,
but in cheerless London rooms, with their many trials of
spirits and temper. Now all those are forgotten by her,
for
' Who will count the billows past
If the shore be won at last ? '
" And for yourself, you are conscious that you are in the
place where she would have you be, and that if she can
still be with you invisibly, her life and your life may still
be running on side by side, and yours now giving to her
unclouded eyes the pleasure it never could have given
when earthly mists obscured them.
"I often think of Christian Andersen's story of the
mother who was breaking her heart with grief for the loss
of her only child, when Death bade her look into his
mirror, and on one side she saw the life of her child as it
would have been had it remained on earth, in all the
misery of sorrow and sickness and sin; and on the other,
the glorified life to which it was taken; and then the
mother humbly gave thanks to the All-Wise, who chose
for her, and could only beg forgiveness because she had
wished to choose for herself.
168 THE STORY OF MY LIFE [18G5
"Do you know, my Esmeralda, that great sorrow has
been very near me too? My sweetest mother has been
wry, very ill, and even now she is so little really better,
that I am full of anxiety about her. From the New Year
she was so ill at llolmhurst from the cold and snow, that it
was decided that we must take the first available moment
for going abroad. But we were packed up and waiting
for more than a fortnight before her health and the tempests
allowed us to start.
"Her passage on the 21st was most unfortunate, for a
thick fog came on, which long prevented the steamer from
finding the narrow entrance of Calais harbour, and the boat
remained for two hours swaying about outside and firing
guns of distress every ten minutes. These were answered
by steamers in port, and the great alarm-bell of Calais
tolled incessantly. At last another steamer was sent out
burning red lights, and guided the wanderer in. My poor
mother was quite unable to stand from the cold and fatigue
when she was landed, and the journey to Paris, across the
plains deep in snow, was a most anxious one. During
the three days we spent at Paris, she was so ill that I had
almost given up all hope of moving her, when a warm
change in the weather allowed of our reaching Tours,
where we stayed two more days.
"Tours is a fine old town, and is the place where our
grandfather died. I saw Ins house, quite a palace, now
the museum. We slept again at Angouleme, a very strik-
ing place, the old town rising out of the new, a rocky
citadel surrounded with the most beautiful public walks
I ever saw out of Rome, and a curious cathedral. This
Bordeaux is a second Paris, only with a river like an arm
of the sea, and immense quays, full of bustle and hubbub,
like the Carminella at Naples."
"Hotel Victoria, Pan, Feb. 2. On Monday Ave made the
easiest move possible from Bordeaux to Arcachon, a most
1865]
HOME LIFE WITH THE MOTHER
169
quaint little watering-place. The hotel was a one-storied
wooden house, with an immensely broad West-Indian-like
balcony, in which three or four people could walk abreast,
descending on one side to the strip of silver sand which
alone separated it from the waveless bay of the sea called
the Bassin d'Arcachon; 1 the other opening into the forest
— sixty or seventy miles of low sandhills covered with
arbutus, holly, and pine. Near the village, quantities of
lodging-houses, built like Swiss chalets, are rising up
everywhere in the wood, without walls, hedges, or gardens,
TOURS.' 2
just like a fairy story, and in the forest itself it is always
warm, no winds or frosts penetrating the vast living walls
of green. If the mother had been better, I should have
liked to linger at Arcachon a few days, but we could not
venture to remain so far from a doctor. Here at Pau Ave
live in a deluge : it pours like a ceaseless waterspout ; yet,
so dry is the soil, that the rain never seems to make any
impression. Pau is dreadfully full and enormously expen-
1 These were the very early days of Arcachon.
2 From " South- Western France."
170
THE STORY OF MY LIFE
[1805
sive. I see no beauty in the place, the town is modern
with a modernised castle, the surrounding country flat,
with long white roads between stagnant ditches, the
' coteaux i Low hills in the middle distance covered with
brushwood, the distant view scarcely ever visible. We
are surrounded by cousins. Mis. Taylor 1 is most kind —
really as good-natured as she is ugly, and, haying lived
here twenty years, she knows everything about the place.
Dr. Taylor is a very skilful physician. Edwin and Bertha
AT ANGOULEME. 2
Dashwood are also here with their five children, and
Amelia Story with her father and step-mother. 3
"Alas! my sweetest mother is terribly weak, and has
hitherto only seemed to lose strength from day to day.
1 Born Julia Hare of Hurstmonceaux, a first cousin of my father.
2 From "South-Western France."
8 Edwin Dashwood was the son, and the first Mrs. Story had
been the daughter, of Emily Hare of Ilurstmonceaux, sister of
Mrs. Taylor.
1865] HOME LIFE WITH THE MOTHER. 171
She cannot now even walk across the room, nor can she
move from one chair to another without great help. We
are a little cheered, however, to-day by Dr. Taylor."
To Miss Leycester.
"Pan, Feb. 12. For the last two days my dearest
mother's suffering has been most sad, without intermis-
sion. . . . This evening Dr. Taylor has told me how very
grave he thinks her state, and that, except for the knowl-
edge of her having so often rallied before, there is no hope
of her precious life being restored to us. God has given
her back before from the brink of the grave, and it might
be His will to do so again ; this is all we have to cling to.
Her weakness increases daily. She cannot now help her-
self at all. . . . Her sweetness, her patience, the lovely
expression of her countenance, her angelic smile, her
thankfulness for God's blessings even when her suffering
is greatest, who can describe ? These are the comfort and
support which are given us.
"I do not gather that the danger is quite immediate;
the dread is a stupor, which may creep on gradually. . . .
I am always able to be cheerful in watching over her,
though I feel as if the sunshine was hourly fading out of
my life."
To my Sister.
"Pan, Feb. 14. My last account will have prepared
you for the news I have to give. My sweetest mother is
fast fading away. . . . Lea and I have been up with her
all the last two nights, and every minute of the day has
been filled with an intensity of anxious watching. The
frail earthly tabernacle is perishing, but a mere look at my
dearest one assures us that her spirit, glorious and sanc-
tified, has almost already entered upon its perfected life.
Her lovely smile, the heavenly light in her eyes, are quite
undescribable.
17- THE STORY OF MY LIFE [1865
"All through last night, as I sat in the red firelight,
watching every movement, it seemed to me as if the end
was close at hand. Her hymn rang in my ears — so
awfully solemn and real: —
' It may l" j when the midnight
Is heavy upon the land,
And the Mack waves lying dumbly
Along the sand ;
AYhen the moonless night draws close,
And the lights are out in the house ;
When the fires burn low and red,
And the watch is ticking loudly
Beside the bed :
Though you sleep, tired out, on your couch,
Still your heart must wake and watch
In the dark room.
For it may be that at midnight
I will come.'
When the Master does come, she will be always found
waiting. Has not my darling kept her lamp burning all
her life long? Surely when the Bridegroom cometh, she
will enter into the kingdom.
"I cannot tell how soon it will be. I have no hope now
of her being given back to me. It is a solemn waiting.
Oh! my Esmeralda, when you hear that the hour has
come, pity, pray for her unutterably desolate son.''
To Miss Lkyckster.
"Feb. 17. There has been an unexpected rally. Two
days ago. when I was quite hopeless and she lay motion-
less, unconscious of earth. Dr. Taylor said, * Wait, you
can do nothing: if this trance is to end fatally, you can
do nothing to arrest it; but it may still prove to be an
extraordinary effort of Nature to recruit itself.' And truly,
at eight o'clock yesterday morning, after sixty hours of
trance, she suddenly opened her eyes, smiled and spoke
1865] HOME LIFE WITH THE MOTHER 173
naturally. I had just left the room, when Lea called me
back — ' She is talking to me.' I could scarcely believe
it; yet, when I went in, there my darling sat in her bed,
with a sweet look of restored consciousness and returning
power.
" It was like a miracle.
" She remembers nothing now of her illness. She does
not think she has suffered. During the last night she
sa_ys she was constantly saying the seventy-first Psalm.
Almost the first thing she said after rallying was, ' I have
not been alone : your Uncle Penrhyn and your Aunt Kitty 1
have been here, supporting me all through the night. '
" Our nice simple little landlady had just been to the
church to pray for her, and coming back to find her
restored believes it is in answer to her prayers.
"I did not know what the agony of the last three days
was till they were over. While they lasted, I thought of
nothing but to be bright for her, that she might only see
smiles, to prevent Lea from giving way, and to glean up
every glance and word and movement; but to-day I feel
much exhausted."
To my Sister.
" Pau, Feb. 21. My darling has been mercifully restored
to me for a little while — a few days' breathing space; and
yet I could not count upon this even while it lasted; I could
not dwell upon hope, I could not look forward — the frail
frame is so very frail. I cannot think she is given to me
for long: I only attempt to store up the blessings of each
day now against the long desolate future.
" Last Sunday week she fell into her trance. It lasted
between sixty and seventy hours. During this time she
was almost unconscious. She knew me, she even said
1 Dear ' to me once or twice, and smiled most sweetly as
1 Her brother and sister, who had died long before.
171
TIIK STOKY OF MY LIFE
[18G5
she did so, but otherwise she was totally unconscious of
all around her, of day and night, of the Borrow or anxiety
of the watchers, of pain or trouble. A serene peace over-
shadowed her, a heavenly sweetness filled her expression,
and never varied except to dimple into smiles of angelic
beauty, as if she were already in the company of angels.
" But for the last sixteen hours the trance was like death.
Then the doctor said, ' If the pulse does not sink and if
she wakes naturally, she may rally/ This happened. At
eight the next morning, my darling gently awoke and was
given hack into life. r I nis was Thursday, and there were
. . .
PA I'. 1
three da}-s' respite. But yesterday she was evidently fail-
ing again, and this morning, while Dr. Taylor was in the
room, the trance came on again. For ten minutes her
pulse ceased to beat altogether. . . . Since then she has
lain as before — scarcely here, yet not gone — quite happy
— between heaven and earth.
" I believe now that if my darling is taken I can give
thanks for the exceeding blessedness of this end.
"Meantime it is again a silent watching, and, as I watch,
the solemn music of the hymns that my darling loves comes
1 From '-' South- Western France."
1865] HOME LIFE WITH THE MOTHER 175
back to me, and I repeat them to myself. Now these
verses are in my mind : — ■
' Have we not caught the smiling
On some beloved face,
As if a heavenly sound were wiling
The soul from our earthly place? —
The distant sound and sweet
Of the Master's coming feet.
We may clasp the loved one faster,
And plead for a little while,
But who can resist the Master?
And we read by that brightening smile
That the tread we may not fear
Is drawing surely near.'
And then, in the long watches of the night, all the golden
past comes back to me — how as a little child I played
round my darling in Lime Wood ■ — how the flowers were
our friends and companions — how we lived in and for one
another in the bright Lime garden : of her patient endur-
ance of much injustice — of her sweet forgiveness of all
injuries — of her loving gratitude for all blessings — of her
ever sure upward-seeking of the will and glory of God:
and my eye wanders to the beloved face, lined and worn
but glowing with the glory of another world, and while
giving thanks for thirty years of past blessing, shall I not
also give thanks that thus — ■ not through the dark valley,
but through the sunshine of God — ■ my mother is entering
upon her rest?
" God will give me strength : I feel quite calm. I can
think only how to soothe, how to cheer, how to do every-
thing for her."
"Feb. 26. It is still the same; Ave are still watching.
In the hundred and twelfth hour of her second trance,
during which she had taken no nourishment whatever, my
176 THE STORY OF MY LIFE [1865
mother spoke again, but it was only for a time. You will
imagine what the long patchings of this death-like slum-
ber have been, what the strange visions of the past which
have risen to my mind in the long, silent nights, as, with
locked doors (for the French would insist that all was
over), I have hovered over'the pillow on which she lies as
if bound by enchantment. Now conies before me the
death-bed scene of S. Vincent de Paul, when, to the
watchers lamenting together over his perpetual stupor, his
voice suddenly said, k It is but the brother that goes before
the sister.' Then, as the shadows lighten into dawn,
Norman Macleod's story of how he was watching b/y the
death-bed of his beloved one in an old German city, and
grief was sinking into despair, when, loud and solemn, at
three in the morning, echoed forth the voice of the old
German watchman giving the hours in the patriarchal
way — ' Put your trust in the Divine TJiree, for after the
darkest night cometh the break of day.'
" Last night the trance seemed over. All was changed.
My sweetest one was haunted by strange visions ; to her
excited mind and renewed speech, eveiy fold of the cur-
tains was a spirit, every sound an alarm. For hours I sat
with her trembling hands in mine, soothing her with the
old hymns that she loves. To a certain extent, however,
there is more hope, more of returning power. Is it a
superstition to think that she began to revive when in the
churches at Holnilmrst, Hastings, Hurstmonceaux, Alton,
and Pan prayers (and in many cases how earnest) were
being offered up for her restoration?
"Two p.m. My darling lias been sitting up in bed
listening to sweet voices, which have been singing to her;
but they were no earthly voices which she heard.
1 Ten P. M. She has just declared that she sees Ruth
Harmer (a good, sweet girl she used to visit, who died at
Hurstmonceaux) standing by her bedside. ' It is Ruth
1865] HOME LIFE WITH THE MOTHER 177
Harmer — look at Ruth Hamier, ' she said. But it was
not a voice of terror ; it was rather like the apostolic ques-
tion, ' Who are these who are arrayed, in white robes, and
whence come they ? ' There has also been a time when
she has spoken of ' dear Holmhurst, dear beautiful Holm-
hurst, ' in the most touching way."
"Feb. 27. She has fallen into a third stupor, deeper
than the others ; there is no sign of breath, the heart does
not beat, the pulse does not beat, the features have sunk.
I alone now declare with certain conviction that she lives.
The shadows are closing around us, yet I feel that we are
in the immediate presence of the Unseen, and that the
good Ruth Harmer is only one of the many angels watch-
ing over my sweetest one. Years ago she told me that
when dying she wished her favourite hymn —
' How bright those glorious spirits shine —
to be sung by her bedside ; was it these words which she
heard the angels sing to her? Oh! my Esmeralda, are
you praying that I may endure while it is necessary to do
everything for her, only so long ? How strange that the
scene which I have so often imagined should be in a coun-
try hitherto unknown, the only relations near having been
strangers before; yet the simple French people here are
very sad for us, and there is much sympathy."
"March 10. It has been many days since I have ven-
tured to write: it has been so difficult to say anything
definite, with the constant dread of another relapse, which
we have thought must come every day: yet I think I may
now venture to write in thanksgiving that my mother is
restored to me from the brink of the grave. It seemed
quite impossible that she could come back, as if she must
enter the world on the portals of which she had been so
long resting. Doctor and nurse gave up all hope ; and at
VOL. II. — 12
178 THE STORY OF MY LIFE [1865
Last the nurse went out, saying all must be over when she
returned in three hours' time. In "those three hours the
remedies began to take effect, the dead limbs to revive,
the locked mouth to open, the closed eyes to see, the
hands to Eeel. It had been a death-like trance of a hun-
dred and ninety-six hours altogether — ten days and nine
nights. She remembers nothing of it now, and nothing
of the illness which came before, hut a gradual revival
and awakening of all her powers is going on. It has been
less painful to her throughout than to any one, and it is
so still.
"Dr. Taylor is made Sir Alexander. He and Lady
Taylor have been most kind to us — -could not have been
more so. It has been interesting to see so much of her,
the last survivor of our lather's generation in the family,
and one who, living constantly at Ilurstnionceaux, was
present through all the old family crises and conflicts,
which she narrates with much of sound sense and observa-
tion. I shall hope to write down much of her recol-
lections, and shall begin in good earnest to collect the
memorials of that earlier family period, quite as curious
in its way as many later ones." '
"Paw, March 27. My sweet mother continues slightly
better certainly, but in a most fragile and harassing state
of health. I never feel happy in leaving her, even for
half-an-hour. On some days she is better and almost able
to enjoy reading a few words, or being read to a little:
on others, as to-day, the trembling increases to such a
degree as to prevent her occupying herself in any way.
I need not say how beautiful are her faith and love, how
increasing the beatitude of her inner, her heavenly life.
'Oh, how long it is since I have been at church,' she said
1 Tins I afterwards carried out in six unpublished volumes of the
Memoirs of the Hare Family.
1865] HOME LIFE WITH THE MOTHER 179
last night. ' But you are always at church in your soul,
darling,' I said. ' Yes,' she answered, ' that is the greater
part of my day — meditation and prayer, and in the night
I say my hymns and texts.' On my birthday she gave me
a solemn blessing. Each day I watch her every look and
movement. Truly I feel as if the pulse of her life beat
into mine. She does not see many people, but our sweet
little cousin Lady Dashwood, Lady Taylor, and Lady
Charles Clinton come occasionally.
" Pau is the most unattractive place I ever was in, and
it pours or snows almost incessantly. The 'society' is
small, good, and uninteresting, and snubs the immense
remainder of the Anglo-Pau world with hearty goodwill.
" For some days we have been very sad about dear
Emma Leycester, who has been terribly ill: at least I
have been, for I think the mother has scarcely taken in
the great cause for alarm."
I think the name of this most dear cousin, Emma
Leycester (Charlotte's much younger sister), has
scarcely been mentioned in these memoirs, and yet
there was scarcely any one who had a tenderer place
in our home life and thoughts, or to whom we were
more devoted. Perhaps the very fact of omitting
her shows how entirely she must have kept aloof
from all family squabbles and disorders, whilst rejoic-
ing in iall our pleasures and sorrowing in all our
griefs. She was never strong, and I always recollect
her as a semi-invalid, yet more animated and cheer-
ful than most people in strong health, and able, from
the very fact of weakness removing her from the
general turmoil of all that was going on around her,
to give her full attention and sympathy to the things
she could participate in. Small in person, she was
180 THE STORY <>F MY LIFE [1865
of a most sweet countenance, with grey hair, a most
delicate coin] ilex ion, and bright eyes, full of expres-
sion and humour —
" Her angel's face
As the great eye of heaven, shyned bright.
And made a sunshine in the shady place." 1
As a child, in her visits to Stoke and Lime, I was
quite devoted to her, and in the persecutions of my
boyhood was comforted by her unfailing sympathy.
When at Southgate, the greatest pleasure of my
London excursions was that they sometimes ended
at " Charlotte and Emma's house " in Wilton Cres-
cent, and that I often went to have tea Avith the dear
Emma, who was already gone to rest upon the sofa
in her own little sitting-room. When T was at Ox-
ford she came to visit me there ; and latterly the loss
of her own brother and sister had drawn this sister-
like cousin nearer to my mother as well as to myself.
To Miss Leycester.
" Paw, April 6, 1865, 8 P. M. I must write one little line
of love this evening: the sad news reached us two hours
ago, and you will know how we are mourning with you.
I had just a hope, and can hardly feel yet that dearest
Emma's sweet presence, her loving tender sympathy and
interest, are taken from us in this world: but may we not
feel that she is perhaps still near us in her perfected state,
and to you and to my darling mother even the visible
separation may be a very short one, it can only be a few
years — long here, but like a moment to her, till the meet-
ing again.
" I am glad to think of you at Toft, and of her resting
there, where we can visit the grave. I feel so deeply not
1 Spenser, " Faerie Queene."
1865] HOME LIFE WITH THE MOTHER 181
being able to be with you, or to do anything for you, as
dearest Emma so often said I should do for her, if you
were taken from her.
" The news came at tea-time. It was impossible to con-
ceal it. The mother had had a suffering day, and was
utterly crushed. We put her to bed at once, and very
soon she literally 'fell asleep for sorrow,' and I, watch-
ing beside her, heard her lips murmur, ' O blessed are
they who die in Thee, O Lord, for they rest from their
labours.' "
" UEstelle, April 8. My mother continued so seriously
ill up to yesterday morning, that I was certain if she were
not moved at once, I must not hope she ever would be.
Dr. Taylor declined to take the responsibility, but I felt
some one must act ; so I sent for a large carriage, and had
her carried down into it like a baby, and brought off here,
only two hours' easy drive from Pau. Before we had
gone six miles she began to revive, was carried to her
room without exhaustion, and to-day opens her eyes on a
lovely view of the snow mountains above the chestnut
woods, with a rushing river and the old convent of Be-
tharram in the gorge, which is a wonderful refreshment
after having lived in a narrow street, and seen nothing but
a whitewashed wall opposite for eleven weeks. Already
she is better."
To my Sister.
" VEstelle, April 9. You will have heard of our great
sorrow. ... A week ago dearest Emma's fever passed
and took the form of prayer, which, as Charlotte says,
' flowed like a river.' Once she said, k I have been fed
with angels' food ; I did not ash for it, I could not, but I
have had it.' Her last resting-place is at Toft. Charlotte
was able to be present. ... I feel that, though we have
L82
THE STOKY OF MY LIFE
[1865
main still to love, no one ean ever fill the sarm place in
our hearts."
During my mother's long illness at Pau, J naturally
thought of nothing, and saw scarcely any one, but
her. In the last three weeks, however, after her
rally, and before the last alarm, 1 saw a few people,
amongst them very frequently Lady Vere Cameron,
whose husband, Cameron of Lochiel, had been known
o
BETH A RR AM. 1
to my mother from girlhood. Through Lady Vere,
I was introduced to a remarkable circle then at Pau,
which formed a society entirely occupied with spirit-
ualism. Most extraordinary were the experiences
they had to narrate. I have kept some notes of my
acquaintance with them : —
"Pau, M arch, 1865. When I was at Lady Vere Cam-
eron's, the subject of table-turning was brought forward, and
1 From " South -Western France.''
1865] HOME LIFE WITH THE MOTHER 183
I then said that I had been told that I was a medium,
meaning merely with reference to tables. We sat down to
a table and it turned. Soon it began to rap violently, and
a scratching noise was heard underneath. This I believe
to have been owing to some ventriloquism on the part of
Ferdinand Russell, who was present, but it excited Lady
Vere very much.
" Some days after I had a note from Lady Vere to desire
that I would come to be introduced to her 'particular
friend,' Mrs. Gregory, at a party in her own house. As I
knew that Mrs. Gregory was a great spiritualist and much
occupied with the subject, I naturally supposed that this
desire to make my acquaintance was due to the table-
turning at Lady Vere's, and I went expecting to find a
seance.
u But it was a large party, a great number of people
whom I had never seen before. Mrs. Gregory had the odd
expression of always looking for something behind her.
She spoke at once of my being a medium, and then said in
an excited manner, ' But are you far advanced ? are you
like me ? when a friend is going to die, do you see it
written before you in letters of light there ? ' — pointing into
vacancy. 'No,' I said, "certainly not: that never happens
to me.' Speaking of this afterwards to a Mr. Hamilton, he
bade me beware, for very unpleasant things often happened
at Mrs. Gregory's seances, or, if they did not happen, every
one present believed that they did — that hands appeared,
&c. : that his cousin, Mrs. H. of S., had received messages
from her child who was dead : that others also had received
messages from their dead relations. The meetings were
always solemnly opened with prayer.
" At Mrs. White Hedges' I saw Mrs. H. She said that
she also was certain that I was a medium, and asked
whether I did not frequently have messages from the other
world. I said ' No,' and that I did not wish to have any.
' What,' she said, with a look of great surprise, ' you do
184 THE STORY OF MY LIFE [1865
not wish, then, for the regeneration of the world: for if
you did you would feel that it can only be brought about
through the instrumentality of spirits.'"
"April 4. At Lady Robinson's 1 1 again met Mrs.
Gregory, who asked me to come on the 6th to help her to
turn a table, and see if 1 should receive any messages. I
agreed to do so, understanding that nothing more was in-
tended than she said. Afterwards 1 sat by Miss N. 1..,
who said, 4 I see that terrible woman has been getting hold
of you. Pray don't go. You don't know what you will
see. Every one who goes is beguiled by small pretexts till
they see the most appalling things. It can only be through
the devil.'
" Persuaded by Miss N. L., I went to Mrs. Gregory and
said, w Mis. Gregory, do tell me exactly what you expect to
happen on Thursday, because 1 do not wish to see any-
thing.'
"'Oil, you are a coward, are you'/" said both Mrs. Greg-
ory and Mrs. Alexander, who was sitting near her.
• b ' Yes, certainly I am a coward about trifling with the
supernatural. It is not because I do not believe that
spirits can return from the dead, but because I do believe
it, that I would rather not come, if you expect to see
anything.'
" ' Well, I can only say that both seeing and receiving
messages are the greatest possible comfort to me: it is
only that which keeps me in my right mind,' said Mrs.
Gregory.
" I answered that I should dislike being upset for the
ordinary and practical duties of life by being led to dwell
constantly upon the supernatural.
" ' That is precisely what strikes me as the greatest ad-
vantage,' said Mrs. Gregory ; k surely one cannot think too
much of the other world. To feel that spirits are con-
stantly watching you, and grieving or rejoicing over you,
1 Wife of Sir George Robinson of Crauford.
1865] HOME LIFE WITH THE MOTHER 185
must surely tend to keep you from a great deal of evil. I
have known many infidels entirely converted to a new and
Christian life by what they have seen with me — Mr.
Ruskin, for instance. I asked Mr. Ruskin one day what
he believed, and he answered, " Simply nothing." He
afterwards came to my house several times when I had
stances, and then he took my hands, and with tears in his
eyes said, " Mrs. Gregory, I cannot thank you enough for
what you have shown me : it will change my whole life, for
because I have seen I believe." Mr. Pickersgill the artist
was another instance. Certainly hands often appear to me,
but I like to see them. If you had lost any one who was ;t
part of your life, would you not like to know that you
were receiving a message from those you loved? You
need not be afraid of the messages I receive. Just before
I came here I received this message — " Keep close to God
in prayer." There was nothing dreadful in that, was
there ? Was not that a beautiful message to receive ? But
sometimes the spirits are conflicting. There are good and
bad spirits. If the messages are not such as we should
wish, then we know the bad spirits are there. All this is
in the Bible, "Ye shall try the spirits, whether the} r be
good or evil." This is one of the means of grace which
God gives us : surely we ought not to turn aside from it.'
" Afterwards I asked Lady Robinson her experience.
She said that she had been at one of the stances, but
nothing appeared and ' the Indicator ' gave nothing de-
cided. She said it was conducted most seriously, with all
religious feeling. She described Mrs. Gregory as not only
praying at the time, but living in a state of prayer, and she
believed that the messages were granted in answer to real
faith. She said quantities of people had seen the hands
appear. Mrs. Gregory had a very large stance at Sir
William Gomm's in London, and Lady Gomm asked for
an outward sign before she would believe. A bodiless
hand then appeared, and, taking up a vase with a plant in
186 THE STORY OF MY LIFE [I860
it from a china dish upon the table, set it on the floor, and
then breaking a flower from the plant, came and laid it in
Lady Gromm's lap: all the company saw it.
"•I told the Taylors what I had heard. Sir Alexander
said that he thought the chief good of such a clever physi-
cian as .Mis. Gregory's husband (Dr. Gregory of the pow-
ders appearing would be to write a prescription for the
living."
While we were at Pan, my sister wrote much to
me upon the death of Cardinal Wiseman, to whom
she was greatly devoted, and whom I have always
believed to be a most sagacious and large-hearted
man. His burly figure upon the sands at Eastbourne
used to be very familiar to me in my boyhood. I
heard Monsignor Capel, who afterwards attained some
celebrity, preach his funeral sermon at Pan.
"Thirty years ago.'* he said, -there were only six Cath-
olic ehurches in London ; now there are forty-six. Then
there were six Catholic schools in London ; now there are
at least three in each of these parishes — one for boys, one
for girls, and one for infants. Then there were only 30,000
( 'atholics in all England ; now there are two millions, one-
ninth of the whole population of the country. Then there
were no religious Orders except the Jesuit Fathers, who
had lingered on from the Reformation, flying from one
Catholic house to another, and administering the sacra-
ments in fear and trembling : now there are in London the
followers of St. Francis and St. Dominic, the Passionist
Fathers, the Redemptorists, and at least twelve nunneries
of English ladies. All this change is in a great measure
due to Cardinal Wiseman, the founder of the Eno-lish
hierarchy. He entered on his labours in troublous times:
with the enthusiasm and love of splendid ritual which he
1865] HOME LIFE WITH THE MOTHER 187
imbibed as a Spanish boy, with the ecclesiastical learning of
Italy, with the dogmatic perseverance and liberality which
he drank in with his English education. He chose as the
title of his bishopric the see of the last martyred English
bishop, and he also thirsted for martyrdom."
These notes are curious as showing how the rapid
growth of Catholicism in England, which we Protes-
tants are so unwilling to recognise, had advanced
under Cardinal Wiseman's leadership.
At L'Estelle my mother daily revived, and was
soon able to sit out on the sunny balcony, for the
valleys of the Pyrenees were already quite hot, though
the trees were leafless and the mountains covered
with snow. It was long, however, before I ventured
to leave her to go beyond the old convent of Bethar-
ram, with its booths of relics and its calvary on a
hill. When she was stronger, we moved to Argeles,
a beautiful upland valley, whence excursions are very
easy to Cauterets and Luz. Afterwards we visited
Eaux Chaudes and Eaux Bonnes ; but though the
snow was too deep to allow of mountain rambles, the
heat was already too intense for enjoyment of the val-
leys. We had left Pau without a sign of vegetation,
and when we came back three weeks later, it was in
all the deadest, heaviest green of summer. So it was
a great refreshment to move at once to Biarritz, with
its breezy uplands, covered with pink daphne, and its
rolling, sparkling, ever-changing sea, so splendid in
colour. To my mother, Biarritz was a complete re-
storative, and she was able there to take up her draw-
ing again, to enjoy seeing friends, and to enter into
I SS THE STORY OF MY LIFE [1865
the interests and peculiarities of the curious Basque
country.
We visited many of the Basque churches, which
are always encircled within by three galleries, except
over the altar. These galleries are of black oak. The
men sit in the galleries, and the women below, and
they enter at different doors. In the churchyards the
graves have all little crosses or Basque head-stones
with round tops, and they are all planted with
flowers. The houses all have wide overhanging roofs
and external wooden galleries. Bidart and Cam ho are
BIAKRITZ.
good specimens of Basque villages. Bidart is a beau-
tiful place on the road to S. Jean de Luz, and has a
church with the characteristic overhanging belfry and
high simple buttresses. A wide entry under the
organ-loft is the only entrance to the church. In the
hollow below is a broken bridge reflected in a pool,
which is golden at sunset, and which, witli the distant
sea and sands, and the old houses with their wooden
balconies scattered over the hillside, forms a lovely
picture. Here I stayed one evening to draw with
1 From " South-Western Fiance."
1865] HOME LIFE WITH THE MOTHER 189
Miss Elizabeth Blommart, an acquaintance we made
at Biarritz (afterwards our friend for many years),
while my mother and Lea walked on, and descended
from the opposite hill upon the sands. We had often
been told of the treacherous waves of Bidart, but
could not have believed in danger — so distant, be-
yond the long reaches of sand, seemed the calm At-
lantic, glistening in the last rays of sunlight. To our
horror, when we had nearly finished our drawing, we
looked up, and saw my mother and Lea coming
towards us pouring with salt water from cloaks, bon-
nets, everything. They had been walking unsuspi-
ciously on the sands three-quarters of a mile from the
sea, when suddenly, without any warning, a great
wave surrounded them. My mother was at once
swept off her feet, but Lea, with her usual presence
of mind, caught her cloak and rolled it round her
arm, and plunging herself deep into the sand, resisted
the water and held her mistress till the wave receded,
when they made their escape. A few days afterwards
an Englishman with his little dog was walking in the
Bay of Bidart; the man escaped, but the dog was
swept out to sea.
Cambo is two hours' drive from Biarritz — a most
pleasant watering-place on a high terrace above the
Nive, with pergolas of vines and planes, a churchyard
which is a perfect blaze of lilies and roses, and an inn-
garden which is full of lovely flowers. Close by is
the opening to the Pas de Roland, a grand little gorge
where the Nive rushes through the mountains — a
finer Dovedale. A rocky path ascends by the side of
the stream and climbs a succession of steeps to la
190
THE STORY OF MY LIFE
[1865
roch /'i rcee, through which it passes to a little hamlet
and old bridge. Eighteen miles farther is S. Jean ile
Port, whence one can ride to Roncesvalles.
The whole of this Basque country is full of memo-
rials of the Peninsular War, the events of which in
this district are wonderfully well described in the
novel of "The Subaltern." There are deep woods
and glens which ran down with blood; green lanes
(as at Irogne) which were scenes of desperate com-
THE PAS DE ROLAND. 1
bats; tombs of English officers, as in the churchyard
at Bidart and in the picturesque mayor's garden be-
tween Bidart and Biarritz, where a flat stone com-
memorating three English officers is to be seen under
the old apple-trees, overlooking a wide expanse of
country. The most dreadful slaughter was near the
1 From "South-Western France."
1865] HOME LIFE WITH THE MOTHER 191
Negressa Station, where the two armies, having occu-
pied the ridges on either side the lake, suffered fright-
ful carnage. It might have been spared, but in both
armies it was then unknown that Napoleon had abdi-
cated, and that peace was proclaimed. Between S.
Jean de Luz and the Behobia is a picturesque old
chateau, which was taken by the English after an
easy siege, the inhabitants having been forced to fly
with such precipitation that everything was aban-
doned, even the mail-bags which they had just seized
being left behind and the contents scattered about on
the floor. The first letter the English officer in com-
mand picked up was directed to himself, and from his
own father ! He took nothing from the house but a
Spanish dictionary from the library, but returning
that way three weeks afterwards, found it completely
pillaged by the Spanish camp-followers.
The peasantry of the Basque country are most in-
teresting to talk to, and it is strange that more should
not have been said and written about them, as their
conversation is more full of ancient proverbs and folk-
lore than that of the inhabitants of any other part of
France. I remember an old Basque woman saying
that her language was not only the best, but far the
oldest in the world — in fact, it was that which Adam
and Eve spoke in Paradise !
Twice, while we were at Biarritz, I made excursions
into Spain, crossing the Bidassoa close to the Isle of
Pheasants with intense interest. In all the Spain I
have seen since, there is nothing more utterly Spanish
than the tiny walled town of Fontarabia, with its
wooden balconies piled one above another, and its
192
THE STORY OF MY LIFE
[1865
look-out over a blue estuary. Most striking also is
Passages, — a Land-locked bay of the sea with a wry
narrow opening, which is passed on the way to S.
Sebasl tan.
Our return journey to England in the late spring
was very delightful. My mother, in entire enjoyment
- ■, v
■
-
1 -ftJr^
m
S. EMILION CATHEDRAL DOOR. 1
of her marvellously restored health, and delighting
to drink in the full beauties of nature and antiquity,
was in no hurry to return to the turmoil of English
life. We lingered everywhere, making short half-
1 From "South-Western France."
1865] HOME LIFE WITH THE MOTHER 193
day journeys, and spending quiet afternoons sketch-
ing in the grass-grown streets of half-deserted cities, or
driving out in little carriages to grand old chateaux.
Thus we first saw S. Emilion, that marvellous place,
where the buildings are so mingled with the living
rock, that you scarcely can tell where the work of
man begins, and where each sculptured cornice glows
in late spring with a glory of crimson valerian. In
one of the quietest streets of Poitiers, before a cot-
tage door, we bought an old inlaid table, which is
one of the pleasantest memorials of our journey. At
Amboise we stayed several days in a most primitive
but charming hotel, the vision of my dear mother
in which often comes back to me, sitting with her
psalm-book in a low room with white-washed walls
and brick floor, and with a latticed window looking
out over the great river glistening in the sunset. My
mother liked and admired Amboise * more than almost
any of our thousand resting-places, and she delighted
in the excursions to moated Chenonceaux and to Cham-
borcl, where we and Lea had tea and bilberry jam at
a delightful little inn which then existed on the out-
skirts of the forest.
On the 27th of May we reached Holmhurst. One
of those curious incidents which are inexplicable had
occurred during our absence, and was narrated to us,
on our return, by our servants, neighbours, and by
Mrs. Hale, the wife of our Hastings doctor. During
my mother's illness at Pau, two of our maids, Alice
and Jane Lathom, slept, according to their custom, in
one of the spare rooms to the front of the house. In
1 Xow terribly modernised and spoilt.
VOL. II. — 13
11)4 THE STORY OF MY LIFE [1865
the middle of the night they were both aroused by
three piercing terrible screams in the room elose to
the bed. Petrified with horror, they hid under the bed-
clothes, and lay thus more dead than alive till morn-
ing. With the first streak of dawn they crept down
the passage to John Gidman's room, roused him, and
told him what had happened. He felt it was certainly
an omen that the death they expected had occurred;
took the carriage and drove down at once to St. Leo-
nards to Mrs. Hale. Dr. and .Mrs. Hale were at
breakfast when John Gidman arrived and sent in
rJU]
AMBROISK.
word that his mistress was dead. When they went
out, they found he had received no letter, but had
only an inward conviction of the event from what
had happened.
It was the same hour at which my mother, wak-
ing from her second trance in her room at Pan, had
uttered three long piercing screams in her wandering,
and said, " Oh, I shall never, never see my dear Holm-
hurst again ! "
There is no explanation to offer.
1 From " South-Western France."
1865] HOME LIFE WITH THE MOTHER 195
We had much enjoyment of our little Holmhurst
this summer and a constant succession of guests.
Amongst those who now came annually were Arthur
Stanley and his wife Lady Augusta. To my mother,
Augusta Stanley was always a very tender and
dutiful niece, and to me a most kind cousin. She
rejoiced to aid my mother in acting as a drag to
Arthur's ever-increasing impression that the creed
of progress and the creed of Christianity were
identical. Many people thought that such an in-
tense, almost universal warmth of manner as hers
must be insincere, but with her it was perfectly
natural. She took the sunshine of court favour, in
which they both lived, quite simply, accepting it
quietly, very glad that the Royal Family valued her,
but never bringing it forward. She was indeed well
worthy of the confidence which her royal mistress re-
posed in her, for though the Queen wrote to her daily,
and though she generally came in to breakfast with
several sheets in the large well-known handwriting,
not one word from them ever transpired to her nearest
relation or dearest friend.
What Lord Beaconsfield called " Arthur Stanley's
picturesque sensibility" made him care more than
Augusta about having royal (i. e. historic) friendships,
though he had less personal feelings than she had for
the illustrious persons who made them. He was,
however, quite devoted to the Queen, to her own
personality, and would certainly have been so had she
been in any other position of life. The interests of
Westminster made him very happy, and he rejoiced
in the duty which fell upon him of preserving the
196 THE STORY OF MY LIFE [1S65
Abbey as he received it, furious when it was suggested
that some of the inferior and ugly monuments might
be removed, or that the peculiar character of the choir
(like a Spanish cow) might be altered. Always more
a lover of moral than of doctrinal, or even spiritual
Christianity, at this time he was beginning to be the
victim of a passion for heretics which went on increas-
ing afterwards. The Scotch were delighted with him :
they thought he had an enthusiastic admiration for
their Church. But he almost equally admired all
schismatics from the Church to which he officially
belonged, and was almost equally interested in them,
and if he could get any one with ever so slight a tamt
of heresy to preach in the Abbey, it was a great de-
light to him : he thought it was setting an example
of Christian liberality.
My sister left Rome with her aunt at the end
of May (I860). At Pisa she took leave of her
beloved Victoire, who remained at her own house.
When she reached France, weakness prevented her
intended visit to Paray le Monial, whence the nuns
sent her the following rules for the employment of
" The Holy Hour " in acts of reparation for insults
offered to our Lord by the sins of men : —
( Short acts. — " Lord, I believe, help thou
1. Unbelief. < mine unbelief."
( Faith. — "Lord, increase our faith," &c.
2. Ridicule, mockery. — Secret prayers for the scoffers.
3. Irreverence. — Special reverence towards the Blessed
Sacrament.
1865] HOME LIFE WITH THE MOTHER 197
4. Rash judgments. — Acts of reparation to the Sacred
Heart.
5. Unlawful opinion. — Silence upon things settled by
authority.
6. Careless life. — Act of offering morning and night
against frivolous and immoderate words and actions.
7. Love of ease and pleasure. — Simple acts of mortifi-
cation and self-denial in the course of the day.
Esmeralda was detained for some time by serious
illness at Dijon, with the strange symptoms which
three years later, attended her final illness, and which
were then inexplicable to all around her. On her
recovery, Madame de Trafford met her at Paris, and
insisted that she should follow her to her chateau in
Touraine. Hence Esmeralda wrote : —
" Chdteau de Beaujour, June 1865. You will have heard
from Auntie of our arrival in this fairy chateau. ... I
have heard much that is wonderful, but what is most strik-
ing is to watch the perfect simplicity of a life so gifted as
Madame de Trafford's — the three virtues, Faith, Hope,
and Charity, that faith which can move mountains, and
with it great humility. Madame de Trafford is deeply
interested in any details I give her of the last six years :
she was really attached to Mama. Here, in her chateau,
she saw that Mama was dying. She turned suddenly
round to Mr. Trafford, who was here, and said, ' Ah ! elle
va mourir — sortons.' She could not bear it, and felt that
she must go out into the open air.
" We shall be in London some time next week, with
endless affairs to settle. I quite dread the lawyers' deeds,
days and weeks of worry, never ending and still beginning.
" I think of you once more in your study, as if a new
life were given you, and dear Aunt Augustus in her arm-
chair, and everything bright and beautiful around you."
HIS THE STORY OF MY LIFE [1865
Of this, her first visit to Beaujour, Esmeralda has
lefi a tew remarkable notes.
"July 1865. Madame de Trafford came off to receive
OS ;it l'aiis as soon as she heard we were on our way.
Then, when she heard I was so ill at Dijon, she often tel-
egraphed there four times a U2 THE STORY OF MY LIFE [1S65
how one daj some visitors came, and it was very awkward.
l It would not have been so with the real Adam and Eve,'
said Lady Stuart, 'for they could never dread any drop-
pers-in.' In her anecdotes of old times and people, she is
quite inexhaustible. Here an; some of them: —
" ' Yes, we were at George the Fourth's coronation ; a
great many other ladies and I went with Lady Castlereagh
— she, you know, was tin- minister's wife — by water in
one of the great state barges. We embarked at Hunger-
ford Stairs, and we got out at a place called Cotton Garden,
close to Westminster Hall. Lord Willoughby was with us.
When we got out, we were looking about to see where
all the ministers lived, &c, when somebody came up and
whispered something to Lord Willoughby. He exclaimed
" Good God ! " and then, apologising for leaving us, went
off in a hurry looking greatly agitated. Queen Caroline
was at that moment knocking at the door of the Abbey.
She had got Lady Anne Barnard, who was with her, to
get her a peer's ticket, which was given her, but it was
not countersigned, and they would not admit her. She
was in despair. She stood on the platform and wrung her
hands in a perfect agony. At last Alderman Wood, who
was advising her, said, " Really your Majesty had better
retire." The people who had tickets for the Abbey, and
who were to go in by that door, were all waiting and
pressing for entrance, and when the Queen went away,
there were no acclamations for her; the people thought
she had no business to come to spoil their sport. 1
" ' She had been married twenty-five years to the King
then. They offered her £ 100,000 a year to stay quietly
abroad, but she would come back at once and assert her
1 Colonel Alexander Higginson of the Grenadier Guards, cele-
brated for his silence, was keeping the door. He said not a word in
answer to all her entreaties, but dropped his sword as a barrier in
front of the Queen. —Note from Mrs. Owen Grant, niece of Colonel
A . Higginson.
1865] ENGLISH PLEASURES AND ROMAN TRIALS 223
rights as a queen. She died of that Coronation-day. She
went home and was very ill. Then came a day on which
she was to go to one of the theatres. It was placarded all
about that she was to appear, and her friends tried to get
up a little reaction in her favour. She insisted on going,
and she was tolerably well received, but when she came
home she was worse, and she died two days after.
" ' The Duchesse de Berri l thought of marrying George
IV. after her Duke was dead. People began to talk to
her about marrying again. " Oh dear, no," she said, " I
shall never marry again. At least there is only one per-
son — there is the King of England. How funny it
would be to have two sons, one the King of France and
the other King of England — yes, and the King of Eng-
land the cadet of the two." I never had courage to tell
George IV. what she said, though I might have done it.
He once said to me, when his going to France was talked
of, " Oh dear, no, I don 't want to see them. Poor Louis
XVIII., he was a friend of mine, but then he's dead; and
as for Charles X., I don 't want to see him. The Dau-
phine ! yes, I pity her ; and the Duchesse de Berri, she 's
dreadful ugly, ain't she?" I wish I had said to him,
" Yes, but she does not wish your Majesty to think so."
" ' I went down one day to St. Cloud to see the Du-
chesse de Berri ; she had been pleased to express a wish to
see me. While I was there, her son rushed in. 2 " Come
now," she said, " kiss the hand of Madame FAmbassadrice.
But what have you got there ? " she said. " Oh, je vous
apportais mes papillons," said he, showing some butterflies
in a paper case, and then, with an air of pride, " C'est une
assez belle collection." The Duchesse laughed at them,
and the boy looked so injured and hurt, that I said, " But
it is a veiy nice collection indeed." Many years after-
1 Caroline, daughter of Francis I., king of Naples, widow of the
Due de Berri, younger son of Charles X.
2 The Due de Bordeaux (Comte de Chanibord).
224 THE STORY OF MY LIFE [1865
wards, only three years ago, Lou and I were at Venice,
and we went to dine with the Chambords. He remem-
bered all about it, and Laughed, and said. "Apres, je
regrettais mes papillons." For it was only a fortnighl
.liter I saw them thai the Revolution took place, and the
family had to fly, and of course the butterflies in their
paper case were left behind in the flight. We were in the
Pyrenees then, and indeed when the Duchesse sent for
me, it was because she heard I was going there, and she
wished to tell me about the places she had been to, and to
ask me to engage her donkey-woman.
"'When they were at Venice, the Chambords lived in
one palace, a very fine one, and the Duchesse de Berri in
another farther down the canal, and the Duchess of Parma
in a third. 1 did not see the Duchesse de Berri, though I
should have liked to have done so. She was married then
to a Marchese Lucchesi, by whom she had a quantity of
grown-up sons and daughters. They were dreadfully
extravagant — not Lucchesi, he never was, but she was,
and her sons-in-law. The Comte de Chambord paid her
debts over and over again, but at last her things were
obliged to be sold.
•• ' When we went to dine with the Chambords, we were
warned that we must not allow anything to pass, or we
should not get any dinner. We went at half-past four,
and the soup came, and the Duke (de Bordeaux) was talk-
ing to me at that time, and, while I was listening, the soup
was carried away, and so it was with nearly everything
else. The party was almost entirely composed of French
exiles. Lou wrote down their names at the time, but T
have forgotten them now. At seven our q-ondola was
ordered, and it came too late, the royalties were so punc-
tual. The Duke and Duchess got up, and saying, "I
wish you a pleasant evening," went out, and then we had
nothing for it but to go away. An old Venetian gentle-
man helped us out of the scrape, and gave us a lift home
1865] ENGLISH PLEASURES AND ROMAN TRIALS 225
in his gondola, and very much- aghast our gondoliers were
when they met us in another boat upon the canal, while
they were rowing with all their might to fetch us away.
The royal family used to go in the evening to an island,
which the Duke had bought for them to have exercise
upon.
" L They would never do for France ; they have not the
manners. She is ugly, 1 and then she dresses so badly —
no, she would never do. The only one who would do out
of both sets is Aumale : he is really a fine prince. The
Comte de Paris would of course naturally come first, but
the Duke of Orleans used to say, ' I will never be a king
by anything but popular election,' and that is against his
family succeeding. All the members of the family look up
to Aumale.
" k Did you ever hear about the old Due de Coigny and
Ins arm ? His arm was shot during the Moscow campaign,
and when it was amputated, numbers of others having
their limbs taken off at the same time, he exclaimed, " Oh
mon cher bras, qui m'a si bien servi, je ne puis jamais me
separer de ce cher bras," and he insisted on its being found
for him, which was highly inconvenient, and packed it up
in a portmanteau, which he carried before him on horse-
back during the whole of the return. The soldiers quite
hated that arm ; however, the Duke insisted upon it. At
last, as he was crossing a ford in a carriage, the portman-
teau rolled off his knee on to his foot and hurt it exceed-
ingly, upon which he was so exasperated that in a fit of
lage he opened the carriage door and kicked it out into
the river. When he got to his night quarters, however,
the Duke was in absolute despair — " Oh mon pauvre
bras ! mon pauvre cher bras ! r He had wished it to be
buried with him ; for was it not his most faithful servant ?
he said. However, none of the soldiers were inclined to
1 The Archduchess Marie Therese, daughter of Francis IV., Duke
of Modena.
VOL. II. — 15
226 THE STORY OF MY LIFE [1865
go and lisli it up for him, anU since then, poor man, he has
had to be buried without it.
" 4 The wife of this Due de Coigny was Henrietta
Dalrymple Hamilton, who brought him large estates.
Her parents were miserable at her marrying a foreigner,
from the idea that the estates would certainly then go out
of the family: but of all his children only two daughters
survive; one is Lady Manvers, and the other married
Lord Stair, and thus brought back the estates to the elder
branch of the Dalrymples. The Due died last year,
chiefly of grief for the death of another daughter who
had married a Frenchman. His sister married Marechal
Sebastiani and had five daughters. One of these was the
murdered Duchesse de Praslin.
•• • Madame de Praslin was one of a society that there
was in Paris then, who used to laugh at anything like
spiritualism or warnings from another world. Madame
de Rabuteau was her great friend and partisan in these
opinions. One day Madame de Praslin went with her
husband to Choiseul Praslin. Her room was magnificent,
and she slept in a great velvet bed. In the middle of the
night, she awoke with a sense of something moving in the
room, and, lifting herself up in bed. saw by the expiring
embers of the fire, a figure, and as it turned, she saw, as
it were, something green. She scarcely knew whether she
was asleep or awake, and, to convince herself, stretched
out her band and encountered something cold, hard, and
which felt like steel. Then, widely awake, she saw the
figure recede and vanish out of the room. She felt a
thrill of horror and began to reason with herself. " Well,"
she said, k ' 1 have always opposed and laughed at belief
in these things, and now one of them has come to me.
Now what can it mean? It can only mean that I am
soon to die, and it has come as a warning."
kk 'Soon after Madame de Praslin returned to Paris, and
at the house of Madame de Rabuteau she met all her
1865] ENGLISH PLEASURES AND ROMAN TRIALS 227
former intimates. " Oh," said Madame de Rabuteau as
she entered the room, " I am so glad you have come to
help me to laugh at all these people, who are holding forth
upon revelations from another world." — " Indeed, I think
we had better talk of something else," said Madame de
Praslin; "let us talk of something else." — "Why, my
dear, you used to be such an ardent defender of mine,"
said Madame de Rabuteau, " are you going over to the
other side ? " But Madame de Praslin resolutely refused
the subject and " parlons d' autre chose " was all that
could be extracted from her. When the rest of the
company was gone, Madame de Rabuteau said, " Well,
now, what is it ? what can have come over you this even-
ing ? why do you not laugh at their manifestations ? " —
" Simply because I have had one myself," replied veiy
gravely Madame de Praslin, and she told what had
happened, saying that she believed it to indicate her
approaching death. Madame de Rabuteau tried to argue
her out of the impression, but in vain. Madame de
Praslin went home, and a few days after she was mur-
dered in the Hotel Sebastiani.
" ' When the Duke was taken, search was made, and
amongst his things were found a green mask and a dagger.
He had evidently intended to murder the Duchess at
Choiseul Praslin, and it had been no spirit that she
saw.
" k Madame de Feucheres was originally a Miss Sophia
Dawes, the daughter of Mr. Dawes, who was a shipbuilder
at Ryde and a very respectable man. The Due de Bour-
bon 1 saw her somewhere and took a great fancy to her,
and, to facilitate an intimacy with her, he married her to
his aide-de-camp, the Baron de Feucheres. But M. de
Feucheres was a very honourable man. When the mar-
1 Louis Henri Joseph, Due de Bourbon, father of the Due d'Enghien
the last member of the House of Conde, who fought a duel with
Charles X. in 1776. He married Marie Therese d'Orleans in 1770.
228 THE STORY OF MY LIFE [1865
riage was proposed to him, the Duke paying the dowry, he
took her lor a daughter of the Duke, and when he found
out the real state of things, he separated from her at once,
Lea's ing all her fortune in her hands. Jt was supposed that
Madame de Feucheres was in the Orleans interest, and
that therefore the Duke would leave everything- to the
Due d'Aumale. I must say for the Duchesse de Bern
that she was exceedingly good-natured about that. When
there was a question about the Feucheres heing received
at the palace, she advocated it. for the sake of mn /mite, 1
and Madame de Feucheres came. But when the Revolu-
tion took place and Charles X. fled, the feelings of the
Due de Bourbon were changed; all his loyalty was roused,
and he said that he must follow son roi. Nothing that
Madame de Feucheres could say could change this resolu-
tion. They said that he hanged himself (August -~,
1830), immediately after hearing of the escape, but few
believed it ; most thought that Madame de Feucheres had
done it — unjustly, perhaps, because, on arriving at an inn
where they were to sleep, the Duke observed that the land-
lord looked very dispirited, and knowing the cause, said,
" I am afraid you have had some sad trouble in your family
besides all these terrible public events." — "Yes, Mon-
seigneur," said the man, "my brother hanged himself yes-
terday morning," — "And how did he do that?" said the
Duke. "Oh. Monseigneur. he hanged himself from the
bolt of the shutter." — " No, that is impossible," said the
Duke, "for the man was too tall." Then the landlord
exactly described the process by which his brother had
effected his purpose, raising himself upon his knees,
&c, and it was precisely in that way that the body of
the Duke was found in the chateau of St. Leu. Still
1 Marie Amelie, Duchesse d'Orleans, afterwards Queen of the
French, was daughter of Ferdinand I., king of the Two Sicilies, and
sister of Francis I., father of the Duchesse de Berri.
1865] ENGLISH PLEASURES AND ROMAN TRIALS 229
most people thought that Madame de Feucheres had
murdered him in his bed, and then hung up his body to
avoid suspicion. 1
*' ; It was said that the Duke could not have hanged
himself, because he had hurt his hand and could not use
it, and so could not have tied himself up, but Lord Stuart
always said that he was very thankful that his evidence
was not called for, because he had met the Duke at a
dinner-party a little while before, when he showed that he
could use his hand by carving a large turkey beautifully.
That dinner-party was at St. Leu. Madame Adelaide had
wanted to buy St. Leu, but the Duke said, " No ; yet never
mind ; some day it will come into your family all the
same." The Duke sat by Madame Adelaide at dinner and
carved the turkey. " Pray do not attempt it, Monsei-
gneur," she said, " for it will be too much for you," but he
was able to do it very well.
" ' In consequence of the Duke dying when he did, the
Due d'Aumale got the Conde' property. Madame de
Feucheres came to England, and her brother, Mr. Dawes,
took a place for her near Highcliffe. I never called on
her, but Lord Stuart did. I remember Bemister, a car-
penter, being sent for by her, and coming to me afterwards.
He told me, " I felt very queer when she told me to hang
up a picture of the Duke on the wall of her room, and
before I thought what I was about I said, ' And where will
you hang he ? " ' — " And what in the world did she
answer?" I asked. "Well," he said, "I was looking
very foolish, and she said, ' Why, you don't think I really
did it, do you?'" — "And what did you really think,
Bemister?" I said. "Why, I don't think she did it,"
answered Bemister, " but I think she worrited of him into
1 The Due de Bourbon left Madame de Feucheres two million
francs, the chateau and park of St. Leu, the chateau and estate of
Boissy, and all their dependencies : also a pavilion at the Palais Bour-
bon, valued at fifteen million francs.
230 THE STORY OF MY LIFE [18G5
doing it himself," and I suspect this was pretty near the
truth.'
« I sleep at the castle, and at 10 a. m. go down to the
cottage, which looks radiant in its bowers of flowers and
shrubs, with a Little burn tossing in front. Lady water-
ford reads the lessons and prayers to the household (hav-
ing already been to church herself). Then comes breakfast
in the miniature dining-room opening into the miniature
Harden, during which she talks ceaselessly in her wonder-
fully poetical way. Then 1 sit a little with Lady Stuart
— then draw, while Lady Waterford has her choristers and
other boy models to sit to her. At two is luncheon, then
we go out, Lady Stuart in a donkey-chair. Yesterday
we went all over Flodden ; to-day we are going to Yet-
holm, the gipsy capital. At half-past seven we dine, then
Lady Waterford paints, while I tell them stories, or any-
thing, for they like to hear everything, and then Lady
Waterford sings, and tells me charming things in return.
Here are some snatches from her: —
"'I wish you had seen Grandmama Hardwicke. 1 She
was such a beautiful old lady — very little, and with the
loveliest skin, and eyes, and hair; and she had such beau-
tiful manners, so graceful and so gracious. Grrandmama
lived till she was ninety-live. She died in '58. 1 have
two oak-trees in the upper part of the pleasaunce which
were planted by her. When she was in her great age, all
her grandchildren thought they would like to have oak-
trees planted by her, and so a row of pots was placed in
the window-sill, and her chair was wheeled up to it, to
make it as little fatigue as possible, and she dropped an
acorn into each of the pots. Her old maid, Maydwell,
who perfectly doted upon her, and was always afraid of
her over-doing herself, stood by with a glass of port wine
and a biscuit, and when she had finished her work, she
1 Elizabeth, Wife of Philip Yorke, 3rd Earl of Hardwicke, and
daughter of James, 5th Earl of Balcarres.
1865] ENGLISH PLEASURES AND ROMAN TRIALS 231
took the wine, and passing it before the pots, said, " Suc-
cess to the oak-trees," and drank it. I am always so sorry
that Ludovic Lindsay (Lord Lindsay's eldest boy) should
not have seen her. Lord Lindsay wished it : he wished to
have carried on further the recollection of a person whose
grandfather's wife was given away by Charles the Second ;
but it was Maydwell who prevented it, I believe, because
she was too proud of her mistress, and did not think her
looking quite so well then as she had looked some years
before. The fact was, I think, that some of the little
Stuarts had been taken to see her, and as they were going
out they had been heard to say, " How awfully old she
looks ! "
" ' Her father, Lord Balcarres, was what they call " out
in the '45," and his man was called on to swear that he
had not been present at a time when he was. The man
swore it and Lord Balcarres got off. When they were
going away safe he said to his man, " Well now, how could
you swear such a lie ! " — " Because I had rather trust my
sowle to God," said the man, " than your body to deevils."
The first wife of Lord Balcarres's father x was Mauritia of
Nassau, who was given away by Charles II. When they
came to the altar, the bridegroom found that he had
totally forgotten the ring. In a great fright he asked if
one of the bystanders could lend him a ring, and a friend
gave him one. He did not find out then that it bore the
device of a death's-head and cross-bones, but Mauritia of
Nassau found it out afterwards : she considered it a pro-
phecy of evil, and she died within the year.
" ' When he was almost an old man, Lord Balcarres
went to stay with old Lady Keith. There were a quantity
of young ladies in the house, and before he came Lad}^
Keith said, " Now there is this old gentleman coming to
stay, and I particularly wish that you should all endeavour
to make yourselves as pleasant to him as you can." They
1 Colin, 3rd Etui of Balcarres.
232 THE STORY OF MY LIFE [1865
all agreed, but a .Miss Dalrymple * said, " Well, you may
all do what you like, l>ut I '11 bet you anything you please
that I '11 make him like me the best of all of us." and so
she did; she made him exclusively devoted to her all the
while he was there; but she never thought of anything
more than this, and when he asked her to marry him, she
Laughed at the very idea. He was exceedingly crestfallen,
but when he went away he made a will settling everything
he possessed upon this Miss Dalrymple. Somehow she
heard of this, and said, " Well then, after all, he must
really care for me, and I will marry him," and she did.
He was fifty-eight then, but they had eleven children.
When Lady Balcarres was an old woman, she was exces-
sively severe, indeed she became so soon after her marriage.
One day some one coming along the road towards her
house met a perfect procession of children of all ages, from
three upwards, walking one behind the other, and the
eldest boy, who came first, gipsy fashion carrying the baby
on his back. They were the eleven children of Lady
Balcarres making their escape from their mother, with the
intention of going out to seek their own fortunes in the
world. It was one of the family of this Lady Balcarres
who was the original of Lucy Ashton in the ik Bride of
Lammermoor." The story is all true. The Master of
Kavenswood was Lord Rutherford. She rode to church
on a pillion behind her brother that he might not feel how
her heart was beating.
"••In consequence of Grandmama Ilardwicke's great
age, people used to be astonished at my aunt Lady Mcx-
borough, when nearly eighty, running upstairs and calling
out "Mama." When my aunt Lady Somers was at Bath,
she sent for a doctor, and he said to her, "Well, my lady,
at your age, you cannot expect to be ever much better.'" —
" At my age!" she said, " why, my mother only died last
year." The doctor was perfectly petrified with amazement.
1 Anne, only daughter of Sir Robert Dalrymple of Castleton.
1865] ENGLISH PLEASURES AND ROMAN TRIALS 233
"It is the most wonderful thing," he said, "that I ever
heard in my life." My grandmother's sisters were very
remarkable women ; one was Lady Margaret Lindsay, the
other was Lady Anne Barnard. Lady Anne was the real
authoress of " Auld Robin Gray." She loved the tune, 1
but the original words were bad and unfit for a lady to
FORD CASTLE, THE TERRACE. 2
sing, so she wrote, " Auld Robin Gray," though some one
else has always had the credit of it.'
"We have been walking this afternoon through the
1 The tune which then existed. The Hon. Mrs. Byron, a friend
of Lady Anne Barnard, afterwards gave the words to Lieutenant
William Leeves, 1st Foot Guards, who composed the air to which they
are now sung, in imitation of old Scotch music. Lieutenant Leeves
afterwards took orders and became Rector of Wrington in Somerset-
shire, where he was the intimate friend of Mrs. Hannah More, who
lived in his parish. He died in 1828.
2 From "The Story of Two Noble Lives."
234 THE MOKV OF MY LIFE [1805
cornfields towards Etal. Lady Waterford recalled how
Lady Marion Alford had shown her thai all the sheaves
Leaning towards one another were like hands praying.
To-night .Mr. Williams dined at the cottage. Asking Lady
Waterford about him afterwards, she said: —
" • I do not know it' Mr. Williams is old or .young. I
think he is like the French lady of whom it was said,
" Kile n'avait pas encore perdu L'ancienne habitude d'§tre
jeune." Apropos of this, Lady (iiil'ord made such a pretty
speech once. A little girl asked her, " Do tell me, are you
old or young? I never can make out," and she said, " My
dear, I have been a very long time young."
" ' The story of Mr. Williams is quite a pretty one.
When Lord Frederick FitzClarence was in India, there
was a great scandal in his government, and two of his
aides-de-camp had to be sent away. He wrote to his
brother-in-law to send him out another in a hurry, and he
sent Mr. Williams. When he arrived, Lord Frederick
was very ill, and soon after he died. After his death, Mr.
Williams had the task of bringing Lady Frederick and her
daughter home. Miss FitzClarence was then very much
out of health, and he used to carry her up on deck, and
they were thrown very much together. I believe the maids
warned Lady Frederick that something might come of it,
but she did not see it. Before the end of the voyage, Mr.
Williams and Miss FitzClarence had determined to be
married, but she decided not to tell her mother as yet.
When the ship arrived at Portsmouth, the coffin of Lord
Frederick had to remain all night on the deck, and Air. Wil-
liams never left it, but walked up and down the whole time
watching it, which touched Lady Frederick very much.
Still, when her daughter told her she was going to marry
him, she was quite furious, contrary to her usual disposi-
tion, which is an exceedingly mild one, and she would not
hear of it, and sent him away at once.
•••It was the time of the war, and Captain Williams
1865] ENGLISH PLEASURES AND ROMAN TRIALS 235
went off to the Crimea, but Miss FitzClarence grew worse
and worse, and at last the difference between them made
her so uncomfortable with her mother, that she went off to
her grandmother ; but while there she continued to get
worse, and at last it was evidently a case of dying, and
when her mother went to her, she was so alarmed that she
begged she would marry any one she liked ; she would
consent to whatever she wished, and would send for Cap-
tain Williams at once. So Williams threw up everything,
though it was considered a disgrace in time of war, and
came home, but when he arrived, poor Miss FitzClarence
was dead.
" ' Then Lady Frederick felt that she could not do enough
for him, and she took him to live with her as her son. The
relations, however, were all very angry, and the mauvaises
langues said that she meant to marry him herself. So then
she thought it would not do, and she got him an agency on
Lord Fife's property and sent him to live alone. How-
ever, after a time, the agency somehow was given up, and
he came back, and he always lives now with Lady Frederick.
At Etal they always sit in church gazing into the open
grave, which Lady Frederick will never have closed, in
which his love is to be buried when she (the mother) dies,
and is laid there also, and at Ford he sits by his love's dead
head.
"'I think Captain Williams must be no longer young,
because he is so very careful about his dress, and that is
always a sign of a man's growing old, is n't it ? '
" The neighbours at Ford most of them seem to have
' stories ' and are a perpetual source of interest. Lady
Waterford says : —
" w Grindon is a fine old manor-house near Tillmouth.
Mr. Friar lives there. One morning he was a carpenter
working down a coal-pit, and in the evening lie was the
master of Grindon : I believe an uncle left it him.
" 'Then there was that Sir F. Blake whose wife was a
236 THE STORY OF MY LIFE [1865
IVrsian princess, who afterwards left a fine diamond neck-
Lace and two most magnificent Persian vases to the family.
I was so sorry when those vases were sold for <£ 40 : they
were worth many hundreds.
•••Near Howtell is Thorpington, a farm of the Hunts.
Sir J. Hunt was attainted for fighting in the Jacobite cause,
and his property was all confiscated. His son was so re-
duced that he was obliged to become a groom, but he so
gained the regard of his master, that, when he died, he left
him all his horses. From that time the Hunts have taken
to selling horses and their breed has become famous. They
never sell a horse, however, under <£20<): if they do not
get that sum, they either shoot them or give them away.' "
" Chillingham ('< idle, August 27, 1865. On Thursday
afternoon I drove with Lady Waterford and Lady Stuart
to Yetholm, twelve miles from Ford. The way wound
through wild desolate valleys of the Cheviots, and the vil-
lage itself is a miserable place. I drew the palace of the
gipsy queen — a wretched thatched hovel with a mud floor,
hut royalty was absent on a tinkering expedition.
k -()n Friday I went in the pony-carriage to Etal. There
I was shown into a room hung with relics of Lord Frederick
FitzClarence and miniatures of George IV. and the royal
family. Very soon Lady Frederick 1 came in — a figure
like a nun, one straight fall of crape, without crinoline,
enveloping her thin figure, and her hair all pushed back
into a tight round white muslin cap, and coal-scuttle bon-
net. She scarcely ever sees any one, so it was an effort to
her to receive me, but she was not so odd as I expected.
She talked about the place and then about wasps, and said
that if Captain Williams was stung by a wasp, it had such
an effect upon him that he swelled up all over and fell
down perfectly senseless upon the ground that instant. In
the hall was the dinner service of Nelson (painted with
1 Augusta, daughter of George, 4th Earl of Glasgow.
OA^aJs^C, ^Ladu ^Mtuw/5 a£y J/l&m&*tzy-
<^l0?7Zs a, '7mtMt.a£t&e/ s&u- ^/VZtSJ ^Zleeams
1865] ENGLISH PLEASURES AND ROMAN TRIALS 237
figures of Lady Hamilton as Amphytrite), which was given
to Lord Frederick by William IV. Captain Williams went
with me to the ruined castle of Etal and then along a
walk above the Till, which was very beautiful, with weird
old willows, high rocks, and lovely reaches of wood and
water.
" Yesterday morning I made a sketch of the door of the
cottage, with all its flowers, &c, which I gave to Lady
Stuart, much to her pleasure. She told me about Lord
Waterford's death. On that morning, as always, Lady
Waterford read to him a chapter in the Bible whilst he was
dressing, and for that day it was the lament for Absalom.
It contained the verse in which a pillar is raised up to him
for ' he had no son to keep his name in remembrance ; ' so
his widow determined to raise a pillar to his memory, and
has done so in the beautiful angel-fountain at Ford.
" In the middle of luncheon Lady Tankerville drove up,
came to fetch me, and bringing Lady Bagot l and Lady
Blanche Egerton 2 to see the castle. So at five I came
away with them, and took leave of the cottage and its de-
lightful inmates. ... It was a cold dreary day, and gusts
of wind and rain blew from the Cheviots during our four-
teen miles. Lady Tankerville drove."
" Chillingham, August 29. Yesterday we all drove
through pouring rain to Hulne Abbey in Alnwick Park,
where we were edad of the shelter of the one unruined
tower for our luncheon. Afterwards we drove through the
park to the castle, which I had not seen since the reign
of Alo-emon the Great and Eleanor the Good. Now we
were the guests of Lady Percy, a kind pleasant person,
and Lady Louisa. The rooms are grandly uncomfortable
(except the library, which is an attractive room), but the
decorations cost £350,000 ! '
1 Lucia, eldest daughter of Lord Dover.
2 Second daughter of the 1st Earl of Ellesraere.
•J;;,S THE STORY OF MY LIFE [1865
"August 30. — yesterday, as the family here are imper-
vious to damp, we picknicked in the forest. Lady Tank-
erville made the fire and boiled the kettle; Lady Blanche
laid the cloth and cut bread and butter; a young Grey
and I made the toast, and the little boys and girls caught
fresh trout out of the burn close by. In the evening Lord
Tankerville told US this story : —
" 'My father had a beautiful villa at Walton, which we
have given up now. It was in the old days when we had
to ride across Putney Heath to reach it. My father used to
think it very odd that when he went into the stables to see
his horses in the morning, they were all in a foam and per-
fectly exhausted, as if they were worn out with hard riding.
( hie day he was coming home across Putney Heath, and he
was bringing Lord Derby back with him. When they came
near the heath, he had said, " Well, now, we had better
have our pistols ready, because highwaymen are often to be
met with here." So they loaded their pistols, and it was
not a bit too soon, for directly after a highwayman rode up
to the carriage-window and demanded their money or their
lives. As he spoke he recognised them, and saw also that
my father recognised his own groom upon one of his own
horses. In the moment's hesitation he drew back, and in
that moment my father and Lord Derby tired. Several
shots were exchanged on both sides, but at last came a
moment's pause, during which Lord Derby cried out of the
window to the postillion to ride forward, and he dashed on
at full gallop. The highwayman fired into the back of
the carriage, and Lord Derby and my father returned his
fire by leaning out of the windows. At last the back of
the carriage was quite riddled with shot, and the ammuni-
tion of those inside was quite exhausted, and then Lord
Derby held out a white handkerchief as a flag of truce
out of the window, and the highwayman rode up and
they delivered up all their valuables to him. Of course
my father never saw his groom again, and his horses
1865] ENGLISH PLEASURES AND ROMAN TRIALS 239
•were in much better condition ever afterwards — at least
those which were left, for the highwayman rode away
upon the best horse in the stables.' "
" Hoivick, Sept. 1, 1865. — Yesterday I was able to stop
the express at the private station (for Howick), whither
Lord Grey sent for me. It was a drive of about a mile
and a half, chiefly through shrubberies of hollies and
rhododendrons, to this large square house with wings.
It is most comfortable inside, with a beautiful library
opening into a great conservatory. Lady Grey 1 is one
of the severest-looking and one of the kindest-meaning
persons I have ever seen. Lord Grey is little and lame,
but gets about with a stick very actively. He is quite
grey, but the very image of Lady Mary Wood. The
rest of the party had put off coming for a day from dif-
ferent reasons, but I was not sorry to make acquaintance
alone first with my host and hostess, and they were most
pleasant, so that it was a very agreeable evening."
" Sept. 2. Yesterday morning a great bell on the top of
the house summoned all in it to prayers, which were read
by Lord Grey in the breakfast-room opening on to very
pretty terraces of flowers, with perfect shrubberies of sweet
verbena, for the climate here is very mild. After breakfast
I went down through the wood to the sea, not a mile dis-
tant, and a very fine bit of coast, with rich colour in the
rocks and water, and Dunstanborough Castle on its crag
as the great feature. The place reminds me a little of
Penrhus. When I returned from driving with Lady Grey
to Alnwick, the Belhavens arrived, and before dinner the
Bishop of London and Mrs. Tait, and the Durhams."
" Sept. 4. My dearest mother will like to know how in-
tensely I have enjoyed being at Howick. The Greys make
1 Maria, daughter of Sir Joseph Copley of Sprotborough.
240 THE STORY OF MY LIFE [1865
their house so pleasant and the life here is so easy. Then
Lady Belhaven ' is always celebrated as a talker, and it has
been delightful to sit on the outskirts of interesting con-
versations between my host and Sir George Grey or the
Bishop.
" ( )n Saturday. afternoon I drove with the Durhams and
Lady Belhaven to Dunstanborough. The sea was of a
deep Mediterranean blue under the cliffs and overhanging
towers of the ruined castle. Lord Durham 2 and I walked
back three miles along the cliffs — a high field-walk like
the old one at Eastbourne.
"On Sunday the Bishop preached at the little church in
the grounds. It has been rebuilt and decorated with carv-
ings by Lady Grey and her sisters-in-law. In the chancel
is the line tomb of the Prime Minister Lord Grey. I went
with Durham afterwards all over the gardens, which are
charming, with resplendent borders of old-fashioned flow-
ers: and alter afternoon church, we all went down through
the dene to the sea, where there is a bathing-house, with a
delightful room fitted up with sofas, books, &c, just above
the waves. All the French herring-fleet was out, such a
pretty sight. The Bishop read prayers in the evening to
the great household of forty-eight persons. He is a very
pleasant, amiable Bishop.
"I enjoyed seeing so much of Durham; no one could
help very much liking one who is veiy stiff with people in
general, and most exceedingly nice to oneself. But Lady
Durham 3 is always charming, so perfectly naive, natural,
and beautiful. She is devoted to her husband and he to
her. Some one spoke of people in general not loving all
their children. She said: 'Then that is because they do
1 Hamilton, daughter of Walter Campbell of Shawfield, younger
sister of Lady Kuthven.
- My third cousin, George, 2nd Earl of Durham.
8 Beatrix, second daughter of the Marquis of Abercorn. She died
Jan. 1871.
1865] ENGLISH PLEASURES AND ROMAN TRIALS 241
not love their husbands. Some women think no more of
marriage than of dancing a quadrille ; but when women
love their husbands, they love all their children equally.
Every woman must love her first child: the degree in
which they love the others depends upon the degree in
which they love their husbands.'
" Sitting by her at dinner, I asked if she had ever read
' Les Miserables.' ' No. When I was confirmed, the
clergyman who was teaching me saw a French novel on the
table, and said, " My dear child, you don't read these
things, do you?" I said "No," which was quite true, for
it belonged to my French governess, and he then said,
" Well, I wish you never would. Don't make any actual
promise, for fear you should not keep it, but don't do it un-
less you are obliged ; " and I never have.'
" I spoke to her of the inconsistency involved by the
confirmation ceremony, by which young ladies renounced
the pomps and vanities of the world, being generally the
immediate predecessor of their formal entrance upon them.
" ' Yes ; I never thought of that. But certainly my
pomps and vanities were of very short duration. I went
to three balls, two tea-parties, and one dinner, and that was
all I ever saw of the world °, for then I was married. One
year I was in the school-room in subjection to every one,
ordered about here and there, and the next I was free and
my own mistress and married.'
" ' And did not you find it rather formidable ? ' I said.
' Formidable to be my own mistress ! oh no. One thing I
found rather formidable certainly. It was when a great
deputation came to Lambton to congratulate George upon
his marriage, and I had to sit at the end of the table with
a great round of beef before me. I wanted them not to
think I was young and inexperienced. I wanted to appear
thirty at least ; so I would carve : and then only think of
their saying afterwards in the newspaper paragraphs, " We
are glad to learn that the youthful countess is not only
VOL. II. — 16
242 THE STORY OF MY LIFE [1865
amiable but intelligent." 1 was glad that they should
think I was amiable, but when they .said I was intelligent,
1 was perfectly furious, as it' George's wife could possibly
have been anything else.
•• • 1 was brought up a Tory, but as long as 1 can remem-
ber 1 have Celt myself a Radical. 1 cannot bear to think
of the division between the classes, and there is so much
good in a working-man. 1 love working-men: they are
my friends: they are so much better than we are.
•••When my little George of four years old — such a
little duck he is! — was with me at Weymouth, 1 told him
he might take off his shoes and stockings and paddle in the
water, and he went in up to his chest ; and then the little
monster said, '-Now, mania, if yon want to get me again,
you may come in and fetch me, for I sha'n't come out." I
was in despair, when a working-man passed by and said,
"Do you want that little bo}^, ma'am?" and I said " Yes,"
and he tucked up his trousers and went in and fetched
George out for me ; but if the marts little boy had been in
the water, I am afraid I should not have offered to fetch
him out for him.
"'And when I was going to church at Mr. Cumming's
in Covent Garden (I daresay you think T 'm very wrong
for going there, but I can't help that), it began to pour
with rain, and a cabman on a stand close by called out,
"Don't you want a cab, ma'am?" I said "Yes. very
much, but I've got no money." And the cabman said.
" Oh, never mind, jump in ; you '11 only spoil your clothes
in the rain, and I'll take you for nothing." When we got
to the church door. T said, "If you will come to my house
you shall be paid," but he wonld not hear of it, and T have
liked cabmen ever since. Oh, there is so much good in the
working-men ; they are so much better than we are.' "
" Winton Castle, N. B., Sept. 5, 1865. My sweetest
mother will like to think of me here with the dear old
1865] ENGLISH PLEASURES AND ROMAN TRIALS 243
Lady Ruthven. 1 I left Howick at mid-day yesterday, with
the Bishop and Mrs. Tait and their son Crauford, an Eton
school-boy. It had been a very pleasant visit to the last,
and I shall hope to repeat it another year, and also to go to
the Durhams. We had an agreeable journey along the
cliffs. I had become quite intimate with the Taits in the
three days I was with them, and liked the Bishop very
much better than Mrs. Tait, though I am sure she is a very
good and useful woman. 2 At Tranent Lady Ruthven's
carriage was waiting for me. I found her in a sadly
nervous state, dreadfully deaf, and constantly talking, the
burden of her refrain b'einar —
' Mummitie inuiu, mummitie mum,
Mummitie, mummitie, mummitie mum.'
But in the evening she grew much better, and was like
other people, only that she would constantly walk in and
out of the dark ante-chambers playing on a concertina,
which, as she wore a tiara of pearls and turquoises, had a
very odd effect in the half light; and then at eleven
o'clock at night she would put on her bonnet and cloak
and go off for a walk by herself in the woods. Charming
Miss Minnie Fletcher of Saltoun is here. She told me
that —
" Sir David Brewster and his daughter went to stay with
the Stirling's of Kippenross. In the night Miss Brewster
was amazed by being awakened by her father coming into
her room and saying, ' My dear, don't be alarmed, but I
really cannot stay in my room. It may be very foolish and
nervous, but there are such odd noises, such extraordinary
groanings and moanings, that I positively cannot bear it
1 Mary, widow of the 5th Lord Ruthven, and daughter of Walter
Campbell of Shawfield.
2 Catherine, daughter of Archdeacon Spooner. Her memoirs were
published by her husband, the Archbishop of Canterbury, in 1870.
244 THE STORY OF MY LIFE [1865
any longer, and you must let me stay here. Don't disturb
yourself; I shall easily sleep on the sola.*
•• .Miss Brewster thought her father very silly, but there
he stayed till morning, when he slipped away to his own
room to dress, so as not to be found when the servant came
to call his daughter. When the maid came she said,
'Pray, ma'am, how long are you going to stay in this
house?" Miss Brewster was surprised, and said she did
not know. ' Because, ma'am, it" you are going to stay, I
am sorry to say I must leave you. 1 like you very much,
ma'am, and I shall be sorry to go, but I would do anything
rather than again go through all I suffered last night : such
awful groanings and moanings and such fearful noises 1
can never endure again.' Miss Brewster was veiy much
anno} 7 ed and laughed at the maid, who nevertheless con-
tinued firm in her decision.
" In the afternoon Miss Brewster had a headache, and at
length it became so bad that she was obliged to leave the
dinner-table and go up to her room. At the head of the
stairs she saw a woman — a large woman in a chintz gown,
leaning against the banisters. She took her for the
housekeeper, and said. ' I am going to my room: will you
be so kind as to send my maid to me ? ' The woman did
not answer, but bowed her head three times and then
pointed to a door in the passage and went downstairs.
Miss Brewster went to her room, and after waiting an
hour in vain for her maid, she undressed and went to bed.
When the maid came up she asked why she had not come
before, and said she had sent the housekeeper for her.
'How very odd,' said the maid, 'because I have been
sitting with the housekeeper the whole time.' Miss
Iirewster then described the person she had seen, upon
which the maid gave a shriek, and said, ' Oh, then you
have seen the ghost.' The maid was in such a state of
terror, that when Mrs. Stirling came up to inquire after
her headache, Miss Brewster asked her about the woman
1865] ENGLISH PLEASURES AND ROMAN TRIALS " 245
she had seen, when, to her surprise, Mrs. Stirling looked
quite agonised, and said, ' Oh, then there is more misery
in store for me. You do not know what that ghost has
been to me all through my married life. ' She then made
Miss Brewster promise not to tell the persons who slept in
the room pointed at, that theirs was the room. It was a
Major and Mrs. Wedderburn who slept there. Mrs.
Stirling and Miss Brewster then both wrote out accounts
of what had happened and signed and sealed them.
Before the year was out, they heard that the Wedderburns
were both killed in the Indian Mutiny."
" Winton Castle, Sept. 8. My visit here has been very
pleasant indeed. The Speaker and Lady Charlotte
Denison came on Tuesday afternoon with the Belhavens.
He is a fine-looking elderly man, with a wonderful fund
of agreeable small-talk. Lady Charlotte * is very refined,
quite unaffected, and very pretty still : they are both most
kind to me. Miss Fletcher has been here all the time to
help Lady Ruthven, for whom it is well that she has such
a kind, pleasant great-niece only a mile off, to come and
help her to amuse all her guests, as she has had fifty-six
parties of people staying in the house in the last year.
We saw a large party of the great-great nephews and
nieces of Lady Ruthven and Lady Belhaven on Wednes-
day, when we went to spend the afternoon at Lord
Elcho's. It is a fine place, Amisfield — a huge red stone
house in a large park close to the town of Haddington,
where there is a beautiful old cathedral, but in ruins, like
all the best Scotch churches. Lady Elcho 2 has the stately
refinement of a beautiful Greek statue. Her children are
legion, the two eldest boj^s very handsome and pleasant.
We went over the house, with old tapestry, &c, to be
1 Daughter of the 4th Duke of Portland, afterwards Viscountess
Ossington.
2 Lady Anne Anson, second daughter of the 1st Earl of Lichfield.
246 THE STORY OF MY LIFE [1865
seen, and the gardens with fine cedars, and then all Lord
YVemyss's twenty-four race horses were brought out in
turn to be exercised round the courtyard and admired:
after which we had Scotch tea — scones, cakes, apricot-
jam, &c.
"I have made rather friends with John Gordon, 1 a
younger brother of Lord Aberdeen, who has been staying
here. He is a second Charlie Wood in character, thouffh
only eighteen, and I have seldom seen any one I liked as
well on short acquaintance. His family are all supposed
to be dreadfully shy, but he seems to be an exception.
"Yesterday Lady Belhaven and Lady Kuthven went to
Edinburgh, and I stayed with Miss Fletcher, and walked
with her in the afternoon to Saltoun, where we had tea
with Lady Charlotte and saw the curiosities. Lady
Charlotte Fletcher 2 said : —
" ' The French royal family were often here at Saltoun
when they were at Holyrood — Charles X. and the
Duchesse d'Angouleme. and the Duchesse de Berri and
her daughter, the Due and Duchesse de Guise and the
Due de Polignac. . . . The Duchesse d'Angouleme and
the Due de Polignac used to go down to the bridge in the
glen and stay there for hours: they said it reminded them
so much of fiance, the trees and the water. The Due de
Polignac said our picture of the leave-taking of Louis
XVI. and his family contained figures more like than any
he had seen elsewhere. We turned it to the wall and
locked the door when they came, for fear the Duchesse
d'Angouleme should see it, but the little Mademoiselle
de Berri was playing hide-and-seek through the rooms,
and she got in by the outer door, and it was the first thing
she observed, and she insisted on seeing it. . . . She did
me a little drawing, and left it behind her.
The family were very fond of coming here, because
1 Afterwards 7th Earl of Aberdeen.
2 Fourth daughter of the 7th Fail of Wemyss.
u .
1865] ENGLISH PLEASURES AND ROMAN TRIALS 247
my father, Lord Wemyss, had been kind to them when
they were here during the first Revolution. On the
Duchesse de Berri's birthday, she was asked what she
would like to do in honour of it, and she^ chose a day at
Saltoun. It was very inconvenient their all coming with
the children at a few hours' notice, such a large party,
but she wrote a pretty note, saying what a pleasure it
would be to see her old friends again, and another after-
wards, saying what a delight it had been, so that we were
quite compensated.'
" On Sunday, when it was church-time, Lady Ruthven
said, ' We '11 just gang awa to the kirk and see what sort
of a discoorse the minister makes ; and if he behaves him-
self, well — we '11 ask him up to dinner! ' She sat in kirk,
with her two dogs beside her, in a kind of chair of state
just under the pulpit, where she might have been mistaken
for the clerk. She is as demonstrative in church as else-
where, and once when Miss Fletcher came unexpectedly
into the gallery after she had been some time without
seeing her, she called out, w Eh, there ye are, Minnie, my
darling, ' before the whole congregation, and began kissing
her hands to her. When a child screamed in kirk, and
its mother was taking it out, the minister interrupted his
discourse with, w Na, bide a wee : I'm no that fashed
wi' the bairn.' — ' Na, na, ' said the mother, ' I '11 no bide:
it's the bairn that's fashed wi' ye.' Talking afterwards
of the change of feeling with which church-services were
usually regarded now-a-days, Lady Charlotte Fletcher
said : —
"' Old Lady Hereford, my aunt, was quite one of the
old school. She had a large glass pew in church, and the
service was never allowed to begin till she had arrived,
settled herself, and opened the windows of her pew. If
she did not like the discourse, she slammed down her
windows. After the service was over, her steward used
to stand by the pew door to receive her orders as to which
248 THE STORY OF MY LIFE [1865
of the congregation were to be invited to dine in her hall
that day.'
" While tin' party were talking of the change of manners,
Lord Belhaven said: —
"' 1 just remember the old drinking- days: 1 they were
just dying out when 1 entered the army. Scarcely any
oentlemen used to drink less than two bottles of claret
liter dinner. They used to chew tobacco, which was
banded round, and drink their wine through it, wine and
tobacco- juice at the same time. A spittoon was placed
between every two gentlemen. It was universal to chew
tobacco in country-houses: they chewed it till they went
in to dinner, and they began again directly the ladies left
the room, when tobacco and spittoons were handed round.
" ' There were usually the bottles called " Jeroboams ' :
on the table, which held six bottles of port. The old
Duke of Cleveland 2 always had his wine-glasses made
without a foot, so that they would not stand, and you
were obliged to drink off the whole glass when you dined
with him.
" ' I remember once dining at a house from which I was
going away the next morning. I got to bed myself at
twelve. When I came down to go off at eight, I asked
when the other gentlemen had left the dining-room.
" Oh," said the servant, " they are there still/' I went in,
and there, sure enough, they all were. When they saw
me, they made a great shout, and said, " Come, now, you
must drink off a bumper," and filled a. tumbler with what
they thought was spirits, but to my great relief I saw it
was water. So I said, " Very well, gentlemen, I shall be
glad to drink to your health, and of course you wall drink
to mine," — so I drank the water, and they drank the
spirits.' '
1 The "custom more honoured in the breach than the observance."
Hamlet.
- William Henry. 1st Duke of Cleveland, who died in 1842.
1865] ENGLISH PLEASURES AND ROMAN TRIALS 249
" Castlecraig, JYoblehouse, Sept. 9. I came out this
morning by the railway to Broomlee, a pretty line, leading
into wild moorland, and at the station a clog-cart met me,
and brought me six miles farther, quite into the heart of
the Pentlands. The ascent to this house is beautiful,
through woods of magnificent alpine-looking firs. Addie
Hay 1 was waiting for me. You would scarcely believe
him to be as ill as he is, and he is most cheerful and
pleasant, making no difficulties about anything. He is
often here with my present host, Sir William Carmichael."
' Winton Castle, Sept. 10. Yesterday I saw the beauti-
ful grounds of Castlecraig — green glades in the hills with
splendid pines, junipers, &c, and part of the garden con-
secrated as a burial-ground, with moss-grown sculptured
tombs of the family ancestors on the green lawn.
"At Eskbank Lady Ruthven met me, and I came on
with her to Newbattle. It is an old house, once an abbey,
lying low in a large wooded park on the banks of the Esk
— a fine hall and staircase hung with old portraits, and a
beautiful library with long windows, carved ceiling, old
books, illuminated missals, and stands of Australian
plants. Lady Lothian is very young and pretty, 2 Lord
Lothian a hopeless invalid from paralysis. She showed
me the picture gallery and then we went to the garden —
most lovely, close to the rushing Esk, and of mediaeval
aspect in its splendid flowers backed by yew hedges and
its stone sundials. After seeing Lady Lothian's room and
pictures, we had tea in the garden. The long drive back
to Winton was trying, as, with the thermometer at 70°,
Lady Ruthven would have a large bottle of boiling water
at the bottom of the close carriage.
" Lady Ruthven is most kind, but oh ! the life with her
1 Adam, fourth son of Sir Adam Hay of Haystoun, who had been
one of my greatest friends at Christ Church. He died May 1871.
2 Lady Constance Talbot, daughter of the 19th Earl of Shrewsbury.
250 THE s'lOKY OF MY LIFE [1865
is bo odd. One day a gentleman coining down in the
morning looked greatly agitated, which was discovered to
be owing to his having looked out of his window in the
middle of the night, and believing that he had seen a
ghost Hitting up and down the terrace in a most ghastly
clinging white dress. It was the lady of the castle in her
white dressing-gown and night-gown! "
" WiJiaio, Sept. 14. I came here (to the Belhavens)
after a two days' visit to Mrs. Stirling of Glenbervie,
whence I saw Falkirk Tryste — the great cattle fair of
Scotland. It was a curious sight, an immense plain
covered with cattle of every description, especially pictu-
resque little Highland beasts attended by drovers in kilts
and plumes. When I saw the troops of horses kicking
and prancing, I said how like it all was to Rosa Bonheur's
' Horse Fair,' and then heard she had been there to study
for her picture.
kt We dined yesterday at Dalzel, Lady Emily Hamilton's, 1
a beautiful old Scotch house, well restored by Hillings.
To-day is tremendously hot, but though I am exhausted
by the sun, I am much more so by all the various hungers
I have gone through, as we had breakfast at half-past ten
and luncheon at half-past five, and in the interval went to
Bothwell — Lord Home's, - - beautiful shaven lawns above
a deep wooded ravine of the Clyde, and on the edge of the
slope a fine old red sandstone castle."
" Lagaray, Gareloch, Sept. 17. How I longed for my
mother on Friday in the drive from Helensburgh along a
terrace on the edge of the Gareloch, shaded by beautiful
trees, and with exquisite views of distant grey mountains
and white-sailed boats coming down the loch! I was
most warmly welcomed by Robert Shaw Stewart 2 and
1 Daughter of the 7th Earl of Leven.
2 A Roman friend, brother of Sir Michael Shaw Stewart.
1865] ENGLISH PLEASURES AND ROMAN TRIALS 251
his wife. . . . Yesterday we went an immense excursion
of forty-five miles, seeing the three lakes — Lomond,
Long, and Gareloch."
" Carstairs House, Lanarkshire, Sept. 18. Nothing could
exceed the kindness of the Shaw Stewarts, and I was
very sorry to leave them. The Gareloch' is quite lovely,
such fine blue mountains closing the lake, with its margin
of orange-coloured seaweeds. . . . The Monteith family
were at luncheon when I arrived at this large luxurious
house — the guests including two Italians, one a handsome
specimen of the Guardia Nobile — Count Bolognetti Cenci,
a nephew by many greats of the famous Beatrice. After
luncheon we were sent to the Falls of the Clyde — Cora
Linn — a grand mass of water foaming and dashing, which
the Italians called ' carina' ! "
Before returning home, I went again to Chesters
in Northumberland, to meet Dr. Bruce, the famous
authority on " The Roman Wall " of Northumberland,
on which he has written a large volume. It was
curious to find how a person who had allowed his
mind to dwell exclusively on one hobby could see no
importance in anything else. He said, "Rome was
now chiefly interesting as illustrating the Roman
Wall in Northumberland, and as for Pompeii, it
was not to be compared to the English station of
Housesteads."
At the end of September I returned home, and had
a quiet month with the dear mother, who was now
quite well. I insert a fragment of a letter from a
niece who had been with her in my absence, as
giving a picture of her peaceful, happy state at this
time : —
252 THE STORY OF MY LIFE [1865
"Auntie and I have spent our evenings in reading old
letters and journals, which have math' the past seem
nearer than the present. Hers is such a sweet peaceful
evening of life. There have been many storms and
sorrows, but her faith has stood firm, and she is now
calmly waiting her summons home. Oh! [ pray that she
may he spared to us yet awhile, now so doubly deal' to us,
the one link left with the loved and lost.*'
We left Holmhurst at the beginning of November,
and went to Italy by the Mont Cenis, witli Emma
Simpkinson, the gentle youngest sister of my Har-
row tutor, as our companion. Fourteen horses
dragged us over the mountain through the snow in a
bright moonlight night, during the greater part of
which I crouched upon the floor of the carriage, so as
to keep my mother's feet warm inside my waistcoat,
so great was my terror of her having any injury from
the cold.
My Mother to Miss Leycester.
" Spezia, Nov. 11, 1865. The day was most lovely on
which we left Genoa, and so was the drive along the
coast, reminding us of Mentone in its beauty — the hills
covered with olive-woods and orange-groves, the moun-
tains and rocky bays washed by the bluest of blue waves.
We dined at Ruta, a very pretty place in the mountain,
and slept at Chiavari. Saturday was no less beautiful,
the tramontana keen when we met it, like a March day in
England, but the sun so burning, it quite acted as a
restorative as we wound up the Pass of Bracco after Sestri
— lovely Sestri. We had the carriage open, and so could
enjoy the views around and beneath us, though the preci-
pices were tremendous. However, the road was good,
and occasionally in some of the worst places there was a
1865] ENGLISH PLEASURES AND ROMAN TRIALS 253
bit of wall to break tbe line at the edge. Nothing could
be more grand than the views of the billowy mountains
with the Mediterranean below. At Borghetto was our
halting-place, and then we had a rapid descent all the way
here, where we arrived at half-past six."
" Pisa, Nov. 14. To continue my history. Sunday was
again a splendid day, and the Carrara mountains most
lovely, especially at sunset. On Monday we drove to
THE PASS OF BRACCO. 1
Porto Venere, and spent the morning in drawing at the
ruined marble church. We dined, and at half-past five
set out, reaching Pisa at half-past seven. And here was a
merciful preservation given to me, where, to use the
words of my favourite travelling Psalm (xci.), though my
feet ' were moved, ' the angels had surely ' charge over me. '
Augustus had just helped me down from the train and
turned to take the bags out of the carriage. When he
re-turned to look after me, I lay flat on the ground in the
deep cutting of the side railway, into which, the platform
being narrow, unfinished, and badly lighted, I had fallen
in the dark. I believe both Augustus and Lea thought I
was dead at first, so frightful was the fall, yet, after a
little, I was able to walk to the carriage, though of course
much shaken. Three falls have I had this year — in the
1 From " Central Italy."
254
THE STORY OF MY LIFE
[1865
waves of the Atlantic, in Westminster Abbey, and at Pisa
— and yet. thanks be to God, no bones have been broken.*"
At Pisa we stayed at the excellent Albergo di
Londra which was kept by Flora Limosin, the young-
est daughter of Victoire 1 and fostersister of Esme-
ralda. Victoire herself was living close by, in her
AT PORTO VENKKE."
own little house, filled with relics of the past. I had
not seen her since Italima's death, and she had many
questions to ask me, besides having much to tell of the
extraordinary intercourse she had immediately after
our family misfortunes with Madame de Trafford —
the facts of which she thus dictated to me : —
Felix and Victoire followed Ttalima from Geneva to
Paris. Victoire says — " We rejoined Madame Hare at
the house of Madame de Trafford. I went with her and
1 Madame Victoire Ackermann.
2 From " Central Italy."
See vol. I.
1865] EXGLISH PLEASURES AND ROMAN TRIALS 255
Mademoiselle to the station in the evening. Madame
Hare did all she could to console me. It was arranged
that Constance should accompany them, because she was
Miss Paul's maid. I had no presentiment then that I
should never see Madame Hare again. After they were
gone, we remained at the house of Baize, our son-in-law,
at the end of the Faubourg S. Germain, but every day I
went, by her desire, to see Madame de Trafford, at the
other end of the Champs Elysees. She was all kindness
to me. She did all she could to console me. When she
had letters from Madame Hare, she read them to me:
when I had them, I read them to Madame de Trafford.
Matters went from bad to worse. One day Madame de
Trafford had a letter which destroyed all hope. It was
three days before she ventured to read it to me. I have
still the impression of the hour in which she told me what
was in it. She made me sit by her in an arm-chair, and
she said, ' II ne faut pas vous illusionner, Victoire:
Madame Hare ne reviendra jamais ; elle est absolument
ruinee.' I remained for several hours unconscious; I
knew there was no hope then. I was only sensible that
Madame de Trafford gave me some strong essence, which
restored me in a certain degree. Then she did all she
could to console me. It was the most wonderful heart-
goodness possible. She took me back that day to my
son-in-law's house. I was thinking how I could break it
to Felix : I did not venture to tell him for a long time.
At last he saw it for himself ; he said, ' II y a quelque
chose de pire a apprendre, ou vous me cachez quelque
chose, Victoire,' and then I told him. The next day
Madame de Trafford said that she could not endure our
sufferings. *Apres trente ans de service, apres tant de
denouement, elle ne pouvait pas souffrir que nous irions a
la mendicite\ Vous n'avez rien, ' she said, ' je le sais plus
que vous.' I did not like her saying this. b Yes, we have
something, ' I said ; k we are not so badly off as that. ' —
2-")6 THE STORY OF MY LIFE [1865
' Tais-toi, Victoire, vous n'avez rien, ' she repeated, and
she was right, it was her second-sight which told her.
She hade me seek in the environs of Paris for a small
house, any one I liked, in any situation, and she would
buy it for me. If there was a large house near it, so much
the better — that she would buy for herself. She said she
knew I could not live there upon nothing, but that she
should give me an annuity, and that Felix 'a cause de son
rhumatisme, ' must have a little carriage. I was quite
overwhelmed. * Mais. Madame, nous ne mclitons pas
cela, ' I said. ' Oui, Victoire, je sais que vous le mdritez
bien, et je le veux.'' I said it was impossible I could accept
such favours at her hands. She only repeated with her
peculiar manner and intonation — l je le veux. ' The next
day we both went to her. Her table was already covered
with the notices of all the houses to let in the neighbour-
hood of Paris. 'Nous allons visiter tout cela,' she said,
1 nous allons choisir. ' Both Felix and I said it was impos-
sihle we could accept such kindness, when we could do
nothing for her in return. ' Est-ce que je veux acheter votre
anlitid'.'' , she said. She repeatedly said that she wished
nothing but to come and see us sometimes, and that per-
haps she should come every day. Thus we went on for
fifteen days, but both Felix and I felt it was impossible we
could accept so much from her; besides, Felix suffered so
much from his rheumatism, and he felt that the climate of
Pisa might do him good ; besides which, our hearts, always
turned to Pisa, for it seemed as if Providence had willed
that we should go there, in disposing that Madame
Jacquet, who had a claim to our house for her life, should
e saw nothing.
•• Meanwhile Madame Ste. Aldegonde had fallen into
a. rapture, and with elasped hands was returning thanks
for tin- privilege vouchsafed to her. 'Oh mon Dieu! mon
Dieu! quelle grace! quelle grace!' Shortly after this
the French Abbe* saw it also. 'II n'y a pas le moindre
doute,' he said; 'il bouge les yeux, mais le voila, le voila.'
They all now began to distress themselves about Mrs. De
Selby. 'Surely you must see something? they said; 'it
is impossible that you should see nothing? But Mrs. De
Selby continued stubbornly to declare that she saw noth-
ing. While Madame Ste. Aldegonde was exclaiming, and
when the scene was at its height, I could fancy that I saw
something like a scintillation, a speculation, in one of the
eves of the Crucified One, but I could not be certain. As
we left the church, the other ladies said, apropos of Mrs.
De Selby, 'Well, you know, after all, it is not a thing we
are obliged to believe,' and one of them, turning to her,
added consolingly, 'And you know you did see a miracle
at Vicovaro.'
" Mrs. Goldsmid declared that she was so shocked at my
want of faith, that she should take me immediately to the
Sepolti Vivi, to request the prayers of the abbess there.
So we drove thither at once. The convent is most care-
fully concealed. Opposite the Church of S. Maria del
Monte, a little recess in the street, which looks like a cut
1 866 i ENGLISH PLEASURES AND ROMAN TRIALS 271
de sac, runs up to one of those large street shrines with a
picture, so common in Naples, but of which there are very
few at Rome. When you get up to the picture, you find
the cut de sac is an illusion. In the left of the shrine a
staircase in the wall leads you up round the Avails of the
adjoining house to a platform on the roof. Here you are
surrounded by heavy doors, all strongly barred and bolted.
In the wall there projects what looks like a small green
barrel. Mrs. Goldsmid stooped down and rapped loudly
on the barrel. This she continued to do for some time.
At last a faint muffled voice was heard issuing from behind
the barrel, and demanding what was wanted. ' I am
Margaret Goldsmid, ' said our companion, k and I want to
speak to the abbess. ' — k Speak again, ' said the strange
voice, and again Mrs. G. declared that she was Margaret
Goldsmid. Then the invisible nun recognised the voice,
and very slowly, to my great surprise, the green barrel
began to move. Round and round it went, till at last in
its innermost recesses was disclosed a key. Mrs. Goldsmid
knew the meaning of this, and taking the key, led us
round to a small postern door, which she unlocked, and
we entered a small courtyard. Beyond this, other doors
opened in a similar manner, till we reached a small white-
washed room. Over the door was an inscription bidding
those who entered that chamber to leave all worldly
thoughts behind them. Round the walls of the room
Avere inscribed : ' Qui non diligit, manet in morte ' —
Militia est vita hominis super terrain ' — - k Alter alterius
onera portate, ' and on the side opposite the door —
' Vi esorto a rimirar
La vita del mondo
Nella guisa che il mira
Un moribondo.'
Immediately beneath this inscription was a double grille,
and beyond it what looked at first like pitch darkness, but
272 THE STORY OF MY LIFE [1866
what was afterwards shown to be a thick plate of iron,
pierced, like the rose of a watering-pot, with small round
holes, through which the voice might penetrate. Behind
this plate of iron the abbess of the Sepolti Vivi receives
her visitors. She is even then veiled from head to foot,
and folds of thick serge fell over her face. Pope Gregory
XVI., who of course could penetrate within the convent,
once wishing to try her faith, said to her, ' Sorella mia,
levate il velo.' — ' No, mio Padre,' replied the abbess, ' e
vietato dalle regole del nostra ordine. '
"Mrs. Goldsmid said to the abbess that she had brought
with her two heretics, one in a state of partial grace, the
other in a state of blind and outer darkness, that she
might request her prayers and those of her sisterhood.
The heretic in partial grace was Mrs. Dawkins, the heretic
in blind darkness was myself. Then came back the
muffled voice of the abbess, as if from another world,
' liisogna essere convertiti, perche ci si sta poco in questo
mondo: bisogna avere le lampane accese, perche 11011 si sa
1' ora quando il Signore chiamera, ma bisogna che le
lampane siano accese coll' olio della vera fede, e se ve ne
manca un solo articolo, se ne manca il tutto.' There was
much more that she said, but it was all in the same strain.
When she said, ' Se ve ne manca un solo articolo, se ne
manca il tutto,' Mrs. Goldsmid was very much displeased,
because she had constantly tried to persuade Mrs. Dawkins
that it was not necessary to receive all, and the abbess had
unconsciously interfered with the whole line of her argu-
ment. Afterwards we asked the abbess about her convent.
They were ' Farnesiani, ' she said ; ' Sepolti Vivi ' was only
' un nome popolare ; ' but she did not know why they were
called Farnesiani, or who founded their order. She said
the nuns did not dig their graves every day, that also was
only a popular story. When they died, she said, they
only enjoyed their graves a short time, like the Cappuccini
(a year, 1 think), and then, if their bodies were whole
1866] ENGLISH PLEASURES AND ROMAN TRIALS 273
when they were dug up, they were preserved: but if their
limbs had separated, they were thrown away. She said
the nuns could speak to their ' parenti stretti ' four times a
year, but when I asked if they ever saw them, she laughed
in tits at the very idea, ' ma perche bisogna vederli ? '
Mrs. Goldsmid was once inside the convent, but could not
get an order this year, because, when it had been counter-
signed by all the other authorities, old Cardinal Patrizi
remembered that she had been in before, and withdrew it.
" I heard afterwards that generally when the crucifixion
at S. Marcellino is shown, a nun of S. Teresa, with her
face covered, and robed from head to foot in a long blue
veil, stands by it immovable, like a pillar the whole
time."
''''January 27. Gibson the sculptor died this morning.
He was first taken ill while calling on Mrs. Caldwell.
She saw that he could not speak, and, making him lie
down, brought water and restoratives. He grew better
and insisted on walking home. She wished to send for a
carriage, but he would not hear of it, and he was able to
walk home perfectly. That evening a paralytic seizure
came. Ever since, for nineteen days and nights, Miss
Dowdeswell had nursed him. He will be a great loss to
Miss Hosmer (the sculptress), whom he regarded as a
daughter. They used to dine together with old Mr. Hay
every Saturday. It was an institution. Mr. Gibson was
writing his memoirs then, and he used to take what he
had written and read it aloud to Mr. Hay on the Saturday
evenings. Mr. Hay also dictated memoirs of his own life
to Miss Hosmer, and she wrote them down."
"January 29. I had a paper last night begging me
to be present at a meeting about Gibson's funeral, but I
could not go. The greater part of his friends wished for
a regular funeral procession on foot through the streets,
VOL. II. — 18
274 THE STORY OF MY LIFE [1866
bill this was overruled by Colonel Caldwell and others.
A guard of honour, offered by the French general, was
however accepted. The body lay for some hours in the
little chapel at the cemetery, the cross of the Legion of
Honour fixed upon the coffin. It was brought to the
grave with muffled drums, all the artists following. Many
ladies who had known and loved him were crying bitterly,
and there was an immense attendance of men. The day
he fore he died there was a temporary rally, and those with
him hoped for his life. It was during this time that the
telegraph of inquiry from the Queen came, and Gibson
was able to receive pleasure from it, and held it in his
hand for an hour.
"Gibson — ' Don Giovanni,' as his friends called him
— had a quaint dry humour which was all his own. He
used to tell how a famous art-critic, whose name must not
be mentioned, came to his studio to visit his newly -born
statue of Bacchus. ' Now pray criticise it as much as yon
like,' said the great sculptor. ' Well, since you ask me
to find fault,' said the critic, l I think perhaps there is
something not quite right about the left leg.' — ' About
the leg! that is rather a wide expression,' said Gibson;
' but about what part of the leg? ' — * Well, just here, about
the bone of the leg.' — ' Well,' said Gibson, k I am relieved
thai that is the fault you have to find, for the bone of the
leg is on the other side! '
"Gibson used to relate with great gusto something
which happened to him when he was travelling by dili-
gence before the time of railways. He had got as far as
the Mont Cenis, and, while crossing it, entered into con-
versation with his fellow-traveller — an Englishman, not
an American. Gibson asked where he had been, and he
mentioned several places, and then said, ' There was one
town I saw which I thought curious, the name of which I
cannot for the life of me remember, but I know it began
with an R.' — ' Was it Ronciglione, ' said Gibson, ' or per-
1866] ENGLISH PLEASURES AND ROMAN TRIALS 275
haps Radicofani ? ' thinking of all the unimportant places
beginning with R. ' No, no; it was a much shorter name
— a one-syllable name. I remember we entered it by a
gate near a very big church with lots of pillars in front of
it, and there was a sort of square with two fountains.' —
' You cannot possibly mean Rome ? ' — ' Oh yes, Rome —
that ivas the name of the place.' '
"February 4. I spent yesterday evening with the Henry
Feildens. 1 Mrs. Fielden told me that in her girlhood her
family went to the Isle of Wight and rented St. Boniface
House, between Bonchurch and Ventnor. She slept in a
room on the first floor with her sister Ghita : the French
governess and her sister Cha slept in the next room, the
English governess above. If they talked in bed they were
always punished by the English governess, who could not
bear them; so they never spoke except in a whisper.
One night, when they were in bed, with the curtains
closely drawn, the door was suddenly burst open with a
bang, and something rushed into the room and began to
whisk about in it, making great draught and disturbance.
They were not frightened, but • very angry, thinking some
one was playing them a trick. But immediately the curtains
were drawn aside and whisked up over their heads, and
one by one all the bed-clothes were dragged away from
them, though when they stretched out their hands they
could feel nothing. First the counterpane went, then the
blankets, then the sheet, then the pillows, and lastly the
lower sheet was drawn away from under them. When
it came to this she (Ellinor Hornby) exclaimed, k I can
bear this no longer, ' and she and her sister both jumped
out of bed at the foot, which was the side nearest the
1 The Rev. Henry Arbuthnot Feilden married Ellinor, one of the
daughters of Edmund Hornby, Esq., of Dalton Hall in Lancashire —
a very old friend and connection of our family. Her sister Charlotte
afterwards married my first cousin — Oswald Penrhyn.
•J 7 1') THE STORY OF MY LIFE [I860
door. As they jumped out, they felt the mattress graze
against their Legs, as it also was dragged off the bed.
Ghita Hornby rushed into the next room to call the
French governess, while Ellinor screamed for assistance,
holding the door of their room tightly on the outside, fully
believing that somebody would be found in the room.
The English governess and the servants, roused by the
noise, now rushed downstairs, and the door was opened.
The room was perfectly still and there Mas no one there.
It was all tidied. The curtains were carefully rolled, and
tied up above the head of the bed: the sheets and counter-
pane were neatly folded tip in squares and laid in the
three corners of the room: the mattress was reared against
the wall under the window: the blanket was in the fire-
place. Both the governesses protested that the girls must
have done it themselves in their sleep, but nothing would
induce them to return to the room, and they were surprised
the next morning, when they expected a scolding from
their mother, to find that she quietly assented to the room
being shut up. Many years after Mrs. Hornby met the
lady to whom the property belonged, and after questioning
her about what had happened to her family, the lady told
her that the same thing had often happened to others, and
that the house was now shut up and could never be let,
because it was haunted. A murder by a lady of her child
was committed in that room, and she occasionally appeared;
but more frequently only the noise and movement of the
furniture occurred, and sometimes that took place in the
adjoining loom also. St. Boniface House is mentioned as
haunted in the guide-books of the Isle of Wight."
11 Feb. 12. Went in the morning with the Feildens to
S. Maria in Monticelli — a small church near the Ghetto.
The church is not generally open, and we had to ring at
the door of the priest's lodgings to get in: he let us into
the church by a private passage. In the right aisle is the
1866] ENGLISH PLEASURES AND ROMAN TRIALS 277
famous picture over an altar. It is a Christ with the eyes
almost closed, weighed down by pain and sorrow. The
Feildens knelt before it, and in a very few minutes they
both declared that they saw its eyes open and close again.
From the front of the picture and on the right side of it,
though I looked fixedly at it, I could see nothing, but
after I had looked for a long time from the left side, I
seemed to see the eyes languidly close altogether, as if
the figure were sinking unconsciously into a fast sleep.
"In the case of this picture, Pope Pius IX. has turned
Protestant, and, disapproving of the notice it attracted,
after it was first observed to move its eyes in 1859, he
had it privately removed from the church, and it Avas kept
shut up for some years. Two years ago it was supposed
that people had forgotten all about it, and it was quietly
brought back to the church in the night. It has frequently
been seen to move the eyes since, but it has not been
generally shown. The sacristan said it was a ' regalo '
made to the church at its foundation, and none knew who
the artist was.
"In the afternoon I was in St. Peter's with Miss
Buchanan when the famous Brother Ignatius l came in.
He led ' the Infant Samuel ' by the hand, and a lay brother
followed. He has come to Rome for his health, and has
brought with him a sister (Sister Ambrogia) and the lay
brother, to wash and look after the Infant Samuel. He
found the ' Infant ' as a baby on the altar at Norwich, and
vowed him at once to the service of the Temple, dressed
him in a little habit, and determined that he should never
speak to a woman as long as he lived. The last is
extremely hard upon Sister Ambrogia, who does not go
sight-seeing with her companions, and having a very dull
time of it, would be exceedingly glad to play with the
1 Mr. Leycester Lyne. celebrated as a preacher and for his follies in
playing at monasticism. His mother was a Leycester of White Place,
descended from a younger branch of the Leycesters of Toft.
/
278 THE STOKY OF MY LIFE [1866
little rosy-cheeked creature. The Infant is now four
years old, and is dressed in a white frock and cowl like a
little Carthusian, and went pattering along the church in
the funniest way by the side of the stately Brother
[gnatius. He held the Infant up in his arms to kiss St.
Peter's toe, and then rubbed its forehead against his foot,
and did the same for himself, and then they both prostrated
themselves before the principal shrine, with the lay brother
behind them, and afterwards at the side altars, the Infant
of course exciting great attention and amusement amongst
the canons and priests of the church. A lady acquaintance
of ours went to see Brother Ignatius and begged to talk
to the Infant. This was declared to he impossible, the
Infant was never to he allowed to speak to a woman, but
she might be in the same room with the Infant if she
pleased, and Brother Ignatius would then himself put any
questions she wished. She asked who its father and
mother were, and the Infant replied, k I am the child of
Jesus Christ and of the Blessed Virgin and of the holy St.
Benedict' She then asked if it liked being at Rome,
* Yes,* it said, ' I like being at Rome, for it is the city of
the holy saints and martyrs and of the blessed Apostles
Peter and Paul.' When we saw the party, they were just
come from the Pope, who told Brother Ignatius to remem-
ber that a habit could not make a monk.
"Miss Dowdeswell has been to see us. and given us a
terrible account of the misapplication of the I Ionian chari-
ties. She says the people would rather beg, or even really
die of want, than go into most of the institutions — that
the so-called soup is little more than water, and that the
inmates are really starved, besides which the dirt and
vermin are quite disgusting. The best hospital is that
of the ' Ruoni Fratelli,' where the people who obtain
entrance are kindly treated, but it is exceedingly difficult
to get admittance, and the hospital authorities will always
say it is full, scarcely ever taking in more than nine
1866] ENGLISH PLEASURES AND ROMAN TRIALS 279
patients, though there is accommodation for thirty, and
each person admitted has to pay ten scudi. At S. Michele,
which is enormously endowed, and which professes to be
free, the patient is not only compelled to have a complete
outfit of bedding and everything else she requires, but
must pay three scudi a month for her maintenance as long
as she remains, yet for this will not have what she could
procure for the same sum elsewhere."
"Feb. 15. Went with the Eyres to Benzoni's studio.
Amongst many other statues was a fine group of a vener-
able old man raising a little half-naked boy out of a gutter.
' Ecco il mio benefattore, ' said Benzoni. It was the
likeness of Conte Luigi Taddini of Crema, who first recog-
nised the genius of Benzoni when making clay images in
the puddles by the wayside, and sent him to Rome at his
own expense for education. Count Taddini died six years
after, but, in the height of his fame, Benzoni has made
this group as a voluntary thank-offering and presented it
to the family of his benefactor in Crema. He was only
twelve years old when adopted by Taddini.
" A curious instance of presentiment happened yesterday.
Some charitable ladies, especially Mrs. McClintock, 1 had
been getting up a raffle for a picture of the poor artist
Coleman, whom they believed to be starving. The tickets
cost five scudi apiece, and were drawn yesterday. Just at
the last moment Mrs. Keppel, at the Pension Anglaise,
had a presentiment that 77 would be the lucky number,
and she sent to tell Mrs. McClintock that if she could
have 77 she would take it, but if not, she would not take
any number at all. Seventy-seven happened to be Mrs.
McClintock's own number. However, she said that
rather than Mrs. Keppel should take none, she would give
it up to her and take another. Mrs. Keppel took 77 and
she got the picture."
1 Afterwards Lady Rathdonell.
2SU THE STORY OF MY LIFE [1866
"Feb. 24, 1866. The other day little Nicole Dolgorouki
came in to dinner with a pencil in his hand. The Princess
said. ' Little boys should not sit at dinner with pencils in
their hands;' upon which the child of eight years old
coolly replied, ' [/artiste ne quitte jamais son crayon.'
" When the Mother and Lea were both ill last week, our
Italian servants Clementina and (her daughter) Louisa
groaned incessantly; and when Clementina was taken ill
on the following night, Louisa gave up all hope at once,
and sent for her other children to take leave of her. This
depression of spirits has gone on ever since Christmas, and
it turns out now that they think a terrible omen has come
to the house. No omen is worse than an upset of oil, hut,
if this occurs on Christmas Eve it is absolutely fatal, and
on Christmas Eve my mother upset her little table with
the great moderator Lamp upon it. The oil was spilt all
over her gown and the lamp broken to pieces on the floor,
with great cries of k ( ) santissimo diavolo ! ' from the ser-
vants. 'Only one thing can save us now. ' says Louisa :
' if Providence would mercifully permit that some one
should break a bottle of wine here by accident, that would
bring back luck to the house, but nothing else can.'
"The Borgheses have had a magnificent fancy ball.
Young Bolognetti Cenci borrowed the armour of Julius
II. from the Pope for the occasion, and young Corsini that
of Cardinal de Bourbon. The Duchess Fiano went in the
costume of the first Empire, terribly improper in these
days, and another lady went as a nymph just emerged from
a fountain, and naturally clothed as little as possible. The
Princess Borghese 1 was dreadfully shocked, but she only
said,'Ifear, Madame, that you must lie feeling horribly cold. :
"When the French ambassador sent to the Pope to
desire that he would send away the Court of Naples,
the Pope said he must decline to give up the parental
1 Therese de la Ptochefoucauld, wife of Prince Marc-Antonio
Boi .u
1866] ENGLISH PLEASURES AND ROMAN TRIALS 281
prerogative which had always belonged to the Popes, of
giving shelter to unfortunate princes of other nations, of
whatever degree or nation they might be, and k of this, ' he
added pointedly, ' the Bonapartes are a striking example. '
The French ambassador had the bad taste to go on to the
Palazzo Farnese, and, after condoling with the King of
Naples 2 upon what he had heard of his great poverty, said,
' If your Majesty would engage at once to leave Rome, I
on my part would promise to do my best endeavours with
my Government to obtain the restoration of at least a part
of your Majesty's fortune. ' The King coldly replied, ' Sir,
I have heard that in all ages great and good men have ended
their days in obscurity and poverty, and it can be no source
of dread to me that I may be numbered amongst them. '
" The Queen-mother of Naples 2 is still very rich, but is
now a mere nurse to her large family, with some of whom
she is to be seen — ' gran bel pezzo di donna ' — driving
every day. When the King returned from Caieta, she
was still at the Quirinal, and went down to the Piazza
Monte Cavallo to receive him; but with him and the
Queen came her own eldest son, and, before noticing her
sovereign, she rushed to embrace her child, saying,
' Adesso, son pagata a tutto. '
" One sees the Queen of Naples 3 daily walking with her
sister Countess Trani 4 near the Porta Angelica, or thread-
ing the carriages in the Piazza di Spagna, where the coach-
men never take off their hats, and even crack their whips
as she passes. She wears a straw hat, a plain violet
linsey-woolsey dress, and generally leads a large deerhound
by a string. She is perfectly lovely.
"The great Mother, Maria de Matthias, 5 has lately come
1 Francesco II.
2 Marie Therese Isabelle, daughter of Archduke Charles of Austria.
3 Marie, daughter of Duke Maximilian of Bavaria.
4 Princess Mathilde of Bavaria.
5 Foundress of the Order of the Precious Blood.
282 THE STORY OF MY LIFE [18GG
down from her mountains of Acuto to visit my sister, who
has arrived in Rome, and the confessor of the Venerable
Anna Maria Taigi has also visited her. I have read the
life of this saint, and have never found out any possible
excuse lor her being canonised, unless that she married her
husband because he was a good man, though he was
' ruvido di maniere e grossolano.'
"At dinner at Mr. Brooke's, I met the quaint and
clever Mrs. Payne, Madame d'Arblay's niece. She said
that England had an honest bad climate and Rome a dis-
honest good one.
" Count Bolognetti Cenci is marvellously handsome, face
and figure alike perfect. Some people maintain that Don
Onorato Caie'tani is equally handsome. He has the ex-
traordinary plume of white hair which is hereditary in the
Caietani family. His father, the Duke of Sermoneta, said
the other day with some pardonable pride, ' Our ancestors
were reigning sovereigns (in Tuscany) long before the
Pope had any temporal power.'
"We have been to the Villa Doria to pick 'Widowed
Iris," which the Italians call fc i tre chiodi del Nostro
Signore,' — the three nails of our Saviour's cross.
"My sister declares that when Madame Barrere, late
superior of the Order of the Sacre* Coeur, was in her great
old age, a Catholic lady who was married to a Protestant
came to her and implored her to promise that, as soon as
she entered heaven, her first petition should he for her
husband that he might be a Catholic. Soon after this the
Protestant husband was taken alarmingly ill, but gave his
wife no hope that he would change his religion; yet, to
her great surprise, when he was dying he bade her send
for a priest. She considered this at first as a result of
delirium, but he insisted upon the priest coming, and,
rallying soon after, was received into the Roman Catholic
Church. In a few days came the news of the death of
Madame Barrere, and on inquiry it was found that the
1866] ENGLISH PLEASURES AND ROMAN TRIALS 283
moment of her death and that of the Protestant sending
for the priest exactly coincided."
"March 13. The Roman princes, are generally enor-
mously rich. Tortonia is said to have an income which
gives him 7000 scudi (£1200) a day. He is very chari-
table, and gives a great many pensions of a scudo a day to
poor individuals of the mezzoceto class. The Chigis used
to be immensely rich, but were ruined by old Princess
Chigi, who gambled away everything she could get hold
of. When one of her sons was to be made a Monsignore,
a collection was arranged amongst the friends of the family
to pay the expenses, but they imprudently left the rouleaux
of money on the chimney-piece, where the old Princess
spied them, and snapping them up, yioccolare-d. them all
away. The Massimi are rich, but the old Prince 1 is very
miserly. The other day he told his cook that he was
going to give a supper, but that it must not cost more
than fifteen baiocchi a head, and that he must give
minestra. The cook said it was utterly impossible, but
the Prince declared he did not care in the least about
4 possible, ' only it must be done. The supper came off,
and the guests had minestra. The next day the Prince
said to his cook, ' Well, now, you see } r ou could do it
perfectly well; what was the use of making such a fuss
about it?' The cook said ' Yes, I did it, but would you
like to know-where I got the bones from that made the
soup ? ' The Prince shrugged his shoulders and said,
' Oh no, I don't want in the least to know about that; so
long as you do your suppers for my price, you may get
your bones wherever you like.' The cook told his friends
afterwards that he got them at the Immondezzajo! '
"March Id. Last January my sister wanted to engage
a new maid. The mistress of a famous flower shop at
Paris recommended her present maid, ' Madame Victorine, '
1 Prince Camillo, who married a princess of Savoy-Carignan.
284 THE STORY OF MY LIFE [1SG6
who came to the hotel to see Esmeralda, who was delighted
with her. only thinking her too good for the place. The
new maid only made two stipulations: one was that she
should always be called Madame Victorine; the other,
thai she should not he expected to have her meals with
the other Servants. My sister said that as to the first
stipulation, there would be no difficulty at all; that she
had always called her mother's maid '.Madame Yictoire, '
and that she could have no objection to calling her Madame
Victorine; but that as to the second stipulation, though
she insisted upon nothing, and though Madame Victorine
would be perfectly free to take her food away and eat it
wherever she pleased, yet she did not advise her to make
;inv difficulty of this kind, as they were going to Italy,
where the servants have jealous natures, and would be
peculiarly liable to resent anything of the sort. Upon this
Madame Victorine waived her second stipulation.
"Esmeralda was surprised, when Madame Victorine
came to her, to find how well she had been educated, and
little traces of her having belonged to a higher position
several times appeared by accident, upon which occasions
Madame Victorine would colour deeply and try to hide
what she had said. Thus, once she was betrayed into
saving, k I managed in that way with my servants;' and
once in the railway, v I did so when I was travelling with
my son.' My sister observed not only that ail her dresses
were of the best silk though perfectly plain, but that all
her cuffs, collars, and handkerchiefs were of the very best
and finest material. But the oddest circumstance was,
that once when Esmeralda was going to seal a letter, hav-
ing no seal about her, she asked Madame Victorine if she
had one. Madame Victorine lent her one, and then,
colouring violently, as if she remembered something, tried
to snatch it away, but Esmeralda had already pressed it
down, and saw on the impression a coronet and a cipher.
When my sister first told Madame Victorine that she was
1866] ENGLISH PLEASURES AND ROMAN TRIALS 285
too good for the place, she seemed greatly agitated and
exclaimed, ' Oh don't, don't change your mind, do take
me: I will consent to do anything, only do take me.'
"One day since they have been at Palazzo Parisani,
Esmeralda was looking for something amongst her music.
' You will find it in such an opera, ' said Madame
Victorine. 'Why, do you play also?' said Esmeralda,
much surprised. ' Yes, ' said Madame Victorine, colour-
ing deeply. ' Then will you play to me ? ' said my sister.
' Oh no, no, ' said Madame Victorine, trembling all over.
' Then I hope you will play sometimes when I am out, '
said Esmeralda, and this Madame Victorine said she would
do, and it seemed to please her very much." x
"March 26. The Santa Croce are perhaps really the
oldest family in Rome. They claim descent from Valerius
Publicola, and the spirit of his life, that which charac-
terised ' the good house that loved the people well, ' still
remains in the family. The other day Donna Vincenza
Santa Croce was speaking of the Trinita de' Monti, 2 and
the system of education there, and she said, ' I do so dislike
those nuns: they are so worldly: they do so give in to
rank, for when a girl of one of the great noble houses is
there, they will make all the other girls stand up when she
comes into a room! But this, you know, is not right, for
it is only goodness and talent, not rank, that ought to
make people esteemed in the world.' And was not this
the spirit of Valerius Publicola speaking through his
descendant?"
1 The mystery of Madame Victorine was never cleared up. In the
summer of 1867 she suddenly expressed a wish to leave, though full
of gratitude and affection for my sister, and she implied that she need
no longer continue in service. Probably she has returned into the
sphere of life from which she evidently came. She called herself
Victorine Errard.
2 A celebrated convent in Rome, where the French nuns have a
school, which is very popular.
286 THE STORY OF MY LIFE [1866
"March 27. Last Sunday (Palm Sunday) was the last
day of the ' mission ' which the Pope had appointed in the
hope of warding off both the cholera and the destruction
of his own power. All the week processions had paraded
the streets and monks had preached in the piazzas, rous-
ing i li«' feelings of the people in behalf of the Holy Father,
and last Sunday it all came to a close. Giacinta, 'the
Saint of St. Peter's,' came to tell my sister about the
scene at Santo Spirito, where she was. A Passion ist
Father took a real crown of thorns and pressed it upon his
head three times, till the thorns sank deep into the flesh,
and the blood ran in streams down his face and over his
dress. The people cried and sobbed convulsively, and were
excited, to frenzy when he afterwards took a ' disciplina '
and began violently to scourge himself before all the con-
gregation. One man sobbed and screamed so violently
that he was dragged out by the carabinieri. AVhilst the
feelings of the people were thus wrought up, the father
besought and commanded them to deliver up all books
they possessed which were mentioned in the Index, tam-
bourines and things used in dancing the saltarella, and all
weapons, — and all through that afternoon they kept pour-
ing in by hundreds, men bringing their books, and women
their tambourines, and many their knives and pistols,
which were piled up into a great heap in the courtyard of
the Santo Spirito and set on fire. It was a huge bonfire,
which burnt quite late into the evening, and whilst it
burnt, more people were perpetually arriving and throwing
on their books and other things, just as in the old days of
Florence under the influence of Savonarola.
"Last Thursday at the Caravita, the doors of the church
were ' closed at one hour of the day ' (i. e., after Ave
Maria), only men being admitted, and when they were
last, scourges were distributed, the lights all put out, and
every one began to scourge both themselves and their
neighbours, any one who had ventured to remain in the
1866] ENGLISH PLEASURES AND ROMAN TRIALS 287
church without using a ' disciplina ' being the more vigor-
ously scourged by the others. At such times all is soon a
scene of the wildest confusion, and shrieks and groans are
heard on all sides. Some poor creatures try to escape by
clinging to the pillars of the galleries, others fly screaming-
through the church with their scourges pursuing them like
demons.
"They say that the reason why St. Joseph's day was so
much kept this year is that the Pope is preparing the
public mind to receive a dogma of the Immaculate Con-
ception of St. Joseph — perhaps to be promulgated next
year: St. Anne is to be reserved to another time."
"April 1, Easter Sunday. Passion Week has been very
odd and interesting, but not reverent. It was very curious
to see how — as Mrs. Goldsmid says, ' the Church always
anticipates, ' so that the Saviour, personified by the Sacra-
ment is laid in the tomb long before the hour of His death,
and Thursday, not Saturday, is the day upon which all
the faithful go about to visit the sepulchres. 1 My sister
decorated that of S. Claudio with flowers and her great
worked carpet. The Mother recalls John Bunyan's con-
fession of faith —
'Blest cross, blest sepulchre, — blest rather He,
The Man that there was put to shame for me.'
"We went to the Benediction in the Piazza S. Pietro —
a glorious blue sky and burning sunshine, and the vast
crowd making the whole scene very grand, especially at
the moment when the Pope stretched out his arms, and,
hovering over the crimson balcony like a great white
albatross, gave his blessing to all the world. Surely noth-
ing is finer than that wonderful voice of Pius IX., which,
without ever losing its tone of indescribable solemnity,
1 Because it was on the day before the Crucifixion that Our Lord
said "This is my body," &c.
288 THE STORY OF MY LIFE [1800
yet vibrates to the farthest corners of the immense
piazza.
''Afterwards we went to S. Andrea della Valle to see
the ' sepolcro; ' but Ear more worth seeing was a single ray
of lighl streaming in through a narrow slit in one of the
dark blinds, and making a glistening pool of gold upon
the Mack pavement.
"On (iood Friday, after the English service, we went
to Santo Spirito in Borgo, where, after waiting an hour
and a half, seeing nothing but the curiously ragged con-
gregation, we found that the ' Tre Ore,' was to be
pleached in broad Trasteverino, of which we could not
understand a word. We went into St. Peter's, which was
in a state of widowhood, no bells, no clock, no holy
water, no ornaments on any of the altars, no lamps burn-
ing at the shrine, and all because the Sacrament was no
longer present. We went again in the afternoon, when
the whole building was thickly crowded from end to end.
I stood upon the ledge of one of the pillars and watched
two graceful ladies and a gentlemanly-looking man in
black buffeted in the crowd below me: they were the King
and Queen of Naples and the Countess Trani. Some
zealous Bourbonists kissed their hands at risk of being
trampled on.
"To-day St. Peter's and all the other churches have
come to life again: the Sacrament has been restored: the
hells have runs:: and lire and water have been re-blessed
for the year to come. All private Catholic houses too
have had their blessings. A priest and a boy surprised
Lea by coming in here and blessing everything, and she
found them asperging the Mother's bed with holy water,
all at the desire of our fellow-lodger, Mr. Monteith of
Carstairs, whom Louisa described as dropping gold pieces
into their water-vessel. At Palazzo Parisani, as well as
below us, a ' colazione ' was set out, with a great cake,
eggs, &c, and after being blessed was given away.
1866] ENGLISH PLEASURES AND ROMAN TRIALS 289
"Antonelli has just been made a priest," in the vague
idea, I suppose, that it might some day be convenient to
raise him to the papacy.
" Mr. Perry Williams, the artist, thought the old woman
who cleans out his studio looked dreadfully ill the other
day, and said, ' You look very bad, what on earth is the
matter with you ? ' — ' Cosa vuole, Signore ? — ho avuto una
digestione tutta la notte. ' ' :
"AprilS. This morning poor little Miss Joyce lay in
a chapelle ardente at S. Andrea delle Fratte, and all the
English Catholics, with the Borgheses and Dorias, who
were her cousins, attended the requiem mass. She was
only alarmingly ill for thirty- six hours, of brain fever,
caused by a dose of twenty-five grains of quinine after
typhus, which she had brought back from Naples. She
had been the gayest of the gay all the season, and a week
ago was acting in tableaux and singing at Mrs. Cholmon
deley's party. It is said that at least one young lady is
killed every year by being taken to Naples when she is
overdone by the balls and excitement here.
" My sister gave a small party yesterday evening. The
Duke and Duchess Sora were there. The Duchess has a
wonderfully charming expression. K. , a young Tractarian,
was introduced to her. She said afterwards, ' J'ai pense"
longtemps qu'il dtait catholique, et puis j'ai tourne*, j'ai
tourne 1 , j'ai tournd, et voila qu'il e'tait protestant! '
"April 8. On Thursday, at the Monteiths', I met
Lady Herries, Mrs. Montgomery, my sister, and many
other Catholics. They were all assembled before dinner
to receive Cardinal de Reisach, a very striking-looking old
man, whose white hair and brilliant scarlet robes made a
splendid effect of colour.
"On Friday, at 2 p. m., I joined the Feildens to go to
the Palazzo Farnese. Mrs. F. wore a high grey dress
VOL. II. — 19
290 THE STORY OF MY LIFE [I860
without a bonnet: little Helen was in black velvet, with
all her pretty hair flowing over her shoulders; Mr.
Robartes, Mr. Feilden, and I wore evening dress. The
whole way in the carriage my companions declared they
felt more terrified than if they were going to a dentist, as
had as if they were going to have their legs taken off.
We drove into the courtyard of the Farnese and to the foot
of the staircase. Several other people were just coming
down. We were shown through one long gallery after
another to a small salon furnished with green, where the
Duca della Regina and an old lady received us. Soon
the door was opened at the side, and in very distinct tones
the Duke mentioned our names. Just within the door
stood Francis II. He looked grave and sad, and his fore-
head seemed to work convulsively at moments; still I
thought him handsome. The Queen sat on a sofa at the
other side of the room. She was in a plain black mourn-
ing dress with some black lace in her hair (for Queen
Marie Amelie, her husband's aunt). The room was a
boudoir, hung round with family portraits. There was a.
beautiful miniature of the Queen on the table near which
I sat.
■"I went up at once to the King and made as if I would
kiss his hand, but he shook mine warmly and made me sit
in an arm-chair between him and the Queen. Mrs. Feilden
in the meantime had gone direct to the Queen, who seated
her by her side upon the sofa, and taking little Helen on
her lap, kissed her tenderly, and said she remembered her,
having often seen her before. I said, ' Ce petit enfant a
taut de denouement pour sa Majeste" la Heine, qu'elle va
tous les jours a la Place d'Espagne seulement pour avoir
le bonheur de voir sa Majeste* quand elle passe.' The
Queen's eyes filled with tears, and she hid her face in
Helen's hair, which she kissed and stroked, saying 'Oh
mon cher enfant, mon cher petit enfant ! '
"The King then said something about the great rains
1866] ENGLISH PLEASURES AND ROMAN TRIALS 291
we had suffered. I mentioned the prophecy if it rained
on the 4th April —
' Quattro di brillante,
Quaranta di durante,'
and the King said that in Naples there was a superstition
of the same kind as that of our St. S within in England.
" As another set of people came in, we rose to go, kiss-
ing the Queen's hand, except Helen, who kissed her face.
The King l shook hands and walked with us to the door,
expressing a wish that we should return to Rome; and
replying, when I said how much my mother benefited by
the climate here, that Madame my mother ought always
to make the most of whatever climate suited her health
and remain in it. In the anteroom the Duca della Regina
and the old lady were waiting to see Helen again.
" To-day Mrs. Ramsay asked me the difference between
the Italian words mezzo-caldo and semi-freddo. One would
think they were the same, but mezzo-caldo is hot punch
and semi-freddo is cold cream!"
I have put in these extracts from my journal, as
they describe a state of things at Rome which seemed
then as if it would last for ever, but which is utterly
swept away now and rapidly passing into oblivion.
The English society was as frivolous then as it is
now, but much more primitive. It w T as the custom
in those days, when any one gave a larger party
than usual, to ask Mrs. Miller, a respectable old
Anglo-German baker who lived in the Via della
Croce, to make tea and manage the refreshments,
and one knew whether the party that one was
invited to was going to be a large or small one by
1 King Francesco II., died December 1S94.
'2\)'l
THE STORY OF MY LIFE
[18G6
looking to sec if there was " To meet Mrs. Miller"
in the corner.
Our davs were for the most pari spent in drawing,
and many were the delightful hours we passed in the
CONTADINA, VALLEY OF THE SACCO. 1
Villa Negroni, which has now entirely disappeared,
in spite of its endless historic associations, or in the
desolate and beautiful vigne of the Esquiline, which
have also been destroyed since the Sardinian occupa-
tion of Rome. Indeed, those who visit Rome now
1 From "Days near Rome."
1866] ENGLISH PLEASURES AND ROMAN TRIALS 293
that it is a very squalid modern city, can have no
idea of the wealth and glory of picturesqueness
which adorned its every corner before 1870, or of
how romantic were the passing figures — the crim-
son Cardinals; the venerable generals of religious
orders with their flowing white beards ; the endless
monks and nuns ; the pifferari with their pipes ; the
peasant women from Cori and Arpino and Subiaco,
THE BRIDGE OF AUGUSTUS, NARNI. 1
with their great gold earrings, coral necklaces, and
snowy head-dresses ; the contadini in their sheep-
skins and goat-skins ; the handsome stalwart Guardia
Nobile in splendid tight-fitting uniforms ; and above
all, the grand figure and beneficent face of Pius IX.
so frequently passing, seated in his glass coach, in
his snow-white robes, with the stoic self-estimation
of the Popes, but with his own kindly smile and his
fingers constantly raised in benediction.
The heat was very great before we left Rome in
1 From " Days near Rome."
294
THE STORY OF MY LIFE
[1866
April. We went first to Narni, where we stayed
several days in a very primitive Lodging, with the
smallest possible amount of furniture, and nothing
to eat except cold goat and rosemary, 1ml in u glori-
ous situation on the terrace which overlooks the deep
Till: MEDIAEVAL BHIIXJE, NARNI. 1
rift of the Nar, clothed everywhere with ilex, box,
and arbutus ; and we spent long hours drawing the
two grand old bridges — Roman and Mediaeval —
which stride across the river, even Lea being stimu-
lated by the intense beauty to a trial of her artistic
powers, and making a very creditable performance of
the two grand cypresses on the slope of the hill, which
have disappeared under the Sardinian rule.
We spent a happy day at Spoleto, with its splendid
ilex woods. Here my friends Kilcoursie 2 and Pear-
son joined us, and I went with them to spend the
1 From •• I >ays aear Rome."
'-' Frederick, Viscount Kilcoursie, son of the 8th Kail of Cavan.
1866] ENGLISH PLEASURES AND ROMAN TRIALS 295
morning at the Temple of the Clitumnus, and re-
turned just too late for the train we had intended to
leave by. It is very characteristic of the slowness of
those early days of Italian railways, that though we
did not order our carriage till some time after the
train was gone, we reached Perugia by road, in spite
of the steep hill to be climbed, before the train which
we were to have taken arrived on the railway. This
evening's drive (April 23) is one of the Italian jour-
neys I look back upon with greatest pleasure, the
going onwards through the rich plain of vines and
almonds and olives, and all the blaze of spring tulips
and gladioli, and the stopping to buy the splendid
oranges from the piles which lay in the little market
under the old cathedral of Foligno ; then seeing the
sky turn opal behind the hills, and deepen in colour
through a conflagration of amber, and orange, and
crimson, of which the luminousness was never lost,
though everything else disappeared into one dense
shadow, and the great cypresses on the mountain
edges were only dark spires engraven upon the sky.
How many such evenings have we spent, ever mov-
ing onwards at that stately smooth vetturino pace —
and silent, Mother absorbed in her heavenly, I in my
earthly contemplations ; dear Lea, tired by her long
day j often sleeping opposite to us against the hand-
bags.
We spent several days in Florence in 1866, when
the streets were already placarded with such adver-
tisements as ' Le Menzogne cli Genese, o 1' Impostatura
di Mose ' — typical of the change of Government. I
paid several visits to the Comtesse d'Usedom (the
li'JG
THE STORY OF MY LIFE
[1866
Olyinpia Malcolm of my childhood), who was more
extraordinary than ever. When I went to luncheon
with her in the Villa Capponi, she talked incessantly
for three hours, chiefly of spirits.
-
VIEW FROM THE UOBOLI GARDENS, FLORENCE. 1
"I believe in them," she said, "of course I do. Why,
haven't I heard them?" (with a perfect yell). "Why,
I've seen a child whom Ave knew most intimately who
was perfectly possessed by spirits -- evil spirits, I mean.
There is nothing efficacious against that kind but prayer
and the crucifix. Why, the poor little thing used to
struggle for hours. It used to describe the devils it saw.
They were of different hinds. Sometimes it would say,
' Oli, it's only one of the innocent blackies,' and then it
would shriek when it thought it saw a red devil come. It
1 From '• Florence."
1866] ENGLISH PLEASURES AND ROMAN TRIALS 297
was the red devils that did all the mischief. All the best
physicians were called in, but they all said the case was
quite beyond them. The possession sometimes came on
twice in a day. It would end by the child gasping a great
sigh, as if at that moment the evil spirit went out of it,
and then quite calmly it would open its eyes, wonder
where it was, and remember nothing of what had hap-
pened. The doctors urged that the child should not be
kept quiet, but taken abroad and amused, and mama
writes me word now that it is quite well.
" I never saw the ghosts at Rugen," said Madame von
Usedom, "but there is one of Usedom's houses there
which I have refused ever to go to again, for I have heard
them there often. The lady in the room with me saw
them too — she saw three white sisters pulling her husband
out of his grave.
"We have an old lady in our family, a relation of
Usedom's, who has that wonderful power of second-sight.
. . . When we left you at Bamberg (in 1853), we went
to Berlin, and there we saw Usedom's relation, who told
me that I was going to have a son. She ' saw it, ' she
said. Saw it ! why, she saw it as plain as daylight : I
was going to have a son: Usedom's first wife had brought
him none, and I was going to give him one.
" When I left Berlin, we went to Rugen, but I was to
return to Berlin, where my son was to be born. Well,
about three weeks before my confinement Avas expected,
the old lady sent for a relation of Usedom's, who was in
Berlin, and said, ' Have you heard anything of Olympia ? '
— 'Yes,' he said, ' I heard from Usedom yesterday, and
she is going on as well as possible, and will be here in a
few days. ' — ' No, ' said the old lady, ' she will not, for the
child is dead. Yesterday, as I was sitting here, three
angels passed through my room -with a little child in their
arms, and the face of the child was so exactly like Usedom's
that I know that the child is born and that it is in heaven.'
298 THE STORY OF MY LIFE [1SGG
And 80 it was. I had a bad fall in Rugen, which we
thought no thin g of at the time. I had so much strength
and courage that it did not seem to affect me; but a week
after my boy was born — dead — killed by that tall, and the
image, oh! the very image of Usedom."
From Florence we went to Bellagio on the Lago
di Como, and spent a week of glorious weather amid
beautiful flowers with nightingales singing in the
trees all clay and night. Many of our Roman friends
joined ns, and we passed pleasant days together in
the garden walks and in short excursions to the
neighbouring villas. When we left Bellagio, the two
Misses Hawker, often our companions in Rome,
accompanied us. We ascended the Splngen from
Chiavenna in pitch darkness, till, about 4 A.M., the
diligence entered upon the snow cuttings, and we
proceeded for some time between walls of snow, often
fifteen feet high. At last we stopped altogether, and
in a spot where there was no refuge whatever from
the ferocious ice-laden wind. Meantime sledges were
prepared, being small open carts without wheels,
which just held two persons each: my mother and
I were in the second, Lea and an Italian in the third,
and the Hawkers in the fourth: we had no man
with our sledge. The sledges started in procession,
the horses stumbling over the ledges in the snow,
from which we bounded up and down. At last the
path began to wind along the edge of a terrific
precipice, where nothing but a slight edging of fresh
snow separated one from the abyss. Where this
narrow path turned it was truly horrible. Then
came a tunnel festooned with long icicles; then a
1866] ENGLISH PLEASURES AND ROMAN TRIALS 299
fearful descent clown a snow-drift almost perpendicu-
larly over the side of the mountain, the horses sliding
on all fours, and the sledges crashing and bounding
from one hard piece of snow to another ; all this
while the wind blew furiously, and the other sledges
behind seemed constantly coming upon us. Certainly
I never remember anything more appalling. At the
HOLMHURST, FROM THE GARDEN.
bottom of the drift was another diligence, but the
Hawkers and I walked on to Splugen.
We spent an interesting afternoon at Brugg, and
drew at Konigsfelden, where the Emperor Albert's
tomb is left deserted and neglected in a stable, and
Queen Agnes's room remains highly picturesque, with
many relics of her. In the evening we had a lovely
walk through the forest to Hapsburg, where we saw
a splendid sunset from the hill of the old castle.
300 THE STORY OF MY LIFE [1866
With a glimpse at Freiburg-im-Breisgau, we reached
Carlsruhe, with which we were very agreeably sur-
prised. The Sehloss Garten is really pretty, with
line trees and fountains: the town is bright and
clean ; and all around is the forest with its endless
pleasant paths. We found dear Madame de Bunsen
established with her daughters Frances and Emilia in
a nice old-fashioned house, 18 Waldhornstrasse, with
all their pictures and treasures around them, the fine
bust of Mrs. Waddington in itself giving the room a
character. Circling round the aunts were Theodora
von Unuern Sternberg's five motherless children, a
perpetual life-giving influence to the home. We
went with them into the forest and to the faisanerie,
and picked masses of wild lilies of the valley. In
the palace gardens we saw the Grand Duke and
Grand Duchess, a very handsome couple : she the
only daughter of the King of Prussia. At the station
also I saw again, and for the last time, the very
pleasing Queen Emma of the Sandwich Islands, and
presented the Bunsens to her. 1 On the eve of Trinity
Sunday we reached home.
From my Journal.
" July 30, 18GG. — Holmh u rst. Another happy summer !
How different my grown-up-hood has been to my boyhood :
now all sunshine, then all reproach and misery. How
strange it is that my dearest mother remembers nothing of
those days, nothing of those years of bitter heartache which
my uncles' wives cost me. But her present love, her
beautiful full heart devotion, are all free-will offering, not
1 Queen Emma died in 1S85.
' -
1866] ENGLISH PLEASURES AND ROMAN TRIALS 301
sacrifice of atonement. Our little Holmhurst is most
lovely and peaceful."
In August we spent a fortnight at the Deanery at
Westminster with Arthur and Augusta Stanley, the
latter ftt les clelices of all who came under her influ-
ence, and both were most kind in asking every one to
meet us that they thought we could be interested to
see. To me, however, no one was ever half so inter-
esting as Arthur himself, and his conversation at
these small Deanery dinner-parties was most delight-
ful, though, as I have heard another say, and perhaps
justly, " it was always versatile rather than accurate,
brilliant rather than profound." From London we
went to look after our humble friends at Alton,
where all the villagers welcomed my mother with a
most touching wealth of evergreen love, and where
forty old people came to supper by her invitation in
the barn. The owls hissed overhead in the oak
rafters ; the feast was lighted by candles stuck into
empty ginger-beer bottles, and in quavering voices
they all drank the mother's health. She made them
a sweet little speech, praying that all those who were
there might meet with her at the great supper of the
Lamb. I had much interest at Alton in finding out
those particulars which form the account of the place
in " Memorials of a Quiet Life." The interest of the
people, utterly unspoilt by " civilisation," can hardly
be described, or the simplicity of their faith. Speak-
ing of her long troubles and illness, " Betty Smith "
said, " I ha' been sorely tried, but it be a' to help I
on to thick there place." William Pontyn said, " It
:;o:>
THE STORY OF MY LIFE
[1866
just be a comfort to I to know that God Almighty's
always at whom: He never goes out on a visit."
Their use of line words is very comical. Old Pontyn
said, •• My son-in-law need na treat 1 ill, for I niver
gied mi no publication for it." lie thanked mother
for her '' resjDectable gift," and said, "I do thank
ALTON BARNES CHURCH.
Gocl ivery morning and ivery night, that I do ; and
thank an as I may, I niver can thank nn enough,
He be so awful «;ood to I." He said the noise the
threshing-machine made when out of order was "fierly
ridic'lous," and that he was "fierly gallered (fright-
ened) at it " — that he was " obliged to flagellate the
ducks to get them out of the pond."
I drove with Mr. Pile to see the remains of Wolf
1866] ENGLISH PLEASURES AND ROMAN TRIALS 303
Hall, on the edge of Savernake Forest, where Henry
VIII. married Jane Seymour. The house, once of
immense size, is nearly destroyed. The roof of the
banqueting-hall is now the roof of a barn. The
beautiful fragment of building remaining was once
the laundry. Hard by, at Burbage, is " Jane Sey-
mour's Pool."
After leaving Alton, as if making the round of
my mother's old homes, we went to Buntingsdale,
Hoclnet, and Stoke. While at the former, I remem-
ber the Tayleurs being full of the promptitude of old
Mrs. Massie (whose son Edward married our cousin
Sophy Mytton). When above ninety she had been
taken to see the church of Northwich, where some
one pointed out to her a gravestone with the
epitaph —
" Some have children, and some have none ;
Here lies the mother of twenty-one."
Old Mrs. Massie drew herself up to her full height
and at once made this impromptu —
" Some have many, and some have few ;
Here stands the mother of twenty-two."
And what she said was true.
My mother turned south from Shropshire, and I
went to Lyme, near Disley, the fine old house of the
Leghs, whose then head, W. T. Legh, had married
Emily Wodehouse, one of the earliest friends of my
childhood. It is a most stately old house, standing
high in a very wild park, one of the only three
places where wild cattle are not extinct. The story
of the place is curious.
304 THE STORY OF MY LIFE [1866
"Old Colonel Legh of Lyme left his property iirst to
his son Tom, but though Tom Legh was twice married,
he had no sons, so it came to the father of the present
possessor. Tom's first wife had been the celebrated Miss
Turner. Her father was a Manchester manufacturer, who
had bought the property of Shrigley, near Lyme, of which
his only daughter was the heiress. She was carried off
from school by a conspiracy between three brothers named
Gibbon Wakefield and a .Miss Davis, daughter of a very
respectable master of the Grammar School at Macclesfield.
While at school, Miss Turner received a letter from home
which mentioned casually that her family had changed
their butler. Two days after, a person purporting to be
the new butler came to the school, and sent in a letter to
sav that Mr. Turner was dangerously ill, and that he was
sent to fetch his daughter, who was to return home at
once. In the greatest hurry, Miss Turner was got ready
and sent off. When they had gone some way, the carriage
Stopped, and a young man got in, who said that he had
been sent to break to her the news that her father's illness
was a fiction; that they did not wish to spread the truth
by letting the governess know, but that the fact was that
Mr. Turner had got into some terrible money difficulties
and was completely ruined, and he begged that his daughter
would proceed at once to meet him in Scotland, whither
lie was obliged to go to evade his creditors. During the
journey the young man who was sent to chaperon Miss
Turner made himself most agreeable. At last they reached
Berwick, and then at the inn, going out of the room, he
returned with a letter and said that he was almost afraid
to tell her its contents, hut that it was sent by her father's
command, and that he only implored her to forgive him
for obeying her father's orders. It was a most urgent
letter from her father, saying that it rested with her to
extricate him from his difficulties, which she could do by
consenting to marry the bearer. The man was handsome
1866] ENGLISH PLEASURES AND ROMAN TRIALS 305
and pleasant, and the marriage seemed no great trial to
the girl, who was under fifteen. Immediately after mar-
riage she was taken to Paris.
"Meantime all the gentlemen in the county rallied
round Mr. Turner, and he contrived somehow to get his
daughter away whilst she was in Paris. Suspicion had
been first excited in the mind of the governess because
letters for Miss Turner continued to arrive at the school
from Shrigley, and she gave the alarm. There was a
great trial, at which all the gentlemen in Cheshire accom-
panied Mr. Turner when he appeared leading his daughter.
The marriage was pronounced null and void, and one of
the Gibbon Wakefields was imprisoned at Lancaster for
five years, the others for two. It was the utmost punish-
ment that could be given for misdemeanour, and nothing
more could be proved. The Gibbon Wakefields had
thought that, rather than expose his daughter to three
days in a witness box, Mr. Turner would consent to a
regular marriage, and they had relied upon that. Miss
Turner was afterwards married to Mr. Legh, in the hope
of uniting two fine properties, but as she had no son,
her daughter, Mrs. Lowther, is now the mistress of
Shrigley."
To my Mother.
"Lyme Rail, August 29, 1866. I have been with Mrs.
Legh to Bramhall, the fine old house of the Davenports,
near Stockport, with the haunted room of Lady Dorothy
Davenport and no end of relics. Out of the billiard-room
opens the parish church, in the same style as the house,
with prayer-books chained to the seats. We returned by
Marple, the wonderfully curious old house of Bradshaw
the regicide."
" Sept. 1. To-day we had a charming drive over the hills,
the green glens of pasture-land, the steeps, and the toss-
* vol. ii. — 20
306 HIE STORY OF MY LIFE [1806
in"- burns recalling those of Westmoreland. I went with
Mrs. Leeh into one of tin- cottages and admired the blue
w;isli of the loom, 'Oh, you like it, do ye?" said the
mistress of the house; ' I don't — so that's difference of
opinions.' The whole ceiling was hung with different
kinds of herbs, ' for we're our own doctors, ye sec, and it
sa\cs the physic bills.'
"The four children- Sybil and M oh (Mabel), Tom and
Gilbert Legh, are delightful, and Sybil quite lovely. It
is a pleasure to hear the little feet come scampering down
the oak staircase, as the four rush down to the library to
ask for a story at seven o'clock - ' A nice horrible story,
all about robbers and murders: now do tell us a really
horrible one.' '
" Thornycroft Hall, Cheshire, Sept. 3. The family here
are much depressed by the reappearance of the cattle
plague. In the last attack sixty-eight cows died, and so
rapidly that men had to be up all night burying them by
lantern-light in one great grave in the park. . . . How
curious the remains of French expressions are as used by
the cottagers here. They speak of carafes of water, and
say they should not oss (oser) to do a thing. The other day
one of the Birtles tenants was 1 icing examined as a witness
at the Manchester assizes. l You told me so and so.
didn't you?' said the lawyer. And the man replied, ' I
tell't ye nowt o' the kind, ye powther-headed monkey-
ask the coompany now if I did.'
From Thornycroft I went to stay (only three miles
off) at Birtles, the charming, comfortable home of the
Hibberts — very old friends of all our family. Mrs.
Hibbert, nee Caroline Cholmondeley, was very inti-
mate with my aunt Mrs. Stanley, and a most inter-
esting and agreeable person ; and I always found a
1866] ENGLISH PLEASURES AND ROMAN TRIALS 307
visit to Birtles a most admirable discipline, as my
great ignorance was so much discovered and com-
mented upon, that it was always a stimulus to
further exertion. It was on this occasion that Mrs.
Hibbert told me a very remarkable story. It had
been told her by Mrs. Gaskell the authoress, who
said that she felt so greatly the uncertainty of life,
that she wished a story which might possibly be of
consequence, and which had been intrusted to her, to
remain with some one who was certain to record it
accurately. Three weeks afterwards, sitting by the
fire with her daughter, Mrs. Gaskell died suddenly in
her arm-chair. Mrs. Hibbert, in her turn, wished to
share her trust with some one, and she selected me.
In my childhood I remember well the Misses T., who
were great friends of my aunt Mrs. Stanley, and very
clever agreeable old ladies. "Many years before," as
Mrs. Gaskell described to Mrs. Hibbert, "they had had
the care of a young cousin, a girl whose beauty and clever-
ness were a great delight to them. But when she was
very young, indeed in the first year of her ' coming out, '
she engaged herself to marry a Major Alcock. In a
worldly point of view the marriage was all that could be
desired. Major Alcock was a man of fortune with a fine
place in Leicestershire: he was a good man, of high
character, and likely to make an excellent husband. Still
it was a disappointment — an almost unspoken disappoint-
ment — to her friends that the young lady should marry
so soon — ' she was so young, ' they thought; 'she had had
so few opportunities of judging persons ; they had looked
forward to having her so much longer with them, ' &c.
" When Mrs. Alcock went to her new home in Leicester-
shire, it was a great comfort to the Misses T. and others
308 THE STORY OF MY LIFE [1866
who cared for her that some old friends of the family
would be her nearest neighbours, and could keep them
cognisant of how she was going on. For some time the
letters of these friends described Mrs. Alcock as radiantly,
perfectly happy. Mrs. Aleock's own letters also gave
glowing descriptions of her home, of the kindness of her
husband, of her own perfect felicity. But after a time a
change came over the letters on both sides. The neigh-
bours described Mrs. Alcock as sad and pale, and con-
stantly silent and preoccupied, and in the letters of Mrs.
Alcock herself there was a reserve and want of all her
former cheerfulness, which aroused great uneasiness.
"The Misses T. went to sec Mrs. Alcock, and found
her terribly, awfully changed — haggard, worn, preoccu-
pied, with an expression of fixed melancholy in her eye.--.
Both to them and to the doctors who were called in to her
she said that the cause of her suffering was that, waking
or sleeping, she seemed to see he fore her a face, the face
of a man whom she exactly described, and that she was
sure that some dreadful misfortune was about to befall her
from the owner of that face. Waking, she seemed to see
it, or, if she fell asleep, she dreamt of it. The doctors
said that it was a case of what is known as phantasmagoria ;
that the fact was that in her unmarried state Mrs. Alcock
had not only had every indulgence and consideration, but
that even the ordinary rubs of practical life had been
warded off from her; and that having been suddenly trans-
planted into being the head of a large establishment in
Leicestershire, with quantities of visitors coming and going
throughout the hunting season, had been too much for a
very peculiar and nervous temperament, and that over-
fatigue and unwonted excitement had settled into this
peculiar form of delusion. She must have perfect rest,
they said, and her mind would soon recover its usual
tone.
'This was acted upon. The house in Leicestershire
1866] ENGLISH PLEASURES AND ROMAN TRIALS 309
was shut up, and Major and Mrs. Alcock went abroad for
the summer. The remedy completely answered. Mrs.
Alcock forgot all about the face, slept well, enjoyed her-
self extremely and became perfectly healthy in body and
mind. So well was she, that it was thought a pity to run
the risk of bringing her back to Leicestershire just before
the hunting season, the busiest time there, and it was
decided to establish her cure by taking her to pass the
winter at Rome.
" One of the oldest established hotels in Rome is the
Hotel d'Angleterre in the Bocca di Leone. It was to it
that travellers generally went first when they arrived at
Rome in the old vetturino da}*s ; and there, by the fountain
near the hotel door which plays into a sarcophagus under
the shadow of two old pepper-trees, idle contadini used to
collect in old days to see the foreigners arrive. So I
remember it in the happy old daj^s, and so it was on the
evening on which the heavily laden carriage of the Alcock
family rolled into the Bocca di Leone and stopped at the
door of the Hotel d'Angleterre. Major Alcock got out,
and Mrs. Alcock got out, but, as she was descending the
steps of the carriage, she happened to glance round at the
group under the pepper-trees, and she uttered a piercing
shriek, fell down upon the ground, and was carried uncon-
scious into the hotel.
" When Mrs. Alcock came to herself, she affirmed that
amongst the group near the door of the hotel she had
recognised the owner of the face which had so long tor-
mented her, and she was certain that some dreadful mis-
fortune was about to overwhelm her. Doctors, summoned
in haste, when informed of her previous condition, declared
that the same results were owing to the same causes.
Major Alcock, who disliked bad hotels, had insisted on
posting straight through to Rome from Perugia ; there had
been difficulties about horses, altercations with the post-
boys — in fact,- ' the delusion of Mrs. Alcock was owing,
310 THE STORY OF MY LIFE [1868
as before, to over-fatigue and excitement: she must have
perfect rest, and she would soon recover.'
"So it proved. Quirt and rest soon restored Mrs.
Alcoek, and she was soon able to enjoy going about quietly
and entering into the interests of Rome. It was decided
thai she should he saved all possible fatigue, even the
slight one of Roman housekeeping: so the family remained
at the Hotel d'Angleterre. Towards January, however,
Mrs. Alcoek was so well that they sent out some of the
numerous letters of introduction which they had brought
with them, and, in answer to these, many of the Romans
came to call. One day a Roman Marchese was shown
upstairs to the Alcocks' room, and another gentleman
went up with him. The Marchese thought, 'Another
visitor come to call at the same time as myself,' the
waiter, having only one name given him, thought, ' The
Marchese and his hrother, or the Marchese and a friend,'
and they were shown in together. As they entered the
room, Mrs. Alcoek was sitting on the other side of the
lire; she jumped up, looked suddenly behind the Marchese
at his companion, again uttered a fearful scream, and
again fell down insensible. Both gentlemen hacked out of
the room, and the Marchese said in a well-bred wa\ that
as the Signora was suddenly taken ill, lie should hope for
another opportunity of seeing her. The other gentleman
went out at the same time.
"Again medical assistance was summoned, and again
the same cause was ascrihed to Mrs. Alcock's illness: this
time she was said to he over-fatigued by sight-seeing.
Again quiet and rest seemed to restore her.
"It was the spring of 1848 — the year of the Louis
Philippe revolution. Major Alcoek had a younger sister
to whom he was sole guardian, and who was at school in
Paris, and he told his wife that, in the troubled state of
political affairs, he could not reconcile it to his conscience
to leave her there unprotected; he must go and take her
1866] ENGLISH PLEASURES AND ROMAN TRIALS 311
away. Mrs. Alcock begged that, if he went, she might
go with him, but naturally he said that was impossible —
there might be bloodshed going on — there might be barri-
cades to get over — there might be endless difficulties in
getting out of Paris; at any rate, there would be a hurried
and exciting journey, which would be sure to bring back
her malady: no, she had friends at Rome, — she must
stay quietly there at the hotel till he came back. Mrs.
Alcock, with the greatest excitement, entreated, implored
her husband upon her knees that she might go with him ; but
Major Alcock thought this very excitement was the more
reason for leaving her behind, and he went without her.
" As all know, the Louis Philippe revolution was a very
slight affair. The English had no difficulty in getting out
of Paris, and in a fortnight Major Alcock was back in
Rome, bringing his sister with him. When he arrived,
Mrs. Alcock was gone. She was never, never heard of
again. There was no trace of her whatever. All that
ever was known of Mrs. Alcock was that, on the day of
her disappearance, some people who knew her were walk-
ing in front of S. John Late ran, and saw a carriage driv-
ing very rapidly towards the Porta S. Giovanni Laterano,
and in it sat Mrs. Alcock crying and wringing her hands
as if her heart would break, and by her side there sat a
strange man, with the face she had so often described."
I have my own theories as to the explanation of
this strange story of Mrs. Alcock, but as they are
evolved entirely from my own imagination, I will
not mention them here.
From Cheshire I went to North Wales to pay a
visit to our cousinhood at Bodryddan, which had
been the home of my grandmother's only brother,
the Dean of St. Asaph. The place has been spoilt
since, but was very charming in those days. Under
312
THE STORY OF MY LIFE
[I860
an old clock-tower one entered upon a handsome
drive with an avenue of fine elms, on the right of
which a lawn, with magnificent firs, oaks, and cedars,
swept away to the hills. At the end rose the stately
old red brick house, half covered with magnolias.
V- .,..
BODR1 IH)AN.
myrtles, and buddlea, with blazing beds of scarlet and
yellow flowers lighting up its base. Through an oak
hall hung with armour a fine staircase led to the library
— an immense room with two deep recesses, entirely
furnished with black oak from Copenhagen, and
adorned with valuable enamels collected at Lisbon.
The place had belonged to the Conwys, and that
family ended in three sisters, Lady Stapleton, Mrs.
Cotton, and Mrs. Yonge : they had equal shares.
Mrs. Cotton bought up Lady Stapleton' s share, and
left it with her own to the two daughters of her
sister Mrs. Yonge, of whom the elder married my
1866] ENGLISH PLEASURES AND ROMAN TRIALS 313
great-uncle, Dean Shipley, and was the mother of
William and Charles Shipley and of the three female
first cousins (Penelope, Mrs. Pelham Warren ; Emily,
Mrs. Heber; and Anna Maria, Mrs. Dash wood) who
played so large a part in the early history of my
father and his brothers, and who are frequently
mentioned in the first volume of these memoirs.
When Dean Shipley married, he removed to his
wife's house of Bodryddan. Miss Yonge lived with
them, and after her sister's death the Dean was
most anxious to marry her, trying to obtain an Act
of Parliament for the purpose. For some years their
aunt, Lady Stapleton, also continued to hold a life-
interest in the property. Of this lady there is a
curious portrait at Bodryddan. She is represented
with her two children and a little Moor, for whom
her own little boy had conceived the most passionate
attachment, and from whom he could never bear to
be separated. One night, after this little Moor was
grown up, Lady Stapleton, returning very late from
a ball, went to bed, leaving all her diamonds lying
upon the table. Being awakened by a noise in the
room, she saw the Moor come in with a large knife
in his hand, and begin gathering up her jewels.
Never losing her presence of mind, she raised herself
up in bed, and, fixing her eyes upon him, exclaimed
in a thrilling tone of reproach, " Pompey, is that
you ? " This she did three times, and the third time
the Moor, covering his face with his hands, rushed
out of the room. Nothing was heard of him till
many years afterwards, when the chaplain of a
Devonshire gaol wrote to Lady Stapleton that one
314 THE STORY OF MY LIFE [1866
of bis prisoners, under sentence of death for murder,
was most anxious to sec her. She was unable to so,
but heard afterwards that it was Pompey, who
said that on the night be entered her room lie had
intended to kill her. hut that when she spoke, such
a sense of his ingratitude overwhelmed him. that he
was unable to do it.
As an ecclesiastical dignitary, Dean Shipley would
certainly be called to account in our days. He was
devoted to hunting and shooting, and used to go up
for weeks together to a little public-house in the hills
above Bodryddan, where he gave himself up entirely
to the society of his horses and dogs. He had led
a very fast life before he took orders, and he had
a natural daughter by a Mrs. Hamilton, who became
the second wife of our grandfather ; but after his
ordination there was no further stain upon his char-
acter. As a father he was exceedingly severe. He
never permitted his daughters to sit down in his
presence, and he never allowed two of them to be in
the room with him at once, because he could not
endure the additional talking caused by their speak-
ing to one another. His daughter Anna Maria had
become engaged to Captain Dashwood, a very hand-
some young officer, but before the time came at
which he was to claim her hand, he was completely
paralysed, crippled, and almost imbecile. Then she
flung herself upon her knees, imploring her father
with tears not to insist npon her marriage with him;
but the Dean sternly refused to relent, saying she
had given her word, and must keep to it.
She nursed Captain Dashwood indefatigably till he
1866] ENGLISH PLEASURES AND ROMAN TRIALS 315
died, and then she came back to Bodryddan, and
lived there with her aunt Mrs. Yonge, finding it
dreadfully dull, for she was a brilliant talker and
adored society. At last she went abroad with her
aunt Louisa Shipley, and at Corfu she met Sir
Thomas Maitland, who gave her magnificent dia-
monds, and asked her to marry him. But she in-
sisted on coming home to ask her father's consent, at
which the Dean was quite furious. " Why could you
not marry him at once ? " — and indeed, before she
could get back to her lover, he died !
After the death of Mrs. Yonge, Mrs. Dash wood
lived at Cheltenham, a rich and clever widow, and
had many proposals. To the disgust of her family,
she insisted upon accepting Colonel Jones, who had
been a neighbour at Bodryddan, and was celebrated
for his fearfully violent temper. The day before the
wedding it was nearly all off, because, when he came
to look at her luggage, he insisted on her having
only one box, and stamped all her things down into
it, spoiling all her new dresses. He made her go
with him for a wedding tour all over Scotland in a
pony-carriage, without a maid, and she hated it ; but
in a year he died.
Then she insisted on marrying the Rev. G. Chet-
wode, who had had one wife before and had two after-
wards — an old beau, who used to comb his hair with
a leaden comb to efface the grey. On her death he
inherited all she had — diamonds, <£2000 a year, all
the fine pictures left her by Mr. Jones, and all those
Landor had collected for her in Italy.
But to return to Dean Shipley. To Mrs. Rowley,
316 THE STOllY OF MY LIFE [1866
who was the mistress of Bodryddan when I was
there, the Dean had been the kindest of grandfathers,
and she had no recollection of him which was not
iciated with the most unlimited indulgence. The
Dean was much interested in the management of his
estate, bul he insisted that every detail should pass
through his own hands. For instance, while he was
absent in London, a number of curious images and
carvings in alabaster were discovered under the
pavement at Bodryddan: news was immediately sent
to him, but he desired that everything should be
covered ii]>. and remain till he came home. On his
return, he put off the examination from time to time,
till, on his death, the place was forgotten, and now
no one is able to discover it.
Mrs. Rowley was the beautiful Charlotte, only
daughter of Colonel William Shipley, and had led
an adventurous life, distinguishing herself by her
bravery and heroism during the plague while she was
in the East, and on various other occasions. By her
marriage with Colonel Rowley, second son of the first
Lord Langford, she had three children, — Shipley
Conwy, the present owner of Bodryddan; Gwynydd,
who has married twice; and Efah, who, after her
mother's death, made a happy marriage with Captain
Somerset.
In her early married life, Mrs. Rowley had lived
much in Berkeley Square with her mother-in-law, old
Lady Langford, who was the original of Lady Kew
in " The Newcomes," and many pitched battles they
had, in which the daughter-in-law generally came off
victorious. Lady Langford had been very beautiful,
1866] ENGLISH PLEASURES AND ROMAN TRIALS 317
clever, and had had line vie ires orageuse. She had
much excuse, however. She had only once seen her
cousin, Lord Langford, when he came to visit her
grandmother, and the next day the old lady told
her she was to marry him. " Very well, grandmama,
but when?" — "I never in my life heard such an
impertinent question," said the grandmother ; " what
business is it of yours ivhen you are to marry him ?
You will marry him when I tell you. However,
whenever you hear me order six horses to the car-
riage, you may know that you are going to be
married." And so it was.
At the time I was at Bodryddan, the most devoted
and affectionate deference was shown by Mrs. Rowley
to every word, movement, or wish of her only brother,
Colonel Shipley Conwy. He looked still young, but
was quite helpless from paralysis. Mrs. Rowley sat
by him and fed him like a child. It was one mouth-
ful for her brother, the next for herself. When
dinner was over, a servant came in and wrung his
arms and legs, as you would pull bell-ropes, to pre-
vent the joints from stiffening (a process repeated
several times in the evening), and then carried him
out. But with all this, Colonel Shipley Conwy —
always patient — was very bright and pleasant, and
Mrs. Rowley, who said that she owed everything to
my father and his interest in her education, was
most cordial in welcoming me. I never saw either
of these cousins again. They spent the next two
winters at the Cape, and both died a few years
afterwards.
A little later, I went to stay at Dalton Hall in
818 THE STORY OF MY LIFE [1866
Lancashire, to visit Mrs. Hornby, a cousin of my
Aunt IVinliyn. and a very sweet and charming old
lady, who never failed to be loved by all who came
wit hin her influence. She told me many old family
stories, amongst others how —
" The late Lord Derby (the 13th Earl) was very fond of
natural history even as a boy. One night he dreamt most
vividly of a rare nest in the ivy on the wall, and that he
was most anxious to get it, but it was impossible. In the
morning, the nest was on his dressing-table, and it could
only have got there by his opening the window in his sleep
and climbing the wall to it in that state.
k ' Another instance of his sleep-walking relates that he
had a passion, as a little boy, for sliding down the banisters,
but it was strictly forbidden. One night his tutor had
been sitting up late reading in the hall, when he saw one
of the bedroom doors open, and a little boy come out in his
night-shirt and slide down the banisters. This he did two
or three times, and when the tutor made some little noise,
he ran upstairs and disappeared into his bedroom. The
tutor followed, but the little boy was fast asleep in bed."
Apropos of sleep-walking, Mr. Bagot (husband of
Mrs. Hornby's daughter Lucy) told me a story he had
just seen in the Times : —
" A large pat of butter was lately on the breakfast table
of a family. When it was divided, a gold watch and chain
were found in the midst of it. The maid who was waiting
gave a shriek, and first rushed off to her room, then, com-
ing hack, declared it was hers. The family were much
surprised, but what she said turned out to be true. She
had dreamt that she was going to be robbed of her watch
and chain, and that the only way of hiding them would be
1866] ENGLISH PLEASURES AND ROMAN TRIALS 319
to wrap them up in a pat of butter, and she had done it in
her sleep/'
A sister-in-law of Mrs. Hornby — a Mrs. Bayley —
was staying at Dalton when I was there. She told
me — first hand — a story of which I have heard
many distorted versions. I give it in her words : —
" My sister, Mrs. Hamilton (nee Armstrong), was one
night going to bed, when she saw a man's foot project from
under the bed. She knelt down then and there by the
bedside and prayed for the wicked people who were going
about — for the known wicked person especially — that
they might be converted. When she concluded, the man
came from under the bed and said, ' I have heard your
prayer, ma'am, and with all my heart I say Amen to it ; '
and he did her no harm and went away. She heard from
him years afterwards, and he was a changed man from that
day."
Apropos of the growth of a story by exaggeration,
Mrs. Bayley said : —
• w The first person said, ' Poor Mrs. Richards was so ill
that what she threw up was almost like a black crow.'
The second said, ' Poor Mrs. Richards was so ill : it was
the most dreadful thing, she actually threw up a black
crow.' The third said, ' Poor Mrs. Richards has the most
dreadful malady : it is almost too terrible to speak of, but
she has already thrown up . . . three black crows.' '
Mrs. Bayley was a very " religious " person, but
she never went to church: she thought it wrong.
She called herself an "unattached Christian," and
said that people only ought to go to church for praise,
320 THE STORY OF MY LIFE [1866
but to
30 THE STORY OF MY LIFE [1867
;i cold there, uliieh excited no attention at the time, as he
had never been ill in his life before. Four days after-
wards Adilie Hay took .Miss Hawker and me in their
carriage to Napoule, where we spent a pleasant day in
drawing. When we came back, his father was most
alarmingly ill, and absent children had been already tele-
graphed for. All that week I went constantly to Villa
Escarras, and shared with the family their alternations of
hope and fear, but at the end of a week dear Sir Adam
died, and all the family went away immediately, as he was
to be buried at Peebles."
During the latter part of our stay at Cannes, the
society of Madame Goldschmidt (Jenny Lind) was a
great pleasure to my mother, and in Iter great kind-
ness she came often to sing to her. We went with
the Goldschmidts to Antibes one most glorious Feb-
ruary day, when Madame G. was quite glowing with
delight in all the beauties around and gratitude to
their Giver. "Oh, how good we ought to be — how
good with all this before our eyes ! it is a country to
die in." She spoke much of the sweetness of the
Southern character, which she believed to be partly
due to the climate and scenery. She talked of an
old man, bowed with rheumatism, who worked in
her garden. That morning she had asked him,
"Comment ca va-t-il ? Comment va votre sante?"
— "Oh, la volonte* de Dieu!" he had replied — "la
volonte" de Dieu! ' In his pretty Provencal his very
murmur was a thanksgiving for what God sent.
She spoke of the dislike English had to foreigners,
but that the only point in which she envied the
English was their noble women. In Sweden she
186G] ENGLISH PLEASURES AND ROMAN TRIALS 331
said they might become as noble, but that hitherto
the character of Swedish women had been oppressed
by the bondage in which they were kept by the
laws — that they had always been kept under guar-
dians, and could have neither will nor property of
their own, unless they married, even when they were
eighty. She said that she was the first Swedish
ANTIBES. 2
woman who had gained her liberty, and that she
had obtained it by applying direct to the king, who
emancipated her because of all she had clone for
Sweden. Now the law was changed, and women
were emancipated when they were five-and-twenty.
Then Madame Goldschmidt talked of the faithful-
ness of the Southern vegetation. In England she
said to the leaves, " Oh, you poor leaves ! you are
so thin and miserable. However, it does not signify,
for you have only to last three or four months ; but
these beautiful thick foreign leaves, with them it is
quite different, for they have got to be beautiful
always."
1 From " South-Eastern France."
332 THE STORY OF MY LIFE [1867
We drove up the road leading to the light-house,
and then walked up the steep rocky path carrying
two baskets of luncheon, which Ave ate under the
shadow of a wall looking down upon a glorious view.
Madame Goldschmidt had been very anxious all the
way about preserving a cream-tart which she had
brought. " Voila le grand moment," she exclaimed
as it was uncovered. When some one spoke of her
enthusiasm, she said, "Oh, it is delightful to soar,
but one is soon brought back again to the cheese and
bread and butter of life." When Lady Suffolk asked
how she first knew she had a voice, she said, " Oh, it
did fly into me ! "
At first sight Madame Goldschmidt might be
called " plain," though her smile is most beautiful
and quite illuminates her features; lint how true
of her is an observation I met with in a book by
the Abbe Monnin, " Le sourire ne se raconte pas."
"She has no face; it is all countenance" might be
said of her, as Miss Edgeworth said of Lady Wel-
lington.
It was already excessively hot before we left
Cannes on the 29th of April. After another day
at the grand ruins of Montmajour near Aries, we
diverged from Lyons to Le Puy, a place too little
known and most extraordinary, with its grand and
fantastic rocks of basalt crowned by the most pictu-
resque of buildings. Five days were happily spent
in drawing at Le Puy and Espailly, and in an excur-
sion to the charming neighbouring campagne of the
old landlord and landlady of the hotel where we
were staying. Then my mother assented to my wish
1867] ENGLISH PLEASURES AND ROMAN TRIALS 333
of taking a carriage through the forests of Velay and
Auvergne to the grand desolate monastery of the
Chaise Dieu, where many of the Popes lived during
their exile in France, and where Clement VI. lies
aloft on a grand tomb in the centre of the superb
choir, which is so picturesquely hung with old tapes-
tries. Our rooms at the hotel here cost half a franc
LE PUT.
apiece. Joining the railway again at Brioude, we
went to the Baths of Royat, then a very primitive
and always a very lovely place, with its torrent
tumbling through the walnut woods, its gorge closed
by a grand old Templars' church, and its view over
rich upland vineyards to the town and cathedral
of Clermont. On the way home we visited the
great deserted abbey of Souvigny near Moulins, and
1 From " South-Eastern France."
334
THE STORY OF MY LIFE
[1867
bouerht the beautiful broken statuette which is one
of the principal ornaments of Holmhurst.
In June I went to Oxford to stay with my friend
Henry Hood, and was charmed to make acquaintance
*
'ixr r
II-
BOTAT. 1
with a young Oxford so different from the young
Oxford of my days, that it seemed altogether an-
other race — so much more cordial and amusing,
though certainly very Bohemian. During this visit
I cemented an acquaintance with Claude Delaval
Cobham, then reading for the orders for which he
1 From "South-Eastern France."
1867] ENGLISH PLEASURES AND ROMAN TRIALS 335
soon felt himself unsuited. In some respects he is
one of the cleverest men I have met, especially from
his unusual linguistic acquirements, combined with
extreme correctness. I have frequently received
kindness from him since and valuable advice and
help in literary work, and though I have sometimes
conceitedly rebelled against his opinion at the time,
I have -never failed to find that he was in the
riffht.
To my Mother.
" Oxford, June 1, 1867. We went this morning in
two pony-carriages to Cuddesden, where Claude Cobham
now is, and spent the afternoon in walking and sitting in
the Bishop's shady and weedy garden,
" The other day, coming out of this garden, the Bishop
heard two navvies on the other side of the road talkino-.
'I zay, Bill, ain't yon a Beeshop?' said one. ' Yees, '
said Bill. ' Then oi '11 have some fun oot o' him. ' So he
crossed the road and said, ' I zay, zur, be you a Beeshop ? '
— w Yes, at your service, ' said the Bishop. ' Then can
you tell us which is the way to heaven ? ' — ' Certainly, '
said the Bishop, not the least discomposed; ' turn to the
right and go straight on.'"
" June 3. I enjoy being at Oxford most intensely, and
Hood is kindness itself. A wet day cleared into a lovely
evening for the boat-race, which was a beautiful sight, the
green of the water-meadows in such rich fulness, and the
crowd upon the barges and walks so bright and gay."
"6 Bury Street, June 12. The first persons I met in
London were Arthur and Augusta Stanley, who took me
into their carriage, and with them to the Park, whence we
walked through Kensington Gardens, and very pretty they
336 THE STORY OF MY LIFE [1867
looked. Arthur described his first sight of the Queen on
that spot, and Augusta was lull of Princess Mary's clever-
ness in being confined in the same house on the same day
on which the Queen was born.
"Then I went to Lady Wenlock, a most charming visit
to that sweet old lady, now much feebler, hut so animated
and lively, and her life one long thanksgiving that her
paralysis has left all her powers unimpaired. She told me
many old stories. I also called on Lady Lothian, who is
greatly disturbed at Madame de Trafford's power over my
sister. She says she quite considers her ' possessed,' and
that she ought to be exorcised. To-day I dined with Lady
Grey. She told me that as Charlie Grey was crossing to
America, his fellow-passengers were frightfully sea-sick,
especially a man opposite. At last an American sitting
by him said, ' 1 guess, stranger, if that man goes on much
longer, he '11 bring up his boots.'
" June 15. I have been sitting long with Lady East-
lake. She spoke of how the great grief of her widowhood
had taimht her to sift the dross from letters of condolence.
She says that she lives upon hope; prayer is given her in
the meanwhile as a sustenance, not a cure, for if it were a
cure, one might be tempted to leave off praying: still
' one could not live without it; it is like port wine to a
sick man.'
" She says she finds a great support in the letters of Sir
( harles to his mother — his most precious gift to her. She
said touchingly how she knew that even to her he had a
slight reserve, but that to his mother he poured out his
whole soul. In those letters she had learnt how, when he
was absent, his mother hungered after him, and perhaps, in
all those blessed years Avhen she had him, his mother was
hungering after him. In giving him up, she felt she gave
him up to her: he was with her now, and from those
letters she knew what their communion must be. ' I know
18G7] ENGLISH PLEASURES AND ROMAN TRIALS 337
he is with her now, for " I have seen my mother, I have
seen my mother," he twice rapturously exclaimed when
he was dying.' How touching and how consoling are
those visions on this side of the portal. Old Mr. Harford,
when he was dying, continually asked his wife if she did
not hear the music. ' Oh, it is so wonderful,' he said,
4 bands upon bands. ' She did not understand it then but
she knows now.
" ' It was beautifully ordered, ' said Lady Eastlake, ' that
my "History of Our Lord" was finished first: I could not
have done it now. And through it I learnt to know his
library. My darling was like a boy jumping up and down
to find the references I wanted, and, if possible, through
the book I learnt to know him better. '
"She spoke of his wonderful diligence. When he was a
boy he wrote to his mother, ' London will be illuminated
to-morrow, I shall draw all night. '
In July I spent a few days with the Alfords at
the Deanery of Canterbury, which was always most
enjoyable, the Dean so brimming with liveliness and
information of every kind. In the delightful garden
grows the old historic mulberry-tree, 1 about which it
used to be said that the Deans of Canterbury sit
under the mulberry till they turn purple, because
those Deans were so frequently elevated to the epis-
copal bench, and bishops formerly, though it is rare
now, always wore purple coats. I dined out with
the Dean several times. I remember at one of the
parties a son of Canon Blakesly saying to me — what
I have often thought of since — "I find much the
best way of getting on in society is never to be able
to understand why anybody is to be disapproved of."
1 See vol. i., p. 359.
vol. u. — 22
:;:;s
THE STORY OK MY LIKE
[1867
Both the Dean's daughters were married now. and
he cordially welcomed my companionship, always
treating me as an intimate friend or relation. No
one could be more sympathetic, for he had always
the rare power of condemning the fault, but not the
action of it. 1 I insert a few snatches from his table-
talk, though they give but a faint idea of the man.
a>
IN THE DEAN'S GARDEN, CANTERBURY. 2
"We have been studying Butler's Analogy ever since
we came back from Rome, for we \e had eight different
butlers in the time. The last butler said to me, ' It 's not
you who govern the Deanery, and it 's not Mrs. Alford,
but it is the upper housemaid.' "
"Archbishop Harcourt was very fond of hunting, so
fond that he was very near refusing the archbishopric
because he thought if he accepted he should have to give
1 See Shakespeare, "Measure for Measure."
2 Eroin " Biographical Essays."
Jyfyr^Kcts?" <_J%s??^rtstevis J^h&risC&y,
1867] ENGLISH PLEASURES AND ROMAN TRIALS 339
it up. He consulted a friend, who said that he must take
counsel with others. ' Of course I should never join the
meet,' said the Archbishop, ' but you know I might fall in
with the hounds by accident. ' After some time the friend
came back and said that on the whole the party considered
that the Archbishop might hunt, provided he did not
shout."
"Archbishop Manners Sutton had a wonderfully ready
wit. One day a blustering vulgar man came up to him
and said, ' I believe, Archbishop, that I am a relation of
yours: my name is Sutton.' The Archbishop quietly
replied, 'Yes, but you want the Manners.''
" When some one was abusing our font the other day, I
could not help saying that, for a font, I thought renais-
sance peculiarly appropriate."
" I met Lady Mounteagle the other day : you know she
was the sister —
' Of the woman tawny and tough 1
Who married the Master rude and rough
Who lived in the house that Hope built.'
You know Hope gothicised the Master's Lodge at Trinity.
At the Whe wells' ' perpendiculars,' as their large parties
were called, no one was allowed to sit down : if any one
ventured to do so, a servant came and requested him to
move on."
"When Alice was a little girl, I was explaining the
Apostles' Creed to her. When we came to the point of
our Saviour descending into hell she said, ' Oh, that is
where the devil is, isn't it?' — 'Yes.' 'Then why
did n't the devil run at him and tear him all to pieces ? '
In August we spent some time at the Deanery
of Westminster, where Arthur and Augusta Stanley
1 Mrs. Whewell.
340 THE STOKY OF MY LIFE [1SG7
were always hospitality itself, and, with more than
the usual kindness of hosts, always urged, and almost
insisted, on our inviting our own friends to dinner
and luncheon, making us, in fact, use their house
and fortune as our own.
From mi/ Journal.
"July 28, 1867. In the evening, from the gallery of
the Deanery which overhangs the abbey, Mother, Mrs.
Hall, and I looked down upon the last service. Luther's
hymn was sung and the Hallelujah chorus, and trumpets
played: it was very grand indeed. The Bishop of Chester
and the Words worths dined. Yesterday Arthur showed
thirty working-men over the Abbey. He pointed out
where Peel was buried. One of them received it very
gravely in silence, and then, after several minutes, said,
' Well, it is very extraordinary. I 've lived all my life in
the next county, and I never knew that before: I always
thought he was buried at Drayton. Now that 's what I
call information.''"
"August 3. It has a weird effect at night to look down
upon the Abbey, and see the solitary watchman walking
along the desolate aisles and the long trail of light from
the lantern he carries flickering on each monument and
death's-head in turn. Hugo Percy, who was here the
'it her evening, asked him about his nights in the Abbey.
' The ghosts have been very cross lately,' he said.
' Palmerston was the last who came, but Mr. Cobden
has not come yet.'
" We have been to Buckingham Palace to see the rooms
which were arranged for the Sultan, which are dull and
handsome. The chief fact I derived from the housekeeper
was that the Sultan never ' goes to bed ' and never lies
down — in fact, he cannot, for a third of the imperial bed
1867] ENGLISH PLEASURES AND ROMAN TRIALS 341
at either end is taken up by a huge bolster in the middle
of which he sits all night, and reclines either way in turn.
There was a picture of the late Sultan in the room, and
of Frederick, Prince of Wales, sent from Windsor for the
Siilil
L'aPWi
7? m\, |gs9] ■!
COURTYARD, DEANERV, WESTMINSTER.
occasion. One room was entirely hung with portraits of
French kings and their families."
From London I went to visit Bishop Jeune, 1 who
was most wonderfully kind to me, really giving np
his whole time to me whilst I was with him, and
1 See vol. ii., p. 6.
342 THE STORY OF MY LIFE [1607
pouring forth such stores of information as I had not
received since the days of Dr. Hawtrey; and it was
a great pleasure to feel, to be quite sure — which one
so seldom is — that he liked my visit as much as I
liked bein.u with him.
From in ij Journal.
•• . I ugust 10, 1867. On the 8th I went to Peterborough,
where I have had a most agreeable visit at the Palace.
When I arrived at half -past seven, the family were all
ofone to dine with Dr. James, an old Canon in the
Close, whither I followed them. He was a charming
old-fashioned gentleman, most delightful to see.
"In the morning the Bishop, wearing his surplice and
hood, read prayers at a desk in the crypted hall of the
Palace. Afterwards we walked in the garden. I spoke
of there being no monument in the Cathedral to Catherine
of Arragon. ' It is owing to that very circumstance,' said
the Bishop, ' that you are here to-day. If Catherine of
Arragon had had a tomb, I should never have been Bishop
of Peterborough. When people reproached Henry VIII.
with having erected no monument to his first wife, he
said, " The Abbey of Peterborough shall be a cathedral to
her monument," and he instituted the bishopric; the last
abbot was the first bishop.' As we passed the lavatory of
the old convent, the Bishop said that a touching descrip-
tion was still extant of its dedication and of the number
of cardinals, bishops, and priests who were present.
'How few of them,' he said, 'would have believed that
not only their buildings, which they believed would last
for ever, could become an indefinite ruin, but that their
Church, whose foundations they believed to be even more
eternally rooted in the soil, should be cast out to make
way for another Church, which is already tottering on its
base and divided against itself. ' He said he ' firmly
1867] ENGLISH PLEASURES AND ROMAN TRIALS 343
believed that the ends both of the Church and monarchy-
were close at hand, that the power of government was
even now in the hands of a few individuals, who were in
their turn in the hands of a few Irish priests. '
" While passing through the garden in returning to the
Palace, the Bishop showed me a white fig-tree growing-
out of the old wall of the refectory and abundantly bear-
ing fruit. ' This, ' he said, k I believe to be the white fig-
tree which is nearest to the Pole.' Passing a fine mul-
berry-tree he said, ' We owe that to James I., as he was
so excessively anxious to promote the manufacture of silk,
that he recommended to every one the cultivation of the
mulberry-tree, but especially to the clergy, and those of
the clergy planted it who wished to stand well with him.
Therefore it is to be found in the neighbourhood of many
of our cathedrals. '
" Afterwards the Bishop showed the old chronicle of the
Abbey, which he had had splendidly restored at Oxford.
He read me some Latin verses which had evidently been
inserted by one of the monks descriptive of his amours.
' Yet, ' said the Bishop, ' these sins of the monk were prob-
ably only sins of the imagination, quite as vivid as real
ones. You know, ' he added, ' there are far more acted
than enacted sins, and the former are really far the more
corrupting of the two.'
" In the afternoon we drove to Croyland. The Bishop
talked the whole way. I spoke of his patronage, and
envied the power it gave him; he bitterly lamented it.
He said, ' I have in my gift three canonries, two arch-
deaconries, and sixty livings, and if any of these fell
vacant to-morrow, I should be at my wit's end whom to
appoint. On the average, two livings fall vacant every
year, and then comes my time of trouble. A bishop who
would appoint the best man would be most unpopular in
his diocese, for every one of his clergy would be offended
at not being considered the best.' With regard to the
• Ill
THE STORY OF MY LIFE
[1867
eanonries, I suggested that lie could find no difficulty, as
he might always choose men who were employed in some
great literary work. The Bishop allowed that this was
exactly what he desired, but that no such men were to be
found in his diocese. There were many very respectable
clergy, but none more especially distinguished than the
rest. He said that when he was appointed bishop, Dr.
■
PALACE GARDEN, PKTERHOROIT,H.
Vaughan advised him never to become what he called ' a
carpet-bag bishop,' but that this, in fact, was just what
he had become: that when he was going to preach in a
village and sleep in a clergyman's house, he did not like
to trouble them by taking a man-servant, and that he often
arrived carrying his own carpet-bag. That consequently
he often never had his clothes brushed, or even his boots
blacked, but that he brushed his boots with his clothes-
brush as well as he could, as he was afraid of ringing his
bell for fear of mortifying his hosts by showing that he
1867] ENGLISH PLEASURES AND ROMAN TRIALS 345
had not already got all that he wanted. He said, how-
ever, that the work of a bishop was vastly overrated, that
there was nothing which did not come within the easy
powers of one man, yet that a proposition had already been
made to exclude the bishops from the House of Lords, to
reduce their incomes to £1500, and to double their
number. He said that he believed all Conservatives had
better at once emigrate to New Zealand, and that he
wondered the Queen did not invest in foreign funds ; that
it was utterly impossible the monarchy could last much
longer; that the end would be hastened by the debts of
the two princes.
" When we reached Croyland we went into the Abbey
Church, where the Bishop pointed out the baptistery used
for immersion, and several curious epitaphs, one as late as
1729 asking prayers for the dead. The drive was most
curious over the fens, which are now drained, but of
which the soil is so light that they are obliged to marl it
all over to prevent its being blown away. The abbey itself
is most picturesque. It was built by St. Guthlac, a
courtier, who retired hither in a boat, but who came from
no desire of seclusion and prayer, but merely because
he longed for the celebrity which must accrue to him as a
hermit. His sister, Pega, became the foundress of
Peakirk. The Bishop spoke much of the sublimity of
the conception under which these great abbeys were
founded — ' One God, one Pope as God's interpreter, one
Church, the servant of that Pope, unity in everything.'
He spoke of the Jesuit influence as used to combat that
of the Gallican Church, and he said that there were now
only three Gallican bishops.
"Coming home, the Bishop talked about Wales, and
asked if I had ever compared the military tactics of the
Romans with regard to Wales with those of Edward I.
' The Romans, ' he said, ' built the castle of Lincoln for
the repression of the savage people of the fens, and with
34l'» THE STORY OF MY LIFE [1867
the same idea built a line of fortresses between England
and Wales for the repression of the Welsh ; but the con-
summate skill of Edward I. saw a better plan than this,
and he lmilt a line of fortresses along the coast, which
could be provisioned from the sea. so that if the Welsh
made a raid into England, he could bring them back by
falling upon their wives and children.'
" In the evening the Bishop read aloud French poetry, a
ballad of the early part of the seventeenth century, on
which Goldsmith had evidently founded his ' Madame
Blaise,' the powerful ' Malbrook, ' and many old hymns;
also a beautiful hymn of Adolph Monod on the Passion of
Christ, which he said showed too much philosophy. He
described how he had preached in Westminster Abbey in
French during the great Exhibition, and the immense
power of declamation that French gave; that he had
apostrophised those lying in the tombs, the dead kings
round about him, as he never should have ventured to do
in English. He spoke of the transitions of his life, that
his childhood had been passed amongst the rocks of
Guernsey, and that he had loved rocks and wild rolling
seas ever since. That as a child he was never allowed to
speak French, as only the lower orders spoke it, but that
he went to the French college of S. Servan, and there he
learnt it. Then came his Oxford life, after which, think-
ing that he was never likely to have any opening for
making his way in England, he went off to Canada in
despair, intending to become a settler in the backwoods.
The rough life, however, soon disgusted him, and in a
year he returned to England, where he became fellow and
tutor of his college. Thence he was appointed Dean of
Jersey, and ruled there over the petty community. Then
he was made Master of Pembroke (where he remained
twenty years), Vice-Chancellor, Dean of Lincoln, and
Bishop of Peterborough. He spoke of the honour of
Oxford men and the consistency of the Hebdomadal
1867] ENGLISH PLEASURES AND ROMAN TRIALS 347
Board, compared with others he had to deal with. In
Jersey, as a matter of course, all his subordinates voted
with their Dean. When he came to Oxford he expected
the same subserviency, and looked on all his colleagues
with suspicion, but he was soon convinced of their upright-
ness. He said touchingly that, when near the grave, on
looking back, it all seemed much the same — the same
pettiness of feeling, the same party strife, only he did not
worry himself about it; they were all in the hands of One
who died for all alike; that now there were changes in
everything — only One was unchanged.
"Speaking of the morality of Italy, he said that his
friend Mr. Hamilton, head of a clan, had met ' Sandy,'
one of his men, travelling between Rome and Naples.
After expressing Ms surprise at seeing him there, he asked
what he thought of Rome and Naples. ' Wal, ' said
Sandy, ' I jist think that if naething happens to Rome and
Naples, Sodom and Gomorrah were very unjustly dealt
with.'
" ' I met Gioberti in Italy, ' said the Bishop, ' and asked
him about the Pope. "C'est une femme vertueuse," he
replied, "mais c'est tou jours une femme." '
"The Bishop said that, when younger, he wished to
have written a series of Bampton Lectures (and began
them) on the History of the Sacrament of the Lord's
Supper. He intended to begin with a description of three
scenes — first, the supper in the upper chamber at Jerusa-
lem; then the Pope officiating at the altar of the Lateran;
then a simple Scotch meeting in the Highlands — and he
would proceed to describe what had led to the differences
between these ; how the Agape was arranged as a point at
which all divisions and dissensions should be laid aside;
how it was set aside after sixty years by the Roman
Emperor; then of the gradual growth of the Eucharist,
till oaths were taken on the wafer, and deeds were sealed
with it to give them a solemnity ; and till, finally, it came
348 THE STORY OF MY LIFE [1867
to be regarded as the actual body of Christ; then of the
gradual rise of all the different theories, the impanation,
tin- i urination of the Saviour.
"This morning the Bishop asked if I knew what was
the difference between the entrance of a field in France
and England. 'In England,' he said, 'it in a, gate to let
people in; in France a barrihre to keep people out: from
this you might proceed to theorise that England was a
country where sheep mighl stray, but France not: England
a country for milk and flesh, France for coin and wine.'
"The Bishop said he knew our Roman acquaintance
Mr. Goldsmid well. ' I met Nat Goldsmid in Paris about
the time of the Immaculate Conception affair, and I said
to him, ""Goldsmid, now why has your Church done this?
for you know you all worshipped the Virgin as much as
you could before, and what more can you do for her
now?" — "Yes," he said, "that is quite true; we all
worshipped the Virgin before, but we hare done this as a
stepping-stone to declaring the infallibility of the Pope.
A Pope who could take upon himself to declare such a
dogma as this must be infallible!"'"
From Peterborough I went to stay at Lincoln with
Mrs. Nicholas Bacon, mother of the premier baronet,
a very pretty old lady, who reminded me of the old
lady in " David Copperfield," finding her chief occu-
pation in rapping at her window and keeping the
Minster green opposite free from intruding children,
and unable to leave home for any time because then
they would get beyond her — "so sacrilegious," she
told them, it was to play there. Going with her to
dine with that Mrs. Ellison of Sugbrooke who has
bequeathed a fine collection of pictures to the nation,
I met the very oldest party of people I ever saw in
1867] ENGLISH PLEASURES AND ROMAN TRIALS 349
my life, and as one octogenarian tottered, in after
another, felt more amazed, till Mrs. Ellison laugh-
ingly explained that, as Mrs. Bacon had written that
she was going to bring " a very old friend " of hers,
she had supposed it would be agreeable to him to
meet as many as possible of his contemporaries !
Afterwards, when staying with Mr. Clements at
Gainsborough, I saw Stowe, which, as an old cathe-
dral was the predecessor of Lincoln — very curious
and interesting. Thence I went to Doncaster, arriv-
ing in time to help Kate ! with a great tea-party to
her old women. She asked one old woman how she
was. " Well," she said, " I be middling upwards,
but I be very bad downwards. I be troubled with
such bad legs; downright dangerous legs they be."
After visits at Durham, Cullercoats, and Ridley Hall,
I went to stay with the Dixon-Brownes at Unthank
in Northumberland.
To my Mother.
" Unthank, August 27, 1867. I spent yesterday morn-
ing in my Northern home (at Ridley), which is in perfect
beauty now — the Allen water, full and clear, rushing in
tiny waterfalls among the mossy rocks, ah the ferns in
full luxuriance, and the rich heather in bloom, hanging
over the crags and edging the walks. At six o'clock the
flag was raised which stops all trains at the bottom of the
garden, and I came the wee journey of seven miles down
the lovely Tyne valley to Haltwhistle. Unthank is the
old home of Bishop Ridley, the house to which he wrote
his last letter before the stake, addressed to ' my deare
sister of Unthanke, ' — and it is a beautiful spot in a green
hollow, close under the purple slopes of the grand moor
1 Mrs. C. Vaughan. Dr. Vaughan was now Vicar of Doncaster.
350 THE STORY OF MY LIFE [1S07
called Plenmellor. The house is modern, but has an old
tower, and a garden splendid in gorgeous colouring sweeps
up the hill behind it. To-day we went up through a
romantic gill called 'The Heavenly Hole ' to Plenmellor
Tarn, a lovely blue lake in the midst of the heather-clad
hills. We spoke of it to an old man there, ' Aye,' he said
'it's jist a drap of water left by the Fluid, and niver
dried up.' "
"Bonnyrigg, August 30. This shooting lodge of Sir
Edward Blackett is cpuite in the uninhabited moorlands,
but has lovely views of a lake backed by craggy blue hills
— just what my sweet mother would delight to sketch.
Lady Blackett is very clever and agreeable. 1 We have
been a fatiguing walk through the heather to ' the Queen's
Crag,' supposed to be Guinevere turned into stone."
" Bamborough Castle, Sept. 7. I always long especially
for my dearest mother in this grand old castle, to me
perhaps the most delightful place in the world, its wild
scenery more congenial than even beautiful Italy itself.
Nothing too can be kinder than the dear old cousins. 2 . . .
It was almost dark when we drove up the links and under
all the old gateways and through the rock entrance: the
light burning in Mrs. Liddell's recess in the court-room.
And it was pleasant to emerge from the damp into the
brightly lighted tapestried chamber with the dinner set
out. All yesterday the minute-gun was booming through
the fog to warn ships off the rocks — such a strangely
solemn sound.
" Mr. Liddell was speaking to an old Northumbrian here
about the organ yesterday, and he said, ' I canna bear the
loike o' that kist o' whistles a-buzzin' in my ears.' '
1 Frances Vere, 2nd wife of Sir Edward Blackett of Matfen, and
daughter of Sir William Lorraine.
Rev. Henry and Mrs. Liddell of Easington.
2
1867] ENGLISH PLEASURES AND ROMAN TRIALS 351
" The Lodge, North Berwick, Sept 9. I find my sweet
hostess, Mrs. Dalzel, 1 little altered, except perhaps more
entirely heavenly than before in all her thoughts and
words. ' I am very near the last station now, ' she says,
' and then I shall be at home. I am the last of fifteen,
and I can think of them all there — my mother, my sisters,
one after another, resting upon their Saviour alone, and
now with Him for ever ! ' ' When one is old, the wonder-
ful discoveries, the great works of man only bewilder one
and tire one ; but the flowers and the unfolding of Nature,
all the wonderful works of God, refresh and interest as
much as ever: and may not it be because these interests
and pleasures are to be immortal, amid the flowers that
never fade ? '
" Mr. Dalzel does not look a day older, but he sat at
dinner with a green baize cloth before him to save his
eyes. We dined at five, and another Mrs. Dalzel came,
who sang Scottish songs most beautifully in the evening.
Mr. Dalzel prayed aloud long extemj^ore prayers, and we
dispersed at ten. Before dinner I went to the sands with
Mrs. Allen Dalzel, 2 who was very amusing: —
"' The old Dalzel house is at Binns near Linlithgow.
The first Dalzel was an attendant of one of the early
Kenneths. The king's favourite was taken by his enemies
and hanged on a tree. "Who will dare to cut him
down?" said the king. "Dalzel," or "I dare," said the
attendant, who cut him down with his dagger. Hence
came the name, and hence the Dalzels bear a dagger as
their crest, with the motto "I dare," and on their arms a
man hanging.
"' At Binns there are trees cut in the shape of men
hanging. There is also a picture of the "tyrannous
Dalzel," who persecuted the Covenanters, and who made a
1 Nee Aventina Macmurdo. See vol. ii. p. 18.
2 Daughter-in-law of Mr. and Mrs. Dalzel. Their son, a very dis-
tinguished young man, died before them.
352 THE STORY OF MY LIFE [1867
vow at (1h> death of Charles I. that he would never shave
again or change his costume. He lived for fifty yeaia
after that, but he never cut his heard, and he is repre-
sented in his odd suit of chamois leather, with a high-
peaked hat and his hair down to his waist.
"' His comrade was (irierson of Lag, whose eye was the
most terrible ever seen. Long after the persecution was
over, he was told that a servant in the house had a great
curiosity to see him. " Let him bring me a glass of wine,"
said Grierson. The servant brought it in upon a salver,
(irierson waited till he came close up, and then, fixing his
eye on him, exclaimed, "Are there onv Whigs in Galloway
noo?" and the effect was so terrible that the servant
d lopped the salver, glass and all, and rushed out of the
room.
"'I used to go and teach Betty O'Brien to read when
we lived at Seacliffe. Her mother was a clean tidy body,
and, though she had not a penny in the world, she was
very proud, for she came from the North of Ireland, and
looked down upon all who came from the South. I asked
her why she did not make friends with her neighbours,
and she said, " D' ye think I 'd consort \vi' the loike o'
them, just Connaught folk?" So on this I changed the
subject as quick as I could, for I just came from Connaught
myself.
" k Her daughter, however, married one of those very
Connaught Irish — what she called "the boy O'Flinn,"
and she would have nothing to do with her afterwards;
and she lay in wait for "the boy O'Flinn," and threw a
stone at him, which hit him in the chest so badly that he
was in bed for a week afterwards. When I heard of this,
I went to see her and said. " Well, Betty, you 're Irish,
and I 'm Irish, and I think we just ought to set a good
example and show how well Irishwomen can behave."
But she soon cut short my little sermon by saying,
* They 've been telling tales o' me, have they? and it's
1867] ENGLISH PLEASURES AND ROMAN TRIALS 353
not off you they keep their tongues neither: they say
you 're a Roman ! " I did not want to hear any more, and
was going out of the cottage, when she called after me in
a fury, "7 know what you've been staying so long in
Edinburgh for; you just stay here to fast and to pray, and
then you go there to feast and drink tay." ' "
"Sept. 10. I wish for my dearest mother every hour in
this sanctuary of peace and loving-kindness, with the
sweet presence of Mrs. Dalzel. What she is and says it
is quite impossible to give an idea of; but she is truly
what Milton describes —
" Insphered
In regions mild of calm and air serene,
Above the smoke and stir of this dim spot
Which men call earth."
Her constant communion with heaven makes all the world
to her only a gallery of heavenly pictures, creating a suc-
cession of heavenly thoughts, and she has so sweet and
gentle a manner of giving these thoughts to others, that
all, even those least in unison with her, are equally
impressed by them. Most striking of all is her large-
heartedness and admiration of all the good people who
disagree with her. Her daughter-in-law has quite given
up everything else in her devotion to her: it is really
Ruth and Naomi over again.
"This afternoon we drove to Tantallon and on to
Seacliffe, a most beautiful place on the coast, where Mrs.
Dalzel lived formerly. A delightful little walk under a
ruined manor-house and through a wood of old buckthorn
trees led down to the sea, and a most grand view of
Tantallon rising on its red rocks. We walked afterwards
to ' Canty Bay, ' so called because the Covenanters sang
Psalms there when they were being embarked for the
Bass.
vol. ii. — 23
35 1 THE STORY OF MY LIFE [1867
••• How curious it would be,' .Mrs. Dalzel has been say-
ing, ' if all tlic lines on people's faces had writing on them
to say what brought them there. What strange tales they
would tell!
"' Oh, what it is to be at peace! at perfect peace with
God! in perfect reliance on one's Saviour! I often think
it is like a person who has packed up for a journey.
When all his work is finished and all his boxes are packed,
he can sit down in the last hour before his departure and
rest in peace, for all his preparations are made. So in the
Last hours of life one may rest in peace, if the work of
preparation is already done.
"'1 used to count the future by years: now I only do
it by months; perhaps I can only do it by weeks.
'"My eldest brother lived in a great world. He was
very handsome and much admired. As aide-de-camp to
Sir Ralph Abercromby, George IV. made him his friend,
and many people paid court to him. At last one day he
came to my dear mother, who was still living in her great
age, and who had found her Saviour some years before,
and said to her, "Mother, 1 feel that my health is failing
and that this world is rapidly slipping away from me, and
1 have no certain hope for the next: what would you
advise me to do?" And my mother said to him, "My
dear sou, I can only advise you to do what I have done
myself, take your Bible and read it with prayer upon your
knees, and God will send you light.** And my brother
did so, and God granted him the perfect peace that passeth
understanding. He lived many years after that, but his
health had failed, and his Bible was his constant com-
panion. When I went to see him, he used to lay his
hand on the Book and say, "This is my comforter." A
few years before he died, a malady affected one of his legs
which obliged him to have the limb amputated. When
the operation was about to commence, the doctor who was
standing by felt his pulse, and did not find it varied in the
1SG7] ENGLISH PLEASURES AND ROMAN TRIALS 355
least. "General Macnmrdo, " lie said, "you are a hero."
— "No," said my brother solemnly, "but I hope I am a
Christian." And the doctor said he felt the power of
Christianity from that day.
" * From the shore of another world all my past life
seems like a dream. ' 1
" I think if one stayed here long, one would quite feel
the necessity of sinning occasionally to avoid the danger of
becoming intolerant of petty faults and unsuitablenesses,
from living with those so entirely without them."
" Carstairs, Sept. 18. This is a large and comfortable
house, and Mr. Monteith is busied with various improve-
ments in the grounds. One improvement I should cer-
tainly make would be the destruction of a horrible tomb
of a former possessor of the place, an atheist relation, with
an inscription ' to the Infernal Deities. ' No wonder that
the avenue leading to the tomb is said to be haunted."
It was during this summer that old Lady Webster
died. 2 She had long been a conspicuous figure in
our home neighbourhood, and had seemed to possess
the secret of eternal youth. In my childhood she
reigned like a cmeen at Battle, but the Websters had
several years before been obliged to sell Battle to
Lord Harry Vane (afterwards Duke of Cleveland),
chiefly because there were five dowager Lady Web-
sters at once, all drawing jointures from the already
impoverished property. Of these ladies, three, usu-
ally known as " the good Lady Webster," " Grace,
Lady Webster," and "the great Lady Webster,"
lived much at Hastings. When the great Lady
1 Mrs. Dalzel died October 1871.
2 Charlotte, eldest daughter of Robert Adamson, Esq., and widow
of Sir Godfrey Vassall Webster, "Bart.
356 THE STORY OF MY LIFE [1867
Webster died, she left several sons, and it was a
subject of much comment at the time that, when
her will was opened, she was found to have l. We had a weari-
some journey here on the 3rd, the train not attempting to
keep any particular time, and stopping more than an hour
at Orbetello for the 4 ilisrurso' of the guard and engine-
driver, 2 and at other stations in proportion. However,
.Mother quite revived when the great masses of the aque-
ducts began to show in the moonlight. They had given
up expecting us in the Palazzo, where my sister lias lent
us her apartments, and it was long before we could get
any one to open the door.
"It has been bitterly cold ever since we arrived and
the air filled with snow. The first acquaintance I saw-
was the Pope! lie was at the Trinita de' Monti, and I
waited to see him come down the steps and receive his
blessing on our first Roman morning. He looked dread-
fully weak, and Monsignor Talbot seemed to be holding
him tight up lest he should fall. The Neapolitan royal
family I have already seen, always in their deep mourning. 8
"The Pincio is still surrounded with earthworks, and
the barricades remain outside the gates: a great open
moat yawns in front of the door of the English Church.
The barrack near St. Peter's is a hideous ruin. The
accounts of the battle of Mentana are awful: when the
Pontiticals had expended all their ammunition, they
lushed upon the Garihaldians and tore them with their
teeth.
1 Mine. Victoire Ackermann. See vol. i.
- Such was a constant cause of detention in early days of Italian
railways, though it seems impossible now.
8 For the Queen Dowager, who died of the cholera at Albano in
the summer of 1867.
1867] ENGLISH PLEASURES AND ROMAN TRIALS 367
" Terrible misery has been left by the cholera, and the
streets are far more full of beggars than ever. The
number of deaths has been frightful — Princess Colonna
and her daughters ; old Marchese Serlupi ; Midler the
painter and his child; Mrs. Foljambe's old maid of thirty
years; Mrs. Ramsay's donna and the man who made tea
at her parties, are amongst those we have known. The
first day we were out, Lea and I saw a woman in deep
mourning, who was evidently begging, look wistfully at
us, and had some difficulty in recognising Angela, our
donna of 1863. Her husband, handsome Antonio the
fisherman, turned black of the cholera in the Pescheria,
and died in a few hours, and her three children have been
ill ever since.
"Mrs. Shakespeare Wood has been to see us, and
described the summer which she has spent here — six
thousand deaths in Rome between May and November,
sixty in the Forum of Trajan, thirty in the Purificazione
alone. The Government wisely forbade any funeral
processions, and did not allow the bells to be tolled, and
the dead were taken away at night. Then came the war.
The gates were closed, and an edict published bidding all
the citizens, when they heard ' cinque colpi di cannone,
d' andare subito a casa. ' The Woods laid in quantities of
flour, and spent £5 in cheese, only remembering after-
wards that, having forgotten to lay in any fuel, they
could not have baked their bread."
"Dec. 13. Yesterday I went to Mrs. Robert De Selby. 1
She described the excitement of the battles. In the thick
of it all she got a safe-conduct and drove out to Mentana
to be near her husband in case he was wounded. She also
drove several times to the army with provisions and
cordials. If they tried to stop her, she said she was an
officer's wife taking him his dinner, and they let her pass.
1 Contessa Carolina di S. Giorgio.
3G8 THE STORY OF MY LIFE [1807
( me of the officers said afterwards to her mother, ' La sua
figlia vale un altro dragone.'
"She told me Lady Anne S. Giorgio (her mother), 1 was
living in the Mercede, and I went there at once. She was
overjoved to see me, and embraced me with the utmost
affection. She is also enchanted to be near the Mother,
her ' saint in a Protestant niche. * She is come here because
' all the old sinners in Florence ' disapproved of her revo-
lutionary tendencies. Lady Anne remembered my father's
-rent intimacy with Mezzofanti. She said my father had
once a servant who came from an obscure part of Hungary
where they spoke a very peculiar dialect. One day, going
to Mezzofanti, he took his servant with him. The Cardi-
nal asked the man where he came from, and on his telling
him, addressed him in the dialect of his native place.
The man screamed violently, and, making for the door,
tried to escape: he took Mezzofanti for a wizard.
" Lady Anne recollected my father's extreme enjoyment
of a scene of this kind. There was a Dr. Taylor who
used to worship the heathen gods — Mars and Mercury,
and the rest. One day at Oxford, in the presence of my
lather and of one of the professors, he took his little silver
images of the gods out of his pocket and began to pray to
them and burn incense. The professor, intensely shocked,
tried to interfere, but my father started up — ' How can
you be so foolish? do be quiet: don't you see you're inter-
rupting the comedy?' The same Dr. Taylor was after-
ward arrested for sacrificing a bullock to Neptune in a
back-parlour in London ! "
"44 Piazza di Spagna, Dec. 29. We moved here on the
20th to a delightfully comfortable apartment, which is a
perfect sun-trap. Most truly luxurious indeed does Rome
n after Cannes — food, house, carriages, all so good
and reasonable. I actually gave a party before we left
1 See vol. ii. p* 86.
1867] ENGLISH PLEASURES AND ROMAN TRIALS 369
my sister's apartment, lighting up those fine rooms, and
issuing the invitations in my own name, in order that
Mother might not feel obliged to appear unless quite equal
to it at the moment. Three days after I had another party
for children — tea and high romps afterwards in the long
drawing-room.
" On the 21st I went with the Erskines, Mrs. Ramsay
and Miss Garden, by rail to Monte Rotondo. The quantity
of soldiers at the station and all along the road quite
allayed any fears of brigands which had been entertained
regarding the mile and a half between the village and the
railway. The situation proved quite beautiful — the old
houses crowned by the Piombino castle, rising from vine-
yards and gardens, backed by the purple peak of Monte
Gennaro. Beyond, in the hollow, is the convent where
Garibaldi was encamped, and farther still the battlefield of
Mentana.
" On the 23rd there was a magnificent reception at the
Spanish Embassy. Every one went to salute the new
ambassador, Don Alessandro del Castro, and the whole
immense suite of rooms thrown open had a glorious effect.
There was an abundance of cardinals, and the Roman
princesses all arrived in their diamonds. The Borgheses
came in as a family procession, headed by Princess
Borghese in blue velvet and diamonds. The young Eng-
lish Princess Teano looked lovely in blue velvet and gold
brocade. On Christinas Day I went to St. Peter's for the
coming in of the Pope, and stayed long enough to see
Francis II. arrive with his suite. In the afternoon 1 took
Lea to the Ara Cceli and Sta. Maria Maggiore. At the
Ara Cceli great confusion prevails and much enthusiasm
on account of a new miracle. When people were ill,
upon their paying a scudo for the carriage, the Santo
Bambino was brought by two of the monks, and left upon
the sick-bed, to be fetched awav some hours after in the
same way. A sacrilegious lady determined to take advan-
vol. ii. — 24
370 THE STORY OF MY LIFE f L l8U7
tage of this to steal the Bambino; so she pretended her
child was ill and paid herscudo; bul as soon as ever the
monks were gone, she had a false Bambino, which she had
caused to be prepared, dressed up in the clothes of the real
one, and when the monks came hack they took away the
false Bambino without discovering the fraud, and carried
it to the place of honour in the Church of Ara Cceli.
"That night the convent awoke to fearful alarm, every
bell rang at the same moment, awful sounds were heard at
the doors; the trembling brotherhood hastened to the
church, but loud and fast the knocks continued on the
very door of the sanctuary (' bussava, bussava, bussava').
At last they summoned courage to approach the entrance
with lights, and behold, a little tiny pink child's foot,
which was poked in under the door; and they opened the
door wide, and there without, on the platform at the head
of the steps, stood, in the wind and the rain, quite naked,
the real Bambino of Ara Cceli. So then the real child was
restored to its place, and the lady, confounded and dis-
graced, was hidden to take the false child home again.
"Our donna, Louisa, was in ecstasies when she told us
this story — ' < >h com' e graziosa, oh com' e graziosa questa
storia!" — and she never can understand why we do not
send for the Bambino to cure Mother of all her ailments,
though, in consequence of the theft, it is now never left
alone in a house, but is taken away by the same monks
who bring it. Lea was imprudent enough to say she did
not believe the Bambino would ever do her any good; but
when Louisa, looking at her with wondering eyes, asked
why, said weakly, ' Because I have such a bad heart,' in
which Louisa quite acquiesced as a reason.
" It had been a sad shadow hitherto over all this winter
that my sweetest Mother had been so ill. At Parisani I
had many sad days and nights too. She suffered almost
constantly from pain in the back, and moaned in a way
which went to my very heart. . . . Twice only in the
1867] ENGLISH PLEASURES AND ROMAN TRIALS 371
fortnight was Mother able to get out to the Forum and
walk in the sun from the Coliseum to the Capitol, and she
felt the cold most terribly, and certainly the Palazzo was
very cold.
"At first, when we came to this house, Mother was
better, and she was delighted with these rooms, which ful-
filled a presentiment she had told me of before we left
home, that this winter she should have the pleasantest
apartment she had ever had yet. But on the 21st she was
chilled when driving with Mrs. Hall to Torre Quinto, and
that evening quite lost her power of articulation. It only
lasted about an hour. . . . She was conscious of it after-
wards, and said, ' It was so odd, I was not able to speak. '
Some days after, though able to articulate, she was unable
to find the words she needed, calling the commonest things
by their wrong names, and this was the more alarming as
more likely to be continuous. On Thursday she was well
enough to drive with me to the Acqua Acetosa, and walk
there in the sun on the muddy Tiber bank, but that even-
ing she became worse, and since then has scarcely been
out of bed."
"Dec. 30. On Saturday I was constantly restless, with
a sense of fire near me, but could discover nothing burning
in the apartment. I had such a strong presentiment of
fire that I refused to go out all day. When Lea came in
with my tea at 8 p. m., I told her what an extraordinary
noise I continually heard — a sort of rushing over the
ceiling, which was of strained canvas — but she thought
nothing of it. Soon after she was gone, a shower of
sparks burst into the room and large pieces of burning
wood forced their way through a hole in the ceiling.
Shouting to Lea, I rushed up to the next floor, and rang
violently and continuously at the bell, shouting ' Fuoco,
fuoco ; ' but the owners of the apartment were gone to bed
and would not get up; so, without losing time, I flew
372 THE STORY OF MY LIFE [1868
downstairs, roused the porter, sent him off to fetch
Ferdinando Manetti, who was responsible for our apart-
ment, and then tor the pompieri. Meantime the servants
of Miss Robertson, who lived below us, had come to our
help, and assisted in keeping the tire under with sponges
of water, while Lea and I rushed about securing money,
valuables, drawings, &c, and then, dragging out our great
boxes, began rapidly to fill them. Mother was greatly
astonished at seeing us moving in and out with great piles
of things in our arms, but did not realise at once what had
happened. I had just arranged for her being wrapped up
in blankets and carried through the streets to Palazzo
Parisani, when the pompieri arrived. From that time
there was no real danger. They tore up the bricks of the
floor above us, and poured water through upon the charred
and burning beams, and a cascade of black water and hot
bricks tumbled through together into our drawing-room."
To Miss Wright.
" Jan. 1. Alas ! I can give but a poor account of her who
occupies all my real thoughts and interests. My sweetest
Mother is still very, very feeble, and quite touchingly help-
less. She varies like a thermometer with the weather, and
if it is fine, is well enough to see Mrs. Hall and one or two
friends, but she is seldom able to be dressed before twelve
o'clock, and often has to lie down again before four. I
seldom like to be away from her long, and never by day or
night feel really free from anxiety."
Journal.
"Jan. 2, 1868. 1 have been out twice in the evening
— to Mrs. lJamsay to meet M. de Soveral, the ex-minister
of Portugal, and his wife and daughter, and to Mrs. Hall
to meet the Erskines. Mrs. Hall described a sermon she
had lately heard at the Coliseum, the sole object of which
was the glorification of Mary Queen of Scots. It was
.1868] ENGLISH PLEASURES AND ROMAN TRIALS 373
most painful, she said, describing how Elizabeth, who
turned only to her Bible, died a prey to indescribable
torments of mind, while Mary, clinging to her crucifix,
died religiously and devoutly.
" The Marchesa Serlupi has given a fearful account of
the Albano tragedy. The old Marchese had come to
them greatly worn out with his labours in attendance on
the Pope during the canonisation, 1 and he was seized with
cholera almost at once. When the doctor came, his hair
was standing on end with horror. He said he had not sat
down for eighteen hours, hurrying from one to another.
He said the old Marchese had the cholera, and it was no
use doing anything for him, he would be dead in a few
hours. The Marchesa thought he had gone mad with
fright, which in fact he had. When he was gone, she
gave remedies of her own to the old man, which subdued
the cholera at the time, but he sank afterwards from
exhaustion. During that time the dead all around them
were being carried out : the Appian Way was quite choked
up by those who were in flight, and people were dying
among the tombs all along the wayside.
"As soon as the old Marchese was dead, the Serlupi
family determined to fly. As the Marchesa had been
constantly nursing the old man, she would not take her
child with her, and sent him on first in another carriage.
When they got half way, a man came up to them saying
that the person who was with the child in the other car-
riage was in the agonies of death, and they had to take
the child into their own carriage. At the half-way house
they stopped to inquire for a party of friends who had
preceded them: five had fled in the carriage, three were
already dead! There was only one remedy which was
never known to fail: it was discovered by a Capuchin
monk, and is given in wine. It is not known what the
medicine is, and its effect entirely depends upon the exact
1 Of the Japanese martyrs.
37 I THE STORY OF MY LIFE [1868
proportions being given. The Marchesa used to send
dozens of wine to the Capuchin, and then give it away
impregnated with the medicine to the poor people in
Rome.
"To-day my darling has been rather better, and was
able to drive for an hour on the Pincio. Yesterday even-
ing she prayed aloud for herself most touchingly before
both me and Lea, that God would look upon her infirmi-
ties, that He would forgive her weakness, and supply the
insufficiency of her prayers. Her sweet pleading voice,
tremulous with weakness, went to our hearts, and her
trembling upturned look was inexpressibly affecting.
"Fell. 4. When we first came here, we were much
attracted by Francesca Bengivenga, a pleasant cordial
woman who lets the apartment above us, and who lived in
a corner of it with her nice respectable old mother. Lea
went up to see them, and gave quite a pretty description
of the old woman sitting quietly in her room at needle-
work, while the daughter bustled about.
"On January 9 we were startled by seeing a procession
carrying the Last Sacraments up our staircase, and on
inquiry heard that it was to a very old woman who was
dying at the top of the house. Late in the evening it
occurred to Lea that the sick person at the top of the
house might perhaps be in want, and she went up to
Francesca to inquire if she could be of any use. Then,
for the first time, we heard that it had been Francesca's
mother who had been ill, and that she had died an hour
after the priests had been. Francesca herself was in most
terrible anguish of grief, but obliged to control herself,
because only a few days before she had let her apartment,
and did not venture to tell her lodgers what had occurred
in the house. So whenever the bell rang, she had to dry
her tears by an effort, and appear as if nothing had hap-
pened. We urged her to reveal the truth, which at length.
1868] ENGLISH PLEASURES AND ROMAN TRIALS 375
she did with a great burst of sobs, and the tenants took
it well. The next day at four o'clock the old woman was
carried away, and on the following morning I pleased
Francesca by attending at the messa cantata in S. Andrea
delle Fratte.
" On January 10 Charlotte and Gina Leycester arrived.
By way of showing civilities to acquaintance, I have had
several excursions to the different hills, explaining the
churches and vineyards with the sights they contain. On
the Aventine I had a very large — too large a party.
With the Erskines I went to San Salvatore in Lauro,
where the old convent is partially turned into a barrack,
and was filled with Papal Zouaves, who spoke a most
unintelligible jargon which turned out to be High Dutch.
A very civil little officer, however, took us into a grand
old chapel opening out of the cloisters, but now occupied
as a soldiers' dormitory, and filled with rows of beds,
while groups of soldiers were sitting on the altar-steps
and on the altar itself, and had even piled their arms and
hung up their knapsacks on the splendid tomb of Pope
Eugenius IV., which was the principal object of our visit. 1
We went on hence to the Vallicella, where we saw the
home and relics of S. Filippo Neri — his fine statue in the
sacristy, his little cell with its original furniture, his
stick, his shoes, the crucifix he held when he was dying,
the coffin in which he lay in state, the pictures which
belonged to him, and the little inner chapel with the altar
at which he prayed, adorned with the original picture,
candlesticks, and ornaments.
"Another excursion has been to the Emporium, reached
by an unpleasant approach, the Via della Serpe behind the
Marmorata, an Immondezzajo half a mile long ; but it is a
fine mass of ruin, with an old gothic loggia, in a beautiful
vineyard full of rare and curious marbles. Close by, on
1 It is therefore not fair to say that the desecration of the Roman
churches has only occurred since the Sardinian occupation.
370 T1IE STORY OF MY LIFE [1868
the I tank of the Tiber, the ancient port of the Marmorata
is now being cleaned out.
"My dearest .Mother continues very ailing and terribly
weak, but I am hopeful now (as the cold months are so far
advanced), that we may steer through the remainder of
the winter, and that I may once more have the blessing of
taking her hack to England restored to health and power.
Every Friday she has been seriously ill, but has rallied
afterwards. On Friday 17th, she was very ill, and 1 was
too anxious about her to rest at all during the night, but
perpetually flitted ghost-like in and out of her room.
Last Friday again she was, if anything, worse still, such a
terrible cloud coming over all her powers, with the most
complete exhaustion. I scarcely left her all day. When
these sad days are over, life becomes quite different, so
heavy is the burden lifted off, and it is difficult to realise
all that they have been, the wearing anxiety as to what is
best to be done, the terribly desolate future seeming so
near at hand, all the after scenes presenting themselves
so vividly, like fever phantoms, to the imagination, and
then sometimes the seeming carried with my dearest one
to the very gates of the unseen world. . . . She is always
patient, always self-forgetful, and her obedience to her
'doctor,' as she calls me, is too touching, too entirely
confiding and childlike. Oh, if our unity is broken by
death, no one, no one will ever realise what it has been.
Come what will, I can bless God for this winter, in which
that union has been without one tarnished moment, one
passing difference, in which my sweetest one has entirely
leant upon me, and I have entirely lived for her."
"Feb. 9. There is no improvement in my dearest
Mother. If there is a temporary rally, it is followed by
a worse attack and intense fits of exhaustion, and the
effort of going up and down stairs fatigues her so much
that it is difficult to judge how far it is wise to gratify her
1868] ENGLISH PLEASURES AND ROMAN TRIALS 377
constant craving for air. On Tuesday, Lea and I took
her to the Monte Mario, and she sat in the carriage while
we got out and picked flowers in the Villa Mellini. That
day she was certainly better, and able to enjoy the drive
to a certain degree, and to admire the silver foam of the
fountains of St. Peter's as we passed them. I often think
how doubly touching these and many other beautiful sights
may become to me, if I should be left here, when she,
with whom I have so often enjoyed them, has passed away
from us to the vision of other and more glorious scenes.
" It is in these other scenes, not here, that I often think
my darling's mind is already wandering. When she sits
in her great weakness, doing nothing, yet so quiet, and
with her loving beautiful smile ever on her revered coun-
tenance, it is surely of no earthly scenes that my darling is
thinking.
"In the night I am often seized with an irresistible
longing to know how she is, and then I steal quietly
through the softly opening doors into her room and watch
her asleep by the light of the night-lamp. Even then the
face in its entire repose wears the same sweet expression
of childlike confidence and peace.
"I dined with Mrs. Robert Bruce one day, meeting
Miss Monk and Cavendish Taylor, and went with them
afterwards to see the ' Grande Duchesse de Gerolstein '
acted. It was in a booth in the Piazza Navona, such as
is generally used for wild beasts at a fair, and where one
would expect an audience of the very lowest of the people ;
but instead the place was crowded with the most elite of
the Roman princes and their families. The acting was
wonderful, and the dresses and scenery very beautiful.
It is said that the actors are a single family, fourteen
sons, three daughters, and their cook!
"At the Shakspeare Woods' I met Miss Charlotte
Cushman, the great American tragic actress, who has been
living here for some years. She was the Mrs. Siddons of
378 THE STORY OF MY LIFE [1368
her time in America, and places were taken weeks before-
hand for the nights when sin- acted. She does a great
deal of good here and is intensely beloved. In appearance
she is much like Mi>s Boyle, 1 with white hair rolled hack,
and is of most winning and gracious manners. I went
to a party at her house last night, and never saw anything
more dignified and graceful than her reception of her
guests, or more charming than her entertainment of them.
She sang, but as she has little voice left, it was rather
dramatic representation than song, though most beautiful
and pathetic.
"The American Consul. Mr. Cushman, told me lie had
crossed the Atlantic forty-seven times. The last time he
returned was during the cholera at Albano, and he
described its horrors. A hundred and fifty people died
in the village on the first day. and were all thrown imme-
diately into a large pit by a regiment of Zouaves, happily
quartered there, and were tumbled in just as they hap-
pened to fall. The next day. so many more died, that sol-
dier.- were sent down into the pit to pack tin- ladies closer,
so as to fit more in. The In 'dies already in the pit were so
entangled, that several arms and legs were pulled off in
the process. The Zouaves employed in the work all died.*'
I often saw Miss Cushman afterwards, and greatly
valued her friendship. Hers was a noble and almost
unique character, a benignant influence upon all she
came in contact with. Her youth had been a long
struggle, but it gave Iter a wonderful sympathy with
young artists striving as she herself had done, and
for them her purse, her hand, and her heart were
always open. When she was only a -stock actress,"
the wife of the manager, who played herself and was
jealous of her talents, got her husband to give her a
1 The Hon. Carolina Courtnay Boyle, maid of honour.
1808] ENGLISH PLEASURES AND ROMAN TRIALS 379
very inferior part: it was that of Nancy Sykes in
"Oliver Twist." Miss Cnshman saw through the
motive, and determined to prepare herself thoroughly.
She disappeared. She went down to the worst part
of the town, and remained for four days amongst all
the lowest women there, till she understood them
thoroughly and could imitate their peculiarities to
perfection. Her first appearance, when she strolled
on to the stage chewing a sprig of a tree, as they all
do, took the house by storm, and from that time it
was at her feet. The play of " Guy Mannering " was
written to suit her in the part of Meg Merrilies. She
would take an hour and a half to get herself up for
it, painting all the veins on her arms, &c, and her
success was wonderful.
She had been originally intended for an opera-
singer, but, just when she was to appear, she had a
dangerous illness, and, when she recovered, her voice
was gone. But she wasted no time in regrets: she
immediately turned to being an actress. This power
of making the best of whatever was, formed one of
the grandest traits of her character.
She died of what, to many, is the most terrible of
all diseases. She insisted on an operation ; but when
she went to have it repeated, the great surgeons told
her it was no use, and advised her to devote her
remaining life to whatever would most take her out
of herself and make her forget her pain. Then she,
who had left the stage so long, went back to it as
Meg Merrilies again and had all her old triumphs.
And the last time she appeared, when she, as it were,
took leave of the stage for ever, she repeated the
380 THE STORY OF MY LIFE [1868
words •• 1 shall haunt this old glen/' &c, in a- way
which scut a cold shiver down the hacks of all who
heard them.
Miss Stebbings' interesting Life of Miss Cushman
is inadequate. It dwells too much on the successful
part. What were really interesting, and also useful
to those beginning life, would have been the true
story of the struggles of her youth, and how her
Qoble nature overcame them.
JOUKNAX.
"Feb. 10. My dearest mother is better and up again,
sweet and smiling. Last week, after poor Mrs. C. had
died, Mis. Ramsay, not knowing it, sent to inquire after
her. 'E andata in Paradiso,' said her old servant Fran-
cesco, quite simply, when he came back."
" Feb. 25. On the 16th old Don Francesco Chigi died, a
most well-known figure to be missed out of Roman life.
He was buried with perfectly mediaeval pomp the next day
at the Popolo. The procession down the Corso from the
Chigi Palace was most gorgeous, the long line of princely
carriages and the running footmen with their huge torches
and splendid liveries, the effect enhanced by the darkness
of the night, for it was nine o'clock in the evening.
" Yesterday I rushed with all the world to St. Peter's to
stare at the bridal of Donna Guendalina Doria, who had
just been married at S. Agnese to the Milanese Conte
della Somaglia. The Pope gave her his benediction and a
prayer-book hound in solid gold and diamonds. Thirteen
carriages full of relations escorted her to St. Peter's, hut
very few had courage to come with her into the church.
She looked well in a long lace veil and white silk cloak
striped with gold.
" My sweet Mother has gained very little ground the last
1868] ENGLISH PLEASURES AND ROMAN TRIALS 381
fortnight. Yesterday for the first time she went out —
carried down and upstairs by Benedetto and Louisa, and
drove with Charlotte to the Villa Doria. But in the even-
ing her breathing was difficult. To-day I drove with Lady
Bloomfield * and Jane Adeane to the Campagna, and when
I came back I found that she had been quite ill the whole
time. The dear face looks sadly worn."
"Feb. 27. When I went into my darling's room at
3 A. M., both she and Lea were sleeping quietly, but when
I went again at six, the Mother had been long awake, and
oppressed with great difficulty of breathing. At half-past
nine Dr. Grilli came and begged for another opinion. . . .
How did I bear it when he said that my darling was in the
greatest danger, that if she would desire any spiritual con-
solations, they ought to be sent for ! Then I lost all hope.
' No,' I said, ' she has long lived more in heaven than on
earth.' ' Quello si vede,' said Dr. Grilli.
" I questioned whether she should be told the danger she
was in, but I decided not ; for has not my darling been for
years standing on the threshold of the heavenly kingdom ?
Death could to her only be the passing quite over that
threshold, and to us the last glimpse of her most sweet
presence here.
" 2 p. M. Charlotte Leycester and Emma Simpkinson
have been with me in the room all morning by turns. I
cannot but think her slightly better. The shutter has just
been opened that she may see the sun, which poured into
the room. My darling was sitting up then and smiled to
see it.
"5A p.m.. Waiting- for the consultation of doctors.
How I dread it, yet I cannot but think they will find my
darling better. I have a feeling that there must still be
i My cousins, Lord and Lady Bloomfield, and the Dowager Lady
Barrington, with her daughter Augusta, were spending the winter in
Rome.
382 THE STORY OF MY LIFE [1868
hope. At two I went iii a carriage to the Villa Negroni, 1
as the mos1 solitary place I knew, and there spent an hour
on thai terraced walk beneath the house in which I was
born, where my two mothers walked up and down together
before my birth, and where I have often been, oh! so
happy in the sunshine of her presence who is life to me.
"Coming hack, 1 went into the Church of the Angeli.
A white Carthusian was kneeling there alone. I knelt
too and prayed — not that God would give my darling
back to me unless it were His will, but oh ! so earnestly
that there might be no pain in her departure.
" Mrs. Woodward and Miss Finucane want to come and
sit up — always good and kind. Grilli has been this even-
ing with Dr. Bertoldi, and says everything depends on how
she passes the next night : if she sleeps and the breathing
becomes easier, we may hope, but even then it will be
most difficult to regain the ground lost. In this I buoy
myself up that they know nothing of her wonderful power
of rallying.
" When Charlotte went away for the night, she said, ' I
shall think of you, dear, and pray for you very much to-
night.' — 'Yes, into the Lord's hands I commend my
spirit,' said my darling solemnly."
" 9 a. M. Feb. 28, Friday. Last night, when I wished
her good-night, she said in her sweetest manner, ' Don't be
too anxious ; it is all in His hands.' Lea went to bed and
Emma Simpkinson sat upon the sofa. I went in and out
all through the night. Since 4 A. M. she has been less
well !
"6 P. m. I went rapidly to-day in a little carriage to
St. Peter's, and kneeling at the grating of the chapel of
the Sacrament by Sixtus IV. 's tomb, I implored God to
take two years out of my life and to add them to my
1 This beautiful villa and its lovely grounds have been entirely
d( -troyed under the Sardinian Government.
1868] ENGLISH PLEASURES AND ROMAN TRIALS 383
Mother's. I could not part with her now. If there is
power in prayer, I must have been heard. I was back
within the hour.
" When Charlotte came, she repeated to the Mother the
texts about the saints in white robes, and then said k Per-
haps, dear, you will be with them soon — perhaps it is as in
our favourite hymn, " Just passing over the brink." ' —
' Yes,' said my darling, ' it cannot last long; this is quite
wearing me out.' I heard this through the door, for I
could not bear to be in the room. Then Charlotte said,
' The Lord be with you,' or similar words, and my darling
answered ' Yes, and may He be with those who are left as
well as with those who are taken.' At this moment I came
in and kissed my darling. Charlotte, not knowing I had
heard, then repeated what she had said. ' She is praying
that God may be with you and with me,' she said. I could
not bear it, and went back to the next room. Charlotte
came in and kissed me. ' I cannot say what I feel for
you,' she said. I begged her not to say so now, ' as long
as there was anything to be done I must not give way.' "
" 3 P. M. Saturday. The night was one of terrible
suffering. Mrs. Woodward sat up, but I could not leave
the room. In the morning my darling said, "I never
thought it would have been like this ; I thought it would
have been unconscious. The valley of the Shadow of
Death is a dark valley, but there is light at the end. . . .
No more pain. . . . The Rock of Ages, that is my rock.'
Then I read the three prayers in the Visitation Service.
' It will be over soon,' she said ; ' I am going to rest.'
" ' Will you give me some little word of blessing,
darling ? ' I said. ' The Lord keep you and comfort you,
my dear child,' she said. ' Don't fret too much. He will
give you comfort.' I had begged that Mrs. Woodward
would call in Lea, who was now kneeling between us at
the bedside. 'And you bless poor Lea, too,' I said. 'Yes,
38 1 THE STORY OF MY LIFE [1S68
dear Lea : she has been a most good and faithful and dear
servant t<> me. I pray thai God may be with her and
John, and keep them, and I hope that they will be faithful
and Loving to you, as they have been to me, as Long as you
need them. ... Be reconciled to all who have been un-
kind to you, darling-; love them all, this is my great wish,
Love — love --love — oh, 1 have tried to live for love —
oh! love one another, that is the great thing — love,
love, love ! '
" ' The Lord bless and comfort you, dear,' she said to
Charlotte. ' Be a mother to my child.' — ' I will,' said
Charlotte, and then my darling's hand took mine and
held it.
" ' We look for the salvation of the Lord Jesus Christ,'
said Charlotte. 'Yes, and it was here that it first dawned
upon me . . . through much tribulation. . . . He will be
with me and he will be with those who are left.'
•• ' We look for the King in His beauty,' said Charlotte.
' Yes, beauty such as we have never seen,' my darling said.
'Eve hath not seen nor ear heard the things which God
hath prepared for them that love Him. Oh, I have been
able to serve Him very little.' — 'Yes, darling, but you
have loved Him much.'
"'I send my love to all my dear ones in England;
none are forgotten, none.' Then, after a pause, ' Tell
3-our sister that we shall meet where there is no more
controversy, and where we shall know thoroughly as we
are known.'
••In the night the terrible pain came on, which lasted
many hours and gave us all such anguish. ' And He bore
all this,' she said, and at one of her worst moments — 'He
that trusteth in Thee shall never be put to confusion.'
What these trembling words were to us I cannot say, with
her great suffering and the sadly sunken look of her
revered features. Mrs. Woodward cried bitterly.
" ' Mine eyes look to the hills, from whence cometh my
1868] ENGLISH PLEASURES AND ROMAN TRIALS 385
help,' said Charlotte when she came in. ' You have loved
the Psalms so much, have n't you dear ? ' — ' Yes, the
Psalms so much.' — ' All thy waves and storms pass over
me,' said Charlotte, ' but the Rock resisteth the flood.' —
' Yes, the Rock' said my darling. ' The floods lift up their
waves, but the Lord is mightier.' — 'He is mightier,' she
repeated. ' The Lord is a refuge and a strong tower,' said
Charlotte. 'He is indeed,' she answered with emphasis;
' it is a dark valley, but there is light beyond, for He is the
strength of my heart and my portion forever.'
" She bade me in the early morning not to leave her,
and I sat by her without moving from 6 A. M. till 1 P. m.
' Oh, you will all be so tired,' she said once. When she was
very ill, Charlotte leant over her and said, ' I am oppressed,
O Lord, undertake for me : may the everlasting arms be
beneath you.' — ' Yes,' she said.
" March 1, Sunday morning. How long it is ! At
6 P. M. she was very restless and suffering. At last she
gave me her hand and lay down with me supporting the
pillows behind. She spoke quite clearly, and said, 'My
blessing and darling, may you be blessed in time and
eternity ! ' This quiet sleep seemed to soothe and rest
her, and afterwards Lea was able to take my place for
an hour. But the night was terrible. Mrs. Woodward
and Miss Finucane both sat up with me. Once she said,
' Through the grave and the gate of death ... a glorious
resurrection.' At seven she was speaking again, and lean-
ing over her I heard, 'How long, how long? when will
the Bridegroom come ? ' "
"4 p.m. Monday, March 2. A rather less suffering
night. Dear Miss Garden sat up with me, saying she felt
as if it was her own mother who was lying there, and
Mother rambled gently to her about 'going home.' At
7 a.m. she fell asleep sweetly with her hand clasped in
vol. ii. — 25
386 THE STORY OF MY LIFE [1868
both of mine. I did not venture to move, and sank from
my knees into a sitting position on the floor; so we re-
mained for nearly an hour. When she waked her moan
was more definite. • Oh, for rest! oh, for rest!' I said,
'Darling, rest is coming soon.' — 'Yes,' she said, fc my
health will all eoine back tome soon; no infirmities and
no pains any more."
"10 A.M. When Charlotte went at nine, I thought my
darling sinking more rapidly, and Dr. Grilli when he came
told us it was all but impossible she could rally. She
looks to me at moments quite passing away. 1 would not
call my darling back for worlds now: if God took her,
1 could only be lost in thankfulness that her pains were
over. Oh, that she may be soon in that perfect health
which we shall not be permitted to see. 1 scarcely leave
her a moment now, though it is agony to me if she coughs
or suffers. Can I afford to lose one look from those
beloved eyes, one passing expression of those revered
features? So I sit beside her through the long hours.
now moistening her Lips, now giving her water from a
spoon, now and then a little soup-jelly, which she finds it
easier to swallow than the soup itself, and now and then my
darling gently gives me her hand to hold in mine. -Rest
in bliss,' she said to .Mrs. Woodward. *rest ever in bliss.'
Afterwards ( Jharlotte said, ' When thou passest through the
waters, they shall not overflow thee: underneath thee are
. . . the everlasting arms.'
"12$ p. m. Charlotte has repeated sentences from the
Litany — * By Thine agony and bloody sweat.' We thought
she scarcely understood at first, then her lips, almost in-
audibly, repeated the sentences. Soon she said, ' It is so
long coming ! ' Then Charlotte read, 'Blessed are the dead
who die in the Lord, for they rest from their labours.' She
opened her eyes, looked up at Charlotte, and said, 'Oh,
how well I know you ! '
"1 P.M. After some minutes' quiet she opened her
1S68] ENGLISH PLEASURES AND ROMAN TRIALS 387
eyes with surprise and said, ' I thought I was safe home ;
I thought I was, yet I can move, so I suppose it will
not be yet.'
" 2 p. m. Her face has lost all its troubled look, and
though she still moans, there is a happy appearance of
repose stealing over her features.
" 3 p. m. When C. L. came in she said, ' Oh, Charlotte,
I thought it was all over. I did not hear the noise of the
waves any more. Oh, they were so. very tormenting, and
then, when I did not hear them, I thought it was over, and
then I heard your voice, and I knew I was still here. . . .
I have no more pain now. ... It was very long, but I
suppose He thought He would knock out all that was bad
in me.'
" Midnight, Monday. After a terrible afternoon, she had
such an extraordinary rally in the evening that we all be-
gan to hope. But soon after there was another change.
Her features altered, her face sunk, but her expression was
of the most transcendent happiness. Thinking the last
moment was come, we knelt around the bed, I alone on the
right; Charlotte, Lea, and Mrs. Woodward on the left;
the nurse, Angela Mayer, at the foot. Charlotte and Mrs.
W. prayed aloud. Then my darling, in broken accents,
difficult to understand, but which I, leaning over her, re-
peated to the others, began to speak — ' I am going to glory
... I have no pain now ... I see the light . . . Oh, I
am so happy ... no more trouble or sorrow or sin . . . so
extremely happy . . . may you all meet me there, not one
of you be wanting.'
" I, leaning over her, said, ' Do you know me still, dar-
ling? ' — ' Yes, I know and bless you, my dearest son . . .
peace and love . . . glory everlasting ... all sins and
infirmities purged away . . . rest . . . love . . . glory
. . . reign for ever . . . see Christ.
" ' Oh, be ready !
" ' Mary and Arthur and Kate and Emmie and Mamie.
388 THE STORY OF MY LIFE [1868
faithful servants of Christ, to meet me there in His
kingdom.
•• • Let peace and love remain with yon always. This is
my great wish, peace and love . . . peace and love.'
••After Baying this, my mother solemnly folded her
trembling hands together on her breast, and looking up to
heaven, said, 'Oh, Lord Jesus, come quickly, and may all
these meet me again in Thy kingdom ! ' As she said this,
my darling's eyes seemed lixed upon another world.
" After this I begged the others to leave me alone with
her, and then my dearest one said to me, 'Yes, darling, our
love for one another on earth is coming to an end now.
We have loved one another very deeply. I don't know
how far communion will be still possible, but I soon shall
know; and if it be possible, I shall still be always near
you. I shall so love to see and know all you are doing,
and to watch over you; and when you hear a little breeze
go rustling by, you must think it is the old Mother still
near you. . . . You will do all I wish, darling, T know.
I need not write, you will carry out all my wishes.' — ' Yes,
dearie,' I said, k it will be my only comfort when you are
gone to do all you would have wished. I will always stay
at Holmhurst, darling, and I will continue going to Alton,
and I will do everything else I can think of that yon would
like.'
" ' Yes, and you must try to conquer self ... to serve
God here, and then we may be together again in heaven.
. . . Oh, we must be together again there.'
•• Lea now came in, and my darling stroked her face
while she sobbed convulsively. 'Your long work is done
at last,' Mother said ; ' I have been a great trouble to you
both, and perhaps it is as well I should be taken away
now, for I am quite worn out. Tell John and all of them
that I am sorry to leave them, but perhaps it was for the
best; for this is not an illness; it is that I am worn out.
■ . . You and Augustus will stay together and comfort
1868] ENGLISH PLEASURES AND ROMAN TRIALS 389
one another when I am gone, and you will bear with one
another's infirmities and help one another. The great
thing of all is to be able to confess that one has been in
the wrong. Oh, peace and love, peace and love, these are
the great things.'
" ' Have I been a good child to you, dearest ? ' I said.
' Oh, yes, indeed — dear and good, dear and good ; a little
wilful perhaps you used to be, but not lately ; you have
been all good to me lately — dear and good.' ( L Yes, that
he has,' said Lea.) * Faithful and good,' my darling re-
peated, ' both of you faithful and good.'
' k Charlotte now came in. k Here is Charlotte.' k Dear
Charlotte ! Oh yes, I know you. I do not know whether
there will be any communication where I am going, but if
there is, I shall be very near you. I am going to rest . . .
rest everlasting. Be a mother to my child. Comfort him
when I am gone . . . give him good advice. . . . You
know what suggestions I should make. . . . You will say
to him what I should say . . . and if he could have a good
wife, that would be the best thing . . . for what would
you do, my child, in this lonely world ? . . . No, a good
wife, that is what I wish for you — a good wife and a family
home.
" ' And now I should like to speak to kind Mrs. Wood-
ward ' (she came in). ' Thank you so much ; you have
been very good and kind to me, dear Mrs. Woodward. I
am going fast to my heavenly home. I have said all I meant
to have written all the time I have been ill, and have never
been able . . . my mouth has been opened that I might
speak. ' "
" 7 A. m. March 3. k Oh, it is quite beautiful. Good-bye,
my own dearest ! I cannot believe that you will look up
into the clouds and think that I am only there . . . but
you will also see me in the flowers and in my friends, and
in all that I have loved.'
390 THE STORY OF MY LIFE [1868
•• s a.m. With the morning lighl my dearest Mother has
seemed to become more rapt in holy thoughts and visions,
her eyes more intently lixrd on the unseen world. At.
last, with a look of rapture she has exclaimed, 'Oh,
angels, 1 see angels!' and since then pain seems to have
Left her.
-S.l A. m. (To Lea.) 'You will take care of him and
comfort him, as you have always taken care of me : you
have been a dear snvant to me.' — ' Yes,' said Lea, 'I will
always sta\ with him and take care of him as long as I live.
I look care of your dear husband, and I have taken care
of you. and I will take care of him as long as he wants me.'
1 Darling sweet,' I said to her. 'Yes, darling sweet,' she
repeated, with inexpressible tenderness. 'I always hear
the tender words you say to me, dear, even in my dreams.'
Then she said also to Mrs. Woodward, ' You have been
very kind to us: you will comfort Augustus when he is
left desolate : you know what sorrow is, you have gone
through the valley. ... It seems so much worse for others
than for me. . . . For then I shall begin really to live.'
" All this time my darling lay with her eyes upturned
and an expression of rapt beatitude. The nurse says that
in her forty years' nursing she never saw any one like
this, so quiet, so happy. ' Nothing ever puts her out or
makes her complain: I never saw anything like it.' 1
"8.! A. M. ' It is very difficult to realise that when you
are absent from the body you are present with the Lord. '
"10 a.m. Dr. Grilli says she may live till evening,
even possibly into the night. She has just said, a little
wandering, ' You know in a few days some pretty sweet
1 " Look at a pious person, man or woman, one in whom the spirit
sways the senses : look at them when they are praying or have risen
from their knees, and see with how bright a ray of divine beauty
their faces are illuminated: you will see the beauty of God shine
on their faces : you will see the beauty of an angel." — Savonarola,
Sermons.
1868] ENGLISH PLEASURES AND ROMAN TRIALS 391
violets will come up, and that will be all that will be left
to you of the dear Mother. '
"11A a. m. She has taken leave of Emma Simpkinson
and Miss Garden. When I came in she took my hand
and said, ' And you, darling, I shall always think of you,
and you will think of me. I shall spring up again like
the little violets, and I shall put on an incorruptible body.
I shall be always floating over you and watching over you
somehow : we shall never be separated ; and my body will
rest beside that of my dear husband. So strange it should
be here; perhaps, if it had been anywhere else, I might
have wished to get better, but as it was here, the tempta-
tion was too great. I am quite worn out. I thought I
could not get better after my last illness, and I was given
back to you for a little while, though I have always felt
very weak, but I shall be quite well now. ' '
"10 a.m. March 4. All night she wandered gently,
saying that she would ' go out and play with the little
children ; for there can be nothing bad amongst very little
children.' In the morning Charlotte still thought there
was a chance of her rallying, but Emma Simpkinson and
I both think her sinking, and Dr. Grilli says that ' sussulti
tendinosi ' of the pulses have come on, and that there is
not the slightest hope. It can probably only be two hours,
though it may last till evening. He has formally taken
leave, saying that medicine is useless, and that it is no use
for him to return any more. Since the early morning my
darling has been lying with her hand in mine, leaning her
head against mine on the pillow, her eyes turned upwards,
her lips constantly moving in inarticulate prayer. She has
asked, ' What day is it ? I think it is my birthday to-day. '
I have not told her it is her father's birthday, as I believe
it will be her own birthday in heaven.
"11 a. m. She has again appeared to be at the last
extremity. Raising her eyes to heaven and taking my
• •
92 THE STORY OF MY LIKE [1808
hand, she has prayed fervently but inaudibly. Then she
prayed audibly for blessings for me and Lea, and, with a
grateful look to Emma, added, k And for dear Emma
too.'
" 1 p. m. She wandered a little, and asked if the battle
was over. 'Yes,' said Lea, "and the victory won."
"1.] p. M. k I am all straight now, no more crookedness.
. . . You must do something, dear, to build yourself up;
you must be a good deal pulled down by all this. . . .
Rest now, but work, work for God in life.
"'. Don't expect too much good upon earth.
"' Don't expect too much perfection in one another.
" ' Work for eternity.
"' Only try for love.'
"2p.m. 'Oh, how happy I am! I have everything
J want here and hereafter.'
"2.10. (With eyes uplifted and hands clasped.) . . .
' Living water. The Lamb, the Lamb is the life.'
"2.15. C. L. repeated at her request ' Abide with me,
fast falls the eventide.'
"2.30. The dear Mother herself, with her changed
voice, clasped hands, and uplifted eyes, has repeated the
hymn, ' Just as I am, without one plea.'
" 3 P. M. 'I am glad I am not going to stay. I could
not do you any more good, and I am so happy. '
"4 p.m. (With intense fervour.) 'O God, O God!
God alone can save — one and eternal. Amen! Amen!'
"4.15. ' Let us be one in heaven, dear, as we are one
on earth.'
"• L30. ' Oh, let me go. ... I have said I was ready
to go so often, but you won't give me up.' I said, 'I
think you had better try to sleep a little now, darling. ' —
' Yes, but let it be the last: I have had so many, many
last sleeps. ' — ' You are in no pain now, dearie ? ' I said.
'Oh no, no pain; there is no pain on the borderland of
heaven.
1868] ENGLISH PLEASURES AND ROMAN TRIALS 39o
" ' May He who ruletli all, both in heaven and earth,
bless you, my child — bless you and keep you from ill.
Love, love, perfect love, love on earth and then love in
heaven. ... I can hear words from the upper world now
and none from the nearer. They have taught me things
that were dark to me before.'
" 5 p. M. ' Peace be with you, peace and love.
"' Sin below, grace above.
" ' We sinners below, Christ above.
" ' All love, all truth in Jesus Christ, my Lord and my
God.'
" 54 p. m. ' Oh, let it be. It could not be better — no
doubt, no difficulty. . . . All the good things of this
world, what are they ? . . . soon pass away — pride, van-
ity, vexation of spirit ; but oh ! love ! love ! ' It was after
saying these words that my darling's face became quite
radiant, and that she looked upward with an expression of
rapture. ' I see a white dove, ' she said, ' oh, such a beau-
tiful white dove, floating towards me.' Soon after this
she exclaimed, ' Oh, Lord Jesus, oh, come quickly.' . . .
When she opened her eyes, ' What a wilful child you are !
you will not let your mother depart, and she is so ready. '
— 'Is it he who keeps you ? ' said C. L. ' No, a better
One; but let me go or let me stay, O Lord, I have no
will but Thine.' ' M
"2 a. M. March 5. During the night she has prayed
constantly aloud for various relations and friends by name,
and often for me. Once she said, ' Ever upright, ever
just, sometimes irritable, weak in temperament, that others
should love him as I have done . . . and a good wife,
that is what I have always thought.'
1 There is another passage in Rudyard Kipling which exactly de-
scribes my mother's state at this time. " The mind was quickened,
and the revolving thoughts ground against each other, as millstones
grind when there is no corn between."
;;i)| THE STORY OF MY LIFE [1SG8
•• 8 P. m- March 5. Twice to-day there has been a sudden
sinking of nature, life almost extinct, and then, owing to
the return of lever, there has been a rally. She became
excited if I left her even for a moment, so through last
oighl and to-day I have constantly sat behind her on the
bed, supporting her head on a pillow in my arms. "
•• lo p. m. Emma Simpkinson is come for the night, but
there is a strange change. My mother is asleep! quietly
asleep — the fever is reduced after the aconite which I
insisted upon, and which the homoeopathic doctor said
■must end her life in half-an-hour. "
"Friday Evening, March 6. All day there has been a
rally, and she has now power to cough again. Grilli had
given the case up, so at noon to-day I had no scruple in
sending for Dr. Topham, writing full explanation of the
strange case. He says it is the most extraordinary he has
ever seen and a most interesting study — ' Before such a
miracle of nature, science can only sit still.' Life still
hangs on a thread, but there is certainly an improvement.
She knows none but me."
"Saturday Evening, March 7. What a quiet day of
respite we have had after all the long tension and anxiety.
My darling's face has resumed a natural expression, and
she now lies quite quiet, sleeping, and only rousing herself
to take nourishment."
I have copied these fragments from my journal of
two terrible weeks, written upon my knees by my
mother's side, when we felt every hour must be the
last, and that her words, so difficult to recall after-
wards, would be almost our only consolation when
the great desolation had really fallen. But no de-
scription can give an idea of the illness — of the
1868] ENGLISH PLEASURES AND ROMAN TRIALS 395
strange luminousness of the sunken features, such as
one reads of in lives of Catholic saints — of the mar-
vellous beauty of her expression — of the thrilling
accents in which many words were spoken, from
which her sensitive retiring nature would have shrunk
in health. Had there been physically any reason for
hopefulness, which there was not — had the doctors
given any hope of recovery, which they did not, her
appearance, her words, her almost transfiguration
would have assured us that she was on the threshold
of another world. I feel that those who read must
— like those who saw — almost experience a sort of
shock at her being given back to us again. Yet I
believe that God heard my prayer in St. Peter's for
the two years more. During that time, and that
time only, she was spared to bless us, and to prepare
me better for the final separation when it really
came. She was also spared to be my support in
another great trial of my life, to which we then never
looked forward. But I will return to my journal,
with which ordinary events now again entwine
themselves.
"March 10, 1868. My darling is gradually but slowly
regaining strength, the doctor saying he can give no
medicine, but that he can only stand still in awe before
the marvels of nature, whilst we, the watchers, are gradu-
ally rallying from the great strain and tension of the last
week.
"Yesterday was Santa Francesca Romana's day. I
went to her house, the old Ponziani Palace, now the
Ezercizii Pii, hung outside for the day with battered
tapestry and strewn within with box. The rooms inside
396 THE STORY OF MY LIFE [1868
are the same as when the Saint lived in them, with
raftered ceilings, and many of them turned into chapels.
Downstairs is the large room which she turned into a
hospital, and there is a bright open courtyard planted with
orange-trees, though certainly nothing of the ' magnificent
Ponziani Palace* described by Lady Georgiana Fullerton
in In r book.
"Thence to the Tor de' Specchi, where a cardinal, a
number of Roman ladies, and a crowd of others were pass-
ing through the bright old rooms covered with frescoes
and tapestry, and looking into the pleasant courtyards of
the convent with their fountains and orange-trees. Up-
stairs is a One chapel, where the skeleton of the Saint lies
under the altar, dressed as an Oblate (with the face
exposed), but in a white veil and white gloves ! The
living Oblates flitting about were very interesting pictu-
resque-looking women, mostly rather old. Several relics
of Santa Francesca are preserved. On a table near the
entrance was the large flat vase in which she made oint-
ment for the poor, filled with flowers.
" On Sunday, when many ladies went to the Pope, he
made them a little sermon about their guardian angels and
Sta. Francesca Romana."
"March 15. My sweet Mother is in almost exactly the
same state — a sort of dormouse existence, and so weak
that she can scarcely hold up her head; yet she has been
twice wheeled into the sitting-room.
il T have been with the Fitzmaurices to the Castle of S.
Angelo, very curious, and the prisons of Beatrice Cenci
and her stepmother, most ghastly and horrid. There are
between seven and eight hundred men there now, and
many prisoners. Over the prison doors passers-by had
made notes in chalk: one was, ' O voi che entrate qui,
lasciate ogni speranza; ' another, ' On sait quand on entre,
on ne sait pas quand on sort; ' another, ' Hotel des
Martyrs.'
1868] ENGLISH PLEASURES AND ROMAN TRIALS 397
" On Friday evening I rushed with all the world to the
receptions of the new cardinals — first to the Spanish
Embassy, then to the Colonna to see Cardinal Bonaparte, 1
who has a most humble manner and a beautiful refined
face like Manning at his best; and then to the Inquisition,
where Cardinal de Monaco was waiting to receive in rooms
which were almost empty."
CASTLE OF ESTE/
"March 30. The dear Mother makes daily progress.
She has the sofa in her bedroom, and lies there a great
deal in the sunny window.
"I went to Mrs. Lockwood's theatricals, to which, as
she said, ' all the people above the rank of a duchess were
asked down to the letter M. ' The play, IS Aieule, was
wonderfully well done by Princess Radziwill, Princess
1 Prince Lucien, son of the Roman Prince Charles Lucien (nephew
of Napoleon I.) and of Zenaide, only child of Joseph, King of Naples
and Spain.
2 From "Northern Italy."
398 THE STORY OF MY LIFE [1868
Pallavicini, Princess Scilla, Duca del Gallo, and others, a
most beautiful electric light being let in when the grand-
mother steals in to give the poison to the sleeping girl."
"May 8. We leave Rome to-morrow — leave it in a
flush of summer glory, in a wealth unspeakahle of foliage
and flowers, orange blossoms scenting our staircase, the
sky deep blue.
"All the last fortnight poor Emma Simpkinson 1 has
been terribly ill — a great anxiety to us as to what was
best to be done for her, but we hope now that she may be
moved to England, and I must go with my restored
Mother, who is expanding like a flower in the sunshine.
"This afternoon, at the crowded time, the young
Countess Crivelli, the new Austrian Ambassadress, drove
down the Corso. At the Porta del Popolo she met her
husband's horse without a rider. Much alarmed, she
drove on, and a little farther on she found her husband's
d.ad body lying in the road. She picked it up, and drove
back down the Corso with the dead man by her side."
Amongst the many English who spent this spring
in Rome, I do not find any note, in my diaries, of
Lord Houghton, yet his dinners for six in the Via
S. Basilio wore delightful. His children were real
children then, and his son, Robin, 2 a boy of wonderful
promise. Lord Houghton was never satisfied with
talking well and delightfully himself; his great
charm was his evident desire to draw out all the good
there was in other people.
1 Emma Simpkinson reached England before us, but was then
rapidly waning heavenwards. She spent the last few weeks of her
life at St. Leonards, where we had the great comfort of being able to
cheer and watch over her, and she is buried in the cemetery at Ore.
'-' Afterwards Lord Lieutenant of Ireland.
1868] ENGLISH PLEASURES AND ROMAN TRIALS 399
Journal.
" Venice, May 10, 1868. We had a terribly hot journey
by Spoleto and Ancona, and came on to Este. It is a
long drive up from the station to the primitive little town
close under the Euganean Hills, with the ruined castle
where the first Guelph was born. The inn (La Speranza)
is an old palace, and our sitting-room was thirty-four feet
long. The country is luxuriance itself, covered with corn
petrarch's tomb, a Ryu a. 1
and flax, separated by rows of peach and tig trees, with
vines leaping from tree to tree. I drove to Arqua, a most
picturesque village in a hollow of the hills. In the little
court of the church is Petrarch's tomb, of red Verona
marble, and on the high ridge his house, almost unaltered,
with old frescoes of his life, his chair, his chest, and his
stuffed cat, shrunk almost to a weasel."
"Augsburg, May 24. From Venice we saw Torcello —
the Mother, Lea, and I in a barca gliding over those
shallow mysterious waters to the distant island and its
1 From "Northern Italy."
THE STORY OF MY LIFE
[18138
decaying church, vrhere we sat to draw near Attala's
marble chair half buried in the rank growth of the
mallows.
"We came away by an early brain to Verona, and drove
in tlic afternoon to San Zenone, and then to the beautiful
(iinsti gardens for the sunset. Mother was able to clinih
up to the summer-house on the height, and the gardener
gave us pinks and roses.
TOMB OF HIE COUNT OF CASTEEBARCO, VERONA. 1
" On the 24th we came on to Trent, a most attractive
place, with an interesting cathedral, line fountains, beau-
tiful trees, and surroundings of jagged pink mountains
tipped with snow. Cheating the Alps by crossing the
Brenner, we Avent by Salzburg to Berchtesgaden, where
we found quiet rooms with a splendid view of the snow-
dad Watzmann. We were rowed down the Konigsee as
far as the waterfall, Lea dreadfully frightened on the
Lake."
1 From " Northern Italy."
1868] ENGLISH PLEASURES AND ROMAN TRIALS 401
From Augsburg we went to Oberwesel on the
Rhine, where we were very happy in a primitive
hotel amid the vines and old timber-houses. On our
second morning there, while I was drawing on the
shore of the river, a strange and terrible presentiment
came over me of some great misfortune, some over-
whelming grief which was then taking place in Eng-
land. I threw down my drawing things and hurried
back to the hotel to my mother. " Never," I said,
" have these sudden presentiments come to me with-
out meaning. I am sure you will listen to me when
I say that we ought to be in England directly." —
" Yes," she said, " I quite believe it ; let us go at
once ; " and then and there, in the hot morning, we
walked down to the train. We travelled all night,
and at daybreak we were in England. I confess that,
as we travelled, the detailed impression which I had
from my presentiment was wrong. I thought of
what would have affected my mother most. I fan-
cied that, as I was sitting on the Rhine shore, Arthur
Stanley had died at Westminster. But John Gid-
man met us with our little carriage at Hastings, and
as we drove up to Holmhurst he told me the dreadful
truth — that, at the very moment of my presenti-
ment, my sister Esmeralda had expired.
I still feel the echo of that terrible anguish.
vol. n. — 26
XIII
LAST YEARS OF ESMERALDA
"Sleep sweetly, dear one; thou will wake at dawn." — Moschus.
•• Her mind was one of those pure mirrors from which the polluting
breath passes awaj as it touches it." — Bishop Heber.
"Cette longue el cruelle maladie qu'on appelle la vie, est enfin
guerie. ' —Mademoiselle d'Espinasse.
•• Lei her pure soul . . .
Remain my pledge in heaven, as sent to show
How to this portal everj step I go."
— Sir John Beaumont.
I think that I have not written anything concerning
the life of my sister alter we met her at Rome in the
winter of 1865-66. Since that time she has heen
more incessantly engrossed by the affairs, and often
very trivial interests, of the Roman Catholic Church,
Imt without for a moment relaxing her affection and
cordiality towards us. Great was my pleasure in
watching how. in spite of all religious differences, my
mother became increasingly fond of her every time
they met. I think it is William Penn who says,
•• The meek, the just, the pious, the devout, are all of
one religion."
On leaving Rome in 1866, Esmeralda made it an
object to visit the famous "Nun of Monza," Ancilla
Ghizza, called in religion the"Madre Serafina della
1864] LAST YEARS OF ESMERALDA 403
Croce." This nun had been founding a religious
order at Monza, which was at first intended to be
affiliated to the Sacramentarie on the Quirinal at
Rome. She was supposed to have not only the
"stigmata," but the marks of our Lord's scourging,
to be gifted with a wonderful power and knowledge
of the interior life, and to possess the gift of prophecy.
She was summoned to Rome, and, after three years'
noviciate at the Sacramentarie, she was permitted, in
1862, to return to Monza, and to begin her commun-
ity, fifteen nuns being clothed at the same time. She
used to distribute little crosses which she declared to
have been blessed by our Lord in person, and she was
often in an ecstasy, in which it was alleged that her
body became so light that she could be raised from
the ground by a single hair of her head ! Concern-
ing Serafina della Croce, Esmeralda had already
received from a celebrated Italian ecclesiastic the
following : —
'O
" Vcnezia, 3 Gcnnaio, 1864. Mi scusi se io cosi presto
riprendo la penna, per offrirle il mio povero tentative* di
consolarla, sotto la forma di questa piccola croce, die io
ebbi dall' Ancilla Ghizzi di Monza, e che e stata benedetta
dalle mani stesse di Nostro Signore in una visione. Io
potrei dirle molto di queste croci, ma ci vorrebbe troppo
tempo. Cosi io le dird soltanto per affermare la sua
opinione sopra la santita di questa serva di Dio, che io
conosco qui un sacerclote che ando a vederla, e al quale
il confessore dell' Ancilla delego la sua autorita, dicendogli
che poteva comandarla ed interrogarla per un' ora, come
se fosse lui stesso il suo confessore. Infatti, portatosi
dall' Ancilla, senza che essa fosse stata avvertita di
401 THE STORY OF MY LIFE [1866
quest' accordo fra loro, U Sacerdote le diede mentalmente
l» obbedienza di unirsi eon Dio in orazione, ed essa imme-
diatamente andd in estasi, e continuo un' ora intera in
questostato, nel qua] tempo egli le domandd mentalmente
varie cost- in rapporto a certe persone che desiderebbero
, 3 sere raccomandate a lie sue preghiere, ed essa rispondeva
al suo precetto mentale, raccomandandogli ogni persona ed
ogni domanda al Signore di viva race, continuando cosi un
dialogo dod Lnterrotto. Qualche volta per la soddisfazione
di una terza persona che era presente, questo Sacerdote
gli diceva all* orecchio il soggetto sopra il quale voleva
schiarimento. Debbo aggiungere che in questo stato il
suo corpo e* cosi leggiero die la poteva sollevare da terra
per un solo dei suoi capelli, come se non avesse piu nessun
peso. Ho pure veduto dei manoscritti voluminosi del suo
confessore pieni di maraviglie, e che dimostrano che la
sua familiarita colle cose e colle persone celesti e arrivata
ad un tal punto, che si pud ben paragonare a tutto cio che
si legge nelle vite dei santi. Anzi a me mi pare che
supera tutto quel che io ho letto fin qui."
Another intention of Esmeralda was to visit " Tor-
chio," the inspired cobbler at Turin, and consult him
on various subjects. This Torchio had had the most
extraordinary visions of the Judgment; but alas! I
neglected to write clown the long verbal account
which my sister gave me of her visit to him, and thus
it is lost. I have only the following, written in cross-
ing the Mont Cenis with an Asiatic bishop, to whom
Esmeralda had offered a place in her carriage: —
"June 4, 1866. For three days running before leaving
Rome, I had the visits of the venerable Monsignor Natale,
and we talked of coming events in the political world. I
went over from Pisa to Leghorn, and there I saw a very
1866] LAST YEARS OF ESMERALDA 405
remarkable person called Suora Carolina. We went to
Milan for one day, and from thence to Monza. I saw the
bishop, and besought and entreated, and at last he gave
permission, and I was the first to pass through the closed
door of the convent and to kneel and kiss the hand of the
saint. Auntie went with me. I can never express what
I felt. It was like seeing S. Francesco d'Assisi, and it
seemed like a dream as, side by side, we walked through
the cloister and then went up into her cell: one so highly
favoured! it was too much happiness. All I had heard
was nothing to the reality, and there was Auntie sitting in
her cell, the other nuns standing round. Her face was
quite beautiful, quite heavenly.
"And then we returned to Milan and started for Turin,
and there I went to see Torchio, the celebrated Torchio,
as he sat on his basket and spoke as he was inspired. It
was a wonderful and beautiful sermon, both in word and
action. When he spoke of the Passion, one seemed to
follow him to Calvary. He is a poor man living at the
top of a very poor house, but he is an apostle."
Esmeralda returned to London to Mrs. Thorpe's,
but in the autumn she went north and paid visits to
the Monteiths and Stourtons and to Lady Hemes in
Yorkshire. Lady Herries said afterwards that she
liked to think of her as she so often saw her in the
chapel at Everingham, praying, " oh, so fervently,"
for hours together. As her life became more absorbed
in devotion and religious interests, she was conscious
of the danger of neglecting earthly duties and sympa-
thies. On August 4, 1866, she wrote : —
"Let me walk in the presence of God without under-
rating His gifts, for the underrating of God's gifts is one
of the temptations which I am required to tight against."
km; the story of my life [isgo
( in September 8 she wrote : —
"Lei me surrender entirely my individual will, to be
completely united and absorbed in the will of Jesus Christ,
— then will the truths of Christianity become a fixed life
in my soul.
"The great impediment to the life of Jesus in the soul
is the aiming at mediocrity in things pertaining to our
Lord and to a spiritual life; whereas our Master would
have us aim at perfection, and hear in mind as a command
I lis words. ' Be ye perfect.'
In August Esmeralda was thrown into real heart-
mourning by the news which reached England of the
death of "the Great Mother," Maria de Matthias.
The following is from Pierina Rolleston, Superior of
the Order of the Precious Blood in England: —
" Mv own dearest in the precious blood, I write in haste,
and while I write my tears are flowing, because I have
sad news to tell you and dear Mrs. Montgomery, who are
both children of the Institute, and love our beloved
Mother- General, who is in heaven, praying for us all.
The following is a copy of a letter I received yesterday
from Monsignor Talbot: — 'I write to announce to you
the death of your Mother-General. She expired two days
ago -died as she lived, after giving examples of patience
and resignation in the midst of her sufferings. To-morrow
her funeral will be celebrated at the Church of SS.
Vincenzo ed A.nastasio, and I intend to attend. I do not
think von need fear for the future of your Institute,
because I think that the successor oi your late Mother-
General, though she may not be so saintly a person, will
be equally able to carry on the business. I do not think
you can be too grateful to Almighty God for having such
friends as Monsignor Paterson and Miss Hare.' . . . My
1866] LAST YEARS OF ESMERALDA 407
dearest, I write in haste that you may receive all the news
of our beloved Mother. Sister Carolina Longo, whom she
named as her successor upon her death-bed, is a good
clever nun, and she was Mother's dear child. She lived
with Mother from a child of eight years old, and became a
religious about the age of twenty- two. We have lost one
of the dearest of mothers, but can look up to her in
heaven, and I am sure she will help us in our work. . . .
With fond love in the precious blood, I am always your
most affectionate in Christ,
"PlERINA OF THE PRECIOUS BLOOD."
The winter of 1866-67 was chiefly passed by my
sister at the house of Mrs. Alfred Montgomery at
Meld near Crawley, where Esmeralda and her aunt
for many months shared in the housekeeping. For
Esmeralda had been induced to regard Mrs. Mont-
gomery as a religious martyr, and her impressionable
nature was completely fascinated by her hostess.
While at Ifield, a fatal web was drawn each day
more closely by her Catholic associates, by which Es-
meralda was induced to entrust large sums to her
brother Francis for speculation upon the political
prophecies of Madame de Traffbrd. Her unworldly
nature was persuaded to consent to this means of (as
Francis represented) largely increasing her income,
by the prospect which was held out to her of having
more money to employ in assisting various religious
objects, especially the establishment of the Servites in
London, and the foundation of their church, for which
she had promised Father Bosio, General of the Ser-
vites, to supply £500, to be obtained either by col-
lections or otherwise, at the expiration of three years.
41 IS THE STORY OF MY LIFE [1866
Esmeralda never knew or bad the faintest idea of the
sum to which her speculations amounted. She Mas
oiled on from day to day by two evil advisers,
and. her hearl being in other things, was induced to
trusl and believe that her worldly affairs were in the
hands of disinterested persons. The lists of her in-
tended employments for the next day, so many of
which remained amongst her papers, show how little
of her time and attention was given to pecuniary
matters. From them it is seen that a quarter of an
hour allotted to the discussion of investments with
her brother would be preceded by an hour spent in
writing about the affairs of a French convent or the
maintenance of a poor widow in Home, and followed
by an hour devoted to the interests of the Servites or
-Mine other religious body. There is no doubt that
Ksineralda undertook far more than was good either
for her health or for her mind; each hour of every
day was portioned out from the day before, and was
fully and intensely occupied, especially when she was
in London. If visitors or any unexpected circum-
stance prevented the task for which she had allotted
any particular hour, she did not leave it on that ac-
count unfulfilled, but only detracted from the hours of
rest. One thing alone, her daily meditation, she
allowed nothing to interfere with. In the hours of
meditation she found the refreshment which helped
her through the rest of the day. " Our Lord requires
of us that our souls shall become a tabernacle for
Him to dwell in," she wrote on February 2, 1867,
"and the lam]) lighted before it is the lamp of our
affections."
1866] LAST YEARS OF ESMERALDA 409
All through the summer of 1866, my brother Wil-
liam's health had been declining, and in the autumn,
in the hope of benefit from the sea-breezes, he was
moved to Brighton, which he never left. After
Christinas day he was never able to leave the house.
The small fortune of his pretty, helpless wife had been
lost in a bankruptcy, and they were reduced to a state
of destitution in which they were almost devoid of the
absolute necessaries of life. The following are ex-
tracts from William's letters to his sister at this
time : —
" You cannot imagine how I miss your letters when you
cease to write for any length of time. . . . Since Sunday
I have been confined to my bed, having almost lost all use
of my limbs. I could not possibly be moved to our sitting-
room, being in so weak and emaciated a condition, and I
fear I shall have to keep my bed all through this bitter
cold weather. I am so miserably thin that it is with the
greatest difficulty that I can contrive to sit or lie in any
position. It is, however, God's will that it should be so,
and I am enabled to say ' Thy will be done, O Lord. ' . . .
God has mercifully vouchsafed me time for repentance,
and has brought me back to Himself, and made me one
with Him by strengthening me with His own body, so
that, dear sister, I feel supremely happy and at peace with
all the world ; and should it please Almighty God to call
me hence, I feel serene in His love, that He has graciously
forgiven me all my sins, and that He will take me to
Himself where there is no longer any pain or suffering.
Father Crispin came on Wednesday to hear my confes-
sion, and on Thursday morning he administered the most
Blessed Sacrament to me. . . . Dear Edith has received
£10 lately, which you may well suppose at this critical
time was obtained with very great difficulty ; but all this
|||) THE STORY OF MY LIFE [1S67
money has been expended on my illness, and there is noth-
ing left for the doctor's visits, medicine, or to pay the
butcher, baker, washerwoman, milk, or coal bill. Yet it
will not do to give up the doctor in my critical state, or to
cease taking his medicine, or to denj myself the necessary
restoratives; if I did I must inevitably sink. Will you
not, in compassion for my fallen state, consent to make me
sonic sort of allowance during my illness to enable me to
obtain what is necessary ?
"Mr. Blackwood (you will remember 'Beauty Black-
wood." who married the Duchess of Manchester 1 ) has sent
me a little book which he has just published — 'The
Shadow and the Substance,' which he assures me is quite
free from controversy, and he desires me to read it with
especial care and attention, as being conducive to my
comfort during hours of sickness and suffering."
My sister immediately sent William all he re-
quired, when he again wrote: —
"How can I thank you sufficiently for so generously
responding to my appeal in more senses than one, by send-
ing me money to relieve the pressure of want, books to
comfort me in hours of sickness, and wine to cheer and
strengthen me? . . . Should I be spared, I must accept
this illness as one of the greatest, indeed the greatest
Messing I could possibly receive, for it has taught me my
own nothingness, my all insufficiency, and it has drawn
me from a sphere of sin into a sphere of grace; it has
caused me to despise the world and all its vanities, and
has diverted my heart and whole being to Almighty God;
it has brought me into close communion with Him,
strengthened by the graces of His Holy Sacraments, and
has made me fee] the blessedness of constant prayer. Oh,
1 Afterwards Sir Arthur Blackwood, Secretary to the Post-Office.
He died 1893.
1867] LAST YEARS OF ESMERALDA 411
I would not change my present state for worlds ; and should
it please Almighty God to call me from hence I feel that
He will receive me into everlasting peace. Father Crispin
called last evening : he considers me so prostrate that he
intends administering the sacrament of Extreme Unction.
Pray for me ! I cannot express to you how rejoiced I am
that we are again hand in hand together. You should not
forget the days of our youth, we were always inseparable;
we were then estranged from each other, and a very, very
hitter time that was to me. I cannot say that I am any
better."
After the receipt of this letter my sister hurried
to Brighton, and she was there when William died.
On the 11th of March she wrote to me : —
" We are here to be with William, to wait by his bedside
during these last days of his illness. On Thursday night,
and again on Friday night, it seemed as if the last hour
was come, but there is now a slight, a very slight improve-
ment, so that he may live a few days longer. Yesterday
there came over him a momentary wish to recover, but it
passed away, and his calm resignation was really unbroken
and continues the same to-day. He does not murmur,
though his sufferings must be terrible. . . . From time
to time he asks me to read aloud a few lines of the ' Imi-
tation of Christ, ' but I can scarcely do it without breaking
down as I look up and see those sunken cheeks and large
glazed eyes fixed upon me with such a deep look of intense
suffering."
Two unexpected friends appeared to cheer Wil-
liam's last clays. One was the young Duchess of
Sutherland, who had been intimate with him as a
child, and having never met him since the days
II;.' THE STORY OF MY LIFE [1S67
when they both lived in the Maison Valin, heard
accidentally of his illness at Brighton; she came
repeatedly to see him, and supplied him with many
mforts, and even luxuries. The other was the
well-known Miss Marsh, the authoress of the " Me-
morials of Bedley Vicars," — the staunch Protestant,
hut liberal Christian. She happened to call to see
the landlady of the lodging where he was, when,
hearing of William's illness and poverty, she went
constantly to visit him, and laying aside in the
shadow of death all wish for controversy, read and
prayed with him in the common sympathy of their
Christian faith and trust. She wrote afterwards: —
"Blessed he God that I have no doubt that the dying
friend in whom 1 have been so deeply interested was in
Christ and is now with Him. We never spoke together
of Romanism or Protestantism; all I cared for was to
persuade him, by the help of the Holy Ghost, to accept at
once the offer of a tree and present salvation through our
Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ, and through Him only:
and to believe Cod's word that he that believeth on the
Son of God hath everlasting life, heeause of His one sacri-
fice once offered for the sins of the whole world. And lie
did believe it. and false confidences faded away like
shadows before the sunrise. ' Jesus only ' became all his
salvation and all his desire, and he passed into His
presence with a radiant smile of joy. I was not with him
when he died, bui the hour of communing with his spirit
that same evening was one of the sweetest 1 have spent on
earth."
Mv sister has left some notes of that which
occurred after William's death: —
1867] LAST YEARS OF ESMERALDA 413
" After all was over, and when the room was decorated
and the body laid out, Miss Marsh came to see him, and
taking his dead hand, she placed a white camellia in it.
Then kneeling by the side of the bed, she offered up the
most beautiful prayer aloud, in which she described as in
a picture our Blessed Lord and the angels receiving his
soul. It was quite wonderfully beautiful : there was only
one thing she left out; she never mentioned Our Blessed
Lady; she placed the angels before our Lady. I was
standing at the foot of the bed with a crucifix, and when
she ceased praying, I said, ' But you have never spoken of
Our Lady: I cannot let Our Lady be passed over.' And
Miss Marsh was not angry; no, she only rose from her
knees, and coming to me, she threw her arms round my
neck and said, ' Do not let us dispute upon this now ; we
have one God and one Saviour in common, let us rest
upon these,' and she came to see me afterwards when I
was ill in London.
" ' Know thou that courtesy is one of God's own proper-
ties, who sendeth His rain and His sunshine upon the just
and the unjust out of His great courtesy; and verily
Courtesy is the sister of Charity, who banishes hatred and
cherishes love.' Were not these the words of the dear
S. Francis of Assisi?
"During William's illness Miss Marsh came everyday
with something for him, and quite stripped her own room
to give him her own chair, and even her mattress. She
was just the one person William wanted. Any dried-up
person might have driven him back, but she was daily
praying by his side, handsome, enthusiastic, dwelling
only on the love of God, and she helped him on till he
began really to think the love of God the only thing worth
living for.
"' O sister,' he said to me once, 'if it should please
God that I should live, all my life would be given up to
Him.'
■ Ill THE STOKY OF .MY LIFE [1867
"The doctor who wenl up to him when he was told that
he could j i < > t live many hours came down with tears upon
his face. 'There must indeed be something in religion,'
he said, 'when that young man can be so resigned to
.lie.
On the Saturday after William's death my sister
wrote to us: —
" Now that dear William's last call has come, I feel
thankful for his sake. The good priest who attended
him in all the latter part of his illness wrote to me the day
alter his death that 1 could have no cause of anxiety for
his everlasting welfare. It was a beautiful death, he was
so happy, peaceful, and resigned. I had only left him a
very short time when he again asked for Edith. She came
up to his bedside, and then there seemed to come over
William's luce a bright light illuminating his countenance,
and fixing his eyes upwards with a short sigh, he breathed
his last. There was no suffering then, no agony. I had
asked him if he feared death. ' No,' he said, and looked
as if he wondered at the thought coming into my mind,
lie fell he had found the only true peace and happiness.
II.' told me he wished to lie buried at Kensal Green. His
only anxiety was about poor Edith, and when I told him
that I would do what Lay in my power for her, lie seemed
satisfied, and never, I believe, gave this world another
thought, but prepared to meet our Blessed Lord. That
irtiful look of peace was on his face after death.
Francis arrived too late to see him alive, but when he
looked on William's face he said, ' Oh. sister, bow beau-
tiful! ' The little room was draped with black and white.
There he lav. and we were coming and going, and praying
by the side of the open coffin. On Tuesday will be the
funeral. On Monday the body will be removed to the
Church of St. Mary of the Angels, Bayswater, where it
1867] LAST YEARS OF ESMERALDA 415
will remain through the night, according to devout Roman
custom."
After the funeral Esmeralda wrote : —
" Ifield Lodge, Crawley. When the long sad week was
over, I felt all power of further exertion gone, and yet it
seemed, as it does now, that for the soul God had taken to
Himself, should the happiness of that soul not yet be
perfected, prayers must be obtained, and that I must work
on and on as long as life lasts. There is a feeling of long-
ing to help in the mind of every Catholic for those
departed. On Monday the 24th the dear remains were
moved from Brighton by the 6 p. m. train. Auntie and I
went up by the same train from Three Bridges, and Francis
came to the Victoria Station to meet the coffin; but such
was the heavy feeling of sorrow, that, though we were on
the platform at the same time, we did not see each other.
" The next morning I went for Edith, and we arrived at
the church early. The body had been placed in one of
the side-chapels, and had remained there through the
night. Before mass it was brought out, and remained
before the high-altar during mass. There were many of
William's friends present, and also Margaret Pole, now
Mrs. Baker. The funeral procession formed at the door
of the church. As the body was moved down the church,
Edith and I followed after the officiating priests. I held
Edith's hand tightly, and did not intend her to get into
one of the mourning coaches, but suddenly, as the hearse
moved slowly from the church door, she wrenched her
hand. from my grasp and was gone before I had time to
speak. Four nuns went to say the responses at the grave.
One was the nun who had nursed dear Mama throusrh her
last hours, and had stayed on with me in Bryanston Street.
I returned from the church to the hotel, and there Auntie
and Edith found me after the funeral was over.
416 THE STOUY OF MY LIFE [1867
"The funeral service in the church was very solemn,
hut there was do weight of gloom or sadness. The strong
feeling of the safety of the soul was such a consolation,
that the end for which that soul had heen created had
been gained, and thai it' it were not then in heaven, the
da\ would conic soon, and could be hastened by the prayers
said for it. His dear remains rest now under the figure of
Our Lady of Sorrows, which he had so wished to see
erected. I never looked forward to such a deathbed for
William, where there would be so much peace and love of
God, and now I can never feel grateful enough for such
grace granted at the eleventh hour. May we all and each
have as beautiful an end and close of life. Edith says,
' ( )h. 1 wish I could see what William saw when he looked
up with that bright light on his face.' With that look all
suffering is blotted out of poor Edith's mind, all her long
watchings.
" I can never feel grateful enough to Miss Marsh for all
her kindness to William. It helped him to God, and it
was very, very beautiful. ... I hope still to go to Rome
for the funzione in June, and also to Hungary for the
coronation of the Emperor."
May 1867 was passed by my sister in London,
where, by her astonishing cleverness and persever-
ance, she finally gained the last of her lawsuits, that
for the family plate, when it had been lost in three
other courts. Soon after, in spite of the great heat
of the" summer, Esmeralda started for Rome, to be
present at the canonisation of the Japanese martyrs,
I laying a visit to Madame de Trafford on the way.
She wrote to me : —
'When I first went to Beaujour, I was afraid to tell
Madame de Trafford that I intended to go to Rome.
1867] LAST YEARS OF ESMERALDA 417
' Mais ou allez-vous clone, ma cliere ? ' said Madame de
Trail ord. ' Mais, Madame, je vais ... en voyage. ' —
' Vous allez en voyage, 9a je comprends, mais ca ne re'pond
pas a ma question : vous allez en voyage, mais il faut aller
quelque part, ou allez-vous done? ' — ' Mais, Madame, vous
verrez de mon re tour. ' — ' Mais ou allez-vous done, ma
chere ? dites-moi, ou allez-vous ? ' — ' Je vais a . . . Rome ! '
Madame de Trafford sprang from her chair as I said this,
and exclaimed, ' Rome, Rome, ce mot de Rome, Rome,
Rome . . . et vous allez a Rome . . . moi aussi je vais a
Rome,' and she went with us. From the time that
Madame de Trafford determined to go, Auntie made no
opposition to our going, and was quite satisfied."
The journey to Rome with Madame de Trafford
was full of unusual incidents. The heat was most
intense, and my sister suffered greatly from it. At
Turin she was so ill that she thought it impossible to
proceed, but Madame de Trafford insisted upon her
getting up and going on. Whilst they were still
en route Madame de Trafford telegraphed to Rome
for a carriage and every luxury to be in readiness.
She also telegraphed to Pisa to bid M. Lamarre, the
old family cook of Parisani, go to Rome to prepare
for them. My sister telegraphed to Monsignor Tal-
bot to have places reserved for the ceremonies, &c.
All the last part of the way the trains were crowded
to the greatest possible degree, hundreds of pilgrims
joining at every station in Umbria and the Cam-
pagna, for whom no places were reserved, so that
the train was delayed six or seven hours behind its
time, and the heat was increased by the overcrowding,
to the most terrible pitch. My sister wrote : —
vol. 11. — 27
1 | ( s THE BTOET OF MY LIFE [1867
-In the carriage with us from Florence was a young
Florentine aoble, a Count Gondi, all of whose relations 1
knew, He asked me what I should do after the canonisa-
tion, 'g a depend, M. Le Comte, si on attaquera Rome.'
• Mais, certainement on L'attaquera.' — ' Eh bien, done
este.' ' Mais srous restez, Mademoiselle, si on attaque
Rome?' — ' Oui, certainement.' — ' Etvous, Madame, 'said
;iii Gondi, turning bo Madame de Trafford. ' Mais si
on attaque Rome,' said Madame de Trafford, 4 je ferais
comme Mademoiselle Hare, je reste, biensur.' His amaze-
ment knew no hounds.
"When we arrived at Rome, I was so afraid that
Madame de Trafford might do something very extraordi-
nary that 1 made her sleep in my room, and slept myself
in the little outer room which we used to call the library,
so that no one could pass through it to my room without
my knowing it. The morning after we arrived she came
into my room before I was up. I said, l Mais, Madame,
c'dtait a moi de vous rendre cette visite?' — ' Laissez done
ces frivolites, ' said Madame de Trafford, ' nous ne sommes
pas ici pourles Erivolite's comme cela: parlous du serieux;
commenc.ons.
i »j
The ceremonies far more than answered my sister's
expectations. She entered St. Peter's with Madame
de Trafford by the Porta Sta. Marta, unci they saw
everything perfectly. She met the Duchess Sora in
the church, radiant with ecstasy over what she con-
sidered so glorious a day for Catholicism. "I knew
you would be here," said the Duchess; "you could
not have been away." The meeting was only for a
moment, and was their last upon earth. "When
the voices of the three choirs swelled into the
dome," wrote Esmeralda, " then I felt what the Pope
1867] LAST YEARS OF ESMERALDA 419
expressed in words, 'the triumph of the Church
has begun.' When we first went into St. Peter's,
Giacinta, 1 who had fell I should be there, was
waiting for me. ' Eccola, la figlia,' she said, ' io
l'aspettava.' "
Afterwards Giacinta came to see my sister at the
Palazzo Parisani. " I shall never forget the meetino;
of those two souls," wrote Esmeralda, "when Gia-
cinta first saw Madame de Trafford. They had never
heard of one another before : I had never mentioned
Giacinta to Madame de Trafford, and she had never
heard of Madame de Trafford, but they understood
one another at once. Madame de Trafford passed
through the room while Giacinta was talking to me,
and seeing only a figure in black talking, she did
not stop and passed on. Giacinta started up and
exclaimed, ' Chi e ? ' — ' Una signora,' I said. ' Quello
si vede,' said Giacinta, ' ma quello non e una risposta
— chi e ? ' — and when I told her, ' vede un' anima,'
she exclaimed. Madame de Trafford then did what
I have never known her do for any other person ;
she looked into the room and said, * Faites-la passer
dans ma chambre,' and we went in, and the most
interesting conversation followed."
As she returned through Tuscany, Esmeralda had
her last meeting with her beloved Madame Victoire,
who had then no presentiment of the end. At Paris
she took leave of Madame cle Trafford, and returned
to London, where she for the first time engaged a
permanent home — 5 Lower Grosvenor Street. The
furnishing of this house was the chief occupation of
1 " The Saint of St. Peter's." See vol. ii. p. 4:29.
IL'I) THE STORY OF MY LIFE [1867
the nexl two months, though Esmeralda began by
depositing in the empty rooms a large crucifix which
Lad\ Lothian had given her, and saying, "Now the
house is furnished with all that is really important, and
Providence will send the rest." A room at the top of
the house was arranged as an oratory ; an altar was
adorned with lace, flowers, and images ; a lamp binned
all night long before the crucifix, and if Esmeralda
could Dot sleep, she was in the habit of retiring
thither, and spending long hours of darkness in silent
prayer. There also she kept the vigil of " the Holy
Hour." Early every morning the Catholic household
in Grosvenor Street was awakened by the sharp clang
of the prayer-bell outside the oratory door.
I went to stay with my sister in August for a few
days. Esmeralda was at this time looking very pale
and delicate, but not ill. Though the beauty of her
youth had passed away, and all her troubles had left
their trace, she was still very handsome. Her face,
marble pale, was so full of intelligence and expres-
sion, mingled with a sort of sweet pathos, that many
people found her Ear more interesting than before,
and all her movements were marked by a stately
grace which made it impossible for her to pass
unobserved. Thus she was when I last saw her,
pale, but smiling her farewell, as she stood in her
long black dress, with her heavy black rosary round
her neck, leaning against the parapet of the balcony
outside the drawing-room window.
All through the winter Esmeralda wrote very
seldom. She was much occupied with her different
books, some of which seemed near publication.
1867] LAST YEARS OF ESMERALDA 421
"The Study of Truth," upon which she had been
occupied ever since 1857, had now reached such
enormous dimensions, that the very arrangement of
the huge pile of MS. seemed almost impossible. A
volume of modern American poetry was to be
brought out for the benefit of the Servites, and was
also in an advanced state ; yet her chief interest was
a collection of the " Hymns of the Early Church,"
obtained from every possible source, but chiefly
through the aid of foreign monasteries and convents.
Upon this subject she kept up an almost daily corre-
spondence with the Padre Agostino Morini of the
Servites, who was her chief assistant, especially in
procuring the best translations, as the intention
was that the original Latin hymn should occupy one
page and that the best available translation should
in every case be opposite to it : many hundreds of
letters remain of this correspondence. In the autumn
Esmeralda was again at Ifield Lodge, where she was
persuaded into a wild scheme for building a town for
the poor at Crawley. Land was bought, measurements
and plans were taken, and a great deal of money
was wasted, but Esmeralda fortunately withdrew from
the undertaking before it was too late.
But the state of excitement and speculation in
which she was now persuaded to live had a terrible
effect upon Esmeralda, who had continued in a weak
and nervous state ever since her hurried journey to
Rome. She now found it difficult to exist without
the stimulus of daily excitement, and she added one
scheme and employment to another in a way which
the strongest brain could scarcely have borne up
[22 THE STORY OF MY LIFE [1867
asrainst. On her return to London she threw herself
hear! and soul into what she called a scheme for the
benefit of the " poor rich." She remembered that
when she was herself totally ruined, one of her
greatest trials was to see her mother suffer from the
want of small luxuries in the way of food to which
she had been accustomed, and that though their little
pittance allowed of what was absolutely necessary,
London prices placed chickens, ducks, cream, and
many other comforts beyond their reach. Esmeralda
therefore arranged a plan by which she had over
twice a week, from certain latins in Normandy, large
baskets containing chickens (often as many as eighty
at a time), ducks, geese, eggs, apples, and various
other articles. The prices of the farm produce in
Normandy were so low, that she was able, after
paying the carriage, to retail the contents of her
hampers to the poor families she was desirous of
assisting, besides supplying her own house, at a cost
of not more than half the London prices. Many
families of "poor rich' availed themselves of this
help and were most grateful for it, but of course the
trouble involved by so many small accounts, with the
expenditure of time in writing notes, &c, about
the disposition of her poultry was enormous. It was
in the carrying out of this scheme that Esmeralda
became acquainted with a person called Mrs. Dunlop,
wile of a Protestant, but herself a Roman Catholic.
Esmeralda never liked Mrs. Dunlop; on the con-
trary, she both disliked and distrusted her; but
owing to her interesting herself in the same charities,
she inevitably saw a great deal of her.
1868] LAST YEARS OF ESMERALDA 423
During the winter an alarming illness attacked my
brother Francis. He was my brother by birth,
though I had seldom even seen him, and scarcely
ever thought about him. Looking back now, in the
distance of years, I wonder that my Mother and I
never spoke of him ; but he was absolutely without
any part in our lives, and we never did, till this
winter, when my sister mentioned his refusing to go
to live with her in Grosvenor Street, which she had
hoped that he would do when she took the house,
and of his putting her to the unnecessary expense of
paying for lodgings for him. Here he caught cold,
and one day, unexpectedly, Dr. Squires came to tell
Esmeralda that he considered him at the point of
death. She flew to his bedside and remained with
him all through the night. As she afterwards
described it, she " could not let him die, and she
breathed her life into his : she was willing to offer
her life for his."
After this Esmeralda wrote to us (to Rome) that
the condition of Francis was quite hopeless, and that
her next letter must contain the news of his death.
What was our surprise, therefore, when the next
letter was from Francis himself (who had never
written to us before), not merely saying that he was
better, but that he was going to be married immedi-
ately to a person with whom he had long been
acquainted. At the time of this marriage, Esmeralda
went away into Sussex, and afterwards, when she
returned to London, she never consented to see Mrs.
Francis Hare.
My sister's cheque-books of the last year of her
|-J1 TlIK STORY OF MY LIFE [18G8
life show thai during thai year alone her brother
Francis had received £900 from her, though her
income al the mosl did qoI exceed £800. He IkhI
also persuaded Esmeralda to take a house called
"Park Lodge' in Paddington, with an acre and a
half of garden. The renl was certainly low, and the
arrangement, as intended by Ivsmeralda, was that her
brother should live in two or three rooms of the
house, and that the' re>i should be let furnished. But
tenants never came, and Francis lived in the whole
of the house, after furnishing it expensively and send-
ing in the bills to his sister, who paid them in her
fear lest anxiety about money matters might make
him ill again.
At the end of March Esmeralda received a letter
from Madame de Trafford, of which she spoke to
Mrs. Dunlop. She said, " Madame de Trafford has
written to me in dreadful distress. She says she sees
i ne in a very dark, narrow place, where no one can
ever get at me, and where no one will ever be able to
speak to me any more." Esmeralda laughed as she
told this, and said she supposed it referred to the
prison to which Augustus said she would have to go
for her extravagance; but it was the grave of which
Madame de Trafford spoke.
In March. Esmeralda talked to many of her friends
of her plans for the future. She said that in conse-
quence of the expense of keeping up the house, she
should be obliged to part with Grosvenor Street, and
that she should go abroad — to Rome, and eventually
to Jerusalem. She did more than merely form the
plan of this journey. She had the dresses made
1868] LAST YEARS OF ESMERALDA 425
which she intended to wear in the East, and for three
nights she sat np arranging all her papers, and tying
up the letters of her d liferent friends in separate
parcels, so that they might more easily be returned to
them. To Mary Laffam, her then maid, who assisted
her in this, she said, " Mary, I am going on a very,
very long journey, from which I may never return,
and I wish to leave everything arranged behind me."
In the beginning of May Esmeralda went with her
aunt to spend three weeks in Sussex. After she re-
turned to Grosvenor Street, she was very ill with an
attack like that from which she had suffered at Dijon
several years before. Having been very successfnlly
treated then in France, she persuaded her aunt to ob-
tain the direction of a French doctor. The remedy
which this doctor administered greatly increased the
malady. This was on Tuesday 19th.
On Thursday 21st my sister was so much weakened
and felt so ill, that she dismissed the French doctor,
and sent again for her old doctor, Squires, who came
at once. He was much shocked at the change in her,
and thought that she had been terribly mistreated,
but he was so far from being alarmed, that he saw no
reason why her house should not be let, as arranged,
on the following Tuesday, to Mademoiselle Nilsson,
the Swedish songstress, and said that the change
would do her good.
About this time, by Esmeralda's request, my aunt
wrote to tell Madame de Traiford of the illness, but she
did not then express any alarm. On Saturday the
good and faithful Mrs. Thorpe x saw Esmeralda, and
1 The maid of our old friend Mrs. Chambers of Hodsock Priory.
1:26 THE STORY OF MY LIFE [1868
was much concerned at the change in her. She re-
mained with her for some time, and bathed her face
with eau-de-Cologne. Esmeralda then took both
Mrs. Thorpe's hands in hers, and said do one could
do for her as she did. Mrs. Thorpe was so much
alarmed at Esmeralda's manner, which seemed like a
leave-taking, that she went down to our Aunt Eleanor
and tried to alarm her; hut she said that as long as
the house could be Lei On Tuesday to Mademoiselle
Nilsson, the doctor must be perfectly satisfied, and
there could not possibly he anything to apprehend.
Sunday passed without any change except that.
both then and on Saturday, whenever her brother
Francis was mentioned, Esmeralda became violently
agitated, screamed, and said that he was on no ac-
count to he admitted.
Father Galway was away, but on Monday Esme-
ralda sent for Father Eccles, and from him she received
the Last Sacraments. When I asked my aunt after-
wards if this did not alarm her, she said, "No, it did
not. because Esmeralda was so nervous and so dread-
fully afraid of dying without the Last Sacraments,
that whenever she felt ill she always received them,
and the doctor still assured her that all was soma: on
Well."
Thai night (Monday, May 25), a Nun of the Miseri-
corde sat up in the room. Aunt Eleanor went to bed
as usual. At half-past four in the morning she was
called. The most mysterious black sickness had
come on, and could not be arrested. Dr. Squires,
summoned in haste, says that he arrived exactly as a
clock near Grosvenor Square struck five. He saw at
1868] LAST YEARS OF ESMERALDA 427
once that the case was quite hopeless ; still for three
hours he struggled to arrest the malady. At the end
of that time, Esmeralda suddenly said, " Dr. Squires,
this is very terrible, is n't it ? " — " Yes," he replied,
throwing as much meaning as possible into his voice,
" it is indeed most terrible." Upon this Esmeralda
started up in the bed and said, " You cannot possibly
mean that you think I shall not recover?' 3 Dr.
Squires said, " Yes, I am afraid it is my duty to tell
you that you cannot possibly recover now." — " But
I do not feel ill," exclaimed Esmeralda; "this sick-
ness is very terrible, but still I do not feel ill." — " I
cannot help that," answered Dr. Squires, "but I fear
it is my duty to tell you that it is quite impossible
you can live."
" It was then," said her doctor, " that her expres-
sion lost all its anxiety. Death had no terror for her.
She was almost radiant." The serenity of her coun-
tenance remained unchanged, and to her last moment
she was as one preparing for a festival.
After a pause she said, " Tell me how long you
think it possible that I should live." Dr. Squires
said, " You might live two days, but it is quite im-
possible that you should live longer than that." She
at once asked for writing materials, and with a firm
hand, as if she were well, she wrote a telegraphic
despatch bidding Madame de Trafford to come to her
at once. (The office was "then closed, and when it
was opened, it was already too late to send the
despatch.) Then Dr. Squires kindly and wisely said,
" I fear you have little time to lose, and if you wish
to make any changes in your will, you had better
J ^K
128 THE STORY OF MY LIFE [18G8
make them at once" My sister answered, "Oh, I
must alter everything. 1 never thought it possible
thai I should die before my aunt, and I wish to leave
things so t ii.it m\ death will make no difference to
her." The doctor, seeing a great change coming on,
was afraid to leave the room even to get a sheet of
paper, and he wrote upon a scrap of paper which he
picked up from the floor. My sister then made a
very simple will, leaving everything to her (Prot-
estant) aunt, Miss Paul, except her interest in Park
Lodge and a chest of plate, which she left to Francis,
and her claims to a portrait by Sir Joshua Reynolds, 1
which she left to me.
When Esmeralda had dictated the page containing
these bequests, her doctor wisely made her sign it in
the presence of her servants before she proceeded to
dictate anything else. Thus the firsl portion of her
will is valid; but before she had come to the end of
another page containing small legacies to the Ser-
vites, to the Nuns of the Precious Blood, &c, the
power of signature had failed, and it was therefore
valueless.
Esmeralda then said almost playfully, "You had
better send for the Nuns of the Precious Blood, for
they would never forgive me, even after all is over,
if they had not been sent for," and a maid went off
in a cab to fetch the Abbess Pierina. It was then
that a priest arrived from Farm Street to admin-
ister extreme unction, and Dr. Squires, seeing that
1 She showed her clearness of mind by mentioning this picture,
which she had not seen for years; but much trouble afterwards
resulted from this clause in her will.
1868] LAST YEARS OF ESMERALDA 429
he could do nothing more, and that my sister was
already past observing who was present, went away.
The Abbess Pierina says that she arrived at the
house about nine o'clock, and saw at once that Esme-
ralda was dying. A priest was praying by the bed-
side. She remained standing at the foot of the bed
for about ten minutes, then she went up to Esme-
ralda, who said, " I am dying." A few minutes
afterwards, in a loud and clear voice, she called
" Auntie," and instantly fell back and died.
Thus the day which she looked for as her Sabbath
and high day came to her, and she passed to the rest
beyond the storm — beyond the bounds of doubt or
controversy — to the company of those she justly
honoured, and of some whom she never learnt to
honour here, in the many mansions of an all-rec-
onciling world. Let us not look for the living
amongst the dead. She exchanged her imperfect
communion with God here for its full fruition in the
peace of that Sabbath which knows no evening.
During the whole of the last terrible hours our
poor deaf aunt was in the room, but she had sunk
down in her terror and anguish upon the chair which
was nearest the door as she came in, and thence she
never moved. She never had strength or courage to
approach the bed : she saw all that passed, but she
heard nothing.
Soon after all was over, the Abbess Pierina came
down to my aunt, and revealed — what none of her
family had known before — that Esmeralda had long
been an Oblate Sister of the Precious Blood, and she
430 THE STORY OF MY LIFE [18G8
begged leave to dress her in the habit of the Order.
All ilit- furniture of the room was cleared away or
draped with white, and the bed was left standing
alone, surrounded uight and day by tall candles
burning in silver sconces, with a statue of "Our
Lnix of Sorrows" at the head, and at the foot the
g rea 1 crucifix from the oratory. Esmeralda was
clothed in a long black dress, which she had ordered
for her journey to Jerusalem, but had never worn,
and round her waist was the scarlet girdle of the
Precious Blood. On her head was a white crape
cap and a white wreath, as for a novice nun.
As soon as Aunt Eleanor was able to think, she
•sent for her sister, Mrs. Fitz-Gerald, who arrived at
II a.m. She, as a strong Protestant, said that she
could never describe how terrible the next three days
were to her. All day long a string of carriages was
ceaselessly pouring up the street, and a concourse of
people through the house, Nuns of the Precious Blood
being posted on the different landings to show them
where to go. Each post brought letters from all
kinds of people they had never heard of before,
asking to have anything as a memorial, even a piece
of old newspaper which Esmeralda had touched.
On the day after we arrived at Holmhurst from
Germany (Sunday 31st), I went up to try to comfort
my broken-hearted aunt at the house in Grosvenor
Street. The rooms in which I had last seen Esme-
ralda looked all the more intensely desolate from
being just finished, new carpets and chintzes every-
where, only the last pane of the fernery in the back
drawing-room not yet put in. My aunt came in
186S] LAST YEARS OF ESMERALDA 431
trembling all over. It was long before she was able
to speak : then she wrung her hands. " Oh, it was
so sudden — it was so sudden," she said; and then
she became more collected, and talked for hours of
all that had passed. Those present said that for the
whole of the first day she sat in a stupor, with her
eyes fixed on vacancy, and never spoke or moved, or
seemed to notice any one who went in or out.
The coffin was already closed, and stood in the
middle of the room covered with a white pall, and
surrounded by burning candles and vases of flowers.
Upon the coffin lay the crucifix which both Italima
and Esmeralda held in their hands when they were
dying. Near it was the bed, with the mark where
the head had lain still unremoved from the pillow.
On Monday afternoon there was a long wearying
family discussion as to whether the remains were
to be taken to Kensal Green in the evening, to
remain throughout the night in the cemetery chapel.
Francis insisted that it should be so. Our Aunt
Fitz-Gerald declared that if it was done she would
not go to the funeral, as she would not follow
nothing. I agreed with Mrs. Fitz-Gerald, and the
Nuns of the Precious Blood were most vehement that
the body should not be removed. Eventually, how-
ever, Francis carried his point. At 9 p. m. we all
went up for the last time to the room, still draped
like a chapel, where the coffin lay, covered with
fresh flowers, with the great crucifix still standing
at the foot between the lighted candles. Then what
remained of Esmeralda was taken away.
The next day (June 2) was the funeral. At the
432
THE STORY OF MY LIFE
[1808
cemetery the relations who came from the house
were joined by Mr. Monteith, Lady Lothian, Lady
Londonderry, Lady Georgiana Fullerton, the Abbess
Pierina, and all the Nuns of the Precious Blood, with
several Nuns.it' the Mis6ricorde.
ESMERALDA - GRAVE.
The chapel was full of people, but it is very small,
and a very small part of it is used for seats. The
larger part was spread with a rich crimson carpet,
in the midst of which rose a kind of catafalque,
upon which lav the coffin, covered with a long purple
velvel pall, embroidered in golden letters — "May
all the holy saints and angels receive her soul."
1868] LAST YEARS OF ESMERALDA 43
Q
Round this were six candles burning in very tall
brass candlesticks. After the priest had gone round
with the holy water and incense, a door at the east
end of the church was thrown open and the pall
removed, when the light poured in upon the coffin
and its silver ornaments and the large silver cross
lying upon it. Then we all passed out round the
shrubberies to the grave, where the vault was opened
just behind the beautiful seated statue of " Our Lady
of Sorrows " under the cross, which Esmeralda had
herself erected. Upon the coffin was engraved —
" Anne Frances Maria Louisa Hare,
E. de M.
(Enfant de Marie),
Oblate of the Order of the Precious Blood.
Born October 9, 1832.
Died May 26, 1868."
As the priest said all the leading sentences, the
nuns, with clear voice, sang the responses. The
whole service occupied nearly an hour and a half.
We drove home in total silence: Aunt Fitz-Gerald
led Auntie into the desolate house.
Thus was my sweet sister Esmeralda taken from
us — being removed from the evil to come.
" Souls of the Holy Dead !
Though fancy whispers thus to musing hearts,
We would not call ye back, whence ye are fled,
To take your parts
In the old battle-strife ; or break
With our heartache —
The rest which ye have won and in Christ's presence take."
vol. ii. — 28
XIV
THE ROMAN CATHOLIC CONSPIRACY
•• Glory to Thee in Thine Omnipotence,
Who dosl dispense.
As seemeth best to Thine unerring will
The lol of victory still ;
Edging sometimes with might the sword unjust,
And bow Lng to the dust
The rightful cause, that so much seeming ill
May Thine appointed purposes fulfil."
— Southet.
"Sprechen ist silbern, Schweigen ist golden."
— Swiss Inscription.
" If you your lips would keep from slips,
Of five things have a care :
To whom you speak, of whom you speak,
And how, and when, and where."
— Old Distich.
At eleven o'clock on the morning of my sister's death,
our aunt. Mrs. Fitz-Gerald, arrived in Grosvenor
Street. She wrote to me afterwards : —
" Winn Eleanor sent for me, after I recovered the shock,
I went immediately to Grosvenor Street, and the first thing
I asked before going up to Eleanor was, 'Is Mr. Hare
(Francis) upstairs?' The maid made answer, 'Oh, no;
Miss I tare would not hear of seeing him, and forbade us to
Lei him enter the house, declaring that he had her death
to answer for.' I could not believe this statement, and I
1868] THE ROMAN CATHOLIC CONSPIRACY 435
called another servant into the dining-room, who repeated
exactly the same thing, saying also that things had taken
place in that house which were fearful, and that they were
afraid of their lives. / was the innocent cause of Francis
coming to sleep in the house, as I did not think it was
right that Eleanor should be left alone with the dead body
of your sister. I did not know till the following morning,
when the servants told me, that people had been walking
about the house the whole night, and that the Rev. Mother
(Pierina) had forbid them to leave the kitchen, hear what
they would." x
Upon this, and all succeeding nights until the
funeral, the three maids persistently refused at night
to go upstairs, saying that they had seen a spirit
there, and they remained all through the night hud-
dled up together in a corner of the kitchen. By day
even they manifested the greatest terror, especially
Mary Laffam, the lady's-maid, who started and
trembled whenever she was spoken to, and who
entreated to be allowed to go out when she heard
the lawyer was coming, " for fear he should ask
her any questions." If they had the opportunity,
they always made mysterious hints of poison, and
of Esmeralda's death having been caused by un-
natural means. To the Rev. Mother Pierina, Mary
Laffam said at one time that Miss Hare had told
her she knew that she should die of poison. 2 All
the servants constantly repeated to the Rev. Mother
their conviction that Miss Hare was poisoned. They
talked a great deal, especially Mary Laffam, who
1 Letter of Mrs. Fitz-Gerald, which would have been used at Guild-
ford had the trial proceeded.
2 Statement of Pierina to Miss Stanley.
436 THE STORY OF MY LIFE [1868
horrified the Abbess by saying that Miss Hare had
herself said in her last moments, "I am poisoned
and 1 ili»' of poison." 1 In consequence of all that
the servants had said to Mrs. Fitz-Gerald of their
certain conviction thai my sister had been poisoned,
she was most anxious, before my return to England,
for a post-mortem examination, but Francis violently
opposed this, and he carried his point.
The opinion that my sister's death was caused by
poison was shared by many of those who came to see
her after death. They could not but recollect that
though Dr. Squires then said he believed her to have
died of ulceration of the intestines, up to the day be-
fore the death he had said that she might be removed,
that the house might be let, and had suggested no
such impression. For two days after death, black
blood continued to stream from the mouth, as is the
case from slow corrosive poison, and three eminent
physicians, on hearing of the previous symptoms and
the after appearances (Dr. Hale, Sir Alexander Taylor,
and Dr. Winslow), gave it as their opinion that those
\\ cancel a will in which she had left all her
money to her brother Francis; also that neither Francis
nor his wife are now allowed t<> enter the house or to see
their aunt, and that they have nothing to live upon, owing
to their being disinherited by Miss Hare, who supported
them dining her life.
'"As it is a pity that this impression sh rail d he allowed
to gain ground, and as you were latterly the most intimate
1868] THE ROMAN CATHOLIC CONSPIRACY 443
friend my dearest sister possessed, I venture to put you in
possession of the facts.
"1. In her previous will my sister had not even men-
tioned Francis' name. She had left .£4000 to me, a
very large legacy to Lady G. Fullerton, legacies to other
friends, and the remainder to her aunt. Francis was not
even alluded to.
" 2. Francis was not allowed to see my sister during the
last days of her life at her own especial request: the very
mention of his name made her scream with horror. In her
last moments she left a solemn message with the Superior
of the Precious Blood, to be given him after her death.
This message was of so terrible a kind that, owing to
Francis' critical state of health and the uncertainty of his
life, he has hitherto been spared the pain of hearing it.
"3. Francis and his wife are not allowed, by the lawyer's
direction, to see my aunt until the whole terrible story of
my sister's sudden death is cleared up. In the month of
November, besides Grosvenor Street, bought and paid for,
she possessed £12,000 in money; when she died she was
absolutely penniless, except £216, interest and principal
combined, and she was overwhelmed with debts. There is
no trace of any part of her fortune except of £2000 which
was lost on the Stock Exchange through brokers to whom
Francis introduced her.
"4. My dear sister's accounts at Coutts' show only
too clearly that Francis had the greater part of her income.
He will henceforward receive nothing from his aunt, who
is totally ruined, and will scarcely have enough left to buy
daily bread, as £2400 of her own little fortune is gone,
owing to signatures which Francis persuaded her to give.
"' I am sure you will forgive my troubling you thus far
with our family affairs, but I am certain that many, know-
ing your intimacy with my sister, may ask you for infor-
mation, and I wish you to lie in a position to give it.
Believe me yours very truly,
"Augustus J. C. Hare."
1 I 1 THE STORY OF MY LIFE [1868
In writing this letter, T had no idea of the signifi-
cance which it might be made possible to attribute to
the sentence No. 3, — "until the whole story of my
sister's sudden death is cleared up." My own mind
dwell entirely and fixedly upon the impression that
my sister's terribly sudden death was caused by the
cruel shock of Francis' ungrateful letter coming to
her in her weak state. To have it cleared up would
be in my mind to have it clearly ascertained that she
was poisoned, as most people believed, because in
that case it would be certain that Francis might be
held guiltless of her death, since — putting other
reasons aside — he had never once been allowed to
Mr. Monteith, who had come from
Scotland to represent his wife, and young Gerard,
win i was to open the prosecution, but there w T as no
speech between us. Sir Alexander Taylor went down
with us. and at Guildford we were joined by many
other friends.
The heat of that day was awful, a broiling sun
and not a breath of air. We had a little room to
meet in at the hotel. Almost immediately I was
hurried by my solicitor to the room where our senior
counsel, the great Hawkins, was breakfasting at the
end of a long table, lie complained of the immense
mass of evidence he had had to go through. He said —
what 1 knew — that such a trial must expose terrible
family scandals — that it would be a disgrace not to
snatch at any chance of bringing it to a close — that
probably the judge would give it for private investi-
gation to some other Queen's counsellor — that, in
fact, it was never likely to he a trial.
When I came down from Mr. Haw r kins, Mary
Stanley and I were taken to court. There were so
many cases to be tried, that ours could not come on
for some time. As Leycester Penrhyn was there,
1868] THE ROMAN CATHOLIC CONSPIRACY 453
who was chairman of the Quarter Sessions at Guild-
ford, we were given places on the raised da'is behind
the judge, and there we all sat waiting through many
hours. In that intensely hot weather, the court-
'house, with its high timber roof and many open
windows, was far cooler than the outer air, and we
did not suffer from the heat. But the judge, Baron
Martin, whom I have heard described as far more at
home on a racecourse than on the judgment-seat, was
suffering violently from diarrhoea, was most impatient
of the cases he had to try, and at last snatched his
wig from his head and flung it down upon the ground
beside him.
About three o'clock in the afternoon we were
assured that it was quite impossible our case could
be brought on that day, as there were still so many
others to be tried, and we were advised to go out and
rest. So Mary Stanley and I went back to the hotel
and remained there in a cool room. Presently, to
our horror, a messenger came running down from the
court and said, " Your case is on, and has been on
twenty minutes already." We rushed to the court
and found the whole scene changed. All the ap-
proaches to the court were crowded, literally choked
up with witnesses and Roman Catholic spectators.
The court itself was packed to overflowing. As I
was hurried through the crowd, I recognised the indi-
viduals forming the large group of figures immedi-
ately behind the judge. There were Pierina of the
Precious Blood and her attendant nuns in their longr
o
black veils and scarlet girdles ; there, in her quaint
peaked head-dress, was the nun of the Misericorde
[.-,1 THE STORY. OF MY LIFE [1808
who had watched through the illness; there was the
burly figure of Mr. Monteith; the sallow face of
Mrs. Dunlop; her husband the Admiral; Mrs. Mont-
gomery, beautiful still; Lady Lothian in her deep
mourning and looking very sad at being supcenaed,
which was a terrible pain to her; Dr. Squires, Mr.
Seyer, and Miss Bowles.
When I was brought in, all seemed to be confu-
sion, every one speaking at once; Mr. Hawkins was
in vain trying to put in a word, the judge was
declaiming that lie would have an end of the trial,
whilst Serjeant Parry for the prosecution was in a
loud voice reading the letter to Mrs. Montgomery
and giving his comments upon it.
The proceedings had commenced by the judge
saying that lie considered the case one which it
would be most undesirable to discuss in a public
court; and suggesting, indeed trying to enforce, that
it should be left to the arbitration of some friend
of the family. Repeatedly Baron Martin urged the
expediency of a private investigation, saying that he
" felt it his duty to make the suggestion, and that
he thought the learned counsel (Parry) might act
upon it." But the lawyers for the opposition refused
any compromise whatever, for they knew what the
evidence of Pierina and the servants was to be.
Serjeant Parry then opened his speech by describ-
ing between whom the action was taking place. He
drew a picture of the nominal prosecutor's life in
which he dwelt on "the brilliant examination at
Sandhurst," but touched lightly upon the time which
he had passed in the gaieties both of the Continent
1868] THE ROMAN CATHOLIC CONSPIRACY 455
and of this country, after which he became " not em-
barrassed, but reduced in circumstances." He then
said that Esmeralda, had recently had a tolerable for-
tune, and was doubtless u supposed at her death to be
in possession of it, but she was not, for she entered
into speculations which had proved unsuccessful, so
that she died a comparatively poor woman." He
then described the death-bed will. He asserted that
the only cause of the death was inflammation of the
bowels. He then said that he should proceed to read
the letter, " supplementing it with evidence to prove
that the defendant was actuated by the wickedest
malice."
It was at this point that we arrived in court.
When a little silence was obtained, Parry began to
read the letter, and having concluded the first sen-
tence, said, " When the defendant states that a report
has been circulated in London, &c, he states a delib-
erate falsehood. No such report ever was heard by
him, and I will not say it is the effect of his imagina-
tion, it is simply an invention for the purpose of dam-
aging the character of his brother." 1
Serjeant Parry then read the paragraph saying that
in the first will Francis was not even alluded to. "I
have reason to believe that this also is totally false,"
he said, and that with the will itself lying open upon
the table before him.
Parry passed over the third paragraph of the letter,
without any criticism except an absolute denial, but
1 At this point the agitation of Mary Stanley, who had been my
informant, was so great, that .she startled the court by something like
a shout of denial.
456 THE STORY OF MY LIFE [1868
he read a note written by my sister before she re-
ceived Francis' fatal letter, in proof of the affectionate
terms on which they were living. That the "men-
tion of his name made her scream with horror," he
declared to be utterly false, and he asserted (for the
l'n>t time stating facts) that the Abbess Pierina would
deny that any message was given by my sister to her.
Finally, Party denied that there was any truth in the
statement that Francis had received money from his
sister, bevond the sum of £300.
As Serjeant Parry concluded his speech, Mrs. Mont-
gomery was called into the witness-box. While the
preliminary questions were being put to her, the con-
fusion in court increased; a letter was brought in to
Mi. Harrison and handed on by him to Mr. Hawkins.
It was the letter from Monsignor Paterson, written on
Saturday evening, which announced that Pierina
would deny and belie the deposition he had made.
Immediately Mr. Hawkins turned round to me and
said. -Our cause has received a fatal blow ; the Ab-
bess Pierina is about to deny all the evidence she has
given before — deny all that she has said to Monsi-
gnor Paterson, and will swear that your sister's death-
bed passed in total silence, save for the single word
• Auntie." and under these circumstances it is perfectly
useless to go on ; our antagonists will get the money
they long for; for money is all they really care for."
— " But," I said, w- we can bring endless persons and
Monsignor Paterson' s own deposition to prove what
the Abbess's former statements have been." — "No,"
said Mr. Hawkins, "you cannot bring a witness to
prove a witness." — "But," I said, "we can prove
1868] THE ROMAN CATHOLIC CONSPIRACY 457
every other part of the letter." — "That will do no
good," said Mr. Hawkins ; " if yon fail in proving a
single point, you fail in proving the whole, and the
Roman Catholics will get the money ; besides, you
cannot prove every other part of the letter, for where
is the maid, Mary Laffam ? — she is not here." And
in truth, Mary Laffam (whose evidence was all-impor-
tant, who was to swear to the screaming at the very
mention of Francis' name, who was constantly present
during the illness) was mysteriously missing, and no
trace of her could then be found. Two days after-
wards she was traced, and it was discovered that she
had been sent abroad by the Roman Catholic confed-
erates to be out of the way — sent by them to the
Augustinian Abbey of Charenton in France.
During the discussion which was now taking place,
the utmost excitement prevailed in court. Almost
every one stood up. Mr. Hawkins urged, " Are yout
adopted family prepared to pay what the Roman
Catholics claim?" — "Certainly not." — "Then you
must submit to a verdict." — "I leave it in your
hands." So I wrote on a bit of paper, " Say no more
than this. I withdraw anything that may be legally
taken as libellous in the letter to Mrs. Montgomery."
Then the group opened, and Mr. Hawkins again stood
up and said that he was in a position to withdraw the
letter — if it contained any libellous statements to
apologise for them. At the same time " his client
could not submit to be told that he had either acted
maliciously or invented anything : he was absent from
England at the time of his sister's death, and had
throughout acted entirely upon information he had
received from those upon the spot."
458 THE STORY OF MY LIFE [18fi8
" I will have an end of this, gentlemen," exclaimed
the judge — " I give a verdict for forty shillings/'
■■ Make it ten guineas, my Lord," shouted the
Roman Catholic lawyer, who had previously inter-
rupted Serjeant Parry by saying, "We will have
money, we will have money. " "There shall be an
end of this, gentlemen," said the judge; "I give a
verdict for forty shillings." and he walked out of
court. And so this painful ordeal came to an end.
It was not till afterwards that L was aware that the
verdict of forty shillings obliged me to pay the costs
of both sides — £199 to my lawyer, and £293 to the
Lioman Catholic lawyer, which was afterwards reduced
by a taxing-master to £207, 9s. Id.
As soon as we left the court and returned to the
hotel, our solicitor came in, and, before all those of
our family who were present, declared how, by my
desire, he had repeatedly offered to withdraw the let-
ter to Mrs. Montgomery, but how money was always
demanded as its price, and how money was proved
throughout to be the only real object of those who
brought the action. In looking hack, therefore, upon
the whole of this terrible affair, I only see three ways
in which the trial could have been avoided : —
1. If Miss Stanley had had the courage to go openly to
Mrs. Monteith and Lady Lothian, and say boldly that she,
a Roman Catholic, was the cause of my writing the letter
to Mrs. Montgomery; that as to the "report," I acted
entirely and exclusively on information which she gave;
that at first I had hesitated to do as she wished, but that
she had continued to urge it; and that she, a Catholic,
had looked over the letter before it was sent, and begged
me not to alter a word of it.
1868] THE ROMAN CATHOLIC CONSPIRACY 459
2. If my solicitor had acted upon the one piece of advice
given by Mr. Phelps, and weeks before the trial had
requested Pierina to deliver her "message," we should
then have known that the message was not given to her
except through the medium of the servants, and there-
fore that by English law the wording of the letter was
indefensible.
3. If my solicitor had been less supine in summoning
witnesses — if he had at once subpoenaed Mary Laffam and
the other maids on our side, and had also summoned my
Aunt Fitz-Gerald, who would have been willing and glad to
give her evidence, and whose very appearance would have
made Francis shrink from allowing the Roman Catholic
confederacy to continue the trial.
Mary Stanley and I went early to the Guildford
station to wait for the train which was to take us
back to London. We had not been long on the plat-
form before all the Roman Catholic party emerged
upon it. I went at once to meet and pass them,
thinking it better at once to establish the terms on
which we were to remain through life. The Mother
Pierina alone lingered behind the rest, and, with
streaming eyes and outstretched hands, came towards
me. " Oh, I thought it would have been for peace,"
she said. I could not refuse to take her hand, when
Mr. Monteith, turning round, roughly seized her by
the shoulder and led her away, saying, " Reverend
Mother, I must insist that you do not speak to that
. . . person." Afterwards, when she was entering
the railway carriage after the others, Mrs. Dunlop
seized Pierina and pushed her out of the carriage,
almost throwing her down upon the platform, and
slammed the carriage door in her face. Admiral
460 THE STORY OF MY LIFE [1868
Dunlop immediately forced his wife to get out of the
carriage, and apologise tu the Reverend Mother. 1
did not know till lung afterwards the reason of Mrs.
Dunlop's violence, which was the persistence with
which Pierina throughout that day had dwelt upon
the wicked unfairness of having the trial in the
absence of Mary Laffam, who was the witness really
responsible for all that had heen said. On Au-
gust 11) Mary Stanley wrote to me: —
" Yesterday I saw Sister Pierina. She said how
extremely grieved she had heen for you. She said the
lawyer on the Catholic side read the evidence to all the
party at Guildford, and that she then expressed her dis-
sent, saving that it was not in accordance with what Mary
Laffam had said to her and others, and that in justice to
yon. she. Laffam, ought to be present. All through that
day (which she said was most dreadful to her) she asserted
and reasserted this, and that yon were not fairly dealt
with, and to me she complained sadly of the un-christian
spirit in which the affair had heen carried on: Mrs.
Dunlop, she said, was far the worst.
" Pierina denies nothing. She could only say, when
asked about the message, that none was given directly to
he?\ and that to her your sister had only said, ' Tell Francis
that he has been the cause of my death.' She was for-
bidden to say to whom the message was given. So far
from going over to the other side, she was at war with
them the whole day, and told me she did not believe any
of that party would ever come near her again; and I met
Monsignor Paterson on Sunday, who told me that Mrs.
Dunlop had been to him to complain bitterly of her."
Afterwards the feeling of the conspirators, espe-
cially of Mrs. Dunlop and Mrs. Montgomery, became
1868] THE ROMAN CATHOLIC CONSPIRACY 461
so violent against the Mother Pierina (on account of
her persisting in the injustice of the trial), that they
not only stopped their own subscriptions to her chari-
ties, but induced others to do so, and eventually, by
the interest of Mr. Monteith with Monsignor Talbot
and other Roman authorities, they brought about her
recall and persecuted her out of England altogether.
On August 7, Monsignor Paterson wrote a long
letter to Mary Stanley, explanatory of his conduct in
the affair. It contained the following remarkable
passage : —
"A day or two after Miss Hare's death, which took me
quite by surprise, I went to her house, and there saw
Sister Pierina, who told me she had been summoned, and
found Miss Hare actually dying; that she seemed very
suffering, and had some difficulty in resigning herself to
the will of God. I remember also hearing that she
expressed distress at some conduct on the part of Mr.
Francis Hare, and I thought that other expressions used
implied a suspicion on her part of some kind of foul play.
Of course, had I taken this au serieux, it would have
made a great impression, but I set it down, after a
moment's reflection, as a random (perhaps almost delirious)
expression, such as people who are very ill sometimes use
with very little meaning at all."
Strange certainly that an eminent Roman Catholic
priest should call at his friend's house, hear that she
had died suddenly, and that she had said on her
death-bed that she died from " foul play," and yet be
able so easily to dismiss the subject from his mind!
Soon after the trial I wrote a long account of the
whole proceedings to Archbishop Manning. His
462 THE STORY OF MY LIFE [1868
answer was very kind but very evasive, — "Miss
Bare's death was most sad . . . the trial must have
been mosl painful," he "sympathised deeply," &c,
hut without giving a direct opinion of any kind.
It was not till sonic months later that I became
acquainted with a secret which convinced me that,
though ni\ sister's end was probably hastened by the
conduct of her brother Francis, yet poison was the
original cause of her death. When Ave next visited
Pisa, Madame Victoire told me how, when my sister
was a little girl of six years old at Paris, she and her
own little -ill. Victoria Ackermann, were sitting on
two little stools doing their needlework side by side.
Suddenly there was a terrible outcry. Little Anna
Bare had swallowed her thimble. The whole house
was in consternation, doctors were summoned in
haste, the child was given emetics, was held upside
down, everything was done that could be done to
bring the thimble back, but it was too late. Then
the doctors inquired what the thimble was like, and
on seeing the thimble of the little Victoria, who had
received one at the same time, were satisfied that it
was not dangerous, as the thimble, being of walnut-
wood, would naturally dissolve with time, and they
gave medicines to hasten its dissolution. But, in the
midst of the confusion, came Mrs. Large, the nurse,
who confessed with bitter tears that, owing to her
folly, the thimble was not what it was imagined to
be. She bad not liked to see the child of the mistress
with the same thimble as the child of the maid, and
had given little Anna one with a broad band which
looked like gold but was really copper. When the
1868] THE ROMAN CATHOLIC CONSPIRACY 463
doctors heard this, the accident naturally assumed a
serious aspect, and they redoubled their efforts to
bring back the thimble. But every thing failed , the
wooden thimble dissolved with time, but the copper
band remained. Gradually, as Esmeralda grew
stronger, the accident was forgotten by all but her
mother, Mrs. Large, and Madame Victoire, who ob-
served from time to time, in childish illnesses of un-
usual violence, symptoms which they alone could
recognise, but which were such as would arise through
slight injury from poison of verdigris. As my sister
grew, the copper ring grew also, attenuated to the
minutest thread, but encircling her body. From time
to time she was seriously affected by it, but her
mother could not bear it to be spoken of, and her
repulsion for the subject communicated itself to
Esmeralda herself. She was warned to evade a clamp
climate or the use of vegetables. When she was
seized with her violent illness at Dijon, the symptoms
were all such as would be caused by poison of ver-
digris. She then went to Pisa, where Madame Vic-
toire was alarmed by what she heard, and insisted
upon the best advice being procured, and a medical
examination. The doctors who saw her even then
spoke to Madame Victoire of her state as very seri-
ous, and requiring the most careful watching. When
Esmeralda went to Rome to the canonisation in the
summer of 1867, she returned by Pisa. The faithful
Madame Victoire then sent for a famous medical
professor of the University of Bologna to meet her,
and insisted upon her being examined by him. He
afterwards told Madame Victoire privately that
Kit THE STORY OF MY LIFE [1868
though, by intense care, Miss Hare might live for
many years, her Life, in case of accident, hung on a
thread, and that it was highly improbable that she
would live Long, for thai the copper ring was begin-
ning to tell very seriously upon her constitution, and
thai when she died it would probably be suddenly of
Maids, sickness, with every appearance of poison —
poison of verdigris. And so it was.
< >ne of the principal actors in the scene at Guild-
ford was soon after called to account before a higher
tribunal than any that earth can afford. On the 18th
of November (1868)1 received (at Rome), to my great
surprise, a letter from Madame Flora Limosin, of
the Hotel cle Londres at Pisa (Victoire's youngest
daughter), saying that Francis was about to arrive
there from live res. He had been sent away from
England some time before, having then £80 in his
possession. Whether this sum was obtained by a
Roman Catholic subscription, I have never been able
to learn, but from this time the Roman Catholic con-
spirators ceased to help him: he had failed as the
instrument for which they required him, and they
now flung him aside as useless. His folly at Guild-
ford, in lending himself to their designs, had also
alienated the whole of his own family, even to the
most distant degrees of relationship. Not knowing
where to turn, he could only think of two persons
who would receive him in his destitution. His
mother's faithful maid Madame Victoire and her
daughter Flora were still living at Pisa, and to them,
when he had only £20 left, he determined to make
1868] THE ROMAN CATHOLIC CONSPIRACY 465
his way. On landing at Spezia, though even then in
a dying state, he would not enter a hotel, because he
felt that if he entered it he would never have strength
to leave it again, and he sat for hours upon his lug-
gage on the platform of the station till the train
started. For the sake of their old companionship in
childhood, and of the kindness she had received from
my father, Flora Limosin not only received Francis,
but also the person to whom he was married, and gave
them some quiet rooms opening upon the garden of
the Hotel cle Londres, where he was nursed by the
faithful friends of his infancy. 1 He was attended by
Padre Pastacaldi, who administered to him the last
offices of the Church, and says that he died penitent,
and sent me a message hoping that I forgave him for
all that had passed at Guildford. He died on the 27th
of November, utterly destitute, and dependent upon
the charity of his humble friends. He was buried
by them in a corner of the Campo Santo at Pisa,
near their own family burial-place, where the let-
ters F. H. in the pavement alone mark the resting-
place of Francis George Hare, the idolised son of his
mother. 2
1 As Flora Ackermann, Madame Limosin had been brought up in
my father's family, and, with her sister Victoria, had been treated like
his own children.
2 Now (1895) every one who took part in the trial at Guildford is
dead, except the priests, and, I believe, the Abbess Pierina. The
person whom Francis Hare had married during the last months of his
life vanished, immediately after his death, into the chaos from whence
she had come.
vol. ii. — 30
XV
LAST YEARS WITH THE MOTHER
'• Nothing bul the infinite pity is sufficient for the infinite pathos
of human life." — -John [nglesant.
" Never here, forever there,
Where all parting, pain, and care,
Ami death, and time shall disappear, —
Forever there, but never here !
The horologe of Eternity
Sayeth this incessantly. —
Forever — never !
Never — forever ! "
— Longfellow.
i
"Die nobis . . . Quid vidisti in via?
Gloriam vidi Resurgentis."
— From the Paschal Mass.
" C'est vine ame qui se raconte dans ces volumes: 'Autrefois,
aujourd'hui.' I'n abtme les separe, le tonibeau." — Victor Hugo.
The autumn of 1868 was indeed filled for me with
utter misery and " weariness of spirit." If it were
not that my dear Mother had gone hand and hand
with me through the terrible time of the trial and
the weeks which followed, I could scarcely have
survived them. To please her, I went away for a
time, at the end of August, to our old friend Mrs.
Francis Dawk ins near Havant, and to Ripley Castle
and Klaxton in Yorkshire; but 1 had no spirits to
enjoy, scarcely to endure these visits.
1868] LAST YEARS WITH THE MOTHER 467
It added to the complication of troubles that the
poor Aunt Eleanor, for whose sake alone I had
brought all the trouble upon myself, now began to
take some perverted view, — what I have never ascer-
tained. She went to live with her brother George
Paul, who had lately returned from America, and
for ten years I never saw her to speak to.
I was most thankful when we left England for
Italy on the 12th of October, and seemed to breathe
freely when we were once more in our old travelling
life, sleeping in the primitive inns at Joigny and
Nuits, and making excursions to Citeaux and An-
necy. Carlyle says, "My father had one virtue
which I should try to imitate : he never spoke of
what ?vas disagreeable and past" and my Mother
was the same ; she turned her back at once upon
the last months, which she put away for ever like
a sealed volume. We spent several weeks at Florence
in the Via clella Scala, whence, the Mother being well,
I went constantly to draw in the gallery of sketches
by Old Masters at the Uffizi. But, in the middle of
November, I felt alread} T so ill, that I began to dread
a possibility of dying where my Mother would not
have any one to look after her, and on the 16th we
hurried to Rome, where I had just time to look out
lodgings for my Mother, and establish her and Lea in
the Piazza Mignanelli, when I succumbed to a violent
nervous fever. Most terrible are the sufferings which
I recollect at this time, the agonising pains by day,
and the nights of delirium, which were truly full
of Coleridge's " pains of sleep," in which I was fre-
quently haunted by the sardonic smile of the horrible
168
THE STORY OF MY LIFE
[1868
Mrs. Dunlop, and otherwise by dreams which, were, as
Carlyle wouldsay, "a constant plunging and career-
ing through chaos and cosmos." Jn the second week
of December 1 rallied slightly, and could sit with
Mother in the sun on the terrace of Villa Negroni.
1!\ the Uth 1 was ahle to walk a little, and went,
^Sgfi
T.-'v^
JOIGNY.
supported on each side, to the quiet sunny path by
the Tiber which then existed opposite Claude's villa.
Jus1 in front of us a carter was walking by the side
of his cart, heavily laden with stones. Suddenly the
wheel of the cart went too near the steeply sloping
bank of the Tiber and tipped over ; the horse tried in
vain to recover itself, but the weight of the stones
was so great that it was dragged down, and slowly,
slowly, screaming as only animals do scream, clisap-
1 From ''South-Eastern France."
1868] LAST YEARS WITH THE MOTHER 469
peared with the cart under the swollen yellow waters ;
while the driver stood helplessly upon the bank shriek-
ing and wringing his hands.
Weak as I was, this terrible scene naturally
brought back all my fever, which now turned to
typhoid, and I soon became delirious. By the fol-
lowing Sunday my life was despaired of. But in
the small hotel where we had stayed at Florence, we
had met an American, Dr. Winslow, with his wife
and daughters, to whom my Mother had shown
kindness, and who had been struck with our entire
union and devotion to each other. Dr. Winslow
arrived in Rome when I was at the worst, and the
first news he heard was that I was dying. He at
once gave up his Roman sight-seeing and everything
else, and devoted himself to me, coming many times
a clay and nursing me with such wonderful care, that
I eventually recovered, though it was February be-
fore I was at all myself again. It was an unspeak-
able blessing that my Mother continued well during
my long illness, and was so kindly looked after by
Mrs. Woodward and Miss Wright that I had no
anxiety about her; though in the spring, when we
had moved to the Via Babuino, she had one of her
strange illnesses, ending in a tranquil unbroken sleep
which lasted two days and nights. It was about
this time that she was called to bear a loss which
in earlier years would have been utterly crushing,
that of her sister-friend Lucy, who expired peacefully
in her quiet home at Abbots-Kerswell, with only her
faithful maid watching over her. In her hermit life,
my Aunt Lucy had become farther removed from
170 THE STORY OF MY LIFE [1868
us each year, bul two years before my Mother had
found greal happiness in visiting her, and her beau-
tiful letters were a constant enjoyment. Still it is a
merciful dispensation thai to those who are them-
selves on the border-land of heaven, bereavements
tall less bitterly, separations seem so short; and, to
my Mother, the loss of the dearest friend of her early
life was only a quiet grief: she had " only gone from
one room into the next." My Aunt Lucy Hare had
never liked me, hut I had none of the bitter feeling
towards her which I had towards my Aunt Esther:
she truly loved my Mother, and I could admire,
though 1 could not enter into, the various graces of
her character, which were none the less real because
they were those of a Carmelite nun in Protestant
form.
To Roman antiquaries this spring was rendered
important from the discovery of the site of the Porta
Capena. — the site of which was long a vexed ques-
tion, — by Mr. J. H. Parker, the Oxford publisher,
who devoted milch of his fortune to areha'olo^ieal
pursuits. Pius IX. granted him permission to exca-
vate without in the least believing anything would
come of it. But when he came to inspect the dis-
coveries lie exclaimed, "Why, the heretic's right,"
and complained bitterly that his own archaeologists,
whom he paid highly, should have failed to find
what had been discovered by a foreigner. Mr.
Parker carefully marked all the pieces then found
of the Servian Wall, and numbered them in red; hut,
the guardia, seeing the red marks, thought they
meant something revolutionary, and destroyed them.
1869] LAST YEARS WITH THE MOTHER 471
When he found them gone, Parker was furious. " Is
it," he said, " due to the absurdities of an effete re-
ligion, or is it perhaps the insolence of some rival
archaeologist?" (meaning Rosa).
As we returned through France in the spring of
1869, we diverged to Autun and Nevers, the last of
the pleasant expeditions the dear Mother and I made
together in summer weather. The greater part of
our summer was spent quietly at home, and was
chiefly marked for me by the marriage of my dear
friend Charlie Wood to Lady Agnes Courtenay.
To Miss Wright.
" Holmhurst, July 10, 1869. Your description made
me see a pleasant mental picture of the cousinhood assem-
bled at your party. For myself, I cannot but feel that all
social pleasures will henceforward become more and more
difficult for me, as the Mother, though not ill, becomes
daily more dependent upon me for all her little interests
and amusements, so that I scarcely ever leave her even for
an hour. It is an odd hermit-like life in the small circuit
of our little Holmhurst, with one or two guests constantly
changing in its chambers, but no other intercourse with
the outside world. At last summer has burst upon us,
and looks all the brighter for the long waiting, and our
oak-studded pastures are tilled with gay groups of hay-
makers, gathering in the immense crop. The garden is
lovely, and my own home-sunflower is expanding in the
warmth and stronger and better than she has been for
months past."
"Holmhurst, August 1. I cannot be away from home
at all this summer, partly because I cannot leave Mother,
who (though very anxious to promote my going away) is
472
THE STORY OF MY LIFE
f 1869
really becoming more dependent upon my constant cure
and companionship; and partly because I cannot afford
the inevitable small expenses of going anywhere, our
finances having been completely prostrated by the Roman
Catholic robberies last year. Indeed, I have never been
poorer than this year, as I have had nothing, and when I
put two threepenny bits into the Communion plate to-day,
;; > /,-
n
■
PORTE d'aRROUX, AUTUN. 1
felt exceedingly like the widow with the two mites, for it
was literally all that I possessed! However, this is not so
very dreadful after all, and I daresay another year matters
will come round."'
In September, however, when Charlotte Leycester
came to take care of nry Mother, I did go to the
North.
1 From "South-Western France."
1869] LAST YEARS WITH THE MOTHER 473
To my Mother.
"Ridley Hall, Sept. 1, 1869. Though I have got into a
great scrape with Cousin Susan by calling blackberry jelly,
' jam, ' and though I was terribly scolded the other day for
saying ' thanks, ' — ' such new-fangled vulgarity, ' — this
visit at Ridley has been very pleasant. First, there never
was more perfect ideal weather, so fresh and bright, so
bracing, and the colouring of the woods and moorlands,
and the glorious tumbling amber-coloured rivers so beau-
tiful. Then I feel much stronger and better than I have
done for two years past, and Cousin Susan, who thought
me most ghastly when I arrived, is quite satisfied with the
results of her grouse, pheasants, and sherry. On Wednes-
day Lady Blackett came to spend the day, and, after
she was gone, Cousin Susan and I made a long exploring
expedition far beyond the Allen Water, up into the depths
of Staward valley — most romantic little paths through
Avoods and miniature rocky gorges to a ruined bridge and
' Plankey Mill, ' and then up a steep wood path to the
moor of Briarside. Cousin Susan had never been so far
since she lived here, and we were walking, or rather climb-
ing, for three hours, attended by the white dogs. These
have chairs with cushions on each side the fireplace in
her new sitting-room. One is in bad health, has medical
attendance from Hexham at half-a-guinea a visit, and
uninitiated visitors must be rather amazed when they see
' my poor little sick girl ' whom Cousin Susan is constantly
talking of . . . . On Sundays there is only service here in
the morning: the clergyman giving as his curious reason
for not having it in the afternoon, that ' perhaps it might
annoy the Dissenters.' . . . This evening it has thun-
dered. Cousin Susan, as usual on such occasions, hid
herself with her maid under the staircase (the safest place
in case of thunderbolts), and held a handkerchief over her
eyes till it was over; but her nerves have been quite upset
ever since, and we are not to have the carriage to-morrow
for fear the storm should return."
171 THE STORY OF .MY LIFE [13G9
" Ford Castle^ Sept. 8. It was almost dark as I drove
up the beautiful new road over the high bridge to the
renovated castle, which is now all grand and in keeping.
I found tin' beautiful mistress of the house in her new
library, which is a most delightful room, with carved
chimney-piece and bookcases, and vases of ferns and
(lowers in all the corners and in the deep embrasures of
the windows. She is full of the frescoes in her school.
'I want to paint "Josiah was eight years old when he
began to reign." I think he must be a little boy on a step
with other children round him- — a very little boy, and he
must have some little regal robes on, and I think I must
put a little crown upon his head.* "
"Sept. 10. Every day of a visit at Ford always seems
to contain more of charm and instruction than hundreds
of visits elsewhere. The great interest this time has been
Lady Canning's drawings — many hundreds of them, and
all so beautiful that you long to look at each for hours.
All yesterday evening Lady Waterford read aloud to us
— old family letters, from old Lady llardwicke and from
Lady Anne Barnard. fc My great-aunt, Lady Anne Baf-
nard, ' she says 'wrote a book very like your Family
.Memoirs, only hers was too imaginative. She called all
her characters by imaginary names, and made them all
quite too charming: still her book is most interesting.
She was very intimate with Mrs. Fitzherbert, and describes
all her first meetings with George IV. and the marriage,
and then she went with her on her famous expedition to
Paris. She got possession of all the real letters of the
family and put them into her book, but she embellished
them. She got hold of a letter Uncle Caledon wrote to
my aunt when he proposed to her. but when Uncle
(aledon read the book and found a most beautiful letter,
he said, "My dear. I never wrote all this." — "No, my
dear," she answered. w * I know you did not, but then I
1869]
LAST YEARS WITH THE MOTHER
475
thought your real letter was not warm enough." Lady
Anne Barnard wrote "Auld Robin Gray," and she used to
describe how some one translated it into French, and
how, when she went to Paris, she saw every one looking
at her, she could not imagine why, till she heard some
FORD CASTLE, THE LIBRARY.
one say, "Voila l'auteur du fameux roman de Robin
Gray.
55 » 5? O
"Sept. 10. We have all been to luncheon at Carham,
sixteen miles off, and the latter part of the drive very
pretty — close to the wide reaches of the Tweed, with
seagulls flitting over it, and Cuyp-like groups of cattle on
the shore, waiting for the ferryboats to take them across
1 From " The Story of Two Noble Lives."
2 Lady Anne Barnard died in 1S25.
476 THE STORY OF MY LIFE [1869
to Coldstream Fair. Carham is one of the well-known
haunted houses: the 'Carham light' is celebrated and is
constantly seen. We asked old Mrs. Compton of eighty-
three, who lives then' now, about the supernatural sights
of Carham. 'Och,'she said, 'and have ye niver heard
the story of the phantom carriage? We have just heard
it this very morning: when we were waiting for you, we
heard it drive up. We are quite used to it now. A car-
riage drives quickly up to the door with great rattling and
noise, and when it stops, the horses seem to paw and tear
up the graved. Strange servants are terribly frightened
by it. One day when 1 was at luncheon I heard a carriage
1 1 rive up quickly to the door: there was no doubt of it.
I told the servant who was in waiting to go out and see
who it was. When he came back I asked who had come.
I !e was pale as ashes. " Oh," he said, "it 's only just the
phantom coach."
" " And then there is the Carham light. That is just
beautiful! It is a large globe of fire in the shape of a full
moon: I have seen it hundreds of times. It moves about
in the woods, and sometimes settles in one place. The
first time I saw it 1 was driving from Kelso and 1 saw a
great ball of lire. 1 said to the driver, "What is that?" —
"Oh, it's just the Carham Light," he said. When Dick 1
came in, he said he did not believe it — he had never seen
it; but that night it came — bright as ever. All the
gentlemen went out into the woods to examine it; but it
moved before them. They all saw it, and they were quite
convinced: it has never been explained.'
• We had tea with the charming old lady. 'I've just
had these cakes made. Lady Waterford,' she said, ' because
they were once very weel likit by some very dear to you;
so I thought you would like them."
■■ Lady Waterford sends you a riddle: —
1 Her Bon-in-liiw. Mr. Hodgson Ilinde.
1869] LAST YEARS WITH THE MOTHER 477
" 'Mon premier est tin tyran, mon second une horreur,
Mon tout est le diable lui-meine.
Mais si mon premier est bon, mon second ne fait rien,
Et mon tout est le bonheur supreme.' " x
"Foxhow, Ambleside Sept. 12, 1869. How lovely the
drive into Foxhow from Windermere ; bnt, after the grand
ideas of my childhood, how small everything seems, even
the lake and the mountains ! We drove in at the well-
remembered gate by Rotha Cottage, and along those
lovely Swiss pasture-meadows. It was like a dream of the
past as one turned into the garden, all so exactly the same
and so well remembered, not only from our last brief visit,
but from that of twenty-six years ago. Dear Mrs. Arnold
is little altered, and is so tenderly affectionate and charm-
ing, that it is delightful to be with her. She likes to ask
all about you and Holmhurst, and says that her power of
producing mind-pictures and dwelling upon them often
brings you before her, so that she sees you as before, only
older, in your home life. It is quite beautiful to see the
intense devotion of her children to their mother and her
happiness in them, in Fan especially. All the absent ones
write to her at least three times a week.
" We have just been in a covered car to Rydal Church :
how beautiful the situation! How well I remembered
being sick as a child from the puggy smell of its hideous
interior. It was just as puggy to-day, but I was not sick.
There was a most extraordinary preacher, who declared
that the Woman on the seven mountains was Rome on her
seven hills — ' allowed to be so by all authorities, Jewish,
and even Romanist, ' — that the dragon was only the
serpent in its worshipped form, and that both were iden-
tical with the Beast and represented the pagan religion;
that the Woman flying into the wilderness before the
Beast was Early Christianity flying from pagan persecu-
tion, and that when she came back, to St. John's astonish-
1 Manage.
ITS THE STORY OF MY LIFE [1869
in.iit she was seated on the Beast, i. e., she had adopted
all the pagan attributes, the cross, the mother and child —
well-known objects of worship at Babylon, and Purgatoiy
— a tenet of pagan Rome! "
"Foxhow, Sept. 14. My Mother will have thought of
this pouring weather as most unpropitious for the Lake
Country, but in reality it has not signified very much, as
each day it has cleared for a few hours, and the lights and
shadows have heen splendid. On Sunday afternoon
Edward (Arnold) and I went up Loughrigg. All the
little torrents were swollen by the storms, and the colours
of the dying fern and the great purple shadows on Helm
Cragg and I>ow Fell were most beautiful. It is a most
picturesque bit of mountain, and it all strikes me, as I
remember it did in 1859, as more really beautiful than
anything in Switzerland, though so contracted.
'Yesterday afternoon Ave walked to Grasmere, and I
stayed looking at the interesting group of Wordsworth
tombs, whilst Edward paid a visit. Afterwards the lake
looked so tempting, that Edward rowed me down it, send-
ing the boat hack by a hoy. We landed at the outlet of
the Rot ha on the other side, and had a beautiful walk
home by a high terrace under Loughrigg. If one remained
in this country, one could not help becoming fond of
Wordsworth, his descriptions are so exact. Edward has
repeated many of his poems on the sites to which they
a]. ply. and they are quite beautifully pictorial. Mrs.
Arnold is very happy in the general revival of interest in
his poetry. . . . Nothing can be more enjoyable and
united than the family life here, the children and grand-
children coining and going, and so many interesting
visitors. Truly dear Mrs. Arnold's is an ideal old age,
so hedged in by the great love and devotion of her
descendants." 1
1 I never saw Mrs. Arnold again: she died in the autumn of 1873.
1869] LAST YEARS WITH THE MOTHER 479
"Dalton Hall, Lancashire, Sept. 17. I always enjoy
being here with the Hornbys. Yesterday we drove in the
morning to Yealand, a pretty village so called from the
Quakers who colonised it. In the afternoon we went to
Levens. It is a lovely country, just upon the outskirts of
the Lake District, with the same rich green meadows,
clear streams, and lanes fringed with fern and holly. We
passed through Milnthorpe, and how well I remembered
your shutting me up and making me learn a Psalm in the
inn there, instead of letting me go out to draw! The
country is very primitive still. An old clergyman who
officiated till lately in the neighbouring church of Burton
Moss had only three sermons, one of which was laid in
turn on the pulpit desk by his housekeeper every Sunday
morning. When he had finished, he used to chuck it
down to her out of the pulpit. One of these sermons was
on ' Contentment, ' — and contained — apropos of discon-
tent — the story of the Italian nobleman whose tombstone
bore the words, k I was well, I wished to be better, and
now I am here. ' "
It was a great pleasure this autumn to see again
in London the New Zealand Sir George Grey. I
remember his saying how he wished some one would
write a poem on Pharaoh pursuing the Israelites to
the Red Sea, from the point of view that in pursuing
them he was pursuing Christianity ; that if the Israel-
ites had perished, and not Pharaoh, there would have
been no Redemption.
Journal (The Green Book).
" Holmhurst , Oct. 13, 1869. After the storms of last
year, this summer has been peaceful and quiet. My sweet
Mother, though often ailing, has been very gently and
quietly happy. She seems older, but age has with her
JSii THE STORY OF MY LIFE [1869
only its softening effects — casting a brighter halo around
her sweet life, and rendering more lovable still every
precious word and action. . . . We are more than ever to
each other now in everything."
We Left home in ISC'.) on the 14th of October,
intending to cross the Channel at once, but on arriv-
ing at Folkestone, found such a raging sea, that we
retreated to Canterbury to wait for better weather.
This enabled us to pay a charming visit to Arch-
deacon and Mrs. Harrison, who had been very familiar
to us many years before, when the Stanleys lived at
Canterbury. It was the last visit my Mother ever
paid, and she greatly enjoyed it, as it seemed almost
like a going back into her Hurstmonceaux life, a revi-
val of the ecclesiastical interests which had filled her
former existence. Whenever any subject was alluded
to. Archdeacon Harrison, like Uncle Julius, went to
his bookcase, and brought down some volume to
illustrate it. Thus I remember his reading to us in
the powerful sermons of Bishop Horsley. One of
the most remarkable was upon the Syro-Phomician
woman. Another is on the French Nuns, in defence
of their institution in England, saving, with little
foresight, how unlikely they were to increase in
number, and how very superior they were to those
women "who strip themselves naked to go out into
the world, who daub their cheeks with paint, and
plaster their necks with litharge."
Apropos of the proverb about Tenterden Steeple
and Goodwin Sands, Archdeacon Harrison described
how it was in allusion to two things totally discon-
nected. Tenterden Steeple and Goodwin Sands are
1869] LAST YEARS WITH THE MOTHER 481
very far apart, and of course have no connection
whatever : yet perverse persons used to say that
Tenterden Steeple was the cause of Goodwin Sands,
as money which ought to have been used to prevent
the accumulation of Goodwin Sands was diverted to
the building of Tenterden Steeple. The place where
you may hear most about it is " Latimer's Sermons."
Latimer is inveighing against the persons who de-
nounced the study of the Bible as the cause of the
misfortunes of the time, and says that they had as
much connection as Tenterden Steeple and Goodwin
Sands, and so forth.
To Miss Wright.
"Munich, Nov. 1, 1869. We made it four days' journey
from Paris to Strasbourg. First we went to Bar-le-duc.
I had longed to see it, from a novel I read once, and it is
well worth while — the old town rising above the new like
the old town of Edinburgh — tall grey houses pierced with
eight or ten rows of windows, a river with a most pictu-
resque bridge, and in the church ' Le Squelette de Bar, ' a
wonderful work of Richier, the famous sculptor of S.
Mihiel, commemorating the Princes of Bar (Henri I., II.,
III., ar into the yellow waters. The noise was dreadful
- the cries of the drowning animals, the shrieks of the
women, especially of a mother whose children were in the
country, wringing her hands at the window of an opposite
1869] LAST YEARS WITH THE MOTHER 497
house. The water in our house was rising so rapidly that
it was impossible to remain longer on the side towards
the principal staircase, and we fled to the other end, where
Pilotte, a poor boy in the service, lay dangerously ill, but
was obliged to get up from his bed, and, though quite
blind from ophthalmia, was far more useful than any one
else. Since her mother left, Flora had been far too dis-
tracted to think of anything; still we saved an immense
number of things, and I was able to cut down pictures,
&c, floating on a sofa as if it were a boat. The great
difficulty in reaching the things was always from the
carpet rising, and making it almost impossible to get out
of the room again. The last thing I carried off was the
' Travellers' Book ' ! It was about half-past 5 p. m. when
we were obliged to come out of the water, which was then
terribly cold and above the waist.
"Meantime the scene in the street was terrible. The
missing children of the woman opposite were brought back
in a boat and drawn up in sheets ; and the street, now a
deep river, was crowded with boats, torches flashing on
the water, and lights gleaming in every window. All
the thirty poor hens in the hen-house at the end of the
balcony were making a terrible noise as they were slowly
drowned ; the ducks and pigeons were drowned too, I sup-
pose, being too frightened to escape, and many floated
dead past the window. The garden was covered with
cushions, chairs, tables, and ladies' dresses, which had
been washed out of the lower windows. There was great
fear that the omnibus horse and driver were drowned,
and the Limosins were crying dreadfully about it; but
the man was drawn up late at night from a boat, Avhose
crew had discovered him on the top of a wall, and at
present the horse exists also, having taken refuge on the
terrace you will remember at the end of the garden, where
it is partially above water. The street was covered with
furniture, great carved wardrobes being whirled down to
vol. ii. — 32
THE STORY OF MY LIFE [1869
the Arno like straws. The cries of the drowning animals
were quite human.
"AD this time my poor sweet Mother had been lying
perfectly still and patient, but about i*. m., as the water
had reached the highest step of the lower staircase and
was still mounting, we had our luggage carried up to the
attics, secured a tew valuables in case of sudden flight (as
no boat would have taken luggage), and began to get
Mother dressed. There was no immediate danger, but if
another embankment broke, there might be at any moment,
and it was well to be prepared. Night closed in terribly
— pouring rain again, a perfectly black sky, and -waters
swelling round the house: every now and then the dull
thud of some falling building, and, from beneath, the
perpetual crash of the furniture and floors breaking up in
the lower rooms. Mother lay down dressed, most of the
visitors and I walked the passages and watched the danger-
marks made above water on the staircase, and tried to
com tort the unhappy family, in what, I fear, is their total
ruin. It seemed as if daylight would never come, but at
6 a. m. the water was certainly an inch lower.
"It was strange to return to daylight in our besieged
fortress. There had been no time to save food, but there
was one loaf and a little cheese, which were dealt out in
equal rations, and we captured the drowned hens as the
aviary broke up, and are going to boil one of them down
in a tiny saucepan, the only cooking utensil saved. Every
one has to economise the water in their jugs (no chance
of any other), and most of all their candles. . . . How
we are ever to be delivered I cannot imagine. The rail-
ways to Leghorn, Spezia, and Florence must all be under
water."
"Dec. 14. It seems so long now since the inundation
began and we were cut off from every one: it is impossible
to think of it as only three days.
1869]
LAST YEARS WITH THE MOTHER.
499
" Nothing can be more dreadful than the utter neglect
of the new Government and of the mimic ipality here.
They were fully warned as to what would result if Pisa
was not protected from the Arno, but they took no heed,
and ever since the dykes broke they have given no help,
never even consenting to have the main drains opened,
S. ANTONIO, PISA, DURING THE FLOOD.
which keeps us still flooded, refusing to publish lists of the
drowned, and giving the large sums sent for distribution
in charity into the hands of the students, who follow one
another, giving indiscriminately to the same persons,
whilst others are starving. On Saturday night there
ceased to be any immediate alarm : the fear was that the
Arno might break though at the Spina, which still stands,
and which, being so much nearer, would be far more
serious to us. The old bridge is destroyed. All through
that night the Vicomte de Vauriol and the men of the
500 THE STORY OF MY LIFE [18G9
house were obliged to watch on the balconies with loaded
pistols, to defend their property floating in the garden from
the large bands of robbers who came in boats to plunder,
Looking sufficiently alarming by the light of their great
torches. The whole trousseau of the Vicomtesse is lost,
and her maid has 4000 francs in her box, which can still
be seen floating open. . . . But the waters are slowly
going down. Many bodies have been found, but there are
still maii\ more beneath the mud. In the lower rooms of
this house the mud is a yard deep, and most horrid in
quality, and the smell of course dreadful. I spend much
of my time at the window in hooking up various objects
with a long iron bed-rod — bits of silver, teacups, even
books — in a state of pulp."
"Dec. 10. My bulletin is rather a melancholy one, for
my poor Mother has been constantly in bed since the
inundation, and cannot now turn or move her left side at
all. ... I have also been very ill myself, with no sleep
lor many days, and agonies of neuralgia from long
exposure in the water. . . . However, I get on tolerably,
ami have plenty to take off my thoughts from my own
pain in attending to Mother and doing what I can for the
poor Limosins. ... In the quarter near this seventy
bodies have been found in the mud, and as the Govern-
ment suppresses the number and buries them all imme-
diately, there are probably many more. Our friends at
Rome have been greatly alarmed about us."
"Dec '2~i. Mother has been up in a chair for a few
hours daily, but cannot yet be dressed. The w T eather is
horrible, torrents of rain night and day — quite ceaseless,
and mingled with snow, thunder, and lightning. It is so
dart even at midday, that Mother can see to do nothing,
ami I very little. The mud and smell would prevent our
going out if it were otherwise possible. It has indeed
1870] LAST YEARS WITH THE MOTHER 501
been a dismal three months, which we have all three
passed entirely in the sick-room, except the four days I
was away. . . . Still the dear Mother says k we shall have
time to recount our miseries in heaven when they are
over; let us only recount our mercies now.'
To Miss Wright.
"33 Via Gregoriana, Home, Jan. 19, 1870. You will
have heard from others of our misfortunes at Pisa, of
Mother's terrible illness, and my wearing pains, and in
the midst of all this our awful floods, the Arno bursting
its banks and overwhelming the unhappy town with its
mud-laden waves. I cannot describe to you the utter
horror of those three days and nights — the rushing water
(waves like the sea) lifting the carpets and dashing the
large pieces of furniture into bits like so many chips, — the
anxious night-watchings of the water stealthily advancing
up step after step of the staircase, — the view from the
upper corridor windows of the street with its rushing
tourbillon of waters, carrying drowning animals, beds,
cabinets, gates, &c. along in a hideous confusion; — from
our windows of the garden one maze of waters afloat with
chairs, tables, open boxes, china, and drowned creatures;
— the sound of the falling walls heavily gliding into the
water, and the cries of the drowning and their relations.
And then, in the hotel, the life was so strange, the limited
rations of food and of water from the washing jugs, and
the necessity for rousing oneself to constant action, and
far more than mere cheerfulness, in order to prevent the
poor people of the hotel from sinking into absolute
despair.
'When the real danger to life once subsided and the
poor drowned people had been carried away to their
graves, and the water had changed into mud, it was a
strange existence, and we had still six weeks in the chilled
house with its wet walls, and an impossibility of going out
502 THE STORY OF -MY LIFE [1870
or having change- However, there is a bright side to
everything, and the utter isolation was not unpleasant to
me. I got through no end of writing work, having plenty
also to do in attending on my poor Mother; and you know
how I can never sufficiently drink in the blessedness of
her sweet c< nnpaiiioiisliip, and how entirely the very fact
of her existence makes sunshine in my life, wherever it is.
"All the time of our incarceration I have employed in
writing from the notes of our many Roman winters, which
were saved in our luggage, and which have been our only
material of employment. It seems as if ' Walks in Rome '
would some clay grow into a book. Mother thinks it
presumptuous, but I assure her that though of course it
will be full of faults, no book would ever be printed if
perfection were waited for. And I really do know much
more about the subject than most people, though of course
not half as much as I ought to know.
"One day I was away at Florence, where I saw Lady
Anne S. Giorgio and many other friends in a very short
time. How bright and busy it looked after Pisa.
"Last week Pisa devoted itself, or rather its priests, to
intense Madonna-worship, because, owing to her image,
carved by St. Luke, the flood was no worse. Her seven
petticoats, unremoved for years, were taken off one by one
and exchanged for new, and this delicious event was cele-
brated by tiring of cannon, processions, and illuminations
all over the town. In the midst, the Arno displayed
its disapproval by rising again violently and suddenly;
the utmost consternation ensued; the population sat up,
doors were walled up, the doll-worshippers were driven
out of the cathedral (which lies very low) at the point of
the bayonet by the I'.ersaglieri tinder General Bixio. To
us, the great result of the fresh fright was. that the Mother
suddenly rose from her bed, and declaring that she could
ma stay to endure another inundation, dressed, and we all
set off last Wednesday morning, and arrived at midnight
1870] LAST YEARS WITH THE MOTHER 503
after a prosperous journey, though the floods were cer-
tainly frightful up to the very walls of Rome.
" Oh, how glad we were to get here — to feel that after
all the troubles of the last few months we were safe in the
beloved, the homelike city. It is now only that I realise
what a time of tension our stay at Pisa has been. We
breathe quietly. Even the calm placid Mother feels the
relief of not having to start up at every sound and wonder
whether ' 1' Arno e sbordato.'
" I always feel as if a special Providence watched over
us in respect of lodgings. It has certainly been so this time,
as we could never have hoped, arriving so late, to obtain
this charming apartment, with full sun, glorious view, and
all else we can wish. You can fancy us, with all our own
pictures and books, the Mother in her chair, the son at his
drawing-table, and Lea coming in and out.
" But on Friday we had a terrible catastrophe. In the
evening at the hotel the poor Mother fell violently upon
her head on the hard stone floor and was dreadfully hurt.
You will imagine my terror, having gone out at 8 p. M.,
to find every one in confusion on my return, that Dr.
Winslow had been sent for, and that I had been searched
for everywhere. For some hours the Mother was quite
unconscious, and she can still see nothing, and I am afraid
it will be some days before any sight is restored ; but all
is going on well, and I am most thankful to have been
able to move her to her own house.
" Do you know, I am going to renounce the pomps and
vanities of the world this winter and not ' go out ' at all.
I have often found that it has rather fatigued Mother even
to hear of my going out, and it is far easier to give a
thing up altogether than partially. In the daytime I can
see people. My American friend Robert Peabody is here,
and the most delightful companion, and there are endless
young men artists, quite a colony, and of the pleasantest
description.
504 THE STORY OF MY LIFE [1870
"The weather is very fine, but very cold. I went
i. >-il;i\ bo St. Peter's (il Giorno della Scatola), and the
procession was certainly magnificent. The Bishop who
attracts most attention is Monsignor Dupanloup of
Orleans, who at first displayed great courage in opposing
the [nfallibility doctrine, lmt is allowing his opposition to
be swamped. .Many of the Bishops are most extraordinary
— such a variety of forms and colours in costume, blue
and violet veils, green robes and hate, and black caps with
gold knobs like the little Shems and Hams in Noah's Ark.
Bui the central figure of Pins IX. looks more than ever
solemn and impressive, the man so lost in his intense
feeling of the office, that it is impossible to associate him,
mentally, with the Council and its blasphemies. Of the
Council itself we hear nothing, and there is little general
interest about it. Lord Houghton asked .Manning what
had been going on: he answered, ' Well, we meet, and we
look at one another, and then we talk a little, but when
we want to know what we have been doing, we read the
Times.'"
To Miss Leycester.
"Jan. 31. We have had another anxious week, though
once more all is going on well. On Monday the Mother
was well enough to see visitors, hut that night was in
terrible suffering, and the next day had a slight paralytic
seizure . . . followed by long unconsciousness; but it
was all accounted for the next morning when we found
the roof white with snow. She continued in great suffer-
ing till Friday, when the weather suddenly changed to
scirocco, and she at once rallied. That day J was able to
have my lecture on the Quirinal and Viminal — all new
ground. There was a large gathering in spite of weather,
so many people had asked to come. I have yielded to the
general wish of the party in arranging weekly meetings
at 1" a. M.. hut it makes me feel terribly ignorant, and
1870]
LAST YEARS WITH THE MOTHER
505
— in the intervals of tending Mother — I am at work
all the week instructing myself upon the subject of my
lecture."
" Feb. 19. The Mother is still sadly weak, and always
in an invalid state, yet she has not the serious symptoms
of the winter you were here. She is seldom able to be
Bgyri
VIEW FROM THE VIA GREGORIANA.
dressed before twelve, and can do very, very little — to
read a few verses or do a row of her crochet is the outside.
I scarcely ever leave her, except for my lectures. I had
one on the Island yesterday. The weather is splendid and
our view an indescribable enjoyment, the town so pictu-
resque in its blue morning indistinctness, and St. Peter's
so grand against the golden sunsets. As usual, the Roman
society is like the great net which was let down into the
deep and brought up fish of every kind. . . . The Mother
is quite happy and bright in spite of all her misfortunes,
but we have had to feed her like a bird in her blindness.
I wonder if you know th-e lines of Thomas Dekker
(1601) —
5(J0 THE STORY OF MY LIFE [1870
"•Patience I why, 't is the soul of peace;
Of all i be \ i it iirs, 'i is aearesl kin to heaven ;
It makes men look like gods. The best of men
Thai e'er wore earth about Him was a sufferer,
A soft, meek, patient, humble, tranquil spirit;
Tin' tirst true gentleman that ever breathed.' "
To Miss Wright.
" limae, Feb. 27. My life this winter lias been one of
constant watching and nursing; the Mother has been so
very powerless and requires such constant care: but she
is, oh! so sweet and patient always. You need not pity
me for not going out; after the day's anxiety I find the
luxury of the evening's rest so very great.
" .My Friday lectures now take place regularly, and I
hope they give pleasure, as they are certainly crowded. I
am amused to see many ultra-Catholics come time after
time, in spite of my Protestant anecdotes. How I wish
the kind Aunt Sophy were here to share these excursions."
On the 12th of March I spent a delightful after-
noon with a young artist friend, Henry Florence, in
the garden of SS. Giovanni e Paolo, drawing the
gloriously rich vegetation and the old cypresses there.
My Mother was tolerably well, and the air, the sun-
shine, and the beauty around were unspeakably
enchanting. " I never saw any one enjoy things as
\i>n do," said Florence, and I spoke of my thankful-
ness for having the power of putting away anxieties
when they were not pressing, and of making the
utmost of any present enjoyment, even though it be
to "borrow joy at usury of pain." 1 "Perhaps it
may be the last day," I said. It was. There is an
old proverb which says, "The holidays of joy are the
1 Monckton Milues.
1870] LAST YEARS WITH THE MOTHER 507
vigils of sorrow." That night my dearest mother
had the terrible paralytic seizure which deprived her
of the use of her left arm and side, and from which
she never recovered.
To Miss Leycester.
"Rome, March 16, 1870. My darling Mother is to-day
in a happy peaceful state, no longer one of suffering,
which is — oh ! such rest to us. She is now able to articu-
late, so that I always, and others often, understand her.
... I sleep close by upon the floor and never leave her.
On Monday night we were pleasantly surprised by the
arrival of Amabile, the maid from Pisa, who is quite a
tower of strength to us — so kind, gentle, and strong.
Mrs. Woodward comes and goes all day. Every one is
kind and sympathising."
"March 23. Mother talks constantly of Albano and
her great wish to be there amongst the flowers, but for
many weeks, perhaps months, this must be impossible."
"March 28. It has been the same kind of week, alter-
nately saddened by the strange phases of illness, or cheered
by slight amendments: but Mother has had many sad
nights, always worse than her days, without rest even for
a minute. Her mind is only too clear. She will translate
hymns, 'Abide with me,' &c, into Italian; the great
difficulty is to keep it all in check. From 4 to 10 p. m.
the nervous spasms in the paralysed arm are uncontrol-
lable, and she can only endure them by holding tight to
my arm or Lea's. All yesterday, however, I was away
from her, tending poor young Sutherland, who has been
dreadfully ill at the Hotel de Londres of typhoid fever,
and who is quite alone and helpless."
508 THE STORY OF MY LIFE [1870
" April :> >. The .Mother goes on very slowly, but I hope
has not had an unpleasant week. She never seems to find
the time Long, and always looks equally placid and happy.
Physically she is certainly more comfortable now she is
entirely in bed. I lei- chief trouble is from the returning
vitality of the poor arm; the muscles knot all around it,
and move on slowly by a quarter of an inch at a time, as
the life advances: passing the shoulder was agony, and 1
dread the passing the elbow. .Meantime, the rest of the
arm is an independent being, acting by its independent
muscular action, and is obliged to be constantly watched,
as it will sometimes lay its heavy weight upon her chest,
once clutched her by the throat and nearly strangled her,
at others annoys her by stealing her pocket-handker-
chiefs! She has been able to hear a psalm and some
prayers read aloud every evening, and occupies herself with
her own inexhaustible stores of mental hymns and verses
incessantly. Mrs. Woodward's daily visit is one of her little
pleasures, and she has also seen Mrs. Hall several times.
"My young cousin Edward Liddell 1 returned lately
from Naples, and on Monday became very ill of fever,
pronounced typhoid, and likely to become typhus and very
infectious, so. as he had no one else to look after him, I
have been nursing him ever since. It was so fortunate for
me thai Mother was really better at this time, or I do not
know what we could have done, as though he had one
good nurse, she was quite worn out, and there was no
other to be procured. So now we take it in turns, four
hours at a time, and I chiefly at night, when she goes
borne to her children. I am writing in the darkened
room, where Edward lies powerless, with all his hair cut
off and his head soaked in wet towels, almost unable to
move, and unable to feed himself. lam sorry not to be
able to go out while Marcus Hare is here, and he is much
1 Eldest son of Coloiul Augustus Liddell and grandson of my
great-aunt Lady Ravensworth.
1870] LAST YEARS WITH THE MOTHER 509
disappointed. He arrived suddenly from Naples and
embraced me as if we were still children."'
"April 10. My dear Mother is much the same. It has
been a peaceful week with her, though there is no improve-
ment. . . . The paralysed arm is quite useless, and has a
separate and ungovernable individuality. This is why she
can never be left alone. Its weight is like a log of lead,
and sometimes it will throw itself upon her, when no
efforts of her own can release her. Odd as it sounds, her
only safe moments are when the obstreperous member is
tied up by a long scarf to the post of Lea's bed opposite
and cannot injure her. Mentally, she is always quiet and
happy and I believe that she never feels her altered life a
burden. She repeats constantly her hymns and verses, for
which her memory is wonderful, but she has no longer any
power of attention to reading and no consecutive ideas.
All names of places and people she remembers perfectly.
As Dr. Winslow says, some of the organs of the brain are
clearer than ever, others are quite lost.
" As the fear of infection caused him to be left alone, I
have been constantly nursing Edward Liddell. All last
week his fever constantly increased, and he was so weak
that he could only swallow drops of strong soup or milk,
perpetually dropped into his mouth from a spoon. Had
this been ever relinquished, the feeble flame of life must
have become extinct. Last Monday morning I had gone
home to rest, when the doctor hastily summoned me back,
and I found new symptoms which indicated the most
immediate danger; so then, on my own responsibility, I
telegraphed for Colonel and Mrs. Augustus Liddell (his
father and mother), and soon had the comfort of hearing
that they were en route. That evening the alarming-
symptoms returned with such frightful vehemence that
both nurse and doctor thought it impossible that he
could survive the night. Then and for three nights after
510 Till: STORY OF MY LIFE [1870
i never left Edward for a moment, bathing his head, feed-
in- him, holding him, and expecting him every instant to
die in my arms, and in the day only 1 returned to pay
.Mother visits. Anything like his sweetness, gentleness,
thankfulness, I never saw in any one, and his perfect
readiness lor heaven made us feel that it was the less likely
that his life would he given hack to us; and you may
imagine, though I had scarcely known him before, how
\er\ close a cousinly tie has been drawn in these hours of
anguish. He received the Sacrament on Thursday. On
Friday there was a very slight improvement, but more
delirium. For four days and nights he lay under a vast
poultice of snow, which had to he replenished as often as
it melted, and making snow with a machine has been per-
haps the most laborious part of my duties. Each night I
have watched for the faint streak of dawn, wondering if
he could live till morning, and feeling as if I were wrest-
ling tor his life. Yesterday morning, when I knew his
parents were coming, it was quite an agony of suspense;
but they arrived safe, and I was able to give him up living
to his mother's care. I have had everyday to write to
Mrs. Fiaser Tyler, to whose daughter Christina he had
not been engaged a month, and of whom he has thought
touchingly and incessantly.
"I am not much knocked up, but thankful even for
myself that Mrs. Augustus Liddell is come, as my cough
is so much increased by having to be so often out on the
balcony at night, up to my elbows in the snow manufac-
turing. I do not think I could have held out much longer,
and then I do not know what would have become of
Edward."
" April 17. Last Sunday I had so much more cough,
and was so much knocked up with my week's nursing,
that kind Lady Marian Alford insisted on taking me early
on Monday in her own carriage to Albano for change. It
1870]
LAST YEARS WITH THE MOTHER
511
was like travelling with the Queen, everything so luxu-
rious, charming rooms, and perfect devotion everywhere to
' la gran donna da bene, ' her personal charm affecting all
classes equally.
"Lady Marian had a very pleasant party at Alhano,
Lord and Lady Bagot and their daughter, Mr. Story, 1
Miss Boyle, 2 Miss Hattie Hosmer, 3 and Mr. 4 and Lady
Emily Russell. The first afternoon we drove along the
NEMI.
lake to Lariccia, where we went all over the wonderful
old Chigi palace, and then on to the Cesarini garden at
Genzano, overhanging the lake of Nemi. The next morn-
ing we went to the Parco di Colonna and Marino, and
then in a tremendous thunderstorm to Frascati, where we
dined in the old Campana Palace, returning to Rome in
the evening. I like Mr. Odo Russell and his simple
1 William Story the sculptor and poet.
Miss Mary Boyle, celebrated for her dramatic powers.
3 The sculptress.
4 Afterwards Ambassador at Berlin.
5 From "Days near Rome."
512 THE STORY OF MY LIFE [1870
massive goodness extremely. I hear that Pius IX. says
of him. ' None un buono cattolico, ma fc un cattivissimo
protestante. ' Miss 11. .shut had said to him, 'You're
growing too tat: you ought- to come outriding; it will do
you no end of good;* to which he replied in his slow way,
• No. I cannot come out riding.' — ' And why not ? ' said
.Miss Hosmer. 'Don't you know," he said, 'that 1 am
vcn anxious to be made an ambassador as soon as possible,
and. since that is the ease, I must stay working at home.'
''I like midges, tor they love Venice, and they love
humanity," said Miss Mary Boyle.
'"On Wednesday, finding both my patients better, I
acceded to Marcus's entreaties and went with him and
some friends of his to Tivoli for the day. Most gloriously
lovely was it looking! My companions scrambled round
the waterfalls, whilst I sat and what Robert Peabody calls
' water-coloured * opposite the Cascatelle. In the evening
we went to the Villa d'Este and saw the sun set upon the
grand old palace through its dark frame of cypresses,
"This morning I went for the first time to see the
bishops of the Council; rather a disappointing sight,
though they are a fine set of old men. Some of the
American costumes are magnificent.
" Monday is the end of Edward's twenty-one days' fever,
and I am still very anxious for the result. As he says, I
feel rather, since the arrival of his parents, like a hen who
has nursed a duckling which has escaped but I go every
day to look at him."
11 April 80. It is no use worrying oneself about the
journey yet. It "must always be painful and anxious.
On returning to America, Dr. Winslow's last words tome
were, ; Remember, if she lias any fright, any accident, any
anxiety, there will be another seizure,' and in so long a
journey this can scarcely be evaded. She must have more
strength before we can think of it. Her own earnest wish
1870]
LAST YEARS WITH THE MOTHER
513
is to go to Albano first, but I dread those twelve miles
extra. We always had this house till May 15, and
hitherto there has been no heat.
"On Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday, Mother was
carried down by two women in her dressing-gown, wrapped
round with shawls, to a little carriage at the door. They
were perfectly still sunny days, no bronchitis to be caught.
The first day we only went round the Pincio, the second
to the Parco di San Gregorio, the third to the Lateran and
Santa Croce: she chose her own two favourite drives."
Journal.
" May 3, 1870. Walked with Miss J. Pole Carew and
her governess from the Villa Albani to Sant' Agnese to
look for the blood-red lily, seven feet high, which smells
1 From " Days near Rome."
vol. ii. — 33
5X4 THE STORY OF MY LIFE [1870
so terribly that uo one is able to pick it. The governess
(Miss Nicholson) said ho-w the twisted palms carried in
the Roman Catholic ceremonies seemed to her like a type
f their faith. So much would be beautiful and impressive
in the lives of the martyrs and the memories of the early
Church, if, like the palms, so beautiful when they are first
brought to Rome, they were aot twisted and overladen, to
the hiding and destruction of their original character."
To Misa Leycesi er.
•• May 8. Last Sunday we drove to the Villa Borghese,
which is now in its fullest most luxuriant summer green.
When we came back, the Tombola was taking place in the
Piazza del Popolo, so that the gate was closed, and we had
to go round by Porta Salara. The slight additional dis-
tance was too much for Mother, so that she has been
unable to be up even in her chair for several days. This
will show you how weak she is: how terrible the return
journey is to look forward to.
"She certainly never seems to realise her helplessness,
or to find out that she can no longer knit or do the many
things she is accustomed to. . . . She likes hearing Job
read, because of the analogy of sufferings, but she does
uot at all admire Job as a model of patience! Hymns are
her delight, and indeed her chief occupation. She has
great pleasure in the lovely (lowers with which our poorer
friends constantly supply us. especially in the beautiful
roses and carnations of the faithful Maria de Bonis (the
old photograph woman), who is as devoted as ever."
" May L5. The weather has been perfect. Tn all our
foreign or home experience I do not recollect such weeks
• it hot sunshine, yet never oppressive; such a delicious
bracing air always. The flowers are quite glorious, and
our poor people — grateful as only Italians are — keep the
sick-room constantly supplied with them.
1870] LAST YEARS WITH THE MOTHER 515
" But, alas ! it has been a very sad week nevertheless,
and if I once allowed myself to think of it, my heart
would sink within me. My dearest Mother has been so
very, very suffering; in fact, there have been very few
hours free from acute pain, and, in spite of her sweet
patience and her natural leaning towards only thanksgiv-
ing, her groans and wails have been most sad and the
flesh indeed a burden. . . . You will easily imagine what
it is to me to see this state of intense discomfort, and to
be able to do nothing to relieve it; for I am quite con-
vinced that nothing can be done, that medicine must be
avoided as much as possible in her worn-out system, and
that we must trust entirely to the effect of climate and to
a returning power of taking nourishment. Dr. Grigor
told her that it was a case of most suffering paralysis,
usually producing such dreadful impatience that he won-
dered at her powers of self-control. But from my sweetest
Mother, we never hear one word which is not of perfect
patience and faith and thanksgiving, though her prayers
aloud for patience are sometimes too touching for us to
bear. She has not been out for ten days, as she has really
had no strength to bear the lifting up and down stairs, and
she has seen nobody except our dear Mrs. Woodward and
Mary Stanley."
To Miss Wright.
"iforae, May 22, 1870. The Mother can recover no
power in her lost limbs, in which she has, nevertheless,
acute pain. Yet, deprived of every employment and never
free from suffering, life is to her one prolonged thanks-
giving, and in the sunshine of her blessed state of outpour-
ing gratitude for the silver linings of her clouds, it is not
for her nurses to repine. In her case daily more true
become the lines of Waller —
' The soul's dark cottage, battered and decayed,
Lets in new light through chinks that time has made.'
516 THE S.TORT OF MY LIFE L 187 °
Bui when even her short excursions to the Pincio or
Villa Borghese produce the most intense exhaustion, n<>
stranger can imagine how we can dream of attempting the
immense homeward journey. Still, knowing- her wonder-
ful power of will and what it has accomplished, I never
ilunk anything impossible, and all minor details of diffi-
cult} become easier when one has a fixed point of what
must be. We shall at an\ rate trj to reach Florence, and
; ; ' if
.■ if
' m%
nv».' tf
BRACCIANO. 1
then, if she suffers seriously and further progress is quite
impossible, we shall be on the way to Lucca or Siena. If
we ever do reach Bolmhurst, of course it will be for life,
which makes the leaving this more than second home very
sad to mo.
"I haw had many pleasant friends here this winter,
.specially the Pole Carews, who are a most charming
family. Latterly also T have seen much of Mrs. Terry,
who is a very interesting and delightful person. Since the
world has drifted northwards. I have seen more of the few
1 From " Days near Rome."
1870] LAST YEARS WITH THE MOTHER 517
friends who remain, and with the Terrys have even accom-
plished a very old desire of going to Bracciano. It is a
beautiful drive across the Campagna, and then comes the
ascent into the steep old town, and under the many gates
and fortalices of the castle, to a courtyard with painted
loggias. Armed with an order from Princess Odescalchi,
we went all over the rooms with their curious ugly old
pictures and carving, and sat in the balconies looking
down upon the beautiful transparent Bracciano lake,
twenty miles in circumference, all the mountains reflected
as in a mirror. Mrs. Terry is charming: after we had
talked of sad subjects she said — 4 But we have spoken
enough of these things; now let us talk of butterflies and
flowers.' In spite of all other work, I have sold £75
worth of sketches this winter, chiefly old ones, so am
nearly able to pay our rent."
To Miss Leycester.
"Borne, May 26, 1870. The Mother is better for the
great heat, thermometer standing at 85°, but Rome always
has such a fresh air that heat is never overpowering, and
in our delightful apartments we never suffer, as we can
have so much variety, and if Mother does not go out, she is
moved to the balcony overhanging the little garden at the
back, where she sits and has her tea under a vine-covered
pergola. If we are permitted to reach Holmhurst, I fear
all will not be benefit. I much dread the difficulty there
will be in keeping Lea from being wholly engrossed again
by household affairs, and I cannot see how Mother could
do without her almost constant attendance, which she has
now. Also, we shall greatly miss the large bedroom open-
ing into a sitting-room, where I can pursue my avocations,
able to be with her at the faintest call, and yet not quite
close to the groans. . . . But all this is long, long look-
ing forward: there seems such a gulf between us and
England. . . . Yet we think of attempting the move next
18
THE STORY <)F .MY LIFE
[1870
week, and on Friday sent off six Large boxes with the
accumulations of many years, retaining also a list of
what must 1m- sent hack it' we never reach England.
"The Signorina and Samuccia, Clementina and Louisa,
Rosina and Madame da Monaca, have all been to say good-
bye, and all kiss Mother with tears on taking leave, over-
come by her helpless state and sweet look of patience."
GRAVl O] IUGU8TUS W. HARE, ROUE.
"May 29. Emmie Penrhyn's letter was an especial
pleasure to the Mother, and what she said of the centu-
rion's servant, grievously ' tormented.' Certainly she is
grievously tormented. The pain really never ceases, and
the individual motion of the helpless arm is terrible. . . .
I think with misery of the disappointment the return to
Holmhurst will be to her. She cannot realise that it will
not be, as it has always been, the home of her well months,
talks of how she shall * frolic out into the garden,' &c. I
feel if we ever reach it. it is going, not to England, but to
Holmhurst for life. . . . We have been to the cemetery
1870] LAST YEARS WITH THE MOTHER 519
under Cams Cestius, and the sentinel allowed her little
carriage to pass across the turf, so that she was able to
look once more upon the well-known grave, embosomed in
its roses and aloes. Yesterday we went to take leave of
the old Miss Haigs at their beautiful villa. The three old
ladies embraced Mother, and presented her, like three
good fairies, one with roses, another with geraniums, and
the third with two ripe strawberries."
"Florence, June 1. Monday was a terribly fatiguing
day, but Mother remained in bed, and was very composed,
only anxious that nothing should occur to prevent our
departure, and to prove to us that she was well enough.
At five Mrs. Woodward came and sat by her whilst Lea
and I were occupied with last preparations. At 7 p. m.
Mother was carried down and went off in a little low car-
riage with Mrs. Woodward and Lea, and T followed in a
large carriage with Miss Finucane and the luggage.
There was quite a collection of our poorer friends to see
Mother off and kiss hands. At the railway the faithful
Maria de Bonis was waiting, and she and Mrs. Woodward
stayed with Mother and saw her carried straight through
to the railway coupe which was secured for us. We felt
deeply taking leave of the kindest of friends, who has been
such a comfort and blessing to us, certainly, next to you,
the chief support of Mother's later years. ' Oh, how beau-
tiful it will be when the gates which are now ajar are
quite open! ' were her last words to Mother.
" The carriage was most comfortable. . . . Mother slept
a little, and though she wailed occasionally, was certainly
no worse than on ordinary nights. The dawn was lovely
over the rich Tuscan valleys, so bright with corn and
vines, tall cypresses, and high villa roofs. She was carried
straight through to a carriage, and soon reached the
succursale of the Alleanza, where the people know us and
are most kind. In the afternoon she slept, and I drove
520
TI1K STOKY OF MY LIFE
[1S70
up t<> Fiesole, where I had not been for twelve years, with
Mi-, and Mrs. Cummings, Ajnerican friends."
"Bologna, June 5. I fear, alter my last, you will be
grievously disappointed to hear of us as no farther on our
U:1X . We can, however, only bell from hour to hour how
Klft.
I'ROM THE LOGGIA DEI LAXZI. 1
soon we may l>e able to get on, and I find it entirely use-
less to make plans of any kind, as we are sure not to be
able to keep them. On Tuesday a great thunderstorm
prevented our leaving Florence, and on Wednesday and
Thursday Mother was in such terrible suffering that it was
impossible to think of it. On Friday evening there was a
rally, and we came on at once, Mrs. Dallas helping us
through the difficulties of the Florence Station, and Mr.
and Mrs. Cummings following us here. T think T men-
tioned that Dr. Grigor said travelling at night, when there
was no sun, was the only chance of her reaching England
1 From •• Florence."
1870]
LAST YEARS WITH THE MOTHER
521
alive. Mother begs I will tell Charlotte that ' No words
can describe her sufferings or my anxieties, but that she
has been brought through wonderfully hitherto, and that
she still hopes to reach England — in time. '
PIAZZA S. DOMENICO, BOLOGNA. 1
Journal.
"Bologna, June 5. Mr. Cummings says the great
Church of S. Petronio here reminds him of the great
Church universal — so vast the space, and so many chapels
branching off, all so widely divided that in each a separate
sermon and doctrine might be preached without distressing
its neighbour, while yet all meet in the centre in one
common whole, the common Church of Christ.
" An old American lady in the train had passed a
summer at Vallombrosa. She said it was a place where to
live was life and where one could be happy when one was
unhappy. "
1 From ■' Northern Italy."
522 THE STORY OF MY LIFE [1870
To Ml88 l-i VCE8T1 R.
u Susa, June 8, 1870. The Mother continued in a most
terribly Buffering state all the time we were at Bologna —
agonies of pain which gave no rest. Yesterday afternoon
ii was so intense that she implored me to try the railway
as a counter-irritant, and we set off at half-past ten at
night. Bui the train shook fearfully, and the journey was
absolute torture to her. We have never had such a pain-
lul time. Lea and I were obliged to sit on the floor by
turns, holding the poor hand, and trying to animate her
courage to bear np, but her cries were terrible. We
reached Turin at 5 a. m., where, in spite of all promises
to the contrary, she had to be carried all round the
station; but fortunately for the next hour the train was
easier and she suffered less. She was carried by two men
out of the station, and down the wet muddy road here,
where she has a good room, and soon fell asleep from
exhaustion. We arrived at 6.30 a. m., and shall stay till
to-morrow morning. Her state is certainly one of incom-
parably more suffering than at Koine, and she feels the
change of climate dreadfully." 1
" Aix-les-Bains, -fane 9. Last night, to my great relief,
Colonel and Mrs. Cracroft and Miss Wilson arrived at
Susa, and were the greatest possible help to us. We had
obtained a permesso for the Mother to be taken straight
through to the Fell railway carriage, and her little proces-
sion started at 7 a. m.. and she was carried from her bed to
her seat in the railway. The Cracrofts sat all around us
in the carriage, which was much better than strangers, and
Mis- Wilson was most kind in keeping her hands bathed
with can de Cologne, &c. She suffered much for the first
two hours, but the train was wonderfully smooth and easy,
so that really the dreaded Mont Cenis was the least dis-
tressing part of the journey. About the middle of the
pass she revived a little, and noticed the flowers, which
1870] LAST YEARS WITH THE MOTHER 523
were lovely — such gentianellas, auriculas, large golden
lilies, &c. At S. Michel she bore the being carried
about tolerably, so we were able to come on here, and
arrived about four. Mother desires I will say to Charlotte,
' Hitherto the Lord hath helped me.' ''
"Macon, June 12. No farther on our way than this.
Mother was rather less suffering on Friday, and she bore
the move from Aix and the dreaded change at Culoz better
than we expected, but in the latter part of our four hours'
journey she was fearfully exhausted, and arrived here (at
the hotel looking out on the Saone and the wide-stretching
poplar plains) in a sad state. ... It is impossible to
move on yet.
"Yesterday, while she was sleeping, I drove to Cluny,
the queen of French abbeys. A great deal is left, and it
is a most interesting and beautiful place. I also saw
Lamartine's little chateau of Monceaux, described in his
' Confidences. ' All his things and his library were being
sold under the chestnut-trees in front of the house. I just
came up in time to buy the old apple-green silk quilt 1
from the bed of his saint-like mother, described in ' Le
Manuscrit de ma Mere.'
Montbard, June 13. Mother was so anxious to attempt
coming on, that we left Macon at half -past eleven to-day,
arriving here at four. To our dismay, when she had been
taken out of the carriage and laid flat upon the platform,
and the train had gone off, we found the station hotel
closed. However, she was well carried on a chair down a
lane to the so-called Hotel de la Poste — an old-fashioned
farm-house in a garden of roses ; everything clean, pretty,
and quaint; no sound but cocks and hens crowing and
cackling; delicious farm-house bread, butter, and milk.
Montbard is the place where Buffon lived in a very pictu-
1 Now at Holmhurst.
52 I
THE STORY (>F .MY LIFE
[1870
resque old chfiteau and gardens. Mother seems revived by
the intense quiel and Eresh country air. The old land-
lord and his wife are quite pictures -such clever, kind
old laces, reminding one of La Sarte in ' Citoyenne
Jacqueline. "
"Paris, June 14. This morning was like a respite!
Mother lay so quiet that I was actually able to draw as in
the old days, which now seem in the far distance; and I
took a little carriage to the lovely cloistered chateau of
Fontenay, which I had long wished to see, and where I
had luncheon with the charming owner, Madame de
Montgolfier, and her two sons, people who own immense
factories in the valley and devote their whole lives to the
good of their workpeople. On my return I found Mother
so Ear letter that we could prepare her for the one o'clock
express. She had a bath-chair to the station, and bore it
1 Prom " South-Eastern France."
1870]
LAST YEARS WITH THE MOTHER
525
well; but she was terribly tried by the five hours' journey,
and being very ill carried at Paris, arrived at the hotel
utterly prostrated. We hope to go on to-morrow, but all
is most uncertain."
''''Dover Station, June 16. We are here, with intense
thankfulness. Mother looked so ill and aged this morn-
CLOISTER OK FONTENAY. 1
ing we did not hope to move her, but she had a sudden
rally in the middle of the day, so at 6 P. m. we were able
to prepare her, and had her carried through the station to
a carriage before the mob of people came. . . . We
dreaded arriving at Calais, but she was carried in an arm-
chair to the steamer, which was fortunately at the near
quay and no steps. Of course our little procession was
the last to arrive and every place was taken; but Miss
1 From " South-Eastern France."
526 THE STORY OF MY LIFE [1870
( lharlotte Cushman, 1 who had comfortably established her-
self in the cabin, with a calm dignity which is irresistible,
at once directed the men to put Mother down in her place,
and went lip on deck.
"The sea was like -lass -lovely moonlight and sunrise,
and we seemed to be at Dover before we left Calais. A
sailor carried Mother in his arms to the railway carriage,
in which we were allowed to go as far as the station
platform, and here we are. A porter has fetched cups of
tea, and we have four hours to wait.
"We shall be glad of a visit from you as early as you
like to come next week. I should not like you to defer
coming long, as, though I have no special cause for appre-
hension, still in Mother's critical state every day is
precious. You will find her terribly altered in all respects,
though the mind and memory are quite clear at the moment.
None of her doctors give any hope whatever of amendment;
but von will understand the position much better when
von see it, only I am anxious that you should help me to
face what is inevitable, instead of striving after what
cannot be. Let us seek to alleviate suffering, not struggle
after an impossible cure which may hasten the end."
/., \li-v Wright.
" Holmhurst, -lime 17. I know you will truly rejoice
with and for us that we have arrived in safety, and that
niv | r suffering Mother has her great wish of seeing her
little home once more. You will imagine what the journey
has been, as she is now utterly helpless, nearly blind, and
never tree from acute suffering in the spine and arm,
which is often agony. At Rome it was generally thought
quite impossible thai she could survive the journey, and
nothing but her faith and patience, and her self-control,
have enabled us to get through it. We never could make
1 The well-known and admirable American actress.
1870] LAST YEARS WITH THE MOTHER 527
a plan, but just seized the happy moment when she was a
shade better, and at once pushed on a step. She was, of
course, carried everywhere, and people were wonderfully
kind; we had always somebody to go with us and smooth
the difficulties of the railway stations — either old friends
or people who were at my lectures at Rome and met us
accidentally.
""When we arrived, all the old servants were terribly
overcome to see their beloved mistress carried in so
changed and helpless. She is still very ill, but unspeak-
ably thankful to be here, and to feel that the journey is
done. My life is, and must continue to be, one of con-
stant watching."
"July 21. Our letters are now our only intercourse
with the world beyond the gates of Holmhurst, which
I never leave ; but indeed I can seldom leave the house
before 8 P. m., when I walk round the fields while Mother
is prepared for the night. Though it is now the only
thing I ever think of, it is very difficult to occupy and
cheer her days, for she cannot bear any consecutive read-
ing. Sometimes I read, and tell her what I have read as
a kind of story. She is seldom up before 3 p.m., and then
is carried down to the lawn in her dressing-gown, and up
again at four, when she is sometimes able to look at a
book for a few minutes. That which is oftenest in her
hand is the little ' Invalid's Friend ' which you gave her,
and she desires me to tell you how often she finds comfort
in it. . . . For the last fortnight we have been entirely
alone, which has been really best for her, as, though she
has enjoyed seeing those she loved, each departure has
made her worse.
" I write much at my ' Walks in Rome ' in her room,
' and my ancient history is so imperfect I have plenty to
study, which acts as a sort of mental tonic/'
THE STORY. OF MY LIFE [1870
From my Joi rnal (The Green Book).
••./„,,, iiii. .My darling often /"//•* to me in her hymns.
To-night, when I left her, she said with her lovely sweet-
ness, " Good-night, darling.
••<; ( >. sleep Like closing flowers at night,
Ami Heaven your morn will bless."'
"' 1 aever wish to leave you,' she said the other day,
4 I never wish for death; always remember that. I should
like to stay with you as long as I can.' And another day,
• 1 must call you "my daughter-son," as Mrs. Colquhoun
did hers: as long as I have yon, 1 suppose I can bear any-
thing: but if you were taken away, or if I had never had
\ou. tny Life would be indeed desolate: I could not have
lived on. ... 1 try so not to groan when you are here,
yon must not grudge me a few groans when you are out
of the room." "'
"July L8. k l had such a sweet dream of your Aunt
Lucy last night. I thought we were together again, and
1 said. "How I do miss you!" and she said she was near
me. I suppose I had been thinking of —
-Saints in glory perfect made
Wait thine escort through the shade."
I think perhaps I had been thinking of that. Dear Aunt
Lucy, how she would have grieved to see me now! '
"July 19. 'Yes, I know the psalms; many in your
Uncle Julius's version too. Many a time it keeps me
quiet for hours to know and repeat them. I should never
have got through my journey if I had not had so many to
repent and to still the impatience.'
Tn Miss Wright.
" ffolmhurst, July 31, 1870. I continue to work on
steadily at my book in the sick-room. I have just got
1870] LAST YEARS WITH THE MOTHER 529
Murray's Roman Handbook, and am amazed to see how
much better it is than I expected ; but I am glad I have
not seen it before, as, though I have already given even
all his newest information, I have told it so oddly
differently.
" The sweet Mother continues much the same. She is
carried out each fine afternoon to sit for an hour near the
weeping ash-tree on the lawn, and enjoys the sunshine
and flowers. ... In this quiet garden, and never going
beyond the gates, everything seems yery far off, and I am
beginning to have quite a sympathy with the hermits, and
to wonder the race does not continue : it is certainly more
reasonable than that of the monks. A great peace seems
to have fallen upon us. As I see my helpless Mother's
quiet happiness, and share it, I think of Richard Crashaw's
lines —
" ' How many unknown worlds there are
Of comforts, which Thou hast in keeping !
How many thousand mercies there
In Pity's soft lap lie a-sleeping !
Happy she who has the art
To awake them
And to take them
Home, and lodge them in her heart.' "
From my Journal (The Green Book).
" August 8. It is inexpressibly touching to me how
Mother now seems to have an insight into my past feel-
ings which she never had before, and to understand and
sympathise with childish sufferings which she never per-
ceived at the time, or from which she would have turned
aside if she had perceived them. To-day, after her
dinner, she said most touchingly, watching till every one
went away and calling me close to her pillow — ' I want to
make my confession to you, darling. I often feel I have
never been half tender enough to you. I feel it now, and
vol. ii. — 34
530 THE STOKY OF MY LIFE [1870
I should like you to know it. You are such a comfort
and blessing, to me, dearest, and I thought perhaps I
might die suddenly, and never have told you SO. 1 can-
not bear jrOUI being tied here, and yet I do not know how
I could do without you, you are so great a blessing to
me. "
"And oh! in the desolate future what a comfort these
lew words will contain! But I said--' No, darling, I am
not tied: you know it is just what 1 like. I know you
could imi do without me, hut then 1 could not do without
\oii, so it is just the same for both of us.'"
" August 26. To-day is the anniversary of my adoption,
what Mother used to call my Ilurstmonceaux birthday.
She remembered it when I went to her, and said toueh-
ingly — 'God he thanked for having given me my child,
tor having preserved him, for having strengthened him.
May he live to Mis glory, and may 1 die to His praise.
. . . I'ra\ that lie may forgive the past, watch over the
present, and guide the future.' Later she said — 'It is
very seldom that a woman's, future is settled at thirty-
live, as mine was. I was not only a widow, but my adopt-
ing a child showed to all the world that I should never
marry again. ... I can only make a meditation,' she
said; k l have no strength to make a prayer. ... I have
long been obliged to pray in snatches -in moments. . . .
I am so glad that I know so many psalms, hymns, and.
collects; they are smh a comfort to me now. I could
think of nothing more, hut these I dwell upon. . . .
Sometimes when I can think of nothing else I take the
Lord's Prayer, and lie still to make a meditation upon
each separate clause." When I left her at night she said
fervently -'Good-night, my own dear love, my blessing:
may 1 he your blessing, as you are mine.' "
In our quiet life, the news of the war in France,
the siege of Paris, &c, reached us like far-off
1870] LAST YEARS WITH THE MOTHER 531
echoes. My mother cared little to hear of it, but
shared with me in anxiety as to the fate of the
excellent people we had so lately left at Montbard
and Fontenay, which were overrun by the Prussians.
On September 8 the Empress Eugenie took refuge at
Hastings, and two days after walked up the hill
past our gate. She was joined at Hastings by the
Prince Imperial. I little thought then that I should
afterwards know him so well.
Journal.
"Sept. 10, 1870. Lea has just been saying, ' You may
go and count the trees to-day, for I 've nothing for you
for dinner. The butcher 's never been, good-for-nothing
fellow! he's gone gawking after that Empress, I'll be
bound."'
•
Almost all my Mother's nieces and many old
friends came to see her in the summer, generally
staying only two or three days, but her dear cousin,
Charlotte Leycester, came for the whole of Septem-
ber. While she was here at Holmhurst I was per-
suaded to go away for two days, and went to see
Dean Alford at his cottage of Vine's Gate in the
Kentish Hills. He was more charming than ever,
and more eccentric, never wearing stockings, and
shoes only when he went out. I was miserable, in
my short absence, with anxiety, which cost me far
more than the refreshment of change could replace ;
but I was led to go to see the Dean by one of those
strange presentiments for which I have never been
able to account. It was my last sight of this dear
friend, with whom I have been more really intimate
532
I III! STORY OF MY LIFE
[1870
than with perhaps any one else, in spite of the great
difference of age and position. Dean Alford died in
the following winter, but it was at a time when, in
my own intense desolation, all minor sorrows fell
dumb and dead. But his grave, in St. Martin's
Chiirchyard at Canterbury, is always a very sacred
spot to nie.
ST. MM: tins, CANTERBURY.
I must record a visit which we received soon after
my return home, as it led to a friendship which was
one of the great pleasures of many following years.
One morning, as I was sitting in my Mother's room
as usual, a card with "Mrs. Grove, Oakhurst," was
brought up to me, and, as I opened the drawing-room
door, I saw an old lady with the very sweetest and
dearest face I ever set eyes upon, in a primitive-
looking hat and apron, and with a basket on her
:
1870] LAST YEARS WITH THE MOTHER 533
arm, and I fell in love with her at once. She came
often afterwards to see my Mother, who greatly
appreciated her; and after my Mother's sweet life
passed away, it is difficult to say how much of my
home interest was associated with Oakfrarst, with the
ready sympathy and old-fashioned knowledge of this
dear Mrs. Grove, and with her daughter, Mrs. Baillie
Hamilton, and her two grand-daughters, now Mrs.
Spencer Smith and Mrs. Hamilton Seymour. Alas !
as I write this, 1 the dear Mrs. Grove, in her great
age, is herself rapidly fading heavenwards — but so
gentry, so surrounded by the love which her own
loving-kindness has called forth, that death is indeed
coming as a friend, gently and tenderly leading her
into the visible presence of the Saviour, in whose
invisible presence she has so long lived and served.
Journal (The Green Book).
"Holmhurst, Oct. 20, 1870. Mother said to-day, 'I
always think that walking through the Roman picture-
galleries is like walking through the Old and New Testa-
ment with the blessed company of apostles and martyrs
beside one. . . . I am so fond of that praj^er " for all sorts
and conditions of men," not only for my invalid state, but
it is all so appropriate to the present time — the petition
for peace and unity, &c. ' "
" Oct. 23, Sunday. 'Alas! another Sunday in bed,' said
Mother this morning.
" ' But, darling, you need not regret it ; all the days are
Sundays to you. '
" ' Yes ; but to-day I woke early, and have said all my
little Sunday hymns and psalms. '
1 Tn April, 1880.
534 THE STOKY OF MY LIFE [1870
"Truly with her, ' Les prieres de la nuit font la sdrenite'
du jour. 1 " '
" Oct. 26. " My dear child is never cross to me, never ;
and always appears just at the very moment I want any-
thing. ' "
IllSS W Kit. II I .
"ffolmhurst, Oct. 28, 1870. I am so glad you have
been here, and can fancy our perfectly quiet, eventless
life, the coming and going in the Mother's sick-room, and
her gentle happiness in all the little pleasures which are
spared to her. Since you were here she has been not so
well, from the wet and cold, I suppose, the sight dimmer
and the other powers weaker; but the symptoms are ever
varying, and, when it is thus, I almost never leave her —
watch her sleeping and try to amuse her waking.
"To-day my absent hour was sadly engaged in attend-
ing the funeral of my dear old friend, Mrs. Dixon, 2 who
died quite peacefully last Saturday, a long illness ending
in two days of merciful unconsciousness. She was buried
at Ore, in Emma Simpkinson's grave. Many deeply
mourn her, for few were more sincere and cordial, more
affectionate and sympathising."
Journal (The Green Book).
"Nov. 1, 1870. My darling has had two months of
comparative freedom from pain, with many hours of real
pleasure, in which she was often carried down and sat out
in her bath-chair amongst the flower-beds in the sunshine.
Sitting under the ash-tree shade, she has been able to see
many friends — Mrs. Wagner, Mrs. Grove, old Mrs.
Vansittart Neale at ninety, and Lady Waldegrave. Char-
1 Diderot, " Sarrasins."
2 Eldest Bister of my old Harrow master, and of Emma Simpkinson,
often mentioned in these Memoirs. In my childhood she lived at
Bnrstmonceaux.
1870] LAST YEARS WITH THE MOTHER 535
lotte Leycester was here for six weeks, and the Mother
was then so far better that it was a great source of enjo}-
ment to both the cousins. Since then she has ailed more
frequently, and has had occasional recurrence of the old
pain in her arm. I have sat constantly writing in her
room, laying aside ' Walks in Rome ' for a time, and
devoting myself to writing the Family Memorials. For
the dear Mother has wished me to continue the work she
began long ago of writing the life of Augustus and Julius
Hare. I represented that, as one of these died before I
was born, and I had never appreciated the other as she
had done, it would be impossible for me to do this, unless
she would permit me to make her, who had been the sun-
shine of my own life, the central figure of the picture.
At first she laughed at the idea, but, after a day or two,
she said that, as, with the sole exception of Charlotte
Leycester, all who had shared her earlier life had passed
away, she could not oppose my wish that the simple expe-
rience of her own life, and God's guidance in her case,
might, if I thought it could be so, be made useful for
others. And, as she has accustomed herself to tins
thought, she has lately taken real pleasure in it. She
laughs at what she calls my ' building her mausoleum in
her lifetime, ' but has almost grown, I think, to look upon
her own life and her own experience as if it were that of
another in whom she was interested, and to read it and
hear it in the same way. She has given me many journals
and letters of various kinds which I might use, and has
directed the arrangement of others. I have already written
the two earliest chapters of her married life, and read most
of them to her, but she stopped me at last, saying that
they interested her too deeply. She frequently asks now
— ' Are you writing the Memorials, or only " Walks in
Rome"?' and it is a proof how clear her understanding
still is, that some weeks ago she wisely directed me, if the
work was ever carried out. to evade all wearying discus-
536 THE STORY OF MY LIFE [1870
BioD by consulting qo one, and thai I should on no account
show it tn ;in\ one of the family, especially the Stanleys,
till it was finished, when they might judge of it as a
tie.
"Sometimes the dear Mother has herself heen able to
write Miiiic nt her ' Ricordi,' as she calls them, and, with
her trembling hand, lias filled a whole little volume with
the recollections of her youth, hut this has often been too
much tor her Vt'ter her tea at four o'clock, I have
generally read some story to her till she has gone to bed,
and after that a chapter and some hymns. There is a
passage in one of George Eliot's autobiographical sonnets,
in which, referring to her mother, she speaks of ' the bene-
diction of her gaze; ' how often have I experienced this! "
" Nov. 4. Last night I read to the Mother Luke xvii.
and a hymn on " Res1 " which she asked for. When I was
going to wish her good-night she said — k I do hope,
darling, I am not like the ungrateful lepers. I try to be
always praising God, but I know that I can never praise
Him enough for His many, many mercies to me.' I could
not hut feel, in the alarm afterwards, if my dearest Mother
never spoke to me again, what beautiful last words those
would have been, and how characteristic of her. Oh, good-
ness in life brings us near to God: not death! not death!
"At 2 p.m. 1 was awakened by the dreadful sound
which has haunted me ever since the night of March 12
in the Via Gregoriana — of Lea rushing along the passage
and Hinging open the door - 'Come directly ' — no time for
more words — and of running through the dark gallery and
finding the terrible change — another paralytic seizure —
calling up John and sending him off to Battle for the
doctor, and kneeling by the bedside, consoling her if pos-
sibly conscious, and watching for the faint dawn of visible
life, that the first words might be tender ones, the first
look one of love, . . . and it was so — that my darling's
1870] LAST YEARS WITH THE MOTHER 537
first words were something tender, indefinite, but spoken
to me. The entire unconsciousness was not long. When
the doctor arrived the face was almost natural, but he saw
that it had been a regular seizure. By 8 a.m. she was
nearly herself again, and anxious to know what could
have happened. She had been frightened by seeing the
doctor. She appeared to have no pain, and there is no
additional injury to the powers. To-day has been a con-
stant watching, rather a warding off from her of any pos-
sible excitement than anything else. ... In all the
anguish of anxiety, I cannot be thankful enough for what
we have, especially the freedom from pain."
" Nov. 9. No great change — a happy painless state,
the mind very feeble, its power gone, but peaceful, lov-
ing, full of patience, faith, and thankfulness."
"Nov. 16. And since I wrote last, the great, the most
unutterable desolation, so long looked for, so often warded
off, has come upon me. Oh! while they can still be
attained, let me gather up the precious fragments that
remain.
"On Thursday the 10th my darling was much better,
though her mind was a little feeble. I felt then, as I feel
a thousand times now, how extraordinary people were who
spoke of the trial my darling's mental feebleness would be
to me. It only endeared her to me a thousandfold — her
gentle confidence, her sweet clinging to me to supply the
words and ideas which no longer came unsought, made
her only more unspeakably lovable. On that day I remem-
ber that my darling mentioned several times that she
heard beautiful music. This made no impression on me
then.
"Friday the 11th, I sat, as usual, all morning in her
room correcting my book. I forget whether it was that
morning or the next that my darling on waking from sleep
538 THE STORY OF MY LIFE [1870
said thai she had had such a pleasant dream of her child-
hood and Adderley and 'old Lady Corbet,' who first
taught litr to 'love what was beautiful. 11 At 2 p.m.
Mother was up, and sat in her arm-chair by the fire. She
was partly dressed, and wore her pretty old-fashioned cap
wiili the strings tied in a bow on the top of the head, and
a little red cloak which Miss Wright had given her: I
remember thinking she looked so pretty, and telling her
so. I was out at first,' while she wrote a little letter to
Fanny Tatton, 2 and talked to Lea about the texts she had
been reading. At four, she had her tea, and then I sat at
her feet, and my darling talked most sweetly about all the
places she had admired most in her life — of Llangollen in
her childhood, and of Capel Curig, of her visit to Rhianva,
and of many places abroad, Narni with its woods and
river, and more especially Villar in the Vaudois, of which
I had been making a drawing, which she had desired to
have set up that she might look at it. Then she asked to
have one of her old journals read, and I read one of Rome,
and she spoke of how much happiness, how many bless-
ings, she had connected with Rome also, though much
of suffering. She was especially bright and sunny. I
remember saying to her playfully, ' Take a little notice of
me, darling; you do not take enough notice of me,' and
her stroking my head and saying, 'You dear child, ' and
laughing.
" At six o'.dock my sweetest one was put to bed.
• Afterwards T read to her a chapter in St. Luke — ' Let
this cup pass from me,' &c, and sat in her room till half-
past nine. When I went downstairs I kissed her and said,
1 " When the thoughts of youth return, fresh as the scent of new-
gathered blossoms, to the tired old age which has so long forgotten
them, the coming of Death is seldom very distant." — Ouida, " In
1/ nrremma."
A much-loved cousin and friend; her mother was a Grey, and
ray Mother's first cousin.
1870] LAST YEARS WITH THE MOTHER 539
'Have a good good night, darling.' I cannot recollect
that she spoke, but I remember looking back as I opened
the door, and seeing my sweet Mother lying on her side as
she always did, and her dear eyes following me with a
more than usually tender expression as I left the room.
"I have often thought since of a sentence in Carlyle's
* Life of Sterling ' — ' Softly, as a common evening, the last
of our evenings passed away, and no other would come to
me for evermore. '
" When I went upstairs again at half -past ten, I went,
as I always did, to listen at her door, and, hearing a noise,
went in. Terrible illness had come on and continued for
hours. . . . The next thirty-six hours I never left her
for an instant, and they all seem to me like one long
terrible night. I remember very little distinctly, but at
eight on Saturday morning she was certainly much better.
The doctor came at ten, and she was able to speak to him.
He looked very grave over the lowness of her pulse, but
she continued better for some hours, and slept a great deal
in the afternoon. Towards evening I thought her not so
well, though the doctor, who came at half -past nine, con-
sidered her state much less anxious. I was then possessed
with the feeling that our parting was very near. Lea also
called me downstairs to hear the extraordinary sound that
was going on. It was indeed strange. It was as if hun-
dreds of thousands of crickets were all chirping together.
Thej^ appeared everywhere in swarms on the hearths
downstairs. The noise was so great that I felt if it con-
tinued we should be driven out of the place : it was quite
deafening; but they only came that night, they never
were heard before, and the next day they had totally
disappeared. 1 I persuaded Lea to lie down on her bed,
1 This is said often to happen in case of a death. At Holmhurst it
was most remarkable. They never appeared after that night till the
night of October 18, 1882, when my dear old nurse was dying. I have
been laughed at for narrating this, but the noise of crickets at a death
540 THE STORY OF MY LIFE [1870
where she soon Ml asleep. All through the night I sat
li\ in\ darling on the pillow. I think the last thing she
said was that the other arm, the well arm, pained her very
much, and we feared paralysis, but more pressing symp-
toms diverted attention. At half-past one 1 called Lea
again. I shall never know in this world whether my
Mother was reall\ conscious, if she even knew anything
either of her own great physical suffering, or of what
passed that night. 1 believe God helped me to say and do
all she would have wished. Each hour 1 was more sure
of what was coming. Towards dawn, kneeling on the
bed, 1 said some of the short players in the Visitation of
the Sick, but she was then fading rapidly, and at last- I
repeated the hymn, ' How I night those glorious spirits
shine, ' which we had always agreed was never to be used
except as the solemn sign that our parting was surely
come. 1 am not sure if my darling knew that she was
dying before: I am sure, if she could still hear, that she
knew it then. I am sure that she was conscious at the
end and that she speechlessly took leave of us. Her
expression was calm and serene, but very grave, as if she
realised for the first time that I might not travel with her
into the solitude she was entering. It was about a quarter
of an hour before the end that all suffering ceased, her
paralysed side seemed to become quite well; the lame
hand, which had been so tightly clenched since the 13th
of March, unfolded then upon the 13th of November, and
gently met the other in prayer. The eyes were closing,
but opened once more — as a look — a look of youth and
radiance, stole over the beloved features at the last, when
there was no struggle, only just a gentle sigh or two.
Lea, who was leaning over the bed on the other side, held
her spectacles to the mouth. There was no breath. I
could scarcely believe that she was gone. I still held her
is spoken of in Ecclesiastes xii. 5 — "And the grasshopper shall be a
burden, because yuan goelh to his long home."
1870] LAST YEARS WITH THE MOTHER 541
in my arms. But oh! in my unutterable desolation I
could give God thanks that the end was like this. The
first stroke of the church-bell sounded as she passed into
the real life.
" When the sweet eyes closed and the dear face lost its
last shadow of colour, I kissed my own Mother for the last
time and came away. The first snow-flakes of winter
were falling then. They do not signify now: no snow or
cold can ever signify any more.
"But oh! the agony, the anguish!
"And since then her precious earthly form has been
lying, with her hands folded on her breast as if she were
praying — the dear lame hand quite well now. The room
is draped with white and filled with flowers. Two large
white camellias stand at the head of the bed and over-
shadow her pillow, and on the table, draped with white,
are her own particular objects, her bronze wolf, her little
gold tray with her spectacles, smelling-bottle, &c, and all
her special hymn-books. At first when I went in, in my
great agony, I did not draw down the sheet. But now I
draw it down and look at my dearest one. There is a
look of unearthly serene repose upon the worn features,
which is almost too beautiful.
" ' Days without night, joys without sorrow, sanctity
without sin, charity without stain, possession without
fear, satiety without envyings, communication of joys
without lessening, and they shall dwell in a blessed
country, where an enemy never entered, and from whence
a friend never went away. ' 1
" But yet — oh my darling ! my darling ! "
To Miss Leycester.
"Sunday morning, Nov. 13. My darling Mother has
entered into the real life.
" She grew gradually weaker hour by hour, and I think
1 Jeremy Taylor.
542 THE STORY OF MY LIFE [1870
she Buffered Less. She knew me always, and liked to keep
her eyes constantly fixed upon me, but she eould not
speak. At balf-pasl nine, she seemed sinking, and I
repeated over to her, as she desired me to do when slie
was dying, the hymn 'How bright those glorious spirits
shine. ' I think she heard it. . . . Soon after she opened
hi r eyes and gave me a long, long look of her own perfect
lovingness, then turned to Lea, to me again, and we heard
a I'.w gentle sighs. I had just time to ring the bell close
to mi\ hand as I sat on the pillow, and as John and Harriet 1
(who had been waiting in the passage) passed sobbing into
the room and stood at the foot of the bed, my sweet darling
gently breathed her last in m\ arms, once more — quite at
the Last- -opening her eyes, with a look of perfect bliss,
as if gazing at something beyond us. It was so gentle a
breathing out of her spirit, we scarcely knew when it was
over. She died in my arms, with my kiss upon her fore-
head, at half-past ten. I know how tenderly my Mother's
dearest, most tenderly loved friend feels for me, and that
I need not ask her to pray for my Mother's poor child
Augustus."
" Nov. 14. It seems so strange to look out on the
window and see the same sheep feeding in the same green
meadows, the same (lowers blooming, and yet such a
change over all. I feel as if it were I who had died
yesterday.
"What a long, long day it was! A thousand times I
was on the point of running into the room to say some
little Loving word to her who has been the recipient of
every thought, every pleasure for so many, many years,
and then the crushing blank, the annihilation came all
afresh. Indeed, I feel it afresh every quarter of an hour,
and when 1 am calmed after one thing in which my great
desolation is especially presented to me, something else
1 Barriel Bentley, Leu's niece — her much-attached housemaid.
1870] LAST YEARS WITH THE MOTHER 543
calls it all forth again. Oh, my darling ! my darling ! can
it be ? oh ! how can it be ?
"The dear earthly form lies with its hands sweetly
folded as if she were praying. I go in often. I am
always going in; but it does not remind me of her, though
it is most peaceful, and the servants and others have the
greatest comfort from looking at it.
" It is as a dream that yesterday morning, quite after it
was over, I could say, w The day before yesterday my darl-
ing did this, my darling said that.' On Friday she was
so bright, so happy, only her memory a little astray, but
I was already forming a thousand little schemes for supply-
ing this lost power, so that it should not be apparent to
others, and to me nothing, I felt, could ever matter if the
sunshine of my dear Mother's sweet presence was with
me under any change."
" Tuesday, Nov. 15. Your most dear letter has come.
. . . How much, even in the first anguish of my desola-
tion, I have felt what it would be to you also. You will
always be most tenderly entwined with her sacred memory;
indeed, I can scarcely think of you apart. For the last
few years especially your companionship has been her
greatest joy, and in your absence she has never passed
many hours without speaking of you, never any, I think,
without thinking of you. The grief she most dreaded was
that she might have to mourn for you, for I think she
rightly felt that — great as the sorrow would be — your
physical powers would enable you to bear the separation
better than she could have done.
" This morning I feel a little better, and can dwell more
upon my darling's being perfected, upon the restoration
of all her powers, upon her reunion to those she loved in
former times of her life; and I have a perfect treasure-
store in my journals for years of her sacred words of bless-
ing, and advice, and thought for me, many of them, T
know, intended to be my comfort now.
544 THE STORY OF MY LIFE L 1 8 70
"I will send you many of the letters about her. I
wonder wh\ people should dread letters of sympathy. To
me the letters are nothing, hut what I long for is not to
hear thai people sympathise with me, but to know how
they loved her.
• Co-da} it is thick snow. Oh! she would have been
80 ill ; now she is not ill."
" Tuesday evening, Nov. 15. To-day a change came
over the dear face — a look of unspeakable repose and
beauty such as I never saw on any face before. The ser-
vants told me of it. and so it was; it is the most wonderful
expression — serene, solemn, holy beauty.
" All the letters are a great — not comfort — nothing can
ever he that, hut I like to see how she was loved, and I
Look forward to them. There were thirty to-day, and yet
I though! no one could know. What comes home to one
is simple sympathy. One cannot help envying the people
wh.» can he comforted in real sorrow by what one may call
Evangelical topics. It seems so perfectly irrelative to
hear that ' man is born to trouble,' that w it is God that
ehasteneth,' &C.
"I recollect now that on Saturday morning I was
obliged to scud off some proof-sheets. 1 She asked what I
was doing, and then said, c I shall so enjoy reading it
when it is all finished, but I must have my little desk out
thru, because I shall not be able to hold the book.' We
have only just remembered this, which proves that there
must have been a slight rally then. It was all so short,
so bewildering at last, that things will only come back
gradually.
"I shall be glad when the incessant noise of workmen 2
downstairs ceases. It is so incongruous in the house now,
but could not be helped. My darling did not mind it;
1 Of "Walks in Rome."
- Patting up a heating apparatus in the passages.
1870]
LAST YEARS WITH THE MOTHER
545
indeed it seems to me, on looking back, as if she never
found fault with anything; often she did not hear it, and
when she did, ' I like that pleasant sound, ' she said. "
"Nov. 16. There were forty letters to-day, many want-
ing answers, so I can only write a little, but it is a com-
fort to me to send you any memories of those precious last
THE CHURCH LANE, HURSTMONCEAUX.
days as they occur to me, and as the first mist of anguish
clears up, so many things recur.
" You asked about Romo. Indeed it overwhelms me to
think of it. The dear little beast is so touching in his
attempts to comfort me. He comes and licks my hand
and rubs himself against me, as he never was in the habit
of doing. In the first sad moments after the dear eyes
closed, Lea, by an old Northern custom, would send down
to ' tell the dog and the bees ' (the bees would have died,
she thinks, if they had not been told), and Romo under-
stood it all, and did not howl, but cried plaintively all
morning.
vol. ii. — 35
546 THE STORY OF MV LIFE [1870
"I forget whether I spoke of the music. For the last
four days my darling had said at intervals that she heard
beautiful music. Thursday and Friday I thought nothing
of it; on Saturday it began to have a solemn meaning.
" I have lieen to-day to Ilurstmoneeaux. It was neces-
Sary. 'There was deep snow the first part of the way, but
beyond Battle no snow at all, leaves still on the trees, and
quite a summer look. It was more overpowering to me
than I expected to pass Lime, and I almost expected to
see her come across the held and open the w r icket-gate to
her beloved walk to the school. The Haringtons 1 were
most kind in placing Ilurstmoneeaux Place at our disposal
lor the funeral, and removed all scruples about it by say-
in- how really thankful they were to be able to show their
affection for the Mother in that way. I went up twice to
the church. The road thither and the churchyard looked
most beautiful, and the spot chosen, on the edge towards
tin' level, with the view she always thought so like the
Carnpagna. 1 am allowed to enclose a little space which
will contain my grave also.
"I called on Mrs. W. Isted, 2 and found her quite over-
powered, sitting with my darling's photograph. k It is
not only her own loss, dearly as I loved her, but the deaths
of all my others come back to me, which she helped me to
bear/"
'" Nov. 17. Do you know that through a mist of tears I
have been forced to go on sending off proof-sheets of
' Walks in Rome'? One of the last things she spoke of
was her hope that I would not let her illness hinder the
ik. The dedication to her, already printed, will seem
touching to those who read it. She herself read that when
the fust volume was finished. But her great pleasure of
The tenants of Ilurstinonceaux Place, the old home of the family.
- A poor woman ;it "Lime Cross," constantly visited by my
Mi ther.
1870] LAST YEARS WITH THE MOTHER 547
the last few weeks was in the chapters of the ' Memorials '
which I was writing of her Alton life. To continue them
with the copious materials she has left will now be my one
great interest. She has left me perfectly free to make
what use I like of all, and one clay made me write down
from her dictation an expression to that effect. The Alton
life is certainly the most perfect ideal of a country clergy-
man's life that can well be conceived."
"Nov. 19. I cannot leave home yet. . . . Leycester,
Mamie, and many others have written, as she always said
they would, that their hearts and houses are open to
receive me, but this must be later. Id deed, I shall cling
to all she loved, and in the ever-living remembrance of
her shall be able to love all. I had even a kind note from
Mrs. Maurice 1 to-day: she said I should.
"Henry Papillon came yesterday, touchingly wishful to
look upon the dear face once more, and he was even more
struck than I expected with its immortal beauty. . . .
To-day was a great wrench. This morning the precious
earthly form was sealed away from us."
"Nov. 22. I went through yesterday in a dream. I
did not realise it at all. Lea left Holmhurst in an agony
of sobs and tears, but I did not; I had so often thought
of it, I seemed to have gone through it all before, and
then I had already lost sight of my darling.
" Lea, John, Johnnie Cornford, and I went in the little
carriage first ; Harriet, Anne, Rogers, Joe, and Margaret
Cornford 2 followed her. We reached Hurstmonceaux
Place about half -past twelve. In half-an-hour they all
began to arrive: each and all of my dear cousins were
most kind to me."
1 My father's half-sister, who had seldom treated me even with
humanity.
2 All old servants.
548 THE STORY OF MY LIFE [1870
Joi i:\.\i. (The Green Book).
"Dec. 4. 1870. I have been unable to write in my
journal; the hundred and ninety-two letters which I have
had to answer have taken all the time. . . . And I live
still. I used to think I could not live, but I am not e\en
ill: and yet how my life is changed, all the interest, all
the happiness, all the sunshine gone, only the systematic
routine of existence left.
"My poor Lea is already beginning to be interested in
her chickens and her farm-life, and to think it all ' such a
lono- time ago.' But to me it seems as if it had only just
happened, and the hour in which her sweet eyes closed
upon me lias swallowed up all the hours which have come
since, and is always the last hour to me.
" 1 think it was about the third day afterwards that
Lea came into my room and told me that the look of won-
derful beauty and repose which appeared at the last had
come back again to the dear features. And so it was.
It was the sweetest look of calm, serene repose. The
ci ^i air had all faded out of my darling's cheeks, which
had lost every sign of age. and were smooth and white as
if they were chiselled in marble. Her closed eyelids, her
gently curving mouth expressed the sweetest restfulness.
The dear lame hand, quite supple at last, had closed softly
upon the other. And this lovely image of her perfected
state was lent to me till the last, when the beloved
features were closed away from me for ever.
"It was mi the Saturday that Lea and I went in together
for the last time. Lea cried violently. 1 was beyond
tears. We covered away together all that was dearest to
us on earth. I placed a lock of my hair in her hands,
and laid her favourite flowers by her. Monday a day of
ruin and storm-cloud. I shall always associate the road
to Hnrstmonceaux with the drive on that winter's morn-
ing with swirling rain-clouds, and the waters out on the
distant Levels gleaming white through the mist. Com-
1870] LAST YEARS WITH THE MOTHER 549
ing down the hill near Boreham how mary memories of
my dearest one came back to me, — of her anxiety to put
me out to walk at Standard Hill, — of her admiration of
the three pines on the hill-top; and then, near Lime, of
walks with her on dewy summer mornings, when I went
with her in my childhood to pick ground-ivy and violets
in the fields behind Lime Cross.
" The coffin lay in the centre of the drawing-room at
Hurstmonceaux Place, upon a high raised stand draped
with white. All around it hung a lovely wreath of
flowers from Holmhurst, and at the foot masses of flowers
kindly sent by the present owners of Lime. Mrs. H.
Papillon l had sent a beautiful cross of white chrysanthe-
mums, and some one else a wreath, and in the centre,
linking all with a reminiscence of her sister Lucy, lay a
bunch of withered violets from Abbots Kerswell. Here,
over the coffin of her whose life was perfect peace, the two
great enemies in the parish of Hurstmonceaux shook hands
and were reconciled.
" At two the eighteen bearers, all chosen from labourers
whom she had known, filed in in their white smock frocks
and took up the precious burden. Lea and I followed
immediately, then Leycester, Vere, and Emmie Penrhyn;
Arthur, Augusta, and Mary Stanley; Morgan and Mamie
Yeatman; Dr. Vaughan, Frederick Fisher, Mrs. Hale,
and a long line of neighbours, clergy, and servants, walk-
ing two and two.
"Down the well-known avenue and lanes, the bearers
advanced, looking like a great band of choristers. I saw
nothing, but some of the others remarked that as we came
away from the house a beautiful silver cloud and rainbow
appeared over it.
" Arthur and Augusta left the procession at the foot of
the hill and passed on before ; so he met us at the gate.
"In the centre of the chancel, where I had seen the
1 A neighbour and the wife of an old college friend.
550 THE STORY OF MY LIFE [1870
coffin of Uncle Julius, there the coffin of my own darling
lay, but it was covered with no gloomy pall, only gar-
landed with flowers, the garlands of her new life.
"At the grave, Lea stood on one side of me, Emmie on
the other. Arthur read most touchingly, and in the
words of that service one was lifted up, not drawn down:
lnii indeed I felt it very little, I only saw it in a dream.
"Afterwards 1 think they all came up and kissed me.
Then they went away, and Lea and I walked back alone
through the shrubbery to Hurstmonceaux Place, and so
came Inane.
" To our most desolate home.
"On the Saturday after we went to Hurstmonceaux
again. The Sunday services at the church were most
beautiful. In the morning 'How bright those glorious
spirits shine ' was sung, and in the evening, almost in the
dark, * Pilgrims of the night.' Mr. Munn 1 preached on
' Bury me with my fathers — in the cave of Machpelah, '
&c, speaking of how she was brought from a distant
place, and how. in foreign lands, her great wish had been
to be laid at Hurstmonceaux, and so to what I wished of
the peculiar connection of my darling's life with Hurst-
monceaux, and of how the different scenes in the parish
which called up the remembrance of her sweet words and
acts connected with them, might also call up the recollec-
tion of those truths to which her gentle life was a living
witness. When Lea and I went out to the grave after-
wards, we found two poor women — Mrs. Medhurst and
Mrs. Harmer — standing there dressed in black, and the
little mound covered with flowers.
" I saw it once again next day, and made a little wall
of holly and ivy round it. Oh, my darling! — and then
we returned here again, to the ordinary life, only the
door of the sacred chamber stands open, and the room
1 Rector of Ashburnham.
1870] LAST YEARS WITH THE MOTHER 551
is cold and empty, and my heart and my life are desolate.
' The sanctuary of sorrow ' seems to me an expression full
of significance."
To Miss Leycester.
" Holmhurst, Dec. 1, 1870. Madame de Stael shows
how she must have suffered when she wrote — ' Le r^ veil,
quel moment pour les malheureux ! ' To-day is the first
of a month in which my darling has no share: each day
there is something in which I seem to part with her
afresh. My life is so changed that it seems impossible to
believe that it is such a short time since I was so happy —
only, between the present dumb blank and the happy time
are those terrible thirty-six hours of illness, and in the
thought of them 1 am more than satisfied that she cannot
go through them again. Each minute of those hours
comes back to me now so vividly — the acuteness of the
numb misery, which really had no hope, with the determi-
nation that she should see nothing but smiles to the last,
for my whole life afterwards would be long enough for
tears.
" Poor Lea sits with me now for an hour every day after
tea, and we talk of every moment of those last days.
"It is most bitterly cold: she would have been so ill."
" Dec. 17. Mrs. Tom Brassey passed me to-day, riding
with a party. She made them go on, and stopped to
speak to me, then burst into tears, and spoke most feel-
ingly of old Brassey's death, to whom I believe she was
truly attached. Then she revealed the enormous wealth
to which they have fallen heirs. They expected to have
no more, as the father had already given each of his sons
an immense sum, but old Mr. Brassey has left six mil-
lions ! She feels the awful responsibility of such a heri-
tage, and spoke admirably and touchingly — said she
trusted each of the three brothers would set out with the
552 THE STORY OF MY LIFE [1870
determination to spend it worthily of their father, and
then of all their plans already made for the good of others.
It seemed odd to come hack from discussing all this to
the great anxiety as to whether my income would amount
to £500, and if I should be able to live on at Holmhurst.
" It is actually five weeks this evening since my darling
wa> here, and wc were entering upon the utter anguish of
that Last night. Sometimes the agony comes hack to me,
so that I am obliged to do something which requires close
attention to set it aside; hut at other times — generally —
I can think with composure of the five weeks she has spent
well, and warm, and happy."
Mrs. Aknold to Augustus J. C. Hare.
"Dingle Bank, Nov. 21, 1870. You will he in such
deep -lief that I hardly know how to write to you; and
wt I so loved the dear Mother you have lost, so reverenced
her goodness and sweetness and holiness, that I cannot
hut hope you may like a few words from me of truest
sympathy, and indeed I can feel for you. To those at a
distance it is the thought of a dear friend transplanted
from earth to heaven, hut to you there is the thought of
the daily companionship, the loving nursing, the perpetual
consciousness of what you were to her. In this, however,
in the sense of the continual help and comfort and love
that she received from you. will be your great consolation.
"I have never lost the impression made on me by her
own more than resignation when she spoke to me at Kugby
of her own separation from what was dearest to her upon
earth — there seemed such joy in his happiness, such a
realising of it to herself, that earthly clouds and shadows
disappeared.
"I will not say more now, but for her dear sake, and
that of my long and affectionate interest in you, I hope
yon will sometimes let me hear of you."
1870] LAST YEARS WITH THE MOTHER 553
Lady Eastlake to Augustus J. C. Hare.
" 7 Fitzroy Square, Dec. 4. I have seen a notice in the
Times which has sent a pang through my heart, and hasten
to tell you how intensely I feel for you. None but those
who know the bitterness of a great sorrow can really
sympathise with you, for only they can measure the
length and breadth of the suffering. I know of no conso-
lation but the conviction that God knows all and does all,
and that He will reunite in His good time to the Beloved
One. Sorrow is a mighty force, and its fruit ought to be
commensurate : we sow truly in tears, but the reaping in
joy is, I believe, reserved for another state. Still there is
much to be done by sorrow's husbandry even here, and
assuredly were the fruits of the Spirit to be attained with-
out suffering, God would not put His poor children
through it.
" I fear that life must look very joyless before you, and
that all things for a time must seem altered, your very
self most so. I can only say, be patient with yourself, and
take every mitigation that offers itself. I should be very
glad to hear from you when you have heart and leisure.
You have seen me in bitter anguish, and will not be shy
of one who has drunk of that cup to the very dregs. God's
holy will be done ! "
INDEX
INDEX
Aberdeen, John, 7th Earl of, ii.
246.
Ackermann, Felix, i. 28, 76, 125,
562, 563, 574 ; ii. 124, 254-258.
Ackermann, Madame Victoire,
i. 24, 25, 26, 27, 28, 81, 76, 268,
269, 279-282, 563, 574; ii. 119,
133, 144, 196, 254-263, 366, 419,
445, 462, 463, 466, 4S7, 494,
496.
Ackermann, Victoria, ii. 462,
464.
Acland, Sir Thomas, i. 527.
Acuto, ii. 137, 149.
Adeane, Henry John, i. 170.
Adelaide de France, Madame, ii.
229.
Adelaide, Queen of England, i.
229, 233.
Aitkens, Mr., of Kingston -Lyle,
i. 520.
Alacoque, Marguerite Marie, ii.
152.
Albert, the Prince Consort, i.
239 ; ii. 23, 24.
Albrecht, Archduke of Austria,
i. 438, 439.
Alcock, Mrs., story of, ii. 307-
311.
Alderley, i. 49, 55 ; ii. 27, 28.
Aldermaston, i. 582.
Alexander, Mary Maiming, Mrs.,
i. 147, 197-199, 283, 304, 372,
382, 388, 510.
Alford, Henry, Dean of Canter-
bury, i. 381, 426; ii. 107-112,
142, 337-339, 531, 532.
Alford, Lady Marion, i. 232 ; ii.
32, 219, 234, 510.
Alfriston, i. 402.
Alice, H. R. H. the Princess, of
Hesse, ii. 24.
Allan, Charles Stuart, ii. 209.
Allan, John Hay, ii. 209.
Alnwick, ii. 16, 77, 237.
Alston, Carlotta, i. 2.
Alston, Mary Margaret, i. 2, 4.
Alton, Barnes, i. 35-38, 151, 152,
220; ii. 302.
Amboise, ii. 194.
Andersen, Mr., of Bradley, ii. 50.
Angouleme, Marie The'rese de
France, Duchesse d', ii. 32,
246.
Antibes, ii. 331.
Antonelli, Cardinal, i. 467 ; ii.
269.
Aponte, Dom Emmanuele, i. 6.
Aram, Eugene, ii. 60-62.
Arcachon, ii. 169.
Arkcoll, Mr. Thomas, i. 589, 602.
Aries, ii. 322, 362.
Arnold, Edward, ii. 478.
Arnold, Matthew, i. 140.
558
INDEX
\ old, Mrs., i. 1 1'» ; ii. 177. 178,
552.
Arnold, Dr. Thomas, of Rugby,
i. 126.
A -. Jean Marie Vianney, le
Cure'd*, ii. 130-133, 117. *
Are, visil to, ii. 320-322.
Ashdo^ tie, i. 590.
Athelstan, Mr., ii. 10.
Aumale, Henri, Due d', ii. 225.
Am uii. ii. 472.
Babington, .Mrs. Catherine, ii.
76.
Bacon, Mrs. Nicholas, ii. 348.
Baden, Frederick William, Grand
Duke, and Louisa, Grand
Duchess of, ii. 300.
Baden-Baden, i. 303.
Bagot, Mr. Charles, ii. 318.
it, Lucia, Lady. ii. 237.
i. Lord and Lady, ii. 51 1.
Balcarres, Colin, 3d Earl of, ii.
231.
Balcarres, James, 5th Earl of,
ii. 231.
Bamborough Castle, ii. 11, 78,
217, 350.
Bankhead, Charles, secretary of
the Legation at Constantinople,
i. 21, 30.
Bankhead, Maria Horatia Paul,
Mrs., i. 21, 22, 35, 234.
Barbera, Mrs., i 75.
Bar le Due, ii. 181.
Barnard, Lady Anne, ii. 222, 233,
171. 175.
Barnard Castle, ii. 11. 66.
Barraud, Madame and Made-
moiselle, i. 501, 502, .".08-510.
B rere, Madame, ii. 282.
Harrington, Hon. Adelaide, i.
519.
Harrington, Hon. Augusta, i. 519.
Barrington, George, 5th Vis-
count, ii. 17.
Barrington, Jane, Viscountess, i.
•MS, 519, 520.
Harrington, Shute, Bishop of
Durham, i. 519.
Harrington, William Keppel, Gtli
Viscount, i. 519, 520.
Barrington, Mrs. Russell, i. 223.
Barton, Annie, i. 55.
Bassi, Laura, i. 6.
Hay ley. Mrs., ii. 319, 320.
Beaujour, Chateau de, ii. 197-
199.
Beckett, i. 519, 520, 589, 590.
Beckwith, Mrs., of Silksworth, ii.
125.
Belgium, tour in, i. 298.
Belhaven, Hamilton, Lady, ii.
62-64, 78, 79, 81,239,240.
Belhaven, Lord, ii. 78, 81, 238,
239.
Bellagio, ii. 298.
Belsay, ii. 73.
Benalta, family story of, ii. 160-
L64.
Bengivenga, Francesca, ii. 374.
Bonnet, Hon. Frederick, ii. 8.
Bennet, Hon. George, ii. 8.
Benningsen, Countess Marie, i.
234.
Bentley, Harriet, ii. 542, 547.
Benzoni, the sculptor, ii. 279.
Berchtesgaden, ii. 400.
Bergeret, Madame, story of, ii.
356-360.
Berkeley Castle, i. 227.
Berri, Caroline, Duchesse de, i.
155; ii. 223, 246.
INDEX
559
Berry, the Misses, i. 237, 238.
Betharram, ii. 182.
Biarritz, ii. 188.
Bidart, ii. 189.
Birtles, ii. 307.
Blackett, Sir Edward and Lady,
i. 549; ii. 7, 43, 67, 71, 350,173.
Blackwood, Sir Arthur, ii. 410.
Blake, Sir Francis, ii. 235.
Blake, William, the artist, ii. 221.
Blenkinsop Castle, ii. 78.
Blessington, Harriet Power, Coun-
tess of, i. 15, 29 ; ii. 122.
Blomfield, Charles James, Bishop
of London, i. 374.
Blommart, Miss Elizabeth, ii.
189.
Bodryddan, ii. 311.
Boggi, Madame, i. 478, 479.
Bologna, i. 5-7; ii. 103, 520.
Boivilliers, Comtesse de, i. 272-
277.
Bonaparte, Cardinal Lucien, ii.
229.
Bonis, Madame Maria de, ii. 514,
519.
Bonnyrigg, ii. 67, 350.
Borghese, Adele, Princess, i. 455.
Borghese, Guendolina, Princess,
i. 455, 456.
Borghese, Marc-Antonio, Prince,
i. 455.
Borghese, Pauline, Princess, ii.
63.
Borghese, Teresa, Princess, i. 456 ;
ii. 280, 369.
Bosanquet, Charles, of Rock, ii.
15.
Bosanquet, Mrs., of Rock, ii. 16.
Bothwell Castle, ii. 250.
Bourbon, Louis Henri Joseph,
Due de, ii. 214.
Bowes, ii. 15.
Bowes, Lady Anna, i. 546.
Bowes, George, i. 552.
Bowes, John, of Streatlam, i.
546, 550 ; ii. 13, 14.
Bowes, Mrs. John, ii. 14.
Bowles, Miss, ii. 450, 454.
Boyle, Carolina Amelia Poyntz,
Lady, i. 71, 231.
Boyle, Hon. Carolina Courtenay,
i. 229-233, 347, 404, 405; ii.
100-102, 37S.
Boyle, Miss Mary, i. 232 ; ii. 511,
512.
Bozledeane Wood, i. 285.
Bracciano, ii. 516.
Bradley Manor in Devon, i. 227.
Bradley Manor in Northumber-
land, ii. 51.
Bradley, Rev. Charles, i. 235, 236,
239-250, 263-266,291, 292, 300,
311, 313-315, 323.
Bradley, Mrs. Charles, i. 239, 243,
263, 265, 308.
Brainsclengh, ii. 82.
Brassey, Henry and Albert, ii.
108. 112.
Brassey, Thomas, i. 429.
Brassey, Mrs. Thomas, ii. 551.
Brewster, Sir David, ii. 243.
Bridgeman, Lady Selina, ii. 107.
Brimham Rocks, ii. 66.
Brinkburn Abbey, ii. 86.
Bristol, Lord, i. 14, 24.
Brixey, Guillaume de, i. 22.
Brodie, Sir Benjamin, i. 196.
Brougham and Vaux, Henry, 1st
Lord, ii. 327.
Brown, Dr., Professor at Aber-
deen, i. 9.
Browning, Elizabeth Barrett, i.
481 ; ii. 123.
500
INDEX
Browning, Robert, ii. 122.
B >u alow, John, 2d Earl, i. 518.
Bruce, Rei , •'• Collingwood, the
antiquarian, ii. 19, 251.
Bruce, Hon. .Mrs. Robert, ii. 377.
Brymer, Archdeacon (of Wells),
i. 266.
Brymer, .Marianne Wilkinson,
Mrs., i. 266, 268.
Buchanan, Alexander, ii. 1 12.
Buchanan, Miss Helen, ii. 277.
Bufalo, the Venerable Gaspare
del, ii. 136, L48.
Bulkeley, Anna Maria Hare, Mrs.
i. 2, 392.
Bulman, Mrs., ii. 71.
Bulwer, Mr. and Mrs., i. 41.
Bunsen. Charles de, i. 195.
Bunaen, Chevalier, afterwards
Baron, i. 128-130, 369, 400.
Bunsen, Emilia de, ii. 300.
Bunsen, Frances ,.n. Misses Mary and Ara-
bella, of Blenkiusopp, i. 548.
Courmayeur, Li. 96, 128.
Courtenay, Ladj Agnes, ii 171.
I trtenay, " Sir William "(Nich-
ols Tom), i. 285 288.
Cousin, M. Victor, ii. 329.
Cowbourne, Mrs., i- 101, L65.
i ,.-. i;.v. Henry Octavius, Bod-
leian Librarian, i. 534.
Cracroft, Colonel and Mrs., ii.
522.
Cradock, Hon. Mrs. (Harriel Lis-
ter), i. 1"7. 518.
I ISter, family of, ii. 17.
Crawford, Earl of, i. 18.
Crecy, ii. '■'■ I -
Creslow Pastures, i. 583.
CreswelL Sir Creswell, ii. 78.
Crichtou Castle, i. 545.
Crowhurst, Caroline, i. 204, 205.
Croyland, ii- 343.
Cuffe, sir Charles, ii. 82.
( immings, Mr. and Mrs., ii. 520.
Cushman.Miss Charlotte, ii. 378-
30, 526.
Dm i \~. Mrs., ii. 520.
Dalton Hall. ii. :il7.
Dalzell, ii. 83.
I lalzel, Mrs. Allen, ii. 351.
Dalzel, Mrs. Aventina, i. 123, 124.
1-7. 545; ii. 80, 351, 353
I > . 1 1 1 • • \ . i . i. 130.
Darling, Mi-., of Bamborough,
ii. 11.
I » -'Mt. Sir ( reorge, i. •":;, 356.
Dasbw 1, Anna Maria Shipley,
Mrs., i. 13, 20, 24, 121: ii. 313-
315.
Dashwood, Bertha, Lady, ii. 170,
179.
Dashwood, sir Edwin, ii. 170.
D'Aubign^, M. Merle, i. 360.
Davenport, Edward, of Capes-
thorne, i. 522.
Davidoff, Adele, Madame, i. 278,
161-463, 470, 500; ii. 128.
Davidson, Susan Jessop, Mrs., of
Ridley Hall, i. 54.1-.J5U; ii. 6,
12. 13, 07, 173, 474.
Hawkins, Mrs. Francis, ii. 31,
269, 270. 466.
Deimling, Hot Otto, i. 129.
Dent'enella, i. 512.
Denison, Lady Charlotte, ii. 245.
Denison, Mr. Stephen, ii. 11.
Derby Edward Smith, Stanley,
13th Earl of, ii. 318.
Derwent water, James Radcliffe,
Earl of, ii. 0, 76.
Desart, Lord, i. 14.
1><- Selby, Mrs., ii. 260.
He Selby, Mrs. Robert, ii. 367.
Des Voeux, Miss Georgiana, ii.
93, 94, 324.
Devonshire, Georgiana, wife of
William. 5th Duke of, i. 4, 5.
Dickens, Charles, ii. 14.
Dilston, ii. 50.
Dixon, Louisa Simpkinson, Mrs.,
ii. 534.
Dixon-Browne, Mr. and Mrs., of
Unthank, ii. :'>I9.
Dolceacqua, i. 610.
1 Jolgorouki, Prince Nicole, ii. 266,
280.
Don caster, ii. 2.
Doria, Donna Guendolina, i. 466;
ii. 380.
Doria, Prince, ii. 136.
Doria. Donna Olimpia, i. 466.
INDEX
563
Doria, Donna Teresa, i. 465.
D'Orsay, Count, i. 14, 15, 16, 23,
29 ; ii. 122.
Dowdeswell, Miss, ii. 273, 277.
Dresden, i. 341.
Duckworth, Robinson, afterwards
tutor to Prince Leopold and
Canon of Westminster, i. 355,
375, 412, 436, 437.
Dudley, John, Earl, i. 15.
Dumbleton, Miss Harriet, i. 213.
Dumfries, i. 539.
Dunlop, Harriet, Mrs., ii. 422,
424, 440, 441, 446, 447, 448,
454, 459, 460, 468.
Dunottar, i. 541.
Dunstanborough Castle, ii. 9, 239,
240.
Duntrune, i. 540.
Dupanloup, Monsignor, Bishop of
Orleans, ii. 504.
Durham, ii. 4, 51.
Durham, Beatrix, Countess of, ii.
85-87, 239-243.
Durham, George-Frederick, Earl
of, ii. 87, 88, 239, 240.
Dp-ham Park, i. 249.
Eardley, Sir Culling, ii 25.
Eastbourne, i. 50, 167, 203, 298,
401.
East Hendred, i. 591.
Eastlake, Elizabeth Rigby, Lady,
ii. 336, 337.
Eccles Greig, i. 542.
Egerton, Lady Blanche, ii. 237,
238.
Egerton, Rev. Charles, i. 108.
Elcho, Anne, Lady, ii. 80, 245.
Ellisland, i. 543. "
Ellison, Mr. Cuthbert, i. 40.
Ellison, Mrs., of Sugbrooke, ii.
348.
Ely, ii. 217.
Erskine, Rev. J., and Mrs., ii.
369, 375.
Erskine, Thomas, of Linlathen, i.
540 ; ii. 16.
Escrick, ii. 142.
Este, ii. 397.
Eugene Beauharnais, Prince, i.
15.
Eugenie, the Empress, i. 391 ; ii.
531.
Evans, Rev. Mr., ii. 213.
Eversley, Viscount, i. 581.
Evreux, i. 258.
Exeter, Henry Philpotts, Bishop
of, ii. 5.
Facchini, Giacinta, the " Saint
of St. Peter's," ii. 139, 140, 419,
445.
Falconnet, Mademoiselle Judith,
i. 456.
Falkirk Tryste, ii. 250.
Farley Hungerford, i. 215, 216.
Fazakerley, John Nicholas, i. 14.
Fielden. Rev. H. Arbuthnot, and
Mrs., ii. 275, 276, 289.
Fielding, Lord and Lady, i. 269,
270.
Fellowes, Susan Lyon, Mrs., ii.
48.
Ferney, Voltaire, i. 360.
Ferrara, i. 450 ; ii. 492.
Ferronays, M. de la, i. 463.
Feucheres, Sophia Dawes, Ma-
dame de, ii. 227.
Fiano, Duke of, ii. 131.
Fiano, Giulia, Duchess of, i. 456.
Fielding, Copley, i. 130, 402.
:,.;i
INDKX
Filiol, Svl.il, i. 124.
Fina, S., ii. I
Finucane, Miss, ii. 882, 385,
519.
Fisher, Frederick, ii. 266, 549.
-Clarence, Ladj Frederick, ii.
234.
Fitz-Gerald, Edward Fox, i. 22,
23, 30.
Fitz-Gerald, Jane Paul, .Mrs.
Edward, i. 22, 30; ii. 430, 431,
134, 135, 136, 159.
Fitz-Gerald, Pamela, wife of Lord
Edward, i. 22.
Fitzherbert, Mrs., ii. 47 1.
Fitzmaurice, Mrs., ii. :J!)6.
Fletcher, Miss, of Saltoun, ii. 80,
243, 245, 246.
Fletcher, Lady Charlotte, ii. 80,
246, 247.
Flodden Field, ii. 18.
Florence, i. 176; ii. 1<>3, 167.
Florence, Henry, ii. 506.
Fontainebleau, i. 358.
taines, ii. 361.
Fontarabia, ii. 1 1 » 1 .
Fontenay, ii. 524.
Ford Castle, ii. 17-19, 83-85,
174-476.
Forth, Parker, i. 22.
Foster, Dr., Bishop of Kilmore,
and Mrs., i. 594, 595.
Foster. Miss, i 59 1-599.
Fotheringham, Mrs., of Fother-
ingham, i. 539.
Franceses Romana, S., ii. 395,
Frai II.. King of Naples, ii.
290, 291.
Franklin. Lady, ii. 21 _.
. i. 212.
derick, frown Prince of Prus-
sia, afterwards Emperor of Ger-
many, ii. 9 1.
Frederick the Great, i. 526.
Frewen, Mrs., i. 504.
Fribourg, in Switzerland, i. 198.
Frit well Manor, i. 529.
Fry, Elizabeth, Mrs., i. 182; ii.
146.
Fullerton. Lady (ieorgiana, ii.
115, 117,118, 151,396,432,443,
446.
Gabet, M., ii. 132.
Gabriac, Marquis de, i. 500.
Gabriac, Marquise de, i. 463.
Gaebler, M. Bernard, i. 127.
Galicano, the Hermitage of, i.
486.
Galway, Rev. Father, ii. 114-11!),
138,426,445.
Garden, Miss Henrietta, i. 86; ii.
369. 385, 391.
GaskelL Mrs., the authoress, i.
586-588.
Gasperoni, the robber chieftain,
i. 452.
Gaussen, M., i. 360.
Gayford, Mrs., i. 42, 292.
Gemmi, adventure on the, i. 367.
Geneva, i. 360.
Genlis, Madame de, i. 22.
George III., King of England, ii.
143-145.
George IV., King of England, ii.
222, 223, 354, 471.
Ghizza, Ancilla, ii. 4<>2.
Giacinta, the -Saint of St.
Peter's," ii. 139, 140, 419, 445.
Gibside, i. 552.
Gibson, John, the Sculptor, ii.
273-275.
INDEX
565
Gidman, John, i. 46, 104, 354,
388, 435, 475 ; ii. 104, 108, 194,
401, 547.
Gidman, Mary Lea, i. 162-164,
166, 382, 387, 427, 435, 495,
538, 602, 604 ; ii. 166, 193, 253,
280, 295, 325, 367, 369, 371, 374,
382, 494, 519, 531, 536, 539, 540,
542, 547, 549, 551.
Gioberti, Signor, ii. 347.
Girardot, Madame, i. 24.
Gladstone, Mrs., ii. 100.
Glamis Castle, i. 17, 18.
Glamis, John Lyon, 6th Lord,
i. 18.
Glamis, John Lyon, 7th Lord,
i. 18.
Glamis, John, 8th Lord, i. 18.
Glastonbury, i. 77.
Goethe, i. 9.
Goldschmidt, Madame (Jenny
Lind), i. 183 ; ii. 330-332.
Goldsmid, Nathaniel, i. 463; ii.
348.
Goldsmid, Mrs. Nathaniel, ii. 268,
269-273, 286.
Goldstone Farm, i. 119, 165.
Gondi, Count, ii. 418.
Gordon, Hon. John, ii. 246.
Gore, Lady, i. 220.
Gosan, Lakes of, i. 443.
Gosford, ii. 80.
Graham, Elizabeth, i. 17.
Graham, Miss Clementina Ster-
ling, i. 510.
Grande Chartreuse, La., i. 613.
Grant, Dr., Bishop of Soutlrwark,
ii. 150.
Grant, Frederick Forsyth, i. 350,
429, 529, 542.
Granville, Mr. Court, and Lady
Charlotte, ii. 77.
Grave, Chevalier de, i. 22.
Gregory, Mrs., ii. 183-186.
Gregory XVI., Pope, i. 467, 598;
ii. 272.
Gresford, i. 76 ; ii. 154.
Greville, Mrs., nee Locke, i. 483.
Grey, Anna Sophia Ryder, Lady,
of Falloden, ii. 17, 86.
Grey, Charles, 2d Earl, ii. 239.
Grey, Lady Charlotte, widow of
the Hon. Gen. Sir Henry Grey
of Falloden, i. 607 ; ii. 93, 95,
97, 324, 336.
Grey, Lady Elizabeth, ii. 15, 86.
Grey, Hon. and Rev. Francis, ii.
15, 17, 86.
Grey, Sir George, of Falloden, ii.
17, 86, 239.
Grey, Sir George, of New Zealand,
i. 578-580 ; ii. 479.
Grey, Lady Georgiana, ii. 60, 62-
64.
Grey, Henry George, 3d Earl, ii.
239, 240.
Grey, Rev. Harry, i. 201.
Grey, John, of Dilston, ii. 6.
Grey, Maria, Countess, ii. 239,
240.
Grigor, Dr., ii. 515.
Grimaldi, i. 607.
Grimaldi, the Marchesa, ii. 50.
Grote, George, i. 431.
Grote, Harriet Lewin, Mrs., i. 284.
429-431, 581.
Grove, Mrs., ii. 532. 533.
Guildford, the trial at, ii. 452.
Guizot, M. Francois Pierre Guil-
laume, i. 254.
Gunnora, Duchess of Normandy,
i. 253.
Gurney, Miss Anna, i. 182.
Gurney, Mrs. Catherine, i. 182.
INDEX
Haig, the Misses, ii. 519.
Hale, Dr. Douglas, ii. 91, L93.
Hale, Mrs., ii. 198, 549.
Halifax. Miss < aroline, i. 225.
II ill, Mrs. Richard, ii. 340, 371,
llallain. Arthur, i. 104.
Hallam, Henry, i 426.
I lallein, mines of, i. 111.
Hallingbury, ii. 216.
Hallstadt, i. 140
I [amiltoii Palace, ii. 82.
Hamilton, Alexander, 10th Duke
of, ii. ''>•">, 83.
Hamilton, Mrs. Cospatrick
Baillie, ii. 533.
Hamilton, Lady Emily, ii. 250.
Hamilton, Jinn. Margaret Dillon,
Mrs., i. 303.
Hamilton, .Man, Duchess of, ii.
82.
Hampden, Great, i. -11"'.
Hanover, King George of, i. 530,
531.
Harcourt, Archbishop, ii. 338.
Hardwicke, Susan, Countess of,
ii. 118.
Hardwicke, Elizabeth, Countess
of, ii. 230, 232, 171.
II ;!<•. Anna-Maria Clementina, i.
8, 10.
Hare, Anne Frances Maria
Louisa, i. 30, 126,269-281, 293,
153-455, 165, 173, 199, 500,
553 577; ii. 21, 90, 111, 121-
142, 1 16, 165, 167, 196-210,266,
283, 101, 102-433, 134-439.
Hare, Augustus John Cuthbert:
birth of, i. :'.:!: baptism, 4<>;
adoption, 10; is sen! to Eng-
land, 15; childhood of, 16-134;
eenl to scl 1 at Harnish, 135;
private school life of, 137; at
Harrow, 169-195; at Lyn-
combe, 196-234 ; at Southgate,
235-318; tour in Normandy,
-•"'1 2'i"; tour in Belgium,
Germany and France, 298-307;
goes to University College,
Oxford, 319; second tour in
Germany and France, 336-347;
in France and Switzerland,
358-369; in Wales, 397-400;
in Scotland, 422-428; leaves
Oxford, 134; in Switzerland
and Austria, 435-144; first
journey to Koine and Naples,
145-480; summer at Florence
and Lucca, 480-493; autumn
in Northern Italy and Paris,
193-511; writes Murray's
Handbook for Berks, Bucks,
and Oxfordshire, 514-613*,
second summer in Scotland,
538-545; has to leave Hurst-
monceaux, 589; leaves Lima,
602; settles at Holmhurst, 604;
spends the winter at Mentone,
608-610; writes Murray's
Handbook for Durham and
Northumberland, ii. 1-88 ;
spends the spring at Nice and
early summer in Switzerland,
92-99 : second winter at Rome,
105-122 ; visit to Escrick, 142 ;
spring at Pau and Biarritz,
166-196; summer in North-
umberland, 216-251; third
winter at Rome, 252-300 ; win-
ter at Cannes, :;20-332; fourth
winter at Koine, 401 ; death of
his sister, 101; is attacked by
a Roman Catholic Conspiracy,
434^465; tilth winter at Rome
INDEX.
567
and dangerous illness, 467-471 ;
sixth winter at Rome, 481-52(3 ;
death of his adopted mother,
541.
Hare, Augustus William, Rector
of Alton-Barnes, i. 5, 10, 11,
15, 24, 25, 34, 36, 39.
Hare, Mrs. Augustus (Maria
Leycester), i. 34, 35, 39, 48-
61, 78-134, 149-159, 162, 163,
167-181, 188, 203, 210, 213,
263, 289-292, 299-301, 306, 308,
315, 317, 324, 333, 336, 349, 352,
353, 357-359, 361, 370, 373-
391, 403, 408, 417-425, 445-
449, 468, 470, 476, 495, 506,
512, 529, 532, 533, 536, 538,
541, 544, 574, 578, 582, 590,
601-607; ii. 2, 23, 57-60, 89,
110, 164-182, 184-196,213, 216,
251-254, 280, 295, 300, 303,
305, 340, 349, 360-366, 371-401,
466, 471-478, 480, 485-553.
Hare, Miss Caroline, i. 3, 70, 74,
75, 230.
Hare, Caroline, daughter of
Francis and Anne, i. 26, 27.
Hare, Francis, Dean of St. Paul's
and Bishop of St. Asaph
and Chichester, i. 1, 2, 533.
Hare, Francis George (the elder),
i. 5-16, 20, 23-33, 39-42, 66-68,
75, 125-127, 533.
Hare, Francis George (the
younger), i. 27. 30, 73, 74, 127,
295, 296, 308; ii. 115-117, 154,
407, 423, 424, 434-465.
Hare, Mrs. (Anne Frances Paul),
i. 23-33, 40, 42, 75, 126, 221,
268-281, 293-298,453-455, 458,
459, 465, 467, 4S0, 497, 499, 500,
551-577; ii. 113-121, 254-263.
Hare, George, i. 73, 74.
Hare, Georgiana, afterwards Mrs.
Frederick Maurice, i. 10, 13,
65, 66, 221.
Hare, Gustavus Cockburn, i. 10,
97, 227, 383.
Hare, Mrs. Gustavus (Annie
Wright), i. 98.
Hare, Mrs. Henckel, i. 3, 4, 71,
72.
Hare, Henry, i. 72.
Hare, Julius Charles, i. 5, 7, 8,
10, 30, 38, 46, 53-64, 71, 75,
78-80, 82-89, 98, 121, 122, 142,
143, 151-155, 199, 200, 201,
207, 283, 338, 370, 372, 378,
380-385.
Hare, Mrs. Julius (Esther Mau-
rice), i. 143-151, 160-162, 166,
189, 199, 203, 226, 283, 354,
371, 372, 388, 510, 511, 569; ii.
110, 111.
Hare, Marcus Augustus Stanley,
i. 58, 68, 591 ; ii. 509.
Hare, Marcus Theodore, i. 5, 7,
11, 71-75, 139, 151, 153, 155,
156.
Hare, Mrs. Marcus (Hon. Lucy
Anne Stanley), i. 39, 58, 74,
139, 142, 153, 155, 160-162;
ii. 469, 470.
Hare, Miss Marianne, i. 3, 8, 70,
72, 75, 230.
Hare, Mary Margaret Alston,
Mrs , i. 392, 533.
Hare, Reginald John, i. 10.
Hare, Rev. Robert, Rector of
Hurstmonceaux, i. 3, 4, 36.
Hare, Rev. Canon Robert, i. 2, 5,
393.
Hare, Theodore Julius, i. 126,
162.
3
INDEX
Hare, William Robert, i. 29, 127.
17; ii. 116, 117. 111*. 124,
168, L69, 208, L09-416.
1 1 mdiain, ii. 76.
Haniish, i. 185.
II ris, 1 [on. Reginald Temple, i.
208, 209, 216, 220, 228.
Harrison, Archdeacon Benjamin,
and Mrs., ii. 480, 481.
Harrow, i. 169.
Hastings, L. 98.
Hatfield, L 248.
Hawker. Misses Jane and Ade-
laide, ii. 298, 299, 329.
Hawkestone, i. 110, 1G5; ii. 50.
Hawtrey, Dr. Edward Craven.
Provosi of Eton, i. 591, 593.
Haw trey, Miss, i. •">!••_'.
Hay, Adam, of Kind's Meadows,
i. 518; ii. 249, 329.
Hay, Miss [da, ii. 93.
Hay. Sir Adam, ii. 81, 91, 329.
Heber, Rev. Reginald, Rector of
Hodnet, and Bishop of Cal-
cutta, i. 35, 7!), 113.
Heber, Mrs. Reginald (Emilia
Shipley), i. 3"> ; ii. 313.
Hedley, Rev. W., Dean of Uni-
versity College, afterwards Bee-
tor of Becklev. i. :J21, 322, 327,
328.
Heidelberg, i. 301.
Heiligenkreutz, i. I In.
HenckeL Mrs., i. 70.
Herries, Marcia, Lady, ii. 405.
Helseyside, ii. 69.
Heygarth, Miss, i. 127.
Hibbert, Caroline Cholmondeley,
Mrs., ii. 306.
Hickeldon Hall, ii. 20.
Higginson, Misa Adelaide, i.
381.
Higginson, Lady Frances, i. 381 ;
ii. 107.
High Force, the, ii. 07.
Hill, Ann, Viscountess, i. 110.
Hill, Sir Row land, i. 114.
Hill, Viscount, i. 114.
Hobart, Vere Henry, Lord, and
Mary Catherine, Lady, ii. 107,
112.
Hodnet, i. 35, 113; ii. 56.
Hogg, James, the Ettrick Shep-
herd, ii. 45, 40.
Holmhurst, i. 447, 600-602; ii.
21, 54, 90, 300,471.
Holy Island, ii. 10, 11.
Hood, Henry, ii. 334.
Hope, Ladj Mildred, i. 420.
Hornby, Mrs., of Dalton, ii. 276,
318,479.
Horsley, Bishop, ii. 480.
Ilosmer, Miss Harriet, the sculp-
tress, ii. 273, 512.
Hos Tendis, i. 4.
llonblon, Mr., and Mrs. Archer,
ii. 107, 216.
Houghton, Robert Monckton, 1st
Lord, ii. 398, 50 1 .
Hour, the Holy, ii. 196.
Housesteads, ii. 09.
Howard. Edward Henry, Monsig-
nor, afterwards Cardinal, i. 463.
Howard, Lady Victoria, ii. 328.
Howick, ii. 239.
Hughan, Miss Janetta, ii 21.
Hughes, Miss, "Sister Marion,"
i. 375, 376.
Hull, Henry Winstanley, i. 130,
156, 398.
Hulne Abbey, ii. 237.
Hunisett, Philip, i. 62.
Hunt, Sir J., ii. 236.
Hurstmonceaux, i. 1-4, 8, 9, 43-
INDEX
569
48, 70, 126-128, 130-137, 149-
151, 204-206, 308, 354, 370, 372,
378, 384, 488, 511, 589, 590 ; ii.
546, 547.
Hutt, William, M. P. for Gates-
head, i. 551.
Hyeres, ii. 91.
Ignatius, Brother, ii. 377, 378.
Ingilby, Elizabeth Macdowell,
Lady, of Ripley, ii. 20, 64.
Ingilby, Miss, ii. 60.
Irongray Church, the, i. 539.
Jackson, Dean of Christ Church,
i. 12.
Janin, Jules, ii. 215.
Jelf, Dr., Canon of Christ Church,
i. 529, 530.
Jersey, Sarah, Countess of, ii.
217.
Jerusalem, Bishopric of, i. 129.
Jeune, Dr. Francis, Master of
Pembroke College, afterwards
Bishop of Peterborough, i. 413 ;
ii. 311-348.
Jocelyn, Lady Frances Cowper,
Viscountess, ii. 325.
Johnson, Mr., of Akeley Heads,
ii. 5, 6.
Jolliffe, Colonel Hylton, i. 20.
Jones. Anna Maria Shipley, Lady,
i. 5, 10, 11, 13, 16, 27, 510; ii.
315.
Jones, Mr., of Branxton. ii. 18.
Jones, Sir AYilliam, i. 5, 13.
Jowett, Rev. Benjamin, tutor and
Master of Balliol, i. 319, 321,
328, 333, 334, 349, 375, 581.
Joyce, Miss, ii. 289.
Keith, Lady, ii. 231.
Kershaw, Rev. £., and Mrs., ii.
106, 112.
Kielder, ii. 68.
Kilvert, Rev. Robert, i. 132, 133,
135-137, 169.
Kilvert, Thermuthis Coleman,
Mrs. Robert, i. 132, 137.
King's Meadows, ii. 81.
Kirk-Newton, ii. 85.
Knaresborough, ii. 60.
Knebel, Mademoiselle, ii. 105.
Knox, Mrs. John, ii. 13.
Konigsfelden, ii. 299.
Kuper. Mrs. and Miss, ii. 485,
486.
Labre, the Venerable, ii. 151.
Laire, M., the antiquary, i. 257.
Lamarre, M., ii. 119, 417.
Lamartine, Alphonse de, ii. 523.
Landor, Julia Thuillier, Mrs., i.
482; ii. 121.
Landor, Walter Savage, i. 14, 16,
20, 29, 41, 210-212, 219, 229,
232, 405, 416, 482. 497 ; ii. 121-
123.
Langford, Elizabeth, Viscountess,
ii. 316.
Lardoria, Prince, i. 21.
Large, Mrs., ii. 462, 463.
Larmignac, Mademoiselle Mar-
tine de, i. 562 : ii. 200.
Lawley, Hon. and Rev. Stephen,
ii. 142.
Lawrence, Sir Thomas, i. 16.
Lea, Mary. i. 40, 43, 47, 55, 60, 83,
88, 93, 98, 119, 121, 145, 153,
162, 166. 167, 291.
Lefevre, Sir John Shaw, i. 578,
581 ; ii. 159.
570
INDEX
Legh of Lyme, Emily Wode-
bouse, Mr-., ii. 803, 305.
Lehmann, Dr., i. 7. 9, 11.
I. igh, Miss Theodosia, i. 111.
Leigh toD, Sir Frederick, i. 232.
Lennox, Lady Arthur, ii. 79.
Lennox, Mi is Ethel, ii. 7!).
Le Puy, ii. ■'>■'•■'>.
Leslie, Lady, ii. 52-54.
L'Eetelle, ii. L81, L87.
Le Strange, Elamon Styleman, of
Hunstanton, i. 518.
Leuk, Baths of, i. 366.
Leycester, Miss Emma Theodosia,
i. 90, 398; ii. 179-181.
Leycester, Mr., and Mrs. Henry.
of White Place, i. 533.
Leycester, Judge Hugh, i. Ill,
216.
Leycester, Maria, youngesl daugh-
ter of K<\ . ( tewald, i. 25.
I..- — ter, Miss Charlotte, i. 90,
251, 253,298, 358, 361-364,381,
387, 122, 126, 135, 136; ii. 25,
171, 179,375,381-391, 172, 193,
504, 507, -"'17, 521, 531, 535.
Leycester, Miss Georgiana, ii.
r.7:..
Leycester, Mrs. Oswald (Eliza-
beth White), i. 81, 109, 110,
1 65, 181, 182, 216, 217.
Leycester, Rev. Oswald, Lector
of Stoke-upon-Terne, i. 35, 47,
109, 164, Hi.").
Le] Ralph, <>t' '['..ft. i. 257.
!- •■•-ter. Mr-. Susannah, wife
"f Ralph Leycester of Toft, i.
Lichfield, ii. 59.
Liddell, Mi- Amelia, ii. :;. 10.
Liddell, lion. Colonel Augustus,
ii. lis, 5io.
Liddell, Hon. Mrs. Augustus, ii.
.Ml).
Liddell, Miss Charlotte, ii. 3, 10.
Liddell, Charlotte Lyon, Mrs., i.
•-'•-'1; ii. 1. Hi, 217,350.
Liddell. Edward, ii. 508-510.
Liddell, Hon. George, ii. 3, 4, 48,
51.
Liddell, Hon. Mrs. George, ii. 4,
18.
Liddell, Hon. Hedworth, ii. 86.
Liddell, Henry, Head-master of
Westminster and Dean of
Christ Church, i. 224, 410, 417,
122.
Liddell, Rev. Henry, Rector of
Easington, and trustee of Dam-
borough Castle, i. 221; ii. 4,
217, 350.
Liddell, Maria Susannah Simp-
son, Lady, i. 19, 21, 32.
Liddell, Hon. Thomas, i. 519.
Liddell, Rev. William, ii. 1.
Lime, at Hurstmonceaux in Sus-
sex, i. 45-48. 54-61, 325, 390,
407, 421.
Limosin, Madame Flora, ii. 254,
1 15, 464, 494.
Lincluden Abbey, i. 539.
Lind, Madame Jenny, i. 187.
Lindsay, Lady Margaret, ii. 231.
Liszt, Franz, ii. 107.
Londonderry, Frances Anne,
Marchioness of. ii. 217.
Londonderry, Mary. Marchioness
of, ii. 132.
Li it Ida n. Lady Cecil Talbot, widow
of the 7th Marquis of, i. 2(39,
288; ii. 111. 119, 123, 151, 336,
120, 432, 145, 146, t54, 458.
Lothian. "William. Sehomberg, 8th
Marquis of, ii. 219.
INDEX
571
Lothian, Constance, Marchioness
of, ii. 249.
Louis, King of Bavaria, ii. 94.
Lovat, Simon, Lord, ii. 76.
Lucca, Bagni di, i. 485.
Lucchesi, Marchese, ii. 224.
Lucerne, i. 435.
Lucy, Mrs., of Charlecote, i.
420.
Lushington, Dr., ii. 32-41.
Lyell, William Rowe, Dean of
Canterbury, i. 284.
Lyme Hall, ii. 305.
Lyncombe, i. 213.
Lyne, Rev. Leycester, ii. 277.
Lynn-Linton, Mrs., i. 216.
Lyon, Sir John, of Glamis, i. 17.
Lyon, Sir John, 1st Baron King-
horn, i. 17.
Lyon, Thomas, of Hetton, ii. 4,
16, 48.
Lyon, Mrs. Thomas, of Hetton,
ii. 48.
Lyons, i. 359.
Macaulay, Lord, i. 409, 581.
Macmurdo, General, ii. 355.
Macon, ii. 523.
Macsween, Alexander, i. 136, 137.
Mainsforth, ii. 41, 216.
Makrina, La Madre, of Minsk, i.
467, 4G8.
Malcolm, Miss Ann Emilia, i. 346.
Malcolm, Lady, i. 346.
Malcolm, Sir John, i. 70. 197.
Malcolm, Miss Kate, i. 346.
Manners, Lady John, ii. 21.
Manners-Sutton, Archbishop, ii.
339.
Mannheim, i. 42, 303.
Manning, Archdeacon Henry,
afterwards Cardinal, i. 78, 269 ;
ii. Ill, 211, 461, 504.
Mantua, ii. 485.
Marbourg, i. 338.
Marie Amelie, Queen of the
French, i. 217.
Marie-Anne, Sceur, ii. 150.
Marie Antoinette, Queen of
France, prison of, i. 507 ; ii. 32.
Marlborough, John, 1st Duke of,
i. 1.
Marmora, Comtessa la, i. 493.
Marsh, Miss Catherine, i. 323 ; ii.
25, 412, 413, 416.
Martin, Baron, ii. 464.
Masham, Mrs., ii. 41.
Massie, Mrs., ii. 303.
Mastai-Ferretti, Conte, i. 596-598.
Matfen, ii. 7, 71.
Matthias, Maria de, foundress of
the " Order of the Precious
Blood," ii. 127, 147-150, 281,
406, 407.
Maurice (Annie Barton), Mrs.
Frederick, i. 13, 55.
Maurice, Esther Jane, i. 58, 89,
129, 140.
Maurice, Rev. Frederick Denison,
i. 55, 56, 57, 66, 88, 222.
Maurice, Georgiana Hare, Mrs.
Frederick, ii. 547.
Maurice, Harriet, i. 142.
Maurice, Mary, i. 142, 144.
Maurice, Priscilla, i. 56, 58, 89,
142, 144, 326.
Maximilian, Archduke and Em-
peror, i. 438.
Medine, Count Battistino, ii.
487.
Melun, M., Protestant pasteur at
Caen, i. 254.
Mentone, ii. 97, 98, 361.
572
INDEX
Merlini, Don Giovanni, Father-
General of the Precious Blood.
ii. 136, 138, 150.
Merode, Monsignor de, ii. 268.
M ,, ,. M. Carl Friedrich, i. 302.
Mezzofanti, Cardinal, i. 7.
Milligan, William Heury, i. 330,
334, 335, 392,397, 110,411,428,
513.
Milman, Henry Hart, Dean of
St Paul's, i. 312, 592.
Milner, Elizabeth Mordaunt,
Lady, i. 76.
Milner, Mary, i. 550.
Minshull, John, i. 113.
Mohl, M. Julius, i. 502, 504.
Mohl, Madame, i. 502, 504; ii.
214-216.
Monceaux, Chateau de, ii. 523.
Monk, Miss, ii. -77.
Montagu, Lady Elizabeth, ii.
1 15.
Montbard, ii. 523.
Mon1 Blanc, the tour of, i. : W4.
Monte Cassino, i. 171.
Monteith, Robert, of Carstairs, ii.
355, 105, 132, 117. 151, 154.
Monteith, Wilhelmina Mellish,
wife of Robert Monteith of
Carstairs, ii. 137, 105, 1 17. 150,
154, 158, 159.
Montgolfier, Madame de, ii. 524.
Montgomery, Hon. Mrs. Alfred,
ii. 269, 289, 106, 140, 111. 442-
151, 154, 156, 158, 160.
Moore, Archdeacon Henry, of
SI ifford, i. 130, 127, 514.
Morini, Padre A sji ■-< ino, ii. 421.
Morley, Albert-Edmund, 3d Earl
of, ii. 3
Morley, Harriet, < lountess of, ii.
324.
Morlot, Cardinal Archbishop of
Talis, l. 505.
Morpeth, ii. 15, 87.
Mounteagle, Lady, ii. 339.
Mount - Edgecombe, Caroline,
Countess of, ii. SO.
Mount - Edgecombe, Katherine,
Countess of, ii. ■V2'->.
Mount - Edgecombe, William
Henry. 1th Earl of, ii. 323, 328.
Munich, ii. 484.
Munn, Rev. -John Reade, ii. 550.
Murat, Caroline, Queen of Naples,
i. 14.
Murray, John, the third, i. 514-
516, 579; ii. 2.
Naples, i. 472, 473.
Naples, Erancesco II., King of, ii.
288, 291.
Naples, Marie of Bavaria, Queen
of, ii. 281.
Naples, Marie Therose Isabelle,
Queen of, ii. 281, 288.
Napoleon I., i. 72.
Napoleon III., Emperor of the
French, ii. 200.
Narui. ii. 293.
Naylor, Anna Maria Mealey, Mrs.
Hare. i. lo. 71, 72, 221, 227, 379.
Naylor, Bethaia, i. 1.
Naylor, Francis, i. 1.
Naylor, Francis Hare, i. 3-5, 10.
Naylor. Georgiana Shipley, Mrs.
Hare, i. 5-10.
\a\ li ii-. Miss ( rrace, i. 1.
Naylor. Robert Hare, i. 2-4.
Neri, S. Filippo, ii. : '>75.
Neuchatel, i. 498.
New AM >ey. i. 539.
New battle Abbey, ii. 249.
INDEX
573
Newcastle-on-Tyne, ii. 48.
Newman, Rev. John Henry, after-
wards Cardinal, ii. 211, 212.
Nice, ii. 91.
Nicholas I., Emperor of Russia,
i. 468.
Nicholson, Miss, ii. 514.
Normanby, Maria Liddell, wife of
the 1st Marquis of, i. 482, 570,
576.
North Berwick, ii. 80, 351.
Northcote, Captain and Mrs., ii. 87.
Norwich, i. 92-94.
Nunnington Hall, i. 14, 422.
Nuremberg, i. 346.
Oberlin, i. 495.
Oberwesel, ii. 401.
Ogle, Miss, the authoress, ii. 76.
Orvieto, i. 480.
Otterburn, ii. 70.
Oxenham, Rev. W., i. 188.
Oxford, Samuel Wilberforce,
Bishop of. ii. 334.
Oxford, Countess of, i. 14.
Padua, ii. 488, 489.
Paestum, i. 475.
Pallavicini, Carolina, Princess, i.
456; ii. 398.
Palmer, Mr. William, i. 573.
Palmerston, H. Temple, 1st Earl
of, i. 9.
Panizzi, Sir Antonio, i. 514; ii.
327. *
Pantaleone, Dr., ii. 95, 96.
Paolucci di Calboli, Marchese
Annibale, ii. 106.
Paolucci, Marchese Raniero, ii.
106.
Papillon, Rev. Henry, ii. 547.
Papillon, Mrs. H, ii. 549.
Paray le Monial, ii. 152, 196.
Paris, i. 252, 253, 259, 501-511.
Parisani, Palazzo, i. 206, 269, 296,
455 ; ii. 112, 140, 366, 419.
Parker, John Henry, i. 406 ; ii.
470.
Parker, Mrs. J. H., i. 375.
Parker, Lady Katherine, ii. 328.
Parry, Catherine, Lady, i. 221.
Parry, Sir Edward, the Arctic
Voyager, i. 90, 221.
Parry, Edward, Bishop of Dover,
i. 221.
Parry (Isabella Stanley), Lady,
first wife of Sir Edward, i. 90,
221.
Parry, Serjeant, ii. 454, 455, 458.
Pastacaldi, Padre, ii. 136, 465.
Paterson, Mrs., of Linlathen, i. 540.
Paterson, Monsignor, ii. 451, 452,
456, 461.
Patrizi, Cardinal, ii. 273.
Pattenden, Deborah, i. 167.
Paul, Anne Frances, i. 19, 20, 23,
24, 25, 26, 27, 29, 31.
Paul, Eleanor-Maria, i. 30, 33,
278, 464, 465, 490, 498, 499, 572,
573 : ii. 125-128, 426, 428, 467.
Paul, Elizabeth Halifax, Lady, i.
225, 233, 234.
Paul, Frances Eleanor, Lady, i.
16, 20, 21, 22, 24, 25, 30.
Paul, Jane, i. 22, 233.
Paul, Sir John Dean, Bart., L 16,
30, 40, 66, 224.
Paul, Sir John Dean, the younger,
i. 295, 393.
Paul, Maria Horatia, i. 221, 234.
Paul, Mary, Lady, widow of
Berkeley Napier of Pennard, i.
66.
-.7!
INDEX
Paul, William Wentworth, L 234.
Payne, .Mrs., ii. 282.
Peabodj . < reorge, ii. 9 I — 96.
P« abody, Robert, ii. 188, 191, 193,
503, 512.
IV;. kirk. ii. 345.
Pi arson, \l>\ . Bugh, Elector of
Sonning, L. 95, 326, '■'<'>'■'•■ 584 ; ii.
294.
Pi ebles, ii. 81.
Pi _;i:i. 1. 611.
I lit i. 611 : ii. 93.
Pellerin, Monsignor, i. 16 I.
Pellew, Hon. George, Dean of
Norwich, i. 1 83.
Pencaitland, ii. 80.
Pennyman, Lady, ii. 04, 65.
I ' i Ii\ ii. I.;nl\ Charlotte, i. 38,
112, 113, 324, 325.
Penrhyn, Edward, i. 38, 55, 1G5,
324, 369, L08; ii. 26.
P orhyn, Miss Emma, i. 303, 304,
324, 369; ii. 17:;. 518, 549.
Penrhyn, .Mr. and Mrs. Leycester,
ii. 549.
Percy, Lord Henry, ii. 328.
Percy, Hugh Heber, ii. 340.
Percy, Mrs. Heber (Emily Heber),
i. 535.
Percy, Dr. Hugh, Bishop of Car-
Lisle, i. 536.
Peterborough, Karl of, i. 1.
I it, Mi-s Emma, L 611 ; ii. 57.
Petit, Rev. J. L., the ecclesiol-
ist, i. 611, 612; ii. 59.
v. i. 104, 105.
Pietra Santa, i. l!)0.
Pile, Mr. Robert, i. 17: ii. 302.
Pile, Mrs. Robert, i. 17. 135, 136,
152, 220.
I' mbino, Prince and Princess, i.
156; ii. 1:38.
Piper, Mrs., i. 82, 206.
Pisa. i. 189; ii. 253, 202,464,465,
I!) 1-500.
Pitcairn, Mrs., ii. 25.
Pius IX.. Pope, i. 270, 458-460;
ii. 25, 138, 268, 269, 277, 293,
470, 504.
Playfair, Sir Hugh Lyon, Provost
of St. Andrews, i. 51 1, 515.
Plumptre, Rev. Edward, Dean of
Wells, i. 142.
Plumptre, Rev. Dr. Frederick
Charles, Master of University
College, i. 321,350.
Plumptre (Harriet Maurice), Mrs.
E., i. 142.
Pole, Lady Louisa, i. 280.
Pole, Miss Marguerite, i. 279-282;
ii. 415, 430.
Pole, Sir Peter Van Notten, i.
279-2S2.
Poiignac, Due de, ii. 246.
Ponsonby, Miss Melita, ii. 82.
Porson, Dr. Richard, ii. 96.
Portman, Hon. Walter, i. 240,
242, 263, 359.
Port Royal, i. 509.
Porto Fino, i. 010.
Porto Venere, ii. 253.
Poulevey, Pere de, ii. 129.
Powell (Lucilla Maurice), Mrs., i.
Hi'.
Prague, i. 344.
Prasljn, Duchesse de, i. 194; ii.
220.
Prftt, Marquis and Marquise de, i.
500.
Preignier, Marquise du, i. 502.
Prentiss, Mr., i. 130.
Prosperi, Monsignor, ii. 208.
Pusey, Dr. Edward Bouverie, ii.
268.
INDEX
575
Ramsay, Mrs., ii. 367, 369.
Ratlidonnell, Lady, ii. 279.
Ratisbon, Le Pere, i. 463.
Ravenna, i. 448.
Ravensworth, Henry Liddell, Earl
of, ii. 159.
Ravignan, Pere de, i. 281.
Reedswire, the, ii. 71.
Reisach, Cardinal de, ii. 289.
Rianzares, Due de, i. 455.
Richmond (Elizabeth Liddell),
Mrs. Brook, i. 574, 577.
Richmond, George, the artist, i.
578.
Ridley Hall, i. 546-550; ii. 6, 12,
67, 349.
Rignano, Emilio, Duke of, i. 465.
Rimini, i. 449.
Ripley Castle, ii. 20, 60-66, 466.
Robinson, Miss, ii. 42-48.
Rockend, i. 71, 72, 200.
Roddam, Mr. and Mrs., of Rod-
dam, ii. IS, 19, 86.
Roleston. Mary Pierina, Abbess
of the Precious Blood, ii. 136,
147-150, 406, 429, 430, 432, 435,
436, 445, 450, 451, 453, 456, 459.
Rome, i. 452-470; ii. 109-112,
133-142, 263-293, 467-471, 501-
518.
Rosam, Miss, i. 400.
Rothbury, ii. 88.
Rousham, i. 528.
Routh, Dr. Joseph Martin, Presi-
dent of Magdalen, i. 356, 357.
Rowley (Charlotte Shipley), Hon.
Mrs., ii. 315.
Royal, Baths of, ii. 333
Ruskin, John, i. 494, 495; ii 15,
185.
Russell, Lady Frankland, i. 415,
599.
Russell, Sir John, of Chequers,
i. 599.
Russell, Mr. and Lady Emily, ii.
512.
Rutherford, of Egerton, Mr. and
Mrs., ii. 52-54.
Ruthven, Mary, Lady, ii. 62-64,
78-80, 243, 245, 246, 249.
Rutson, Albert, i. 415, 419, 422.
Rye House, the, i. 249.
Ryton, ii. 50.
Sackville, S. Stopford, of Dray-
ton, i. 518.
Saffi, Count Aurelio, i. 429.
Sainte Aldegonde, Madame, ii.
269.
St. Andrews, i. 424, 544.
S. Bernard, Le Grand, i. 364.
S. Denis, i. 259.
S. Emilion, ii. 193.
S. Gemignano, ii. 488-490.
S. Giorgio, Lady Anne, i. 477-480 ;
ii. 368, 502.
S. Giorgio, Contessa Carolina di,
i. 481; ii. 367.
S. Pierre, Le Cure' de, ii. 132.
S. Remo, ii. 97.
Salette, La, ii. 206.
Salis, Comtesse de, i. 593-599.
Salt, Miss Harriet, ii. 57.
Salt, Miss Sarah, i. 612, 613 ; ii.
57.
Salzburg, i. 441 : ii. 400.
Sandwich Islands, Emma, Queen
Dowager of the, ii. 212, 300.
Santa-Croce, Catherine Scully,
Princess of, i. 457, 458.
Santa-Croce, Donna Vincenza, ii-
285.
Sartines, M de, i. 524-526.
576
INDEX
na, ii. 862.
.a Switzerland, i. 841.
Saye and Sele, 1 1th Baron, i. 153>
Schiller, i. 9.
Schouvaloff, Count, i 161.
5 M . John Alexander, i. 57.
- tt, Misses, i. 549, 550.
Scott, Sir Walter,! 540; ii. U,44,
15.
Scully, Misses, L 157, 158.
Sculthorpe, i. 4.
6 dgwick, Professor Adam, i. 95,
L30.
Selby, Robert, i. 181.
Selman, Sarah, i. 2.
Sepolti Vivi. the, ii. 270-272.
Serafina della Croce, ii. 403, 404,
145.
Serlupi, Marchese, ii. 307, 373.
Sermoneta, Margherita, Duchess
of, i l"> ( i.
Sermoneta, .Michelangelo, Duke
of, i. 155; ii. 282.
Servites, Order of the, ii. 152.
Sestri, ii. 365.
Seymour, Mrs. Hamilton, ii. 5:5:3.
Shaw-Lefevre, Sir John, i. 578,
581.
Shaw-Lefevre, Miss Maria, ii.
109.
Shaw-Lefevre, Miss Mary, ii.
109.
Sheffield, George, i. 335, 354, 392,
113-415, 419, 129, 132, 435-
140, 513, 532.
Shelley (Mary Wbllstonecraft),
Mr-., i. 30.
Shelley, Lady, i. 354; ii. 16
Shipley, Anna. Maria, i. 10.
Shipley ( Anna Maria Mordaunt),
Mrs., i. I. 510.
Shipley, Emilia, i. G7.
Shipley, Jonathan, Bishop of St.
Asaph, i. 4.
Shipley, Mrs. Louisa, i. 15, 27,30,
32, 67,76, 1l':>; ii. 315.
Shipley, Orby, i. 3s:;.
Shipley, William, Dean of St.
Asaph, ii. 313-316.
Shrewsbury, 10th Earl, and Count-
ess of, i. 183.
Sid. Ions, Mrs., i. 100; ii. 47.
Siena, ii. 489, 490.
Simpkinson, Miss Emma, ii. 252,
381, 382, 391, 398, 534.
f Simpkinson, Rev. John Nassau,
i. 87, 97, 169, 193, 384.
Simpkinson, Miss Louisa, i. 87,
97, 169.
Simpson, Lady Anne, i. 17-19,
224, 269, 278 ; ii. 50.
Simpson, John, of Bradley, i. 17.
Sims, Mary, i. 22.
Skiddaw, ascent of, i. 538.
Sloper, Rev. John, i. 67.
Smith, Goldwin i. 323, 350.
Smith, "Sir Hugh," i. 317.
Smith, Mrs. Spencer, ii. 533.
Smith, Rev. Sydney, i. 409 ; ii. 47,
48.
Somerton, Caroline, Viscountess,
i. 590.
Sonning, i. 320, 374.
Sora, Agnese, Duchess of, i. 456 ;
ii. 120, 136, 138, 289, 418.
Sora, Rudolfo, Duke of, i. 456 ;
ii. 130, 138, 289.
Sorrento, i. 473 ; ii. 112.
Southgate, i. 239.
South Wraxhall .Manor, i. 215.
Souvigny, ii. 333.
Soveral, M. and Madame de, ii.
372.
INDEX
577
Spencer, 5th Earl, and Countess
of, i. 57S.
Splugen, passage of the, ii. 299.
Spoleto, ii. 399.
Spy, the family, i. 293-297.
Squires, Dr., ii. 425-427, 454.
Stael, Madame de, ii. 551.
Stanhope, Hon. Edward, i. 518.
Stanley, Arthur Penrhyn, i. 53,
94, 95, 173, 187, 193, 225, 235,
283, 286, 303, 311, 319, 349,
374, 382, 384, 390, 421, 427,
428, 430-432, 452, 506-508, 514,
515-517, 529-532, 539, 578, 580,
583, 584, 585; ii. 23, 26, 33, 99,
100, 107, 195, 196, 301, 335, 339,
340, 549, 550.
Stanley, Lady Augusta, ii. 107,
195, 196, 301, 335, 339, 549.
Stanley, Catherine Maria, after-
wards Mrs. C. Vaughan, i. 52,
55, 94, 166, 222, 223.
Stanley, Captain Charles Edward,
i. 123, 222.
Stanley, Mrs. Charles Edward, i.
445.
Stanley, Rev. Edward, Rector of
Alderley, and afterwards Bishop
of Norwich, i. 35, 49, 52, 55,
105, 112, 113, 173, 182-187,
222.
Stanley, Mrs. Edward (Catherine
Leycester), i. 35, 49, 81, 105,
111, 165,203, 222,236,237,285,
290, 316, 323, 374, 387, 408, 409,
417, 427,429,452, 506, 507, 512;
ii. 26-28, 173.
Stanley, Hon. Emmeline, i.
514.
Stanley, Hon. Louisa, i. 324, 520,
521.
Stanley, Maria Josepha, Lady
vol. ii. — 37
Stanley of Alderley, i. 93, 105,
326, 327, 520.
Stanley, Hon. Maria Margaret, i.
327, 520.
Stanley, Mary, i. 55, 93, 166, 262,
303, 374, 416, 417, 418; ii. 214,
441, 442, 446, 452, 453, 455, 458,
515.
Stanley, Captain Owen, i. 222.
Stanley, William Owen, of Pen-
rhos, i. 399.
Stanley, Mrs. W. Owen, i. 399.
Stapleton, Lady, ii. 312, 313.
Star, Thomas, i. 130.
Stephanie, Grand Duchess of
Baden, i. 303, 304.
Sterling, Rev. John, i. 55.
Stewart, Robert Shaw, ii. 250,
251.
Stirling, Mrs., of Glenbervie, ii.
250.
Stirling, Mrs., of Kippenross, ii.
244, 245.
Stirling, Mrs., of Linlathen, i. 540.
Stirling-Graham, Miss Clemen-
tina, of Duntrune, i. 540.
Stisted, Mrs., of the Bagni di
Lucca, i. 484.
Stoke-upon-Terne, i. 48, 51, 100-
119, 536; ii. 56.
Stonebyres, ii. 83.
Stonehenge, i. 531.
Stoney, Mr. Robinson, i. 19.
Story, Miss Amelia, ii. 170.
Story, William, the sculptor, ii.
511.
Stowe, Mrs. Beecher, i. 409.
Strathmore, Charles, 6th Earl, i.
18.
Strathmore, John, 5th Earl, i. 18.
Strathmore, John, 9th Earl, i.
545.
578
[NDEX
Btrathmore, John, lot li Karl, i.
546, 550.
Btrathmore, Man Eleanor Bowes,
wife .>t the 9th Earl of, i. 19,
545; ii. 13.
Strathmore, Mar} Milner, widow
of the 10th Earl of, i. 42, 550,
551.
Streatlam Castle, i. 550; ii. 13.
Strettel, Mr. and Mrs., i. 610.
Strickland, Mr., of Cokethorpe, i.
528.
Stuart, Charles Edward, ii. 209.
Stuart. Lady Euphemia, i. 17.
Stuart, Lady Jane, i. 17.
Stuart, John Sobieski Stolberg, ii.
209.
Stuart. Lady Louisa, i. 238.
Stuart, de Rothesay, Elizabeth,
Lady, ii. 18, 19, 83, 100.
Stuttgart, ii. 484.
Suffolk, Charles .John, 17th Earl,
ii. 324, 328.
Suffolk, Isabella, Countess of, ii.
324, 332.
Sumner, John Bird, Archbishop
of Canterbury, i. 323.
Surtees, of Mainsforth, the histo-
rian and poet, ii. 41, 42.
Surtees, of Mainsforth, Mrs., ii.
41-48.
Sutherland, Anna Hay-Macken-
zie, Duchess of, ii. 411.
Sutton Place, i. 581.
Sw inburne, Sir John, ii. 7.">.
Tahium, Conte Luigi, ii. 270.
Tait. Archibald Campbell, Bishop
of London, afterwards Arch-
bishop of Canterbury, ii. 239-
243.
Tait, Crauford, ii. 243.
Tait, Mrs., ii. 239-243.
Talbot, Monsignor, i. 453, 463;
ii. 366, lot;, 117.
Tambroni, Clotilda, Professor of
( rreei at Bologna, i. 5-7.
Tankerville, Charles, -~> 1 1 l Earl, ii.
238.
Tankerville, Charles, 6th Karl, ii.
7-10, 21, 87.
Tankerville, Olivia, Countess of,
ii. 7-10, 21, 238, 239.
Tat ton, Miss Kanny,'i. 427, 538.
Tayler, Rev. Charles, i. 78.
Tayleur, Miss Harriet, i. 114, 115,
398; ii. 55, 303.
Tayleur, Miss Mary, i. 114, 115,
398 ; ii. 55.
Tayleur, Mr. and Mrs., of Bunt-
ingdale, i. 114.
Tayleur, William, of Buntings-
dale, ii. 55.
Taylor, Dr., afterwards Sir Alex-
ander, ii. 170, 178, 43(5, 452.
Taylor, K. Cavendish, ii. 377.
Taylor (Julia Hare), Mrs., after-
wards Lady, i. 72; ii. 170, 179.
Teano, Ada, Princess, ii. 369.
Teesdale, ii. GO.
Temple, Harry, i. 0.
Tennyson, Alfred, the Poet Lau-
reate, i. 204.
Tenterden Steeple, ii. 480.
Terry, Mrs., ii. 516, 517.
Thirlwall, Connop, Bishop of St.
David's, i. 130, 3 is, 383.
Thomas, John, Bishop of Peter-
borough, ii. ii.").
Thornton (Harriet Heber), Mrs.
John, i. 523-527.
Thornycroft, i. 537; ii. 306.
Thorpe, Mrs., ii. 123, 208, 105, 125.
INDEX
579
Tivoli, ii. 513.
Torcello, ii. 399.
Torchio, ii. 404-405.
Torlonia, Duke of, ii. 30-32.
Torre, Contessa della, ii. 155,
156.
Toul, ii. 481.
Tours, ii. 169.
Townshend, Mrs., i. 76.
Trafford, Edward William, of
Wroxham, i. 564 ; ii. 120, 197.
Trafford (Martine Larmignac),
Madame de, i. 557-571 ; ii. 120,
125-128. 197-210, 254-263,407,
416-419. 474, 477.
Trani,Matlrildeof Bavaria, Count-
£
VA>
Jl
ess of, ii. 281.
Trenca, M. and Madame, i. 604.
Trench, Mrs. Richard, ii. 143.
Trench, Rev. R. Chenevix, i. 69.
Trent, ii. 400.
Trevelyan, Sir Charles, ii. 73.
Trevelyan, Paulina, Lady, ii. 15,
73-75.
Trevelyan, Mrs. Spencer, ii. 76.
Trevelyan, Mrs. Raleigh, ii. 76.
Trevelyan, Sir Walter, ii. 15, 73-
76. '
Treves, i. 305.
Tronchin, Colonel, of Geneva, i.
360.
Trotter. Captain, i. 249.
Trotter (Hon. Charlotte Liddell),
Mrs., i. 249.
Troutbeck, John, afterwards
Minor of Westminster, i. 328,
331, 333, 355.
Tufton, i. 220.
Turin, i. 494.
Turner, Miss, ii. 304, 305.
Tusculum, ii. 109.
Tytler, Christina Fraser, ii. 510.
Ugolixi, Cardinal, ii. 269.
Ungern Sternberg, Baroness The-
odora von, ii. 28, 300.
Unthank, ii. 349.
Use.dom, Baron and Baroness
von, i. 316 ; ii. 295, 297.
Val Anzasca, i. 496.
Val Richer, i. 254.
Vallombrosa, i. 477; ii. 521.
Valsamachi (Emily Shipley),
Countess of, i. 523, 535, 536.
Van de Weyer, Madame, i. 593.
Van de Weyer, M. Sylvain, i. 592,
593.
Vatche, the, in Buckinghamshire,
i. 2, 392, 533.
Vaucher, Mademoiselle, ii. 98.
Vaudois, the, i. 495.
Vaughan, Dr. Charles, afterwards
Dean of Llandaff, i. 169, 173,
223, 266, 313, 315, 578, 580 ; ii.
26, 344.
Vaughan, Mrs. Charles (Cather-
ine Maria Stanley), i. 223, 266,
315, 578; ii. 2, 349.
Vauriol, Vicomte de, ii. 499.
Veii, ii. 108.
Venables, Rev. E., afterwards
Canon and Precentor of Lin-
coln, i. 191.
Vernon, Augustus Henry, 6th
Lord, ii. 325.
Verona, ii. 400.
Verulam, Elizabeth, Countess of,
ii. 324.
Vescorali, Luigi, i. 24.
Vetturino travelling, i. 444-447.
Vicenza, ii. 486.
Victor-Emmanuel, King of Italy,
ii. 96.
580
INDEX
Victoria, Queen of England, L 66 ;
ii. 23, 24.
Victorine, Madame, ii. 288, 284.
Vienna, i. 138.
Vigne, Pere La, i. 268.
Vine's < rate, ii. 531.
Waddington, Dean of Durham,
ii. 6.
Waddington, M., Minister of
Foreign Affairs and Ambas-
sador in London, i. 253, 195.
Wagner. Rev. George, i. 03, Hi.
Wagner, .Mrs., i. 63; ii. 138,
534.
Wake, Sir Baldw in, i. 529.
Waldegrave, Sarah, Countess of,
ii. 534.
Wales, Albert Edward, Prince
of, ii. 26, 99.
Wales, Alexandra, Princess of,
ii. 99.
Walker, Frederick J., i. 243, 263,
315.
■• Walks in Koine.- ii. 527, 535.
Wallington, ii. L5, 73-76.
Walpole, Sir Robert, i. 2, 552.
Waltham Abbey, i. 2 16.
Wantage, i. 585.
Warburton, Mrs. Eliot, i. 405,
I'":. 107, 113, 419.
Warburton, Miss Sydney, i. 405.
Warkworth, ii. 16, 76.
Wane, Mr. and Mrs., i. 1 16.
Warren, Miss Anna, i. 522.
Wan-en (Penelope Shipley), Mis..
i- 131, 522, 523; Li. 313.
Waterford, John, Marquis of, ii.
18.
H terford, Henry, Marquis of,
ii.
Waterford, Louisa, Marchioness
of. ii. 18, in. 83-86, 218-221,
230-237, 171-17'i. 190.
Way, Albert, i. 399, 514.
Wa viand Smith's Cave, i. 591.
Webster (Charlotte Adamson),
Lady, ii. 355.
Weeping Cross, ii. 57.
Wellesley, Rev. Dr. Henry, Prin-
cipal of New Inn Hall and
Rector of Hurstmonceaux, i.
12, 577, 602; ii. 29-31.
Wellington, Arthur Wellesley,
1st Duke of, i. 311; ii. 2!).
Wells, Lady Louisa, ii. 80, 325.
Weniyss, Francis, 8th Earl, ii.
217.
Weniyss, Louisa, Countess of, ii.
80.
Wenlock, Caroline, Lady, ii. 106,
336.
West Woodhay, i. 67.
Weymouth, i. 590.
Whately, Richard, Archbishop
of Dublin, i. 181, 221.
Whewell, William, Master of
Trinity, i. 130 ; ii. 339.
Wickham, William, of Binstead
Wyke, i. 581.
Will >er force, Samuel, Bishop of
Oxford, afterwards of Win-
chester, i. 374; ii. 335.
Wilcot Douse, i. 220.
Wilkinson, Greene, i. 464.
William IV., King, i. 55, 232 : ii.
237.
Williams, Captain, ii. 234, 237.
Williams, Sir John and Lady
Sarah, i. 400.
Wil damson (Hon. Anne Liddell),
Lady, i. 572, 574, 575, 576, 577 ;
ii. 115, 118.
INDEX
581
Williamson, Captain Charles, i.
575-577; ii. 445.
Williamson, Victor Alexander, i.
518, 578; ii. 118, 110.
Wilson, Miss, ii. 522.
Wilson, Mrs., i. 32:).
Winslow, Dr., ii. 436, 160, 512.
Winton Castle, ii. 78, 212.
Wiseman, Nicholas Patrick, Car-
dinal, ii. 186.
Wishaw House, ii. 81.
Wodehouse, Miss Emily, i. 95 ; ii.
303.
Wodehouse, Canon and Lady
Jaue, i. 95.
Wood, Alderman, ii. 222.
Wood, Hon. Charles Lindley, i.
518, 578, 607-609; ii. 15, 54,
471.
Wood, Sir Charles, ii. 15.
Wood, Lady Mary, i. 607 ; ii. 239.
AVood, Mrs. Shakespeare, ii. 367.
Woodward, Mrs., ii. 382-384,469,
508, 515, 519.
Wordsworth, William, the poet,
i. 141.
Worting House, near Basingstoke,
i. 10, 523.
Wright, Miss Annie, i. 97.
Wright, Miss Sophia, ii. 109, 325,
328, 360, 372, 469, 471, 481, 501,
506, 526, 528.
Yeatman, Mr. and Mrs. Morgan,
ii. 549.
Yetholm, ii. 236.
Yorke, Lady Elizabeth, i. 169.
Zermatt, i. 365.
THE LIBRARY
UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA
.Santa Barbara
THIS liOOk IS DUE ON THE LAST DATE
STAMPED BELOW.
^M*m
IWb&V
m 39
fcjfl
hBBHI
''.'«•.*■''.•*'"'."'
hHHk
■ --.'^ '■■'''•■■'■•■■•'•' : ' '•'''■'!'■'■■•' ..■
Pi
OiW*
'.. '-.-.v.
^
.:;■.:,*:
sfe
v^ ■:•"■
'■■■■'■■'• i
SSB^^
P9TKTO
?^S$Js*§^-..'&''
1