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GIFT   OF 
A.   F.   Morrison 


LS 


FAMOUS   LOVE   MATCHES      4 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 

in  2007  with  funding  from 

Microsoft  Corporation 


http://www.archive.org/details/famouslovematcheOOhamirich 


ft 


QUEEN  VICTORIA  IN   HER  WEDDING   DRESS. 

FEBRUARY    IO,    1840. 

From  a  Drawing  by  W.  Drummond,  Esq. 


FAMOUS  LOVE  MATCHES 

BY  C.  J.  HAMILTON,  AUTHOR  OF 
'NOTABLE  IRISHWOMEN,'  ETC. 


1  What  is  between  us  two,  we  know, 
Take  hands,  and  let  the  whole  world  go !' 


o       a      > 


LONDON:    ELLIOT    STOCK 
62,   PATERNOSTER    ROW,   E.C. 

MCMVIII 


GIFT  OF 


C              •    «  •          I 

C          •     •  •     VI 

C  C        I  <   ■     c 

C          €             •  •   '      * 

•       *       .!  ! 


PREFACE 


THERE  are  many  books  dealing  with  famous 
love  stories.  The  aim  of  the  present  volume 
is  quite  different.  A  love  story  may  be 
merely  a  passing  episode  in  the  life  of  a  man  or 
a  woman.  It  may  be  only  '  sound  and  fury,' 
signifying  nothing.  It  may  be,  as  Praed  puts  it 
in  one  of  his  poems  : 

1 A  little  glow,  a  little  shiver  ; 

A  melody,  a  lock  of  hair. 
And  "  fly  not  yet,"  upon  the  river  !' 

But  a  love  match  is  a  serious  matter ;  it  affects 
the  whole  future  destinies  of  the  people  concerned. 
It  has  to  undergo  the  searching  tests  of  time,  of 
the  monotony  of  daily  intercourse,  and  sometimes 

long  separation. 

If  it  should  pass  triumphantly  through  these  try- 
ing ordeals,  it  may  indeed  be  considered  a  success. 
If  love,  instead  of  dying  out  from  inanition,  be- 
comes deeper  and  stronger  as  years  go  on,  then  it 
is  worth  while  looking  into  the  lives  of  those  who 
have  made  marriage  a  blessing  to  themselves  and 
others. 

Though  this  cannot  be  said  of  quite  all  the 
famous  love  matches  recorded  in  these  pages,  yet 
it  was  the  case  with  many  of  them.  The  bond  of 
affection  and  sympathy  between  husband  and  wife 
has  done  much  to  sweeten  the  world,  and  pre- 
serve it  from  the  scoffing  disbelief  in  all  good, 


ivi955?4: 


vi  Preface 

which  is  one  of  the  pressing  dangers  of  our 
strenuous  modern  life. 

I  am  deeply  indebted  for  special  permission  to 
give  some  extracts  from  *  The  Letters  and  Journals 
of  Queen  Victoria,'  published  by  Mr.  John  Murray. 

Also  to  Mr.  Murray  for  leave  to  give  some 
extracts  from  ■  The  Letters  of  Robert  Schumann,' 
translated  by  Hannah  Bryant. 

I  also  acknowledge  with  many  thanks  the  per- 
mission given  to  me  by  Mr.  William  Heinemann 
to  make  some  extracts  from  ■  The  Love  Letters  of 
Prince  Bismarck,'  published  by  him,  and  also  for 
leave  to  reproduce  the  portrait  of  Prince  Bismarck, 
at  the  age  of  nineteen,  from  the  same  volume. 

I  acknowledge  also  with  many  thanks  the  per- 
mission given  to  me  by  Messrs.  Smith  and  Elder 
to  make  some  extracts  from  'The  Love  Letters 
of  Robert  and  Elizabeth  Browning.' 

Thanks  are  also  due  to  Messrs.  Hutchinson, 
who  have  kindly  allowed  me  to  make  some  extracts 
from  '  The  Romance  of  Isabel,  Lady  Burton.' 

Among  the  books  that  have  been  consulted  are 
'The  Life  of  Lord  Eldon,'  by  Horace  Twiss; 
Moore's  '  Life  of  Sheridan,'  and  the  more  recent 
'  Life  of  Sheridan,'  by  Mr.  Fraser  Rae ;  '  The 
Autobiography  of  Sir  Harry  Smith '  (Murray) ; 
1  The  Life  and  Letters  of  Charles  Kingsley,'  edited 
by  his  wife  (Macmillan) ;  Morley's  '  Life  of  Glad- 
stone,' and  other  works  too  numerous  to  mention 
here. 

The  article  on  Alphonse  Daudet  originally 
appeared  in  the  Gentleman's  Magazine.  Part  of 
the  article  on  Robert  Schumann,  and  the  whole 
of  those  on  Mendelssohn  and  Weber,  appeared  in 
the  Musical  Home  Journal,  and  are  reprinted  by 
permission  of  the  editor  and  publishers,  Messrs. 
Cassell  and  Co. 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 


Queen  Victoria  and  the  Prince  Consort        -  i 

Lord  Eldon  and  Elizabeth  Surtees      -  21 

Richard  Brinsley  Sheridan  and  Eliza  Linley  41 

Lord  Edward  Fitzgerald  and  Pamela  -           -  59 

Thomas  Moore  and  Bessy  Dyke  -          -          -  80 

Sir  Harry  Smith  and  Lady  Smith          -          -  95 

Charles  Lever  and  Kate  Baker-          -          -  113 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Gladstone    -          -          -          -  131 

Robert  Schumann  and  Clara  Wieck     -          -  145 

Robert  and  Elizabeth  Browning           -          -  158 

Otto  von  Bismarck  and  Johanna  von  Puttkamer  175 

Charles  Kingsley  and  Fanny  Grenfell           -  189 

Sir  Richard  Burton  and  Isabel  Arundell     -  205 

Alphonse  Daudet  and  Julie  Allard      -          -  222 
Felix    Mendelssohn  -  Bartholdy    and    Cecile 

Jeanrenaud          -           -           -           -           -  243 

Carl  Maria  von  Weber  and  Caroline  Brandt  253 


vu 


QUEEN  VICTORIA  AND  THE  PRINCE 
CONSORT 

1  And  so  these  twain,  upon  the  skirts  of  Time, 
Set  side  by  side  full  sunn'd  in  all  their  powers, 
Dispensing  harvest,  sowing  the  To-be, 
Self-reverent  each,  and  reverencing  each, 
Distinct  in  individualities, 
But  like  each  other,  e'en  as  those  who  love.' 

Tenryson :  '  The  Princess.' 

IN  recording  the  many  happy  love  matches 
made  by  distinguished  people,  it  would  be 
impossible  not  to  include  the  ideal  union 
between  Queen  Victoria  and  the  Prince  Consort. 
Though  an  oft-told  tale,  yet  new  details  are 
constantly  being  added  to  it,  and  the  recently 
published  *  Letters '  of  the  Queen  have  thrown 
fresh  light  on  her  own  feelings  with  regard  to 
what  she  always  called  '  her  blessed  marriage.' 

Never  was  a  match  on  which  so  much  depended 
as  on  that  of  the  young  Queen.  Though  she  was 
essentially  truthful,  candid,  and  animated  by  a 
strong  sense  of  her  own  responsibilities,  she  had 
the  defects  of  her  qualities.  She  was  fond  of 
power ;  she  had  a  strong  will,  and  an  independence 
of  character  which  sometimes  made  her  hard  to 
get  on  with ;  she  could  be  led  by  those  she  loved 

i 


2  Famous  Love  Matches 

and  trusted,  but  she  could  never  be  driven.  Had 
she,  been'  jrriarried  to  a  small-minded  man  of  low 
aims  and  selfish  ambition,  the  result  would  indeed 
have  been!  disastrous.  One  of  her  prevailing 
characteristics  Was  a  desire  to  look  up — to  aspire; 
and  in  Prince  Albert  she  found  her  highest 
aspirations  fulfilled  to  a  remarkable  degree.  From 
a  child,  charming  and  engaging,  he  grew  up  eager 
for  knowledge,  so  that  he  might  promote  the 
happiness  and  well-being  of  his  fellow-men.  He 
never  lost  his  purity  of  mind  and  heart.  When 
he  and  his  elder  brother  paid  their  first  visit  to 
Kensington  Palace  in  May,  1836,  to  make  the 
acquaintance  of  their  young  cousin,  the  Princess 
Victoria,  she  describes  them  in  a  letter  to  her 
uncle,  the  King  of  the  Belgians,  as  *  most  delight- 
ful young  people  .  .  .  very  kind  and  good,  and 
extremely  merry.'  She  was  then  seventeen,  and 
Prince  Albert  three  months  younger.  Already 
there  had  been  some  talk  of  a  match  between 
the  two.  The  Prince  used  to  say  that  when  he 
was  a  child  of  three  years  old  his  nurse  always 
told  him  he  should  marry  his  cousin,  and  that, 
when  he  first  thought  of  marrying  at  all,  he  always 
thought  of  her. 

But  there  were  ten  chances  to  one  that  such 
a  match  might  never  come  off.  The  King  of 
the  Belgians  was  in  favour  of  it ;  William  IV. 
was  strongly  against  it.  At  that  time  it  seemed 
improbable  that  the  Princess  would  be  her 
own  mistress  in  the  short  space  of  another  year. 


Queen  Victoria  and  Prince  Consort     3 

She  was  only  a  bright,  merry  young  girl,  who 
enjoyed  life  intensely.  She  records  how  she  and 
her  two  cousins  went  to  the  opera  to  hear  the 
'  Puritani.'  '  Like  me,'  she  adds,  '  they  were  in 
ecstasies,  as  they  are  excessively  fond  of  music' 

This  visit  made  a  break  in  the  daily  routine  of 
the  Princess  Victoria's  quiet  life.  She  wrote  to 
her  uncle  that  she  was  delighted  with  dear  Albert ; 
he  was  so  sensible,  so  kind,  so  good,  and  so 
amiable.  '  He  has,  too,  the  most  pleasing  and 
delightful  exterior  and  appearance.  ...  I  have 
only  to  beg  you,'  she  adds,  '  my  dearest  uncle,  to 
take  care  of  the  health  of  one  so  dear  to  me.' 

Notwithstanding  this  favourable  impression,  the 
two  cousins  did  not  correspond,  for  the  Princess 
sent  through  her  uncle  a  message  to  Prince  Albert 
and  his  elder  brother.  *  Pray,  dear  uncle,'  she 
says,  '  say  everything  most  kind  from  me  to  them.' 

The  two  Princes  left  Brussels  for  Bonn  in  April, 
1837,  an(*  tney  entered  on  their  University  life, 
remaining  at  Bonn  for  a  year  and  a  half. 

Shortly  before  the  Princess  Victoria's  accession 
to  the  throne,  Prince  Albert  sent  her  his  good 
wishes  for  her  birthday,  which  she  acknowledged 
in  English. 

1  The  day  before  yesterday,'  wrote  the  Prince  to 
his  father,  '  I  received  a  second  and  still  kinder 
letter  from  my  cousin,  in  which  she  thanks  me 
for  my  good  wishes  on  her  birthday.  You  may 
easily  imagine  that  both  these  letters  gave  me  the 
greatest  pleasure.' 

1—2 


4  Famous  Love  Matches 

After  the  Queen's  accession,  Prince  Albert  wrote 
from  Bonn  a  short  letter  on  the  great  change  that 
had  come  to  her  life. 

1  Now  you  are  Queen  of  the  mightiest  land  of 
Europe,'  he  wrote,  *  in  your  hand  lies  the  happi- 
ness of  millions.  May  Heaven  assist  you  and 
strengthen  you  in  your  high  and  difficult  task.  I 
hope  that  your  reign  may  be  long,  happy,  and 
glorious,  and  that  your  efforts  may  be  rewarded 
by  the  love  and  thankfulness  of  your  subjects. 
May  I  pray  you  to  think  sometimes  of  your  cousins 
at  Bonn,  and  to  continue  to  them  the  kindness 
you  favoured  them  with  till  now.  Be  assured 
that  our  minds  are  always  with  you.'  The  letter, 
which  is  given  in  the  *  Early  Years  of  the  Prince 
Consort,'  concludes :  *  Believe  me  always  your 
Majesty's  most  obedient  and  faithful  servant, 
Albert.' 

Certainly  not  a  lover's  letter ;  and  the  Queen's 
attention  was  so  much  taken  up  by  the  duties  and 
ceremonials  of  her  new  position,  that  she  seems 
to  have  thought  of  little  else.  Loyalty  was  at 
a  very  low  ebb;  the  reigns  of  George  IV.  and 
William  IV.  had  done  a  great  deal  to  lessen  it. 
The  young  Queen  was  looked  upon  by  some  with 
curiosity,  by  others  with  pity.  Carlyle  wrote, 
after  seeing  her  taking  her  departure  for  Windsor 
in  1838 :  '  Going  through  the  Green  Park  yesterday, 
I  saw  her  little  Majesty.  .  .  .  She  is  decidedly 
a  pretty-looking  little  creature,  health,  clearness, 
graceful  timidity  looking  out  from  her  young  face, 


Queen  Victoria  and  Prince  Consort     5 

frail  cockle  in  the  black,  bottomless  deluge.  One 
could  not  help  some  interest  in  her,  situated  as 
mortal  seldom  was-.' 

Greville,  who  seldom  has  a  good  word  for  any- 
one, admits  in  his  *  Memoirs  ' :  '  She  never  ceases 
to  be  a  Queen,  but  she  is  always  the  most  charm- 
ing, cheerful,  obliging,  unaffected  Queen  in  the 
world.' 

Her  behaviour  on  the  great  day  of  her  Corona- 
tion won  all  hearts.  *  You  did  it  all  beautifully,' 
Lord  Melbourne  said  to  her  after  the  ceremony 
was  over,  '  every  part  of  it,  with  so  much  taste.' 

The  year  afterwards  the  question  of  the  Queen's 
marriage  was  much  discussed.  Prince  Albert  re- 
turned from  a  tour  in  Italy  and  Switzerland  in 
September,  1839,  and  a  visit  to  England  was  con- 
templated. And  now  the  Queen  began  to  hesitate. 
Two  years  of  unlimited  authority  had  produced  a 
certain  effect  on  her.  She  was  naturally  reluctant 
to  relinquish  her  independence.  In  a  memorandum, 
given  in  the  '  Early  Years  of  the  Prince  Consort,' 
she  admits  this  herself.  She  says  that  the  change 
from  her  secluded  life  at  Kensington  had  put  all 
ideas  of  marriage  out  of  her  head. 

To  use  her  own  words :  *  A  worse  school  for  a 
young  girl  or  one  more  detrimental  to  all  natural 
feelings  cannot  well  be  imagined  than  the  position 
of  a  Queen  at  eighteen.' 

There  can  be  no  doubt  that  her  hesitation  about 
the  marriage  was  very  strong.  The  Queen  wrote 
to  her  uncle  :  '  Though  all  the  reports  of  Albert 


6  Famous  Love  Matches 

are  most  favourable,  and  though  I  have  little 
doubt  I  shall  like  him,  still,  one  can  never  answer 
for  feelings.  ...  I  may  like  him  as  a.  friend,  and 
as  a  cousin,  and  as  a  brother,  but  not  more.' 

She  repeats  that  she  had  never  given  any  promise. 
Prince  Albert,  on  his  part,  was  reluctant  to  come 
over  without  some  assurance  of  being  accepted. 

'  If,  after  waiting  perhaps  for  three  years,'  he 
said,  '  I  should  find  that  the  Queen  no  longer 
desires  the  marriage,  it  would  place  me  in  a  very 
ridiculous  position,  and  would  to  a  certain  extent 
ruin  all  the  prospects  of  my  future  life.' 

But  when  the  Prince,  tall  and  noble-looking, 
with  all  advantages  of  travel  and  study,  made  his 
appearance,  all  was  changed.  There  was  no  more 
hesitation,  no  more  talk  of  delaying  for  three  or 
four  years.  He  and  his  brother — for  the  two 
brothers  were  inseparable — crossed  over  on  Octo- 
ber 12,  1839.  And  the  Queen  wrote  to  her  uncle : 
*  Albert's  beauty  is  most  striking,  and  he  is  so 
amiable  and  unaffected — in  short,  very  fascinating. 
He  is  excessively  admired  here.  We  rode  out 
yesterday  and  danced  after  dinner.  .  .  .  The 
young  men  are  very  amiable,  delightful  com- 
panions, and  I  am  very  glad  to  have  them  here. 
They  are  playing  some  symphonies  of  Haydn's 
under  me  at  this  moment ;  they  are  passionately 
fond  of  music' 

Three  days  afterwards  the  die  was  cast.  After 
Prince  Albert  returned  from  hunting,  he  was 
called  into  the  Queen's  private  room,  and  all  was 


Queen  Victoria  and  Prince  Consort     7 

settled.  She  wrote  to  the  King  of  the  Belgians : 
'  My  mind  is  quite  made  up,  and  I  told  Albert  this 
morning  of  it.  The  warm  affection  he  showed  on 
hearing  this  gave  me  great  pleasure.  He  seems 
perfection,  and  I  think  I  have  the  prospect  of 
great  happiness  before  me.  I  love  him  more  than 
I  can  say,  and  I  shall  do  everything  I  can  to 
render  the  sacrifice  he  has  made  (for  a  sacrifice, 
in  my  opinion,  it  is)  as  small  as  I  can.  He  seems 
to  have  very  great  tact,  a  very  necessary  thing  in 
his  position.  These  last  few  days  have  passed 
like  a  dream  to  me,  and  I  am  so  bewildered  by 
it  all  that  I  hardly  know  how  to  write,  but  I  do 
feel  very,  very  happy.' 

The  King  of  the  Belgians  was,  of  course, 
delighted  that  his  own  arrangement  had  been 
carried  out  to  such  a  successful  issue.  Unlike 
most  arranged  marriages,  this  was  a  union  of 
hearts — a  real  love  match  on  both  sides.  'You 
will  find  in  Albert,'  wrote  King  Leopold,  'just  the 
very  qualities  which  are  indispensable  for  your 
happiness,  and  which  will  suit  your  own  character, 
temper,  and  mode  of  life.' 

Dinners  and  dances  followed  the  engagement; 
at  one  of  the  dances  the  Queen  gave  her  future 
husband  a  bouquet,  and  not  having  a  convenient 
buttonhole,  he  cut  a  slit  in  his  uniform  and  placed 
it  there.  In  one  of  the  Queen's  letters  to  her  uncle, 
written  about  this  time,  she  breaks  out  into  a  perfect 
outburst  of  joy,  which  seems  to  bubble  up  from  an 
overflowing  heart :  '  Oh,  dear  uncle,  I  do  feel  so 


8  Famous  Love  Matches 

happy !  I  do  so  adore  dear  Albert.  He  is  quite 
an  angel,  and  so  very,  very  kind  to  me,  and  seems 
so  fond  of  me,  which  touches  me  much.  I  trust 
and  hope  I  shall  be  able  to  make  him  as  happy  as 
he  ought  to  be.  I  cannot  bear  to  part  from  him, 
for  we  spend  such  delightful  hours  together.' 

After  the  Prince  returned  to  Germany,  the 
Queen  was  much  dejected,  and  Prince  Albert 
wrote  to  the  Duchess  of  Kent  from  Wiesbaden, 
November  21 :  '  What  you  say  about  my  poor 
little  bride,  sitting  alone  in  her  room,  silent  and 
sad,  has  touched  me  deeply.  Oh,  that  I  might 
fly  to  her  side  to  cheer  her  !'  On  the  same  day  he 
wrote  to  the  Queen  :  '  My  prevailing  feeling  is, 
What  am  I  that  such  happiness  should  be  mine  ? 
for  excess  of  happiness  it  is  for  me  to  know  that 
I  am  so  dear  to  you.' 

The  Queen  had  now  to  announce  her  engagement 
to  eighty-two  of  her  Privy  Councillors,  which  she 
did  at  Buckingham  Palace  on  November  23.  Her 
aunt,  the  Duchess  of  Gloucester,  said  to  her  : 

'You  will  be  very  nervous  on  declaring  your 
engagement  to  the  Council.' 

'  Yes,'  replied  the  Queen ;  '  but  I  did  some- 
thing far  more  trying  to  my  nerves  a  short  time 
ago.' 

*  What  was  that  ?'  inquired  the  Duchess. 

'  I  proposed  to  Albert,'  was  the  answer. 

Certainly,  if  all  proposals  by  women  turned  out 
as  well  as  this  one  did,  it  would  be  better  if  they 
always  took  such  matters  into  their  own  hands. 


Queen  Victoria  and  Prince  Consort     9 

When  the  eventful  day  of  the  Council-meeting 
arrived,  the  Queen  came  in  at  two  o'clock  pre- 
cisely in  plain  morning  dress,  wearing  a  bracelet 
with  a  miniature  of  Prince  Albert  set  in  it.  Her 
hands  which  held  the  declaration  trembled,  so 
that  Mr.  Greville,  who  was  an  attentive  observer 
of  all  that  passed,  thought  she  would  hardly  be 
able  to  read.  But  Lord  Melbourne,  who  was 
looking  at  her  with  tearful  and  kindly  eyes,  seemed 
to  reassure  her,  and  the  picture  at  her  wrist  gave 
her  confidence. 

Mr.  J.  W.  Croker,  who  was  present,  said  in 
a  letter  to  Lady  Hardwicke  :  J I  cannot  describe 
to  you  with  what  a  mixture  of  self-possession  and 
feminine  delicacy  the  Queen  read  the  paper.  Her 
voice,  which  is  naturally  beautiful,  was  clear  and 
untroubled,  and  her  eye  was  bright  and  calm — 
neither  bold  nor  downcast,  but  firm  and  soft. 
There  was  a  blush  on  her  cheek,  which  made  her 
look  handsomer  and  more  interesting,  and,  indeed, 
she  did  look  as  interesting  and  handsome  as  any 
young  lady  I  ever  saw.'  The  declaration,  which 
the  Queen  read  in  a  '  full,  sweet,  clear  voice,'  began 
as  follows  : 

*  I  have  caused  you  to  be  summoned  at  the 
present  time  in  order  that  I  may  acquaint  you 
with  my  resolution  in  a  matter  which  deeply 
concerns  the  welfare  of  my  people  and  the  happi- 
ness of  my  future  life.  It  is  my  intention  to  ally 
myself  in  marriage  with  the  Prince  Albert  of  Saxe- 
Coburg  and  Gotha.     Deeply  impressed  with  the 


io  Famous  Love  Matches 

solemnity  of  the  engagement  which  I  am  about  to 
contract,  I  have  not  come  to  this  decision  without 
mature  consideration,  nor  without  feeling  a  strong 
assurance  that,  with  the  blessing  of  Almighty  God, 
it  will  secure  my  domestic  felicity  and  serve  the 
interests  of  my  country.  .  .  .' 

No  engagement,  even  such  a  short  one  as  the 
Queen's  was,  lasting  barely  three  months,  ever 
went  on  without  some  little  friction.  The  Queen's 
grievance  was  that  her  lover  did  not  write  to  her 
often  enough.  She  says  in  a  letter  to  the  King  of 
the  Belgians,  dated  December  9,  1839  :  '  I  was 
quite  miserable  at  not  hearing  from  Albert  for 
ten  days  ;  such  a  long  silence  is  quite  insupport- 
able for  anyone  in  my  position  towards  Albert, 
and  I  was  overjoyed  on  receiving  yesterday  the 
most  dear,  most  affectionate  letter  from  him. 
He  writes  so  beautifully,  and  so  simply  and  un- 
affectedly.' 

On  December  15  the  Queen  wrote  to  Prince 
Albert :  '  Again  no  letter  from  you  !  .  .  .  I  hope 
Lord  Melbourne  will  remain  here,  because  I  am 
fond  of  him,  and  because  he  has  a  share  in  all  my 
happiness,  and  is  the  only  man  I  can  speak  to 
without  gene  on  everything.' 

In  answer  to  a  letter  from  the  King  of  the 
Belgians  inquiring  after  '  my  stupid  health,'  the 
Queen  says  :  '  I  cannot  be  otherwise  than  agitated ; 
getting  no  letter  makes  me  ill,  and  getting  them 
excites  me.  .  .  .' 

This  is  a  state  of  things  endured  by  all  lovers 


Queen  Victoria  and  Prince  Consort    1 1 

but  the  time  of  suspense  did  not  last  very  long. 
One  unpleasant  incident  was  that  the  Queen's 
Ministers  were  defeated  on  the  question  of  the 
amount  of  Prince  Albert's  annuity,  the  House  of 
Commons  reducing  it  from  £50,000  to  £30,000. 
The  King  of  the  Belgians  wrote  to  his  niece: 
'Albert  looks  well  and  handsome,  but  a  little 
irritated  by  what  happened  in  the  House  of 
Commons.  He  does  not  care  about  the  money, 
but  is  much  shocked  and  exasperated  at  the  dis- 
respect of  the  thing,  as  well  he  may  be.' 

Prince  Albert  wrote  to  the  Queen  from  Brussels 
with  reference  to  all  these  squabbles  about  his 
pension  and  his  precedence  at  Court :  ■  While  I 
possess  your  love,  they  cannot  make  me  really 
unhappy.' 

On  February  8,  after  a  very  rough  passage,  he 
arrived  in  London,  and  the  Queen's  face  again 
grew  bright  and  joyous.  The  wedding-day  was 
fixed  for  the  10th,  and  on  that  morning  the  Queen 
wrote  the  most  charming  little  note  to  her  ex- 
pectant bridegroom : 

*  Dearest, 

1  How  are  you  to-day  ?  and  have  you  slept 
well  ?  I  have  rested  very  well,  and  feel  very  com- 
fortable. What  weather !  I  believe,  however,  the 
rain  will  cease.  Send  one  word  to  say  when  you 
my  dearly  beloved  bridegroom,  will  be  ready. 
1  Thy  ever  faithful, 

*  Victoria  R.' 


12  Famous  Love  Matches 

On  the  way  from  Buckingham  Palace  to  the 
Chapel  Royal,  St.  James's,  the  weather  was 
deplorable ;  the  rain  fell  and  the  wind  blew,  but 
inside  the  chapel  all  was  brightness  and  anima- 
tion. The  Queen's  entrance,  in  her  white  satin 
wedding-gown,  which  had  been  specially  manu- 
factured at  Spitalfields,  with  a  veil  of  Honiton 
lace,  was  the  event  of  the  day.  Prince  Albert, 
tall  and  slim  in  his  dazzling  uniform,  looked  like 
a  hero  of  romance  beside  his  small  bride. 

The  clouds  broke,  and  blue  sky  appeared  before 
the  Queen  and  her  husband  left  Buckingham  Palace 
for  Windsor.  The  day  after  the  marriage  she  wrote 
the  most  joyous  little  note  to  her  uncle,  which  seems 
to  breathe  the  very  spirit  and  essence  of  happiness. 
It  reminds  one  of  that  birthday-song  of  Christina 
Rossetti's  : 

'  My  heart  is  like  a  singing  bird, 

Whose  nest  is  in  a  watered  shoot ; 
My  heart  is  like  an  apple-tree, 

Whose  boughs  are  bent  with  thick-set  fruit ; 
My  heart  is  like  a  rainbow  shell, 

That  paddles  in  a  halcyon  sea  ; 
My  heart  is  gladder  than  all  these, 

Because  my  love  has  come  to  me  !' 

Here  is  the  note  : 

1  My  Dearest  Uncle, 

*  I  write  to  you  from  here,  the  happiest, 
happiest  Being  that  ever  existed.  Really,  I  don't 
think  it  is  possible  for  any  Being  to  be  happier  or 


Queen  Victoria  and  Prince  Consort    13 

as  happy  as  I  am.  He  is  an  Angel,  and  his  kind- 
ness and  affection  for  me  is  really  touching.  To 
look  in  those  dear  eyes  and  that  dear  sunny  face 
is  enough  to  make  me  adore  him.  What  I  can  do 
to  make  him  happy  will  be  my  greatest  delight.' 

The  Queen  was  as  good  as  her  word ;  she  never 
lost  an  opportunity  of  putting  the  Prince  forward 
on  every  occasion,  and  of  making  his  position  as 
nearly  equal  to  her  own  as  she  could.  She  often 
gave  offence  by  doing  so.  The  Prince  was  con- 
sulted on  every  political  question,  and  was,  in 
fact,  her  permanent  Prime  Minister,  or,  even 
more,  he  was  the  uncrowned  King  of  England. 
And  yet,  with  true  nobility  of  character,  he  kept 
in  the  background,  and  never  voluntarily  put  him- 
self forward : 

1  We  see  him  as  he  moved, 

How  modest,  kindly,  all-accomplished,  wise. 

With  what  sublime  repression  of  himself.' 

Not  only  did  he  speak  no  slander  nor  listen  to 
it,  but  he  disliked  anything  approaching  to  ridi- 
culing others.  From  a  foot-note  in  the  '  Letters 
of  Queen  Victoria,'  we  find  an  incident  taken  from 
the  unpublished  Memoirs  of  Admiral  Sir  William 
Hotham.  We  are  told  that  the  Queen  was  now 
and  then  apt  to  give  way  to  a  flow  of  high  spirits, 
and,  more  from  carelessness  than  unkindness,  to 
ridicule  others.  The  Prince  one  day  looked  on 
during  an  outburst  of  this  kind,  sombre  and 
cold,  taking   no  apparent   notice,   but  evidently 


14  Famous  Love  Matches 

displeased.  The  Queen  at  length  spoke  about  it, 
and  he  answered  that  though  he  had  only  been 
a  short  time  in  England,  he  had  yet  to  learn  what 
pleasure  was  to  be  derived  from  '  quizzing,'  as  it 
was  called,  that  he  could  not  reconcile  it  to  him- 
self with  either  good -breeding  or  benevolence. 
Tears  started  to  the  Queen's  eyes  at  this  reproof, 
and  she  assured  the  Prince  that  such  a  thing 
should  never  occur  again. 

To  take  a  reprimand  like  this,  and  to  profit  by  it 
showed  what  an  open,  candid  nature  the  Queen 
possessed.  It  must  be  admitted  that  the  Prince's 
position  was  rather  an  awkward  one ;  he  became 
silent  and  reserved,  and  for  some  years  he  was 
unpopular. 

He  wrote  to  Prince  von  Lowenstein :  '  In  my 
home-life  I  am  very  happy  and  contented,  but  the 
difficulty  of  filling  my  place  with  proper  dignity  is 
that  I  am  only  the  husband,  and  not  the  master  of 
the  house.' 

The  Queen  was  very  proud  of  the  Prince's  total 
indifference  to  the  attractions  of  all  ladies.  She 
was  even  said  to  be  a  little  jealous  of  his  talking 
much  even  to  men. 

The  birth  of  the  Princess  Royal  on  November  21, 
1840,  brought  great  joy,  and  the  Queen  wrote  to 
her  uncle :  '  Your  little  grand-niece  is  most  flourish- 
ing. She  gains  daily  in  strength,  health,  and  I 
may  say  beauty.  I  think  she  will  be  very  like  her 
dearest  father;  she  grows  amazingly.' 

In  answer  to  her  uncle's  letter,  wishing  that  she 


Queen  Victoria  and  Prince  Consort    15 

might  be  the  '  mamma  d'une  nombreuse  famille,' 
she  wrote  : 

1  You  cannot  really  wish  it,  for  I  think  you  will 
see  the  great  inconvenience  a  large  family  would 
be  to  us  independent  of  the  hardship  and  incon- 
venience to  myself.  .  .  .  Men  never,  or  at  least 
seldom,  think  what  a  hard  task  it  is  for  a  woman 
to  go  through  very  often.  .  .  .  Our  young  lady 
flourishes  exceedingly.  I  think  you  would  be 
amused  to  see  Albert  dancing  her  in  his  arms; 
he  makes  a  capital  nurse,  which  I  do  not,  and  she 
is  much  too  heavy  for  me  to  carry.  She  always 
seems  so  happy  to  go  to  him.  The  christening 
will  be  at  Buckingham  Palace  on  February  10, 
the  anniversary  of  our  dear  marriage  day.' 

The  birth  of  the  Prince  of  Wales  on  the 
following  November  seemed  to  verify  the  predic- 
tion of  the  King  of  the  Belgians  as  to  a  numerous 
family.  From  '  The  Early  Years  of  the  Prince 
Consort,'  we  find  with  what  tenderness  the  Prince 
waited  on  his  wife.  By  the  Queen's  dictation, 
we  find  the  record  of  his  care  and  devotion 
to  her : 

'  He  was  content  to  sit  by  her  in  a  darkened 
room,  to  read  to  her  or  write  for  her.  No  one  but 
himself  ever  lifted  her  from  her  bed  to  her  sofa, 
and  he  always  helped  to  wheel  her  into  the  next 
room.  For  this  purpose  he  would  come  instantly 
when  sent  for  from  any  part  of  the  house.  As 
years  went  on,  and  he  became  overwhelmed  with 
work,  this  was  often  done  at  great  inconvenience 


v. 


1 6  Famous  Love  Matches 

to  himself,  but  he  ever  came  with  a  sweet  smile 
on  his  face.  In  short,  his  care  of  her  was  like 
that  of  a  mother;  nor  could  there  be  a  kinder 
or  more  judicious  nurse.' 

When  the  Emperor  of  Russia  visited  Windsor 
in  1844,  he  was  much  struck  with  Prince  Albert's 
appearance,  and  said :  '  C'est  impossible  de  voir  un 
plus  joli  garcon,  il  a  l'air  si  noble  et  si  bon' — 
*  which,'  adds  the  Queen,  '  is  quite  true.' 

As  years  rolled  on  the  Prince  gradually  rose 
above  the  difficulties  of  his  position.  All  advances 
in  science,  art,  and  music  were  promoted  by  him. 
When  his  favourite  project  of  the  Great  Exhibition 
of  185 1  was  successfully  carried  out,  the  Queen 
wrote  to  her  uncle  telling  him  of  the  beautiful  and 
imposing  spectacle — 'the  triumph  of  my  beloved 
Albert.'  '  It  was  the  happiest  and  proudest  day 
of  my  life,'  she  adds.  ■  Albert's  dearest  name  is 
immortalized  with  this  great  conception.' 

The  Prince  never  loved  the  atmosphere  of 
Courts.  His  great  delight  was  to  escape  into 
the  quiet  of  the  country,  where  he  could  breathe. 
When  at  Windsor,  he  and  the  Queen  had  break- 
fast early,  and  had  heard  morning  prayers  with 
the  household  before  half-past  nine,  and  were  then 
out  in  the  grounds,  enjoying  each  other's  society. 
At  Balmoral  they  led  even  a  simpler  family  life. 
How  they  enjoyed  their  many  excursions  together, 
the  Queen  has  told  herself  in  her  Journals  of  her 
life  in  the  Highlands. 

On  the  twenty-first  anniversary  of  her  wedding- 


Queen  Victoria  and  Prince  Consort    17 

day,  the  Queen  recorded  in  her  diary :  '  On 
Sunday  we  celebrated  with  feelings  of  deep 
gratitude  and  love  the  twenty-first  anniversary 
of  our  blessed  marriage,  a  day  which  has  brought 
to  us,  and  I  may  say  the  world  at  large,  such 
incalculable  blessings.  Very  few  can  say  with 
me  that  their  husband  at  the  end  of  twenty-one 
years  is  not  only  full  of  the  friendship,  kindness, 
and  affection  which  a  truly  happy  marriage  brings 
with  it,  but  the  same  tender  love  of  the  very  first 
days  of  our  marriage.' 

The  death  of  the  Duchess  of  Kent  in  March, 
1 86 1,  was  the  first  cloud  which  overshadowed 
that  momentous  year.  There  had  at  one  time 
been  a  temporary  estrangement  between  the  Queen 
and  her  mother,  followed  by  a  reconciliation, 
brought  about,  so  the  Queen  says  in  a  letter 
to  her  uncle,  'by  my  good  angel  Albert,  whom 
she  adored,  and  in  whom  she  had  the  greatest 
confidence.' 

During  the  summer  a  visit  was  paid  to  Ireland, 
and  in  the  autumn  it  was  observed  that  the  Prince 
did  not  seem  himself;  he  looked  ill  and  worried. 
A  chill,  caught  while  inspecting  some  new  buildings 
at  Aldershot,  was  followed  by  low  fever,  which,  as 
we  all  know,  terminated  fatally  on  December  14. 
The  last  time  the  Prince  spoke  it  was  to  say  to 
the  Queen,  '  Gutes  Frauchen '  (Good  little  wife). 
Then,  after  kissing  her,  he  sank  into  a  doze,  from 
which  he  never  woke.  His  death  came  as  a  shock 
to  every  one.    To  the  Queen  it  was  overwhelming. 

2 


1 8  Famous  Love  Matches 

She  knew  little  about  serious  illness ;  she  was 
hoping  to  the  last;  she  could  not  believe  that 
the  desire  of  her  eyes  could  be  snatched  from  her 
so  suddenly.  Her  first  letter  after  her  irreparable 
loss  is  indeed  piteous  in  its  grief.  It  was  to  the 
King  of  the  Belgians  : 

'  My  own  dearest  kindest  Father, 

*  (For  as  such  have  I  ever  loved  you),  the  poor 
fatherless  baby  of  eight  months  is  now  the  utterly 
broken-hearted,  crushed  widow  of  forty-two.  My 
life  as  a  happy  one  is  ended.  The  world  is  gone  for 
me.  If  I  must  live  on,  it  is  for  our  poor  fatherless 
children,  for  my  unhappy  country,  which  has  lost 
all  in  losing  him,  and  in  only  doing  what  I  know 
and  feel  he  would  wish ;  for  he  is  near  me,  his  spirit 
will  guide  and  inspire  me.  But  oh,  to  be  cut 
off  in  the  prime  of  life  ...  it  is  too  awful,  too 
cruel !  And  yet  it  must  be  for  his  good,  his 
happiness.  His  purity  was  too  great,  his  aspira- 
tions too  high  for  this  poor,  miserable  world. 
His  great  soul  is  now  only  enjoying  that  for  which 
it  was  worthy.  But  I  will  not  envy  him;  only 
pray  that  mine  may  be  perfected  by  it,  and  fit 
to  be  with  him  eternally.' 

It  would  be  impossible  to  find  a  more  touching 
letter  than  this,  coming  as  it  evidently  does  from 
a  heart  wrung  to  the  very  depths,  and  yet  facing 
bravely  the  duties  of  the  future.  '  I  live  on,'  she 
wrote  to  her  sympathizing  uncle,  'with  him,  for 


Queen  Victoria  and  Prince  Consort    19 

him.  In  fact,  I  am  only  temporarily  separated 
from  him,  and  only  for  a  time.  He  seems  so 
near  me,  so  quite  my  very  own  now,  my  precious 
darling.' 

To  Lord  Canning,  who  had  recently  lost  his  wife, 
she  wrote  (in  the  third  person)  on  January  10  : 
■  To  lose  one's  partner  in  life  is,  as  Lord  Canning 
knows,  like  losing  half  one's  body  and  soul.  .  .  . 
To  the  Queen  it  is  like  death  in  life.  .  .  .  Her 
misery,  her  utter  despair,  she  cannot  describe.  Her 
only  support,  the  only  ray  of  comfort  she  gets  for 
a  moment,  is  in  the  firm  conviction  and  certainty 
of  his  (i.e.,  the  Prince's)  nearness,  his  undying  love, 
and  of  their  eternal  reunion.' 

She  mentions  how  nothing  great  or  small  was 
done  without  the  Prince's  loving  advice  and 
help.  ...  There  is  something  pitiful  in  the 
heart-broken  cry  which  closes  one  of  her  letters 
to  her  uncle :  ■  I  know  you  will  help  me  in  my 
utter  darkness.'  Henceforth  her  life  was  con- 
secrated to  the  memory  of  him  whom  she  calls 
1  her  adored,  precious,  perfect,  and  great  husband, 
her  dear  lord  and  master.' 

From  the  day  she  lost  him  she  remained 
solitary  and  apart — 'a  widow  indeed.'  Though 
her  great  gift  of  sympathy  enabled  her  to  rejoice 
with  those  who  rejoiced,  as  well  as  to  weep  with 
those  that  wept,  her  grief  seemed  to  envelop  her 
like  a  mantle.  For  five  years  after  the  Prince 
Consort's  death  she  could  not  bear  the  sound  of 
music.    His  portrait,  hung  with  a  wreath  of  im- 

2 — 2 


20  Famous  Love  Matches 

mortelles,  was  always  kept  by  her  bedside.  By 
degrees  the  strong  interest  in  her  children  and 
her  grand-children  slowly  dissolved  the  prejudices 
which  grief  often  creates.  And  then,  after  forty 
years  of  widowhood — forty  years  of  separation 
from  him  who  had  been  to  her  as  a  second  self — 
*  God's  love  set  her  at  his  side  again,'  and  all  was 
well  with  her  and  with  him. 


LORD  ELDON  AND  ELIZABETH 
SURTEES 

'  One  touch  to  her  hand,  and  one  word  in  her  ear, 
When  they  reached  the  hall  door  and  the  charger  stood  near. 

*  *  *  X  « 

She  is  won.     We  are  gone — over  bank,  bush,  and  scaur  I* 

Sir  Walter  Scott. 

THE  romance  of  the  eighteenth  century  owes 
much  to  the  runaway  marriages  when  the 
lovers  escaped  over  the  Border,  hotly  pursued 
by  their  indignant  parents.  Their  hopes  and 
fears,  the  pistols  fired  from  the  window  of  the 
post-chaise,  the  stoppages  at  wayside  inns  for 
fresh  relays  of  horses,  all  gave  scope  for  dramatic 
scenes  and  startling  adventures.  A  notable  run- 
away love  match,  which  turned  out  happily  for 
both  parties  concerned,  was  that  between  John 
Scott,  afterwards  Lord  Eldon,  and  Elizabeth 
Surtees.  Both  were  young — he  was  twenty-one, 
she  was  eighteen — both  were  blessed  with  good 
looks,  and  both  were  practically  penniless.  And 
to  make  the  romantic  picture  still  more  complete, 
she  went  down  a  ladder  at  midnight  from  her 
father's  house  at  Newcastle,  was  received  into  the 
arms  of  her  true  lover,  and  both  drove  away  to 

21 


22  Famous  Love  Matches 

Scotland  to  be  married.  And  instead  of  ending 
in  disaster,  this  hasty  elopement  turned  out  a 
complete  success.  The  young  couple  had  their 
struggles,  it  is  true.  The  future  Lord  Chancellor  of 
England  said  that  he  often  went  out  to  buy  six 
pennyworth  of  sprats  for  supper ;  but  behind  the 
clouds  the  sun  was  shining,  and  Jack  Scott,  the 
briefless  barrister,  mounted  rapidly  up  the  ladder 
of  promotion,  until  he  attained  the  very  highest 
rank  in  his  profession,  and  became  the  trusted 
friend  and  confidant  of  George  III.,  who  always 
appealed  to  him  in  any  times  of  doubt  or  difficulty. 
The  married  life  of  Lord  Eldon  and  his  wife 
flowed  on  in  perfect  harmony  and  mutual  affection 
for  fifty-nine  long  years,  so  the  story  of  their  elope- 
ment becomes  additionally  interesting. 

Without  going  into  tedious  details  of  family 
history,  it  may  be  said  that  a  branch  of  the  Scotts 
of  Balweary,  which  numbered  the  famous  Michael 
Scott,  the  Wizard,  among  its  members,  settled 
down  at  Newcastle-on-Tyne  about  the  end  of  the 
fifteenth  century. 

William  Scott,  the  father  of  Lord  Eldon,  was  a 
capable,  diligent  man,  a  coal-fitter  by  trade.  A 
coal-fitter  is  the  factor  or  middleman  who  con- 
ducts the  sales  between  the  owners  and  the 
shippers,  taking  the  shippers'  orders,  supplying 
the  cargo,  and  receiving  the  price  of  it  for  the 
owner. 

William  Scott's  second  wife,  Jane  Allanson,  was 
the  mother  of  no  less  than  thirteen  children.     Her 


Lord  Eldon  and  Elizabeth  Surtees    23 

eldest  son,  afterwards  Lord  Stowell,  and  his  twin 
sister,  Barbara,  were  born  in  the  eventful  year  of 

1745- 

Edinburgh  had  surrendered  to  Prince  Charles 
Edward,  and  his  victorious  army  was  daily  expected 
at  Newcastle.  Every  preparation  was  made  for 
a  siege,  and  Mrs.  Scott  was  conveyed  from  her 
husband's  house  at  Love  Lane  to  the  neighbour- 
ing county  of  Durham.  This  circumstance  had 
a  great  effect  on  the  family  fortunes.  Six  years 
afterwards,  in  175 1,  the  third  son,  John,  the 
future  Lord  Chancellor,  was  born. 

The  three  boys  all  showed  not  only  great 
ability,  but  force  and  determination  of  character. 
William,  at  the  age  of  four,  stoutly  refused  to  go 
to  a  dame  school,  saying  he  would  not  be  taught 
by  any  woman  living.  His  father  secretly 
applauded  the  boy's  spirit,  and  when  the  three 
brothers  were  old  enough,  they  were  sent  to  the 
Royal  Grammar  School  at  Newcastle.  The  head 
master,  Mr.  Moises,  was  a  distinguished  classical 
scholar  and  an  excellent  teacher.  In  the  three 
Scotts  he  found  pupils  after  his  own  heart.  For 
years  after  they  left  he  used  to  say,  when  any  of 
his  boys  pleased  him,  '  Well  done !  very  well 
done ;  but  I  have  had  lads  that  would  have  done 
better.  The  Scotts  would  have  done  better  than 
that.'  x 

Yet  even  the  Scotts  did  not  escape  very  severe 
floggings. 

Lord  Eldon  said  himself :  '  I   believe  no  boy 


24  Famous  Love  Matches 

was  ever  so  much  thrashed  as  I  was.  When  we 
went  to  school,  we  had  to  go  by  the  Stockbridge. 
We  seldom  had  any  time  to  spare,  so  Bill  and 
Harry  used  to  run  as  hard  as  they  could ;  and  poor 
Jacky's  legs  not  being  so  long  or  so  strong,  he  was 
left  behind.  Now,  there  was  eternal  war  waged 
between  the  Head  School  lads  and  all  the  boys  of 
the  other  schools,  so  the  Stockbriggers  seized  the 
opportunity  of  poor  Jacky  being  alone  to  give 
him  a  good  drubbing.  On  our  way  home  Bill 
and  Harry  always  thrashed  them  in  return,  but 
that  was  a  revenge  that  did  not  cure  my  sore 
bones.  ...  I  remember  our  stealing  down  the 
side  and  along  the  sandhill,  and  creeping  into 
every  shop,  where  we  blew  out  the  candles.  We 
crept  in  along  the  counter,  then  popped  our  heads 
up ;  out  went  the  candles,  and  away  went  we ! 
We  escaped  detection.  ...  I  was  once  the  seven- 
teenth boy  that  Moises  flogged,  and  richly  did  I 
merit  it.  There  was  an  elderly  lady  who  lived  in 
Westgate  Street,  whom  we  surrounded  in  the 
street,  and  would  not  let  her  go  either  backward 
or  forward.  She  complained  to  Mr.  Moises,  and 
he  flogged  us  all.  When  he  came  to  me,  he  said, 
"What!  Jack  Scott,  were  you  there?"  I  was 
obliged  to  say  "  Yes,  sir."  "  I  will  not  stop,"  he 
replied ;  "  you  shall  all  have  it."  But  I  think  I 
came  off  best,  as  his  arm  was  rather  tired  with 
sixteen  who  went  before  me.' 

Lord   Eldon   tells   another   story  of  the   hard 
usage  he  received.      He  says :   '  My  father  had 


Lord  Eldon  and  Elizabeth  Surtees     25 

agreed  with  a  master,  who  kept  a  writing-school, 
to  teach  me  penmanship  for  half  a  guinea  a 
quarter.  I  attended  his  school  but  once  in  the 
three  months.  My  father  knew  nothing  of  this, 
and  at  the  end  of  the  quarter  he  gave  me  a  half- 
guinea  to  pay  the  master.  When  I  took  it  to  the 
school,  the  master  said  he  did  not  know  how  he 
could  properly  receive  it,  as  he  had  given  nothing 
in  exchange  for  it.  I  said  that  he  really  must 
take  it ;  that  I  could  not  possibly  take  it  back  to 
my  father.  "Well,"  he  replied,  "  if  I  am  to  take 
it,  at  all  events  I  will  give  you  something  for  it, 
and  so  come  here."  And  upon  my  going  up  to 
him,  he  took  the  money  with  one  hand,  and  with 
the  other  he  gave  me  a  box  on  the  ear,  which  sent 
me  reeling  against  the  wainscot.  That  was  the 
way  I  first  learned  to  write,  and  I  think  I  write 
remarkably  well,  considering  how  I  played  truant 
from  the  writing-school.' 

The  specimen  of  Lord  Eldon's  handwriting 
given  in  his  '  Life,'  by  Mr.  Horace  Twiss,  certainly 
bears  out  this  assertion,  for  it  is  firm,  clear,  and 
distinct.  He  was  celebrated  for  dancing  horn- 
pipes, and  always  danced  a  hornpipe  at  the 
Christmas  suppers  which  his  father  gave  to  the 
keelmen  in  his  employment.  He  had  no  less  than 
eight  dancing-masters. 

1  No  shoemaker,'  wrote  Lord  Eldon  to  Mrs. 
Forster,  '  ever  helped  to  put  on  more  ladies'  shoes 
than  I  have  done.  At  the  dancing-school  the 
young  ladies  always  brought  their  dancing-shoes 


26  Famous  Love  Matches 

with  them,  and  we  deemed  it  a  pretty  piece  of 
etiquette  to  assist  the  pretty  girls  in  putting  them 
on.  In  those  days,  girls  of  the  best  families  wore 
white  stockings  only  on  the  Sunday;  on  other 
days  they  wore  blue  woollen  Doncaster  stockings 
with  white  tags.  .  .  .  We  used,  when  we  were  at 
the  Head  School,  early  on  the  Sunday  mornings, 
to  steal  flowers  from  the  gardens  in  the  neighbour- 
hood, and  then  present  them  to  our  sweethearts. 
Oh,  those  were  happy  days ;  we  were  always  in 
love.'  Lord  Eldon's  '  first  flame '  was  a  Miss 
Allgood,  whom  he  calls  *  his  dear  Bell ' ;  Elizabeth 
Surtees,  the  all-conquering,  had  not  yet  appeared 
on  the  scene. 

The  incident  of  William  Scott  having  been  born 
(owing  to  the  rebellion  of  1745)  in  the  county 
of  Durham  influenced  the  whole  future  life  of 
both  brothers.  A  scholarship  at  Corpus  Christi 
College,  Oxford,  open  to  those  who  belonged  to 
the  Diocese  of  Durham,  became  vacant,  and  Mr. 
Scott,  knowing  his  son  William  was  unusually 
clever,  urged  him  to  try  for  it.  He  passed  the 
examination  with  great  credit,  but  a  slight  mistake 
put  his  election  in  danger.  He  said,  in  answer  to 
a  question  put  to  him,  that  his  father  was  a  fitter. 
Dr.  Randolph,  the  college  don,  who  had  not 
heard  quite  distinctly,  said  in  a  pompous  voice : 
*  I  think,  gentlemen,  there  can  be  no  doubt  that 
young  Scott  is  the  best  scholar  of  all ;  but  he  has 
told  us  that  his  father  is  a  fiddler,  and  I  do  not 
quite  like  to  take  the  son  of  a  fiddler  into  the 


Lord  Eldon  and   Elizabeth  Surtees    27 

college.'  The  word  '  fitter,'  though  familiar  in 
the  coal  districts  of  the  North  of  England,  was  not 
known  at  Oxford,  and  William  Scott  probably 
pronounced  it  with  a  strong  Northumbrian  burr, 
which  made  it  less  intelligible.  When  John  Scott 
was  between  fourteen  and  fifteen,  his  father  pro- 
posed making  him  a  fitter ;  but  fortunately  his 
brother  William  heard  of  it,  and  wrote  from 
Oxford  :  '  Send  Jack  up  to  me ;  I  can  do  better  for 
him  than  that.' 

So  on  May  15,  1766,  John  Scott  matriculated  as 
a  commoner  of  University  College.  He  then 
wanted  some  weeks  of  being  fifteen,  and  his 
brother  used  to  say,  '  I  was  quite  ashamed  of  his 
appearance,  he  looked  such  a  mere  boy.'  It  seems 
almost  incredible  to  hear  that  he  was  elected  to  a 
fellowship  at  University  College  the  next  year, 
July  II,  1767,  but  Mr.  Twiss  is  good  authority, 
and  he  says  :  '  This  fellowship,  which  John  Scott 
achieved  when  he  had  just  completed  his  sixteenth 
year,  was  the  foundation  of  Henry  Percy,  Earl  of 
Northumberland,  for  persons  born  in  the  Diocese 
of  Durham,  Carlisle,  or  York,  with  a  preference,  in 
case  of  equal  merit,  to  natives  of  the  county  of 
Northumberland.'  The  vacancy  occurred  from 
the  resignation  of  the  Rev.  John  Rotherham. 
John  Scott  now  seemed  destined  for  the  Church. 
His  next  college  achievement  was  to  win  a  £20 
prize  for  an  English  essay,  given  by  the  Earl  of 
Lichfield.  The  subject  was  *  On  the  Advantages 
and  Disadvantages  of  Foreign  Travel.'     The  prize 


28  Famous  Love  Matches 

was  gained  when  John  Scott  was  not  twenty  years 
old.  Great  was  the  joy  of  Mr.  Moises,  who  came 
into  the  school  with  the  prize  essay  in  his  hand, 
saying,  '  See  what  John  Scott  has  done  !' 

It  was  about  this  time,  too,  that  the  first 
mention  of  Miss  Surtees  occurs  in  a  letter  to  Mr. 
Reay,  written  in  September,  1771.  According  to 
Lord  Eldon's  own  account,  he  first  saw  the  young 
lady  at  the  church  of  Sedgefield,  in  the  county  of 
Durham.  She  was  staying  at  Sedgefield  with  her 
aunt,  who  lived  there,  and  though  both  she  and 
John  Scott  were  natives  of  Newcastle,  they  had 
never  met  before.  It  was  probably  a  case  of  love 
at  first  sight.  Elizabeth  Surtees  was  the  daughter 
of  a  wealthy  banker,  and  probably  in  a  higher 
social  position  than  John  Scott.  His  well-knit 
figure,  keen,  sparkling  eyes,  dark  eyebrows,  and 
regular  teaiures,  marked  him  out  as  peculiarly 
attractive.  The  acquaintance  developed  rapidly. 
In  his  letter  to  Mr.  Reay,  he  says,  speaking  of  a 
visit  which  the  Duke  of  Cumberland,  brother  to 
George  III.,  had  paid  to  Newcastle  :  *  The  ladies 
are,  as  we  supposed,  half  mad  about  the  Duke  of 
Cumberland.  Miss  Surtees  and  my  "  dear  Bell  " 
were  frightened  out  of  their  wits  when  he  danced 
with  them.' 

Lord  Eldon  said  that  at  the  Assembly  Rooms 
at  Newcastle  '  there  were  two  rooms,  and  a  stair- 
head between  them,  so  we  always  danced  down 
the  large  room,  across  the  stair-head,  and  into  the 
other  room.  .  .  .     That  was  very  convenient,  for 


Lord  Eldon  and  Elizabeth  Surtees     29 

the  small  room  was  a  snug  one  to  flirt  in.  We 
always  engaged  our  partners  for  the  next  ball, 
and  from  year  to  year.     We  were  very  constant.' 

It  is  easy  to  call  up  a  picture  of  the  slim,  slight 
girl,  with  her  powdered  hair  and  downcast  eyes, 
taking  the  arm  of  her  handsome  young  lover,  as 
she  *  went  up  the  sides  and  down  the  middle.'  To 
get  her  out  of  danger,  she  was  sent  to  London  on 
a  visit  to  her  uncle,  Mr.  Stephenson,  who  had  a 
house  in  Park  Lane.  During  this  visit,  Miss 
Surtees  was  much  noticed  by  the  Duchess  of 
Northumberland,  who  would  sometimes  take  her 
by  the  arm  at  Northumberland  House,  and 
present  her  as  '  my  Newcastle  beauty.' 

It  was  not  very  difficult  for  John  Scott  to  run  up 
to  London  from  Oxford  to  see  the  queen  of  his 
affections,  and  to  stroll  with  her  in  the  Park. 
After  one  of  these  visits,  he  wrote  to  Mr.  Reay: 
*  Sad  exchange  of  Ranelagh  for  the  High  Street, 
of  dominoes  for  gowns  and  caps,  of  a  stroll  in 
Hyde  Park  for  a  trot  up  the  hill  with  the  bursar.' 

The  letter  goes  on  to  say :  '  Both  Fisher  and  I 
enjoy  health  of  body,  though  strangers  to  peace 
of  mind,  and  wear  clean  shirts,  though  we  have 
not  a  guinea.  ...  I  was  about  to  begin  my  lamen- 
tations upon  the  invisibility  of  a  certain  fair  one, 
but  I  am  determined  to  check  this  inclination.' 

1  The  fair  one  '  was,  of  course,  Elizabeth  Surtees, 
whose  charms  had  attracted  many  suitors.  Sir 
Walter  Blackett,  popularly  known  as  the  King  of 
Newcastle,  then  seventy  years  of  age,  used  to  lend 


30  Famous  Love  Matches 

her  a  handsome  pony  and  accompany  her  on 
horseback.  She  only  looked  upon  him  as  a  kind 
old  man,  but,  all  the  same,  when  the  rich 
widower's  carriage  stopped  at  Mr.  Surtees'  house 
on  the  way  to  London,  great  speculation  and  much 
gossip  about  his  matrimonial  intentions  ensued. 
And  then  there  was  a  Mr.  Spearman,  who  had 
considerable  property  in  the  county  of  Durham ; 
he  used  to  be  seen  strutting  before  the  Surtees' 
door  in  a  black  coat  richly  embroidered  with  silver 
lace.  He  proposed  by  letter  to  the  fair  Elizabeth, 
and  was  promptly  refused.  So  was  another 
gentleman  of  large  property,  a  certain  Mr.  Ridley, 
who,  on  being  refused  by  the  elder  sister,  made  an 
offer  to  the  younger,  and  also  met  a  refusal. 
John  Scott,  who  had  stolen  interviews  with 
Elizabeth  Surtees  during  her  rides  on  the  Shields 
Road,  when  she  was  only  attended  by  a  man- 
servant, made  his  plans.  There  was  nothing  for 
it  but  an  elopement.  So,  on  the  night  of 
November  18,  1772,  this  '  silent,  reserved  young 
lady  '  descended  by  a  ladder  from  an  upper  storey 
of  her  father's  house  in  the  Sandhills.  Her  lover 
was  waiting  for  her  below — he  had  successfully 
eluded  the  vigilance  of  three  watchmen  stationed 
in  the  neighbourhood — and  off  went  the  happy 
pair !  They  were  sixty  miles  from  Newcastle 
before  their  flight  was  discovered.  Lord  Eldon's 
sister  Barbara  gives  a  graphic  account  of  how  it 
all  happened.  She  says :  '  The  night  that  Jack  ran 
away  to  Scotland  I  knew  nothing  about  it,  but 


Lord  Eldon  and  Elizabeth  Surtees    31 

Jenny  [a  younger  sister]  had  scarcely  got  into 
bed,  when  she  took  to  sobbing  and  crying  at  such 
a  rate  !  I  could  not  tell  what  was  the  matter.  At 
last  she  said  :  "  Oh,  Babby,  Jack  has  run  away  with 
Bessy  Surtees  to  Scotland  to  be  married  !  What 
will  my  father  say  ?" 

1  You  may  be  sure  there  was  no  sleep  for  us  that 
night.  I  was  not  over-pleased,  either,  that  Jack 
had  told  Jenny  and  not  told  me.  However,  he 
said  when  he  came  back  that  he  wanted  to  tell 
me,  but  could  not  find  an  opportunity.  We  talked 
and  cried  all  that  night.  We  went  down  to  break- 
fast all  trembling ;  but  we  had  bathed  our  eyes  in 
cold  water,  and  composed  ourselves  as  best  we 
could.  When  my  father  came  in,  there  was  a 
letter  from  Jack,  which  he  read  and  put  in  his 
pocket,  and  said  never  a  word  about  it.' 

Meanwhile  the  lovers  were  travelling  all  night, 
and  on  the  morning  of  November  19  they  reached 
the  village  of  Blackshiels,  close  to  Fala,the  last  post- 
ing-stage on  the  road  from  Newcastle  to  Edinburgh. 
At  Blackshiels  they  halted,  and  were  married  there 
by  a  minister  of  the  Scotch  Church.  The  certificate 
of  the  marriage  was  found  among  Lord  Eldon's 
papers  after  his  death,  and  is  as  follows  : 

1  John  Scott,  of  the  parish  of  All  Saints,  Newcastle-upon- 
Tyne,  Gent.,  and  Elizabeth  Surtees,  of  St.  Nicholas  Parish, 
in  the  same  town,  spinster,  were  married  at  Blackshiels, 
according  to  the  form  of  matrimony  prescribed  and  used 
by  the  Church  of  England,  on  the  19th  day  of  November, 
1772.  J.  Buchanan,  Minister.  In  presence  of  James  Fair- 
bairn,  Thomas  Fairbairn.' 


32  Famous  Love  Matches 

The  bride  had  only  completed  her  eighteenth 
year  on  the  23rd  of  the  preceding  month.  Her 
young  husband  wrote :  '  My  wife  is  a  perfect 
heroine,  and  has  behaved  with  a  courage  that 
astonished  me.' 

After  the  marriage  was  solemnized,  the  young 
couple  hastened  back  from  Scotland.  They 
reached  Morpeth  late  in  the  evening.  The  inn 
there,  the  Queen's  Head,  was  full,  and  they  only 
obtained  a  room  by  the  civility  of  the  landlord  and 
his  wife,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Nelson,  who  gave  up  their 
own  room.  They  stayed  at  the  Queen's  Head  for 
two  or  three  days,  waiting  for  an  answer  to  the 
letter  which  John  Scott  had  written  to  his  father. 
This  period  of  suspense  the  bride  described  as 
the  *  most  miserable  part  of  the  whole  business.' 
Their  funds  were  exhausted,  they  had  no  home  to 
go  to,  and  they  knew  not  what  their  friends  would 
say.  In  this  unpleasant  dilemma,  Mrs.  Scott 
suddenly  saw  from  the  window  of  the  inn  a  large 
wolf-dog,  called  Loup.  This  was  a  joyful  sight, 
for  she  felt  sure  that  a  friend  was  near,  and  in  a 
few  minutes  Henry  Scott  appeared,  bringing  with 
him  a  letter  of  forgiveness  from  his  father,  and  an 
invitation  for  the  young  bride  and  bridegroom  to 
Love  Lane,  which  they  gladly  accepted.  But  all 
was  not  smooth  sailing  even  now.  The  father  of 
the  bride  was  so  angry  that  for  some  time  he 
would  not  speak  to  Mr.  Scott  the  elder,  with 
whom  he  had  been  on  friendly  terms.  At  last, 
Mr.  Scott  went  up  to  him  in  the  Exchange,  and 


Lord  Eldon  and  Elizabeth  Surtees    33 

said :  '  Mr.  Surtees,  why  should  this  marriage  make 
you  so  cool  with  me  ?  I  was  as  little  wishful  for 
it  as  yourself;  but  since  what  is  done  cannot  be 
undone,  for  every  hundred  pounds  you  put  down 
for  your  daughter,  I  will  cover  it  with  another  for 
my  son.' 

*  You  are  too  forgiving,  Mr.  Scott — you  are 
too  forgiving,'  was  the  answer.  '  That  would  be 
rewarding  disobedience.' 

However,  a  bond  was  made  by  which  Mr. 
Surtees  agreed  to  pay  Mr.  John  Scott  £1,000  as 
the  portion  of  his  daughter,  and  Mr.  Scott  gave 
over  a  sum  of  £2,000  to  trustees  as  the  portion  of 
his  son. 

Every  one  predicted  certain  ruin  from  this 
hasty  marriage.  '  Jack  Scott  has  run  away  with 
Bessy  Surtees,'  mourned  Mr.  Moises, '  and  the  poor 
lad  is  undone!' 

By  his  marriage  he  lost  his  Fellowship,  and  all 
hope  of  preferment  in  the  Church  was  at  an  end. 
He  had  a  narrow  escape  of  becoming  a  grocer. 
A  rich  grocer,  who  had  no  children  of  his  own, 
called  on  the  elder  Mr.  Scott  and  proposed  taking 
his  son  John  into  partnership,  as  he  was  quite 
sure  Mr.  Surtees  would  never  forgive  his  daughter 
for  her  marriage.  Mr.  Scott  put  off  his  decision 
until  a  letter  should  come  from  William  Scott. 
The  end  of  the  matter  was  that  John  Scott  was 
fated  not  to  be  a  grocer,  but  was  entered  at  the 
Middle  Temple  as  a  barrister.  And  so  his  elope- 
ment led  the  way  to  fortune. 

3 


34  Famous  Love  Matches 

Two  months  after  their  return  from  Scotland 
the  marriage  ceremony  was  again  celebrated 
between  John  Scott  and  his  wife — this  time  by 
licence,  at  St.  Nicholas'  Church,  Newcastle,  in 
the  presence  of  Mr.  Surtees  and  Henry  Scott,  the 
bridegroom's  brother.  Immediately  afterwards 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  John  Scott  set  off  for  Oxford. 
Here  a  very  awkward  thing  happened,  which 
Lord  Eldon  told  himself  as  follows. 

1  Immediately  after  I  was  married,'  he  says,  '  I 
was  appointed  Deputy  Professor  of  Law  at  Oxford, 
and  the  Law  Professor  sent  me  the  first  lecture 
which  I  had  to  read  to  the  students,  and  which 
I  began  without  knowing  a  single  word  that  was 
in  it.  It  was  upon  the  statute  of  young  men 
running  away  with  maidens  !  Fancy  me  reading, 
with  about  one  hundred  and  forty  boys  and 
young  men  all  giggling  at  the  Professor.  Such 
a  tittering  audience  no  man  ever  had.' 

Among  the  visitors  whom  the  young  couple 
entertained  at  Oxford  was  Dr.  Johnson,  and  Mrs. 
Scott  had  the  honour  of  pouring  out  for  him,  in 
one  evening,  no  less  than  fifteen  cups  of  tea ! 
During  a  visit  which  the  Scotts  paid  at  Millend, 
Henley-on-Thames,  the  appearance  of  the  bride 
was  considered  to  be  quite  excuse  enough  for  Mr. 
Scott  running  away  with  her.  '  She  was  extremely 
beautiful,  and  so  young  as  to  give  the  impression 
of  childhood  ;  the  white  frock  and  sash  corre- 
sponded with  that  idea,  as  well  as  the  flowing 
ringlets  which  hung  around  her  shoulders.' 


Lord  Eldon  and  Elizabeth  Surtees    35 

When  the  young  couple  settled  down  at  Cursitor 
Street,  near  Chancery  Lane,  in  London,  John 
Scott  did  not  spare  himself.  He  said  that  a 
'lawyer  should  live  like  a  hermit  and  work  like 
a  horse,'  so  he  studied  all  night  with  a  wet  towel 
round  his  head.  And  it  was  in  these  days  he 
used  to  go  to  Fleet  Market  to  bring  home  six- 
pennyworth  of  sprats  for  supper.  He  had  a  son 
to  support  then,  born  in  1774.  The  year  when  he 
was  called  to  the  Bar,  Bessy  and  he  thought  their 
troubles  were  over,  and  he  made  a  bargain  with 
her  that  all  he  should  earn  in  the  first  eleven 
months  should  be  his,  and  whatever  he  should 
get  in  the  twelfth  month  should  be  hers.  *  In  the 
twelfth  month,'  he  says, '  I  received  half  a  guinea : 
eighteenpence  went  in  fees,  and  Bessy  got  eight 
shillings ;  in  the  other  eleven  months  I  got  not 
a  shilling !' 

His  first  success  was  made  in  the  case  of 
Ackroyd  v.  Smithson.  The  testator  had  directed 
that  his  real  estate  should  be  sold,  and  after 
paying  his  debts  and  other  expenses,  the  residue 
of  the  money  was  to  be  divided  into  fifteen  parts, 
which  he  gave  to  fifteen  persons  named  in  the 
will.  One  of  these  persons  died  in  the  testator's 
life-time. 

A  claim  was  made  by  the  next-of-kin  for  the 
lapsed  share,  and  this  claim  was  supported  by 
Scott.  Sir  Thomas  Sewell  decreed  against  his 
decision,  and  an  appeal  was  made  to  the  Lord 
Chancellor  (Thurlow),  who  took   three   days  for 

3—2 


36  Famous  Love  Matches 

consideration,  and  then  delivered  his  judgment, 
which  was  in  complete  accordance  with  that  of 
Scott. 

In  concluding  his  account  of  this  important 
case,  Lord  Eldon  says :  '  As  I  left  the  hall  a 
respectable  solicitor  came  up  to  me  and  touched 
me  on  the  shoulder.  "  Young  man,"  he  said, 
"  your  bread  and  butter  is  cut  for  life."  ' 

The  tide  had  indeed  turned.  Briefs  now 
poured  in  by  shoals.  A  few  years  later  Scott 
was  elected  M.P.  for  Weobly,  in  Hertfordshire ; 
in  1788  he  became  Solicitor-General,  and  was 
knighted ;  and  in  1793  he  became  Attorney- 
General.  In  1799  he  was  made  Chief  Justice 
of  Common  Pleas,  with  the  title  of  Baron  Eldon 
of  Eldon,  in  Scotland,  and  in  1801  he  received 
the  crowning  honour  of  being  appointed  Lord 
High  Chancellor  of  England.  He  held  this  office 
for  six  years,  and  after  a  short  interval  he  was 
appointed  Keeper  of  the  Great  Seal  for  the  second 
time,  and  remained  Lord  Chancellor  for  eighteen 
years — twenty-four  years  in  all. 

George  III.,  who  had  a  special  affection  for 
him,  told  his  Court  one  day  that  he  had  what  no 
previous  King  of  England  had  ever  had — namely, 
an  Archbishop  of  Canterbury  and  a  Lord  High 
Chancellor,  who  had  both  run  away  with  their 
wives !  When  Lord  Eldon  had  received  the 
Great  Seal  from  His  Majesty,  and  was  about  to 
retire,  he  was  addressed  by  the  King  as  follows : 
*  Give  my  remembrances  to  Lady  Eldon.'    The 


Lord  Eldon  and  Elizabeth  Surtees     37 

Chancellor  looked  surprised,  and  the  King  went 
on  to  say,  '  Yes,  yes ;  I  know  how  much  I  owe  to 
Lady  Eldon.  I  know  that  you  would  yourself 
have  been  a  country  curate,  and  that  it  is  she  who 
has  made  you  my  Lord  Chancellor.' 

Lady  Eldon  never  cared  to  go  much  into 
society,  and  when  some  of  the  family  complained 
about  this,  her  husband  replied  :  '  When  she  was 
young  and  beautiful  she  gave  up  everything  for 
me.  What  she  is  I  have  made  her,  and  I  cannot 
now  bring  myself  to  force  her  inclinations.  Our 
marriage  prevented  her  from  mixing  in  society 
when  it  gave  her  pleasure.  It  appears  to  give 
pain  now,  and  why  should  I  interpose  ?' 

Never  did  Lord  Eldon  (who  was  created  an 
Earl  in  1821)  lose  his  affection  for  his  wife;  it 
remained  firm  and  steadfast  to  the  end.  When 
he  was  absent  from  her,  he  wrote  to  her  in  the 
most  ardent  terms ;  he  called  her  '  My  ever 
dearest  and  most  beloved ';  '  Oh !  that  I  could  be 
with  you  for  ever  and  ever.  Your  own  Eldon.' 
Another  time  he  wrote  to  her,  '  My  ever-loved 
Eliza,'  and  '  My  ever  -  dear  Life.'  On  the 
thirty-ninth  anniversary  of  their  wedding-day — 
November  19,  1811  —  he  sent  her  some  lines 
written  by  himself,  which,  if  not  poetical,  are 
full  of  genuine  feeling : 

1  Can  it,  my  lovely  Bessy,  be, 

That  when  near  forty  years  are  past 
I  still  my  lovely  Bessy  see 
Dearer  and  dearer  at  the  last  ? 


38  Famous  Love  Matches 

1  Nor  time,  nor  years,  nor  age,  nor  care, 
Believe  me,  lovely  Bessy,  will — 
Much  as  his  frame  they  daily  wear — 
Affect  the  heart  that's  Bessy's  still. 

'  In  Scotland's  clime  I  gave  it  thee, — 

In  Scotland's  clime  I  thine  obtained  ; — 
Oh,  to  each  other  let  them  be 

True,  till  an  Heaven  we  have  gained.' 

The  loss  of  their  eldest  son  at  the  early  age  of 
thirty-one  was  a  great  grief  to  both  Lord  and 
Lady  Eldon,  but  they  had  three  other  children, 
and,  in  process  of  time  grand-children  grew  up 
around  them.  Lord  Eldon's  town  house  was 
6,  Bedford  Square.  Here  he  was  visited  one  day 
by  the  Prince  Regent.  His  Royal  Highness  arrived 
unescorted,  and  insisted  on  seeing  the  Lord  Chan- 
cellor. He  took  no  heed  of  the  butler's  assurance 
that  his  lordship  was  too  ill  to  receive  visitors. 
The  man  was  in  an  awkward  position :  either  he 
had  to  be  disrespectful  to  the  Prince  or  dis- 
obedient to  his  master. 

He  silently  pointed  to  the  staircase.  When 
the  Prince  ran  up  to  the  top  and  went  along 
the  corridor,  standing  before  each  successive 
door,  the  butler  shook  his  head  and  said  simply, 
'No.'  At  the  Chancellor's  door  the  butler  re- 
mained silent,  and  so  the  difficulty  was  satis- 
factorily solved. 

The  Prince's  object  in  this  visit  was  to  get  the 
Chancellor  to  appoint  his  friend  Jekyll  to  a  vacant 
Mastership  in  Chancery.     The  request  was  indig- 


Lord  Eldon  and  Elizabeth  Surtees     39 

nantly  refused,  whereupon  the  Prince  exclaimed, 
1  How  I  do  pity  Lady  Eldon  !  She  will  never  see 
you  again,  for  here  I  remain  until  you  promise 
to  make  Jekyll  a  Master  in  Chancery !'  The 
Chancellor  was  obliged  to  consent,  and  the 
Prince  went  away,  satisfied  at  the  result  of  his 
visit. 

In  the  endless  squabbles  between  the  Prince 
and  his  wife,  Caroline  of  Brunswick,  Lord  Eldon 
was  constantly  called  in  as  umpire.  The  Princess 
wrote  to  him  the  most  appealing  letters,  but  he 
managed  to  preserve  a  strictly  judicial  position, 
and  made  no  enemies.  George  III.  was  always 
his  firm  friend  and  admirer. 

In  1807  Lord  Eldon  bought  an  estate  at 
Encombe,  in  Dorsetshire,  and  here  he  and  his 
Bessy  passed  the  close  of  their  days.  His 
favourite  amusement  was  shooting,  though,  as  his 
brother,  Lord  Stowell,  told  him,  he  '  never  killed 
anything  but  time.'  Yet  still  he  went  on,  and  was 
constantly  out  with  his  gun  and  his  dogs.  Lady 
Eldon  died  at  Encombe,  after  a  long  illness,  on 
the  28th  June,  183 1.  Soon  after  her  death,  her 
husband  had  occasion  to  visit  his  estate  in  Dur- 
ham, but  he  could  not  summon  up  sufficient 
courage  to  cross  the  bridge  over  the  Tyne.  To 
a  friend  who  invited  him  to  visit  Newcastle,  he 
said,  '  I  know  my  fellow  townsmen  complain  of 
my  not  coming  to  see  them,  but  how  can  I  pass 
that  bridge?'  The  bridge  looked  upon  the  Sand- 
hill, the  site  of  the  house  where  Lady  Eldon  had 


40  Famous  Love  Matches 

lived  with  her  parents.  His  eyes  rilled  with  tears 
at  the  recollection,  and,  after  a  pause,  he  said, 
*  Poor  Bessy !  if  ever  there  was  an  angel  on 
earth,  she  was  one.'  After  referring  to  his  married 
life,  he  added :  '  The  only  reparation  which  one 
man  can  make  another  for  running  away  with 
his  daughter  is  to  be  exemplary  in  his  conduct 
towards  her.' 

Lord  Eldon  survived  his  wife  seven  years,  and 
is  buried  beside  her  in  the  graveyard  of  Kingston, 
near  Encombe. 


RICHARD  BRINSLEY  SHERIDAN  AND 
ELIZA  LINLEY 

'  Who  loves,  raves — 'tis  youth's  frenzy.' 

Byron  :  l  Childe  Harold: 

SOME  people  have  the  gift  of  a  magnetic 
personality.  We  may  not  approve  of  all 
they  do — sometimes  we  strongly  disap- 
prove— but,  all  the  same,  while  we  are  under  the 
spell  of  their  presence,  we  are  carried  away  by 
a  strange  fascination — a  mesmeric  power — the 
influence  of  which  we  are  powerless  to  explain. 
No  man  ever  possessed  this  gift  in  a  greater 
degree  than  Sheridan.  When  he  was  manager 
of  Drury  Lane  Theatre,  Mrs.  Siddons  refused  to 
act  any  more  unless  her  salary  was  paid,  and  she 
went  home  in  high  displeasure.  Sheridan  went 
to  see  her,  and  in  a  quarter  of  an  hour  she  was 
driving  back  to  the  theatre  with  him.  Bankers 
refused  to  advance  any  more  money.  Sheridan 
appeared,  and  after  half  an  hour's  conversation 
he  succeeded  in  getting  the  loans  he  wanted. 
But  never  was  the  magic  of  his  personality  more 
remarkably  shown  than  when,  as  a  lad  of  twenty, 
he  succeeded  in  carrying  off  the  beautiful  Eliza 
Linley,  the  belle  of  Bath,  from  all  her  admirers ; 

41 


42  Famous  Love  Matches 

and  not  only  this,  but  he  awakened  in  her  an 
ardent  and  passionate  love,  more  like  the  love  of 
Juliet  for  Romeo  than  anything  else.  This  can 
be  seen  by  her  own  letters. 

So  far  back  as  1014  a  certain  Ostar  O'Seridan 
married  a  daughter  of  O'Rourke,  Prince  of  Leitrim, 
and  from  this  purely  Celtic  stock  the  future  drama- 
tist was  descended  in  a  direct  line.  His  father, 
Thomas  Sheridan,  was  an  actor,  and  for  some 
time  stage  -  manager  of  the  Theatre  Royal  in 
Dublin.  He  married  Frances  Chamberlaine,  who 
wrote  a  successful  novel  called  '  Sidney  Biddulph,' 
and  a  play,  '  The  Discovery,'  which  was  acted  in 
London  with  much  applause.  Her  two  sons, 
Charles  Francis  and  Richard  Brinsley,  were  both 
born  in  Dublin.  The  birthplace  of  Richard  was 
12,  Dorset  Street.  Here,  on  October  30,  1751, 
the  man  who  was  to  'stand  at  the  head  of  all 
comedy  since  Shakespeare'  first  saw  the  light. 
He  was  no  juvenile  prodigy.  His  mother  says,  in 
a  letter  to  the  tutor  of  her  two  boys  :  '  I  have 
hitherto  been  their  only  instructor,  and  they 
have  sufficiently  exercised  my  patience,  for  two 
such  impenetrable  dunces  I  never  met  with.' 
Sheridan  was  eleven  years  old  when  his  father 
decided  to  leave  Dublin  for  London.  Thomas 
Sheridan  had  many  pupils  for  elocution,  and 
hoped  to  get  many  more.  He  had  not  been 
long  in  London  when  he  foind  that  debts  were 
accumulating  and  creditors  were  troublesome. 
His  wife's  second  comedy,  '  The  Dupe,'  did  not 


Sheridan  and  Eliza  Linley  43 

succeed  as  the  first  had  done.  So,  leaving  his 
two  sons  at  Harrow  to  be  educated,  he  and  the 
rest  of  the  family  went  to  Blois,  in  France, 
and  here  Mrs.  Sheridan  died  in  1766.  She  was 
said  by  Dr.  Parr  to  have  been  'quite  celestial.' 
It  is  certain  that  it  was  from  her  that  her  son 
Richard  inherited  his  literary  gifts  and  his  genius 
for  comedy.  At  Harrow  the  future  dramatist 
made  no  mark ;  he  distinguished  himself  neither 
by  Latin  nor  English  composition.  His  charm  of 
manner,  however,  made  him  a  favourite.  Dr.  Parr 
says  '  that  all  boys  and  all  masters  were  pleased 
with  him.' 

When  the  rest  of  the  family  returned  from 
France,  after  Mrs.  Sheridan's  death,  his  sister, 
Alicia,  was  delighted  with  Richard,  who  was  then 
seventeen.  She  thus  records  her  impressions  of 
her  fascinating  brother :  '  He  was  handsome,  not 
only  in  the  eyes  of  a  partial  sister,  but  generally 
allowed  to  be  so.  His  cheeks  had  the  glow  of 
health,  his  eyes — the  finest  in  the  world — the 
brilliancy  of  genius,  and  were  soft  as  a  tender 
and  affectionate  heart  could  render  them.  The 
same  playful  fancy,  the  same  sterling  and  in- 
noxious wit  that  was  shown  afterwards  in  his 
writings,  cheered  and  delighted  the  family  circle. 
I  admired,  I  almost  adored  him  !' 

The  Sheridan  family  settled  at  Bath,  then 
the  centre  of  fashionable  life.  At  that  time 
people  could  not  fly  away  to  the  Riviera,  to  Wies- 
baden, or  to  Carlsbad  at  a  moment's  notice ;  they 


44  Famous  Love  Matches 

were  obliged  to  go  to  Bath.  And  so  heavily 
laden  post-chaises  lumbered  up  every  day  from 
the  country,  bringing  gouty  or  rheumatic  squires, 
their  wives,  and  their  pretty  daughters,  to  drink 
the  waters  and  to  taste  the  delights  of  the  balls 
at  the  Assembly  Rooms,  at  which  Beau  Nash,  the 
King  of  Bath,  held  undisputed  sway.  Duchesses 
wrangled  over  the  card-tables,  and  talked  scandal 
with  the  beaux.  What  Bath  was  in  the 
eighteenth  century  has  been  described  by  Smol- 
lett in  *  Humphry  Clinker,'  as  well  as  by  Miss 
Burney,  who  calls  it  a  'city  of  palaces,  a  town 
of  hills,  and  a  hill  of  towns.'  While  the  elder 
Sheridan  employed  himself  in  giving  lectures  and 
lessons  in  elocution,  assisted  by  his  son  Charles, 
Richard  sauntered  up  Milsom  Street  and  lounged 
about  the  Pump  Room,  picking  up  ideas  which 
he  afterwards  utilized  in  '  The  Rivals.'  Here  was 
Sir  Anthony  Absolute,  bewailing  the  evils  of  the 
circulating  library,  '  an  evergreen  tree  of  diabolical 
knowledge ';  here  was  Mrs.  Malaprop,  "with  her 
'  nice  derangement  of  epitaphs ';  and  here  was 
Lydia  Languish,  with  her  pretty  head  full  of 
sentiment.  Here,  too,  was  Sir  Lucius  O'Trigger, 
and  here  was  Bob  Acres,  who,  at  the  very  name  of 
'  pistols  for  two,'  felt  his  courage  oozing  out  of  the 
palms  of  his  hands.  While  Sheridan  was  taking 
notes  of  the  various  oddities  and  celebrities  who 
were  passing  before  him,  one  fair  face,  one  grace- 
ful form,  made  his  heart  beat  quicker.  In  Eliza 
Linley  he  beheld  the  love  of  his  life.     The  Linleys 


Sheridan  and  Eliza  Linley         45 

had  known  the  Sheridans  in  London  ;  some  say 
that  Mr.  Linley,  who  was  a  very  successful  teacher, 
had  given  Sheridan's  mother  lessons  in  music. 
The  acquaintance  was  now  resumed,  and  between 
Alicia  Sheridan,  the  eldest  daughter,  and  Eliza 
Linley,  who  was  a  little  over  sixteen,  a  school- 
girl friendship  soon  sprang  up.  But  the  *  Fair 
Maid  of  Bath,'  as  Eliza  was  called,  was  no 
mere  schoolgirl.  Under  her  father's  instruction 
she  had  blossomed  out  into  a  famous  singer  at 
oratorios,  and  was  often  engaged  to  sing  at  Oxford, 
where  she  turned  the  heads  of  all  the  under- 
graduates, including  a  young  man  of  the  name  of 
Halhed,  a  great  friend  of  the  two  Sheridans,  and 
also  a  poet  in  a  small  way.  The  house  of  the 
Linley  family  was  aptly  called  by  Dr.  Burney 
'A  Nest  of  Nightingales,'  for  another  sister  and 
a  brother  were  also  singers. 

The  concerts  at  Bath  were  among  the  character- 
istic features  of  the  place. 

1  There  were  quartettos  and  overtures  by  gentle- 
men performers,'  said  Miss  Burney,  'whose  names 
and  faces  I  never  knew :  such  was  the  never- 
ceasing  battling  and  noise  of  the  card-tables  that 
a  general  humming  of  musical  sounds  and  then  a 
twang  was  all  I  heard.' 

The  concerts  in  the  great  Assembly  Room  were 
of  a  very  high  character,  and  Miss  Linley,  '  the 
loveliest  maid  that  ever  sung,  as  Venus  fair,  as 
Hebe  young,'  was  the  star  singer.  Some  years 
afterwards,  when  she  sang  before  the  King  and 


46  Famous  Love  Matches 

Queen   at    Buckingham   Palace,   the    King    told 
Linley  that  never  in  his  life  had  he  heard  so  fine 
a  voice  as  his  daughter's,  or  one  so  well  instructed. 
Miss    Linley's   charming    singing   completed   the 
spell  which  she  cast  around  every  young  man  who 
came  in  her  way.     And  not  only  young  men,  but 
old  ones,  for  a  certain  Mr.  Long,  '  an  old  gentle- 
man of  considerable  fortune,'  had  settled  on  her  a 
sum  of  £3,000.     And  one  of  her  father's  visitors, 
Captain    Mathews,   a   married   man,   very  much 
older  than  she  was,  was  continually  following  her 
about,  and  had  opened  a  correspondence  with  her. 
Sheridan's  friend  and  school  companion,  Halhed, 
was  wild  about  her ;  so  also  was  Charles  Sheridan, 
and  so  in  a  much  greater  degree  was  Richard. 
She  owns  that,  of  the  two  brothers,  she  '  preferred 
the   youngest.'     As   she   was   his   sister's   bosom 
friend,  there  were  frequent  opportunities  of  meet- 
ing, and  no  doubt  his  brilliant  eyes  told  their  tale 
of  love.     A  grotto  in  Sydney  Gardens  was   the 
favourite  spot  where  he  used  to  meet  the  lovely 
girl  for  whom  so  many  were  sighing  in  vain.     He 
addressed  some  lines  to  this  grotto,  which  he  left 
for   her  when  she  parted  from  him  one  day  in 
anger.     After  celebrating  !  the  moss-covered  grotto 
of  stone,'  he  goes  on  to  say  : 

1  This  is  the  grotto  where  Delia  reclined, 

As  late  I,  in  secret,  her  confidence  sought  ; 
And  this  is  the  tree  kept  her  safe  from  the  wind, 
As,  blushing,  she  heard  the  grave  lesson  I  taught. 


Sheridan  and  Eliza  Linley  47 

1  Then,  tell  me,  thou  grotto  of  moss-covered  stone, 
And  tell  me,  thou  willow,  with  leaves  dripping  dew, 
Did  Delia  seem  vexed  when  Horatio  was  gone, 
And  did  she  confess  her  resentment  to  you  ? 
'  Methinks  now  each  bough,  as  you're  waving  it,  tries 
To  whisper  a  cause  for  the  sorrow  I  feel, 
To  hint  how  she  frowned  when  I  dared  to  advise, 
And  sigh'd  when  she  saw  that  I  did  it  with  zeal. 
1  True,  true,  silly  leaves — so  she  did,  I  allow  : 

She  frowned  ;  but  no  rage  in  her  looks  did  I  see ; 
She  frowned  ;  but  reflection  had  clouded  her  brow  ; 
She  sigh'd  ;  but  perhaps  'twas  in  pity  for  me. 

*  *  ■*  *  * 

'  For  well  did  she  know  that  my  heart  meant  no  wrong — 
It  sank  at  the  thought  of  but  giving  her  pain  ; 
But  trusted  its  task  to  a  faltering  tongue, 

Which  err'd  from  the  feelings  it  could  not  explain. 

*  *  *  *  * 
'  And,  oh  !  if  indeed  I've  offended  the  maid, 

If  Delia  my  humble  monition  refuse, 
Sweet  willow,  the  next  time  she  visits  thy  shade, 

Fan  gently  her  bosom,  and  plead  my  excuse. 
•  And  thou,  stony  grot,  in  thy  arch  may'st  preserve 

Two  lingering  drops  of  the  night-fallen  dew, 
And  just  let  them  fall  at  her  feet,  and  they'll  serve 

As  tears  of  my  sorrow  entrusted  to  you.' 

*  *  *  *  « 

Very  graceful  and  very  fanciful  are  these  verses, 
and  yet  with  a  certain  amount  of  genuine  feeling, 
for  Sheridan  was  honestly  and  completely  in  love 
with  the  beautiful  maid  of  Bath.  He  wormed 
himself  into  the  confidence  of  Captain  Mathews 
and  discovered  his  villainous  designs.  To  reveal 
to  Eliza  Linley  what  these  designs  were  Sheridan 


48  Famous  Love  Matches 

showed  her  a  letter  from  Captain  Mathews,  saying 
that  he  meant  to  carry  her  off  by  force.  She 
fainted  the  moment  she  read  *  the  horrid  letter,' 
and  now  the  two  young  lovers  put  their  heads 
togeuier  and  resolved  on  a  plan.  They  would  fly 
together  to  France,  and  Eliza  should  take  refuge 
in  a  convent  until  the  danger  should  be  past. 
Sheridan's  sister,  Alicia,  would  recommend  her  to 
the  care  of  the  nuns  of  St.  Quentin.  No  sooner 
planned  than  done.  Dick  Sheridan  handed  the  fair 
and  agitated  Eliza  into  a  sedan  chair,  and  that  night 
they  posted  off  in  a  chaise  to  London.  It  was  all 
beautifully  arranged  like  the  scene  in  a  play. 

Sheridan  had  engaged  the  wife  of  one  of  his 
servants  to  go  with  Eliza  as  a  maid  or  chaperon. 
Rather  embarrassing  for  the  chaperon,  but  grati- 
fying to  the  heroine  as  a  proof  of  her  lover's 
consideration. 

The  three  crossed  the  Channel  next  day,  and 
landed  at  Dunkirk.  A  marriage  ceremony  was 
gone  through  at  a  village  near  Calais,  and 
immediately  afterwards  the  lovers  separated. 

All  was  confusion  at  Bath.  Charles  Sheridan, 
who  had  been  refused  by  Miss  Linley,  could  hardly 
believe  that  his  successful  rival  was  his  own 
younger  brother,  a  lad  of  twenty.  Captain 
Mathews  wrote  indignantly  to  the  Bath  Chronicle, 
plainly  stating  that  he  considered  '  Mr.  Richard 
S not  deserving  of  the  treatment  of  a  gentle- 
man, and  that  he  would  post  him  up  as  a  liar  and 
a  scoundrel.'     Linley  started  off  in  pursuit  of  his 


Sheridan  and  Eliza  Linley  49 

daughter,  and  succeeded  in  finding  her  at  Lisle,  in 
the  house  of  an  English  doctor,  who  had  brought 
her  there  from  the  convent,  to  be  under  his  wife's 
care,  as  she  was  ill  and  suffering. 

Richard  Sheridan,  on  his  return  to  Bath,  found 
the  place  rather  too  hot  to  hold  him.  He  had  to 
face  his  brother's  wrath,  and  to  give  an  answer  to 
Mathews'  insulting  statements  in  the  paper.  In 
those  days  there  was  only  one  way  of  refuting 
such  a  charge,  by  a  challenge  to  a  duel.  The  two 
brothers  disappeared  one  morning ;  they  had  gone 
off  in  a  post-chaise  to  London.  Mathews  was  found, 
the  challenge  to  fight  was  given,  and  the  duel  with 
swords  took  place  at  the  Castle  Tavern,  Henrietta 
Street,  by  the  flickering  light  of  two  candles. 
Mathews'  sword  was  broken,  and  at  last,  with 
much  ill  grace,  he  gave  the  necessary  apology. 

The  brothers  returned  to  Bath,  much  fatigued, 
not  having  been  in  bed  from  Saturday  night  till 
Tuesday  morning.  But  Mathews,  who  had  had 
to  undergo  some  ridicule  about  his  broken  sword, 
challenged  his  young  antagonist  again,  this  time 
choosing  pistols.  The  pistols  were  not  used,  how- 
ever, and  the  duel  ended  in  a  scuffle,  Sheridan 
being  very  seriously  wounded  in  the  face  and  neck. 
Miss  Linley,  who  was  the  cause  of  both  duels,  had 
been  brought  back  from  France  by  her  father,  and 
was  singing  at  Oxford  when  the  news  reached  her. 
On  hearing  that  Richard  had  been  seriously 
wounded,  and  that  his  life  was  in  some  danger, 
Moore    says,    she    betrayed    her    secret    by    an 

4 


50  Famous  Love  Matches 

incautious    exclamation.     But  this    exclamation 
was  set  down  to  excitement,  and  the  secret  re- 
mained undetected  for  some  time  longer.     It  was 
a  strange  position  for  both  :    Richard  Sheridan, 
though  really  married  to  his  true  love,  was  not 
able  to  claim  her.     He  owed  £20  to  a  certain  Mr. 
Ewart ;  he  had  no  profession,  no  expectations,  and, 
to  make  matters  worse,  he  was  badly  wounded 
from  his  duel  with  Mathews.     Eliza  Linley  was 
in  many  respects  better  off;  she  was  rising  every 
day  in  her  profession  as  a  singer,  and  could  easily 
make  large  sums  by  it.     But  her  gentle  heart  often 
went  out  to   her  young  husband,  as   her   letters 
to  him  prove.      Here  is  one  of  them,  given  by 
Mr.  Fraser  Rae  in  his  interesting  Life  of  Sheridan  : 
1  Eleven  o'clock.     Though  I  parted  from  you  so 
lately,  and  though  I  expect  to  see  you  again  so 
soon,  I  cannot  keep  my  fingers  from  the  pen,  but 
must  be  plaguing  you  with  my  scrawl.     Oh,  my 
dearest  love  !  I  cannot  be  happy  but  when  I  am 
with  you.     I  cannot  speak  or  write  of  anything 
else.     When  shall  we  have  another  happy  half- 
hour  ?     I  declare  I  have  not  felt  real  joy  since  I 
came  from  France  before  this  evening.     Perhaps 
now,  while  I  am  writing,  you  are  flirting  with 

Miss  W ,  or  some  other  handsome  girl.     I  do 

not  believe  any  such  thing,  but  give  me  leave  to 
doubt,  that  I  may  with  greater  pleasure  be  con- 
vinced to  the  contrary.  No,  my  life  and  soul,  I 
love  you  to  such  a  degree  that  I  should  never 
bear  to  see  you,  even  in  joke,  show  particular 


Sheridan  and  Eliza  Linley  51 

attention  to  another.  When  shall  I  hear  from 
you  ?  Let  me  see — what  more  have  I  to  say  ? 
Nothing  but  the  same  dull  story  over  and  over 
again,  that  I  love  you  to  distraction,  and  that  I 
would  prefer  you  and  beggary  before  any  other 
man  with  a  throne.  Indeed,  my  dearest  love,  I 
am  never  happy  except  I  am  with  you,  or  writing 
to  you.     God  bless  you,  my  dear,  dear  love !' 

Not  alone  in  prose,  but  in  verse,  did  the  Maid 
of  Bath  reveal  her  feelings  to  her  lover-husband, 
who  was  '  so  near,  and  yet  so  far.'  In  some  verses 
of  hers,  called  '  Eliza's  Choice,'  she  says : 

'  The  sweets  of  solitude  to  share 

With  the  dear  youth  I  love 
Shall  be  my  only  joy  and  care  ; 

No  more  I  wish  to  prove. 
With  him  to  wander  o'er  the  mead, 

Which  Spring  hath  newly  drest, 
And  praise  the  Power  which  thus  decreed 

We  should  be  truly  blest. 

1  Should  sorrow  e'er  oppress  his  heart, 

And  cloud  his  brow  serene, 
Though  Nature  all  her  sweets  impart 

To  deck  the  beauteous  scene, 
I'll  lead  him  from  the  noonday  heat 

Within  some  leafy  bow'r, 
Then  soothe  his  soul  with  concord  sweet, 

Or  music's  soothing  power.' 

Sheridan,  on  his  part,  was  not  slow  to  respond. 
Some  very  touching  lines  of  his  were  probably 
composed  at  this  time  of  enforced  separation,  and 
are  worth  giving  here. 

4—2 


52  Famous  Love  Matches 

'  Dry  be  that  tear,  my  gentlest  love, 
Be  hush'd  that  struggling  sigh  ; 
Nor  seasons,  day,  nor  fate  shall  prove 

More  fix'd,  more  true  than  I. 
Hush'd  be  that  sigh,  be  dry  that  tear, 
Cease,  boding  doubt ;  cease,  anxious  fear, 
Dry  be  that  tear  ! 

'  Ask'st  thou  how  long  my  love  will  stay, 
When  all  that's  new  is  past  ? 
How  long,  ah,  Delia,  can  I  say, 

How  long  my  life  will  last  ? 
Dry  be  that  tear,  be  hush'd  that  sigh ; 
At  least,  I'll  love  thee  till  I  die. 
Hush'd  be  that  sigh  ! 

'  And  does  that  thought  affect  thee,  too — 

The  thought  of  Sylvio's  death  ? 
That  he,  who  only  breath'd  for  you, 

Must  yield  his  faithful  breath  ? 
Hush'd  be  that  sigh,  be  dry  that  tear, 
Nor  let  us  lose  our  Heaven  here. 
Dry  be  that  tear  !' 

After  recovering  from  his  wounds,  Sheridan  was 
sent  to  Waltham  Abbey  to  study  mathematics, 
and  to  prepare  for  entering  the  Middle  Temple  as 
a  barrister.  He  also  tried  his  wings  as  a  drama- 
tist, and  wrote  a  dramatic  sketch  called  *  The 
Foresters.'  His  name  was  duly  entered  at  the 
Middle  Temple  in  the  spring  of  1773,  and  about 
the  same  time  Eliza  Linley  came  to  London  to 
sing  at  some  oratorios  there.  Some  little  difference 
had  arisen  between  her  and  Sheridan,  chiefly 
caused  by  jealousy.     It  was  announced  that  she 


Sheridan  and  Eliza  Linley         53 

was  engaged  to  be  married  to  Sir  Thomas  Clarges, 
who  had  long  admired  her.  Such  a  match  would 
certainly  have  been  favoured  by  her  father.  But 
this  slight  cloud  passed  away  by  degrees.  Moore 
tells  us  that  Sheridan  used  to  disguise  himself  as 
a  hackney  coachman  in  order  to  drive  Miss 
Linley  home  from  her  various  performances,  and 
thus  have  a  glimpse  of,  or,  perhaps,  a  private  word 
with  her.  She  was  now  in  her  nineteenth  year, 
as  she  was  born  in  1754,  and  was  three  years 
younger  than  Sheridan.  Her  charms  were  in 
their  full  bloom,  and  she  is  described  by  the 
Bishop  of  Norwich  as  *  the  connecting  -  link 
between  a  woman  and  an  angel'  Another 
admirer  says  that  '  to  look  at  her  when  she  was 
singing  was  like  looking  at  the  face  of  a  seraph.' 
Garrick  always  alluded  to  her  as  '  the  saint,'  and 
a  friend  of  Rogers,  the  poet,  said :  '  Miss  Linley 
had  a  voice  like  that  of  the  cherub  choir.  She 
took  my  little  daughter  on  her  lap,  and  sang  a 
number  of  childish  songs  with  so  much  playful- 
ness of  manner  and  such  a  sweetness  of  look  and 
voice  as  was  quite  enchanting.'  John  Wilkes, 
the  Liberator,  spoke  of  her  as  *  the  most  modest, 
pleasing,  and  delicate  flower  he  had  seen  for  a 
long  time.'  She  was  painted  by  Sir  Joshua 
Reynolds  as  St.  Cecilia,  the  patron  saint  of  music, 
and  Macaulay  alludes  to  this  in  his  '  Essay  on 
Warren  Hastings,'  when  he  says :  *  There,  too,  was 
she,  the  beautiful  mother  of  a  beautiful  race — the 
St.  Cecilia,  whose  delicate  features,  lighted  up  by 


54  Famous  Love  Matches 

love  and  music,  art  has  rescued  from  the  common 
decay.' 

Another  marriage,  this  time  a  public  one,  took 
place  in  April,  1773,  between  Sheridan  and  Eliza 
Linley,  and  so  this  romance  in  real  life  ended  in 
the  good  old  way.  Sheridan's  father,  however, 
never  forgave  him,  and  the  Linleys  could  hardly 
have  relished  the  loss  of  the  principal  bread- 
winner of  the  family,  who  could  make  £2,000  in 
a  few  weeks  by  her  singing.  Sheridan  stood 
firm  on  one  point :  he  was  resolved  that  once 
his  *  Betsey,'  as  he  called  her,  was  his  wife,  she 
should  never  appear  in  public.  He  insisted  on 
her  declining  the  most  tempting  offers  to  do  so, 
much  to  the  disgust  of  her  father.  The  honey- 
moon was  spent  at  East  Burnham  in  a  quiet 
cottage,  and  the  young  bridegroom  of  twenty- 
two  allowed  that  he  was  perfectly  happy.  Poor, 
he  and  his  Betsey  certainly  were ;  she  had  her 
little  fortune  of  £3,000,  and  he  had  his  brains, 
though  he  little  guessed  at  that  time  what  he 
could  make  by  them.  He  had  commenced  his 
first  comedy  of '  The  Rivals,'  but  it  took  him  two 
years  to  work  it  out  to  his  own  satisfaction.  In 
the  winter  of  1774  the  Sheridans  took  a  house 
in  London,  at  Orchard  Street,  Portman  Square, 
which  was  furnished  in  the  most  costly  style,  for 
Sheridan  never  did  things  by  halves,  and  was 
absolutely  reckless  about  money.  Professor 
Smyth  says  that  in  his  later  years  he  propped 
up  a  rattling  window  with  a  roll  of  bank-notes, 


Sheridan  and  Eliza  Linley  55 

and  then  forgot  all  about  them.  His  dinners 
were  now  on  the  most  expensive  scale  ;  people  of 
the  highest  rank,  attracted  by  Mrs.  Sheridan's 
music  and  by  her  husband's  wit,  thronged  the 
reception  -  rooms.  The  beautiful  Duchess  of 
Devonshire,  the  observed  of  all  observers,  was 
sometimes  amongst  the  guests.  Sheridan  re- 
marked with  some  satisfaction  that  a  'comedy 
of  his  was  in  rehearsal  at  Covent  Garden,'  and 
on  January  17,  1775,  'The  Rivals'  was  acted  for 
the  first  time.  Owing  to  the  bad  acting  of 
Mr.  Lee  as  Sir  Lucius  O'Trigger,  it  was  voted 
a  failure.  Ten  days  afterwards,  when  another 
actor,  Mr.  Clinch,  took  the  part,  the  tables  were 
turned,  and  it  proved  a  triumphant  success.  The 
Linleys  were  full  of  delight.  '  Now,'  wrote  Miss 
Linley  from  Bath,  '  there  can  be  no  doubt  of  its 
success !'  No  doubt  indeed.  '  The  Rivals '  has 
become  a  classic.  Who  is  not  familiar  with 
Mrs.  Malaprop  and  Bob  Acres  ?  Rich  in  humour, 
overflowing  with  fun,  it  is  a  comedy  that  never 
tires.  And  it  was  written  before  the  author  was 
twenty-four ! 

The  birth  of  a  son  in  the  spring  of  the  same 
year  crowned  Sheridan's  hopes.  This  son,  Tom, 
was  the  idol  of  his  father,  who  was  uneasy  if  he 
was  long  out  of  his  sight.  In  November,  1775, 
1  The  Duenna '  was  brought  out,  and  immediately 
became  a  favourite  with  the  public.  Sheridan 
was  now  on  the  crest  of  a  huge  wave  of  success, 
and  it  was  no  wonder  that  he  was  carried  away  by 


56  Famous  Love  Matches 

it.  He  became  more  and  more  extravagant, 
unpunctual,  and  improvident.  No  matter  how 
much  money  be  gained,  he  was  always  in  debt  and 
in  difficulties. 

'  Poor  Dick  and  I,'  wrote  Mrs.  Sheridan  to  a 
friend,  '  have  always  been  struggling  against  the 
stream,  and  shall  probably  continue  doing  so  till 
the  end  of  our  lives;  yet  we  would  not  change 

sentiments  and  sensations  with  ,  for  all  his 

estates.' 

On  May  18,  1777,  *  The  School  for  Scandal ' 
was  first  presented,  and  put  the  finishing  touch  on 
Sheridan's  reputation  as  a  dramatist.  But  Mrs. 
Sheridan's  culminating  moment  of  pride  in  her 
1  Dick '  came,  when  he  made  his  celebrated  indict- 
ment against  Warren  Hastings  in  the  House  of 
Commons,  an  oration  unsurpassed  in  the  annals 
of  history.  Fox  said  of  it :  *  All  that  he  had  ever 
heard,  all  that  he  had  ever  read,  when  compared 
with  it,  dwindled  into  nothing,  and  vanished  like 
vapour  before  the  sun.' 

This  result  had  not  been  arrived  at  without 
causing  much  labour  to  Mrs.  Sheridan.  Moore 
says :  '  There  was  a  large  pamphlet  consisting  of 
more  than  a  hundred  pages,  copied  out  mostly  in 
her  writing.  All  the  family  were  busily  employed, 
some  with  pen  and  scissors  making  extracts,  some 
stitching  scattered  memorandums  in  their  places, 
so  that  there  was  scarcely  one,  even  of  the 
servants,  who  had  not  had  some  share  in  the 
speech.     When  the  triumph  came,  Mrs.  Sheridan 


Sheridan  and  Eliza  Linley  57 

wrote  to  her  sister-in-law :  '  I  have  delayed 
writing  till  I  could  gratify  myself  and  you  by 
sending  you  the  news  of  our  dear  Dick's  triumph 
— of  our  triumph,  I  may  call  it — for  surely  no  one 
in  the  slightest  degree  connected  with  him  but 
must  feel  proud  and  happy.  It  is  impossible,  my 
dear  woman,  to  convey  to  you  the  delight,  the 
astonishment,  the  adoration  he  has  excited  in  the 
breasts  of  every  class  of  people.  Every  party 
prejudice  has  been  overcome  by  a  display  of 
genius,  eloquence,  and  goodness  which  no  one 
with  anything  like  a  heart  about  them  could  have 
listened  to  without  being  the  wiser  and  better  all 
their  lives.  What  my  feelings  must  be,  you  only 
can  imagine.  To  tell  you  the  truth,  it  is  with 
some  difficulty  that  I  can  let  down  my  mind,  as 
Mr.  Burke  said  afterwards,  to  talk  or  think  on  any 
other  subject.  But  pleasure  too  exquisite  becomes 
pain,  and  I  am  at  this  moment  suffering  from  the 
anxieties  of  last  week.' 

This  is  the  feeling  of  a  true  wife,  who  adopts  the 
interests  of  her  husband,  and  makes  his  joys  and 
sorrows  her  own. 

Socially,  as  well  as  politically,  Sheridan  was  then 
at  the  top  of  the  tree. 

In  1788  Mrs.  Sheridan's  voice  was  declared  by 
one  who  heard  her  sing  as  perfect  as  ever,  *  with 
that  peculiar  tone  that  is  hardly  to  be  equalled  in 
the  world,  as  every  one  is  struck  by  it  in  the  same 
way.'  Fox  is  reported  to  have  said  '  that  an  even- 
ing at  Sheridan's  was  worth  waiting  for.' 


58  Famous  Love  Matches 

Mrs.  Sheridan's  health  gradually  declined.  She 
was  taken  to  Bristol  to  try  the  hot  wells  there. 
Sheridan  watched  over  her  with  the  greatest  de- 
votion. He  was  at  her  bedside  day  and  night,  and 
never  left  her  one  moment  that  could  be  avoided. 

'  He  cannot  bear  to  think  her  in  danger,  or  that 
anyone  else  should,'  wrote  a  friend.  '  It  is  im- 
possible for  any  man  to  behave  with  greater 
tenderness.'  When  she  died,  in  1792,  at  the  age 
of  thirty-eight,  Sheridan  was  distracted.  Michael 
Kelly  wrote :  '  I  never  beheld  more  poignant  grief 
than  Mr.  Sheridan  felt  for  the  loss  of  his  beloved 
wife;  and  although  the  world,  which  only  knew 
him  as  a  public  man,  will,  perhaps,  scarcely  credit 
the  fact,  I  have  seen  him,  night  after  night,  sit  and 
cry  like  a  child  while  I  sang  to  him,  at  his  own 
desire,  a  pathetic  little  song  of  my  own  com- 
position : 

1  They  bore  her  to  a  grassy  grave.' 

Sheridan  certainly  married  a  second  time,  but 
his  love  for  Esther  Ogle  was  quite  different  from 
the  adoration  which  he  poured  out  so  lavishly  on 
his  '  Betsey.'  Their  love  match  may  be  set  down 
— taking  Sheridan's  peculiar  temperament  into 
consideration — as,  on  the  whole,  a  happy  one. 
It  was,  no  doubt,  a  powerful  factor  in  bringing 
out  all  that  was  best  in  him  and  developing  his 
genius.  With  his  first  wife's  death,  his  prosperity, 
his  triumphant  success,  came  to  an  end,  and  the 
sad  period  of  decadence  set  in. 


Photo  by 


T.  F.  Geoghegati. 
LORD   EDWARD   FITZGERALD. 

From  the  Portrait  in  the  Dublin  National  Portrait  Gallery. 


LORD  EDWARD  FITZGERALD  AND 
PAMELA 

'  Her  eyes  as  stars  of  Twilight  fair, 
Like  Twilight's,  too,  her  dusky  hair  ; 
But  all  things  else  about  her  drawn 
From  May-time  and  the  cheerful  Dawn. 
A  dancing  Shape,  an  Image  gay, 
To  haunt,  to  startle,  and  way-lay.' 

Wordsworth. 

NEVER  was  the  saying  that  truth  is  stronger 
than  fiction  better  verified  than  in  the 
romantic  story  of  Pamela.  What  her 
real  origin  was  must  always  remain  wrapped 
in  mystery.  The  discussion  about  her  origin  has 
aroused  as  much  controversy  as  the  authorship 
of  the  *  Letters  to  Junius  '  once  did.  And  nothing 
is  absolutely  proved.  Miss  Ida  Taylor,  in  her 
'  Life  of  Lord  Edward  Fitzgerald,'  eagerly  espouses 
the  '  Nancy  Sims '  theory.  Mr.  Gerald  Campbell, 
one  of  Pamela's  descendants,  in  his  most  interesting 
biography,  seems  to  favour  the  Orleans  parentage. 
Cert/  nly,  the  miniatures  he  gives  of  Madame  de 
Gem  J  and  Pamela  bear  a  startling  resemblance 
to  ea:h  other.  The  profiles,  the  turn  of  the 
features,  are  exactly  alike.  It  was  no  wonder  that 
Horace  Walpole  said :    (  Madame  de  Genlis  had 

59 


60  Famous  Love  Matches 

educated  Pamela  to  be  very  like  her  in  the  face.' 
It  is  certain  that  no  dependence  whatever  can  be 
put  on  Madame  de  Genlis'  word.  She  was  a 
Tartuffe  in  petticoats.  Miss  Edgeworth,  who  was 
remarkably  clear  -  sighted  in  reading  character, 
said  of  her  after  she  had  met  her  in  Paris,  when 
Madame  de  Genlis  was  an  elderly  woman  :  '  There 
was  something  of  malignity  in  her  countenance 
and  conversation  that  repelled  love,  and  of 
hypocrisy  which  annihilated  esteem ;  and  from 
time  to  time  I  saw,  or  thought  I  saw,  through  the 
gloom  of  her  countenance,  a  gleam  of  coquetry.' 
A  contemporary  epigram  ran  thus : 

1  La  Genlis  se  consume  en  efforts  superflus, 
La  vertu  n'en  veut  pas  :  le  vice  n'en  veut  plus.' 

One  thing  may  be  said — that  Pamela,  in  look  and 
bearing,  was  a  thorough  aristocrat.  *  Bon  sang  ne 
peut  mentir  '  is  true  in  many  senses.  There  was 
no  trace  of  plebeian  birth  about  her,  and  this 
certainly  favours  the  usually  accepted  theory  that 
she  was  the  daughter  of  Madame  de  Genlis  and 
the  Duke  of  Orleans.  Madame  de  Genlis  was  in 
high  favour  with  the  Duke ;  she  was  an  attractive 
young  woman  under  thirty,  married  to  a  man 
much  older  than  herself.  Deceitful,  ambitious, 
and  extremely  clever,  she  gained  the  mastery  of 
those  with  whom  she  was  thrown.  She  had  a 
positive  genius  for  educating  young  people,  and 
was  appointed  governess  to  the  Duke's  children. 
She  kept  up  a  mimic  Court  in  her  suite  of  apart- 


Lord  Edward  Fitzgerald  and  Pamela    61 

merits  in  the  Palais  Royal ;  she  gave  audiences, 
balls,  concerts,  dramatic  performances,  and  is  said 
to   have   usurped   the   position   of   the   Duchess. 
Yet,  along  with  her  cleverness  and  her  ambition, 
Madame  la  Comtesse  was  extremely  sly.     No  one 
knew  better  than  she  how  to  tell  a  lie,  and  to 
stick  to  it.     She  says  in  her  memoirs :  '  I  have  no 
pretension  to  the  power  of  foreseeing,  but  I  have 
to  that  of  inventing.'     It  would  never  have  done 
for  her  to   have   openly  revealed  why  she   took 
a    secret   journey   to    Spa    in    1776,   where    she 
remained  for  five  months  under  the  pretence  of 
drinking  the   mineral  waters  there.      This  visit 
might,  if  the  truth  had  been   told,  have   satis- 
factorily accounted  for  the  birth  of  the  little  girl 
who  was   known   as   Pamela.      But   Madame  la 
Comtesse  liked  to  pose  as  a  model  of  virtue,  and 
wrote  pages  about  the  duties  of  governesses  and 
their  charges. 

The  first  we  hear  of  Pamela  is  that  when  it 
was  considered  necessary  to  have  a  little  English 
girl  to  be  taught  along  with  the  young  Princess 
and  her  brothers,  the  Duke  wrote  to  London  to 
a  Mr.  Forth  to  send  him  a  pretty  little  English 
girl  of  five  or  six  years  of  age.  He  also  wished  to 
procure  an  English  horse  of  a  particular  breed. 
Mr.  Forth  wrote  back  in  the  course  of  a  month : 
*  I  have  the  honour  to  send  Your  Most  Serene 
Highness  the  handsomest  mare  and  the  prettiest 
little  girl  in  England.' 

Madame  de  Genlis  set  her  wits  to  work  to  find 


62  Famous  Love  Matches 

an  origin  for  the  child.  The  lies  she  told  were 
amazing,  and  most  of  them  have  been  proved  to 
be  utterly  false.  The  first  theory  was  as  follows : 
Pamela  was  the  daughter  of  a  gentleman  of  good 
family,  named  Seymour,  who  married  against  the 
consent  of  his  family  a  person  of  the  lowest  con- 
dition, called  Mary  Sims.  He  took  her  to  Fogo, 
in  Newfoundland,  and  there  Pamela  was  born, 
and  received  the  name  of  Nancy.  Her  father 
died,  and  her  mother  returned  to  England  when 
Pamela  was  eighteen  months  old.  As  her  husband 
had  been  disinherited,  she  was  in  a  most  destitute 
condition,  when  Mr.  Forth  passed  through  Christ 
Church,  in  Hampshire,  and  came  upon  the  very 
child  he  was  in  search  of  for  the  Duke  of  Orleans 
(then  Duke  de  Chartres). 

*  When  I  began  to  be  really  attached  to  Pamela,' 
said  this  Queen  of  liars  in  her  memoirs,  '  I  was 
very  uneasy  lest  her  mother  might  be  desirous  of 
claiming  her  by  legal  process  to  obtain  grants  of 
money  which  I  could  not  give.  I  consulted  several 
English  lawyers,  and  they  told  me  that  the  only 
means  of  protecting  myself  from  this  persecution 
was  to  get  the  mother  to  give  me  her  daughter  as 
an  apprentice  for  the  sum  of  twenty-five  guineas. 
She  agreed,  and  appeared  in  the  Court  of  King's 
Bench  before  Chief  Justice  Mansfield.  She  then 
signed  an  agreement  by  which  she  gave  me  her 
daughter  as  an  apprentice  till  she  became  of 
age.  ...  To  this  paper  Lord  Mansfield  put  his 
seal  as  Lord  Chief  Justice  of  the  King's  Bench.' 


Lord  Edward  Fitzgerald  and  Pamela    63 

Needless  to  say,  there  never  was  any  such 
declaration  sworn  before  Lord  Mansfield,  and 
such  a  course  would  have  been  quite  impossible. 

Some  years  afterwards  Madame  de  Genlis  started 
a  new  theory — that  Pamela  was  the  daughter  of  a 
French  sailor,  named  Guillaume  de  Brixey,  and 
this  name  is  given  in  Pamela's  marriage  contract, 
while  her  mother  is  still  Mary  Sims.  Supposing 
that  this  latter  theory  were  correct,  it  is  certainly 
surprising  that  no  relations  either  on  the  father's 
or  mother's  side  ever  turned  up,  and  we  must 
dismiss  these  ingenious  fictions  about  Pamela's 
origin  as  not  worthy  of  credit.  It  does  not  make 
them  more  credible  that  there  was  a  Guillaume  de 
Brixey  at  Fogo,  as  in  the  first  story  the  name  was 
Seymour.  Pamela  herself  said  that  she  perfectly 
remembered  being  brought  from  England  to 
France  and  taken  by  a  small  private  side-door 
to  the  Palais  Royal  by  a  confidential  servant. 
The  Duke  received  her,  and  embraced  her  several 
times.  He  then  carried  her  in  his  arms  through 
a  dark  passage  to  the  apartments  of  Madame  de 
Genlis,  and  said,  as  he  entered :  '  Voila  votre  petit 
bijou'  (Here  is  your  little  treasure).  It  may  be 
said  that  before  the  ■  finding  of  Pamela '  Madame 
de  Genlis  thought  it  necessary  to  pay  a  visit  to 
England,  and  left  her  pupils  for  six  weeks.  When 
she  returned,  the  confidential  servant  produced  his 
'  find.'  All  now  went  well.  The  little  stranger 
had  a  remarkable  likeness  to  the  young  Princess 
Adelaide    and    her    brothers;    she   shared   their 


64  Famous  Love  Matches 

amusements  and  their  studies,  and  enjoyed  the 
same  care  and  affection  as  they  did.  Madame 
de  Genlis  had  written  a  great  many  short  dramatic 
pieces  for  her  pupils,  which  may  be  found  in  her 
well-known  book  *  Le  Theatre  d'Education.'  Her 
object  was  to  teach  her  pupils  by  making  them 
act,  and,  of  course,  Pamela  was  given  a  leading 
part. 

Madame  de  Genlis  describes  her  as  follows : 
1  There  was  one  performance  (a  pantomime)  so 
remarkable  that  I  cannot  pass  it  over  in  silence. 
It  was  that  of  Psyche  persecuted  by  Venus. 
Madame  de  Lawoestein,*  then  fifteen  years  old, 
represented  Venus,  her  sister  Psyche,  and  Pamela 
Love.  There  were  never  three  persons  together 
who  united  so  much  beauty  and  grace.  Pamela  was 
extremely  handsome ;  candour  and  sensibility  were 
the  chief  traits  in  her  character;  she  never  told 
a  falsehood,  or  employed  the  slightest  deceit 
during  the  whole  course  of  her  education.  She 
was  spirituelle  from  sentiment;  her  conversation 
was  always  agreeable,  and  emanated  from  the 
heart.  This  charming  child  was  the  most  idle 
I  ever  knew ;  she  had  no  memory ;  she  was  very 
wild,  which  even  added  to  the  grace  of  her  figure, 
as  it  gave  her  an  air  of  vivacity awhich,  joined  to 
her  natural  indolence  and  to  a  great  [deal  of  wit, 
made  her  very  engaging.  Her  figure  was  fine  and 
light ;  she  ran  like  Atalanta.     Her  mind  was  idle 

*  Elder  daughter  of  Madame  de  Genlis,  married  to  the 
Marquis  of  Lawoestein. 


Lord  Edward  Fitzgerald  and  Pamela   65 

to  the  greatest  degree — thus  was  she  in  after-life 
a  person  the  least  capable  of  reflection.' 

Though  Madame  de  Genlis  was  undoubtedly 
an  excellent  teacher — she  boasted  that  she  could 
earn  her  own  bread  in  fourteen  different  ways — 
she  seems  to  have  trained  Pamela  principally  to 
make  herself  attractive. 

Madame  de  la  Rochejaquelin  gives  the  following 
account  of  how,  when  a  child,  she  was  taken  by 
her  grandmother  to  see  the  young  Princes  and 
their  sister  Adelaide  at  the  Louvre.  Some  new 
paintings  had  been  bought,  and  the  great  doors 
were  flung  open.     She  says  : 

'  Madame  de  Genlis  was  attired  in  a  very  simple 
style — in  a  dark  dress.  I  rather  think  the  hood 
of  her  cloak  was  drawn  over  her  head.  She 
appeared  to  me  thin,  and  of  a  dark  complexion ; 
her  expression  was  exquisite.  She  looked  so 
sweet,  so  amiable,  so  seductive.  The  young 
Princes  had  a  very  singular  appearance,  being 
all  dressed  like  English  children ;  their  hair  fell  in 
ringlets  over  their  shoulders,  without  powder.  .  .  . 
My  grandmother  saw  at  Madame  de  Genlis'  side 
a  beautiful  girl  about  seven  years  old,  and  she 
said,  "  You  have  only  two  daughters ;  who,  then, 
is  this  beautiful  creature  ?"  "  Oh,"  replied 
Madame  in  a  low  voice,  "it  is  a  very  touching 
and  interesting  story,  which  I  cannot  tell  you  at 
present."  Then  she  added:  "You  have  as  yet 
seen  nothing;  you  must  now  judge  of  that  por- 
trait."   Then,  raising  her  voice,  she  said:  "  Pamela, 

5 


66  Famous  Love  Matches 

act  Heloise!"  Immediately  Pamela  took  out  her 
comb,  and  her  fine  hair,  without  powder,  fell  in 
disorder  on  her  shoulders.  She  threw  herself  on 
her  knees,  raised  her  eyes  to  heaven,  and  her 
whole  figure  expressed  an  ecstasy  of  passion. 
Pamela  continued  in  this  attitude,  while  Madame 
de  Genlis  appeared  enchanted,  made  signs  and 
remarks  to  my  grandmother,  who  paid  her  compli- 
ments upon  the  form  and  grace  of  her  young  pupil.' 
There  is  a  painting  at  Versailles  called  '  La 
Lecon  de  la  Harpe,'  which  represents  Made- 
moiselle d' Orleans  taking  a  lesson  on  the  harp 
from  Madame  de  Genlis,  while  Pamela  turns  over 
the  leaves.  A  graceful,  girlish  figure,  with  an 
abundance  of  dark  curling  hair,  she  stands  before 
us  a  vision  of  loveliness.  Her  lustrous  brown- 
green  eyes  shine  with  vivacity  and  joy.  The  fury 
of  the  French  Revolution,  then  beginning  to  gather 
in  full  force,  made  little  impression  on  Pamela's 
butterfly  nature.  She  was  not  made  of  the  same 
stuff  as  Madame  Roland  or  Charlotte  Corday. 
Madame  de  Genlis  had  her  Sunday  gatherings 
at  Belle  Chasse,  where  she  and  her  pupils  now 
lived,  and  Barrere,  Petion,  and  others  were  among 
the  guests. 

Pamela  was  in  her  fifteenth  year  when  the  Duke 
of  Orleans  gave  instructions  to  his  man  of  business 
to  settle  the  sum  of  1,500  livres  on  her.  The 
notary  objected  that  the  orphan  had  no  guardian, 
so  it  was  given  to  Pamela  herself  to  choose  one. 
She  chose  Barrere,  one  of  the  most  noted  Revolu- 


Lord  Edward  Fitzgerald  and  Pamela    67 

tionary  leaders,  and  the  deed  was  duly  signed. 
During  the  progress  of  the  Revolution  Madame 
de  Genlis,  her  niece,  Henrietta  de  Sercy,  Pamela, 
and  the  Comte  de  Beaujolais  went  to  pay  a  visit 
to  a  country  house,  six  leagues  from  Paris.  They 
had  to  pass  through  a  village — it  was  market-day 
— and  crowds  of  people  were  assembled  from  the 
surrounding  country.  *  As  we  went  through  the 
village,'  says  Madame  de  Genlis,  '  the  people 
crowded  round  our  carriage,  imagining  that  I  was 
the  Queen,  accompanied  by  her  daughter  and  the 
Dauphin.  They  arrested  us,  and  forced  us  to 
leave  our  carriage,  which  they  seized,  as  well  as 
the  coachman  and  attendants.  The  commandant 
of  the  National  Guard,  Monsieur  Baudry,  came  to 
our  assistance,  and  brought  us  to  his  house,  which 
was  quite  close,  undertaking  to  keep  us  prisoners. 
Through  an  immense  crowd  we  were  let  into  his 
house,  and  during  the  short  passage  to  it  we 
heard  furious  cries,  "  A  la  lanterne !"  We  were 
not  in  the  house  a  quarter  of  an  hour  when 
4,000  people  besieged  the  doors,  burst  them  open, 
and  rushed  into  the  house  with  a  terrible  tumult. 
We  were  in  the  garden,  and  when  I  heard  the 
noise  approaching  nearer  and  nearer,  I  told  my 
pupils  to  begin  playing  "  puss  in  the  corner  "  with 
me.  Instantly  a  frightful  crowd  of  men  and 
women  rushed  into  the  garden.  They  were 
much  surprised  to  see  us  playing  this  game.  We 
stopped  and  went  to  meet  them  quite  calmly.  I 
told  them  that  I   was  the  wife  of  one  of  their 

5~2 


68  Famous  Love  Matches 

deputies,  and  that  I  would  write  a  letter  to  Paris 
if  they  would  send  it  by  a  courier.  They  listened, 
but  some  said  it  was  all  lies  I  told.  Finally  they 
agreed,  but  till  five  o'clock  the  following  morning 
the  tumult  raged,  and  drunkenness  lent  new  horrors 
to  it.' 

Warned  by  such  a  scene  as  this,  Madame  de 
Genlis,  with  Mademoiselle  d'Orleans  and  Pamela, 
took  flight  to  England,  and  sought  refuge  in 
a  quiet  retreat  at  Bury  St.  Edmunds.  Here 
Sheridan  first  saw  Pamela.  His  first  wife  was 
then  fatally  ill,  and  Lord  Edward  Fitzgerald  used 
constantly  to  go  to  sit  with  her  and  cheer  her 
with  his  presence.  He  was  at  this  time  twenty- 
nine,  and  is  thus  described  as  being  '  five  feet 
seven  inches  in  height,  a  very  fine,  elegantly 
formed  man,  with  an  interesting  countenance, 
beautiful  arched  eyebrows,  handsome  nose  and 
high  forehead,  thick,  dark-coloured  hair,  brown 
or  inclining  to  black,  as  playful  and  humble  as 
a  child,  as  mild  and  timid  as  a  lady,  and  when 
necessary,  as  brave  as  a  lion.'  He  had  been 
through  the  American  War  on  the  side  of  King 
George,  had  engaged  two  of  the  enemy's  irregular 
horse  single-handed ;  and  another  time,  at  Etnaw 
Spring,  he  forgot  his  own  wound,  and  took  charge 
of  an  injured  enemy.  The  free  life  of  the  back- 
woods was  congenial  to  him,  and  he  had  actually 
been  made  a  chief  of  the  Bear  tribe.  His  love- 
affairs  commenced  early.  He  began  by  falling  in 
love  with  *  pretty  Kate,'  Lady  Catherine  Meade, 


Lord  Edward  Fitzgerald  and  Pamela    69 

a  daughter  of  Lord  Clanwilliam,  but  his  next 
inamorato  was  Miss  Georgina  Lennox,  of  whom 
he  wrote  to  his  mother,  the  Dowager  Duchess  of 
Leinster :  '  I  can  never  love  anybody  as  I  do  her ; 
it  is  not  possible  to  be  happy  with  anyone  else,' 
and  so  on  in  the  usual  lover's  raptures.  The 
father  of  '  G.,'  however,  absolutely  forbade  a 
marriage  with  the  younger  son  of  a  duke  who 
had  only  £800  a  year  to  support  a  wife.  Still, 
Lord  Edward  remained  constant  to  '  G.'  While 
encamped  out  in  the  backwoods,  with  no  com- 
panions but  two  Indians,  he  thought  only  of  her, 
and  planned  a  future  spent  with  her  out  of  the 
madding  crowd  in  the  calm  seclusion  of  the 
pathless  forests.  But  when  he  came  home  to 
London  he  found  that  a  dinner-party  was  going 
on  at  the  house  of  a  mutual  friend,  and  this  dinner 
was  in  honour  of  a  newly  made  bride,  his  own 
faithless  love,  the  '  G.'  of  his  day-dreams  !  It  was 
a  cruel  blow,  and  changed  the  whole  course  of 
his  life.  He  found  some  consolation  in  the 
companionship  of  Mrs.  Sheridan.  One  day 
Sheridan  broke  in  with  an  enthusiastic  descrip- 
tion of  'the  beautiful  French  girl'  he  had  just 
seen  who  strongly  reminded  him  of  what  his  own 
wife  had  been  when  she  was  the  toast  of  Bath, 
the  lovely  Eliza  Linley.  Mrs.  Sheridan  listened 
with  a  pathetic  smile,  and,  turning  to  Lord 
Edward  Fitzgerald,  said :  '  I  should  like  you, 
when  I  am  dead,  to  marry  that  girl.'*  But  Lord 
*  Moore's  '  Life  of  Sheridan/  vol.  ii.,  p.  189. 


jo  Famous  Love  Matches 

Edward  had  a  horror  of  learned  ladies,  and  the 
idea  of  coming  in  contact  with  the  renowned 
Madame  de  Genlis  made  him  avoid  meeting 
Pamela.  Sheridan,  however,  had  no  such  objec- 
tions, and  when  the  three  ladies  were  on  their 
way  back  to  France  he  contrived  to  bribe  the 
coachman,  so  that  he  lost  his  way  between 
London  and  Dover,  and  the  whole  party  were 
detained  at  Sheridan's  house  at  Richmond  for 
a  month.  Mrs.  Sheridan  had  died  the  previous 
June,  and  Sheridan,  according  to  Madame  de 
Genlis,  was  '  passionately  in  love  with  Pamela,' 
and  made  her  an  offer  of  marriage.  Madame  de 
Genlis  adds  it  was  settled  that  he  was  to  marry 
her  on  the  return  of  the  party  from  France* 

Lord  Edward  was  then  at  Paris,  bitten  by  the 
prevailing  mania  for  revolutions.  He  was  lodging 
with  Tom  Paine,  and  had  been  present  at  a 
banquet,  and  had  drunk  a  toast  to  the  speedy 
abolition  of  hereditary  titles  and  feudal  distinc- 
tions. For  this  he  had  been  dismissed  from  the 
English  army.  Happening  to  go  to  the  opera,  he 
saw  a  face  in  one  of  the  boxes  which  strongly 
reminded  him  of  Mrs.  Sheridan.  It  was  the  face 
of  his  future  wife — of  the  bewitching  Pamela, 
whom  he  had  often  refused  to  meet.  And  now, 
for  the  third  time,  this  susceptible  son  of  the 
Geraldines  was  in  love,  and  with  him  love  was  as 
absorbing  as  a  battle,  and  he  carried  everything 
before  him.  His  wooing  was  not  long  in  the 
doing.     He  met  Pamela  at  the  end  of  November, 


Lord  Edward  Fitzgerald  and  Pamela   71 

1792,  and  during  the  first  days  of  December  the 
whole  party,  Madame  Sillery  (as  Madame  de 
Genlis  now  called  herself)  and  her  pupils, 
migrated  to  Tournay,  where  three  weeks  later 
the  marriage  took  place.  Pamela  is  described  in 
the  marriage  contract  as  *  Citoyenne  Anne 
Caroline  Stephanie  Sims,  connue  en  France 
sous  le  nomme  de  Pamela,  native  de  Fogo,  dans 
l'lle  de  Terreneuve,  fille  de  Guillaume  de  Brixey 
et  de  Mary  Sims.'  But  in  the  Irish  newspapers 
of  that  date  the  announcement  was  very  different. 
It  was  as  follows :  '  The  Right  Honorable  Lord 
Edward  Fitzgerald  to  Madame  Pamela  Capet, 
daughter  of  His  Royal  Highness  the  Duke  of 
Orleans.' 

Pamela  was  just  nineteen,  and  her  husband  ten 
years  older.  He  had  written  to  his  mother  to 
ask  for  her  consent,  but,  like  a  true  Irishman,  he 
had  been  too  much  in  love  to  wait  for  her  reply. 
On  January  2  the  bridal  pair  reached  London, 
and  Lord  Edward  wrote  to  his  mother : 

■  My  dearest  Mother, 

1  Thank  you  a  thousand  times  for  your 
letter.  You  never  obliged  me  so  much,  or  made 
me  so  happy.  I  cannot  tell  you  how  strongly  my 
little  wife  feels  it.  .  .  .  You  must  love  her ;  she 
wants  to  be  loved.' 

After  a  three  weeks'  visit  to  the  Dowager 
Duchess  of  Leinster,  Lord  Edward  and  his  bride 


J2  Famous  Love  Matches 

went  to  Dublin,  and  their  arrival  was  chronicled 
in  an  Irish  newspaper  of  January  26,  1793,  in  the 
following  terms : 

1  Yesterday  afternoon  arrived  the  Princess  Royal, 
Captain  Browne,  from  Park  Gate,  with  the  Right 
Hon.  Lord  Edward  Fitzgerald,  his  lady  and  suite, 
and  several  other  persons  of  quality.' 

Lord  Edward  had  hurried  back  to  Dublin  in 
order  to  take  his  seat  in  the  Irish  House  of 
Commons  as  Member  for  Kildare.  Contrary  to 
the  traditions  of  his  house,  he  was  against  the 
Government.  As  for  Pamela,  she  was  soon 
plunged  in  a  vortex  of  gaiety.  Every  one  was 
curious  to  see  her,  and  she  missed  none  of  the 
balls  which  were  given  in  her  honour.  Like 
a  true  Frenchwoman,  she  was  a  good  dancer. 

'  Dancing  is  a  great  passion  with  her,'  wrote 
her  husband  to  his  mother.  '  I  wish  you  could 
see  her  dance ;  you  would  be  delighted  with  her ; 
she  dances  with  all  her  heart  and  soul.  Every- 
body seems  to  like  her,  and  to  behave  civilly  and 
kindly  to  her.  There  was  a  kind  of  something 
about  visiting  Lady  Leitrim,  but  it  is  all  over 
now.  Pamela  likes  her  very  much.  My  differing 
with  the  people  I  am  obliged  to  live  with  does  not 
add  much  to  the  agreeableness  of  Dublin  society. 
But  I  have  followed  my  dear  mother's  advice,  and 
do  not  talk  much  on  the  subject.  I  keep  very 
quiet,  and  do  not  go  out  much  except  to  see  my 
wife  dance — in  short,  keep  my  breath  to  cool  my 
porridge.' 


Lord  Edward  Fitzgerald  and  Pamela    73 

Lord  Edward  kept  a  stud  of  horses  when  he 

first    arrived   from    England,   and  was   the  first 

person    who    drove    a    curricle.       Mrs.    Anstice 

O'Byrne,  whose   recollections   are   given   by  Mr. 

W.  J.  Fitzpatrick,  remembered  having  seen  Lord 

Edward^  seated  in  his  curricle  driving  at  a  dashing 

pace  through  College  Green,  and  up  Dame  Street 

on  the  way  to  the  Castle.     The  beautiful  Pamela 

was  sitting  beside  him.     That  she  was  beautiful 

was  all   that    Mrs.  O'Byrne  mentioned,  but  she 

graphically  described  Lord  Edward  as  a  smart, 

light,  dapper-looking  man,  with  boyish  features, 

which  beamed  with  delight  at  the  cheers  of  the 

people  and  the  admiration  created  by  the  beauty 

of  Pamela.      Moore,  when   a   College  boy,  met 

Lord  Edward  in  Grafton  Street,  and  was  struck 

by  his  peculiar   dress   (probably  the   large   green 

tabinet  kerchief    tied  round  his  neck  in  a  large 

bow),  by  the  elastic  lightness  of  his  step,  his  fresh, 

healthful  complexion,  and  the  soft  expression  given 

to  his  eyes  by  their  long,  black  eye-lashes. 

Lord  Edward  never  cared  for  town  life,  and  in 
the  month  of  May  he  and  Pamela  settled  at 
Frescati,  a  villa  at  Blackrock,  which  belonged  to 
his  mother.  What  a  charming  peep  is  given  of  it 
in  the  following  letter : 

'  Wife  and  I  are  come  to  settle  here.  We  came 
last  night,  got  up  on  a  beautiful  spring  day,  and 
are  now  enjoying  the  little  book-room,  with  the 
windows  open,  hearing  the  birds  sing,  and  every- 


74  Famous  Love  Matches 

thing  looking  beautiful.  Pamela  has  dressed  four 
beautiful  flower-pots,  and  is  now  working  at  her 
frame  while  I  write  to  my  dearest  mother.  Upon 
the  two  little  stands  there  are  six  pots  of  auriculas, 
and  I  am  sitting  in  the  bow  window  with  all  those 
pleasant  feelings  which  the  fine  weather,  the  pretty 
place,  the  singing  birds,  the  pretty  wife,  and  Fres- 
cati  give.  .  .  .  The  letter  was  interrupted  by  my 
dear  wife  being  taken  ill ;  she  is  now  much  better, 
and  is  going  on  as  well  as  possible.  .  .  .  Not  to 
be  far  from  her,  I  am  amusing  myself  dressing  the 
little  beds  about  the  house,  and  have  had  the  lawn 
mowed  and  rolled ;  the  little  mound  of  earth 
before  the  house  I  have  planted  with  gentianellas 
and  primroses  and  lily  of  the  valley,  and  they 
look  beautiful,  peeping  out  of  the  dark  evergreens. 
I  mean  to  keep  all  as  neat  as  possible  while  I  am 
here.  .  .  .  The  dear,  little,  pale,  pretty  wife  sends 
her  love.' 

How  little  did  the  writer  of  this  letter  then 
foresee  the  stormy  scenes  that  awaited  him,  the 
garments  rolled  in  blood,  and  the  death  in  a 
gloomy  prison !  As  yet,  however,  the  clouds, 
though  lowering,  had  not  broken  in  storm  and 
tempest.  He  reduced  his  expenses,  and  took 
a  little  lodge  in  the  County  Kildare  with  the 
faithful  Tony,  a  black  servant,  who  had  saved  his 
life  in  America  and  acted  as  his  major-domo.  He 
had  a  horror  of  Leinster  House. 

'What   a  melancholy  house  it  is!'   he  writes. 


Lord  Edward  Fitzgerald  and  Pamela   75 

A  poor  country  housemaid  I  brought  with  me 
cried  for  two  days,  and  said  she  thought  she  was 
in  prison.  Pam  and  I  amuse  ourselves  by  walk- 
ing  about   the   streets,  which,  I   believe,  shocks 

poor a  little.     Pam  is  going  on  as  well  as 

possible — strong,  healthy,  and  in  good  spirits. 
She  never  thinks  of  what  is  to  come,  or  if  she 
does,  it  is  with  good  courage.  Seeing  her  thus 
makes  me  so.' 

There  is  a  mention  of  the  ■  little  young  plant ' 
that  is  coming,  and  in  October  it  came. 

*  It  is  a  dear  little  thing,'  wrote  the  happy 
father,  'and  very  pretty,  though  at  first  it  was 
quite  the  contrary.  Nothing  is  so  delightful  as 
to  see  it  in  its  dear  mother's  arms,  with  her 
sweet,  pale,  delicate  face,  and  the  pretty  looks 
she  gives  it.' 

And  then  '  Pam  and  the  baby '  are  sent  to 
Kildare,  and  Lord  Edward  writes :  '  Pam  gets 
strong,  and  the  little  fellow  fat  and  rosy.  I 
think,'  he  adds,  'when  I  am  down  at  Kildare 
with  Pam  and  the  child  of  a  blustery  evening, 
with  a  good  turf  fire  and  a  pleasant  book,  coming 
in  after  seeing  my  poultry  put  up,  my  garden 
settled,  flower-beds  and  plants  covered  up  for  fear 
of  frost,  I  shall  be  as  happy  as  possible.' 

Alas  !  this  was  the  last  gleam  of  brightness. 
Events  thickened  rapidly.  It  was  not  until  the 
year  1796  that  Lord  Edward  finally  threw  in  his 
lot  with  the  United  Irishmen.  He  was  chosen  as 
the  agent   who  was  to  treat  with  the    French 


y6  Famous  Love  Matches 

Directory,  and,  accompanied  by  Pamela  and  his 
friend  Arthur  O'Connor,  he  set  out  for  Hamburg. 
Pamela,  being  near  her  second  confinement,  was 
left  at  Hamburg,  where  Madame  de  Genlis  came 
to  see  her.  On  account  of  her  intimate  connexion 
with  France,  Pamela  was  wrongly  supposed  to 
share  her  husband's  political  opinions,  She  told 
Madame  de  Genlis  that  she  had  made  it  a  law  never 
to  ask  him  any  questions  on  the  subject — firstly, 
because  she  knew  that  she  had  no  power  to  make 
him  change,  and,  secondly,  because,  if  things  turned 
out  badly,  she  could  take  a  Bible  oath  that  she  was 
perfectly  ignorant  of  his  intentions.  Her  daughter, 
Pamela  (afterwards  Lady  Campbell,  the  ancestress 
of  Mr.  George  Wyndham,  M.P.),  was  born  at 
Hamburg,  and  soon  afterwards  the  little  party 
returned  to  Ireland. 

On  March  12,  1798,  the  arrests  at  Bond's  were 
made,  and  in  the  same  month  Leinster  House 
was  searched  for  Lord  Edward  by  a  party  of 
soldiers.     Pamela  said : 

'  There  is  no  help.     Send  them  up.' 

Her  grief  moved  Major  O' Kelly  to  tears.  He 
returned  and  said : 

*  Madam,  we  wish  to  tell  you  that  our  search 
is  in  vain.     Lord  Edward  has  escaped.' 

Pamela  now  took  a  small  house  in  Denzille 
Street,  and  only  brought  two  servants,  a  maid  and 
faithful  black  Tony.  One  evening  when  the  maid 
came  into  her  mistress's  room  she  was  surprised  to 
find  Pamela  and  her  husband  sitting  by  the  fire. 


Lord  Edward  Fitzgerald  and  Pamela   jj 

The  younger  child  had  been  taken  out  of  her  bed 
for  him  to  see,  and  both  he  and  Pamela  were,  so 
the  maid  thought,  in  tears.  Another  time,  while 
he  was  in  hiding  at  Murphy's,  the  feather- 
merchant's  in  Thomas  Street,  Lord  Edward 
stole  out  dressed  as  a  woman,  and  arrived  at 
Denzille  Street  late  in  the  evening.  Pamela  was 
told  that  there  was  a  lady  in  the  parlour  waiting 
to  see  her.  When  she  found  who  it  was,  her 
anxiety  and  alarm  brought  on  a  premature 
confinement,  and  her  second  daughter,  Lucy, 
was  born. 

On  May  18  Lord  Edward  was  arrested,  and  in 
the  struggle  that  ensued  he  received  his  death- 
wound.  Pamela  was  at  Moira  House,  and  Miss 
Napier  went  for  her,  for  Lord  Edward  had  said, 
when  asked  if  he  had  any  message  for  his  wife  : 

*  No  .  .  .  no,  thank  you,  nothing  ;  only  break 
it  to  her  tenderly.' 

The  advice  was  followed.  It  was  at  once 
decided  that  Pamela  and  her  children  should 
leave  Ireland  without  further  delay.  Pamela 
hoped  that  her  husband's  aunt,  Lady  Louisa 
Connolly,  would  be  able  to  persuade  the  authori- 
ties to  let  her  live  in  the  prison,  but  such  a  thing 
was  not  to  be  thought  of.  On  a  sunny  May 
morning  pretty  Pamela  and  her  three  children 
left  Ireland  for  ever.  When  Lord  Henry  Fitz- 
gerald came  to  see  his  brother,  he  mentioned  that 
he  had  seen  them  off.  'And  the  children  too,' 
said   Lord   Edward ;'....  she   is  a  charming 


78  Famous  Love  Matches 

woman,'  and  then  he  was  silent.  The  end  was 
not  far  off;  fever  came  on,  and  increased  the  pain 
of  his  wound,  and  he  sank  rapidly.  And  so  passed 
away  one  of  the  most  chivalrous  and  romantic 
figures  of  the  year  of  terror. 

Pamela  was  now  left  almost  penniless,  as  her 
husband's  property  was  attainted.  '  I  pity  her 
from  my  soul,'  wrote  Lady  Sarah  Napier — *  a 
stranger,  an  orphan  herself,  lovely  in  her  appear- 
ance, persecuted,  ruined,  banished.'  For  some 
time  she  found  a  refuge  with  the  Duke  of  Rich- 
mond, who  was  her  husband's  first  cousin,  but  at 
length  she  settled  at  Hamburg,  as  the  niece  of 
Madame  de  Genlis — Henrietta  de  Sercy — was 
married  to  a  rich  banker  of  Hamburg,  M.  Mathie- 
son.  The  charming  young  widow  found  many 
admirers  ;  among  them  was  the  American  Consul 
at  Hamburg,  Mr.  Pitcairn,  and  eventually  Pamela 
consented  to  be  his  wife.  By  this  second  marriage 
Pamela  had  one  child,  a  daughter.  The  marriage 
turned  out  most  unhappily,  and  Pamela  left  her 
husband,  and  obstinately  refused  to  go  back  to 
him.  The  remainder  of  her  life  was  principally 
spent  at  Paris  and  at  Montauban.  We  catch  a 
glimpse  of  her  from  an  account  written  by  a 
French  baroness,  and  given  by  Dr.  Madden  in 
his  Lives  of  the  United  Irishmen.  We  are  told 
that  Pamela  was  '  inconsistent,  superficial,  and 
not  very  sincere ;  that  her  character  was  like  that 
of  Madame  de  Genlis,  very  capricious,  but  she  was 
withal  more  cheerful,  with  a  great  deal  of  childish- 


PAMELA,    I,ADY  EDWARD   FITZGERALD. 

From  a  Portrait  by  Romney. 


Lord  Edward  Fitzgerald  and  Pamela   79 

ness.'  She  was  very  abstemious.  Tea  was  her 
principal  nourishment ;  she  used  to  call  it  the  con- 
solation of  the  heart,  the  mind,  and  the  stomach. 
The  Baroness  says  that  she  had  one  very  great 
attraction,  that  of  increasing  her  beauty  when  she 
laughed.  Her  nose,  her  eyes,  her  eyebrows,  her 
forehead  were  the  most  remarkable  of  her  features. 
Her  mouth  was  not  so  good,  and  she  spoilt  it  still 
more  by  an  ugly  habit  she  had  of  biting  her  lips. 
Her  teeth  were  small  and  white,  her  figure  charm- 
ing, but  as  she  advanced  in  life  it  grew  enormously 
large.  Her  favourite  head-dress  was  an  Indian 
handkerchief  of  bright,  showy  colours,  twisted 
like  a  turban  round  her  head.  In  a  turban  she 
triumphed,  and  she  knew  it.  Always  a  good  dancer, 
at  the  age  of  forty-eight  she  danced  at  a  ball 
the  whole  night  in  a  white  muslin  gown,  with  a 
wreath  of  white  roses.     She  looked  only  twenty, 

and  a  young  Englishman,  a  Captain  P ,  fell 

desperately  in  love  with  her. 

She  died  at  Paris  in  1831,  after  a  short  illness, 
and  was  buried  in  the  cemetery  of  Montmartre. 
Her  friend,  the  Due  de  la  Force,  erected  a  tomb- 
stone to  her  memory,  but  during  the  days  of  the 
Commune  a  cannon-ball  struck  the  stone  and  broke 
it  almost  in  two.  Ten  years  afterwards,  in  August 
1880,  the  body  of  Pamela  was  removed  to  the 
peaceful  churchyard  of  Thames  Ditton,  where  her 
daughter,  Lady  Campbell,  is  also  interred,  and 
the  mutilated  stone  has  been  re-erected  over  the 
spot.     Here,  at  last,  Pamela  rests  in  peace. 


THOMAS  MOORE  AND  BESSY  DYKE 

'  A  creature  not  too  bright  or  good 
For  human  nature's  daily  food.' 

Wordsworth. 

MOORE  was  such  a  many-sided  man — poet, 
biographer,  satirist,  singer,  petted  darling 
of  society — that  it  is  no  wonder  that  the 
domestic  side  of  his  life  has  been  either  passed 
over  entirely  or  briefly  glanced  at.  But  it  is 
here  that  he  shines  with  special  lustre.  Unlike 
Robert  Burns,  every  detail  of  the  private  life 
of  Moore  can  bear  the  closest  inspection.  It 
was  truly  observed  of  him  by  his  friend  Miss 
Godfrey :  '  You  have  contrived — God  knows  how  ! 
— amidst  the  pleasures  of  the  world,  to  preserve 
all  your  home  fireside  affections  true  and  genuine 
as  you  brought  them  out  with  you,  and  this  is 
a  trait  in  your  character  that  I  think  beyond  all 
praise ;  it  is  a  perfection  that  never  goes  alone ; 
and  I  believe  you  will  turn  out  a  saint  or  an  angel, 
after  all.' 

Twice  a  week  during  his  whole  life — except 
when  he  was  in  America  and  Bermuda — 
Moore  wrote  to  his  mother,  but  it  was  to  his 
wife,  his  *  adored   Bessy,'  that  the  waters  of  a 

80 


THOMAS   MOORE. 
From  a  Painting  by  John  Jackson,  R.A.,  in  the  National  Portrait  Gallery,  Dublin. 


Thomas  Moore  and  Bessy  Dyke     81 

true,  deep,  touching,  unchanging  affection  flowed 
in  a  never-failing  stream.  From  1811,  the  year 
of  his  marriage,  to  1852,  that  of  his  death,  *  this 
excellent  and  beautiful  person  received  from  him 
the  homage  of  a  lover  ....  Whatever  amusements 
he  might  find  in  society,  whatever  sights  he  might 
behold,  whatever  literary  resources  he  might  seek 
elsewhere,  he  always  returned  to  his  home  with 
a  fresh  feeling  of  delight.' 

This  is  the  testimony  of  his  friend  and 
biographer,  Lord  John  (afterwards  Earl)  Russell, 
and  it  bears  the  evidence  of  truth.  Moore's 
marriage  was  what  most  people  would  have 
declared  a  most  imprudent  and  reckless  one. 
He  evidently  thought  so  himself,  for  it  was  not 
till  two  months  had  elapsed  after  it  had  taken 
place,  that  he  broke  the  news  to  his  own  family. 

He  was  thirty-two  when  he  was  married  to 
Bessy  Dyke  at  St.  Martin's  Cnurch,  London,  on 
March  25,  181 1.  Like  most  little  men,  he  chose 
a  tall  woman,  head  and  shoulders  over  him,  with 
clearly  cut,  classical  features.  A  beautiful  though 
penniless  Irish  girl,  Bessy  Dyke  was  intended  for 
the  stage,  and  according  to  some  accounts  is 
described  as  an  actress,  but  she  had  certainly  not 
attained  to  any  eminence  in  her  profession.  By 
her  marriage  with  Moore  she  found  herself  received 
into  society  to  which  she  would  never  have  aspired, 
and  it  says  much  for  her  tact  and  good  sense  that 
she  did  not  disgrace  herself  in  her  new  position. 
Moore  wrote  to   his  mother  in   May,  181 1 :    'I 

6 


82  Famous  Love  Matches 

breakfast  with  Lady  Donegal  on  Monday,  and 
dine  to  meet  her  at  Rogers's  on  Tuesday,  and  there 
is  to  be  a  person  of  both  parties  whom  you  little 
dream  of,  but  whom  I  shall  introduce  to  your 
notice  next  week.' 

This  was  Bessy,  invoked  in  one  of  Moore's  songs 
as  follows : 

'  Fly  from  the  world,  O  Bessy,  to  me, 

Thou  wilt  never  find  any  sincerer ; 
I'd  give  up  the  world,  O  Bessy,  to  thee, 

I  can  never  meet  any  that's  dearer ! 
Then  tell  me  no  more,  with  a  tear  and  a  sigh, 

That  our  loves  will  be  censured  by  many. 
All,  all  have  their  follies,  and  who  will  deny 

That  ours  is  the  sweetest  of  any  ? 
When  your  lip  has  met  mine  in  communion  so  sweet, 

Have  we  felt  as  if  virtue  forbid  it  ? 
Have  we  felt  as  if  Heaven  denied  them  to  meet  ? 

No,  rather  'twas  Heaven  that  did  it !' 

Moore's  lively  friend,  Miss  Godfrey,  wrote  a 
very  bright,  sensible  letter  to  him  on  the  subject 
of  his  marriage.     She  says  : 

1  It  gave  us  both  [Lady  Donegal  and  herself] 
great  satisfaction  to  hear  so  pleasant  an  account 
of  your  domestic  life  as  that  which  your  last  letter 
contained.  Be  very  sure,  my  dear  Moore,  that  if 
you  have  got  an  amiable,  sensible  wife,  extremely 
attached  to  you,  as  I  am  certain  you  have,  it  is 
only  in  the  long-run  of  life  that  you  can  know  the 
full  value  of  the  treasure  you  possess.  If  you  did 
but  see,  as  I  see  with  bitter  regret  in  a  very  near 
connexion   of  my   own,   the   miserable   effect   of 


Thomas  Moore  and  Bessy  Dyke     83 

marrying  a  vain  fool  devoted  to  fashion,  you 
would  bless  your  stars  night  and  day,  for  your 
good  fortune ;  and,  to  say  the  truth,  you  were  as 
likely  a  gentleman  to  get  into  a  scrape  in  that  way 
as  I  know.  You  were  always  the  slave  of  beauty 
— say  what  you  please  to  the  contrary  ;  it  covered 
a  multitude  of  sins  in  your  eyes,  and  I  can  never 
cease  wondering  at  your  good  luck,  after  all  said 
and  done.  Money  is  all  you  want,  and  it  is  very 
provoking  to  think  how  much  that  detestable  trash 
has  to  do  with  our  happiness  here  below.' 

At  this  time  Moore  was  getting  £500  a  year 
from  Power  for  arranging  the  music  to  the  '  Irish 
Melodies.'  His  first  child,  a  daughter,  Ann  Jane 
Barbara,  was  born  on  February  4,  1812.  Lady 
Donegal  was  asked  to  be  one  of  the  godmothers,  and 
the  child  received  the  name  of  Barbara  from  her. 

In  the  spring  of  the  same  year  the  Moores 
settled  at  Keg  worth,  and  Miss  Godfrey  wrote, 
saying  that  '  most  ungrateful  of  Bessys  has  made 
a  most  favourable  impression  on  all  those  hearts 
she  was  in  such  a  hurry  .to  run  away  from.  .  .  . 
I  live  in  hopes  of  Bessy  making  you  wiser  and 
better  every  day.' 

Donington  Park,  Lord  Moira's  place,  was  close 
to  Kegworth,  and  the  Moores  were  invited  there 
on  a  visit.  Moore  wrote  to  his  mother  with 
pardonable  pride :  '  I  think  it  would  have  pleased 
you  to  see  my  wife  in  one  of  Lord  Moira's  car- 
riages, with  his  servant  riding  after  her,  and  Lady 
Loudoun's  crimson  travelling-cloak  round  her  to 

6—2 


84  Famous  Love  Matches    ' 

keep  her  warm.  .  .  .  The  dear  girl  and  I  some- 
times look  at  each  other  with  astonishment  in  our 
splendid  room  here,  and  she  says  she  is  quite  sure 
it  must  be  all  a  dream.' 

Another  little  girl,  Anastasia  Mary — '  about  the 
size  of  a  twopenny  wax  doll,'  so  Moore  wrote, 
was  born  at  Kegworth,  March  16, 1813.  *  Nothing,' 
he  adds, '  could  be  more  favourable  than  the  whole 
proceeding,  and  the  mamma  is  now  eating  buttered 
toast  and  drinking  tea  as  if  nothing  had  happened.' 

That  day  week  Moore  wrote  to  his  mother: 
*  As  I  was  at  breakfast  in  my  study,  there  came  a 
tap  to  the  door,  and  in  entered  Bessy,  with  her 
hair  in  curl,  and  smiling  as  gaily  as  possible.  It 
quite  frightened  me,  for  I  never  heard  of  anyone 
coming  downstairs  so  soon  ;  but  she  was  so  cheer- 
ful about  it  that  I  could  hardly  scold  her,  and  I 
do  not  think  she  has  suffered  in  the  least  for  it. 
She  said  she  could  not  resist  the  desire  she  had 
to  come  down  and  see  how  her  crocuses  and 
primroses  before  the  window  were  getting  on.' 

A  few  months  afterwards  a  move  was  made  to 
Mayfield  Cottage,  Ashbourne,  Derbyshire.  Moore 
writes  :  '  We  are  to  pay  £20  a  year  rent,  and  the 
taxes  about  £3  or  £4  more.  ...  I  have  taken 
such  a  fancy  to  the  little  place,  and  the  rent  is  so 
low,  that  I  really  think  I  shall  keep  it  as  a  scribbling 
retreat,  even  should  my  prospects  in  a  year  or  two 
induce  me  to  live  in  London.  .  .  '  Two  months 
later  he  wrote  to  his  mother  :  *  We  arrived  between 
five  and  six  on  Monday  evening.     It  was  a  most 


Thomas  Moore  and  Bessy  Dyke     85 

lovely  evening,  and  the  cottage  and  garden  in  their 
best  smiles  to  receive  us.  The  very  sight  of  them 
seemed  new  life  to  Bessy.' 

There  were  frequent  festivities  at  Ashbourne, 
and  a  ball,  at  which  Moore  was  one  of  the 
stewards — not  a  very  congenial  office  for  him,  as 
he  had  to  dance  the  first  two  sets  with  the  two 
ugliest  women  in  the  room.  He  wrote  to  his 
mother  with  husbandly  pride :  ■  You  cannot 
imagine  what  a  sensation  Bessy  excited  at  the 
ball  the  other  night ;  she  was  very  prettily 
dressed,  and  certainly  looked  very  beautiful.  I 
never  saw  so  much  admiration  excited.  She  was 
very  much  frightened,  but  she  got  through  it  very 
well.  She  wore  a  turban  that  night  to  please  me, 
and  she  looks  better  in  it  than  in  anything  else, 
for  it  strikes  everybody  almost  that  sees  her  how 
like  the  form  and  expression  of  her  face  are  to 
Catalani's,  and  a  turban  is  the  thing  for  that  kind 
of  character.  .  .  .' 

The  winter  in  Derbyshire  was  somewhat  trying, 
and  Moore  wrote :  *  We  are  almost  completely 
blocked  up  by  snow,  and  cannot  stir  without 
pioneers  and  shovels  in  our  van.'  About  this 
time  he  had  an  offer  to  stand  for  the  librarianship 
of  the  Dublin  Society,  with  good  prospects  of 
success,  but  he  declined  it,  as  £200  a  year  and 
residence  on  the  spot  were  poor  temptations. 

*  I  assure  you,'  he  wrote  to  his  mother,  June  1, 
1 814,  '  I  have  the  credit  of  being  a  pattern  for 
husbands  on  account  of  my  coming  back  to  Bessy 


86  Famous  Love  Matches 

just  as  all  the  gaieties  were  beginning  in  London, 
but  in  this  they  allow  me  more  credit  than  I 
deserve,  for  I  have  no  curiosity  after  emperors 
(except  ex-ones),  and  of  the  gaieties  I  had  quite 
enough.' 

To  one  of  his  lady  correspondents,  Miss  Dalby, 
he  wrote  to  announce  the  birth  of  another  child 
very  amusingly :  '  Another  girl !  but  no  matter, 
Bessy  is  safe  over  it,  and  that's  all  I  care  for  at 
present.  This  morning,  at  ten  minutes  after  ten, 
Miss  Olivia  Byron  Moore  (that  is  to  be)  opened 
her  eyes  on  this  working-day  world.' 

To  this  third  daughter  Lord  Byron  stood  god- 
father. Three  months  after  her  birth  Moore 
wrote  :  *  The  young  Olivia  is  getting  on  wonder- 
fully, and  is  a  lively,  pretty  baby.'  But  her  life 
was  destined  to  be  a  short  one,  for  on  March  15, 
1815,  Moore  wrote  to  his  mother  :  '  The  poor  baby 
is  dead ;  she  died  yesterday  morning  at  five 
o'clock.  Poor  Bessy  is  very  wretched,  and  I  fear 
it  will  sink  very  deep  into  her  mind ;  but  she 
makes  efforts  to  overcome  the  feeling,  and  goes 
on  with  her  duties  and  attentions  to  us  all  as 
usual.  It  was  with  difficulty  I  could  get  her 
away  from  her  little  dead  baby,  and  then  only 
under  a  promise  that  she  should  see  it  again  last 
night.  You  know,  of  course,  that  we  had  it  nursed 
at  a  cottage  near  us.  As  soon  as  it  was  dark,  she 
and  I  walked  there ;  it  affected  her  very  much,  of 
course,  but  she  seemed  a  good  deal  soothed  by 
finding  it  still  so  sweet,  and  looking  so  pretty  and 


Thomas  Moore  and  Bessy  Dyke     87 

unaltered.  She  wants  to  see  it  again  to-night ; 
but  this  I  have  forbidden,  as  it  will  necessarily 
be  a  good  deal  changed,  and  I  should  like  her 
impression  of  last  night  to  remain.  I  rather 
think,  my  darling  mother,  this  event  will  bring 
us  all  together  sooner  than  I  first  intended,  as  the 
change  and  your  kindness  will  enliven  poor  Bessy's 
mind.' 

At  this  time  Moore  had  been  offered  three 
thousand  pounds  by  Longmans  for  a  poem  which 
was  to  be  the  length  of  *  Rokeby.'  This  poem  was 
'  Lalla  Rookh,'  which,  however,  did  not  appear 
till  May,  1817. 

There  was  evidently  at  times  a  little  friction 
between  Bessy  Moore  and  her  husband's  relations. 
Moore  wrote  to  his  mother :  *  There  never  was 
anyone  more  anxious  about  anything  than  Bessy 
is  to  have  your  loves  and  good  opinions.'  In  the 
spring  of  1816  Moore  had  a  season  in  London, 
and  was  present  at  the  wedding  of  the  Princess 
Charlotte,  and  had  an  admirable  view  of  her ;  yet 
he  adds,  in  a  letter  to  his  mother,  '  Even  after  a 
short  week  I  begin  to  sigh  for  my  little  cottage 
and  Bessy  again.' 

There  was  some  talk  of  a  visit  to  Ramsgate, 
*  but,'  adds  Moore,  '  Bessy,  who  is  always  self- 
denying  and  prudent,  says  if  I  were  wild  enough 
to  think  of  taking  her,  she  would  not  let  me.  .  .  . 
Bessy  has  just  been  out  walking  to  pay  some  bills, 
and  call  upon  her  poor  sick  women,  to  whom  she 
is  very  kind  and  useful  at  a  moderate  expense. 


88  Famous  Love  Matches 

Mary  Dalby  (whose  long  and  sincere  attachment 
to  me  makes  her  a  very  quick-sighted  judge)  said  to 
me  at  the  end  of  a  fortnight  she  passed  with  us, 
"  I  do  not  think  in  the  world  you  could  have 
found  another  creature  so  suited  to  you  as  that." 
And  she  was  right.' 

In  March,  1817,  the  Moores  left  Mayfield 
Cottage  for  good,  and  a  house  at  £90  a  year  was 
taken  at  Hornsey,  near  London. 

It  was  an  unpleasant  surprise  to  find  that  the 
place  was  full  of  rats,  and  that  the  chimney  in  one 
of  the  rooms  smoked.  *  You  would  have  pitied 
me,'  Moore  wrote  to  his  mother,  '  if  you  had  seen 
the  irritable  state  of  fidget  it  put  me  into,  every- 
thing now  depending  so  much  on  my  having  these 
next  two  months  free  and  quiet  for  the  getting  out 
my  poem  ("  Lalla  Rookh").  Bessy's  exertions  and 
good  humour  throughout  the  whole,  and  the 
accommodating  spirit  with  which  she  has  en- 
countered and  removed  every  difficulty  for  me, 
have  been  quite  delightful.' 

Moore  was  recalled  from  a  short  visit  to  Paris 
on  acount  of  the  illness  of  his  eldest  child,  Barbara, 
an  illness  resulting  from  a  fall.  She  rapidly  grew 
worse,  and  on  September  20, 1817,  Moore  wrote  to 
his  mother  :  '  It's  all  over,  my  dearest  mother :  our 
Barbara  is  gone !  She  died  the  day  before  yester- 
day. ...  I  can  bear  these  things  myself  pretty 
well,  but  to  see  and  listen  to  poor  Bessy  makes  me 
as  bad  as  she  is.' 

Lord  Lansdowne  had  been  looking  about  for  a 


Thomas  Moore  and  Bessy  Dyke     89 

house  in  the  neighbourhood  of  Bowood  which 
would  suit  the  Moores,  and  he  succeeded  in 
finding  Sloperton  Cottage,  Devizes.  Mrs.  Moore 
went  to  look  at  it,  and  was  not  only  satisfied,  but 
delighted,  '  which,'  adds  Moore,  •  shows  the 
humility  of  her  taste,  as  it  is  a  small  thatched 
cottage,  and  we  get  it  furnished  for  £40  a  year.' 
They  entered  into  possession  in  November,  1817, 
and  Moore  wrote  that  he  was  just  sallying  out  to 
his  walk  in  the  garden  with  his  head  full  of  words 
for  the  ■  Melodies.' 

1  The  Fudge  Family  in  Paris '  was  now  on  the 
stocks,  and  there  were  frequent  dinners  at  Bowood. 
Moore  wrote  to  Lady  Donegal :  '  After  many  exer- 
tions to  get  Bessy  to  go  and  dine  there  [at  Lord 
Lansdowne's],  I  have  at  last  succeeded  this  week. 
.  .  .  She  did  not,  however,  at  all  like  it,  and  I 
shall  not  often  put  her  to  the  torture  of  it.  In 
addition  to  her  democratic  pride,  which  I  cannot 
blame  her  for,  which  makes  her  prefer  the  com- 
pany of  her  equals  to  that  of  her  superiors,  she 
finds  herself  a  perfect  stranger  in  the  midst  of 
people  who  are  all  intimate,  and  this  is  a  sort  of 
dignified  desolation  which  poor  Bessy  is  not  at  all 
ambitious  of.  Vanity  gets  over  all  these  difficul- 
ties, but  pride  is  not  so  practicable.' 

1  The  Fudges '  prospered  amazingly.  Five 
editions  were  called  for  in  a  fortnight,  and 
Moore's  share  of  the  profits  was  £350.  He 
needed  all  his  good  fortune,  for  he  now  had  a 
son  to  provide  for.     He  wrote  to  Miss  Godfrey  to 


.-.  -'I  :: 


to 
bl 

Ahraj*  glad  to  ntmtm 

-        -.;  -----  ■:■-.  r.  i:  :i;:; 


"-  :  i;-   ~-v«*       :' 


f- 


^:- 


He  Bote:  'My 


I 


far  a  piaoe  to 


fathers,  he 


'I 


T-, 


Mean  *m&  fas  wife  for  « 
he  vest  to  meet  her  at  Calais,  and 
»  ns  dfcay:  *M— lirw  on  dak,  bat  so 
!    At  last  the  dear  prf  and  he 


Thomas  Moore  and  Bessy  Dyke     91 

Bessy  herself  (notwithstanding  a  fall  she  had  from 
a  pony  during  my  absence,  which  broke  her  nose 
almost  to  pieces),  looking  extremely  well.  She 
never  told  me  of  this  accident,  bat  it  was  a 
one,  and  confined  her  to  the  boose  for 
What  an  escape!  Her  beautiful  nose,  too,  that 
might  have  vied  with  Alcina's  own,  to  have  been 
so  battered.  It  is  still  swelled,  and  the  delicacy 
of  it  a  little  spoiled,  hot  it  will  soon,  I  trust,  come 
right  again." 

Moore  notes  that  after  his  return  from  Calais, 
Lady  E.  Fielding  remarked  comically  enough  to 
him  :  *  Every  one  speaks  of  your  conjugal  atten- 
tion, and,  I  assure  you,  all  Paris  is  disgusted 
with  it.* 

Bessy  was  allowed  three  pounds  a  week  to  keep 
house  at  Paris,  and  when  Moore  gave  a  good 
many  dinners  she  cried  out,  as  her  money  ran 
short.  Moore  used  to  go  to  market  with  her,  and 
he  chose  her  bonnets.  During  this  time  the '  Irish 
Melodies*  were  progressing  at  the  rate  of  one  a 
day.  Paris  was  very  congenial  to  Moore,  and  he 
remained  here  till  November,  iSjkl  Bessy  and 
her  children  had  preceded  him  to  England,  and 
when  they  were  reunited,  the  quiet  file  at  Sloperton 
Cottage,  interspersed  with  dinners  at  Bowood, 
began  again.  Another  son  was  born,  and  called 
after  Lord  John  Russell.  During  the  season  of 
lfta3  there  were  frequent  visits  to  London.  At 
a  dinner  at  Holland  House  Moore  notes :  *  In  the 
evening  Lady  Lansdowne  came,  looking  so  hand- 


92  Famous  Love  Matches 

some  and  so  good  that  it  was  quite  comfortable  to 
see  her.  Told  her  of  Bessy's  arrival.  "Then 
she'll  come  to  me,"  she  said,  "on  Saturday 
evening."  "  Bessy,"  I  answered,  "  has  brought 
no  evening  things,  for  the  express  purpose  of  not 
going  anywhere."  After  a  short  pause  she  turned 
round,  and  said  in  that  lively  way  of  hers  :  "  I'll 
tell  you  what,  bring  Mrs.  Moore  to  see  me  to- 
morrow morning,  and  she  shall  have  the  choice 
of  my  wardrobe.  I  assure  you  it's  a  very  con- 
venient one,  fits  both  fat  and  lean.  I  once  dressed 
out  four  girls  for  a  ball,  and  there  were  four  gowns 
of  mine  dancing  about  the  room  all  night."  ' 

This  was  not  the  only  difficulty  about  Bessy's 
gowns.  An  invitation  came  for  her  to  dine  at 
Bowood,  and  go  to  a  Mrs.  Heneage's  ball  with 
Lady  Lansdowne.  Moore  tried  to  persuade 
Bessy  to  get  a  new  gown.  But  she  would  only 
accept  the  invitation  on  condition  that  she  went 
in  her  old  gown,  which,  she  'said,  was  quite  good 
enough  for  a  poor  poet's  wife.  Moore  notes:  'The 
whole  thing  very  splendid,  and  my  sweet  Bess 
(though  sadly  under-dressed  for  the  occasion)  look- 
ing very  handsome,  and  enjoying  it  all  as  much  as 
if  she  were  covered  with  diamonds.' 

"Well  might  Lord  John  Russell  say  of  this 
admirable  Bessy  'that  the  excellence  of  her 
moral  character,  her  energy  and  courage,  her 
abhorrence  of  all  meanness,  her  disinterested  absti- 
nence from  amusement,  her  persevering  economy, 
made  her  a  better  and  even  a  richer  partner  to 


Thomas  Moore  and  Bessy  Dyke     93 

Moore  than  an  heiress  of  ten  thousand  a  year 
would  have  been,  with  less  devotion  to  her  duty 
and  less  steadiness  of  conduct.' 

An  unaccountable  fatality  seemed  to  hang  over 
Moore's  children.  They  all  died  before  him.  His 
daughter,  Anastasia  died  at  the  age  of  sixteen,  and 
the  loss  of  his  elder  son,  Tom,  was  a  blow  from 
which  he  never  recovered.  Broken  down  in  mind 
and  body,  he  clung  to  his  wife  more  than  ever.  It 
is  unjust  to  say  that  he  had  neglected  her,  for  even 
if  they  were  parted  for  a  month,  his  thoughts  were 
always  with  her.  Mrs.  Lynn  Linton  was  one  of 
those  who,  with  no  intimate  knowledge  of  either, 
makes  this  sweeping  charge.  She  met  Moore  and 
his  wife  at  Bath,  and  says:  'Tom  Moore  came  over 
with  his  wife — the  "  Bessy"  of  his  sweet  words  and 
practical  neglect.  He  was  then  a  childish  little  old 
man,  whose  brilliancy  had  died  down  into  the  dust 
of  things  departed.  He  was  the  mere  wreck  of  his 
former  self,  bodily  and  mentally,  yet  "Bessy"  said 
she  was  happier  now  than  she  had  been  for  her 
whole  life.  She  had  her  husband  to  herself.  The 
world  had  lured  him  away  from  her,  and  had  used 
him  for  its  pleasures  while  he  could  amuse  it ;  now, 
when  his  star  had  set,  and  the  darkness  of  the 
night  had  come  on,  it  forgot  him,  and  left  him 
alone.  And  she  profited  by  his  failure.  She 
devoted  herself  to  him  with  the  loving  woman's 
sublime  forgetfulness  of  all  causes  of  displeasure, 
and  when  he  died  she  was  inconsolable.  She  was 
a  fine  big  woman,  and  he  was  not  more  than  up  to 


:-l  Famous  Love  Matches 


;.=  :r.ey  v. .-_;.- i  i:     r  M^rrr.  5:reel 

Nothing  is  more  teaching  than  this  affection 
between  Moore  and  his  wife.  Faithful  to  him  in 
joy  and  sorrow,  patient  in  tribulation,  and  rejoicing 
in  prosperity,  Bessy  Moore  was  an  ideal  wife.  She 
certainly  had  not  a  bed  of  roses.  Moore  had  the 
excitable  artistic  temperament,  highly  strung, 
easily  depressed,  easily  elated,  and  Bessy  had  to 
bear  with  all  these  moods,  as  well  as  the  additional 
drawback  of  an  uncertain  income,  at  one  time 
-moling  op  to  thousands  and  at  another  sinking 
to  hundreds.  Bessy  stood  the  strain  splendid 
never  did  her  courage  fail ;  she  never  reproached 
her  little  poet  for  leaving  her;  she  always  met 
him  with  a  smile. 

Moore's  last  words  were  to  her,  '  Bessy,  trust  in 
God.'  She  had  trusted  God  all  her  life.  Though 
dUfctent  in  creed,  they  were  one  in  faith. 

An  imposing  Celtic  cross  has  now  been  placed 
by  public  subscription  at  Bromham  churchyard, 
over  their  last  resting-place.  The  peal  of  bells 
from  die  old  church  of  Bromham  is  answered  by 
die  chime  from  the  neighbouring  village  church  of 
Rowde.  Spreading  trees  are  around  the  poet's 
grave.  Close  by  is  a  huge  beech,  and  on  one 
side  is  a  hedge  of  glistening  holly.  Here,  where 
the  birds  twitter  in  the  springtime,  Thomas  Moore 
and  his  faithful  Bessy  sleep  their  last  sleep. 


SIR  HARRY  SMITH  AXD  LADY  SMITH 


TWo* 


>: kfitt  *  :n  the 

Jaaiia  Maria  de  las  Deloresde 

that  fictioci  pales  before  it.    Two  notable 

South  Africa  preserve  the  names  of  the  hero 


in  1&49,  and,  still  more  celebrated, 

Natal,  founded  in  1S51.    They  mark  the  met  cf 

Sir  Harry  Smith's  administration  in  Sooth  Africa. 

The  name  of  Ladjsmith  is  not  Kkery  to  mde 


news  about  the 
garrison  cooid  hold  ont,  and 
hope.    It  is  the  story  of  Lady 

9S 


96  Famous  Love  Matches 

her  name  to  this  historic  town,  that  I  am  about 
to  tell.  Her  husband,  in  his  interesting  auto- 
biography, has  related  it  down  to  the  minutest 
details.  What  he  calls  his  '  blessed  union  '  with 
his  *  dear,  faithful,  adventurous,  and  campaigning 
wife  '  was,  indeed,  a  remarkable  event  in  his  varied 
career. 

Henry  George  Wakelyn  Smith,  to  give  him  his 
full  name,  was  born  at  Whittlesea,  in  Cambridge- 
shire, in  the  year  1788.  He  was  one  of  eleven 
children,  six  sons  and  five  daughters.  By  the 
time  he  had  reached  the  age  of  seventeen  the 
victories  of  Napoleon  were  disturbing  the  world, 
and  volunteers  from  all  parts  of  the  United 
Kingdom  were  eagerly  enrolled.  Among  the 
number  was  Harry  Smith.  During  the  spring 
of  1804,  at  a  review  made  by  Brigadier-General 
Stewart,  he  said  to  young  Harry  Smith,  who  was 
acting  as  orderly : 

*  Young  gentleman,  would  you  like  to  be  an 
officer  ?' 

*  Of  all  things,'  was  the  answer. 

'  Well,  I  will  make  you  a  Rifleman,'  said  the 
General,  '  in  a  green  jacket,  and  very  smart.' 

The  General  kept  his  word,  and  in  May,  1805, 
Harry  Smith  was  gazetted  second-lieutenant  in 
the  95th  Regiment  (Riflemen),  and  joined  at 
Brabourne  Lees  on  August  18.  A  vacancy  for 
a  lieutenant  occurring  soon  afterwards,  Harry 
Smith's  father  advanced  the  money,  and  he  was 
gazetted  lieutenant   in   September  of   the   same 


Sir  Harry  Smith  and  Lady  Smith     97 

year.  This  was  rapid  promotion  indeed,  but 
capable  officers  were  urgently  needed,  and  from 
the  first  young  Smith  showed  that  he  had  the 
makings  of  a  soldier  in  him.  He  was  sent  at 
once  to  South  America,  where  he  took  part  in 
the  Siege  of  Monte  Video.  But  after  General 
Whitelock  took  the  command,  disaster  followed, 
Buenos  Ayres  was  partially  invested,  and  in  a 
short  time  the  two  attacking  columns  were  nearly 
annihilated.  The  column  Harry  Smith  belonged 
to,  after  severe  loss,  took  refuge  in  a  church,  and 
about  dusk  surrendered  to  the  enemy. 

A  disgraceful  convention  was  entered  into  by 
General  Whitelock,  who  agreed  to  evacuate  the 
territory  altogether,  and  to  give  up  the  fortress  of 
Monte  Video,  gained  with  so  much  difficulty. 
Harry  Smith  was  among  the  prisoners,  but  was 
released,  and  his  division  sailed  from  Buenos  Ayres 
first  to  Monte  Video,  and  then  to  Plymouth.  On 
the  way  a  severe  gale  was  encountered,  and  the 
transport  had  to  be  towed  into  Plymouth  Harbour. 

Harry  Smith  was  now  nineteen.  His  period  of 
inaction  with  his  own  family  lasted  but  a  short 
time.  Napoleon  had  commenced  his  unjust  in- 
vasion of  Spain,  and  Sir  John  Moore's  army  was 
ordered  to  sail  and  unite  with  the  forces  which 
were  being  collected  on  the  coast  of  Portugal,  for 
the  purpose  of  expelling  Junot's  army  from 
Lisbon.  Harry  Smith,  who  was  Adjutant,  was 
appointed  to  Captain  O'Hara's  company  of  the 
95th.     He  had  fortunately  picked  up  some  know- 

7 


98  Famous  Love  Matches 

ledge  of  Spanish  during  his  service  in  South 
America.  This  he  found  most  useful,  as  he  was 
sent  to  report  on  various  forts.  He  took  part 
in  the  disastrous  retreat  on  Corunna,  which 
left  the  English  force  in  a  miserable  condition. 
Harry  Smith  says  :  '  Oh,  the  filthy  state  we  were 
all  in  !  We  lost  our  baggage  at  Calcavellos ;  for 
three  weeks  we  had  no  clothes  but  those  on  our 
backs  ;  we  were  literally  covered  and  almost  eaten 
up  by  vermin,  most  of  us  suffering  from  ague  and 
dysentery,  every  man  a  living  skeleton.  On  em- 
barkation many  fell  asleep  in  their  ships,  and 
never  awoke  for  three  days  and  three  nights,  until, 
in  a  gale,  we  reached  Portsmouth  (January  21, 
1809).  I  was  so  reduced  that  Colonel  Beckwith, 
with  a  warmth  of  heart  equalling  the  thunder  of 
his  voice,  on  meeting  me  at  the  George  Inn, 
roared  out,  "  Who  the  devil's  ghost  are  you  ? 
Pack  up  your  kit — which  is  soon  done,  for  the 
devil  a  thing  have  you  got — take  a  place  in  the 
coach,  and  set  off  home  to  your  father's.  I  shall 
soon  want  such  fellows  as  you,  and  I  will  arrange 
your  leave  of  absence !" ' 

Two  months'  rest  set  up  the  young  soldier 
again,  and  he  started  again  for  the  seat  of  war, 
and  after  landing  at  Lisbon,  he  joined  in  the 
march  to  Talavera.  He  now  belonged  to  the 
celebrated  Light  Division,  under  General  Crau- 
furd.  The  campaign  of  1810  was  an  arduous  one. 
At  the  Battle  of  the  Coa,  Harry  Smith  was 
wounded  by  a  ball  which  lodged  in   his  ankle- 


Sir  Harry  Smith  and  Lady  Smith     99 

bone ;  but  though  he  was  quite  lame,  he  insisted 
on  rejoining  his  regiment.  The  ball  was  ex- 
tracted, and  before  it  was  perfectly  healed  he  was 
on  active  duty. 

One  of  the  great  events  of  the  campaign  of  18 12 
was  the  storming  of  Badajos,  and  in  mounting  the 
breach  Harry  Smith  took  a  leading  part.  The 
breach  was  covered  by  a  breastwork  from  behind, 
and  ably  defended  on  the  top  by  sword-blades, 
sharp  as  razors,  chained  to  the  ground,  while  the 
ascent  to  the  top  was  covered  by  planks  with 
sharp  nails  in  them.  Harry  Smith  says  that  his 
pockets  were  literally  filled  with  chips  of  stones, 
splintered  by  musket-balls.  He  adds :  i  Down 
into  the  ditch  we  all  went  again,  but  the  more 
we  tried  to  get  up,  the  more  we  were  destroyed.' 

When  Lord  Fitzroy  Somerset  told  Smith  that 
the  Duke  desired  the  Light  and  4th  Divisions  to 
storm  again,  Smith  cried  : 

'  Why,  we  have  had  enough  ;  we  are  all  knocked 
to  pieces.' 

Lord  Fitzroy's  answer  was  :  '  I  dare  say,  but  you 
must  try  again.' 

Smith  smiled  and  said :  '  If  we  could  not 
succeed  with  two  whole  fresh  and  unscathed 
divisions,  we  are  likely  to  make  a  poor  show 
now.     But  we  will  try  again  with  all  our  might.' 

The  words  were  hardly  out  of  his  lips  when  a 
bugle  sounded  within  the  breach,  indicating  what 
had  happened :  the  3rd  Division  had  escaladed  the 
citadel,  and  the  5th  Division  had  got  in  by  the 

7—2 


ioo  Famous  Love  Matches 

Olivenca  gate.  All  the  fighting  was  at  an  end. 
The  Light  Division,  to  which  Smith  belonged,  had 
borne  the  brunt  of  the  fray.  There  were  heaps 
and  heaps  of  slain.     In  one  spot  lay  nine  officers. 

A   scene   of   horror   followed.      In   Sir   Harry 
Smith's  own  words : 

1  The  atrocities  committed  by  our  soldiers  on  the 
poor  and  defenceless  inhabitants  of  the  city  no 
words  can  describe.  .  .  .  Too  truly  did  our 
heretofore  noble  soldiers  disgrace  themselves, 
though  the  officers  exerted  themselves  to  the 
utmost  to  repress  them.  Yet  this  scene  of  de- 
.  bauchery,  however  cruel  to  many,  to  me  has 
brought  the  solace  and  the  whole  happiness  of  my 
life  for  thirty-three  years.' 

Here  it  was  that  the  romance  of  his  marriage 
began.  He  and  his  friend  Kincaid  were  talking 
at  the  door  of  their  tent  when  they  saw  two  ladies 
coming  from  the  city  of  Badajos,  and  making 
their  way  towards  them.  The  elder  of  the  two 
threw  back  her  mantilla,  showing  a  remarkably 
handsome  figure,  with  fine  features ;  her  coun- 
tenance was  sallow,  sun-burnt,  and  careworn, 
though  still  youthful.  She  at  once  proceeded 
with  her  tale.  She  informed  the  two  officers  in 
the  frank,  open  manner  characteristic  of  the  high- 
born Spanish  maiden  that  she  and  her  young 
sister  were  the  last  of  an  ancient  and  honourable 
house,  that  her  husband  was  a  Spanish  officer  in  a 
distant  part  of  the  kingdom :  he  might,  or  he 
might  not,  be  still  living.     She  and  her  young 


Sir  Harry  Smith  and  Lady  Smith    101 

sister  until  yesterday  had  been  living  in  affluence 
and  in  a  handsome  house ;  to-day  they  knew  not 
where  to  lay  their  heads,  where  to  get  a  change  of 
raiment  or  a  morsel  of  bread.  Her  house,  she 
said,  was  a  wreck,  and  to  show  the  indignities  to 
which  they  had  been  subjected,  she  pointed  to 
where  the  blood  was  still  trickling  down  their 
necks,  caused  by  the  wrenching  of  their  ear-rings 
through  the  flesh  by  the  hands  of  worse  than 
savages,  who  would  not  take  the  trouble  to  un- 
clasp them.  For  herself,  the  elder  sister  said  she 
cared  not,  but  for  the  young  creature  by  her  side, 
who  had  only  just  left  her  convent,  she  was  in 
despair.  She  saw  nothing  else  for  it  but  to  come 
to  the  camp  and  ask  the  protection  of  the  first 
British  officers  that  she  saw.  Such  was  her  faith 
in  the  national  character  that  she  knew  the  appeal 
would  not  be  made  in  vain.  Sir  John  Kincaid  adds 
enthusiastically  :  '  Nor  was  it  made  in  vain  !  Nor 
could  it  be  abused,  for  she  stood  by  the  side  of  an 
angel !  A  being  more  transcendingly  lovely  I  had 
never  before  seen  ;  one  more  amiable  I  have  never 
yet  known.' 

The  fair  Juana  was  just  past  fourteen,  but  in  the 
sunny  land  of  Spain  girls  develop  more  rapidly 
than  in  colder  climes.  Her  colour  is  described  as 
of  a  delicate  freshness,  more  English  than  Spanish  ; 
her  features,  though  not  regularly  beautiful,  were 
lighted  up  by  a  most  attractive  expression.  Kin- 
caid says :  '  To  look  at  her  was  to  love  her,  and  I 
did  love  her  ;  but  I  never  told  my  love,  and  in  the 


102  Famous  Love  Matches 

meantime  another  and  more  impudent  fellow 
stepped  in  and  won  the  prize !'  This  *  more 
impudent  fellow '  was  Harry  Smith.  He  breaks 
out  into  raptures  on  the  subject  of  his  young  bride, 
who  had  already  seen  three  sieges.  He  says  : 
*  She  had  an  understanding  superior  to  her  years, 
a  masculine  mind,  with  a  force  of  character  that 
no  consideration  could  turn  from  her  own  just 
sense  of  rectitude,  and  all  encased  in  a  frame  of 
Nature's  fairest  and  most  delicate  moulding,  the 
figure  of  an  angel,  with  an  eye  of  light,  and  an 
expression  which  inspired  me  with  a  maddening 
love  which  has  never  abated  under  many  and  the 
most  trying  circumstances.  Thus,  as  good  may 
come  out  of  evil,  this  scene  of  devastation  and 
spoil  yielded  to  me  a  treasure  invaluable.  .  .  . 
From  that  day  Juana  has  been  my  guardian 
angel.  She  has  shared  with  me  the  dangers  and 
privations,  the  hardships  and  fatigues  of  a  restless 
life  of  war  in  every  quarter  of  the  globe.  No 
murmur  has  ever  escaped  her.' 

At  the  time  of  this  fortunate  marriage  Harry 
Smith  was  twenty-four.  All  his  friends  united  in 
saying  that  he  was  lost  to  the  army,  that  he  would 
neglect  his  duty,  etc. ;  but  though  every  day  was, 
as  he  says,  an  increase  of  joy — though  he  was,  to 
use  his  own  words,  '  intoxicated  with  happiness,' 
he  never  did  neglect  his  duty,  and  the  first  question 
his  young  wife  asked  him  after  many  a  day's 
fatiguing  march,  was,  ■  Are  you  sure  you  have 
done  all  your  duty  V 


Sir  Harry  Smith  and  Lady  Smith    103 

The  first  thing  to  be  done  was  to  get  her  a 
horse,  and  to  teach  her  to  ride,  for  it  was  neces- 
sary that  she  should  follow  the  regiment  on  its 
march.  She  took  such  pains,  had  so  much 
practice  and  naturally  good  nerves,  that  after  a 
short  time  she  insisted  on  mounting  an  Andalusian 
thoroughbred  of  Arab  descent  called  Tiny.  On 
the  morning  of  the  Battle  of  Salamanca  she  cara- 
coled him  about  among  the  soldiers,  to  their 
intense  delight,  for  all  the  division  loved  her  with 
enthusiasm,  and  she  would  laugh  and  talk  with 
them.  '  Not  a  man  among  them,'  writes  her 
admiring  husband,  '  who  would  not  have  laid 
down  his  life  to  defend  her.'  She  was  looked 
upon  as  a  daughter  of  the  regiment.  When  the 
battle  commenced,  a  trusty  old  groom  called  West 
took  her  to  the  rear,  much  to  her  annoyance. 
She  slept  on  the  field  of  battle  on  a  bed  of  green 
wheat,  which  West  cut  for  her.  Her  horse  ate  up 
all  the  wheat,  to  her  great  amusement,  '  for  a 
creature  so  gay  and  vivacious  the  earth  never 
produced.'  On  the  march  to  Madrid,  a  halt  was 
made  at  Alcala,  where  Harry  Smith,  or  Enrique, 
as  his  wife  called  him,  exchanged  an  Irish  horse 
he  had  bought  from  General  Vandeleur  for  a  fine 
large  Andalusian  charger,  getting  three  Spanish 
doubloons  to  boot.  These  doubloons  were  en- 
trusted to  the  vivacious  little  Spanish  wife,  who 
put  them  up  in  a  portmanteau  among  her 
husband's  shirts.  During  the  march  the  mule 
jolted  the  baggage  so  much  that  the  doubloons 


104  Famous  Love  Matches 

were  missing,  the  whole  fortune  that  the  married 
couple  had  to  depend  on.  Juana's  horror  at  the 
loss  was  great ;  great  also  was  her  relief  when,  after 
a  pouring  wet  night,  one  of  the  shirts  was  taken 
out  of  the  portmanteau,  and  out  tumbled  the 
doubloons. 

'Oh,  such  joy  and  such  laughing!'  writes  Sir 
Harry.  '  We  were  so  rich,  we  could  buy  bread 
and  chocolate,  and  sausages  and  eggs,  through  the 
interest  of  the  padre,  and  our  little  fortune  carried 
us  through  the  retreat,  even  to  Ciudad  Rodrigo, 
where  money  was  paid  to  us.' 

Frugal  Juana  spent  some  of  the  doubloons  in 
the  purchase  of  two  pairs  of  worsted  stockings 
and  a  pair  of  worsted  mitts  for  her  husband,  and 
the  same  for  herself,  'which,'  adds  Sir  Harry, 
1 1  do  believe  saved  her  from  sickness,  for  the 
rain,  on  the  retreat  from  Salamanca,  came  in 
torrents.' 

In  crossing  a  ford  she  was  drenched  through 
from  her  horse  leaping  into  the  river,  and  there 
was  this  young  delicate  creature,  in  the  month  of 
November,  wet  as  a  drowned  rat,  with  nothing 
to  eat  and  nothing  to  cover  her  from  the  falling 
deluge  of  rain. 

During  the  campaign  of  1814,  on  a  showery 
night,  with  sleet  drifting — frosty  and  excessively 
cold — Juana  Smith  was  almost  perished,  and  was 
taken  to  a  comfortable  little  house,  where  a  poor 
Frenchwoman  lighted  a  fire,  and  brought  her 
some  soup  in  a  very  handsome  Sevres  slop-bowl, 


Sir  Harry  Smith  and  Lady  Smith    105 

saying  that  the  bowl  had  been  a  present  to  her 
many  years  ago  on  the  day  of  her  marriage. 

They  parted,  the  Smiths  going  on  towards 
Toulouse.  The  next  day  a  servant  brought 
the  identical  bowl  full  of  milk,  which  he  had 
carried  off  triumphantly  from  the  widow.  Juana 
was  indignant,  and  said  to  the  old  groom : 

1  Bring  my  horse  and  yours,  too,  and  a  feed  of 
corn  in  your  haversack.' 

She  did  not  reappear  till  late  that  night,  and 
when  she  did,  the  universal  cry  was :  '  Where 
have  you  been  ?' 

1  Oh,  don't  be  angry,'  was  her  reply.  '  I  have 
been  to  Mont  de  Mersen  [a  ride  of  thirty  miles] 
to  take  back  the  poor  widow's  bowl.' 

'Well  done,  Juana!'  was  the  exclamation  of 
one  of  the  officers.  '  You  are  a  heroine !  The 
Maid  of  Saragossa  is  nothing  to  you.' 

After  the  battle  of  Toulouse  the  war  came  to  an 
end,  and  Sir  Harry  parted  from  his  intrepid  wife 
for  a  whole  year.  She  was  sent  to  England  with 
his  brother,  while  he  sailed  from  Bordeaux  for 
America. 

1  It  is  for  your  advantage,'  she  said,  '  and  neither 
of  us  must  repine.' 

After  being  present  at  Bladensburg,  Harry  Smith 
was  entrusted  with  dispatches  announcing  the 
capture  of  Washington,  and  with  them  he  returned 
to  England.  On  his  arrival  in  London  he  did  not 
know  whether  his  wife  was  alive  or  dead.  When 
he  was  told  by  a  comrade,  Colonel  Ross,  that  she 


106  Famous  Love  Matches 

was  at  ii,  Panton  Square,  and  that  he  had  seen 
her  the  day  before,  the  relief  was  so  great  that  he 
burst  into  a  flood  of  tears  and  exclaimed,  '  Oh, 
thank  Almighty  God  !'  Of  their  meeting  he  says  : 
'  Oh,  you  who  enter  into  holy  wedlock  for  the  sake 
of  connexions, — tame,  cool,  amiable,  good,  I  admit, 
you  cannot  feel  what  we  did.  That  moment  of 
our  lives  was  worth  the  whole  of  your  apathetic 
ones  for  years.  We  were  unbounded  in  love  for 
each  other,  and  in  gratitude  to  God  for  His  many 
mercies.' 

The  girl  of  seventeen  was  now  a  charming 
young  woman,  whose  pronunciation  of  English 
was  most  fascinating,  and  when  she  wanted  a 
word  the  brilliancy  and  expression  of  her  eyes 
would  supply  it.  She  had  a  profusion  of  the 
darkest  brown  hair,  teeth,  though  not  regular,  as 
white  as  pearls,  with  a  voice  most  silvery  and 
sweet  in  conversation,  and  she  sang  the  wild, 
melancholy  songs  of  her  own  country  with  a 
power  and  depth  of  voice  and  feeling  peculiar  to 
Spain.  The  neatness  of  her  foot  and  ankle  was 
truly  Spanish.  The  natural  grace  of  her  figure 
and  carriage  was  developed,  while  the  elegance 
and  simplicity  of  her  manner  was  a  thing  not  to 
be  forgotten. 

During  what  proved  to  be  a  very  brief  period 
of  reunion,  the  happy  pair  went  to  Bath.  The 
delight  of  their  journey  there  and  back,  says  Sir 
Harry,  '  is  not  to  be  described.  Everything  was 
modern,  novel,  and  amusing  to  my  wife;  every 


Sir  Harry  Smith  and  Lady  Smith    107 

trifle  called  out  comparisons  with  Spain,  although 
she  admitted  that  there  was  no  comparison  between 
our  inns  and  the  Spanish  posadas,  so  accurately 
described  in  "  Gil  Bias."  No  brutal  railroads  in 
those  days.  We  dined  where  we  liked ;  we  did 
as  we  liked.  At  the  last  stage  back  to  London, 
my  wife,  in  looking  at  a  newspaper  (for  she  began 
to  read  English  far  better  than  she  spoke  it),  saw 
my  promotion  to  the  rank  of  Major.  "The  re- 
ward," she  said,  "  of  our  separation."  ' 

In  three  weeks  the  order  came  from  the  Horse 
Guards  for  the  newly  appointed  Major  to  join  the 
expedition  to  New  Orleans.  An  unexpected  reverse 
was  met  with,  in  which  the  leader,  Sir  Edward 
Pakenham,  was  killed.  Smith  was  appointed, 
much  to  his  surprise,  military  secretary  to  the 
new  commander,  General  Lambert.  When  he 
was  informed  of  it,  he  exclaimed : 

1  Me,  sir !  I  write  the  most  illegible  and  detestable 
scrawl  in  the  world !' 

*  You  can,  therefore,'  said  General  Lambert 
mildly,  '  all  the  more  readily  decipher  mine.' 

Not  much  distinction  was  to  be  reaped  in  this 
guerilla,  plundering  campaign,  and  it  was  a  relief 
to  all  concerned  when  the  preliminaries  of  peace 
were  signed. 

After  Smith's  return  to  Whittlesea,  where  he 
found  all  his  family,  including  his  wife,  at  church, 
came  a  new  excitement.  Napoleon  had  escaped 
from  the  Island  of  Elba,  and  a  universal  panic 
ensued.     Smith  was  appointed  Brigade-Major  to 


108  Famous  Love  Matches 

General  Lambert,  and  fearless  Juana  accompanied 
her  husband  to  the  scene  of  action,  sailing  with 
him  from  Harwich  to  Ostend.  On  arriving  at 
Hougoumont,  he  was  sent  to  the  Duke  of  Wel- 
lington for  orders,  which  were  for  Lambert  to 
take  up  a  position  on  Picton's  left.  Smith  was  in 
the  thick  of  the  Battle  of  Waterloo ;  one  of  his 
horses  was  wounded  in  six,  another  in  seven 
places,  but  he  himself  escaped  unhurt.  Juana, 
who  was  delighted  to  be  in  campaigning  trim 
once  more,  has  written  an  account  of  her  own 
adventures,  given  in  her  husband's  Autobiography. 
She  went  on  horseback  to  a  village  about  five 
miles  from  Brussels  with  the  groom  West,  to  await 
the  issue  of  the  momentous  battle.  Suddenly  the 
alarm  was  given  that  the  enemy  was  in  pursuit.  It 
was  then  five  o'clock ;  the  baggage  was  unpacked, 
and  the  groom  was  trying  to  get  her  something  to 
eat  at  the  village  inn,  when  the  alarm  was  given. 
From  the  noise  and  confusion  the  mare  was  driven 
frantic,  and  darted  off  before  Juana  could  gather 
up  the  reins.  She  flew  through  the  streets  of 
Malines,  across  a  bridge,  over  the  river,  the  road 
full  of  horses  and  baggage,  still  flying  away, 
away  !  An  overturned  wagon  was  lying  across  the 
road;  as  the  mare  was  endeavouring  to  leap  over 
it,  the  loose  curb-rein  caught,  and  Juana,  with 
a  little  dog  she  was  holding,  was  precipitated  over 
her  head;  but  the  fearless  Spanish  girl  managed 
to  get  back  into  the  saddle,  and  this  time  to  seize 
the  curb-rein.    She  got  to  Antwerp  at  last,  covered 


Sir  Harry  Smith  and  Lady  Smith    109 

with  black  mud,  and  wet  from  head  to  foot. 
Colonel  Craufurd's  wife  and  daughters  took  her 
in,  and  provided  her  with  dry  clothes.  She  heard, 
to  her  horror,  that  Brigade-Major  Smith  had  been 
killed,  and,  in  a  state  of  desperation,  she  set  off 
next  day  for  the  battle-field  to  look  for  her  husband's 
dead  body.  When  she  arrived  at  the  awful  scene 
she  saw  signs  of  newly  made  graves,  and  said  to 
herself,  '  O  God !  he  has  been  buried,  and  I  shall 
never  again  behold  him.' 

1  From  a  distance,'  she  continues,  *  I  saw  a  figure 
lying  on  the  ground.  I  shrieked,  "  Oh,  there  he 
is."  I  galloped  on.  "  No,  it  is  not  he.  Find  him 
I  will ;  but  whither  shall  I  turn  ?"  Educated  in  a 
convent,  I  was  taught  to  appeal  to  God  through 
Jesus  Christ.     In  this  my  trouble  I  did  so.' 

A  guardian  angel — in  other  words,  a  dear  and 
mutual  friend,  Charles  Gore,  A.D.C.  to  Sir  James 
Kempt — appeared,  and  was  appealed  to  : 

1  Oh,  where  is  he  ?     Where  is  my  Enrique  ?' 

*  Why,  near  Bavay  by  this  time,  as  well  as  ever 
he  was  in  his  life  ;  not  wounded  even,  or  either  of 
his  brothers.' 

*  Oh,  dear  Charlie  Gore,  why  deceive  me  ?  The 
soldiers  tell  me  Brigade-Major  Smith  is  killed. 
Oh,  my  Enrique !' 

1  Dearest  Juana,  believe  me,  it  is  poor  Charlie 
Smith,  Pack's  Brigade- Major,  who  is  killed.  I 
assure  you,  on  my  honour,  I  left  Harry  riding 
Lochinvar  in  perfect  health,  but  very  anxious 
about  you.' 


no  Famous  Love  Matches 

This  sudden  transition  from  the  depth  of  grief 
and  despair  was  enough  to  turn  anyone's  brain. 
Gore  now  said : 

*  I  am  going  to  Mons  ;  can  you  muster  strength 
to  ride  with  me  there?' 

Juana's  answer  was,  '  Strength  !  Yes,  for  any- 
thing now.' 

They  reached  Mons  at  twelve  o'clock  at  night. 
Juana  had  been  on  the  same  horse  since  three  in 
the  morning,  and  had  ridden  sixty  miles.  She 
ate  something,  and  lay  down  till  daylight,  when 
she  pushed  on  to  Bavay  and  found  her  Enrique 
safe  and  sound.  She  sank  into  his  embrace, 
exhausted,  happy,  and  grateful  to  God  who  had 
protected  him. 

Harry  Smith  was  appointed  Town -Major  of 
Cambray,  and  both  spent  a  pleasant  time  at  the 
quaint  old  French  town,  enjoying  hare-hunting 
and  dancing.  Juana  was  a  beautiful  dancer. 
Once  at  a  ball  the  Duke  wished  that  a  mazurka 
should  be  danced  in  honour  of  a  Russian  princess 
who  was  present,  so  he  took  Juana's  hand,  and 
said,  *  Come,  Juana,  now  for  the  Russian  fandango  ; 
you  will  soon  catch  the  step.' 

A  young  Russian  came  forward  as  her  partner, 
and  the  Duke  was  as  anxious  as  Smith  himself 
that  Juana  should  acquit  herself  well.  She  did, 
and  the  Duke  was  as  pleased  as  possible. 

On  returning  to  England,  Smith  was  sent  to 
Glasgow  to  quell  some  riots  there,  and  was  present 
at  Edinburgh  during  George  IV. 's  visit.      After 


Sir  Harry  Smith  and  Lady  Smith    1 1 1 

five  years'  military  duty  in  Scotland,  he  and  his 
wife  went  to  Downpatrick,  where  he  had  to  join 
his  old  regiment,  the  Rifles.  From  Belfast  they 
went  to  Halifax,  and  then  to  Jamaica.  Here  they 
remained  during  an  outbreak  of  yellow  fever. 

The  voyage  back  to  England  in  a  dirty,  evil- 
smelling  brig  tried  even  Juana's  patience.  She 
said  or  landing,  '  I  hope  we  may  never  ex- 
perience ~uch  a  month  of  wretchedness,  misery, 
and  tempesc.' 

The  next  order  was  to  the  Cape ;  the  voyage 
was  expected  to  take  three  months,  but  in  twelve 
weeks  the  brig  safely  reached  Table  Bay.  This 
was  in  1829.  Juana  accompanied  her  husband, 
who  was  appointed  commandant  of  the  garrison. 
During  the  KafBr  outbreak,  Harry  Smith,  who 
was  then  Colonel,  rode  600  miles  in  six  days  over 
mountains  and  execrable  roads.  His  horses  were 
Dutch,  fed  without  a  grain  of  corn,  and  went  at 
the  rate  of  fourteen  miles  an  hour.  When  Sir 
Harry  was  appointed  Governor  of  the  Province  of 
Queen  Adelaide,  his  heroic  wife  started  to  join 
him,  travelling  a  distance  of  nearly  800  miles. 
The  journey  was  made  in  tilted  wagons  drawn  by 
ten,  and  sometimes  twelve,  horses  over  a  wild 
country  of  bad  roads,  difficult  passes,  and  deep 
rivers.  '  But,'  adds  Sir  Harry  admiringly,  '  what 
will  not  women  undertake  when  actuated  by  love 
and  duty  ?' 

During  their  separation,  his  letters  to  his  Juana 
were  full  of  the  deepest  affection.    She  took  a  great 


1 1 2  Famous  Love  Matches 

interest  in  the  Kaffir  women,  and  taught  many 
of  them  needlework,  and  explained  to  them  the 
difference  between  right  and  wrong,  about  which 
their  ideas  were  decidedly  hazy. 

In  1840  Colonel  Smith  was  promoted  to  be 
Adjutant-General  to  the  Army  in  India,  so  he  and 
his  wife  bade  good-bye  to  South  Africa.  His 
share  in  the  victories  of  Sobraon  and  Aliwal  are 
matters  of  history  ;  he  was  created  a  baronet,  with 
the  special  distinction  '  of  Aliwal '  after  his  name. 
On  his  return  to  England  with  Lady  Smith  he 
was  received  with  a  series  of  ovations,  and  was 
presented  with  the  freedom  of  the  City  of 
London. 

He  was  next  appointed  Governor  of  Cape 
Colony,  and  gave  himself  up  to  the  duties  of 
administration  with  his  usual  energy.  But  he  was 
less  successful  as  an  administrator  than  as  a 
soldier.  After  filling  his  arduous  post  from  1847 
until  1852  he  retired  into  private  life,  and  died  in 
London  on  October  12,  i860.  His  faithful  wife, 
who  passionately  cherished  his  memory,  survived 
him  twelve  years,  and  was  then  laid  to  rest  beside 
him  at  Whittlesea,*  the  place  of  his  birth.  No 
union  was  ever  more  complete  than  theirs.  They 
were  not  blessed  with  children,  but  their  memory 
will  be  always  preserved  by  the  two  towns  in 
South  Africa  which  bear  their  names. 

*  Now  usually  spelt  Whittlesey. 


\=r. 


Photo  by 


CHARGES  JAMES  IvEVER. 
From  the  Portrait  in  the  Dublin  National  Portrait  Gallery. 


CHARLES  LEVER  AND  KATE  BAKER 

1  It  was  not  in  the  winter 
Our  loving  lot  was  cast ; 
It  was  the  time  of  roses — 
We  pluck't  them  as  we  pass'd.' 

Thomas  Hood. 

ANYONE  who  runs  through  the  vivacious 
pages  of  '  Harry  Lorrequer '  or  '  Charles 
O'Malley'  would  imagine  that  the  author 
of  these  thrilling  adventures  must  have  been  a 
military  man.  much  addicted  to  fighting  duels  and 
flirting  with  every  pretty  girl  who  crossed  his 
path.  But  such  suppositions  would  be  entirely 
wrong.  Lever  was  a  doctor,  not  a  soldier,  he 
never  had  any  connexion  with  the  army,  he  was 
not  a  fire-eating  duellist ;  and,  so  far  from  being 
a  confirmed  flirt,  the  one  love  of  his  life  was 
his  wife.  Seldom,  indeed,  does  a  man  marry 
his  first  love,  but  this  was  the  case  with  Lever. 
■  From  his  school  days,'  so  we  are  told  by 
Dr.  Waller,  from  information  supplied  by  Mr. 
Edward  Clibborn,  '  Charley  Lever  was  attracted 
by  a  pretty  little  girl,  Kate  Baker,  who  lived 
in  the  Marine  School,  and  thither  he  used  to 
steal  to  get  a  sight  of,  or  a  word  from  her,  almost 
113  3 


H4  Famous  Love  Matches 

daily.  One  of  his  acquaintances  was  in  the  habit 
of  supplying  him  with  flowers,  which  were  some- 
times given  by  the  boy-lover  to  the  girl,  sometimes 
thrown  to  her  through  the  iron  gate  of  the  court- 
yard, which  was  guarded  by  an  old  sailor.  It  was 
a  matter  of  arrangement  among  his  companions 
to  attract  the  attention  of  the  old  janitor  while 
Lever  pursued  his  love-making.' 

Kate  Baker's  father  was  master  of  the  Marine 
School,  and  had  seen  some  military  service.  The 
friend  from  whom  the  flowers  came  was  Mr. 
Clibborn,  who  had  a  garden  at  Leeson  Park,  and 
was  a  class  fellow  of  Lever  at  Wright's  School. 

Both  Lever  and  his  future  wife  were  natives  of 
Dublin.  He  was  born,  August  31,  1806,  in  the 
North  Strand,  re-named  Amiens  Street,  in  com- 
memoration of  the  treaty  of  1802. 

His  father's  house  faced  some  waste  ground,  on 
which  the  Great  Northern  Terminus  has  since 
been  built,  and  adjoined  North  Cope  Street,  now 
known  as  Talbot  Street. 

James  Lever,  the  father  of  the  novelist,  came  of 
an  old  Lancashire  stock,  and  by  profession  was  an 
architect  and  builder.  He  completed  the  Round 
Church  (afterwards  burnt  down)  from  designs  by 
Johnston,  and  was  also  associated  with  Johnston 
in  the  erection  of  St.  George's  Church,  and  also 
of  the  General  Post  Office.  His  wife,  whose 
maiden  name  was  Candler,  was  a  very  tidy, 
orderly  little  woman,  and  gave  both  her  sons  a 
happy,  cheerful  home-life.     John,  who  became  a 


Charles  Lever  and  Kate  Baker      115 

clergyman  of  the  Established  Church,  was  ten 
years  older  than  Charles  James,  the  novelist.  At 
the  age  of  three,  little  Charley  was  sent  to  a  school 
kept  by  a  man  named  Ford,  who  was  much 
given  to  the  then  prevalent  habit  of  flogging. 
Mr  Rosborough,  a  schoolfellow  of  Lever,  says  : 
'  He  daily  flogged  the  boys  with  savage  ferocity. 
Little  Lever  came  in  for  his  share,  but  it  was  not 
easy,  even  at  that  tender  age,  to  beat  out  of  his 
elastic  nature  its  joyous  buoyancy.' 

This  elasticity  and  joyousness  of  temperament 
stood  Lever  in  good  stead  throughout  his  long 
and  varied  career,  and  gained  for  him  many 
friends.  After  this  unpleasant  experience  at  Mr. 
Ford's,  Lever  and  his  companion,  Rosborough, 
were  sent  to  school  at  56,  William  Street,  whither, 
*  satchel  on  backs,  they  made  their  daily  journey.' 
Their  new  preceptor  bore  the  romantic  name  of 
Florence  M'Carthy.  Leaving  McCarthy's  school, 
Lever  went  as  a  day  pupil  under  the  tuition  of 
William  O'Callaghan,  113,  Abbey  Street.  From 
him  Lever  imbibed  his  taste  for  theatricals.  A 
graphic  glimpse  of  Lever's  boyhood  is  given  by 
Mrs.  Sophia  Lodge,  one  of  his  playmates.  She 
says : 

*  Charley  and  I  were  born  within  a  few  weeks 
of  each  other.  James  Lever's  house  on  the 
North  Strand  presented  the  acme  of  comfort. 
The  old  couple,  without  seeing  company,  had 
always  full  and  plenty  for  those  who  dropped  in. 
Their  house  was  called  "  Sunny  Bank,"  from  the 

8-H2 


1 1 6  Famous  Love  Matches 

bright  fires  which  shed  rays  of  comfort  in  every 
room.  My  position  every  evening  was  on  one 
knee  of  Mr.  Lever,  while  Charley  occupied  the 
other.  After  breakfast,  he  would  put  on  his  father's 
spectacles,  and  affect  to  read  from  the  morning 
paper  all  sorts  of  stirring  occurrences.  The  old 
people,  more  matter  of  fact,  would  listen  atten- 
tively, and  after  Charley  left  the  room,  would 
sometimes  vainly  search  the  journal  for  these 
wondrous  details.  .  .  .  Charley  had  a  theatre  at 
the  back  of  the  house,  with  scenery  which  we 
patched  and  painted.  He  and  I  frequently  figured 
in  some  impromptu  scene  before  an  audience 
often  restricted  to  the  old  cook  or  an  apprentice. 
Mrs.  Lever  encouraged  this  play,  as  it  kept  Charles 
out  of  his  brother  John's  way,  and  saved  him  from 
distraction  at  his  studies.  Charley  was  a  capital 
singer  of  comic  songs,  and  a  wonderfully  expert 
mimic,  especially  of  O'Connell.' 

We  are  told  that  Mrs.  Lever  was  a  most  ener- 
getic housekeeper,  and,  as  long  as  Mrs.  Lodge 
could  remember,  was  asthmatic.  Charles  did  not 
care  for  meat ;  nothing  but  pies  would  satisfy  him. 
So  many  of  these  were  made  that  they  sometimes 
got  musty,  which  led  him  to  call  them  '  pussy 
pies.'  Mrs.  Lever's  hobby  was  that  of  buying 
up  china  and  antique  furniture  in  Liffey  Street. 
When  any  new  article  appeared  in  the  house, 
Charley  would  ask  slyly,  *  Is  this  Liffey  Street  ?' 
■  On  one  of  the  last  occasions,'  adds  Mrs.  Lodge, 
1  that  I  met  Charley  at  the  old  house,  he  presented 


Charles  Lever  and  Kate  Baker     117 

his  mother  with  a  handsome  silk  dress,  observing 
archly,  "It's  not  from  Liffey  Street."  ' 

His  pocket-money  was  chiefly  spent  in  buying 
old  books,  and  getting  them  rebound.  Old  book- 
worms in  Dublin  could  long  remember  a  fair-haired 
youth  in  ringlets  passing  from  bookstall  to  book- 
stall, conning  over  '  The  Mysteries  of  Udolpho  ' 
or  '  The  Adventures  of  Count  Fathom.' 

The  boy  is  father  to  the  man,  and  a  school- 
fellow of  Lever  relates  how  the  future  novelist 
used  to  amuse  the  other  boys  by  telling  stories, 
based  on  actual  occurrences,  and  carried  on  from 
day  to  day.  *  He  often  held  a  book  in  his  hand — 
not  a  school-book — during  school  hours — and  read 
stories  from  it.' 

Lever  is  described  as  a  very  handsome  boy, 
with  long  hair  falling  in  glossy  ringlets,  and  a 
smile  that  was  sweetness  itself.  He  was  also 
celebrated  for  the  vigour  and  agility  of  his  dancing, 
and  was  a  fearless  rider.  From  his  father's  place 
at  Moatfield,  near  Clontarf,  where  the  elder  Lever 
built  himself  a  house,  after  leaving  the  North 
Strand,  Charley  used  to  come  in  on  his  pony  to 
Mr.  Wright's  school  at  No.  2,  Great  Denmark 
Street.  His  brother  John  was  appointed  curate 
of  Portumna  in  the  year  182 1,  and  remained  there 
till  1825,  and  during  those  years  Charles  Lever 
spent  from  two  to  three  months  with  him,  and 
from  this  time  dates  his  love  for  Galway.  The 
brothers  had  a  pleasure  boat  on  the  Shannon, 
and  went  out  in  it  every  day.     We  are  told  that 


1 1 8  Famous  Love  Matches 

*  Charley  seemed  to  derive  great  pleasure  in  taking 
a  round  of  the  different  houses,  and  hearing  stories 
from  all  who  would  tell  them.'  His  imagination 
was  stimulated  by  gazing  on  the  beautiful  expanse 
of  Lough  Derg,  with  its  bays  and  inlets,  the  castle 
of  the  De  Burghs,  at  Portumna ;  the  ruined  Abbey 
of  Lorrha,  Ireton's  castle  on  Derry  Island,  all  of 
which  had  some  legend  or  tradition.  With  Lever, 
these  legends  and  traditions  fell  on  fruitful  soil. 
Events  now  rapidly  followed  one  another. 

On  October  14,  1822,  Lever  entered  Trinity 
College,  being  then  sixteen  and  a  half  years  of 
age.  His  escapades  were  many  and  varied.  He 
had  developed  a  marvellous  facility  for  making 
ballads,  and  he  and  a  companion  of  the  name 
of  Keane  went  round  Dublin,  disguised  as  pro- 
fessional ballad-singers,  singing  a  political  ballad 
of  Lever's  composition.  They  returned  with  thirty 
shillings  in  halfpence.  At  other  times  Lever  and 
a  friend  trained  hacks  for  a  race  in  the  Phoenix, 
arranged  a  rowing-match,  got  up  a  mock  duel 
between  two '  white-feather '  friends,  and  organized 
an  association  for  discountenancing  watchmen. 

Many  of  Lever's  escapades  and  practical  jokes 
are  introduced  into  '  O'Malley,'  and  ■  Con  Cregan.' 
He  did  not  take  his  degree  until  autumn,  1827, 
and  in  the  spring  of  1829,  provided  with  the 
necessary  credentials,  he  obtained  the  charge  of 
an  emigrant  ship,  bound  for  Quebec.  Lever  re- 
lated to  his  friend,  the  Rev.  Samuel  Hayman, 
how  he  arrived  at  Quebec  on  a  bright,  clear,  frosty 


Charles  Lever  and  Kate  Baker     119 

day  in  December,  when  all  the  world  was  astir, 
sledges  flying  here  and  there,  men  slipping  along 
in  rackets,  women  wrapped  up  in  furs,  sitting 
snugly  in  chairs,  and  pushed  along  the  ice  at  the 
rate  of  ten  or  twelve  miles  an  hour :  all  gay,  all 
lively,  and  all  merry-looking. 

The  temptation  to  go  further  afield,  to  see 
something  of  the  life  of  the  prairies,  to  spend 
nights  in  the  open  air,  under  the  free  canopy  of 
heaven,  and  to  pass  days  in  the  pine  forests, 
amidst  the  haunts  of  the  red  men,  was  too  attrac- 
tive to  be  resisted,  and  Lever  made  good  use 
of  his  adventures  in  his  novels  of 'O'Leary'  and 
1  Roland  Cashel.'  After  a  short  sojourn  in  Dublin, 
he  started  for  the  University  of  Gottingen,  with 
the  avowed  object  of  studying  medicine,  but  he 
certainly  studied  character  as  well.  In  a  parody 
of  Goethe's  lines  he  breaks  out  as  follows : 

1  Know  ye  the  land  where  the  student  pugnacious, 
Strut  the  streets  in  long  frocks  and  loose  trousers 
and  caps, 
Who,  proud  in  the  glory  of  pipes  and  moustaches, 
Drink  the  downfall  of  nations  in  flat  beer  or 
schnaps !' 

Many  graphic  sketches  of  University  life  at 
Gottingen  and  Heidelberg  were  afterwards  written 
by  Lever  for  the  Dublin  University  Magazine. 

1  I  not  only  walked  all  the  hospitals  of  Germany,' 
he  said,  on  his  return,  *  but  I  literally  walked 
Germany,  exploring  everything.'  He  brought 
home  with  him  a  German  song,  which  he  trans- 


120  Famous  Love  Matches 

lated.  It  sold  prodigiously,  and  Logier  surprised 
him  by  saying  that  '  there  was  £ roo  to  his  credit 
at  the  bank,  from  the  profits  of  it.' 

Lever  had  a  genius  for  spending  money.  When 
he  had  it  he  scattered  it  about  freely.  We  must 
pass  over  his  medical  studies  in  Dublin,  his  prac- 
tical joke  of  representing  Cusack  to  the  medical 
students,  and  come  to  the  time  of  the  outbreak  of 
cholera  in  1832,  when  Lever,  then  a  full-blown  M.D., 
was  given  the  charge  of  the  district  of  Kilrush.  The 
town  was  then  sunk  in  gloom  and  despondency, 
and  there  was  not  a  little  jealousy  on  the  part  of 
the  old  doctor  and  the  old  apothecary  at  the  idea 
of  sending  a  stripling  (Lever  was  then  twenty-six), 
to  teach  them  their  business. 

But,  after  a  few  days,  Lever's  good-natured, 
cheerful  manner  gained  on  every  one.  And  then 
he  was  a  capital  story-teller,  an  indefatigable 
dancer,  and  a  gay,  light-hearted  companion.  He 
was  busily  taking  notes  all  the  time  he  was  in  Clare. 

It  may  be  remembered  that  Lucius  O'Brien, 
the  Widow  Malone's  favoured  suitor,  in  that  im- 
mortal lyric  which  is  introduced  into  '  Charles 
O'Malley': 

1  Came  from  Clare — how  quare  ! 
'Tis  little  for  blushing  they  care  down  there,'  etc. 

Kilrush  figures  largely  in  *  Harry  Lorrequer.' 
On  Lever's  return  to  Dublin  he  found  by  the 
newspapers  that  a  dispensary  doctor  was  needed 
at  Portstewart.     He  applied  for  the  post,  and 


Charles  Lever  and  Kate  Baker     121 

succeeded  in  obtaining  it.  There  were  few  com- 
petitors, and  he  had  excellent  credentials  from 
Crampton  and  Cusack.  During  his  stay  at  Port- 
stewart,  Lever  became  acquainted  with  W.  H. 
Maxwell,  the  versatile  parson,  and  author  of '  Wild 
Sports  of  the  West '  and  '  Stories  of  Waterloo.' 
This  acquaintance,  no  doubt  proved  a  turning- 
point  in  Lever's  career.  It  was  like  a  match  put 
to  an  already-laid  fire,  which  soon  kindled  into  a 
blaze.  Mr.  Fitzpatrick  tells  us  that  Lever's  at- 
tachment to  Kate  Baker  had  also  no  small  share 
in  moulding  his  destiny.  *  He  delighted  in  writing 
for  women  ;  his  constant  wish  was  to  please  and 
interest  them,  and  much  of  this  must  be  traced  to 
that  early  romantic  love  which  was  the  ruling 
power  and  blessing  of  his  entire  life.' 

His  strangely  diversified  days  at  Portstewart — 
now  whirling  in  the  waltz,  a  few  minutes  later  stand- 
ing by  the  bedside  of  a  patient,  now  jumping  over 
a  turf-cart  on  his  blood-mare,  and  now  dancing  the 
Morning  Bell  Galop — were  alternated  by  frequent 
visits  to  Navan  for  the  purpose  of  seeing  his  fiancee, 
pretty  Kate  Baker.  Her  father  held  the  position 
of  master  of  the  Endowed  School  at  Navan,  and 
a  lady  who  lived  in  the  neighbourhood  says : 

'  It  interested  me  much  to  observe  Lever  con- 
stantly boating  on  the  Boyne  with  the  petite  and 
pleasing  girl,  to  whom  he  was  engaged.  Her 
dress  could  not  fail,  in  itself,  to  arrest  attention, 
being  black,  white,  and  pink,  cut  in  diamond 
pattern.    The  fine  romantic  scenery  of  the  historic 


122  Famous  Love  Matches 

Boyne  heightened  the  interest,  and  attracted  me 
to  the  same  fairy  spot.  Often  our  little  boat  went 
abreast  with  Lever's,  and  we  sang  the  "  Canadian 
Boat  Song"  in  concert,  as  both  glided  on.  Lever 
was  a  capital  rower,  but  when  our  boats  could  not 
hold  all  the  picnic  parties  which  he  got  up,  we 
hired  lighters,  and  went  to  Beau  Park  or  Slane, 
and  dined  on  the  sod.' 

At  these  picnics  Lever  and  Kate  had  lovers' 
quarrels,  which  the  undisguised  amusement  of  the 
spectators  did  not  tend  to  smooth,  but  during  their 
sails  on  the  Boyne  we  are  told  that  all  was 
happiness,  he  throwing  his  bait,  she  casting  her 
net  of  fascination,  '  all  earth  forgot,  all  heaven 
around  them.' 

On  their  return,  one  evening,  another  informant 
met  Lever  at  Mrs.  Charlton's,  of  Navan,  when  he 
sang  an  improvised  song,  accompanying  himself 
on  the  piano.  Old  Mr.  Lever  did  not  at  all 
approve  of  the  match  with  pretty  Kate  Baker ;  it 
was  downright  madness — so  he  thought — to  marry 
a  penniless  girl.  His  choice  for  his  handsome  but 
erratic  son  was  the  daughter  of  a  wealthy  trader. 
But  Mr.  Lever's  death  in  March,  1833,  left  Charles 
at  liberty  to  do  as  he  pleased,  and  to  marry  the 
girl  of  his  heart.  According  to  some  accounts  a 
private  marriage  had  taken  place  previously.  The 
marriage  registry  at  Navan  seems  to  have  been 
very  irregularly  kept,  and  the  entry  which  records 
Lever's  marriage  with  Kate  Baker  is  undated. 
Never  did  a  marriage   turn   out  more  happily. 


Charles  Lever  and  Kate  Baker     123 

Lever  read  all  his  novels  to  his  wife,  '  and  pruned 
as  she  pleased.'  Not  only  this,  but  he  told  her  of 
his  plans,  and  her  advice  was  invariably  good. 
She  was  truthful,  honest,  and  loyal.  Even  in 
minor  details  she  was  beneficial  to  him,  for  she 
cured  him  of  a  bad  habit  of  snuff-taking.  Her 
only  weakness  was  a  feminine  love  for  dress, 
especially  showy  dress.  If  anything  put  her  out, 
Lever  smoothed  the  difficulty  by  presenting  her 
with  some  handsome  addition  to  her  wardrobe. 

During  the  honeymoon  an  invitation  came  to  a 
fancy  ball  at  Lady  Garvagh's,  and,  of  course, 
such  a  gaiety-loving  couple  had  to  go.  But  the 
difficulty  was  how  to  get  a  conveyance.  Every 
available  vehicle  at  Limavady  and  Coleraine  was 
hired,  '  even  to  Turbot's  furniture  van,  a  hearse, 
and  a  mourning-coach !'  Lever,  in  the  costume 
of  Jeremy  Diddler,  took  charge  of  the  contingent 
from  Coleraine,  which  filled  a  furniture  van.  The 
bride,  Mrs.  Lever,  appeared  as  a  gipsy,  and  all 
went  gaily  as  a  marriage  bell.  But  on  the  way 
back  the  van  broke  down  at  Castle  Coe,  some 
miles  from  Coleraine,  just  outside  the  gate  of 
a  gentleman  noted  for  his  hospitality.  Lever 
explained  the  accident  in  his  most  persuasive 
tones,  but  the  inmates  of  the  house,  annoyed  at 
being  roused  from  their  slumbers,  refused  to  let 
the  wearied  ball-goers  in,  vowing,  as  they  looked 
at  the  gay  fancy  dresses,  '  that  they  would  not 
admit  a  party  of  showmen,  gipsies,  and  play- 
actors.'    So  the  dejected  party  returned  to  their 


124  Famous  Love  Matches 

van,  and  were  compelled  to  spend  the  remainder 
of  the  night  as  best  they  could.  Next  morning, 
so  Mr.  Fitzpatrick  informs  us,  fresh  horses  were 
supplied,  and  the  furniture  van,  with  its  fantastic 
crew,  made  its  entry  into  Coleraine  on  market- 
day,  and  was  lustily  cheered  by  the  spectators. 

So  passed  Lever's  honeymoon  merrily  away. 
He  lived  in  good  style  at  Portstewart,  drove  a 
pair  of  grey  horses,  and  was  then  beginning  to 
write  for  the  Dublin  University  Magazine,  which 
had  been  started  by  six  collegians,  each  subscribing 
£10  on  January  i,  1833.  Lever's  first  contribu- 
tion was  a  sketch  called  '  The  Black  Mask,'  which 
appeared  in  the  number  for  May,  1836.  It  was 
speedily  followed  by  other  sketches,  and  '  Harry 
Lorrequer '  began  his  ■  Confessions '  in  the 
University  Magazine  for  February,  1837.  It  came 
out  anonymously,  and  was  soon  eagerly  looked  for 
and  greedily  devoured. 

Lever  wrote :  '  Though  I  have  been  what  the 
French  moralist  says,  blessed  with  a  bad  memory 
all  my  life,  I  can  still  recall  the  delight  with  which 
I  heard  that  my  first  attempt  at  authorship  was 
successful.  I  did  not  awake,  indeed,  to  find  myself 
famous,  but  I  well  remember  the  thrill  of  trium- 
phant joy  with  which  I  read  the  letter  that  said 
"  Go  on  !"  and  the  entrancing  ecstasy  I  felt  at  the 
bare  possibility  of  my,  one  day,  becoming  known 
as  a  writer.  I  have  had  since  then  some  moments 
in  which  a  partial  success  has  made  me  very 
happy  and  very  grateful,  but  I  do  not  believe  that 


Charles  Lever  and  Kate  Baker     125 

all  these  put  together  would  impart  a  tithe  of  the 
enjoyment  I  felt  at  hearing  that  "  Harry  Lorrequer  " 
had  been  liked,  and  that  they  had  asked  for  more 
of  him.' 

Perhaps  the  greatest  charm  of  '  Lorrequer '  is 
the  bright  animal  spirits  and  '  go '  with  which  it 
is  written.  It  may  be  said  to  have  no  plot,  and 
rambles  on  in  a  happy-go-lucky  way  that  carries 
the  reader  irresistibly  along.  As  works  of  art, 
Lever's  later  novels  are  far  superior. 

All  was  not  smooth  sailing  at  the  dispensary. 
The  '  red  runners  ' — *.*.,  dispensary  tickets  printed 
in  red  ink — came  at  awkward  moments,  and  the 
local  magnates  were  inexorable.  So  Lever  resolved 
to  resign  his  post.  In  his  novel, '  One  of  Them,'  he 
has  recorded  his  experience  as  a  dispensary  doctor, 
and  every  word  is  true  to  the  life.  He  was  getting 
into  money  difficulties,  too,  and  when  an  invita- 
tion came  inviting  Dr.  and  Mrs.  Lever  to  a  grand 
ball,  the  question  was,  How  could  they  go,  for 
Mrs.  Lever  must  have  a  new  gown  for  the  occasion. 

Lever's  early  friend,  Dr.  D ,  relates  that  *  the 

usual  difficulty  about  a  new  dress  was  represented.' 
Lever  wrote  to  his  friend,  the  Rev.  William 
Faussett,  Chaplain  to  the  Royal  Marine  School, 
saying  that  they  had  been  asked  to  this  dance,  to 
which  of  all  others  Kate  was  most  anxious  to 
go.  He  could  not  think  of  disappointing  her,  and 
although  the  £20  which  he  enclosed  constituted 
all  his  "  ready  rhino,"  he  asked  Mr.  Faussett 
to   invest   it   in   a  dress  that  would  at  once  do 


126  Famous  Love  Matches 

credit  to  his  wife,  and  confer  pleasure  on  the 
wearer.' 

Strange  to  say,  this  letter  was  the  means  of 
bringing  about  an  entire  change  in  Lever's  career. 
His  friend  showed  it  to  Sir  Philip  Crampton,  who 
thoroughly  enjoyed  '  Lorrequer,'  and  approved  of 
Lever's  going  to  Brussels,  where  he  was  more  likely 
to  get  on.  Sir  Philip  wrote  some  letters  of  intro- 
duction for  the  novelist-doctor,  including  one  to 
his  son,  then  Secretary  to  the  Legation  at  Brussels. 
Off,  then,  to  Brussels,  the  happy  couple  went, 
leaving  Ulster  far  behind  them.  We  never  hear 
of  any  jars  or  differences  between  Lever  and  his 
Kate.  Where  he  went  she  was  willing  to  go, 
with  whatever  work  he  took  up  she  was  ready  to 
sympathize. 

*  In  1839,'  observes  Inspector  M'Mahon,  *  I  was 
introduced  to  Lever  and  his  wife  at  a  ball  given 
by  General  St.  John  Clarke,  and  both  seemed  to 
live  for  each  other,  and  to  be  laughing  the  entire 
night.'  Lever  was  fond  of  calling  his  heroines  by 
his  wife's  name;  we  have  Kate  O'Donoghue  and 
Kate  Dalton. 

Lever  had  remarkably  pretty  feet,  and  when  the 
question  was  asked,  '  What  is  the  prettiest  thing 
in  boots  ?'  Mrs.  Lever  promptly  replied,  '  My  hus- 
band's foot.' 

Lever's  daughter — his  first  child — was  born  at 
Brussels.  This  daughter,  Julia,  afterwards  Mrs. 
Neville,  soon  became  his  companion.  She,  her 
sister  Sydney,  and  her  brother  Charles,  used  to 


Charles  Lever  and  Kate  Baker     127 

be  seen  riding  their  ponies  after  their  father,  with 
their  long  auburn  hair  flying  behind  them.  At 
Brussels,  '  Jack  Hinton '  was  written.  Lever's 
name  as  a  novelist  had  become  so  well  known, 
that  he  contemplated  giving  up  the  practice  of 
physic,  and  living  entirely  on  the  proceeds  of  his 
fiction.  The  publisher  of  the  Dublin  University 
Magazine  proposed  that  he  should  become  editor, 
and  offered  him  tempting  terms — i.e.,  that  he  should 
contribute  some  portion  of  a  story  every  month,  for 
which  £100  a  month,  or  £1,200  a  year,  was  offered, 
with  half  profits  on  anything  else  he  wrote.  Lever 
accepted,  and  returned  to  Dublin  in  April,  1842, 
taking  up  his  quarters  at  Templeogue  House.  It 
had  been  a  place  of  some  importance;  its  great 
courtyards,  with  their  high  walls,  its  grottoes, 
gardens,  the  waterfall,  and  the  avenue  of  elms, 
entered  by  a  massive  iron  gate,  all  gave  it  an 
imposing  appearance.  Here,  for  the  next  three 
years,  Lever  wrote  '  Nuts  and  Nut  Crackers '  and 
1  Tom  Burke '  for  the  Magazine.  He  often  found 
his  editing  very  troublesome  work.  Sheafs  of  MSS. 
pursued  him,  and  one  day  a  fine  salmon  accom- 
panied a  '  fishy-looking  paper,'  but  even  with  this 
bribe,  the  MS.  did  not  obtain  insertion.  Lever, 
always  fond  of  company,  used  to  give  what  he 
called  '  menagerie  feeds '  at  Templeogue,  to  which 
all  the  staff  of  the  Magazine  was  invited.  Needless 
to  say,  he  was  the  life  and  soul  of  the  party,  for 
he  talked  even  better  than  he  wrote.  He  was 
devoted  to  whist,  and  his  whist-parties  went  on 


128  Famous  Love  Matches 

till  morning  dawned.  So  fond  was  he  of  whist 
that  he  played  all  night  at  an  hotel  in  Kingstown, 
intending  to  leave  by  the  morning  boat,  but  he 
was  so  much  interested  in  the  game  that  he  let 
the  ship  depart,  and  went  on  playing  until  the 
bell  of  the  evening  boat  warned  him  that  he  must 
desist.  He  and  his  Kate  went  for  a  trip  to  Cork, 
Glengariff,  and  Killarney.  Their  staple  food  was 
salmon  and  chicken,  and  Lever  said  that  Kate 
and  he  '  ate  both  till  they  could  swim  and  fly  like 
either.'  During  these  Templeogue  days  he  lived 
at  the  rate  of  £3,000  a  year,  and  often  paid  £200 
for  a  horse.  He  and  his  children  used  to  be  seen 
riding  into  Dublin,  followed  by  a  belted  groom. 
Lever  generally  rode  fast,  and  the  flowing  auburn 
hair  of  his  daughters  always  attracted  attention. 
He  was  generally  followed  by  a  ragged  regiment 
of  admirers,  to  whom  he  was  always  liberal.  If 
the  weather  was  wet,  he  and  his  three  children 
rode  in  the  large  fields  at  the  back  of  their  house. 
It  was  his  great  delight  to  gallop  round  in  line, 
and  to  jump  the  fallen  trees,  he  generally  giving 
a  wild  'hurroo  !'  as  the  five — his  secretary  made 
the  fifth — took  the  jump  together.  Thackeray 
was  one  of  his  visitors  at  Templeogue,  and  spoke 
of  the  young  Levers  as  '  The  Leverets.'  Editorial 
work  proved  too  exhausting  when  combined  with 
a  succession  of  dinner  and  whist  parties,  so  Lever 
determined  to  give  it  up,  and  go  on  the  Continent. 
At  Carlsruhe  and  at  Florence  he  spent  most  of  his 
time,  and  in  an  old  castle  by  the  Lake  of  Constance 


Charles  Lever  and  Kate  Baker     129 

he  wrote  'The  Knight  of  Gwynne.'  His  novels 
now  showed  a  decided  change ;  they  were  no  longer 
wild  and  rollicking,  but  displayed  a  varied  know- 
ledge of  character  which  gave  them  more  sustained 
interest.  Lever  still  kept  his  Irish  love  for  dancing. 
At  Florence,  when  deep  in  his  game  of  whist,  an 
eyewitness  relates  that  on  hearing  some  favourite 
air  struck  up  by  the  band,  he  used  to  fling  down 
his  cards,  saying,  g  I  must  give  my  little  wife  a 
turn,'  which  having  done,  he  would  speedily  resume 
his  place  at  the  game. 

The  polka  was  at  all  times  the  dance  of  which 
he  was  most  fond.  Mrs.  Lever  was  so  small  and 
he  so  fat  that  in  heeling  and  toeing  it  they  cut 
a  rather  comical  figure,  but  all  admired  his  abiding 
love  for  her,  and  he  certainly  looked  supremely 
happy  in  her  companionship. 

He  was  a  capital  swimmer,  and  he  and  his 
daughter  Julia  saved  themselves  from  drowning 
in  the  Bay  of  Spezzia  when  the  boat  they  were  in 
was  capsized.  Lever  obtained  the  post  of  Vice- 
Consul  at  Spezzia  in  1858,  with  a  salary  of  £250 
a  year,  and  he  held  this  appointment  until  1867, 
when  it  was  abolished.  He  was  then  promoted 
to  be  Her  Majesty's  Consul  at  Trieste,  with  a 
salary  of  £500  a  year  and  an  allowance  of  £100 
a  year  for  office  expenses.  He  still  wrote  almost 
continuously.  He  was  busy  at  g  Lord  Kilgobbin,' 
a  serial  novel  for  the  Comhill  Magazine,  when  his 
wife  died.  The  blow  utterly  stunned  him.  The 
trusted  companion  who  had  cheered  and  sustained 

9 


130  Famous  Love  Matches 

him  through  so  many  years,  passed  away  peacefully 
and  painlessly,  with  a  farewell  smile  of  more  beauty 
than  he  had  ever  seen.  The  whole  city  followed 
her  to  the  grave ;  all  the  ships  had  their  flags  at 
half-mast.  When  Lever  sat  down  to  finish  '  Lord 
Kilgobbin,'  it  was  with  a  heavy  heart,  with  break- 
ing health  and  broken  spirits.  In  the  preface  he 
says :  '  The  task  that  was  once  my  joy  and  pride 
I  have  lived  to  find  associated  with  my  sorrow. 
It  is  not  without  a  cause  that  I  say  I  hope  this 
effort  may  be  my  last.' 

It  was  the  last,  and  it  is  dedicated  'To  the 
memory  of  her  who  made  the  happiness  of  a  long 
life.' 

A  few  months  afterwards  he  followed  her  to 
the  grave.  Among  the  love  matches  of  celebrated 
people,  that  of  Charles  Lever  and  his  wife  must 
take  a  foremost  place.  When  an  objection  was 
made  by  a  lady  that  '  Lord  Kilgobbin '  was  too 
political,  with  not  enough  love  interest,  Lever 
replied  that  it  was  simply  because  he  had  too 
deep  a  veneration  for  the  passion  to  sell  his  senti- 
ments on  it  to  a  bookseller.  Never,  among  his 
numerous  novels,  is  there  one  sentence  which 
may  be  described  as  coarse ;  never  has  he  given 
us  for  a  heroine  an  unwomanly  woman. 


MR.  AND  MRS.  GLADSTONE 

1  A  perfect  woman,  nobly  plann'd 
To  warn,  to  comfort,  and  command, 
And  yet  a  spirit  still,  and  bright, 
With  something  of  angelic  light/ 

Wordsworth. 

NO  stronger  contrast  could  be  found  than  the 
married  life  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Gladstone  with 
that  of  Carlyle  and  his  wife.  While  one 
was  all  harmony,  the  other  was  all  discord.  Mrs. 
Carlyle  was  nervous,  irritable,  and  sarcastic ;  her 
love  for  her  husband  did  not  prevent  her  from 
indulging  in  morbid  self-pity  at  all  she  had  to 
undergo.  Mrs.  Gladstone,  on  the  other  hand, 
never  thought  of  herself  at  all ;  nothing  was  con- 
sidered a  sacrifice.  With  noble  devotion  she  gave 
herself  up,  heart  and  soul,  to  him  who  represented 
to  her  the  highest  type  of  humanity.  There  was 
nothing  injudicious  in  her  devotion,  as  there  was 
in  the  case  of  Lady  Burton.  Mrs.  Gladstone  had 
that  most  valuable  of  gifts — a  right  judgment  in 
all  things,  and  so  the  heart  of  her  husband  safely 
trusted  in  her. 

He  said :  '  I  could  not  express  in  words  the 
priceless  value  of  the  gift  which  God  in  His  mercy 
has  given  me  in  her.' 

131  9—2 


132  Famous  Love  Matches 

And  again,  in  reply  to  an  address  made  to  him 
by  the  Provost  of  Lasswade,  he  said :  '  You  have 
referred  to  the  family  relations  in  which  I  have  the 
happiness  to  stand,  and  to  the  inestimable  blessing 
— and  that  not  of  my  deserving — which  has  been 
permitted  to  me  through  a  long  life,  that  those 
family  relations  have  been  a  source  of  unclouded 
and  unvarying  consolation,  without  a  break,  with- 
out a  shadow,  without  a  doubt,  without  a  change.' 

Even  the  most  hardened  disbeliever  in  the 
happiness  of  married  life  was  put  to  silence  by 
the  sight  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Gladstone,  so  perfectly 
at  one  with  each  other — one  in  aims  and  aspira- 
tions, in  joys  and  in  sorrows. 

1  He  never  thought  me  old,'  said  Mrs.  Gladstone 
after  his  death,  ■  and  I  never  thought  him  old.' 
The  one  condition  which  he  insisted  on  in  the 
event  of  his  being  offered  a  grave  in  Westminster 
Abbey  was  that  Mrs.  Gladstone  should  rest  beside 
him,  and,  as  we  all  know,  this  condition  was 
granted ;  and  they  do  rest  together,  she  being  the 
third  woman  during  the  nineteenth  century  who 
has  found  a  grave  in  the  historic  Abbey. 

She  had  much  to  bear,  no  doubt,  much  to  try 
her  patience,  but  she  did  all  gladly,  joyfully,  with 
a  full  heart,  without  hesitation,  and  without  stint. 
Though  her  children  were  much  to  her,  her  husband 
was  infinitely  more.  She  was  content  to  act  as  his 
buffer  against  the  worries  and  annoyances  which 
every  public  man  has  to  face. 

During  the  last  year  of  Mr.  Gladstone's  life,  I 


Mr.  and  Mrs.  Gladstone         133 

saw  him  at  Cannes  with  Mrs.  Gladstone,  as  usual, 
beside  him.  They  were  driving  to  St.  Paul's 
Church,  where  they  always  worshipped  together. 
His  illness  had  shaken  the  Grand  Old  Man  not 
a  little,  but  the  power  and  depth  of  his  wonderful 
dark  eyes  were  unimpaired.  As  Mrs.  Gladstone 
stood  outside  the  church,  after  the  close  of  the 
service,  I  can  never  forget  the  expression  of  her 
still  beautiful  face  as  she  said,  *  Yes,  he  is  better 
to-day,  thank  you — much  better !'  There  was  only 
one  *  he '  for  her. 

There  was  a  stateliness,  a  natural  dignity,  about 
Mrs.  Gladstone.  She  was  indeed  a  gentlewoman 
in  every  sense  of  the  word.  It  would  be  impos- 
sible for  anyone  to  be  rude  or  unmannerly  in  such 
a  gracious  presence.  She  compelled  respect.  No 
wonder  that  her  husband  turned  to  her  for  conso- 
lation and  peace  during  the  many  exciting  episodes 
of  his  stormy  career. 

It  may  be  well  to  glance  briefly  at  a  few  facts  of 
Mr.  Gladstone's  public  life.  Born  at  Liverpool, 
December  29,  1809,  he  went  first  to  Eton  and 
then  to  Oxford,  making  many  friends,  among 
them  Arthur  Hallam.  Great  things  were  pre- 
dicted of  young  Gladstone,  and  he  amply  justified 
these  predictions  when  he  took  a  double  first  class, 
an  honour  similar  to  that  won  by  Sir  Robert  Peel 
twenty-three  years  previously.  At  this  time  Glad- 
stone was  only  twenty-two,  and  so  rapidly  did 
public  life  open  before  him  that  the  following 
year  he  was  returned  member  for  Newark,  being 


134  Famous  Love  Matches 

then  a  strong  Conservative  in  politics.  He  did 
not  make  his  mark  all  at  once  as  an  orator,  but 
he  was  recognised  as  an  amazing  worker.  Sir 
James  Graham  said  that  '  Gladstone  could  do  in 
four  hours  what  it  took  any  other  man  sixteen,' 
and  he  worked  sixteen  hours  in  the  day. 

Most  of  us  only  think  of  Gladstone  as  an  old 
man.  When  he  was  young,  his  countenance  is 
described  as  being  mild  and  pleasant,  with  a  highly 
intellectual  expression,  his  eyes  quick  and  clear, 
his  eyebrows  dark  and  rather  prominent. 

*  There  is  not  a  dandy  in  the  House  but  envies 
Gladstone's  fine  head  of  black  hair,'  says  another 
contemporary,  who  goes  on  to  describe  him  as  a 
speaker,  and  adds :  '  His  gesture  is  varied,  but  not 
violent.  When  he  rises,  he  generally  puts  both  his 
hands  behind  his  back,  and  having  suffered  them  to 
embrace  one  another  for  a  short  time,  he  unclasps 
them,  and  allows  them  to  drop  on  each  side.' 

Other  critics  complained  of  his  abstracted  air. 
'  It  is  as  though  you  saw  a  bright  picture  through 
a  filmy  veil.  His  pale  complexion,  slightly  tinged 
with  olive,  and  dark  hair,  cut  rather  close  to  his 
head,  with  an  eye  of  remarkable  depth,  still  more 
impress  you  with  the  abstracted  character  of  his 
disposition.  The  expression  of  his  face  would  be 
sombre  were  it  not  for  the  striking  eye,  which  has 
a  remarkable  fascination.' 

During  the  early  part  of  1838  he  was  busy  with 
his  first  book,  'The  Church  in  Relation  to  the 
State,'   in   which   he  warmly  espoused  a   State- 


Mr.  and  Mrs.  Gladstone         135 

endowed  Church — a  view  afterwards,  as  we  all 
know,  entirely  repudiated  by  him.  At  this  time 
he  had  been  in  Parliament  seven  years,  had  been 
Under-Secretary  of  State,  and  was  soon  to  begin 
his  apprenticeship  at  the  Board  of  Trade.  And  it 
was  in  the  October  of  this  year — 1838 — that  he 
met  his  future  wife,  Catherine  Glynne,  who  was 
travelling  in  Sicily  with  her  younger  sister,  Mary, 
and  her  brother,  Sir  Stephen  Glynne.  Gladstone 
was  ordered  a  foreign  tour  for  change  and  rest  for 
his  eyes. 

This  meeting  was  a  memorable  one.  In  finding 
Catherine  Glynne,  he  also  seemed  to  find  himself; 
his  whole  nature  developed  and  expanded  under 
her  sunny  influence.  He  was  no  longer  abstracted. 
She  and  her  sister  were  called  *  the  beautiful  Miss 
Glynnes.'  Many  portraits  of  Mrs.  Gladstone  before 
her  marriage  are  to  be  found,  one  with  her  sister 
(afterwards  Lady  Lyttelton)  by  Richmond.  The 
two  girls  have  their  hair  done  up  in  the  fashion  of 
that  day,  long  ringlets  at  each  side  and  a  bunch 
at  the  top  of  the  head.  The  younger  sister  looks 
a  gentle,  sentimental  girl,  while  the  elder  one, 
Catherine,  looks  steadfast  and  self-reliant,  one  of 
those  women  with  a  'reason  firm,  a  temperate  will,' 
to  whom  others  look  for  help  and  guidance.  The 
face  is  rather  long,  with  dark,  well-shaped  eyes 
and  regular  features.  In  another  portrait  given 
by  Mr.  Morley,  Catherine  Glynne  looks  a  perfect 
Juno ;  her  waving  dark  hair  is  in  bands,  and  her 
large  eyes  beam  with  intelligence.     As  a  girl  she 


136  Famous  Love  Matches 

always  took  a  leading  place.  Her  mother  was  an 
invalid,  and  she  had  to  preside  at  Hawarden  Castle, 
the  ancestral  home  of  the  Glynnes. 

By  her  sister  and  brother  Catherine  Glynne 
was  almost  adored ;  by  the  household  and  villagers 
at  Hawarden  she  was  looked  up  to  as  a  queen. 
Her  education  had  not  been  better  than  that  of 
the  average  girl  in  the  early  half  of  the  nineteenth 
century.  She  was  never  a  book-lover,  but  her 
son-in-law  says  'that  she  had  a  very  keen  and 
quick  intelligence,  an  excellent  memory,  a  woman's 
wit  in  piecing  things  together,  with  an  hereditary 
taste  for  politics.'  Her  mother,  Lady  Glynne, 
was  one  of  an  historic  clan — grand -daughter  of 
George  Grenville,  the  Minister  of  American  taxa- 
tion, and  niece  of  William  Grenville,  head  of  the 
Cabinet  of  all  the  Talents  in  1806.  She  was  there- 
fore first-cousin  of  the  younger  Pitt. 

Catherine  Glynne  possessed  the  gift  of  sympathy 
— far  more  valuable  to  her  husband  than  any 
literary  gifts  could  have  been.  She  was  twenty- 
six — in  the  prime  of  her  womanhood — when  she 
came  across  the  path  of  young  Gladstone,  then 
twenty  -  eight.  There  seems  to  have  been  no 
question  from  the  very  first  that  she  was  'his 
answering  spirit  bride.'  They  were  made  for 
each  other,  and  they  both  knew  that  it  was  so. 
And  so  the  foundation  for  this  love  match,  this 
1  perfect  marriage  of  true  souls,'  was  laid  amidst 
the  enchanting  scenery  of  Sicily,  and  was  con- 
tinued in  the  classic  region  of  Rome.     It  was  in 


Mr.  and  Mrs.   Gladstone  137 

Rome  that  a  gentleman  who  took  Catherine 
Glynne  in  to  dinner  told  her  to  look  at  her 
opposite  neighbour,  Mr.  Gladstone,  for  '  he  would 
be  the  future  Prime  Minister  of  England.'  A 
formal  engagement  between  the  two  lovers  did  not 
take  place  until  June,  1839,  and  the  marriage 
followed  rapidly,  July  25,  at  Hawarden.  Great 
festivities  were  observed,  as  the  two  sisters  were 
married  on  the  same  day,  the  younger  to  Lord 
Lyttelton.  The  superstitious  regard  the  marriage 
of  two  sisters  at  the  same  time  as  unlucky,  but 
in  this  case  the  only  misfortune  was  that  Lady 
Lyttelton's  life  was  a  short  one.  She  was  the 
mother  of  many  sons,  who  have  distinguished 
themselves  in  various  ways.  One  of  her  daughters 
is  Lady  Frederick  Cavendish,  widow  of  the  ill- 
fated  Secretary  for  Ireland,  who  was  murdered  in 
the  Phoenix  Park. 

Mr.  Gladstone  and  his  bride  spent  the  close  of 
their  honeymoon  at  Fasque,  Sir  John  Gladstone's 
place  in  Scotland.  Though  the  elder  Miss  Glynne 
was  supposed  to  be  something  of  an  heiress,  yet 
the  Hawarden  estate  was  heavily  encumbered. 
Mr.  Gladstone,  with  his  father's  help  and  support, 
threw  the  bulk  of  his  own  fortune  into  the  assets 
of  Hawarden.  From  first  to  last  he  put  down  his 
expenditure  on  it  at  £267,000.  So  the  estate 
became  freed  from  debt,  and  by  the  death  of  Sir 
Stephen  Glynne,  Mrs.  Gladstone's  brother,  she 
eventually  succeeded  to  the  whole  property. 

From  the  time  of  their  first  acquaintance,  she 


138  Famous  Love  Matches 

took  an  absorbing  interest  in  whatever  interested 
her  husband.  There  were  no  secrets  between 
them,  and  in  spite  of  her  impulsive  nature,  she 
was  his  most  discreet  confidante.  Mr.  T.  P. 
O'Connor  told  an  interesting  story  which  illus- 
trates this.  Just  after  Mrs.  Gladstone  was  married 
her  husband,  who  had  already  been  in  the  con- 
fidence of  the  Ministry,  said  to  her :  *  Shall  I  tell 
you  nothing,  and  you  can  say  anything  ?  Or, 
shall  I  tell  you  everything,  and  you  say  nothing  ?' 
She  chose  the  latter  alternative,  and  he  told  her 
everything,  and  she  never  told  anything  except 
once.  Two  Cabinet  Ministers  were  dining  at 
Carlton  House  Terrace,  and  something  was  men- 
tioned the  details  of  which  were  known  only  to 
members  of  the  Cabinet,  or  to  such  of  their  wives 
as  could  be  trusted  with  their  secrets.  Mrs. 
Gladstone  said,  or  did,  or  looked  something  which 
revealed  that  she  knew.  At  once  there  was  flashed 
to  her  from  the  brilliant  black  eyes  of  her  husband 
one  of  those  terrible  looks  he  could  give — a  silent 
but  terrifying  reproof.  When  the  dinner  was  over 
Mrs.  Gladstone  went  up  to  the  drawing-room,  and 
wrote  a  note  of  apology  to  her  husband.  He 
scribbled  back  a  reply  something  in  these  words  : 
*  You  are  always  right ;  you  could  not  do  wrong. 
Never  mention  it  again.'  Years  afterwards,  at 
Hawarden,  when  he  was  showing  some  of  his  old 
letters,  Mrs.  Gladstone  went  upstairs,  and  came 
dc  —n  with  a  little  bundle,  and  out  came  this  tiny 
note,  faded,  scarcely  legible,  'preserved  through 


Mr.  and  Mrs.  Gladstone         139 

half  a  century  of  joy,  and  suffering,  and  greatness 
together.' 

Mr.  Gladstone  himself  certainly  preserved  no 
recollection  of  this  little  incident,  for,  speaking  of 
his  wife,  he  said :  '  She  has  known  every  secret, 
and  has  never  betrayed  one.'  When  apart  they 
corresponded  daily,  so  their  son-in-law,  the  Dean 
of  Lincoln,  says,  ■  and  his  letters  to  her  are  a  com- 
plete record  of  his  thoughts  and  aims.'  While  he 
was  most  orderly  and  methodical  in  his  habits, 
she  was  untidy  and  unmethodical,  but  she  took 
care  not  to  annoy  him  by  showing  this  defect. 
It  was  told  of  her  that  one  day  a  long  time  was 
spent  in  looking  for  a  certain  bodice  of  a  dress 
which  had  been  mislaid.  Chests  of  drawers  were 
ransacked,  wardrobes  turned  out,  and  at  length  the 
missing  article  was  found  just  where  it  should  have 
been,  pinned  into  the  skirt  of  the  dress  it  belonged 
to  !     No  one  had  ever  dreamt  of  looking  there. 

Mrs.  Gladstone  was  the  mother  of  many  children ; 
no  less  than  seven,  four  sons  and  three  daughters, 
lived  to  grow  up,  and  several  died  as  infants. 
What  with  looking  after  such  a  family,  and  the 
care  of  her  husband's  health,  and  the  promotion 
of  various  charitable  undertakings,  together  with 
the  claims  of  society,  she  must  have  had  a  busy 
and  eventful  time.  She  was  her  '  husband's  con- 
stant companion,  always  on  the  watch  to  help  or 
shield  him  ;  charming  friends,  great  and  humble, 
by  her  gracious  and  cordial  manner.'  '  In  Mr. 
Gladstone's  study  (the  temple  of  peace),  and  even 


140  Famous  Love  Matches 

in  his  official  room  in  Downing  Street  when  he 
was  alone,'  says  the  Dean  of  Lincoln,  ■  she  had 
her  own  table,  and  was  busy  silently  writing.  And 
he  leaned  upon  her  greatly.'  She  was  a  woman 
that  every  one  seemed  to  lean  upon.  She  was  so 
unselfish  that  her  greatest  joy  was  to  give  help 
ungrudgingly,  gladly,  without  stint. 

In  the  autumn  of  1858  Mr.  Gladstone  was  offered 
by  Lord  Lytton  the  post  of  Lord  High  Commis- 
sioner to  the  Ionian  Islands,  then  belonging  to  the 
British  Empire.  He  accepted  it,  partly  because 
Mrs.  Gladstone's  health  had  been  much  shaken 
by  the  death  of  her  sister,  Lady  Lyttelton,  and  the 
doctors  had  prescribed  for  her  change  of  scene, 
novel  interests,  and  a  southern  climate.  So  they 
left  England  for  Corfu,  and  landed  under  a  salute 
of  seventeen  guns. 

Not  long  after  Mr.  Gladstone's  return  to  England 
he  was  appointed  Chancellor  of  the  Exchequer,  and 
a  time  of  great  mental  strain  set  in.  During  this 
time  Mrs.  Gladstone  was  his  never  -  failing  stay 
and  support.  Whenever  there  was  going  to  be 
a  great  debate  at  the  House  of  Commons,  the 
fact  was  shown  by  the  presence  of  Mrs.  Gladstone 
in  the  first  row  of  the  Ladies'  Gallery.  Once  there, 
she  never  took  her  eyes  off  her  husband  while 
he  was  speaking.  And  when  he  became  Prime 
Minister  for  the  third  time,  at  the  age  of  seventy- 
five,  it  was  she  who  mixed  with  her  own  hands 
that  mixture  of  beaten-up  eggs  and  other  ingre- 
dients which  he  took  from  time  to  time  to  restore 


Mr.  and  Mrs.  Gladstone         141 

his  exhausted  strength.  She  watched  over  and 
ministered  to  him  with  unfailing  vigilance.  If  he 
was  making  a  speech  at  one  of  the  large  provincial 
towns,  there  was  she  on  the  platform,  close  behind 
him,  ready  to  throw  in  a  word  of  encouragement, 
advice,  or  cheer,  before  he  sat  down.  Whatever 
his  political  enemies  might  have  to  say  against 
him,  every  one  had  a  word  of  praise  for  her,  true 
wife  as  she  always  was. 

Perhaps  the  adoration  which  she  lavished  on 
him  tended  to  make  him  more  dogmatic  than  he 
was  even  inclined  to  be  by  nature,  but  her  nature 
was  to  give  lavishly;  she  did  not  do  things  by 
halves.  Her  lovingkindness  extended  to  all  with 
whom  she  came  in  contact — rich  and  poor,  friends, 
kindred  and  neighbours,  little  children,  waifs  and 
strays.  If  she  could  do  good,  hold  out  a  helping 
hand  to  those  in  trouble  or  in  moral  danger,  she 
never  hesitated  about  doing  so,  or  let  the  grass 
grow  under  her  feet.  While  others  would  be 
hesitating  what  steps  to  take  or  what  quarters  to 
write  to,  she  would  find  out  a  short-cut,  and  the 
thing  would  be  done  out  of  hand.  She  possessed 
a  very  good  faculty  for  organization.  One  institu- 
tion which  owed  its  existence  to  her  is  the  Free 
Convalescent  Home  at  Woodford  Hall.  That, 
like  the  Industrial  School  attached  to  the  Newport 
Market  Refuge  and  the  Orphanage  for  Boys  at 
Hawarden,  grew  out  of  her  own  experience  in  the 
London  Hospital  during  the  cholera  epidemic  of 
1867. 


142  Famous  Love  Matches 

A  characteristic  story  is  told  of  her  by  her  son- 
in-law,  the  Dean  of  Lincoln.  She  was  travelling 
down  to  Woodford;  the  footman  had  taken  her 
ticket  for  her,  and  she  had  no  money,  having  left 
her  purse  at  home,  or  emptied  it,  as  she  often  did, 
in  the  cause  of  charity.  On  the  journey  she  began 
to  talk  to  a  sad-looking  young  lady  in  the  railway 
carriage,  and  learned  by  degrees  the  cause  of  her 
sorrow — that  a  sick  husband  was  on  the  point  of 
starting  for  Australia  as  a  last  chance  of  saving 
his  life,  and  that  she  had  not  enough  money  to 
keep  him  company.  Listening  to  this  tale  of  woe, 
Mrs.  Gladstone  passed  the  station  for  which  she 
was  bound,  so  she  had  to  borrow  a  shilling  from 
her  travelling  companion  to  pay  the  excess  fare, 
giving  her,  at  the  same  time,  her  address  in  St. 
James's  Square,  and  telling  her  to  call  there  the 
next  day,  and  she  would  see  what  could  be  done 
for  her.  That  same  evening,  at  a  smart  dinner, 
Mrs.  Gladstone  told  the  whole  story  with  such 
effect  that,  along  with  her  own  contribution, 
enough  was  promised  to  pay  the  second  passage 
to  Australia.  The  following  day  the  young  wife, 
accompanied  by  her  husband,  and  both  strongly 
suspecting  that  they  had  been  hoaxed,  arrived  at 
St.  James's  Square,  and  all  difficulties  were  satis- 
factorily cleared  up. 

Though  Mrs.  Gladstone  lived  a  good  deal  in  the 
gay  world  of  London,  she  never  really  belonged  to 
it.  Her  blue  velvet  gown  and  white  lace  shawl 
were  familiar  sights  at  every  fashionable  wedding, 


Mr.  and  Mrs.  Gladstone         143 

but  in  spirit  she  was  essentially  unworldly.  In 
religion  she  was  a  strong  Churchwoman  of  the 
Oxford  school  of  thought,  and  was  thus  in  perfect 
unison  with  her  husband.  There  was  never  a  dis- 
cordant note  between  them. 

A  graphic  picture  is  given  by  Mr.  T.  P.  O'Connor 
of  the  fiftieth  anniversary  of  their  wedding-day.  He 
says :  '  When  it  was  getting  laje,  Mr.  Gladstone 
went  up  to  his  wife  with  an  expression  of  tender- 
ness and  sweetness  on  his  face,  as  beautiful  as  I 
have  ever  seen  him,  and  taking  her  by  the  hand 
as  though  she  were  a  little  child,  he  led  her  out  of 
the  room.'  '  It  was,'  he  adds,  *a  sight  that  might 
well  have  brought  tears.' 

That  golden-wedding  day  was  followed  by  nearly 
ten  more  years — the  last  four  were  perhaps  the 
most  peaceful  and  the  happiest  of  Mr.  Gladstone's 
eventful  career,  for  it  was  during  that  period  that 
he  finally  withdrew  from  the  stormy  sea  of  politics, 
and  contented  himself  with  the  quiet  country 
occupations  of  Hawarden. 

When  the  end  finally  came,  among  the  mourners 
who  stood  round  the  open  grave  at  Westminster 
Abbey  stood  foremost  the  tall,  bent,  black-garbed 
figure  of  Mrs.  Gladstone,  who  in  two  short  years 
was  to  be  laid  beside  him  whom  she  had  loved 
and  served  so  well.  Lord  Rosebery,  in  his  speech 
before  the  House  of  Lords  on  the  death  of  Mr. 
Gladstone,  alluded  to  her  as  'that  solitary  and 
pathetic  figure  who  for  sixty  years  shared  all  the 
sorrows  and  all  the  joys  of  Mr.  Gladstone's  life, 


144  Famous  Love  Matches 

who  received  his  confidence  and  every  aspiration, 
who  shared  his  triumphs  and  cheered  him  under 
his  defeats,  who  by  her  tender  vigilance,  I  humbly 
believe,  sustained  and  prolonged  his  life.' 

What  a  testimony  to  a  wife  was  this ! 

The  Dean  of  Lincoln  relates  a  most  touching 
incident  in  the  closing  hours  of  Mrs.  Gladstone's 
life,  when  her  mind  was  wandering.  He  said  that 
one  of  her  fancies  was  that  a  carriage  which  should 
have  been  ready  for  her  husband  was  after  time. 
She  scolded  the  nurse,  and  sent  urgent  messages 
to  the  servants ;  then,  turning  as  she  thought  to 
him,  and,  with  her  old  tact,  changing  her  voice  so 
that  he  might  not  guess  that  there  was  any  delay 
or  difficulty,  she  said,  i  Shall  you  be  ready  to  start 
soon,  darling  ?' 

It  showed  the  ruling  influence  of  her  existence, 
strong  even  in  approaching  death.  Well  did  Mr. 
A.  C.  Benson  say  of  her : 

'  Thou  had'st  no  thought  for  greatness- 
Enough  for  thee  if  one  were  reckoned  great ; 
Enough  to  keep  from  fiery  shafts  of  blame 
One  head  inviolate. 

'  God  gave  thee  love,  whole-hearted  love,  to  thrill 
The  colder,  harder  world  that  girt  thee  round: 
A  silent,  speeding  ripple,  widening  still 
To  earth's  remotest  bound.' 


ROBERT  SCHUMANN. 
From  a  Photograph. 


ROBERT  SCHUMANN  AND  CLARA 
WIECK 

'  Love  took  up  the  harp  of  Life,  and  smote  on  all  the  chords 

with  might ; 
Smote  the  chord  of  Self,  that,  trembling,  pass'd  in  music  out 
of  sight.' 

Tennyson. 

IT  is  not  at  all  surprising  that  great  musicians 
should  be  specially  prone  to  fall  in  love. 
They  have  an  emotional  temperament,  easily 
moved  to  rapture  or  agony,  to  smiles  or  tears. 
Perhaps  no  composer  was  ever  more  keenly  or 
delicately  sensitive  to  outside  influences  than 
Robert  Schumann.  Every  object  that  passed 
before  him  during  his  travels — sparkling  rivers, 
grey  clouds,  pretty  faces,  wayside  inns — all  became 
transmuted  into  music.  Even  the  trifling  inci- 
dents of  a  child's  life — the  swing,  the  hobby-horse, 
the  tales  of  old  bogey  or  of  Aladdin — are  repro- 
duced for  us  in  that  wonderful  series  of  musical 
poems,  the  '  Kinderscenen.'  It  goes  without  saying 
that  this  sensitive  genius  should  have  been  in  love, 
not  merely  once,  but  several  times.  The  great 
love,  however,  the  guiding  star  of  Schumann's 
existence,  was  his  wife,  Clara.     It  was  she  who 

145  10 


146  Famous  Love   Matches 

*  filled  his  life  with  the  sunshine  of  love,'  who 
inspired  him  with  his  noblest  thoughts,  and  was, 
in  her  turn,  inspired  by  him.  After  they  had  been 
married  eight  or  ten  years,  they  would  sit  down 
to  the  piano,  side  by  side,  and  play  piece  after 
piece,  she  playing  the  treble  with  her  right  hand, 
and  he  the  bass  with  his  left.  (Owing  to  an  over- 
strain, his  right  hand  had  become  disabled.)  Often, 
we  are  told,  their  disengaged  arms  were  locked 
round  each  other  in  a  mutual  embrace. 

Robert  Schumann  was  born  at  Zwickau  in  1810. 
His  father,  who  had  been  a  bookseller,  died  soon 
after  the  child's  birth ;  his  mother  wished  her 
youngest  son  to  be  a  lawyer,  and  when  he  was 
eighteen,  he  was  sent  to  the  University  of  Leipzig 
to  study  law.  He  never  cared  for  it,  but  for  some 
years  he  obeyed  his  mother's  wishes. 

His  first  love-affair  was  with  a  girl  called  Clara 
— not  the  real  Clara — but  Clara  von  Kurrer,  the 
daughter  of  an  Augsburg  professor.  She  was  not 
for  him,  as  she  was  already  engaged  to  be  married. 
But  she  left  a  strong  impression  on  him,  for  he 
said :  *  When  I  ensconced  myself  in  the  diligence 
on  the  way  back  to  Leipzig,  I  wept  bitterly  as 
I  thought  of  all  that  had  been  torn  from  my  heart 
and  lies  shattered  before  me.'  He  wrote  to  his 
friend  Rosen :  '  Both  waking  and  sleeping  sweet 
Clara's  image  is  always  before  me.' 

But  this  was  only  calf-love — merely  the  prelude 
before  the  overture.  At  Leipzig  lived  the  Wieck 
family.     Friedrich  Wieck  was  a  famous  musical 


Robert  Schumann  and  Clara  Wieck    147 

critic  as  well  as  an  excellent  teacher.  To  him 
Robert  Schumann  went  for  lessons  on  the  piano. 
Wieck's  daughter,  Clara,  by  his  first  marriage, 
was  then  a  child  of  eleven,  while  Robert  Schumann 
was  twenty.  He  describes  Clara  as  a  '  queer 
little  girl,  with  strong  views  of  her  own,  beautiful 
eyes,  and  a  weakness  for  cherries.'  Wieck  was 
determined  to  train  his  daughter  as  a  pianist ;  he 
worked  hard  at  her  musical  education,  and  as  she 
showed  marvellous  talent,  she  soon  became  a  sort 
of  prodigy,  playing  the  most  difficult  music  at 
sight  with  the  greatest  ease. 

Schumann  soon  left  Leipzig,  and  went  to 
Heidelberg  to  pursue  his  legal  studies.  He  then 
went  on  a  tour  to  Italy,  his  mother  keeping  him 
tolerably  well  supplied  with  the  needful  funds. 
At  Milan  he  fell  in  love  for  six  whole  days  with 
a  beautiful  English  girl — *  very  proud,  but  so  soft,' 
he  adds,  '  when  I  was  playing.  She  seemed  to 
have  fallen  in  love  not  so  much  with  myself  as 
with  my  playing.  She  gave  me  a  spray  of  cypress 
when  we  parted.' 

This  Italian  tour  stimulated  Schumann's  genius 
for  composing  ;  he  began  '  Les  Papillons '  ('  The 
Butterflies '),  and  he  became  more  and  more 
averse  to  his  law  studies.  Hearing  Paganini  play 
was  another  inspiring  influence  which  kindled  his 
musical  ardour,  and  he  arranged  some  of  the  great 
violinist's  pieces  for  the  piano.  At  this  time  he 
was  a  brilliant  pianist,  as  his  hand  had  not  yet 
been  overstrained.     The  claims  of  music  became 

10 — 2 


148  Famous  Love  Matches 

at  length  too  strong  to  be  resisted,  and  he  wrote 
to  his  mother  at  Zwickau,  announcing  his  decision. 
He  told  her  that  there  had  been  a  twenty  years' 
war  between  prose  and  poetry,  between  law  and 
music,  and  music  had  conquered.  The  question 
whether  he  should  adopt  a  musical  career  was 
referred  to  Wieck,  who  gave  it  as  his  opinion  that 
Schumann  showed  sufficient  musical  ability  to 
authorize  his  adopting  music  as  a  profession. 
And  so  Schumann  took  up  his  quarters  at  Leipzig, 
this  time  in  the  Wiecks'  house,  Grimmaische 
Strasse,  36. 

Here  he  remained  for  two  years — until  the 
autumn  of  1832 — thrown  into  the  constant  com- 
panionship of  Clara  Wieck,  then  in  the  first  dawn 
of  awakening  girlhood.  The  probability  is  that 
she  always  loved  Schumann,  while  he  looked  on 
her  as  a  young  man  of  twenty-two  is  apt  to  look 
on  a  girl  in  the  transition  stage.  One  of  his 
letters  seem  to  prove  this.  He  wrote,  in  1833, 
when  she  was  fourteen : 

1  Clara  is  the  same  wild  and  fanciful  little  person, 
skipping  and  tearing  about  like  a  child  one  moment 
and  full  of  serious  sayings  the  next.  It  is  a 
pleasure  to  watch  the  increasing  rapidity  with 
which  she  unfolds  the  treasures  of  her  mind  and 
heart,  as  a  flower  unfolds  its  petals.  The  other 
day,  as  we  came  home  from  Comerwitz  together 
— we  do  a  tramp  of  two  or  three  hours  every 
day — I  heard  her  say  to  herself,  "  Oh,  how  happy, 
how  happy  I  am  1'" 


Robert  Schumann  and  Clara  Wieck    149 

In  one  of  Schumann's  poems  addressed  to  her 
in  after-years,  he  tells  how  he  dressed  up  as  a 
bogy  to  frighten  her : 

'  Years  ago,  when  you  were  only  a  bright 

Little  maiden,  they  sent  you  to  bed, 
And  I  stood  at  your  door  in  the  failing  light, 
Dressed  as  a  bogey  to  give  you  a  fright, 

And  you  shrieked  and  you  fled. 
Ah,  could  I  see  you  disguised  as  then, 

Would  you  not  quickly  discover, 
And  whisper  as  gently,  "  'Tis  you,  of  all  men  ! 
Come,  let  me  kiss  you,  and  kiss  you  again  ! 

Do  you  like  masquerading,  my  lover  ?"' 

From  her  portrait  taken  about  this  time  or  a 
little  later  we  see  that  Clara  had  a  small  oval 
face,  a  clear,  fresh  complexion,  with  nearly  black 
eyes  and  hair.  Schumann  was  of  medium  height, 
well-built,  with  dreamy  eyes,  full  of  soul.  Clara's 
wonderful  piano-playing  must  have  been  a  great 
bond  between  the  two.  At  a  concert  given  at 
Zwickau  in  1835,  when  Clara  was  sixteen,  she 
enraptured  Schumann  by  playing  his  *  Symphony 
in  G  Minor '  in  a  masterly  way.  When  Chopin 
came  to  Leipzig,  she  was  chosen  to  play  before 
him  some  of  his  own  compositions,  and  during 
one  of  her  concert  tours  she  played  before  Goethe 
at  Weimar,  and  was  rewarded  by  him  with  the 
gift  of  a  medallion  and  a  kiss. 

'You  have  read  about  Clara,'  wrote  Schumann 
to  his  friend  Rosen.  '  Imagine  everything  that  is 
perfect,  and  I  will  endorse  it.  The  old  master 
is  my  greatest  friend.' 


150  Famous  Love  Matches 

This  was  Wieck,  but  Schumann  offended  him 
by  wishing  to  have  lessons  from  Hummell,  and 
so  they  parted,  Schumann  leaving  the  Wiecks' 
house.  He  made  friends  with  Frau  Henriette 
Voigt,  the  wife  of  a  Leipzig  merchant.  At  her 
house  he  constantly  met  Ernestine  von  Fricken, 
a  girl  who  had  come  from  Asch,  in  Bohemia, 
to  study  music  under  Wieck.  She  lived,  as 
Schumann  had  previously  done,  with  the  Wiecks. 
A  violent  love  now  sprang  up  between  Ernestine 
and  Robert  Schumann,  and  for  a  time  they  were 
engaged  to  be  married.  Clara  Wieck,  who  seems 
to  have  been  constantly  away  on  concert  tours, 
was  made  the  confidante  of  her  friend  Ernestine's 
raptures.  Letters  describing  Ernestine's  emotions 
came  continually,  and  Schumann  was  equally 
outspoken  to  his  friend  Rosen.  He  wrote :  '  It 
is  my  Ernestine  that  I  love  so  immeasurably.' 
He  immortalized  her  in  his  music  under  the  name 
of  Estrelle ;  but  after  running  a  stormy  and  fitful 
course,  the  engagement  was  broken  off  by  mutual 
consent.  The  lovers,  however,  continued  friends, 
and  after  her  marriage  with  a  German  baron, 
Ernestine  carefully  preserved  a  book,  bound  in 
pink  satin,  which  Schumann  had  given  her,  con- 
taining some  of  his  literary  compositions.  He 
was  busy  not  only  with  music,  but  also  with 
writing,  for  he  helped  to  found  and  edit  a  new 
musical  journal,  with  critical  notices.  To  show 
his  dual  nature,  he  chose  two  pseudonyms  for 
himself,  taken   from   the  writings  of  Jean  Paul 


Robert  Schumann  and  Clara  Wieck    151 

Richter — '  Florestan,'  which  represented  his  tur- 
bulent, impulsive  side,  '  Eusebius,'  which  repre- 
sented his  gentle,  thoughtful,  and  sensitive  side; 
and  these  names  were  signed  to  his  articles,  as 
well  as  to  his  musical  work.  His  *  Sonata  in  F 
Sharp  Minor'  is  dedicated  to  Clara  Wieck  by 
1  Florestan  and  Eusebius.'  As  Ernestine  faded 
out  of  his  life,  so  did  Clara  now  emerge  into  it, 
and  reign  undisputed  queen  of  his  heart.  In  1835 
he  wrote :  '  Clara  Wieck  gets  more  and  more 
charming,  both  in  mind  and  body,  every  day — nay, 
every  hour.' 

The  following  year  he  wrote  triumphantly: 
*  Clara  Wieck  loves  and  is  loved  in  return.  The 
happy  ones  acted,  talked,  and  exchanged  vows 
without  the  father's  knowledge.  He  has  found 
them  out,  wants  to  take  violent  measures,  and 
forbids  any  intercourse  under  pain  of  death.' 

And  now  began  a  period  of  probation  which 
lasted  for  four  years.  Schu  nann  says :  ■  I  dare 
say  the  struggles  I  endured  about  Clara  are,  to 
a  certain  extent,  reflected  in  my  music'  Certainly 
all  his  best  work  was  done  after  his  engagement  to 
Clara.  Old  Wieck  was  devoted  to  his  gifted 
daughter;  she  was  his  glory  and  his  pride,  and 
Schumann,  at  this  time,  was  regarded  as  a  clever 
but  erratic  young  man,  without  a  regular  income. 
Wieck  dreaded  to  see  his  cherished  Clara  struggling 
with  housekeeping  cares,  instead  of  being  hailed  as 
the  first  pianist  of  the  day.  But  nothing  would  shake 
her  decision.     She  was  determined  to  be  faithful 


152  Famous  Love  Matches 

to  her  lover.  She  was  immovable.  Schumann 
rightly  calls  her  '  one  of  the  most  glorious  girls  in 
the  world.     May  Heaven's  blessing  be  upon  us !' 

She  wrote  to  Schumann  on  August  15,  1835 : 
1  So  one  little  "  Yes  "  is  all  you  want.  What  an 
important  word  it  is !  Surely  a  heart  so  full  of 
love  as  mine  can  utter  it  freely.  I  can  indeed  say 
it ;  my  inmost  soul  whispers  it  unceasingly  to  you.' 

Then  came  in  the  irate  father,  and  Schumann 
wrote :  '  My  interview  with  your  father  was  terrible. 
He  was  frigid,  hostile,  confused,  and  irritating. 
The  word  "steadfast,"  which  you  uttered  three 
times  the  other  day,  seemed  to  come  from  the 
very  depths  of  your  soul.  His  obstinacy  must 
give  way  before  our  love,  my  own  Clara.' 

Clara  answered :  '  Do  you  still  doubt  me  ?  I 
must  forgive  you,  for,  of  course,  I  am  only  a  weak 
girl — weak,  yes,  but  my  soul  is  strong,  and  my 
heart  steadfast  and  unvarying.  Let  this  be  enough 
to  destroy  your  doubts.  .  .  .  You  will  hear  all 
sorts  of  reports  about  me,  and  many  a  doubt  may 
arise  in  your  mind,  but  say  to  yourself,  "  She  does 
it  all  for  me.'" 

Clara  had  been  appointed  Court  pianist,  and 
Schumann  had  many  opportunities  of  seeing  her 
in  public.  After  one  of  these  occasions  he  wrote : 
*  Do  you  hear,  among  the  many  happy  voices 
calling  you,  one  who  whispers  your  name  ?  You 
look  round  and  see  me.  "  You  here,  Robert !"  you 
exclaim.  And  why  not  ?  I  never  leave  you,  but 
follow  you  everywhere,  though  unseen.' 


Robert   Schumann  and  Clara  Wieck    153 

On  New  Year's  Eve  he  wrote :  '  I  have  been 
sitting  here  a  whole  hour.  Sit  down  beside  me, 
slip  your  arm  round  me,  and  let  us  gaze  peace- 
fully, blissfully,  into  each  other's  eyes.  The  world 
holds  her  breath.  It  is  just  striking  the  third 
quarter.  They  are  singing  at  a  church  in  the 
distance.  Tell  me,  do  you  know  these  two  lovers  ? 
How  happy  we  are,  Clara  !  Let  us  kneel  together, 
Clara,  my  Clara — so  close  that  I  can  touch  you  in 
this  solemn  hour.' 

Schumann  said  that  to  be  with  Clara  continually 
is  a  liberal  education,  and  this  thought  appears  in 
a  letter  he  wrote  on  March  17,  1838 :  '  How  shall 
I  begin  to  tell  you  what  a  different  creature  you 
are  making  of  me,  you  dear,  splendid  person  ?  You 
lead  me  from  one  heaven  to  another.  Sometimes, 
as  I  go  through  your  letters,  I  feel  like  the  first  man, 
as  he  was  led  by  an  angel  through  the  whole  new 
creation.  As  they  go  from  height  to  height,  where 
each  prospect  is  fairer  than  the  last,  the  angel  says, 
"  All  this  is  thine  !"     Is  it  really  mine  ?' 

After  a  concert  at  which  Clara  played,  Schu- 
mann wrote :  *  I  saw  you  the  whole  time,  and 
the  ring  gleaming  on  your  finger.  Come  and 
let  me  kiss  you  again  and  again  for  the  way 
you  played  to  me  yesterday — you,  my  own  Clara, 
with  your  beautiful  soul  and  your  wonderful  talent. 
You  played  magnificently.  .  .  .  Good-bye,  my 
best,  best-beloved;  my  heart's  treasure,  my  own 
dearest  Clara.' 

The    time    of   probation    sometimes   appeared 


154  Famous  Love  Matches 

unbearable.      In    some  verses   Schumann  wrote 
he  says : 

'  A  maid  of  twenty,  and  not  yet  a  wife, 
A  man  of  thirty,  who  is  but  a  lover, 
Are  losing  fast,  and  never  may  recover, 
The  spring  of  life. 

1  If  angrily  Florestan  scolds  thee, 
Eusebius's  arms  shall  enfold  thee.' 

As  time  went  on,  Schumann's  prospects  gradually 
improved.  After  his  mother's  death  he  came  in 
for  a  sum  of  money,  and  he  also  made  more  by  his 
compositions  and  articles. 

The  action  which  had  been  taken  against  Wieck 
to  compel  his  consent  to  the  marriage  was  with- 
drawn, and  on  September  12,  1840,  the  faithful 
lovers  were  united  at  the  little  village  of  Schonefeld, 
just  outside  Leipzig.  Soon  afterwards  Schumann 
wrote  to  his  friend :  '  If  you  could  only  take  a  peep 
at  us  in  our  snug  little  artistic  home !' 

The  first  year  of  Schumann's  marriage  was 
*  a  song  year '  with  him.  He  wrote  nothing  but 
songs.  His  setting  of  Heine's  poems  belongs  to  this 
period.  Who  is  not  familiar  with  that  wonderful 
music  to  '  The  Two  Grenadiers,'  in  which  the 
1  Marseillaise'  is  introduced  with  such  telling  effect  ? 
But  even  then  a  faint  shadow  had  begun  to  dawn ; 
he  heard  the  flitting  of  bats  round  his  head.  He 
accompanied  his  wife  to  Russia  on  one  of  her 
concert  tours,  and  so  little  was  his  fame  as  a 
composer  known  that,  after  Madame  Schumann 


Robert  Schumann  and  Clara  Wieck    155 

had  played  at  one  of  the  small  German  Courts, 
a  certain  Grand  Duke  asked  her  patronizingly  *  if 
her  husband  was  also  musical.' 

Some  of  the  troubles  Wieck  had  predicted  came. 
Children  rapidly  made  their  appearance — six  of 
them,  to  whom  Schumann  was  a  most  devoted 
father ;  but  money  did  not  always  pour  in  with 
equal  rapidity.  Schumann  was  not  a  success  as 
a  conductor ;  he  was  too  nervous  and  sensitive. 
In  1843  his  setting  of  Moore's  poem,  '  Paradise 
and  the  Peri,'  was  performed  at  Leipzig.  It  was 
a  favourite  work  with  him.  In  one  of  his  letters 
he  says :  '  A  soft  voice  seemed  to  say  to  me,  "  It  is 
not  in  vain  thou  art  writing."  ' 

For  fourteen  years  of  their  married  life  nothing 
really  destroyed  the  happiness  of  Clara  and  Robert 
Schumann,  and  then  it  was  noticed  that  his  fits 
of  morbid  silence  were  becoming  alarming.  Some- 
times he  hardly  seemed  to  know  where  he  was. 
Madame  Schumann  once  invited  some  friends  to 
spend  the  evening.  Her  husband,  who  had  been 
engaged  in  composition  the  whole  day,  sat  in  a 
corner,  taking  no  part  in  the  conversation.  At 
last  he  went  up  to  his  wife  and  said : 

'  Is  it  not  time  to  go  home  ?     I  am  so  tired.' 
■  But,  dearest,'  she  said,  '  we  are  at  home !' 
1  Oh  yes,  so  we  are,'  he  answered,  and  imme- 
diately went  to  his  room. 

These  fits  of  melancholy  and  depression  finally 
culminated  in  an  attempt  to  commit  suicide. 
Schumann   set  out  one  day,  crossed  the  bridge 


156  Famous  Love  Matches 

at  Coblenz,  and  threw  himself  into  the  Rhine. 
He  was  rescued  in  time,  and  was  removed  to  an 
asylum  at  Endenich,  where  he  remained  for  two 
years.  A  son,  Felix,  called  after  Mendelssohn, 
for  whom  Schumann  had  the  greatest  admiration, 
was  born  two  months  after  his  removal  to  the 
asylum,  but  only  lived  a  short  time.  The  Queen 
of  Roumania,  in  her  *  Souvenirs,'  gives  a  vivid 
picture  of  the  last  sad  meeting  between  the  husband 
and  wife.     She  says : 

1  Madame  Schumann  gave  me  an  account  of  her 
husband's  abortive  attempt  to  commit  suicide  in 
the  Rhine,  and  of  her  struggles  to  support  herself 
and  her  children  while  he  was  confined  in  the 
asylum.  Her  father  did  not  even  write  to  her, 
fearing  she  might  ask  him  for  money.  For  more 
than  two  years  she  did  not  see  her  husband. 
Finally,  just  as  she  was  seating  herself  to  play  at 
a  concert  in  London,  the  news  was  brought  that 
Schumann  was  at  the  point  of  death,  and  that  she 
must  hasten  her  return  to  Germany.  She  left 
immediately  for  Endenich.  . .  .  "  When  I  entered," 
she  said,  "  I  hardly  knew  him,  so  much  had  he 
changed ;  his  eyes  alone  recalled  him  to  me.  He 
turned  suddenly,  and  his  face  brightened.  'Ah, 
my  well-beloved  one !'  he  cried,  and  he  clasped  me 
in  his  arms.  He  did  not  wish  to  take  nourish- 
ment, fearing  he  might  be  poisoned,  but  he  did 
take  some  food  from  my  hand.  While  I  remained 
in  the  room,  he  followed  every  movement  of  mine 
with   his   eyes.     I  felt   myself  almost   happy,  in 


Robert  Schumann  and  Clara  Wieck    157 

spite  of  my  affliction,  to  have  had  again  a  token 
of  his  great  affection  and  love."  ' 

Shortly  afterwards — July  29,  1856 — his  spirit 
passed  away  at  the  age  of  forty-six.  Madame 
Schumann  was  obliged  to  continue  her  profes- 
sion as  a  pianist  to  support  her  six  children,  who 
were  absolutely  dependent  on  her.  In  playing 
Schumann's  compositions  during  her  many  con- 
cert tours  in  Germany,  Russia,  and  England, 
she  spread  his  fame  far  and  wide.  She  might 
well  say,  ■  No  one  understands  him  as  I  do.'  She 
herself  composed  several  beautiful  melodies,  and 
it  was  to  her  that  Mendelssohn  dedicated  two  of 
his  '  Songs  without  Words.' 

She  survived  her  husband  forty  years ;  her  death 
took  place  on  May  20, 1896,  at  the  age  of  seventy- 
seven.  Their  earthly  remains  rest  together  at  the 
old  cemetery  of  Bonn-on-the-Rhine.  An  elaborate 
white  marble  monument,  representing  two  angels 
crowning  the  bust  of  Schumann  with  a  wreath  of 
laurel,  has  been  erected  on  the  spot.  Crimson 
begonias,  fringed  with  bright  blue  lobelias,  edge 
it  round.  They  seem  to  tell  of  the  great  love 
between  these  two  gifted  souls  —  a  love  which 
survives  death  and  triumphs  over  the  grave. 

[The  extracts  from  'The  Love  Letters  of  Robert  Schu- 
mann '  are  taken  (by  kind  permission  of  Mr.  John  Murray) 
from  the  book  of  that  name  published  by  him  and  translated 
by  Hannah  Bryant.] 


ROBERT  AND   ELIZABETH    BROWNING 

1  Oh !  wilt  thou  have  my  hand,  Dear,  to  lie  along  in  thine  ? 
As  a  little  stone  in  a  running  stream,  it  seems  to  lie  and  pine  ; 
Now  droop  the  poor  pale  hand,  Dear,  unfit  to  plight  with  thine. 

Oh !  must  thou  have  my  soul,  Dear,  commingled  with  thy 

soul ? — 
Red  grows  the  cheek,  and  warm  the  hand,  the  part  is  in  the 

whole ; 
Nor  hands  nor  cheeks  keep  separate,  when  soul  is  joined  to 

soul.' 

E.  B.  Browning:  'Inclusions.' 

1  "TV  T  EVER  let  geniuses  marry'  is  a  maxim 
j_^  recently  laid  down  by  an  authority  on 
social  matters.  To  enforce  this  theory 
the  example  of  Thomas  Carlyle  and  his  wife  is 
held  up  as  a  warning,  but  another  more  illustrious 
instance  might  have  been  given  on  the  other  side. 
It  is  refreshing  to  turn  from  the  noise  and  dust  of 
commonplace  things — from  the  harsh  dissensions 
and  unlovely  squabbles  which  so  often  mar  and 
disfigure  domestic  life — and  to  glance,  even  for  a 
brief  space  of  time,  at  one  of  the  most  beautiful  and 
harmonious  unions  the  world  has  ever  witnessed. 
We  are  permitted  to  stand  at  the  threshold,  and 
we  feel  that  we  are  on  holy  ground.     No  jarring 

iS8 


ELIZABETH   BARRETT   BROWNING. 
From  the  Portrait  in  the  National  Portrait  Gallery  (by  kind  permission). 


Robert  and  Elizabeth  Browning      159 

note,  no  discord,  ever  disturbed  the  married  life 
of  the  two  poets  whose  names  stand  at  the  head 
of  this  page.  As  Mr.  William  Sharp  says,  in 
his  admirable  '  Life  of  Robert  Browning,'  ■  theirs 
is  the  loveliest  marriage  of  which  we  have  record 
in  literary  history.' 

How  it  came  about  was  almost  miraculous. 
Candid  friends  predicted  all  sorts  of  misfortunes, 
and  lamented  over  the  rashness  of  the  fragile  invalid 
who  had  dared  to  venture  into  the  stormy  waters 
of  matrimony. 

Mrs.  Jameson,  in  alluding  to  this  extraordinary 
event,  says  :  *  Both  excellent,  but  God  help  them  ! 
For  I  know  not  how  the  two  poet  heads  and  poet 
hearts  will  get  on  through  this  prosaic  world.' 

Wordsworth,  then  Poet  Laureate,  was  even 
more  cutting  in  his  remarks.  He  said :  '  So 
Robert  Browning  and  Elizabeth  Barrett  have 
gone  off  together  !  Well,  I  hope  they  may  under- 
stand each  other ;  nobody  else  could !' 

They  did  understand  each  other,  and  that  was 
the  secret  of  their  happiness.  There  was  some 
difference  in  the  social  status  of  the  two  poets. 
The  father  of  Robert  Browning  was  a  clerk  in  the 
Bank  of  England,  and  lived  in  the  prosaic  London 
suburb  of  Peckham,  where  his  only  son,  Robert, 
was  born  on  May  7,  1812.  The  house  was  pulled 
down,  and  the  Browning  family  moved  to  Camber- 
well,  a  suburb  which  at  that  time  could  boast  of 
groves,  green  trees,  and  hedges.  Here  it  was  that 
the  boy  Browning  roamed  about,  dreaming  dreams 


160  Famous  Love  Matches 

and  seeing  visions.  We  are  told  that  he  would  lie 
for  hours  under  the  shadow  of  three  huge  elms, 
looking  upon  distant  London,  a  '  golden  city  of 
the  west '  literally,  when  the  sunlight  came  stream- 
ing in  long  shafts  from  behind  the  towers  of  West- 
minster, and  flashing  on  the  gold  cross  of  St.  Paul's. 
It  was  a  fitting  outlook  for  the  future  poet  of 
humanity ;  it  was  here  that  the  tragic  significance 
of  life  first  dawned  before  his  questioning  spirit. 
As  a  very  young  child  Browning  was  keenly  sus- 
ceptible to  music.  Mr.  Sharp  tells  us  that  one 
afternoon  his  mother  was  playing  in  the  twilight 
to  herself.  She  was  startled  to  hear  a  sound  behind 
her.  Glancing  round,  she  beheld  a  little  white 
figure,  distinct  against  an  oak  bookcase,  and  could 
just  discern  two  large  wistful  eyes  looking  earnestly 
at  her.  The  next  minute  the  child  had  sprung 
into  her  arms,  sobbing  passionately  at  he  knew 
not  what,  but  whispering  over  and  over  again, 
'Play!  play!' 

With  these  impulses  towards  music  and  art, 
Browning  passed  a  happy  childhood.  At  twelve 
years  of  age  he  had  already  blossomed  into  poetry, 
though  no  trace  can  now  be  found  of  the  neatly 
copied  out  and  carefully  stitched  MSS.  A  tutor 
came  to  the  house  at  Camberwell  for  several  hours 
daily  to  superintend  the  boy  Browning's  education, 
and  instead  of  being  sent  to  Oxford  or  Cambridge, 
he  attended  lectures  at  University  College,  Gower 
Street.  A  friend  who  knew  him  there  says :  '  He 
was  then  a  bright,  handsome  youth,  with  long, 


Robert  and  Elizabeth  Browning      161 

black  hair  falling  over  his  shoulders.'  The  long 
black  hair  and  the  sallow  complexion  were  probably 
inherited  from  his  paternal  grandmother,  who  was 
a  Creole. 

The  circumstances  of  Elizabeth  Barrett's  early 
life  were  altogether  different.  Her  father  was  a 
wealthy  West  Indian  merchant,  who  had  a  hand- 
some place  in  the  county  of  Durham,  where  his 
daughter  Elizabeth  was  born  on  March  6,  1806. 
The  date  of  her  birth  has  often  been  given  as  1809, 
but  the  baptismal  register  was  discovered  some 
years  ago,  and  that  matter  has  been  definitely 
settled.  It  makes  her  six  years  older  than  Robert 
Browning,  who  chivalrously  says,  '  I  never  thought 
how  old  she  was.'  Soon  after  her  birth  a  change 
was  made  to  Hope  End,  near  Ledbury,  in  Here- 
fordshire, and  here  the  little  girl  grew  up  among 
birds,  and  fields,  and  flowers,  riding  her  pony, 
and  studying  Greek  with  her  brother's  tutor.  She 
wrote  thus  of  these  early  days : 

'  I  grew  up  in  the  country,  had  no  social  oppor- 
tunities. It  was  a  lonely  life,  growing  green  like 
the  grass  around  it.  Books  and  dreams  were  what 
I  lived  in,  and  domestic  life  seemed  only  to  buzz 
gently  round,  like  the  bees  about  the  grass.  And 
so  time  passed  and  passed,  and  when  my  illness 
came,  I  had  seen  no  human  nature.' 

The  illness  spoken  of  came  from  a  fall  which 
caused  injury  to  the  spine.  And  from  that  time 
Elizabeth  Barrett  was  obliged  to  lie  on  the  sofa, 
and  to   be  treated  as  a  permanent   invalid.     A 

11 


162  Famous  Love  Matches 

winter  in  Torquay  was  advised,  and  here  a  most 
unfortunate  occurrence  happened.     Her  favourite 
brother,  who  had  gone  to  keep  her  company,  was 
drowned  before   her  windows.     The  yacht  went 
down  in  smooth  waters,  and  ever  afterwards  '  the 
sound  of  the  waves  rang  in  her  ears,  like  the  moans 
of  the  dying.'   She  was  reduced  to  a  state  of  nervous 
depression,  for  which  there  seemed  no  cure ;  and 
being  kept  in  a  darkened  room,  without  air  or 
exercise,  was  the  worst  treatment  for  her.    Writing 
poems — translations   at   first,  and   then   original 
pieces — all  characterized  by  force  and  originality, 
showed  that  she   had   the  '  vision '  and  '  faculty 
divine.'      From    the   very   beginning   her   poems 
became  popular;   they  dealt  with  stories  of  the 
heart,  incidents  of  everyday  life  which  have  an 
interest  for  all  readers.     Robert  Browning,  on  the 
contrary,  was  a  poet's  poet,  and  his  early  works, 
'  Pauline '  and  '  Paracelsus,'  fell  stillborn  from  the 
Press.     His  play  of  '  Strafford,'  written  at  Mac- 
ready's  request,  only  ran  at  Covent   Garden  for 
five  nights,  and  was  then  withdrawn.    Browning's 
next  poem,  *  Sordello,'  was  considered  utterly  un- 
intelligible.  When  Douglas  Jerrold  was  recovering 
from  a  serious  illness,  a  friend  sent  him,  with  other 
books,  a  copy  of '  Sordello.'   Thomas  Powell  relates 
what  happened  after  reading  it.     A  few  lines,  he 
says,  put  Jerrold  into  a  state  of  alarm.     Sentence 
after  sentence  brought  no  consecutive  ideas  to  his 
brain.    At  last  it  occurred  to  him  that  in  his  illness 
his  mental  faculties  had  become  undermined.    The 


Robert  and  Elizabeth  Browning     163 

perspiration  rolled  from  his  forehead,  and  smiting 
his  head,  he  sank  back  on  the  sofa,  exclaiming, 

*  O  God,  I  am  an  idiot !'  A  little  later,  adds  Powell, 
when  Jerrold's  wife  and  daughters  came  in,  he 
thrust  ■  Sordello '  into  their  hands,  and  watched 
them  attentively  while  they  read.  When  at  last 
Mrs.  Jerrold  remarked,  '  I  don't  understand  what 
this  man  means;  it  is  gibberish,'  her  delighted 
husband  gave  a   sigh  of   relief,  and  exclaimed, 

*  Thank  God,  I  am  not  an  idiot !' 

Carlyle  said :  *  My  wife  has  read  through  "  Sor- 
dello "  without  being  able  to  make  out  whether 
"  Sordello  "  was  a  man,  or  a  city,  or  a  book.' 

This  want  of  appreciation,  no  doubt,  had  an 
effect  on  Browning's  sensitive  nature.  One  day, 
when  he  went  to  see  Carlyle  at  Chelsea,  the  sage 
broke  out,  *  Man,  did  you  never  try  to  write  a 
song  ?  Of  all  things  in  the  world,  that  I  should 
be  proudest  to  do.'  And  this  to  a  poet  whose  soul 
was  full  of  song,  and  who  wrote  that  exquisite 
burst  of  melody  in  '  Pippa  Passes ' : 

*  The  year's  at  the  spring, 
And  day's  at  the  morn.' 

Browning's  nature  was  slow  in  development, 
and  his  best  work  was  done  at  middle  age.  He 
had  all  the  advantages  of  foreign  travel.  Before 
he  was  twenty-two  he  had  been  in  Italy  as  well 
as  in  Russia.  He  said,  '  Italy  was  my  University.' 
He  was  of  an  eminently  social  disposition,  and  in 
his  wanderings  he  saw  a  great  deal  of  the  world, 

11— 2 


164  Famous  Love  Matches 

and  mixed  with  all  sorts  and  conditions  of  men 
and  women.  Yet  he  took  great  delight  in  solitary 
midnight  walks. 

After  his  return  to  England,  he  used  often  to  go 
to  a  wood  in  the  neighbourhood  of  Dulwich,  and 
spend  the  night  listening  to  the  wind  murmuring 
amidst  the  tree-tops.  Every  movement  of  bird  or 
insect  was  carefully  noted  by  him.  Often  morning 
broke,  and  the  distant  lights  of  London  had  faded 
out  before  he  turned  his  steps  homewards.  Through 
all  the  years  of  non-appreciation  by  the  public,  he 
still  kept  a  cheerful  and  courageous  spirit.  His 
series  of  poems  called  'Bells  and  Pomegranates1 
aroused  some  attention,  and  in  '  Lady  Geral- 
dine's  Courtship ' — one  of  Elizabeth  Barrett's  most 
popular  poems — she  thus  alludes  to  it,  though  per- 
sonally the  author  was  at  the  time  unknown  to  her  : 

'  Or,  from  Browning,  some  "  Pomegranate,"  which,  if  cut 
deep  down  the  middle, 
Shows  a  heart  within  blood-tinctured  of  a  deep  humanity.' 

Browning,  on  his  side,  after  reading  two  volumes 
of  her  collected  poems,  wrote  to  her  on  January  10, 
1845,  as  follows : 

'  I  do  love  these  books,  and  I  love  you.  Do  you 
know  I  was  not  far  off  from  seeing  you — really 
seeing  you  ?  Mr.  Kenyon  [a  mutual  friend]  said 
to  me  one  morning,  "  Would  you  like  to  see  Miss 
Barrett  ?"  Then  he  went  to  announce  me,  then 
he  returned :  you  were  too  unwell ;  and  now  it  is 
years  ago,  and  I  feel  as  if  I  had  been  close — so 


Robert  and  Elizabeth  Browning     165 

close — to  some  world's  wonder  in  crypt  or  chapel ; 
only  a  screen  to  push,  and  I  might  have  entered.' 

This  letter  was  the  first  of  a  long  series  which 
fills  two  closely  printed  volumes.  Seldom  has  it 
been  permitted  to  outsiders  to  follow  the  rise  and 
progress  of  such  a  unique  love-tale  as  is  here 
spread  out  before  us.  In  comparison,  those  stilted, 
artificial  epistles,  called  ■  An  Englishwoman's 
Love- Letters,'  which  attracted  so  much  attention 
a  few  years  ago,  seem  like  wax  flowers  without 
fragrance,  reality,  or  life. 

As  the  correspondence  went  on,  the  slight  tone 
of  pedantry  in  Miss  Barrett's  first  letters,  her  ten- 
dency towards  Greek  quotations,  and  her  evident 
pains  in  finding  the  best  words  to  convey  her 
criticisms  on  books,  gradually  disappear.  Robert 
Browning  is  always  manly  and  straightforward. 
He  says  :  '  I  believe  you  to  be  my  superior  in  many 
respects.  .  .  .  You  speak  out — you.  I  only  make 
men  and  women  speak.' 

The  correspondence  became  frequent ;  from 
week  to  week,  and  month  to  month,  it  went  on. 
'  My  dear  own  friend '  developed  into  '  My  dearest 
friend.'  At  length,  on  May  20,  1845,  the  first 
meeting  took  place  at  50,  Wimpole  Street,  the 
London  home  of  the  Barrett  family.  Browning 
was  at  this  time  thirty-three,  and  is  thus  de- 
scribed : 

*  Comely  in  all  respects,  with  his  black-brown 
wavy  hair,  finely  cut  features,  ready  and  winsome 
smile,   alert   luminous  eyes,  quick,   spontaneous, 


1 66  Famous  Love  Matches 

expressive  gestures,  an  inclination  of  the  head,  a 
lift  of  the  eyebrows,  a  modulation  of  the  lips,  an 
assertive  or  deprecatory  wave  of  the  hand,  convey- 
ing so  much,  and  a  voice  of  a  singular,  penetrating 
sweetness ;  he  was  a  man  to  captivate  any  woman 
of  a  kindred  nature  and  sympathies.' 

We  can  call  up  a  picture  of  Elizabeth  Barrett, 
too,  lying  on  her  sofa,  with  long  dark  ringlets 
drooping  over  a  pale  face,  out  of  which  shone 
large  starry,  wistful  brown  eyes. 

*  When  I  first  saw  you,'  wrote  Robert  Browning 
in  a  subsequent  letter,  '  I  only  saw  your  eyes ; 
since  then  you,  it  should  appear,  saw  mine.' 

The  morning  after  the  first  meeting,  Elizabeth 
Barrett  said  to  her  father :  'It  is  most  extra- 
ordinary how  the  idea  of  Mr.  Browning  does 
beset  me.  I  suppose  it  is  not  being  used  to  see 
strangers,  in  some  degree ;  but  it  haunts  me  :  it 
is  a  persecution.' 

Some  time  afterwards  she  wrote  to  Browning : 
'  Do  you  know  that  all  the  time  I  was  frightened 
of  you — frightened  in  this  way :  I  felt  as  if  you 
had  a  power  over  me  and  meant  to  use  it,  and 
that  I  could  not  breathe  or  speak  very  differently 
from  what  you  chose  to  make  me  ?' 

Every  one  was  struck  by  the  extreme  spirituality 
of  Miss  Barrett's  appearance.  An  American  writer, 
George  Stillman  Hillard,  says :  '  She  is  a  soul  of 
fire  enclosed  in  a  shell  of  pearl.'  *  Her  frame  is 
the  transparent  veil  for  a  celestial  and  mortal 
spirit,'  and  '  her  tremulous  voice  often  flutters  over 


Robert  and  Elizabeth  Browning     167 

her  words  like  the  flame  of  a  dying  candle  over 
the  wick.' 

It  was  small  wonder  that  Browning  became 
afraid  that  he  had  stayed  too  long  or  spoken  too 
loud  during  his  first  interview  with  such  a  fragile 
creature.  But  his  visits  soon  became  a  weekly 
event ;  at  first  he  came  every  Tuesday,  then  the 
day  was  changed  to  Friday,  while  letters  filled  in 
the  gaps.  In  August,  barely  three  months  after 
the  first  meeting,  the  barrier  was  broken  down, 
and  the  poet-lover  spoke  out  as  follows  :  '  I  believe 
in  you  absolutely,  utterly;  let  me  say  this  only 
once — that  I  loved  you  from  my  soul,  and  gave  you 
my  life,  so  much  of  it  as  you  would  take,  and  that 
is  done,  not  to  be  altered  now.' 

The  frail  sufferer,  condemned  to  silence  and  a 
sofa,  could  scarcely  believe  in  the  reality  of  such 
words.  She  said,  '  I  never  thought  that  anyone 
whom  I  could  love  would  stoop  to  love  me.' 

She  thought  there  must  be  some  mistake,  some 
hallucination,  but  no !  Browning  was  decided ; 
he  was  even  more :  he  was  enthusiastic.  He  wrote : 
*  Being  no  longer  in  the  first  freshness  of  life,  and 
having  made  up  my  mind  as  to  the  impossibility 
of  loving  any  woman,  I  say  when  real  love  did 
reveal  itself  to  me  at  last  I  did  open  my  heart  to 
it  with  a  cry.' 

Another  time  he  wrote :  *  You  are  my  blessing 
and  my  life.  .  .  .  Forget  you  !  What  does  that 
mean?'  To  his  'all-beloved'  he  says,  'You  are 
the  divine  gift  of  God  to  me.' 


1 68  Famous  Love  Matches 

Such  words  as  these  went  to  the  inmost  soul 
of  the  true  woman  to  whom  they  were  addressed. 
She  answered,  after  one  of  those  memorable  visits : 
1  You  have  touched  me  more  profoundly  than 
I  thought  even  you  could  have  touched  me.  My 
heart  was  full  when  you  came  here  to-day;  hence- 
forth I  am  yours  for  everything,  but  to  do  you 
harm.  A  promise  goes  that  none  except  God  and 
your  will  shall  interpose  between  you  and  me. 
Whether  friend  or  more  than  friend,  a  friend  to 
the  last  in  any  case. — E.  B.  B.' 

To  this  came  the  answer :  '  My  life  is  bound  up 
with  yours,  my  own  first  and  last  love.' 

There  was  some  fear  latent  in  her  mind  that 
it  was  her  intellect  which  had  attracted  the  other 
poet.  He  undeceived  her  by  saying  that  if  she 
had  never  written  a  line  it  would  have  been  the 
same;  it  was  herself  only,  quite  apart  from  her 
works,  that  he  loved. 

And  then  comes  her  triumphant :  '  And  now, 
my  love,  I  am  round  you ;  my  whole  life  is  wound 
up  and  down  and  over  you.  I  feel  you  stir  every- 
where. You  cannot  guess  what  you  are  to  me ;  it 
is  not  possible.  It  is  something  between  dream 
and  miracle,  all  of  it,  as  if  some  dream  of  my 
earliest,  brightest  dreaming  here  had  been  lying 
through  these  dark  years  to  steep  in  the  sunshine, 
returning  to  me  in  a  double  light.' 

Browning's  weekly  visits  at  Wimpole  Street 
were  permitted  by  Mr.  Barrett,  but  he  never 
dreamed  that  his  invalid  daughter  had  found  a 


Robert  and  Elizabeth  Browning     169 

lover  as  well  as  a  friend.  By  the  will  of  an  uncle 
she  was  mistress  of  an  income  amounting  to  nearly 
£400  a  year  ;  but  all  the  same,  like  most  unmarried 
women  of  that  period,  she  was  treated  like  a  girl  of 
sixteen,  and  lived  in  mortal  terror  of  her  father, 
who  did  not  wish  any  of  his  daughters  to  marry. 
Already  Browning  began  to  hint  at  an  elopement. 
He  wrote  to  her,  addressing  her  by  her  pet  name 
of  '  Ba,'  only  used  by  her  nearest  and  dearest : 

1  Out  of  it  all '  (the  profits  of  his  poems)  *  might 
easily  come  fifty  or  sixty  horrible  pounds  a  year, 
on  which  one  lives  famously  at  Ravenna,  I  dare 
say.  Think  of  Ravenna,  Ba ;  it  seems  the  place 
of  places,  with  the  pines,  and  the  sea,  and  Dante, 
and  no  English,  and  all  Ba.' 

A  year  and  eight  months  went  by,  and  finally 
a  secret  marriage  was  arranged  between  the  two 
lovers.  Miss  Barrett  was  to  go  out  as  though  for 
a  drive  with  her  maid,  and  to  meet  Browning  at 
Marylebone  Church,  where  the  marriage  took  place 
on  September  12, 1846.  Whenever  Browning  visited 
London  in  after-years,  he  used  to  pay  a  pilgrimage 
to  this  church,  to  kneel  and  kiss  the  step  where  his 
wife's  feet  had  rested.  Romantic,  some  will  say — 
absurdly  romantic  !  Ah,  how  well  it  would  be  if 
there  were  more  of  such  romance  in  this  workaday 
world  of  ours ! 

After  the  marriage  ceremony,  the  bride  drove 
back  to  Wimpole  Street,  and  slipped  off  the  wed- 
ding-ring from  her  finger.  Everything  was  to 
be  kept  a  profound  secret  for  some  time  longer. 


170  Famous  Love  Matches 

Writing  to  her  after  the  marriage,  Browning 
says: 

1 1  look  back,  and  in  every  one  point,  every  word 
and  gesture,  every  letter,  every  silence,  you  have 
been  entirely  perfect  to  me ;  I  would  not  change 
one  word,  one  look.  .  .  .  My  hope  and  aim  are 
to  preserve  this  love,  not  to  fall  from  it,  for  which 
I  trust  to  God,  who  procured  it  for  me,  and  doubt- 
less can  preserve  it.' 

Taking  advantage  of  a  move  that  the  Barrett 
family  was  about  to  make  to  Hastings,  the  newly 
made  bride  and  her  faithful  maid,  Wilson,  stole 
out  to  Vauxhall  Station ;  here  they  were  met  by 
Browning,  and  they  set  off  for  Italy.  And  now 
another  miracle  began.  So  wonderful  was  the 
change  wrought  by  happiness  that  the  frail  invalid 
was,  as  her  friend  Mrs.  Jameson  wrote,  '  not  merely 
improved,  but  transformed.'  She  was  now  released 
from  the  close  atmosphere  of  her  room,  and  able 
to  be  out  under  the  pure  skies  of  the  sunny  South, 
breathing  in  air  and  vigour. 

A  pretty  story  is  told  that  when  the  little  party 
paid  a  visit  to  Vaucluse,  sacred  to  the  memory  of 
Laura  and  Petrarch,  Browning  '  took  his  wife  up 
in  his  arms,  and  carrying  her  across,  through  the 
shallow,  curling  waters,  seated  her  on  a  rock  that 
rose  throne-like  in  the  middle  of  the  stream.' 

At  Pisa,  that  lovely  old  city,  *  lying  asleep  in  the 
sun,'  Mrs.  Browning's  health  made  a  further  rally. 
Her  husband  wrote :  '  She  is  getting  better  every 
day,  stronger,  better  wonderfully,  and  beyond  all 


Robert  and  Elizabeth  Browning     171 

our  hopes.'  It  was  at  Pisa,  too,  that  Mrs.  Browning 
showed  her  husband  in  manuscript  those  *  Sonnets 
from  the  Portuguese,'  which  no  Portuguese  poet 
ever  wrote,  but  were  the  outcome  of  this  great 
revolution  which  had  transformed  her  whole  being. 
One  of  these  sonnets  is  worth  quoting  here  : 

'  How  do  I  love  thee  ?    Let  me  count  the  ways  ! 

I  love  thee  to  the  breadth,  and  depth,  and  height 
My  soul  can  reach.  .  .  . 

I  love  thee  to  the  level  of  every  day's 
Most  quiet  need, — by  sun  and  candle  light ; — 

I  love  thee  freely, — as  men  strive  for  right ; 
I  love  thee  purely, — as  they  turn  from  praise. 

I  love  thee  with  the  passion  put  to  use 
For  my  old  griefs,  and  with  my  childhood's  faith. 

I  love  thee  with  a  love  I  seemed  to  lose 
With  my  lost  saints — I  love  thee  with  the  breath, 

Smiles,  tears,  of  all  my  life  !  and, — if  God  choose, 
I  shall  but  love  thee  better  after  death.' 

To  the  influence  of  his  wife,  Browning,  as  a  poet, 
owes  much.  His  poetry  became  more  intelligible 
to  the  great  mass  of  the  reading  public ;  he  gained 
in  clearness,  strength,  and  power  of  expression. 
From  Pisa  the  Brownings — never  separated  now 
— went  to  Florence,  where  to  Browning  came  the 
first  idea  of  '  The  Ring  and  the  Book,'  and  to  his 
wife,  '  Aurora  Leigh.'  A  residence  was  found  for 
the  winter  in  an  old  palace  called  Casa  Guidi,  and 
here  on  the  terrace  they  used  to  sit  together,  look- 
ing out  on  the  lights  of  the  City  of  Flowers.  An 
American  visitor  records  how  he  was  invited  by 


ij2  Famous  Love  Matches 

Browning  to  take  tea  at  Casa  GnidL  And  there 
the  visitor  saw  'seated  at  the  tea-table  of  the 
great  room  of  the  palace  in  which  they  were 
a  very  small,  very  slight  woman,  with  very 
curls  drooping  forward  almost  across  the 
hanging  to  the  bosom,  and  quite  concealing 
the  pale,  small  face,  from  which  the  piercing,  in- 
quiring eyes  looked  out  sensitively  at  the  stranger. 
Rising  from  her  chair,  she  put  out  the  thin  white 
hand  of  an  invalid,  and  in  a  few  moments  we  were 
r".ei.rir.:'.y  :r.;.:::r.c.  -h^e  :"--:  ivj  5  ":.ir.i  ?:::ie  ur 
and  down  the  room,  joining  in  the  conversation 
with  a  vigour,  humour,  eagerness,  and  affluence 
of  curious  lore,  which  make  him  one  of  the  most 
:hir~:r.j;  ir.i  :~5r:r:~~  ;:'  cjrr.rir.::::?.' 

The  birth  of  a  son  in  March,  1849,  completed 
the  happiness  of  this  ideal  married  life.  Their 
young  '  Florentine,'  as  they  called  him,  was  a 
perpetual  source  of  joy  and  pride  to  both  parents, 
and  his  mother  said  he  was  better  to  her  than 
twenty  'Aurora  Leighs.'  Some  time  afterwards, 
when  the  Brownings  visited  England,  the  box  in 
which  the  manuscript  of  'Aurora  Leigh'  was 
packed  went  astray  at  Marseilles.  In  the  same 
':  ::■:  -  if  ilf :  7  ::  iv-iy  = -jr. fry  -  e/.  -:  c_;:c  irf  :i:e 
collars,  in  which  the  boy  Browning  was  to  make 
his  first  appearance  among  his  English  relations. 
Mrs.  Browning's  chief  regret  was  not  for  her 
manuscripts,  but  for  the  loss  of  her  little  son's 
wardrobe,  which  she  had  devised  with  so  much 


Robert  and  Elizabeth  Browning     173 

Among  the  visitors  to  the  old  palace  of  Casa 
Guidi,  which  always  remained  the  headquarters  of 
the  Brownings,  was  Nathaniel  Hawthorne,  the 
American  author.  He  describes  the  impression 
most  graphically.  He  says  of  Mrs.  Browning: 
1  It  is  wonderful  to  see  how  small  she  is,  how  pale 
her  cheek,  how  bright  and  dark  her  eyes.  There 
is  not  such  another  in  the  world,  and  her  black 
ringlets  cluster  down  her  neck,  and  make  her  face 
look  whiter.' 

She  usually  wore  black  silk,  with  deep  flounces, 
and  a  thin  gold  chain  round  her  neck. 

Another  American,  Mr.  Story,  gives  a  vivid 
picture  of  the  large  drawing-room  at  Casa  Guidi 
where  she  always  sat,  with  its  dark  shadows,  sub- 
dued light,  and  tapestry-covered  walls.  Carved 
bookcases  brimming  over  with  wise-looking  books, 
old  pictures  of  saints  that  looked  out  sadly  from 
their  carved  frames  of  black  wood,  alternated  with 
Dante's  grave  profile,  a  pen  and  ink  sketch  of 
Tennyson,  and  little  paintings  of  the  boy  Browning. 
A  quaint]  mirror,  easy-chairs  and  sofas  were  all 
massed  in  this  room.  '  But  the  glory  of  all,  and 
that  which  sanctified  all,  was  seated  in  a  low  chair 
near  the  door.  A  small  table  strewn  with  writing 
materials,  books,  and  newspapers  was  always  by 
her  side.' 

Browning  always  impressed  his  visitors  with 
his  cheerful  alertness  and  geniality.  One  day  he 
and  Mrs.  Browning  went  to  lunch  with  Adelaide 
Sartoris  and  some  friends  who  were  invited  to 


174  Famous  Love  Matches 

meet  them.  Browning  liked  his  companions  so 
much  that  he  invited  them  all  back  to  supper. 

1  But,  Robert,'  said  Mrs.  Browning,  '  don't  you 
know  we  have  only  the  remains  of  the  pie  ?' 

'Then  let  us  finish  the  pie!'  he  replied  with 
cheery  optimism. 

In  1856  Browning  brought  out  his  poem  of 
1  Men  and  Women,'  with  the  dedication  to  his  wife, 
— '  E.  B.  B.' — in  which  he  calls  her  '  his  moon 
of  poets.' 

The  frail  hold  which  she  always  had  on  life 
was  gradually  loosening.  Early  in  June,  1861,  the 
Brownings  returned  from  Rome  to  Casa  Guidi, 
and  here  she  quietly  passed  away.  All  night  her 
lover-husband  sat  by  her  side  holding  her  hand. 
When  morning  dawned  she  leaned  upon  him, 
and  whispered : 

1  It  is  beautiful,'  and  so  her  soul,  '  like  a  white 
perfumed  blossom,  sprang  to  Heaven.' 

In  a  poem  written  soon  after  her  death, — 
*  Prospice,' — Browning  says  : 

1  O,  thou  soul  of  my  soul !  I  shall  clasp  thee  again, 
And  with  God  be  the  rest.' 

This  was  his  attitude  through  the  remainder  of  his 
long  life ;  everything  was  hallowed  by  the  remem- 
brance of  the  woman  who  had  been  to  him  as  a  second 
self.  It  was  during  his  fifteen  years  of  married  life 
that  he  found  his  true  voice,  that  he  emerged  from 
obscurity  into  the  blaze  of  popularity ;  that  he  wrote 
those  poems  which  have  made  him  immortal. 


}//f       ,'   fH      -    'A>fli 


///<?  /  f/;     /  /< 


Y.J  i 


By  kind  permission  of 


Mr.  I  I'm.  Heinemant 


OTTO  VON  BISMARCK  AND  JOHANNA 
VON  PUTTKAMER 

1  A  girl 
Held  all  his  heart-strings  in  her  small  white  hand  : 
His  youth  and  power  and  majesty  were  hers, 
And  not  his  own.  .  .  .    Unawares, 
His  thoughts  grew  noble.     She  was  always  there 
And  knew  it  not,  and  he  grew  like  to  her 
And  like  to  what  he  thought  her." 

Jean  Ingelow. 

AMONG  the  men  of  his  day,  Bismarck,  the 
Iron  Chancellor — big,  burly,  and  command- 
ing— stands  out  head  and  shoulders  above 
them  all.  When  he  entered  a  room,  every  one 
else  looked  dwarfed  beside  him ;  he  drew  all  eyes 
upon  him,  and  him  alone.  Along  with  this  mar- 
vellous personality  he  had  a  large  heart ;  he  loved 
his  home,  his  family,  and  his  big  dogs.  Above  all, 
he  loved  his  wife  with  great  and  exceeding  love ; 
never  did  his  affection  swerve  for  a  moment  from 
her.  She  was  his  'star,'  his  'angel.'  'Without 
her,'  as  he  often  said,  '  he  would  never  have  been 
the  man  he  was.' 

Otto  von  Bismarck  was  born  at  Schonhausen, 
the  family  estate,  on  April  i,  1815.  His  father 
belonged  to  the  aristocratic  class  and  his  mother 
to  the  middle  class — a  distinction  carefully  observed 
in  Germany.     It  was  from  his  mother,  who  was 

i7S 


176  Famous  Love  Matches 

the  ruling  spirit  in  the  household,  that  Bismarck 
inherited  his  courage,  his  energy,  and  his  strength 
of  character.  He  was  the  second  son,  and  a 
daughter,  Malvina,  was  ten  years  younger  than 
he  was,  and  always  a  great  pet  with  her  big 
brother.  It  was  considered  by  Frau  von  Bismarck 
that  the  legal  profession  was  the  best  for  young 
Otto  to  adopt,  and  at  the  age  of  eighteen  he  was 
sent  to  the  University  of  Gottingen.  Here  he 
distinguished  himself  by  fighting  no  less  than 
twenty-eight  duels,  and  was  twice  imprisoned  for 
insubordination.  His  practical  jokes  and  his  great 
dogs  struck  terror  into  the  college  authorities. 
He  passed  his  examinations,  and  after  his  military 
service  he  returned  to  Schonhausen.  Early  in 
life  Bismarck  had  a  refined,  spiritual  expression 
which  he  afterwards  lost  completely.  His  deep 
blue  eyes,  large,  clear,  and  wide  apart,  were  always 
beautiful. 

When  he  was  about  thirty,  superintendent  of 
the  dykes  at  Schonhausen,  he  wrote  to  his  sister 
that  he  must  get  married,  as  he  felt  lonely  after 
his  father's  death.  Being  a  great  dancer  and  an 
indefatigable  talker,  full  of  humour  and  the  joy  of 
life,  he  was  a  welcome  guest  at  the  tea-parties  in 
the  neighbourhood.  He  met  a  girl  with  whom 
he  was  in  love  for  exactly  twenty-four  hours ;  he 
then  decided  that  her  complexion  was  too  florid, 
and  would  not  wear  well.  A  second  was  also  dis- 
missed from  his  thoughts  for  another  trifling  cause. 
It  was  at  the  wedding  of  his  friend,  Maurice  von 


Prince  and  Princess  Bismarck     177 

Blankenburg,  that  he  saw  among  the  bridesmaids 
a  tall,  slim,  black-haired  girl,  Johanna  von  Putt- 
kamer,  and  this  time  all  doubts  vanished ;  she  was 
his  fate.  He  went  with  her  and  her  parents  on 
a  summer  tour  in  the  Harz,  and  about  the  end 
of  December  in  the  same  year — 1846 — he  wrote 
a  long  letter  to  Herr  von  Puttkamer,  asking  him 
1  for  the  highest  thing  you  can  dispose  of  in  this 
world,  the  hand  of  your  daughter.'  The  quiet 
German  squire  was  staggered  by  the  proposal ; 
he  hesitated  about  giving  his  only  child  to  wild 
Bismarck,  whose  pranks  at  the  University  were 
common  talk.  But  Bismarck  took  matters  into  his 
own  hands  in  his  usual  masterful  way.  He  posted 
off  early  in  January  to  Reinfeld,  in  Pomerania, 
where  the  Puttkamers  lived.  When  he  arrived, 
he  took  Johanna  in  his  arms,  and  she  was  nothing 
loth,  for  her  heart  was  already  given  to  him,  so 
her  parents  had  to  receive  Bismarck  as  their  future 
son-in-law. 

Johanna  was  not  a  beauty,  but  her  lover  makes 
many  allusions  in  his  letters  to  her  '  grey-blue- 
black  eyes,  with  their  large  pupils.'  Sometimes 
he  calls  them  '  black-blue-grey.'  No  words  of 
endearment  are  too  strong  for  him — '  my  angel,' 
1  my  dear  heart,'  '  my  much-beloved  heart.'  The 
first  letter  after  he  arrived  back  at  Schonhausen 
gives  a  vivid  picture  of  his  feelings.  It  was  the 
middle  of  winter ;  the  ice  on  the  Elba  was  strong 
enough  to  bear  the  weight  of  Bismarck's  horse ; 
but  as  he  got  near  his  old  home,  the  country  was 

12 


178  Famous  Love  Matches 

free  from  snow,  the  air  was  warm,  and  the  people 
were  ploughing. 

■  It  was  as  though  I  had  travelled  out  of  winter 
into  opening  spring,'  he  says.  .  .  .  'The  nearer 
I  came  to  Schonhausen,  the  more  oppressive  I 
found  the  thought  of  entering  upon  the  old  loneli- 
ness once  more,  for  who  knows  how  long.  Pictures 
of  a  wasted  past  arose  as  though  they  would  banish 
me  from  you.  I  was  on  the  verge  of  tears.  . .  .  Soon 
I  said  to  myself,  in  the  comfortable  fashion  of  the 
accepted  lover,  that  even  here  I  am  no  longer  lonely, 
and  I  was  happy  in  the  consciousness  of  being  loved 
by  you,  my  angel,  and  in  return  for  the  gift  of  your 
love,  of  belonging  to  you,  not  only  in  vassalage,  but 
with  my  inmost  heart.  On  reaching  the  village,  I 
felt  more  distinctly  than  ever  before  what  a  beautiful 
thing  it  is  to  have  a  home— a  home  with  which  one 
is  identified  by  birth,  memory,  and  love.  The  sun 
shone  brightly  on  the  trim  houses  of  the  villagers, 
and  the  men,  in  their  long  coats,  and  the  gaily 
dressed  women,  in  their  short  skirts,  gave  me  a 
much  more  friendly  greeting  than  usual.  On  every 
face  there  seemed  to  be  a  wish  for  my  happiness, 
which  I  invariably  interpreted  into  thanks  to  you. . . . 
What  a  different  view  I  take  of  everything — not 
merely  that  which  concerns  you,  or  will  concern 
you ;  but  my  whole  view  of  life  is  a  new  one,  and 
I  am  cheerful  and  interested  even  in  my  work  on 
the  dyke  and  police  matters.  This  change,  this 
new  life,  I  owe,  next  to  God,  to  you,  ma  tres  chere, 
mon  adorfa  Jeanneton — to  you  who  do  not  heat  me 


Prince  and  Princess  Bismarck     179 

occasionally  like  an  alcohol  flame,  but  work  in  my 
heart  like  warming  fire.  .  .  .' 

The  letter  concludes :  '  Farewell,  my  treasure, 
my  heart,  consolation  of  my  eyes.' 

Johanna  seemed  to  be  fond  of  wearing  black, 
and  this  Bismarck  did  not  like.  One  spring  day 
he  wrote  to  her :  '  Why  will  you  wear  mournful 
black  in  dress  and  heart,  my  angel  ?  Cultivate 
the  green  of  hope  that  to-day  made  me  feel  joyous 
when  the  gardener  placed  the  first  messengers  of 
spring — hyacinths  and  crocuses — on  my  window- 
ledge.  .  .  .' 

In  this  letter  Bismarck  expresses  a  wish  that  his 
intended  should  pay  some  attention  to  French — 
1  by  reading  French  things  that  interest  you,  and 
what  is  not  clear  to  you  make  out  with  the  dic- 
tionary. If  it  bores  you,  stop  it ;  but  lest  it  bore 
you,  try  it  with  books  that  interest  you,  whatever 
they  may  be,  novels  or  anything  else.  In  your 
intercourse  with  the  world,  you  will  find  occasions 
when  it  will  be  disagreeable,  or  even  mortifying, 
not  to  be  familiar  with  French.' 

Johanna  wisely  took  this  advice,  and  was  able 
to  converse  in  French  and  also  in  English  at  her 
own  table  when  Bismarck  was  in  the  high  position 
he  afterwards  attained.  He  prefaced  his  request 
by  saying :  *  When  I  ask  you  for  anything  ...  I 
do  not  love  you  less,  nor  am  I  vexed  with  you  in 
the  least  if  you  do  not  fulfil  my  request.  I  love 
you  as  you  are,  and  as  you  choose  to  be.' 

He  is  fond  of  introducing  scraps  of  English  into 

12 — 2 


180  Famous  Love  Matches 

his  love-letters,  such  as :  '  Thine  eyes  have  still, 
and  will  always  have,  a  charm  for  me';  '  Dearest 
black  one ;'  and  once  comes  the  message  in  English, 
"  To-morrow  I'll  send  you  a  hat !' 

It  would  be  interesting  to  know  what  Bismarck's 
choice  of  a  hat  for  his  Johanna  was,  and  whether 
she  wore  it.  He  is  partial  also  to  French  words 
of  endearment :  '  Tres  chere  Jeanneton,'  '  Ma  reine,' 
and  'Jeanne  la  sage.'  French  was  to  him  like  a 
second  mother-tongue. 

One  of  Bismarck's  many  friends,  the  first  Presi- 
dent of  Pomerania,  wrote  to  congratulate  him  on 
his  engagement,  and  said  :  '  A  clever,  good,  and 
religious  girl  has  become  yours,  and  that  is  a  great 
deal.' 

Bismarck's  comment  on  this  is  that  his  friend 
evidently  thinks  it  ■  a  great  deal  that  happiness  so 
unmerited  has  been  bestowed  on  a  scamp  like 
myself,  and  he  is  right.'  He  bitterly  regretted 
the  lazy  indifference  with  which  he  had  squandered 
the  rich  endowments  of  his  youth  without  pur- 
pose and  without  profit  '  until,'  he  adds,  *  I  looked 
to  you,  my  heart,  to  receive  into  the  haven  of 
your  unprofaned  affections  the  wreck  whose  rich 
cargo  I  had  wantonly  and  lavishly  thrown  over- 
board by  the  handful.' 

Johanna  seemed  at  times  to  suffer  from  de- 
pression of  spirits,  and  Bismarck  reasons  with  her 
in  a  very  beautiful  and  touching  letter,  in  which 
he  says : 

'  Who  is  more  bound  to  share  suffering  and 


Prince  and  Princess  Bismarck      1 8 1 

anxiety  with  you,  bear  your  sicknesses,  your  faults, 
than  I,  who  have  obeyed  my  impulse  to  do  this 
voluntarily,  without  being  compelled  to  do  it  by 
the  obligation  of  relationship  or  other  duty  ?  My 
dear,  dear  Johanna,  must  I  tell  you  once  more 
that  I  love  you  ;  that  we  ought  to  share  with 
each  other  joy  and  suffering — I  your  suffering  and 
you  mine — that  we  are  not  united  for  the  sake  of 
showing  and  sharing  with  each  other  only  that 
which  gives  pleasure,  but  that  you  may  pour  out 
your  heart  at  all  times  to  me  and  I  to  you,  what- 
ever it  may  contain ;  that  I  must  and  will  bear 
your  sorrows,  your  thoughts,  your  naughtinesses, 
if  you  have  any,  and  love  you  as  you  are,  not  as 
you  ought  to  be,  or  might  be  ?  Make  me  service- 
able, use  me  for  what  purpose  you  will,  ill-treat 
me  without  and  within,  if  you  have  the  wish  to  do 
so.  I  am  there  for  that  purpose,  at  your  disposal, 
but  never  be  embarrassed  in  any  way  with  me. 
Trust  me  unreservedly  in  the  conviction  that  I 
accept  everything  that  comes  from  you  with  pro- 
found love,  whether  it  be  glad  or  not.  Do  not 
keep  your  gloomy  thoughts  to  yourself  while  you 
look  on  me  with  cheerful  brow  and  merry  eyes, 
but  share  with  me  in  word  and  look  what  you 
have  in  your  heart,  whether  it  be  blessing  or 
sorrow.  Never  be  faint-hearted  with  me,  and  if 
anything  in  yourself  appears  to  you  indiscreet, 
sinful,  depressing,  reflect  that  everything  of  that 
kind  is  present  in  me  a  thousand  times  more  .  .  . 
and  that,  when  seen  in  others,  I  cannot  look  upon 


1 82  Famous  Love  Matches 

them  in  any  other  way  than  with  love,  even  if  not 
always  with  patience.' 

Bismarck  once  compared  Johanna  to  a  dark, 
warm  summer  night,  with  fragrance  of  flowers 
and  sheet-lightning.  She  had  no  less  than  five 
names,  and  Bismarck  sometimes  forgot  all  of  them. 
When  he  sent  in  the  banns  to  be  called,  he  could 
only  remember  two ;  but  once  he  began  a  letter 
with  all  five  :  '  Only  beloved  Jeannette  Frederike 
Charlotte  Eleonore  Dorothea.'  Another  time, 
when  she  was  ill,  he  addresses  her  as  ■  My  poor 
sick  kitten.' 

The  engagement  lasted  for  six  months,  from 
January  till  July.  Bismarck  had  been  elected  a 
member  of  the  Landtag,  and  had  to  spend  much 
time  in  Berlin.  On  July  i,  1847,  ne  wrote  to 
1  my  dear  heart '  to  say  that  horses  were  to  be  sent 
to  meet  him  at  Schlawe  on  the  morning  of  the 
8th.     It  might  be  a  day  later. 

1  Shall  I,'  he  adds  humorously,  '  in  black  velvet, 
with  a  waving  ostrich  -  feather,  sing  under  your 
window  to  the  accompaniment  of  a  zither,  "  Oh, 
fly,"  etc.  (which  I  think  I  can  sing  very  well  now 
with  special  feeling  in  the  words,  "  And  rest  upon 
my,"  etc.),  or  shall  I  appear  at  bright  noonday  in 
a  green  riding-coat  and  reddish-brown  gloves,  and 
embrace  you  without  singing  or  speaking  ?' 

The  wedding  duly  came  off,  and  Bismarck 
wrote  to  his  parents-in-law  from  Salzburg  to  say : 
1  Besides  the  pleasure  it  gives  me  to  see  these 
things  myself,  and  to  witness  Johanna's  delight,  I 


Prince  and  Princess  Bismarck      183 

find  that  her  health  and  cheerfulness  grow  greater 
every  day,  not  only  from  the  pure  mountain  air, 
but  especially  from  vigorous  physical  exercise  like 
the  ascent  of  Schafberg,  from  which  all  my  muscles 
still  ache,  but  which  she  has  already  slept  off 
better  than  I  have.' 

He  adds  that  Johanna  is  calming  herself  by 
anticipations  of  her  beloved  plums,  pears,  and 
peaches,  *  her  daily  experiments  with  which  attest 
the  excellence  of  her  stomach.  Grapes  we  had, 
too,  in  abundance.' 

Bismarck  was  a  man  who  must  always  have  his 
joke,  even  in  the  early  days  of  his  honeymoon.  A 
story  is  told  of  him  that  he  once  got  into  a  house 
without  any  bells.  He  summoned  the  proprietor, 
and  said  he  must  have  bells  put  in.  The  pro- 
prietor grumbled,  and  the  inconvenience  went  on. 
Suddenly,  one  day  shots  were  heard  coming  from 
the  house,  and  the  proprietor  ran  in  to  know  what 
was  the  matter.  Bismarck  coolly  replied  that  as 
he  had  no  other  way  of  summoning  his  servants, 
he  was  obliged  to  shoot  for  them,  as  he  could  not 
ring.  After  that  the  bells  were  speedily  supplied. 
So  far  from  cooling  in  his  love  for  Johanna, 
Bismarck's  affection  grew  deeper  and  stronger 
every  day.  And  when  in  August  of  the  following 
year  a  little  daughter,  Marie — afterwards  Countess 
von  Rautzau — made  her  appearance,  he  wrote  to 
Herr  von  Puttkamer : 

1  You  have  just  become,  with  God's  gracious 
help,  the  grandfather  of  a  healthy,  well-formed 


184  Famous  Love  Matches 

girl  which  Johanna  has  presented  me  with.  .  .  . 
At  this  moment  mother  and  child  are  doing  as 
well  as  one  could  wish.  Johanna  lies  still  and 
tired,  but  cheerful  and  composed,  behind  the 
curtains,  the  little  creature,  under  coverlets  on  the 
sofa,  squalling  off  and  on.  I  am  quite  glad  that 
the  first  is  a  daughter,  but  if  it  had  been  a  cat  I 
should  have  thanked  God  on  my  knees  ...  it  is 
really  a  desperate  business.'  A  few  hours  later 
Bismarck  added :  *  All  going  very  well,  only  the 
cradle  is  lacking,  and  little  miss  must  meanwhile 
camp  in  the  corn-basket.  Johanna  sends  cordial 
greetings;  she  laments  that  her  daughter's  nose 
is  thick.  I  think  it  is  no  larger  than  it  has  a  right 
to  be.' 

There  seems  to  have  been  a  little  friction  with 
Johanna's  father  and  mother,  for  when  she  went 
to  Reinfeld  to  stay  with  them,  they  were  naturally 
anxious  to  keep  her  a  long  time  with  them,  but 
this  Bismarck  would  not  hear  of.  He  wrote  to 
his  wife,  September  30,  1849 :  ■  I  cannot  let  you 
remain  at  Reinfeld,  much  as  it  grieves  me  for 
your  dear  parents'  sake.  Le  vin  est  tire,  il  faut  le 
boire.  He  who  gives  another  man  his  daughter 
in  marriage  must  accustom  himself  to  the  fact 
that  she  is  married.  ...  I  neither  can  nor  will 
be  without  my  Nan ;  .  .  .  we  are  separated  often 
enough  as  it  is.'  Another  time  he  wrote  from 
Berlin :  *  I  must  have  you  here,  my  angel.  I 
will  not  let  you  go  away  from  me — no,  not  for 
ten  years.     The  old  folks  may  say  what  they 


Prince  and  Princess  Bismarck      185 

please.  To  be  without  one's  wife  is  to  lead  a 
dog's  life.' 

Johanna  obeyed  her  imperious  spouse,  and  joined 
him  at  Berlin,  and  here  her  first  son,  Herbert,  was 
born  in  October,  1849.  ^n  an  amusing  letter  to  a 
friend,  Bismarck  describes  himself  as  the  father  of 
a  family :  '  Johanna  in  the  arms  of  Lieutenant 
Morpheus,  the  boy  howling  in  a  major  key,  the 
girl  in  a  minor,  feeding-bottles,  damp  linen,'  etc. 

Meanwhile  he  was  rapidly  becoming  a  man  of 
great  importance,  a  favourite  with  the  King,  a 
forcible  speaker  at  the  Reichstag,  and  a  great 
organizer.  Frau  von  Bismarck  was  a  typical 
German  housewife,  devoted  to  her  husband  and 
children,  thrifty,  economical,  and  able  to  make 
her  home  a  centre  of  peace.  Five  years  after  their 
marriage  Bismarck  wrote  to  his  beloved  Nan : 

*  May  God's  hand  be  over  you  and  the  children, 
and  protect  you  from  sickness  and  sorrow — 
especially  you,  the  apple  of  my  eye,  whom  Roder 
envies  me  daily  in  our  walks,  wishing  he  had  such 
a  good,  dear,  devout  wife.' 

Here  is  a  fragment  of  a  letter  written  from 
Frankfort  in  a  sentimental  mood : 

'  My  darling,  I  have  been  suffering  all  day  long 
from  home-sickness.  I  received  your  letter  from 
Reinfeld  on  Sunday,  and  then  I  sat  in  the  window 
and  smelt  the  summer  fragrance  of  roses  in  the 
little  garden,  and  while  so  doing  I  heard  one  of 
your  dear  Beethoven  pieces,  played  by  an  un- 
known  hand  on   the   piano,   wafted  from   some 


1 86  Famous  Love  Matches 

window  opposite.  To  me  it  seemed  better  than 
any  concert.  I  kept  wondering  why  I  have  to  be 
so  far  away  for  long  intervals  from  you  and  the 
children,  while  so  many  people  who  do  not  love  one 
another  at  all  are  together  from  morning  till  night.' 

Bismarck  was  constantly  telling  his  '  beloved 
Nan  '  that  he  was  not  fitted  to  be  solitary.  He 
wrote  from  Vienna  to  her :  '  My  happy  married 
life  and  the  children  whom  God  has  given  me 
seem  to  be  like  the  rainbow  in  my  life — a  pledge 
of  atonement  after  the  deluge  of  degeneracy  and 
want  of  love  which  covered  my  soul  in  former 
years.' 

At  this  time  he  was  Ambassador  at  Vienna,  and 
was  transferred  to  St.  Petersburg,  and  afterwards 
to  Paris.  A  second  son  was  born  at  Frankfort, 
and  this  child  completed  the  Bismarck  family. 

After  fifteen  years  of  matrimony,  Bismarck 
wrote  to  his  wife :  *  I  am  rather  ashamed  at  not 
having  remembered  our  wedding-day,  and  Frau 
Orloff  calls  me  un  monstre  sans  entrailles  on  this 
account.  But  you  know  that  if  my  heart  is  weak 
as  regards  dates,  it  is  not  ungrateful  either  for 
God's  mercy  or  for  your  love  and  truth.  There 
has  been  no  change  in  us  since  our  wedding-day, 
and  I  have  never  before  realized  that  it  was  so 
long  ago — five  or  six  thousand  happy  days.  May 
the  Lord  not  consider  how  unworthy  of  them  I 
am,  and  may  He  continue  to  pour  out  on  us  the 
fullness  of  His  blessing  without  regard  to  our 
deserts  !' 


Prince  and  Princess  Bismarck      187 

In  August,  1865,  Bismarck  wrote  to  his  wife  : 
'  My  eighteen-years-beloved  heart.'  He  was  then 
approaching  a  most  important  period  of  his  career. 
The  following  year,  during  the  Austrian  War,  he 
was  a  close  attendant  on  the  King,  and  saved  him 
from  being  shot.  For  the  active  part  he  took  in 
this  campaign  he  was  created  a  Count,  and  the 
estate  of  Schonhausen  was  presented  to  him.  The 
Franco-German  War  of  1870-1871  landed  him  on 
a  still  higher  pinnacle  of  success.  He  was  the  life 
and  soul  of  the  Prussian  headquarters,  the  creator 
of  the  German  Empire,  and  his  '  beloved  heart ' 
became  Princess  von  Bismarck.  His  letters  to  her 
during  the  war  have  not  been  preserved  except 
one,  which  fell  into  the  hands  of  the  French. 

On  the  anniversary  of  their  silver  wedding  in 
1872,  the  Emperor  William  presented  them  with 
a  costly  vase  and  wrote  an  autograph  letter.  Some 
of  the  telegrams  dispatched  to  the  Princess  by 
her  husband  while  she  was  at  Spa  are  worth 
noting.     One  came  from  Varzin  : 

'  I  am  as  well  as  any  childless  grass-widower 
can  be. — Bismarck.' 

Another,  also  from  Varzin,  May  26,  1888,  was 
as  follows : 

'  I  can't  bear  it  here  any  longer  without  horses 
or  wife.    We  return  to-morrow.' 

He  wrote  to  her  when  she  was  at  Homburg  : 
1  God  be  with  you  and  strengthen  you,  so  that  you 
may  come  back  robust  and  in  good  spirits.' 


1 88  Famous  Love  Matches 

A  rather  amusing  story  is  told  which  shows 
how  the  Princess  von  Bismarck  watched  over  her 
husband.  A  foreign  Ambassador  asked  the  Prince 
how  he  got  rid  of  bores.  '  Oh,  that's  easy  enough,' 
he  replied.  ■  When  my  wife  thinks  somebody  has 
been  with  me  long  enough,  she  just  sends  for  me 
on  some  pretext  or  another,  and  the  bore  has 
to  go.' 

As  the  Prince  was  speaking,  a  servant  entered 
and  asked  his  master  if  he  would  be  good  enough 
to  spare  a  few  minutes  to  the  Princess.  It  was 
an  awkward  situation,  but  the  Chancellor  saved  it 
by  one  of  his  hearty  laughs. 

For  many  years  the  Princess  von  Bismarck's 
health  had  been  slowly  declining,  and  she  died  on 
November  27,  1894,  three  years  before  her  golden 
wedding-day.  For  the  next  six  years  Prince 
Bismarck  was  a  solitary  old  man.  But  as  he  had 
faced  success  with  dignity,  so  he  faced  retirement 
and  separation  from  her,  who  had  been  the  sun- 
shine of  his  life,  with  fortitude.  One  of  his  grand 
utterances  shows  the  manner  of  man  he  was : 

'  I  don't  understand  how  anyone  can  live  with- 
out believing  in  God  and  a  future  life.' 

This  may  be  matched  by  that  watchword  of  the 
German  Empire  which  he  spoke  in  1888 : 

1  We  Germans  fear  God ;  other  fear  have  we 
none.' 

Of  Bismarck — that  grand,  heroic  soul  whose 
private  life  was  such  that  scandal  could  not  assail 
it — Germany  may  well  be  proud. 


CHARLES  KINGSLEY  AND  HIS  WIFE 

1  Can  we  forget  one  face 
Which  cheered  us  toward  our  end,  which  nerved  us  for 
our  race  ?' 

Charles  Kingsley. 

WHEN  Charles  Kingsley  began  to  write — 
over  sixty  years  ago — the  country  was 
passing  through  a  period  of  great  unrest. 
The  French  Revolution  of  1848  was  pending ;  the 
question  of  Free  Trade  had  not  settled  down  ; 
there  were  frequent  Chartist  riots,  and  men's 
hearts  were  failing  them  for  fear.  But  Kingsley 
was  a  man  who  never  knew  fear,  and  he  boldly 
spoke  out  what  was  seething  within  him.  In 
1  Alton  Locke '  he  sided  so  much  with  the  workers 
that  he  gained  for  himself  the  name  of  a  Christian 
Socialist.  For  names,  however,  he  cared  little. 
He  was  the  founder  of  the  school  of  athletic 
Christianity,  and  along  with  his  friend  Thomas 
Hughes  he  opened  up  various  problems  of  social 
life,  such  as  sanitary  reform,  for  which  we  of  the 
twentieth  century  owe  him  a  vast  debt.  Some  of 
his  novels — '  Two  Years  Ago,'  for  instance — have 
served  their  purpose  and  are  almost  forgotten,  but 
i8q 


190  Famous  Love  Matches 

'  Westward  Ho !'  and  ■  Hereward  the  Wake '  have 
become  classics,  and  are  used  as  text-books  in 
schools  to  illustrate  the  historical  periods  to  which 
they  belong.  Besides  these  novels,  at  least  three 
of  his  songs,  '  The  Three  Fishers,'  '  The  Sands  of 
Dee,'  and  ■  Oh  !  that  we  two  were  maying,'  have 
found  an  echo  in  the  great  heart  of  humanity. 
It  is,  however,  with  his  private  life,  with  the  love 
which  elevated  and  sanctified  his  existence,  that 
we  now  have  to  do.  He  often  said  to  those  who 
knew  him  best  that  whatever  he  had  done  or 
achieved  was  due  to  the  love  that  had  come  to 
him  at  a  great  crisis  to  guide  and  to  strengthen 
and  to  glorify  his  life.  ■  Some  men,'  says  his  son- 
in-law,  '  take  pains  to  conceal  their  love.  It  seemed 
his  pride  to  declare  it.' 

Charles  Kingsley  came  from  a  good  old  stock, 
the  Kingsleys  of  Kingsley,  in  Delamere  Forest. 
His  father  had  been  brought  up  with  excellent 
expectations,  and  had  been  educated  at  Harrow 
and  Oxford.  Finding  himself  at  the  age  of  thirty 
almost  penniless,  and  obliged  to  think  of  a  pro- 
fession, he  chose  the  Church,  sold  his  hunters,  and 
returned  to  college  a  second  time  to  read  for  Holy 
Orders.  His  wife,  the  mother  of  the  future  author, 
was  the  daughter  of  Nathan  Lucas,  of  Farley  Hall, 
Barbadoes,  and  was  born  in  the  West  Indies,  so 
it  was  small  wonder  that  her  eldest  son,  Charles, 
was  always  possessed  with  a  passionate  desire  to 
see  the  tropics  for  himself,  and  carried  out  his 
wish  five  years  before  his  death.     He  embodied 


Charles  Kingsley   and  his  Wife      191 

his  experiences  in  that  charming  book  of  travel 

*  At  Last.' 

His  birth  took  place  at  Holne  Vicarage,  under 
the  brow  of  Dartmoor,  June  12,  1819.  He  was 
fond  of  saying  :  '  I  am  a  Devonshire  man,  born 
and  bred.'  He  was  very  young,  however,  when 
the  lovely  scenery  of  Holne,  with  the  River  Dart 
flowing  below  the  grounds  of  the  little  parsonage, 
had  to  be  exchanged  for  a  curacy  in  Nottingham- 
shire, and  subsequently  a  move  was  made  to  the 
parish  of  Barnack,  in  the  Fen  Country.  The 
elder  Kingsley  held  the  living  for  the  Bishop  of 
Peterborough's  son,  and  occupied  the  rectory, 
which  was  a  fine  old  house,  built  in  the  fourteenth 
century.      It   contained   a   haunted   room   called 

*  Button  Cap's,'  and  into  this  room  little  Charles 
was  moved  when  ill  of  brain  fever.  *  Button  Cap  ' 
was  an  old  Rector  of  Barnack,  whose  ghost  used 
to  walk  across  the  room  in  flopping  slippers,  and 
turn  over  the  leaves  of  books  to  find  a  missing 
deed  of  which  he  had  defrauded  the  orphan  and 
widow.  He  wore  a  flowered  dressing-gown,  and 
a  cap  with  a  button  on  it.  Sometimes  he  turned 
cross,  and  played  Poltergeist,  as  the  Germans  say, 
rolling  about  the  barrels  in  the  cellar  with  sur- 
prising noise,  and  putting  them  all  back  in  their 
places  before  morning.  *  He  was  rats,9  adds 
Kingsley,  and  to  this  experience  he  traced  his 
strong  disbelief  in  ghosts.  He  was  a  precocious 
child,  and  wrote  poems  and  sermons  at  four  years 
of  age.     Some  of  the  latter  have  been  preserved, 


192  Famous  Love  Matches 

and  are  remarkable  for  short,  pithy  sentences. 
His  taste  for  natural  science  showed  itself  very 
early  when  he  was  saying  a  Latin  lesson  to  his 
father.  Suddenly  fixing  his  eyes  on  the  grate,  he 
cried  out :  ■  I  declare,  papa,  there  are  pyrites  in  that 
coal  V 

Six  years  were  spent  at  Barnack;  and  the 
peculiar  characteristics  of  the  Fen  Country,  the 
shining  meres,  the  golden-headed  reeds,  the  count- 
less waterfowl,  the  gaudy  insects,  the  mystery,  the 
majesty  of  the  Fens,  stamped  themselves  indelibly 
in  his  memory,  for  we  find  admirable  descriptions 
of  them  in  his  novel  of  *  Hereward,  the  Last  of  the 
English.'  From  the  Fen  Country  the  Kingsleys 
went  to  Clovelly,  Charles's  father  being  promoted 
to  be  the  rector.  There  was  a  sharp  contrast 
between  the  two  places — Clovelly  had  a  popula- 
tion of  sailors  and  fishermen ;  the  boys  had  their 
boats  and  their  ponies,  and  Charles,  now  eleven, 
plunged  into  the  study  of  conchology.  The  blue 
sea,  with  its  long  Atlantic  swell,  filled  him  with 
awe  and  delight.  It  was  here,  no  doubt,  that  he 
breathed  in  the  inspiration  which  found  vent  in 
those  memorable  lines : 

(  Men  must  work  and  women  must  weep, 
Though  the  harbour-bar  be  moaning  !' 

Disasters  at  sea  were  frequent  on  that  dangerous 
coast,  and  Charles  Kingsley  referred  to  one  of 
them  when  he  said : 

*  One  morning,  I  can  remember  well  how  we 


Charles  Kingsley  and  his  Wife      193 

watched  from  the  Hartland  Cliffs  a  great  barque 
which  came  rolling  and  drifting  in  before  the 
western  gale,  while  we  followed  her  up  the  coast 
through  stone  gaps  and  trackways,  from  headland 
to  headland.  .  .  .  And  then  how  a  boat's  crew  of 
Clovelly  fishermen  appeared  in  view,  and  how  we 
watched  the  little  black  speck  crawling  and  strug- 
gling up  in  the  teeth  of  the  gale  till,  when  the  ship 
rounded  a  point  into  smooth  water,  she  seized  on 
her  like  some  tiny  spider  on  a  huge  unwieldy  fly, 
and  then  the  desperate  efforts  to  get  the  topsail 
set ;  and  how  we  saw  it  tear  out  of  their  hands 
again  and  again  and  again,  and  how  we  almost 
fancied  we  could  hear  the  thunder  of  its  flappings 
above  the  roar  of  the  gale,  and  the  mountains  of 
surf  which  made  the  rocks  ring  beneath  our  feet ; 
and  how  we  stood  silent,  shuddering,  expecting 
every  moment  to  see,  whirled  into  the  sea  from 
the  plunging  jerk,  one  of  those  tiny  black  specks, 
in  each  of  which  was  a  living  human  soul,  with 
sad  women  praying  for  him  at  home.' 

Such  scenes  as  these  were  continually  before 
him,  so  that  Clovelly  was  always  recurring  to 
him  through  life.  Writing  to  his  wife  after  her 
first  visit  to  Clovelly  Court  in  1854,  ne  saYs : 
1  Now  that  you  have  seen  the  dear  old  Paradise 
you  know  what  was  the  inspiration  of  my  life 
before  I  saw  you.' 

The  three  Kingsley  boys  had  a  private  tutor  at 
home  until,  in  1831,  they  were  sent  to  a  pre- 
paratory school  at  Clifton,  and  then  to  Helston 

13 


194  Famous  Love  Matches 

Grammar  School  in  Cornwall.  His  master,  the 
Rev.  Derwent  Coleridge,  describes  Charles  as  '  A 
tall  boy  of  keen  visage  and  of  great  bodily  activity, 
high-spirited,  earnest,  and  energetic,  .  .  .  truly  a 
remarkable  boy,  original  to  the  verge  of  eccen- 
tricity, and  yet  a  thorough  boy,  fond  of  sport,  and 
up  to  any  enterprise.  A  genuine  out-of-doors 
boy.  His  account  of  a  walk  or  run  would  often 
display  considerable  eloquence,  the  impediment  in 
his  speech,  already  noticeable,  though  not  so 
marked  as  it  afterwards  became,  rather  adding 
to  the  effect.  .  .  .  With  his  bright  intelligence 
and  wide  sympathies,  he  was  popular  with  tutors, 
schoolfellows,  and  servants.' 

We  are,  however,  told  by  one  of  Kingsley's 
friends  that  he  was  not  popular  with  school  boys. 
He  never  made  a  score  at  cricket,  but  was  cele- 
brated for  jumping.  He  used  to  jump  from  the 
playground  wall  to  a  wall  opposite,  a  feat  which 
required  much  nerve  and  muscle.  He  used  to 
climb  a  tall  tree  to  take  an  egg  from  a  hawk's 
nest.  One  afternoon  the  mother  hawk  was  at 
home.  Most  boys  would  have  loosed  their  hold 
of  the  tree  when  the  hawk  used  her  claws,  but 
Charles  did  not  flinch  ;  he  came  down  as  steadily 
as  if  nothing  had  happened,  though  his  wounded 
hand  was  streaming  with  blood.  He  was  enthu- 
siastic about  plants,  and  writes  to  his  mother  : 
*  I  am  only  sorry  we  are  not  going  to  Ireland,  but 
I  shall  make  the  most  of  my  time  at  Plymouth 
and  on  the  South  Downs,  where  I  shall  be  certain 


Charles  Kingsley  and  his  Wife      195 

to   get   excellent   plants.      The   orchids    are  un- 
equalled on  the  South  Downs.' 

The  elder  Kingsley  had  been  transferred  from 
Clovelly  to  Chelsea,  an  unwelcome  change  to  the 
out-of-door  boys.  Charles  was  now  beginning  to 
write  in  good  earnest  poems  by  dozens,  and  a 
rhapsody  called  '  Psyche.'  When  he  was  an 
undergraduate  at  Cambridge,  his  father,  the  Rector 
of  Chelsea,  went  for  country  air  with  his  family 
to  the  village  of  Cleckenden,  in  Oxfordshire,  and 
settled  in  the  little  parsonage  house  there.  Here, 
on  July  6,  1839,  Charles  Kingsley  met  his  future 
wife,  Fanny  Grenfell,  daughter  of  Pascoe  Grenfell 
and  Georgiana  St.  Leger.  Seme  fifteen  years 
afterwards  he  said,  '  That  was  my  real  wedding- 
day.'  He  was  then  in  a  transition  state,  full  of 
religious  doubts ;  '  his  face,  with  its  unsatisfied, 
hungering  look,  bore  witness  to  the  state  of  his 
mind.'  His  heart  now  woke  up,  and  gradually, 
as  the  friendship  grew  in  intensity,  every  thought, 
every  feeling,  every  failing  was  laid  bare  before 
the  woman  whom  he  began  to  look  upon  as  another 
and  a  higher  self.  He  was  only  twenty  at  this 
time,  but  the  meeting  with  Fanny  Grenfell  was 
a  turning-point  in  his  career.  When  he  first 
returned  to  Cambridge,  there  seemed  little  hope 
of  making  the  girl  he  loved  his  wife.  So  he 
went  in  for  excitement,  boating,  hunting,  driving, 
fencing,  boxing,  duck  -  shooting  in  the  Fens. 
More  than  once  he  resolved  to  go  out  to  the 
Far  West,   and    live   as   a   prairie  hunter.      He 

13—2 


196  Famous  Love  Matches 

alludes  to  this  time  in  his  life  afterwards  in  a 
letter  to  Miss  Grenfell  :  ■  Saved,  saved,  from  the 
wild  pride  and  darkling  tempests  of  scepticism, 
and  from  the  sensuality  and  dissipation  into  which 
my  own  rashness  and  vanity  had  hurried  me 
before  I  knew  you.  Saved  from  a  hunter's  life  on 
the  prairies,  from  becoming  a  savage,  and  perhaps 
worse.     Saved  from  all  this.  .  .  .' 

He  now  began  to  read  from  nine  till  one  or  two, 
alternating  his  hard  study  by  long  walks.  He 
walked  one  day  from  Cambridge  to  London, 
fifty-two  miles,  starting  early,  and  arriving  in 
London  at  nine  o'clock  p.m. 

Miss  Grenfell  sent  him  books  to  read — Carlyle's 
1  French  Revolution '  and  '  Past  and  Present ' — 
which  had  a  great  influence  in  clearing  and  bracing 
his  mind.  Before  he  left  Cambridge  he  came  out  in 
honours — first-class  in  classics,  and  senior  optime 
in  mathematics.  In  six  months,  by  desperate 
reading,  he  had  done  work  which  should  have 
been  spread  over  three  years.  The  hope  of  win- 
ning his  bride  had  done  wonders ;  it  had  sustained 
and  strengthened  him.  He  now  turned  his  mind 
to  divinity,  and  read  for  Holy  Orders.  After  being 
ordained  he  had  the  offer  of  two  curacies.  He 
chose  Eversley,  in  Hampshire,  and  took  up  his 
residence  in  a  thatched  cottage  at  the  end  of  the 
village.  The  aspect  of  his  love  affairs  was  far  from 
bright.  The  Grenfells  held  a  very  good  social 
position,  and  it  was  not  considered  advisable  for 
the  daughter  of  the  house  to  be  engaged  to  a 


Charles  Kingsley  and  his  Wife     197 

penniless  curate.  A  military  friend  of  Kingsley's, 
Colonel  W ,  says  : 

1  My  memory  often  runs  back  to  the  days  at 
Sandhurst,  when  I  used  to  meet  dear  Kingsley 
continually  in  his  little  curate  rooms  at  the  corner 
of  the  green  at  Eversley,  when  he  told  me  of  his 
attachment  to  one  whom  he  feared  he  should 
never  be  able  to  marry,  and  that  he  supposed  that 
he  should  live  the  rest  of  his  life  reading  old  books 
and  knocking  his  head  against  the  ceiling  of  his 
room  like  a  caged  bird.  And  well  I  remember 
one  particular  Sunday,  when  walking  with  him  to 
church  in  the  afternoon,  having  dined  with  him 
at  midday.  It  was  a  lovely  afternoon  in  the 
autumn.  Passing  through  the  corn  in  sheaf,  the 
bells  ringing,  and  people,  young  and  old,  gathering 
together  near  the  church,  he  looked  down  on  the 
Rectory  house,  and  said  to  me  : 

'  "  Oh,  how  hard  it  is  to  go  through  life  without 
wishing  for  the  goods  of  others !  Look  at  the 
Rectory.  Oh,  if  I  were  there  with  a  wife,  how 
happy," '  etc.,  etc. 

Colonel  W adds  in  a  letter  to  Mrs.  Kingsley : 

1  God  seemed  to  hear  the  desire  of  His  creature, 
for  when  the  next  year's  corn  was  in  sheaf  you 
were  with  him  at  the  Rectory.  .  .  . 

1  He  has  constantly  told  me  in  after-years  that 
his  life  with  you  was  one  of  increasing  love.  I 
called  at  his  cottage  one  morning,  and  I  found 
him  almost  beside  himself  strapping  his  things 
into  a  portmanteau. 


198  Famous  Love  Matches 

1  "  What  is  the  matter,  dear  Kingsley  ?" 

'" I  am  engaged.  I  am  going  to  see  her  now — 
to-day  /" ' 

The  engagement  was  now  sanctioned  because 
Lord  Portman  had  promised  Kingsley  a  small 
living.  It  was,  however,  fated  that  Kingsley  was 
to  remain  on  at  Eversley,  for  that  living  became 
vacant,  and  he  was  presented  to  it.  His  marriage 
with  Fanny  Grenfell  took  place  early  in  the  year 
1844. 

The  outlook  was  not  altogether  rose-coloured. 
The  house  was  damp  and  unwholesome,  sur- 
rounded with  ponds  that  overflowed  with  every 
heavy  rain,  and  flooded  not  only  the  garden  and 
stables,  but  all  the  rooms  on  the  ground-floor, 
keeping  up  master  and  servants  sometimes  all 
night,  baling  out  the  water  in  buckets  for  hours 
together.  So  many  repairs  had  to  be  done  that 
the  living,  though  a  good  one,  was  for  years 
unremunerative.  There  was  no  schoolhouse, 
and  classes  had  to  be  held  in  the  Rectory. 
Charles  Kingsley,  at  the  time  of  his  marriage, 
when  he  was  twenty-five,  was  unknown  as  a 
writer.  He  had  commenced  his  drama  of  'The 
Saint's  Tragedy ' — a  version  of  the  legend  of 
St.  Elizabeth  of  Hungary — which  he  intended  to 
present  to  his  wife  on  their  wedding  day,  but  this 
was  not  published  until  four  years  afterwards, 
when  it  attracted  a  good  deal  of  attention.  It 
was  speedily  followed  by  '  Hypatia,'  and  now 
critics  and  readers  began  to  discover  that  a  new 


Charles  Kingsley  and  his  Wife     199 

prophet  had  arisen  among  them — a  man  who  had 
a  message,  and  meant  to  deliver  it. 

1  Alton   Locke '  was  the   only   book   of  which 
Kingsley  had  a  fair  copy  made.     It  was  done  by 
his  wife.     His  habit  was  thoroughly  to  master  his 
subject,  whether  book  or  sermon,  in  the  open  air 
in  his  garden,  on  the  moor,  or  by  the  side  of  a 
lonely  trout-stream,  and  never  to  put  pen  to  paper 
till  the  ideas  were  clothed  in  words,  and  these, 
except  in  the  case  of  poetry,  he  seldom  altered. 
For  many  years  his  writing  was  all  done  by  his  wife 
from  his  dictation,  while  he  paced  up  and  down  the 
room.     In  order  to  increase  his  income — for,  by 
degrees,  four  children,  two  sons  and  two  daughters 
(the  younger  now  well-known  by  her  pen-name  of 
Lucas  Malet),  had  been  added  to  his  happy  home 
circle — he  took  pupils.     One  of  them,  Mr.  Mar- 
tineau,  says  of  Kingsley :  ■  Never  was  a  man  with 
whom  life  was  less  monotonous,  with  whom  it  was 
more  overflowing  with  life  and  freshness.     Earth, 
air,  and  water,  as  well  as  farmhouse  and  cottage, 
seemed  full  of  his  familiar  friends.     By  day  and 
by  night,  in  fair  weather  and  in  storm,  grateful  for 
heat  and  cold,  rain  and  sunshine,  light  and  sooth- 
ing darkness,  he  drank  in  nature.     It  seemed  as  if 
no  bird  or  beast  or  insect,  scarcely  a  drifting  cloud 
in  the  sky,  passed  by  him  unnoticed,  unwelcomed. 
He  caught  and  noted  every  breath,  every  sound, 
every  sign.      With  every  person  he  met  he  in- 
stinctively struck  some   point   of  contact,  found 
something    to   appreciate,   which    left    the   other 


2oo  Famous  Love  Matches 

cheered,  self-respecting,  raised  for  the  moment 
above  himself.  Whatever  the  passing  word  might 
be,  it  was  given  with  an  appropriateness,  a  force, 
and  a  genial  courtesy — in  the  case  of  women  with 
a  deferential  courtesy — which  threw  its  spell  over 
all  alike,  a  spell  which  few  could  resist.  So  many- 
sided  was  he  that  he  seemed  to  unite  in  himself 
more  types  and  varieties  of  mind  and  character,  to 
be  filled  with  more  thoughts,  hopes,  fears,  interests, 
aspirations,  temptations,  than  could  exist  in  any 
one  man,  all  subdued  into  union  and  harmony  by 
the  force  of  one  iron  will,  which  had  learnt  to  rule 
after  many  a  fierce  and  bitter  struggle.  .  .  .  From 
his  home  life  I  scarcely  dare,  even  for  a  moment, 
to  lift  the  veil.  ...  To  his  wife — so  he  never 
shrank  from  affirming  in  deep  and  humble  thank- 
fulness— he  owed  the  whole  tenor  of  his  life,  all 
that  he  had  worth  living  for.  The  sense  of  bound- 
less gratitude  had  become  part  of  his  nature,  was 
never  out  of  the  undercurrent  of  his  thoughts.' 

In  a  letter  to  a  friend  Kingsley  says :  *  I  never 
before  felt  the  loneliness  of  being  without  the 
beloved  being  whose  every  look  and  word  and 
movement  are  the  keynotes  of  my  life.  People 
talk  of  love  ending  at  the  altar.  .  .  .     Fools  !' 

There  was  an  atmosphere  of  joy,  of  liberty,  at 
Eversley  Rectory.  The  four  children  had  a  hut 
built  them  by  their  father  as  an  outdoor  nursery, 
where  they  kept  their  books,  toys,  and  tea-things, 
and  here  they  spent  long  happy  days  on  the  highest 
point  of  the  moorland,  and  here  he  would  join 


Charles  Kingsley  and  his  Wife     201 

them  when  his  work  was  done,  bringing  some  new 
treasure,  such  as  a  choice  wild-flower  or  fern,  a 
lizard,  a  beetle,  or  a  field-mouse.  His  guests  at 
breakfast  were  surprised  one  morning  when  his 
little  girl  ran  in  holding  a  long  worm  in  her  hand, 
and  crying,  'Oh,  daddy,  look  at  this  delightful 
worm  !'  The  family  gathering  showed  him  at  his 
best  and  brightest,  and  he  used  to  say :  '  I  wonder 
if  there  is  so  much  laughing  in  any  other  home  in 
England  as  in  ours.'  One  of  his  sons  says  :  '  The 
brightest  picture  of  the  past  that  I  can  look  back  to 
is,  not  the  eager  look  of  delight  with  which  he  used 
to  hail  any  of  our  little  successes,  but  it  is  to  the 
drawing-room  at  Eversley,  in  the  evenings  when 
we  were  all  at  home,  and  by  ourselves.  There  he 
sat,  with  one  hand  in  mother's,  forgetting  his  own 
hard  work  and  worry  in  leading  our  fun  and  frolic, 
with  a  kindly  smile  on  his  lips,  and  a  loving  light 
in  that  bright  grey  eye  that  made  us  feel  that, 
in  the  broadest  sense  of  the  word,  he  was  our 
father.' 

Dogs  were  not  forgotten  in  this  home  circle; 
one,  a  Scotch  terrier,  Dandy,  was  his  companion 
in  all  his  walks,  attended  cottage  lectures  and 
school  lessons,  and  now  lies  buried  under  the  great 
fir-trees  of  the  lawn  at  Eversley,  along  with  Sweep, 
a  black  retriever,  and  Victor,  given  to  him  by  the 
Queen.  His  appointment  as  Professor  of  Modern 
History  at  Cambridge  opened  out  a  new  field 
of  work.  The  same  year  (i860)  he  paid  a  visit 
to   the   West   of    Ireland,   and   captured   a   real 


202  Famous  Love  Matches 

live  salmon  at  Markree,  over  five  pounds  weight,  a 
feat  which  he  looked  upon  with  great  satisfaction. 

He  calls  Westport  *  a  pretty,  wooded  town,  with 
the  magnificent  cone  of  Croagh  Patrick,  the  pil- 
grimage mountain,  towering  over  all.  .  .  .  The 
view  of  Nephin  Monastery,  across  Loch  Conn, 
and  the  bogs  last  night,  was  the  finest  thing  I  ever 
saw  in  my  life.  I  have  seen  a  painting  of  it  some- 
where, for  I  recognized  it  at  once.' 

He  utilized  his  impressions  of  Ireland  subse- 
quently in  those  chapters  of  'Westward  Ho!' 
which  describe  the  capture  of  Fort  del  Ore,  at 
Smerwick  Harbour,  and  the  flight  and  surrender  of 
the  great  Earl  of  Desmond.  In  '  The  Hermits,' 
too,  he  gives  a  vivid  sketch  of  St.  Columba,  and 
also  of  the  Kerry  hermit,  St.  Brandon,  who  saw 
in  a  vision  the  enchanted  isles  of  the  west,  which 
were  afterwards  explored  by  the  enterprising  saint 
in  his  frail  coracle. 

Honours  came  thickly  upon  Kingsley  as  years 
went  on.  He  was  appointed  by  Mr.  Gladstone 
Canon  of  Chester  Cathedral,  and  afterwards 
Canon  of  Westminster.  He  was  chosen  by  the 
Prince  Consort  to  give  private  lectures  in  modern 
history  to  the  then  Prince  of  Wales,  and  books 
on  various  subjects  flowed  from  his  fluent  pen. 
But  throughout  his  career,  literally  packed  with 
varied  interests  and  hard  work,  his  thoughts 
continually  returned  to  his  wife,  and,  as  he  said, 
she  was  associated  with  everything  he  did. 
This  wonderful   love  was  the   lever   of  his  life, 


Charles  Kingsley  and  his  Wife     203 

the  very  soul  of  all  his  joy,  the  keynote  of  his 
being.  In  some  verses,  ■  The  Delectable  Day,' 
which  he  put  into  her  hand,  he  says : 

1  And  at  night  the  septette  of  Beethoven, 
And  the  grandmother  by,  in  her  chair, 
And  the  foot  of  all  feet  on  the  sofa, 
Beating  delicate  time  to  the  air.' 

In  the  summer  of  1874  he  went  with  his  elder 
daughter  to  America,  and  visited  the  Yosemite 
Valley,  finishing  up  with  Colorado  and  the  Rocky 
Mountains,  where  his  love  for  natural  history  was 
fully  gratified.  After  his  return  he  was  not  well, 
but  it  was  for  his  wife,  who  was  considered  hope- 
lessly ill,  that  he  was  most  concerned.  He  re- 
turned with  her  from  Westminster  to  Eversley, 
and  when  he  was  told  that  there  was  no  hope  of 
her  recovery,  he  said,  ■  My  own  death-warrant  was 
signed.'  Yet,  after  all,  he  was  taken  first.  Bron- 
chitis set  in.  He  had  been  warned  that  his  re- 
covery depended  upon  being  kept  in  one  room, 
and  never  leaving  it,  but  one  bitter  day  in  Decem- 
ber he  got  out  of  bed,  and  came  into  his  wife's 
room  for  a  few  minutes.  Taking  her  hand  in  his, 
he  said :  '  This  is  heaven  ;  don't  speak.' 

It  was  their  last  meeting  on  earth.  When  told 
that  another  move  would  be  fatal  to  him,  he 
answered :  *  We  have  said  all  to  each  other ;  we 
have  made  up  our  accounts,'  and  often  repeated 
the  words  :  '  It  is  all  right,  all  as  it  should  be.' 

A  few  days  afterwards — January  23,  1875 — the 
end  came,  and  he  peacefully  breathed  his  last. 


204  Famous  Love  Matches 

On  his  grave  in  Eversley  churchyard  the  follow- 
ing inscription,  which  he  and  his  wife  had  settled 
should  be  inscribed  over  the  spot  where  their 
earthly  remains  should  be  laid,  is  engraved : 

1  Amavimus,  amamus,  amabimus ' 
('  We  have  loved,  we  do  love,  we  will  love '). 

Mrs.  Kingsley  survived  her  husband  several 
years — long  enough  to  write  his  '  Life  '  (published 
by  Messrs.  Macmillan),  from  which  most  of  the 
information  given  here  has  been  gleaned,  and  is 
now  gratefully  acknowledged. 

It  records  the  career  of  a  free,  dauntless  spirit, 
a  brave  fighter,  who  never  turned  his  back — never 
doubted  that  right  would  conquer.  There  was 
something  chivalrous  about  Kingsley,  especially 
so  about  his  love  for  his  wife.  Like  one  of  the 
knights  of  old, 

1  Her  colours  in  his  cap  he  wore, 
Her  image  on  his  heart  he  bore.' 

All  he  did  and  all  he  dreamt  of  doing  included 
her.  Without  putting  herself  forward,  she  moved 
him  to  the  highest  things  of  which  he  was  capable. 


SIR  RICHARD  BURTON  AND  ISABEL 
ARUNDELL. 

'  Well,  and  if  none  of  these  good  things  came, 
What  did  the  failure  prove  ? 
The  man  was  my  whole  world,  all  the  same 
With  his  flowers  to  praise,  and  his  weeds  to  blame, 
And  either,  or  both,  to  love.' 

Robert  Browning. 

ARE  we  as  romantic  in  the  present  day  as  our 
ancestors  were  in  the  past  ?  Have  motor- 
cars and  telephones,  phonographs  and  elec- 
tric railways,  banished  the  spirit  of  romance  from 
us  ?  No  longer  are  knights  of  high  degree  called 
upon  to  rescue  distressed  damsels,  as  Ivanhoe  did 
Rowena,  and  Quentin  Durward  the  Lady  Isabel 
de  Croye.  The  age  of  chivalry  is  over,  and 
damsels,  however  distressed,  are  able  to  take  care 
of  themselves.  But  that  romance  does  still  exist, 
though  in  a  different  form  from  what  is  adopted  in 
the  past,  is  shown  by  the  various  love  matches  we 
have  been  considering ;  and  now  we  come  to  that 
of  the  celebrated  traveller  and  scholar,  Sir  Richard 
Burton.  The  account  of  his  meeting  with  Isabel 
Arundell,  afterwards  his  faithful  and  devoted  wife, 
has  been  told  at  length  by  herself. 

Isabel  belonged  to  the  great  Roman  Catholic 
205 


206  Famous  Love  Matches 

family  of  the  Arundells  of  Wardour,  and  was  born 
on  Sunday,  March  20,  1831,  at  4,  Great  Cumber- 
land Place  (near  the  Marble  Arch),  London. 
Children  born  on  a  Sunday  are  said  to  be  un- 
usually fortunate — that  is,  if  we  are  to  believe  the 
old  rhyme : 

'  The  child  that  is  born  on  the  Sabbath  Day 
Is  happy  and  lucky,  and  wise  and  gay.' 

At  the  age  of  ten  Isabel  Arundell  was  sent  to  a 
convent  school  at  Chelmsford,  and  left  it  when 
she  was  sixteen.  Her  home  then  was  at  an  old- 
fashioned  place  called  Furze  Hall,  near  Ingate- 
stone,  Essex.  In  the  woods  close  by  was  an 
encampment  of  gipsies,  and  on  the  subject  of 
gipsies,  and  everything  Eastern  and  mystic,  Isabel 
Arundell  was  enthusiastic.  She  used  to  steal 
down  to  the  gipsy  encampment  and  sit  among 
her  friends  for  hours.  Her  special  favourite  was 
Hagar  Burton,  a  tall,  handsome  woman,  of  great 
influence  with  her  tribe.  She  cast  Isabel  Arundell's 
horoscope,  and  wrote  it  down  in  Romany.  Part 
of  it  may  be  given  here,  as  it  was  fulfilled  to  the 
letter:  'You  will  cross  the  sea,  and  be  in  the 
same  town  with  your  destiny,  and  know  it  not. 
Every  obstacle  will  rise  up  against  you,  and  such 
a  combination  of  circumstances  that  it  will  require 
all  your  courage,  energy,  and  intelligence  to  meet 
them.  Your  life  will  be  like  one  swimming  against 
big  waves ;  but  God  will  be  with  you,  so  you  will 
always  win.     You  will  fix  your  eye  on  your  polar 


Richard  Burton  and  Isabel  Arundell   207 

star,  and  you  will  go  for  that  without  looking 
right  or  left.  You  will  bear  the  name  of  our 
tribe,  and  be  right  proud  of  it.  .  .  .  Your 
life  is  all  wandering,  change,  and  adventure — 
one  soul  in  two  bodies  in  life  or  death,  never 
long  apart.  Show  this  to  the  man  you  take  for 
your  husband.'  The  soothsayer  also  foretold, 
*  You  shall  have  plenty  to  choose  from,  and  wait 
for  years ;  but  you  are  destined  to  him  from  the 
beginning.  .  .  .  The  name  we  have  given  you 
will  be  yours,  and  the  day  will  come  when  you 
will  pray  for  it,  long  for  it,  and  be  proud  of  it.' 

At  this  time  Isabel  Arundell  had  never  heard 
of  Richard  Burton,  her  destined  husband,  so  the 
prediction  was  certainly  rather  remarkable.  She 
describes  herself  as  a  '  tall,  plump  girl,  with  large, 
earnest,  dark  blue  eyes,  long  black  eyelashes  and 
eyebrows,  and  beautiful  hair  of  a  golden-brown 
colour.'  She  was  either  fresh  and  wild  with  spirits, 
or  else  melancholy  and  full  of  pathos.  A  season 
in  London  began  with  a  ball  at  Almack's.  The 
young  debutante  and  her  mother  went  under  the 
wing  of  the  Duchess  of  Norfolk.  Isabel  found 
plenty  of  partners,  and  was  considered  to  have 
made  a  successful  debut  in  high  society.  But 
among  the  men  she  was  introduced  to  she  did 
not  find  her  ideal.  She  thus  describes  him  in 
her  diary :  '  My  ideal  is  about  six  feet  in  height ; 
he  has  not  an  ounce  of  fat  on  him  ;  he  has  broad 
and  muscular  shoulders,  a  powerful  deep  chest ; 
he  is  a  Hercules  of  manly  strength.     He  has  black 


208  Famous  Love  Matches 

hair,  a  brown  complexion,  a  clever  forehead,  saga- 
cious eyebrows,  large,  black,  wondrous  eyes — those 
strange  eyes  you  dare  not  take  yours  from  off 
them — with  long  lashes.  He  is  a  soldier  and  a 
man;  he  is  accustomed  to  command  and  to  be 
obeyed.  He  frowns  on  the  ordinary  affairs  of  life, 
but  his  face  always  lights  up  warmly  for  me.  In 
his  dress  he  never  adopts  the  fopperies  of  the  day ; 
but  his  clothes  suit  him — they  are  made  for  him, 
not  he  for  them.  .  .  .  His  religion  is  like  my 
own,  free,  liberal,  and  generous-minded.  He  is 
a  man  who  owns  something  more  than  a  body; 
he  has  a  heart  and  head,  a  mind  and  soul.  He  is 
one  of  those  strong  men  who  lead  the  master-mind 
who  governs,  and  he  has  perfect  control  over  him- 
self. This  is  the  creation  of  my  fancy,  and  my 
ideal  of  happiness  is  to  be  to  such  a  man  wife, 
comrade,  friend,  everything  to  him ;  to  sacrifice 
all  for  him,  to  follow  his  fortunes  through  his 
campaigns,  through  his  travels  to  any  part  of  the 
world,  and  to  endure  any  amount  of  roughing. 
.  .  .  Such  a  man  only  will  I  wed.  I  love  this 
myth  of  my  girlhood — for  myth  it  is— next  to 
God,  and  I  look  to  the  star  that  Hagar  the  gipsy 
said  was  the  star  of  my  destiny,  the  morning  star, 
because  the  ideal  seems  too  high  for  this  planet, 
and,  like  the  philosopher's  stone,  may  never  be 
found  here.  But  if  I  find  such  a  man,  and  after- 
wards discover  that  he  is  not  for  me,  then  I  will 
never  marry.  I  will  try  to  be  near  him  only,  to 
see  him  and  hear  him  speak;  and  if  he  marries 


Richard  Burton  and  Isabel  Arundell    209 

someone  else,  I  will  become  a  Sister  of  St.  Vincent 
de  Paul.' 

The  hour  in  which  Isabel  Arundell  was  fated  to 
meet  her  destined  husband  was  fast  approaching, 
though  she  knew  it  not.     After  the  London  season 
was  over,  the  Arundell  family  went  to  Boulogne, 
and  it  is  strange  to  find  that  the  short  passage 
across  the    English    Channel,  which  now  takes 
barely  an  hour  and  a  half,  then  took  no  less  than 
fifteen  hours!     At   Boulogne,  Lady  Burton  tells 
us,  the  usual  lounge,  both  summer  and  winter, 
was  the  Ramparts,  which  commanded  a  lovely 
view  of  the  town.     On  these  Ramparts  the  fateful 
meeting  took  place.      Richard  Burton  was  then 
home   from   India  on   a   long  furlough.     He   is 
described  as  ■  five  feet  eleven  inches  in  height ; 
very  broad,  thin,  and  muscular;  very  dark  hair; 
black,    clearly  -  defined,    sagacious    eyebrows ;    a 
brown,  weather-beaten  complexion ;  straight  Arab 
features,  and  a  determined -looking  mouth   and 
chin,  nearly  covered  by  an  enormous  black  mous- 
tache.    He  had  a  fierce,  proud,  melancholy  expres- 
sion, and  when  he  smiled,  he  smiled  as  though  it 
hurt  him.  .  .  .     He  was  dressed  in  a  black,  short, 
shaggy  coat,  and  shouldered  a  short  thick  stick, 
as  if  he  were  on  guard.'      Isabel   adds  that   he 
looked  at  her  as  though  he  read  her  through  and 
through.     She,  on  her  part,  was  completely  mag- 
netized by  this  ideal .  of  her   dreams,  who   now 
appeared  to  her  in  actual  form.     To  use  her  own 
words:    'When  I   got   a  little  distance  away,  I 

*4 


210  Famous  Love  Matches 

turned  to  my  sister  and  said :  "  That  man  will 
marry  me  /" ' 

The  next  day  Captain  Burton  was  at  the  same 
spot  again,  and  he  chalked  up  on  the  walls  the 
words,  ■  May  I  speak  to  you  ?'  Isabel  took  up  the 
chalk,  and  wrote  back,  'No;  mother  will  be 
angry.'  However,  destiny  was  too  strong,  and 
though  Mrs.  Arundell  was  angry  on  that  occasion, 
the  arrival  at  Boulogne  of  some  cousins  of  the 
Arundells  changed  the  aspect  of  affairs.  An  intro- 
duction to  the  gipsy-eyed  Burton  followed,  and  his 
name  made  Isabel  start,  for  it  was  the  same  as 
that  of  Hagar  Burton,  who  had  prophesied  that 
the  girl  would  bear  the  name  of  their  tribe.  She 
says  that  the  sound  of  Richard  Burton's  voice,  so 
soft  and  sweet,  left  her  spellbound.  '  I  used  to 
turn  red  and  pale,  hot  and  cold,'  she  adds  ;  '  dizzy 
and  faint,  sick  and  trembling.  My  knees  used 
nearly  to  give  way  under  me.' 

In  vain  did  the  doctor  who  was  called  in  prescribe 
pills;  these  were  promptly  thrown  into  the  fire. 
Once,  at  a  tea-party  and  a  dance,  Isabel  had  the 
bliss  of  dancing  with  her  hero,  whom  she  describes 
as  a  star  among  rushlights.  She  calls  this  evening 
1  a  night  of  nights.'  She  preserved  the  sash  where 
he  put  his  arm  round  her  waist,  and  the  gloves 
which  his  hands  had  clasped,  and  never  wore 
them  again.  Nothing  definite,  however,  came 
from  this  meeting.  Burton  went  back  to  his 
roving  life,  and  after  two  years  at  Boulogne,  the 
Arundell  family  returned  to  England. 


Richard  Burton  and  Isabel  Arundell   211 

Four  years  passed  slowly  away.  Beyond  hearing 
of  Richard  Burton  occasionally  through  the  news- 
papers, Isabel  Arundell  knew  nothing  more  of 
him.  She  had  to  bear  the  humiliation  of  having 
given  away  her  heart,  '  like  Dian's  kiss,  unasked, 
unsought,'  which  is  always  a  terrible  pang  to  a 
woman.  To  hide  her  feelings  she  formed  a  girl's 
club  for  the  purpose  of  relieving  the  families  of 
soldiers  away  in  the  Crimea.  She  collected  over 
a  hundred  guineas,  and  visited  some  of  the  worst 
slums  of  London.  It  was  in  1856,  after  Burton's 
celebrated  secret  expedition  to  Mecca,  disguised  as 
a  Bedouin  Arab,  that  Isabel  wrote  in  her  diary, 
'  I  hear  that  Richard  has  come  home,  and  is  in 
town.     God  be  praised  !' 

Burton  was  always  getting  into  hot  water  with 
those  in  authority  over  him.  He  had  been  called 
to  give  evidence  in  favour  of  General  Beatson,  who 
had  become  involved  in  one  of  the  many  muddles 
connected  with  the  Crimean  War.  Fortunate  in 
some  respects  his  arrival  was,  for  it  led  to  his 
meeting  Isabel  Arundell  again.  She  and  her 
sister  were  walking  in  the  Botanical  Gardens 
when  they  met.  He  asked  her  if  she  often  came 
to  the  Gardens.  Her  answer  was  :  i  Oh  yes ;  we 
always  come  and  read  and  study  here  from  eleven 
to  one.  It  is  so  much  nicer  than  studying  in  the 
hot  room  at  home.'  This  was  quite  in  accordance 
with  Burton's  own  tastes,  which  were  all  for  an 
out-of-door  life.  The  book  that  Isabel  Arundell 
held  in  her  hand  was  Disraeli's  'Tancred,'  with  its 

14 — 2 


212  Famous  Love  Matches 

vivid  descriptions  of  the  East.  When  she  got 
home  she  was  full  of  wonder  and  presentiment. 
She  looked  at  herself  in  the  glass,  and  thought 
she  was  a  fright.  She  really  was  a  tall  and 
beautiful  girl,  with  blue  eyes,  classical  features, 
and  fair  brown  hair. 

It  was  at  the  end  of  a  fortnight  that  Burton 
took  the  plunge.  Isabel  tells  how  it  all  happened : 
1  He  stole  his  arm  round  my  waist,  laid  his  cheek 
against  mine,  and  said  :  "  Could  you  do  anything 
so  sickly  as  to  give  up  civilization  ?  And  if  I  get 
the  Consulship  at  Damascus,  will  you  marry  me, 
and  go  out  and  live  there  ?" '  Isabel  was  silent 
for  some  time,  and  Burton,  who  little  guessed  her 
long  and  secret  love,  or  rather  adoration,  for  him, 
said :  *  Forgive  me ;  I  ought  not  to  have  asked  so 
much.'  All  the  barriers  were  then  broken  down. 
Isabel  found  her  voice,  and  cried :  '  I  do  not  want 
to  think  it  over ;  I  have  been  thinking  it  over  for 
six  years — ever  since  I  first  saw  you  at  Boulogne. 
I  have  prayed  for  you  every  morning  and  night, 
I  have  followed  all  your  career  minutely,  I  have 
read  every  word  you  ever  wrote,  and  I  would 
rather  have  a  crust  and  a  tent  with  you  than  be 
queen  of  all  the  world ;  and  so  I  say  now,  "  Yes — 
yes — yes!"' 

After  a  few  minutes  he  observed :  '  Your  people 
will  not  give  you  to  me.'  Her  answer  was,  '  I 
know  that,  but  I  belong  to  myself;  I  give  myself 
away.'  To  these  brave  words  he  answered : 
1  That  is  all  right.     Be  firm,  and  so  shall  I.' 


Richard  Burton  and  Isabel  Arundell   213 

It  is  worth  while  giving  Isabel  Arundell's  own 
description  of  what  this  sudden  burst  of  joy  was 
to  her.  Fiction  pales  utterly  before  it.  She  says  : 
1 1  would  have  suffered  six  years  more  for  such  a 
day,  such  a  moment,  as  this.  All  past  sorrows 
were  forgotten  in  it.  All  that  has  been  written  or 
said  on  the  subject  of  the  first  kiss  is  trash  com- 
pared to  the  reality.  Men  might  as  well  undertake 
to  describe  Eternity.  .  .  .  When  I  got  home  I 
knelt  down  and  prayed.  My  whole  soul  was  flooded 
with  joy  and  thanksgiving.' 

The  engagement,  however,  was  not  publicly 
announced,  and  the  lovers  were  separated  for 
three  years,  as  Burton  set  off  to  Central  Africa  to 
fight  his  way  through  the  jungle,  in  regions  where 
the  foot  of  the  white  man  had  never  before 
penetrated.  This  was  the  famous  Burton-Speke 
Expedition.  Meanwhile,  Isabel  went  with  her 
married  sister  and  her  brother-in-law  to  Italy  and 
Switzerland.  Burton  returned  from  his  expedi- 
tion a  complete  wreck  from  the  effects  of  fever, 
and  he  had  barely  recovered  before  he  started  off 
to  America,  and  was  away  for  two  more  years, 
while  Isabel  went  on  practising  swimming,  fencing, 
and  riding,  in  order  to  fit  herself  to  be  his 
companion. 

She  was  spending  the  Christmas  with  some 
relatives — Sir  Clifford  and  Lady  Constable — when 
in  a  copy  of  the  Times,  which  had  been  used  to 
prop  up  some  music  on  the  piano-stand,  she  read 
the  announcement :   *  Captain  R.  F.  Burton  has 


214  Famous  Love  Matches 

arrived  in  London.'  She  speedily  retired  to  her 
room,  and  began  to  pack  up.  Snow  was  thick  on 
the  ground,  but  she  managed  to  get  a  telegram 
sent  to  her,  ordering  her  back  to  London,  so  off 
she  went.  When  the  lovers  met,  Burton  said  to 
her :  ■  I  have  waited  five  years.  The  first  three 
were  inevitable  on  account  of  my  journey  to  Africa, 
but  the  last  two  were  not.  Our  lives  are  being 
spoiled  by  the  unjust  prejudice  of  your  mother, 
and  it  is  for  you  to  decide  whether  you  have  not 
already  done  your  duty  in  sacrificing  two  of  the 
best  years  of  your  life  out  of  respect  to  her.  If 
once  you  let  me  go,  I  shall  never  come  back, 
because  I  shall  know  you  have  not  the  strength  of 
character  which  my  wife  must  have.  ...  If  you 
choose  me,  we  marry  and  I  stay;  if  not,  I  go 
back  to  India,  and  on  other  explorations,  and  I 
return  no  more.  Is  your  answer  ready  ?'  Isabel 
said :  *  Quite.  I  marry  you  this  day  three  weeks,  let 
who  will  say  nay !'  So  she  did,  the  marriage  taking 
place  on  Tuesday,  January  22,  i860,  when  she  was 
nearly  twenty-nine  and  Burton  thirty-nine.  During 
the  three  weeks  of  preparation  she  drew  up  for 
herself  some  rules  for  her  guidance  as  a  wife, 
which  are  so  excellent  that  in  these  days  of  un- 
happy marriages  it  would  be  well  if  every  expectant 
bride  were  to  study  them  : 

1  1.  Let  your  husband  find  in  you  a  companion, 
friend,  and  adviser,  that  he  may  miss  nothing  at 
home. 

1 2.  Be  a  careful  nurse  when  he  is  ailing,  that 


Richard  Burton  and  Isabel  Arundell    215 

he  may  never  be  in  low  spirits  about  his  health 
without  a  serious  cause. 

*  3.  Make  his  home  snug.  Be  it  ever  so  small 
and  poor,  there  can  always  be  a  certain  chic  about 
it.  Men  are  always  ashamed  of  a  poverty-stricken 
home,  and  therefore  prefer  the  club.  Attend  much 
to  his  creature  comfort.  Allow  smoking,  or  any- 
thing else,  for  if  you  don't,  somebody  else  will. 

'  4.  Improve  and  educate  yourself  in  every  way, 
that  you  may  enter  into  his  pursuits,  and  keep 
pace  with  the  times. 

1  5.  Be  prepared  at  any  moment  to  follow  him 
at  an  hour's  notice,  and  rough  it  like  a  man. 

?  6.  Do  not  try  to  hide  your  affection  for  him, 
but  let  him  see  and  feel  it  in  every  action.  Observe 
a  certain  amount  of  delicacy  and  reserve  before 
him.  Keep  up  the  honeymoon  romance,  whether 
at  home  or  in  the  desert.  Do  not  make  the  mis- 
take of  neglecting  your  personal  appearance,  but 
try  to  look  well  and  dress  well  to  please  his  eye. 

1  7.  Perpetually  work  up  his  interests  with  the 
world,  whether  for  publishing  or  for  appointments. 
Let  him  feel,  when  he  goes  away,  that  he  has  a 
second  self  in  charge  of  his  affairs  at  home,  so  that 
he  may  have  no  anxiety  on  his  mind.  Take  an 
interest  in  everything  that  interests  him.  To  be 
companionable,  a  woman  must  learn  what  in- 
terests her  husband,  and  if  it  is  only  planting 
turnips,  she  must  try  to  understand  turnips. 

1 8.  Never  confide  your  domestic  affairs  to  your 
female  friends. 


216  Famous  Love  Matches 

'  9.  Hide  his  faults  from  everyone,  and  back 
him  up  in  every  difficulty  and  trouble. 

'  10.  Never  permit  anyone  to  speak  disrespect- 
fully of  him  before  you,  and  if  anyone  does,  leave 
the  room.  .  .  .  Never  answer  when  he  finds 
fault,  and  never  reproach  him  when  he  is  in  the 
wrong,  nor  take  advantage  of  it  when  you  are 
angry.  Always  keep  his  heart  up  when  he  has 
made  a  failure. 

1  n.  Keep  all  disagreements  for  your  own  room, 
and  never  let  others  find  them  out. 

'  12.  Never  ask  him  not  to  do  anything — for 
instance,  with  regard  to  visiting  other  women,  or 
anyone  you  particularly  dislike  ;  trust  him  and 
tell  him  everything,  except  another  person's  secret. 

*  13.  Do  not  bother  him  with  religious  talk.  Be 
religious  yourself,  and  give  a  good  example ;  talk 
seriously  and  earnestly.  Pray  for  and  procure 
prayers  for  him,  and  do  all  you  can  for  him  with- 
out his  knowing  it.  You  might  try  to  say  a  little 
prayer  with  him  every  night  before  lying  down  to 
sleep,  and  gently  draw  him  to  be  good  to  the  poor. 

1 14.  Cultivate  your  own  good  health,  spirits, 
and  nerves,  so  as  to  counteract  his  naturally 
melancholy  turn. 

1 15.  Never  open  his  letters,  nor  appear  in- 
quisitive about  anything  he  does  not  volunteer  to 
tell  you. 

1 16.  Never  interfere  between  him  and  his 
family.     Treat  them  as  if  they  were  your  own. 

'17.  Keep   everything   going,  and   let   nothing 


Richard  Burton  and  Isabel  Arundell   217 

be  at  a  standstill.  Nothing  would  weary  him  like 
stagnation.' 

In  1864,  after  four  years  of  matrimony,  Isabel 
Burton  wrote  at  the  end  of  these  rules  that  every- 
thing had  been  carried  out,  by  God's  help,  '  with 
the  only  exception  that  He  saw  fit  to  give  us  no 
children,  for  which  we  are  most  grateful.' 

It  would  take  too  much  space  to  put  down  all 
the  numerous  journeyings  both  by  land  and  sea, 
and  the  varied  experiences  that  this  strangely 
matched  pair  had  to  go  through.  For  seven 
months  after  their  marriage  they  lived  in  lodgings 
at  St.  James's,  then  Burton  was  offered  the  post 
of  British  Consul  at  Fernando  Po,  a  deadly 
African  climate,  which  was  considered  almost 
fatal  to  a  white  woman.  So  Isabel  was  left 
behind,  much  against  her  will,  for  eighteen  months. 
When  her  husband  returned  on  leave  from  Fer- 
nando Po,  he  brought  her  back  with  him  as  far  as 
Teneriffe,  a  place  which  they  thoroughly  explored 
together,  and  then  they  parted,  he  to  his  consulate 
and  she  to  her  mother  in  England.  She  set 
herself  to  work  the  Foreign  Office  for  another 
appointment,  and  she  succeeded,  as  Burton  was 
transferred  from  Fernando  Po  to  Santos,  in  South 
America.  She  was  now  permitted  to  take  up  her 
quarters  with  him.  Many  were  the  rough  ex- 
periences she  underwent  in  Brazil,  about  which 
Burton  wrote  a  book,  'The  Highlands  of  Brazil.' 
She  went  down  into  the  depths  of  a  gold-mine  in 
a  bucket,  and  was  often  in  the  saddle  for  nine 


218  Famous  Love  Matches 

hours  a  day,  to  say  nothing  of  being  constantly 
worried  by  tropical  insects. 

At  the  end  of  their  two  years'  stay  she  had  to 
nurse  her  husband  through  a  terrible  illness — 
congestion  of  the  liver,  combined  with  inflamma- 
tion of  one  lung.  He  said  he  could  not  stand 
Brazil  any  longer ;  '  it  had  given  him  his  illness, 
and  it  led  to  no  advancement ;  it  led  to  nothing.' 
So  they  returned  to  England,  and  Isabel  had  soon 
the  satisfaction  of  procuring  for  her  husband  the 
Consulship  of  Damascus,  worth  £1,000  a  year, 
from  Lord  Stanley,  who  was  an  old  friend  and 
neighbour  of  her  uncle,  Lord  Gerard.  The  posi- 
tion suited  Burton,  whose  tastes  were  all  for  an 
Eastern  life.  The  two  started  in  high  spirits, 
and  thoroughly  enjoyed  their  reign  ;  but  after  two 
years  Burton,  who,  as  usual,  had  made  enemies, 
was  suddenly  recalled.  The  unwelcome  news  was 
conveyed  to  Isabel  in  a  few  written  words :  '  Do 
not  be  frightened.  I  am  recalled.  Pay,  pack, 
and  follow  at  convenience.' 

She  was  then  at  a  country  place  a  few  miles 
from  Damascus.  She  says  that  she  went  about 
all  day  trying  to  realize  what  it  meant.  She  had 
always  an  acute  sense  of  the  mystical  element  in 
life.  When  she  went  to  bed  that  night  she  had  a 
most  vivid  dream.  She  dreamed  that  *  something ' 
pulled  her  by  the  arm.  She  sat  up  in  bed,  and 
heard  a  voice  saying,  *  Why  do  you  lie  there  ? 
Your  husband  wants  you.  Get  up  and  go  to 
him.'     Three  times  this  dream  was  repeated,  and 


Richard  Burton  and  Isabel  Arundell   219 

at  length  up  sprang  the  faithful  Isabel.  She 
dressed,  went  to  the  stable,  saddled  her  horse, 
and  galloped  out  into  the  night.  For  five  hours 
she  rode  across  the  country,  over  rocks  and 
through  swamps,  making  for  Shtora,  the  diligence 
station.  Hot,  and  covered  with  mud,  she  arrived 
just  as  the  diligence  was  starting,  and  now  she 
took  her  seat  in  it,  and  reached  Beyrout  twenty- 
four  hours  before  the  steamer  started  for  England. 
As  the  diligence  turned  into  the  town,  she  saw  her 
husband  walking  alone  in  the  street,  looking  sad 
and  serious.  When  he  saw  her  he  was  so  surprised 
and  rejoiced  that  his  whole  face  was  illuminated. 
But  he  only  said,  *  Thank  you.  Bon  sang  ne  pent 
tnentir.' 

She  asked  no  better  reward.  After  she  had 
bidden  her  husband  good-bye  on  the  steamer,  she 
returned  to  Damascus  to  obey  his  usual  injunction, 
1  Pay,  pack,  and  follow.' 

On  her  arrival  in  London  she  found  him  in  an 
obscure  hotel,  in  one  room,  busily  engaged  in 
writing.  He  declared  himself  to  be  '  sick  of  the 
whole  thing/  and  had  little  hope  of  the  future. 
'  Are  you  not  afraid  ?'  he  asked.  Her  reply  was 
characteristic :  '  Afraid !  What,  when  I  have  you !' 
She  went  to  work  resolutely  to  get  him  another 
appointment,  and  he  was  chosen  to  succeed  Charles 
Lever  as  English  Consul  at  the  Austrian  seaport 
town  of  Trieste.  During  the  eighteen  years  that 
they  spent  there  Lady  Burton  toiled  for  her  husband, 
constantly  going  to  London  to  arrange  with  pub- 


220  Famous  Love  Matches 

lishers  for  the  publication  of  his  books,  to  correct 
the  proofs,  and  pass  them  for  the  press.  All  this 
was  in  addition  to  her  own  literary  work,  for  she 
wrote  a  very  successful  book,  'The  Inner  Life  of 
Syria,'  besides  others  of  less  note.  She  took  an 
extensive  tour  in  India  with  her  husband,  and 
attended  to  all  the  business  details  attendant  on 
the  publication  of  his  translation  of '  The  Arabian 
Nights,'  for  which  he  received  the  large  sum  of 
£  io3ooo. 

But  to  the  end  of  his  days  he  remained  a  sorely 
disappointed  man.  He  hated  Trieste,  and  looked 
upon  it  as  an  exile.  He  saw  other  men,  without 
a  tithe  of  his  abilities,  promoted  over  his  head. 
After  forty-four  years  of  public  service,  he  was 
made  K.C.M.G.  by  a  Conservative  Government. 
This  tardy  honour  Lady  Burton  rejoiced  at  for 
his  sake,  but  it  could  not  make  up  for  those  weary 
eighteen  years  at  Trieste,  which  weighed  like  a 
burthen  on  Sir  Richard's  heart,  and  after  a  weari- 
some illness  he  died  in  that  city  in  1890.  Lady 
Burton  watched  tenderly  over  him,  and  brought 
his  earthly  remains  with  her  to  England,  where 
they  are  buried  at  Mortlake  Cemetery. 

She  was  left  literary  executrix  to  her  husband, 
and  took  all  the  responsibility  of  burning  his 
translation  of  'The  Scented  Garden,'  as  she  was 
tormented  with  the  fear  that  it  might  injure  the 
morals  of  those  who  read  it.  She  thought  nothing 
of  the  pecuniary  loss  to  herself,  which  was  esti- 
mated at  £10,000. 


Richard  Burton  and  Isabel  Arundell   221 

1  Sorrowfully,  reverently,  in  fear  and  trembling, 
she  burned  sheet  after  sheet,'  believing  that  by 
so  doing  she  was  releasing  her  husband's  soul 
from  purgatory. 

After  six  years  of  widowhood,  during  which 
she  wrote  the  much-abused  '  Life  of  Sir  Richard 
Burton,'  and  prepared  the  account  of  her  own 
romantic  love  match,  she  followed  her  hero  to  the 
grave.  They  repose  together  in  a  tomb  fashioned 
like  a  tent,  with  camel  bells  on  the  top. 

Such  a  story  of  true  wifely  devotion  is  well 
worth  studying  in  the  present  day.  It  may  have 
been  that  Lady  Burton  was  injudicious  in  pushing 
her  husband's  interests — it  may  have  been  that  at 
times  she  did  him  harm  instead  of  good — yet  we 
cannot  but  admire  her  whole-hearted  surrender 
to  her  hero.  Never  tired,  never  self-seeking, 
her  one  object  through  life  was  *  only  Richard  ' ! 

Carlyle  says  that  *  women  are  born  worshippers.' 
This  was  certainly  true  of  Lady  Burton ;  never  was 
a  more  abject  worshipper  than  she  was.  The 
difference  in  faith  between  her  and  her  husband — 
he  a  Free  Thinker  and  she  a  devout  Roman 
Catholic — never  staggered  her  for  a  moment-  She 
was  all  the  more  eager  to  force  him  to  think  as  she 
did,  to  win  him  over  to  her  side.  Hers  was  the 
faith  that  removes  mountains,  and  hers  was  the 
love  that  sees  and  knows  all  about  the  beloved 
one,  and  still  loves  better  than  it  knows. 


ALPHONSE  DAUDET  AND 
JULIE  ALLARD. 

1  She  took  me  blindly — just  as  I  was — 
(What  it  worketh,  a  woman's  trust !) 

She  took  me  in 
From  the  world  of  sin, 
And  cleansed  my  soul  of  its  dust.' 

H.  L.  Childe~Pemberton. 

ALPHONSE  DAUDET  has  been  often  com- 
pared with  Charles  Dickens.  In  some 
respects  the  French  and  English  novelists 
do  take  up  common  ground ;  both  show  a  strong 
fellow-feeling  for  the  working  classes,  and  both 
had  an  intimate  knowledge  of  the  ways  and  doings 
of  the  toilers  and  moilers  in  a  vast  capital.  Like 
Dickens,  Alphonse  Daudet  had  bought  his  ex- 
perience at  first  hand ;  he  was  himself  a  worker, 
sent  out  to  earn  his  bread  before  he  was  sixteen. 
Small  wonder,  then,  that  his  sympathies  went  out 
to  the  struggling  masses  in  the  flats  of  Paris. 

'  I  have  suffered  in  the  way  of  privation  all  that 
a  man  can  suffer,'  he  wrote.  '  I  have  known  days 
without  bread ;  I  have  spent  days  in  bed  because 
I  had  no  boots  to  go  out  in ;  I  have  had  boots 
that  made  a  squashy  sound  each  step  I  took.     But 

222 


Alphonse  Daudet  and  Julie  Allard     223 

what  made  me  suffer  most  was  that  I  had  often 
to  wear  dirty  linen,  as  I  could  not  afford  to  pay  a 
washerwoman.  Often  I  had  to  fail  in  keeping  an 
appointment  given  me  by  the  fair — I  was  a  hand- 
some lad,  and  liked  by  ladies — because  I  was  too 
dirty  and  shabby  to  go.  I  spent  three  years  of 
my  life  in  this  way,  from  the  age  of  eighteen  to 
twenty-one.' 

Not  only  in  '  Trente  Ans  de  Paris,'  but  also  in 
'  Le  Petit  Chose,'  which  is  a  sort  of  veiled  auto- 
biography of  the  days  of  his  youth,  do  we  find  the 
chronicles  of  Alphonse  Daudet's  early  struggles 
before  he  took  a  permanent  place  among  the  elect 
of  literature.  Much  of  his  success  was  due  to  his 
marriage  with  a  congenial  spirit. 

He  was  born  at  Nimes,  March  13, 1840.  Nimes 
is  described  as  having  a  great  deal  of  sun, 
a  Carmelite  convent,  and  some  Roman  remains. 
The  father  of  Alphonse  Daudet  was  a  foulard 
manufacturer,  who  had  built  himself  a  house 
in  one  of  the  wings  of  the  factory,  a  house 
shaded  by  plane-trees,  and  divided  from  the  work- 
rooms by  a  large  garden.  Business  at  the  factory 
slowly  declined  ;  one  loom  after  another  ceased 
working.  At  length  the  bell  no  longer  summoned 
the  factory  hands  to  assemble,  the  doors  were 
closed,  ruin  stared  the  family  in  the  face.  Little 
Alphonse  passed  a  pleasant  time  playing  games  in 
the  deserted  factory  with  Rouget,  the  son  of  the 
concierge  ;  he  fancied  that  it  all  belonged  to  him  ; 
it  was  his  territory,  he  was  Robinson  Crusoe,  and 


224  Famous  Love  Matches 

the  other  boy  was  his  Man  Friday.  When  he  lost 
this  companion,  he  got  a  parrot,  and  taught  it  to 
talk,  and  to  call  him  Robinson.  His  brother  Ernest, 
who  was  two  years  older  than  he  was,  was  better 
able  to  realize  the  deplorable  state  of  the  family 
fortunes.  When  Alphonse  was  about  ten  years 
old  the  factory  was  sold,  and  it  was  decided  that 
the  Daudet  family  should  migrate  to  Lyons.  The 
journey  was  made  by  water  in  a  passenger  boat. 
Alphonse,  with  his  parrot  in  its  cage  between  his 
knees,  gazed  out  wistfully  at  the  Rhone,  spreading 
out  at  times  to  the  width  of  a  lake.  Here  was  an 
island,  and  there,  along  the  banks,  were  rows  of 
weeping  willows,  drooping  into  the  water.  Nothing 
escaped  those  large,  dark  observant  eyes  of  his. 
On  the  third  day  of  this  journey,  he  heard  a  voice 
calling  out,  '  There  is  Lyons  !' 

Yes,  there  it  was  ;  there  were  the  tall  chimneys 
of  the  silk  factories,  and  there  were  the  clouds  of 
black  smoke  going  up  into  the  foggy  air.  Woeful 
to  relate,  in  the  hurry  and  confusion  of  landing, 
the  poor  parrot  was  left  behind,  uttering  piteous 
cries  of  '  Robinson,  my  poor  Robinson  !'  It  was 
impossible  to  go  back  for  it ;  Alphonse  was  hurried 
on  by  his  father,  who  held  him  by  the  hand.  The 
family — father,  mother,  and  two  sons — took  up 
their  quarters  on  the  fourth  story  of  a  damp,  dirty 
house  in  the  Rue  Lanterne ;  the  kitchen  was 
crawling  with  black  beetles ;  everything  was  cheer- 
less and  depressing.  Alphonse  began  to  hate 
Lyons.     Instead  of  the  chirp  of  the  grasshoppers 


Alphonse  Daudet  and  Julie  Allard     225 

in  the  garden,  he  had  to  listen  to  the  roar  of  silk- 
looms.  No  more  watching  the  flight  of  the  ortolans 
among  the  fig-trees,  as  at  tranquil  Nimes  ! 

Alphonse  was  a  very  small  boy — 'the  little 
thing'  was  his  usual  name — frail  and  sensitive, 
with  brilliant  dark  eyes  and  thick  masses  of 
curling  hair.  When  he  was  sent  as  a  day-pupil 
to  the  college  at  Lyons,  he  suffered  acutely  because 
he  was  the  only  boy  who  wore  a  blouse ;  all  the 
others  were  in  cloth  jackets,  and  while  his  school- 
books  were  old  and  patched,  theirs  were  new,  and 
they  had  smart  leather  writing-cases.  He  studied 
at  home,  shivering  with  cold,  in  a  room  without  a 
fire.  A  true  child  of  the  sun,  he  seems  to  have 
been  peculiarly  sensitive  to  cold.  At  times  he 
was  possessed  with  a  passionate  desire  for  seeing 
life — for  escaping  from  himself  and  from  the 
monotony  of  the  daily  round — so  he  played  truant 
from  school,  and  spent  days  on  the  river.  Being 
awkward  with  the  oars,  he  was  run  down  by  a 
steamboat,  nearly  drowned,  and  just  rescued  in 
time  by  the  sailors,  who  cursed  him  for  his  awk- 
wardness. All  the  same  he  felt  a  fearful  joy  at 
having  enlarged  his  horizon.  He  had  a  strange 
fancy  for  following  strangers  in  the  streets,  watch- 
ing what  they  were  doing  and  where  they  were 
going.  It  was  the  instinct  of  the  novelist — of  the 
dramatist — which  was  awakening  within  him. 

Every  day  the  difficulties  of  the  family  became 
more  acute;  debts  were  increasing,  the  silver 
spoons  and  forks  found  their  way  to  the  pawn- 

15 


226  Famous  Love  Matches 

brokers,  all  jewellery  was  sold,  clothes  were  in 
rags,  creditors   clamoured   in  vain   for   payment. 
At  length  the  climax  came :  the  household  had  to 
be   broken  up,  the  furniture  disposed  of,  and  a 
situation  found  for  Alphonse  as  usher  at  a  large 
school  in  the  town  of  Alais,  near  the  mountains 
of  Languedoc.     The  pupils  were  principally  the 
sons  of  farmers,  rough,  rude  country  boys,  quite 
ready  to  laugh  at  and  ridicule  the  bashful  young 
lad,  barely  sixteen  years  old,  who  was  set  over 
them.     This  period  of  Alphonse  Daudet's  life  was 
one  of  incessant  torture.     The  snubs  he  constantly 
endured   told   terribly  on  his   sensitive   tempera- 
ment.     His    poor    shabby   clothes,   his   childish 
appearance,  his  timidity,  all  made  him  a  butt  for 
ridicule.     At  night  he  hid  his  head  in  the  pillow 
and  wept  bitter  tears — tears  of  mortification  and 
loneliness.     From  one  person  only,  a  book-loving 
priest,  did   he   receive  a  word   of  kindness.     At 
breaking-up   times,  his  talent  for  making  verses 
procured  him  some  little  consideration,  and  again 
he  felt  a  sharp  stab  when  the  sisters  of  one  of  his 
pupils  turned  away  their  heads  in  contempt  at  the 
sight  of  his  worn-out  coat.     A   year   of  torture 
had  nearly  passed  when  deliverance  came.     His 
brother  Ernest,  who  had  gone  to  Paris  and  had 
found  a  situation  as  secretary  to  a  literary  old 
gentleman,  sent  for  him.     Ernest  had  the  mag- 
nificent salary  of  75  francs  a  month;   Alphonse 
was  to  share  it  with  him,  and  the  brothers  were 
to  live  together  in  the  same  room.     Joyfully  the 


Alphonse  Daudet  and  Julie  Allard      227 

young  usher  took  leave  of  Alais,  the  scene  of  so 
many  painful  humiliations. 

His  account  of  his  journey  to  Paris  is  wonder- 
fully vivid;  it  has  the  fidelity  of  a  photograph. 
1  Two  days  in  a  third-class  carriage,  only  a  suit  of 
thin  summer  clothes,  and  oh,  such  cold !  I  was 
sixteen ;  I  came  from  the  far  end  of  Languedoc, 
where  I  had  been  employed  as  usher,  and  I  was 
going  to  give  myself  up  to  literature.  Now 
that  my  fare  was  paid,  I  had  just  forty  sous 
in  my  pocket.  But  why  should  I  be  uneasy? 
I  was  so  rich  in  hope  that  I  forgot  to  be 
hungry.  In  spite  of  the  temptations  of  pastry 
and  sandwiches  displayed  on  the  counters  of  the 
refreshment-rooms,  I  would  not  change  my  bright 
silver  coin,  carefully  hidden  away  in  one  of  my 
pockets.  Towards  the  end  of  the  journey,  as  the 
train  jolted  and  jerked  through  the  sorrowful 
plains  of  Champagne,  I  became  positively  ill  from 
exhaustion.  My  travelling  companions,  sailors, 
who  had  spent  their  time  singing,  held  out  their 
flasks  to  me.  Kind  people !  How  beautiful  were 
those  songs  of  theirs!  and  their  brandy,  rank 
as  it  was,  did  me  good,  for  I  had  tasted  nothing 
for  twice  twenty-four  hours !  Somewhat  revived,  I 
fell  asleep,  awaking  when  the  train  stopped  at  a 
station,  relapsing  into  a  doze  when  it  went  on 
again.  The  hollow  thud  of  wheels  on  metal,  a 
huge  glass  dome,  brilliantly  lighted  up,  the  sound 
of  doors  being  opened,  a  busy,  restless,  changing 
crowd — this  was  Paris  I     My  brother  was  waiting 

15—2 


228  Famous  Love  Matches 

for  me  on  the  platform.  Alive  to  his  duty  as  elder 
brother,  he  had  engaged  a  porter  and  a  truck  for 
my  luggage.  My  luggage !  One  poor  little  trunk, 
with  nails  on  the  top,  all  patched  and  pieced,  and 
weighing  more  than  its  contents.  ...  It  was 
barely  dawn ;  the  only  people  we  met  were 
working-men,  their  faces  blue  with  cold,  and 
newspaper  boys,  sliding  the  morning  papers  under 
the  doors  of  the  houses.  The  gas  was  being  ex- 
tinguished, the  streets,  the  Seine,  with  its  bridges, 
all  looked  dark  through  the  fog  !  Such  was  my 
entrance  into  Paris.  As  I  clung  to  my  brother,  I 
felt  an  involuntary  sense  of  dread  come  over  me.' 

The  proposal  of  Ernest  to  have  breakfast  before 
going  to  his  rooms  was  eagerly  agreed  to,  but  the 
shops  were  not  yet  open ;  they  had  to  wait  until 
the  shutters  were  taken  down.  Daudet  gives  a 
vivid  picture  of  the  sleepy  waiter,  dragging  his 
loose  slippers  after  him,  who  brought  them  into 
the  whitewashed  dining-room  with  its  little  marble 
tables.  Here  the  two  brothers  had  three  sous' 
worth  of  sweet  weak  coffee,  and  two  little  rolls 
apiece,  taken  out  of  a  basket.  Then  followed  an 
omelette  for  two.  After  this  repast,  they  leaned 
their  elbows  on  the  table,  and  exchanged  con- 
fidences and  plans  for  the  future. 

'  The  man  who  has  eaten  something,'  adds 
Daudet,  '  becomes  better  at  once.  Adieu,  melan- 
choly !  adieu,  worry !  This  simple  breakfast  in- 
toxicated me  like  champagne.' 

Arm  in  arm,  the  brothers  went  out,  past  the 


Alphonse  Daudet  and  Julie  Allard     229 

stately  portico  of  the  Od£on  Theatre  (the  same 
theatre  where  Daudet's  plays  were  afterwards 
acted  with  such  success),  and  past  the  white 
marble  statues  in  the  garden  of  the  Luxembourg ; 
those  statues  seemed  to  bend  their  stately  heads 
in  sign  of  welcome.  In  a  garret,  shared  with  his 
brother,  on  the  fifth  storey  of  a  tall  house,  Alphonse 
Daudet  commenced  his  literary  career  in  Paris. 
He  finished  a  small  volume  of  poems,  '  Les 
Amoureuses,'  and,  with  his  manuscript  under  his 
arm,  he  went  the  rounds  of  the  publishers.  He 
was  always  told  the  same  story :  these  great 
men  were  out.  Their  clerks  examined  the  young 
beginner  with  critical,  disdainful  eyes,  and  gave 
the  same  answer,  '  Monsieur  Hachette,  Monsieur 
Levy,  were  invariably  out!'  Great  joy  came 
when  the  Spectateur,  an  important  Parisian  news- 
paper, accepted  Daudet  as  a  contributor.  His 
article  was  passed  and  sent  to  the  printers,  but 
the  very  same  evening  the  Emperor  Napoleon  III.'s 
life  was  attempted,  the  bomb  of  Orsini  exploded 
outside  the  theatre,  and  the  next  morning  the 
Spectateur  was  suppressed  by  the  French  Govern- 
ment. Alas  for  Daudet's  article  !  It  was  swallowed 
up  in  the  confusion.  He  says:  'I  did  not  kill 
myself  outright,  but  I  contemplated  suicide.' 

One  day  he  got  into  conversation  with  a  pub- 
lisher, who  was  also  a  literary  man,  and  wrote 
poetry  himself.  He  undertook  to  bring  out 
Daudet's  volume  of  poems,  '  Les  Amoureuses.' 
The  title  was  attractive,  the  little  book  was  daintily 


230  Famous  Love  Matches 

got  up,  and  the  reviews  were  favourable.  At  last, 
Daudet  had  appeared  in  print.  But  poetry  seldom 
pays,  and  this  first  attempt  was  not  an  exception. 
The  young  author  was  glad  to  go  as  secretary  to 
the  Due  de  Morny,  a  post  that  he  held  for  three 
years.  One  morning  a  summons  was  delivered  on 
stamped  paper ;  Daudet  was  required  to  pay  the 
printer's  bill  for  his  poems,  and  his  salary  would 
have  to  be  confiscated  for  this  purpose.  Trembling 
in  every  limb,  he  was  called  in;  but  M.  de  Morny 
solved  the  difficulty  by  saying  calmly :  '  Why 
didn't  you  tell  me  you  had  debts  ?  Tear  up  that 
bit  of  stamped  paper.     Don't  let  it  worry  you.' 

It  was  not  until  1866  that  Daudet  commenced 
his  first  important  work,  '  Le  Petit  Chose.'  He 
calls  it  *  The  story  of  a  child,'  and  just  as  Dickens 
gives  us  in  '  David  Copperfield  '  the  account  of 
his  childhood,  so  does  Daudet  paint  with  graphic 
touches  the  incidents  of  his  early  life,  and  the 
horrors  of  his  tutorship  at  the  College  of  Alais. 
When  writing  this  story,  he  tells  us  that  he  had 
neither  plan  nor  notes  ;  he  wrote  hastily  on  coarse 
sheets  of  wrapping  paper,  throwing  each  on  the 
floor  as  it  was  finished.  The  book  was  com- 
menced in  the  depth  of  winter  at  a  large  country 
house  between  Beaucaire  and  Nimes,  a  hundred 
leagues  from  Paris.  The  house  had  been  lent  to 
him  by  a  friend  ;  it  was  empty,  deserted,  far  from 
everyone.  The  wife  of  the  caretaker  brought  him 
his  meals  twice  a  day,  laid  them  on  a  table,  and 
hurried    away.      Except     for    this    interruption, 


Alphonse  Daudet  and  Julie  Allard     231 

Daudet  wrote  on  undisturbed,  only  taking  a  walk 
in  the  evenings  among  the  leafless  trees,  listening 
to  the  hoarse  croaking  of  the  frogs  in  the  ponds. 
He  was  on  the  point  of  beginning  the  second  part 
of  his  book,  when  a  friend  from  Paris  was  thus 
announced  by  the  caretaker's  wife  :  ■  Sir,  sir,  here's 
a  man !' 

The  friend  was  a  journalist ;  he  chatted  of 
newspapers  and  theatres,  and  as  Daudet  listened, 
the  fever  for  Paris  set  in.  He  could  not  with- 
stand it.  The  next  day  he  returned  with  his 
friend.  When  he  resumed  the  thread  of  his 
manuscript,  he  was  living  with  an  author,  Jean 
Duboys,  who  wrote  newspaper  serials,  so  many 
lines  a  day.  Alphonse  Daudet  vvrote  in  the  same 
room,  half  numb  with  cold,  for  it  was  the  terrible 
winter  of  1866.  The  frost  made  fantastic  patterns 
on  the  window-panes,  while  outside  shadows  were 
passing  continually.  On  the  evenings  of  the 
masked  balls  at  the  Odeon,  the  staircase  of  the 
tall  house  was  crowded  with  motley  figures,  and 
the  tinkling  of  bells  round  the  fools'  caps  could  be 
distinctly  heard. 

Daudet  had  hardly  commenced  the  second  part 
of  '  Le  Petit  Chose '  when  a  great  event  happened 
in  his  life — he  married.  His  was  certainly  a  love 
match.  A  very  pretty  and  a  very  clever  girl  was 
Mademoiselle  Julie  Allard,  a  Parisian  born  and 
bred,  living,  strictly  guarded  by  her  parents,  in  a 
blackened  old  house,  which  was  made  still  darker 
in  winter  by  the  fogs  that  came  from  the  Seine. 


232  Famous  Love  Matches 

She  first  saw  Daudet  at  the  theatre,  when  he  was 
vehemently  applauding  a  play  called  '  Henriette 
Marechal.'  He  was  standing  up,  a  handsome, 
poetic-looking  young  man  of  twenty-six,  with  long 
curling  dark  hair,  and  as  he  clapped  and  shouted, 
his  silver -embroidered  waistcoat  glistened  and 
shone  in  the  gaslight.  Julie  Allard  had  been  told 
by  the  friend  who  brought  her  to  the  theatre  that 
night  *  that  a  young  girl  might  very  well  go  to  see 
this  play,  for  there  would  be  such  a  noise  that  she 
would  not  be  able  to  understand  anything  about  it.' 

An  acquaintance  sprang  up  between  the  two 
young  people,  though  we  are  not  told  many  par- 
ticulars about  it.  Daudet  himself  says  of  his 
marriage  :  '  Comment  cela  advint-il  ?  Par  quel 
sortilege  l'endiable  Tzigane  que  j'etais  alors,  se 
trouva-t-il  pris,  envoute  ?  Quel  charme  sut  fixer 
l'6ternel  caprice  ?' 

Julie  Allard  had  not  only  charm  sufficient 
to  win  her  husband's  love,  but  strength  of  char- 
acter to  hold  it  fast.  She  wrote  poetry  herself; 
she  was  of  a  sympathetic  nature,  just  the  girl  that 
Daudet  wanted  to  confide  in.  She  also  had  a  small 
fortune — they  were  very  much  in  love  with  each 
other — why  shouldn't  they  marry  ?  And  marry 
they  did  !  This  marriage  may  be  said  to  have  been 
the  salvation  of  Daudet.  It  saved  him  from  sinking 
into  that  whirlpool  of  Bohemianism  into  which  so 
many  promising  young  Parisian  writers  have  been 
sucked,  to  rise  no  more. 

Away  went  the  manuscript  of  '  Petit  Chose  '  into 


Alphonse  Daudet  and  Julie  Allard      233 

the  corner  of  a  trunk,  which  the  young  couple  took 
with  them  on  their  honeymoon.  They  spent  this 
honeymoon  in  the  Riviera,  under  the  shade  of  the 
pine-trees,  looking  out  on  the  Esterels,  by  the  sunny 
sea-coast  of  the  Mediterranean.  And  afterwards 
there  was  the  home  to  find,  the  nest  to  make,  and 
endless  excuses  for  not  working  at  all.  It  was  not 
until  the  following  summer  that  Daudet  again  took 
up  his  unfinished  story  under  the  leafy  shades  of 
the  chateau  of  Vigneux,  with  its  steep  Italian  roof 
and  its  wide-spreading  woods,  which  stretch  for 
miles  along  the  plain  of  Villeneuve  St.  Georges.  Six 
delightful  months  were  spent  here,  far  from  Paris, 
then  in  a  ferment  on  account  of  the  Exhibition  of 
1867,  which  Daudet  had  no  desire  to  see.    He  says  : 

1 1  wrote  "  Le  Petit  Chose "  sometimes  on  a 
moss-grown  bench  at  the  farther  end  of  the  park, 
only  disturbed  by  the  bounds  of  the  rabbits,  or 
the  gliding  of  the  adders  among  the  heather ;  and 
sometimes  in  a  boat  on  the  pond,  which  reflected 
every  fleeting  tint  of  the  summer  sky.  Some- 
times, on  wet  days,  I  wrote  it  in  our  room  while 
my  wife  played  Chopin  to  me.  I  can  never  listen 
to  Chopin  without  picturing  to  myself  the  patter- 
ing of  the  rain  on  the  wet  laurels,  the  hoarse  cry  of 
the  peacocks,  and  the  call  of  the  pheasants  amidst 
the  odours  of  flowering  shrubs  and  wet  leaves.' 

The  book  was  completed  in  the  autumn  of  that 
year.  After  appearing  as  a  serial  in  the  Petit 
Moniteur,  it  was  reprinted  by  the  publishing  firm 
of  Hetzel,  and  was  tolerably  successful.     Daudet 


234  Famous  Love  Matches 

says  that  its  principal  defects  were  caused  from  its 
having  been  written  too  soon.  He  considers  that 
at  twenty-six  a  man  is  not  able  to  review  and 
pass  sentence  on  his  own  life ;  it  is  too  near  him. 
As  it  has  been  truly  said,  ■  he  cannot  see  the 
wood  for  trees,'  he  has  not  learned  to  consume 
his  own  smoke,  which,  according  to  Carlyle,  must 
be  turned  into  steady  clear  flame  before  it  is  worth 
anything.  Yet  there  are  marvellous  flashes  of 
insight  in  ■  Le  Petit  Chose ' :  the  poor  sensitive 
boy,  quivering  under  the  various  humiliations  he 
is  exposed  to,  is  absolutely  real.  One  incident 
which  Daudet  relates,  how  the  news  of  the  death 
of  an  elder  brother  was  received  by  his  father, 
marks  an  epoch  in  his  life.  The  first  great  cry  of 
paternal  grief,  so  piercing,  so  penetrating,  made 
such  an  impression  on  him  that  in  the  middle  of 
the  night  he  found  himself  repeating,  in  the  same 
accents  that  his  father  had  used,  the  words,  He 
is  dead!  It  was  this  which  revealed  to  him  his 
double  existence,  as  a  human  being  and  as  an 
author — an  author  who,  even  in  the  midst  of 
mourning,  notes  down  that  first  cry  of  agony  on 
the  tables  of  his  memory,  and  repeats  it  over  and 
over  to  himself  almost  unconsciously. 

Daudet's  favourite  among  his  earlier  books  was 
'  Lettres  de  Mon  Moulin,'  which  appeared  first  in 
a  Parisian  newspaper,  but  it  was  '  Tartarin  de 
Tarascon '  which  really  brought  him  celebrity. 
The  little,  vain,  boasting,  lying  hero  from  the 
provincial  town  in  the  south  of  France  was  at 


Alphonse  Daudet  and  Julie  Allard      235 

once  recognized  as  a  creation,  a  real  personage,  as 
amusing  and  as  alive  as  Mr.  Pickwick.  Great  wrath 
against  the  author  was  excited  in  the  southern 
town  by  this  portrait.  The  universal  cry  was, 
1  Oh  !  ce  Daudet,' '  Ou  le  trouve-t-on,  ce  Daudet  ?' 

Needless  to  say,  Daudet  kept  away  from  the  town. 

He  threw  himself  into  his  creations  with  extra- 
ordinary enthusiasm  ;  they  became  absolutely  real 
to  him  ;  he  lived  with  them.  If  visitors  dropped 
in,  he  spoke  of  nothing  else  but  what  his  people 
were  going  to  do  or  say  next,  and  often  he  drew 
out  valuable  hints  in  this  way,  which  he  did  not 
fail  to  act  upon.  If  he  had  to  bring  in  a  certain 
place,  he  was  not  satisfied  until  he  visited  it 
himself.  When  he  was  writing  that  most  realistic 
novel,  *  Jack,'  his  hero  has  to  go  to  an  island  in 
the  Loire — the  island  of  Indret.  Daudet  went 
himself  to  see  it,  and  spent  some  time  there. 
Then  he  went  down  the  Loire  in  a  cumbersome 
steamer,  that  rolled  and  staggered  like  a  drunken 
man.  He  even  went  into  the  stoke-room,  deter- 
mined not  to  take  anything  second-hand.  During 
this  excursion  he  was  accompanied  by  his  wife 
and  his  elder  son,  then  quite  a  child,  but  when 
the  quarters  were  too  rough  they  were  left  behind 
at  a  wayside  inn,  and  he  picked  them  up  again. 
1  Jack '  is  the  story  of  an  illegitimate  son,  brought 
up,  at  first,  to  refinement  and  luxury,  but  after- 
wards tossed  about  from  pillar  to  post,  from  a 
cheap  school  to  be  stoker  on  a  steamer.  His 
mother,   to  whom    he  is   devoted,   is  his  worst 


236  Famous  Love  Matches 

enemy,  driving  him  to  the  hardest  manual  labour 
at  the  bidding  of  a  husband  who  is  only  a  shade 
more  selfish  than  she  is  herself.  It  is  a  tragedy, 
infinitely  sad  and  pathetic.  It  haunts  the  reader 
with  its  intense  realism.  George  Sand  wrote  to 
Daudet  that  she  could  do  no  work  for  two  days 
after  reading  it.  But  it  has  not  the  strong 
dramatic  situations  which  made  Daudet's  next 
novel,  '  Fromont  jeune  et  Risler  ainey  such  a 
triumph.  Like  '  Jack/  we  find  here  the  story  of 
an  utterly  selfish  and  unscrupulous  woman,  who 
is  content  to  sacrifice  everything  and  everyone  to 
her  own  ends.  From  the  day  of  her  marriage  with 
Risler  aine,  Sidonie  holds  the  reader  like  a  vice. 
In  contrast  with  her,  we  have  the  pathetic  figure  of 
the  little  milliner,  Desiree  Delobelle,  who  is  touched 
with  such  delicacy  and  sympathy  that  it  is  im- 
possible not  to  love  the  frail,  deformed  little  creature. 
And  her  useless  father  who  repeats  that  he  will 
'never  abandon  the  stage,'  is  another  Micawber, 
only  more  so.  The  various  characters  in  '  Fromont 
jeune  et  Risler  aine* '  are  worked  up  with  amazing 
skill,  until  the  final  catastrophe,  when  Sidonie's 
treachery  is  laid  bare,  and  her  husband,  the  tried 
and  trusted  cashier  of  the  firm  of  Fromont,  throws 
his  faithless  wife's  jewels — the  jewels  bought  by 
the  ruin  of  his  employers — in  her  face.  This 
dramatic  moment  crowns  the  novel  and  com- 
pletes its  success — a  success  which  surprised  even 
Daudet  himself.  Even  while  it  was  appearing  as 
a  feuilleton  in  the  Bien  Publique,  letters  poured  in 


Alphonse  Daudet  and  Julie  Allard     237 

interceding  for  D£siree,  and  reproaching  Daudet 
for  killing  Risler.  In  its  complete  form,  edition 
after  edition  of  the  novel  was  called  for;  it  was 
dramatized ;  it  was  crowned  by  the  French 
Academy ;  it  was  translated  into  Italian,  German, 
Spanish,  Danish,  and  Swedish.  Its  popularity  in 
England  came  more  slowly,  but  it  did  come,  and 
an  English  play  has  been  founded  on  it. 

In  his  wife,  Daudet  found  a  never-failing  helper 
and  collaborator.  He  says,  speaking  of  the  way 
in  which  he  victimized  his  friends :  '  But  it  is  my 
wife  who  has  endured  the  most.  It  is  she  who  has 
heard  the  subject  of  a  novel  twisted  and  turned 
twenty  times  a  day.  "  Do  you  think  that  I  ought 
to  make  Sidonie  die  ?"  "  Shall  I  let  Risler  live 
or  die  ?"  "  What  ought  Delobelle,  or  Frantz,  or 
Sidonie  do  in  such  and  such  circumstances  ?" 
This  went  on  from  morning  till  night — at  meals, 
going  to  the  theatre,  coming  back  from  evening 
parties,  during  long  drives  through  the  silence  of 
sleeping  Paris.  Ah,  poor  wives  of  authors,  what 
they  have  to  endure !  Mine  is  such  a  thorough 
literary  artist  herself  that  she  has  taken  part  in 
everything  I  have  written.  Not  a  page  that  she 
has  not  looked  over,  revised,  touched  up,  or  thrown 
into  it  some  of  her  beautiful  golden  or  azure 
powder.  And  withal  so  simply,  so  modestly,  with 
none  of  the  pretension  of  the  literary  woman.  I 
have  publicly  acknowledged  all  I  owe  to  her  in- 
defatigable collaboration  in  the  dedication  to  her 
of  "  Nadab,"  but  this  dedication  she  insisted  on 


238  Famous  Love  Matches 

suppressing,  and  it  is  only  to  be  found  in  the  first 
ten  copies.  My  method  of  working  is  as  follows : 
Having  taken  my  notes,  put  my  chapters  in  order 
and  separated  them,  my  people  being  all  living 
and  moving  in  my  mind,  I  begin  to  write  rapidly, 
in  the  rough.  I  throw  in  ideas  and  incidents  as 
they  occur  to  me  without  giving  myself  time  to 
correct  or  alter,  because  my  subject  has  taken 
absolute  possession  of  me.  I  think  only  of  it, 
with  all  its  details,  and  all  the  various  characters 
that  have  to  be  introduced.  Having  finished  this 
rough  sketch,  I  hand  it  on  to  my  wife,  who  corrects 
revises  and  returns  it  to  me.  Then  I  begin  to  copy 
— with  what  joy  !  The  joy  of  a  schoolboy  who 
has  finished  his  task,  touching. up  certain  sentences, 
completing,  fining  down;  this  is  the  best  period 
of  work.  '  Fromont  jeune  et  Risler  aine '  was 
thus  written  in  one  of  the  oldest  houses  in  the 
Marais.  My  study,  with  its  large  sunny  windows, 
looked  out  on  the  verdure,  on  the  blackened 
trellis-work  of  the  garden.  But  beyond  this  little 
zone  of  tranquillity  and  the  chirping  of  birds  was 
the  working-day  life  of  the  streets,  the  smoke  of 
the  factories,  the  rolling  of  waggons.  I  still  seem 
to  hear,  on  the  pavement  of  a  neighbouring  court, 
the  jolting  noise  of  a  little  hand-barrow  that  went 
round  at  Christmas  with  a  load  of  children's 
drums  until  seven  o'clock  in  the  evening.  Nothing 
is  better  than  to  work  in  the  very  atmosphere  of 
one's  subject,  in  the  centre  that  belongs  to  one's 
characters.     The  opening  and  closing  of  the  work- 


Alphonse  Daudet  and  Julie  Allard     239 

rooms,  the  sound  of  the  bell — I  knew  the  time  to 
expect  them  as  I  wrote.  Not  the  slightest  diffi- 
culty in  getting  local  colour  ;  I  was  inundated 
by  it.  All  the  surroundings  helped  me,  held  me 
up,  worked  for  me.  At  one  end  of  the  large  room 
was  my  long  table,  at  the  other  was  my  wife's 
little  desk,  and  between  us,  bringing  the  copy  to 
and  fro,  was  my  eldest  son,  then  a  little  fellow 
with  thick  blonde  curls  falling  over  his  pina- 
fore, which  was  purposely  black,  not  to  show 
marks  of  ink.  This  is  one  of  the  most  pleasurable 
recollections  of  my  life  as  a  writer.' 

Daudet  was  a  most  affectionate  father.  His 
son  L£on  mentions  that  even  when  his  father  was 
most  absorbed  in  composition,  he  used  to  stop 
and  take  the  boy  up  in  his  arms  to  fondle  and 
caress  him.  And  never  was  love  better  repaid. 
No  more  touching  tribute  of  devotion  has  ever 
been  given  than  that  paid  by  Leon  Daudet — also 
a  writer  of  repute — to  his  father.  There  seems  to 
have  been  no  discordant  note  in  the  family — father, 
mother,  two  sons,  and  a  daughter  were  united 
together  in  the  closest  bonds  of  mutual  admiration, 
affection,  and  sympathy.  Madame  Daudet  was 
famed  for  being  an  excellent  housewife.  She 
never  allowed  Bohemian  ways  to  disturb  the  peace 
of  the  home  over  which  she  presided.  Daudet's 
visitors  often  said,  after  leaving  the  house :  '  What 
a  capital  wife  he  must  have !' 

One  day  she  and  her  husband  had  a  little 
dramatic  scene,  and  he   said :   '  This,  my  dear, 


240  Famous  Love  Matches 

seems  like  a  chapter  that  has  slipped  out  of  a 
novel.' 

'  It  is  more  likely,'  she  replied,  '  to  slip  into 
one.' 

During  the  siege  of  Paris  in  1870,  Daudet  was 
inspired  with  military  ardour,  and  took  part  in  the 
defence  of  the  city  he  knew  so  well  and  described 
so  graphically. 

One  of  his  later  novels  is  '  Sapho,'  which  he 
dedicated  to  his  sons  when  they  came  of  age. 
There  is  much  in  ■  Sapho  '  that  is  painful,  almost 
revolting,  but  it  was  evidently  strongly  stamped  on 
Daudet's  mind — so  strongly  that  he  had  to  write  it. 
It  reveals  the  shady  side  of  Parisian  life  with  un- 
sparing fidelity.  The  opening  chapter,  when  the 
susceptible  hero  meets  Fanny  Legrand  at  a  fancy 
ball,  and  she  persuades  him  to  carry  her  up  the 
stairs  to  his  room,  is  typical  of  the  whole  drift  of 
the  novel.  Light  as  a  feather  at  first,  he  finds 
that  she  becomes  as  heavy  as  lead  by  the  time  he 
reaches  the  last  storey  of  the  house — so  heavy,  in 
fact,  that  he  can  barely  hold  her.  So  it  is  with 
his  connection  with  Fanny  Legrand.  He  is 
fascinated,  disenchanted,  fascinated  again,  re- 
pelled, disgusted,  feverishly  anxious  to  get  rid  of 
her,  and  yet  without  the  courage  to  break  with 
her  altogether.  The  character  of  Fanny  Legrand 
has  furnished  one  of  the  greatest  of  French 
actresses,  Madame  Rejane,  with  a  part  which  she 
has  made  her  own.  Only  a  genius  like  hers  could 
attempt   it  with   success,  for  it   is  replete  with 


Alphonse  Daudet  and  Julie  Allard      241 

startling  contrasts,  and  yet  the  woman  is  so  in- 
tensely real  that  it  is  impossible  not  to  feel  with 
her  agony,  and  to  be  touched  with  her  despair. 
When  Daudet  was  present  during  one  of  the 
representations  of  '  Sapho,'  he  was  so  much  moved 
by  his  own  creation  that  the  tears  streamed  down 
his  face  in  torrents. 

Living  at  such  high  pressure  as  he  must  have 
done — suffering  with  the  beings  of  his  own  brain 
that  were  so  keenly  alive  to  him — must  have  made 
great  demands  on  his  nervous  system.  Never  very 
robust,  the  closing  years  of  his  life  were  clouded 
with  pain,  and  he  was  still  further  weakened  by 
an  asthmatic  affection. 

It  was  during  the  spring  of  1895  that  he  and 
Madame  Daudet  paid  a  visit — their  only  one — to 
London.  She  wrote  a  charming  account  of  their 
experiences,  of  their  arrival  at  the  hotel,  and  of  the 
crowd  of  English  journalists  who  besieged  the  doors 
in  order  to  get  a  view  of,  and,  if  possible,  an  inter- 
view with,  the  distinguished  French  novelist,  and 
extract  from  him  his  first  impressions  of  London. 

A  day  with  George  Meredith  in  his  Surrey  home 
was  delightfully  spent,  and  then  followed  numerous 
entertainments  of  various  kinds,  for  the  Daudets 
were  made  the  lions  of  the  London  season,  and 
were  feted  and  made  much  of  wherever  they  went. 

Madame  Daudet,  like  the  true  Parisian  that  she 
is,  does  not  forget  to  describe  her  own  dress  at  a 
dinner  which  she  and  her  husband  gave  to  some 
of  their  English  friends  :  ■  Pale  yellow  satin,  com- 

16 


242  Famous  Love  Matches 

bined  with  crepe  de  Chine  of  the  same  shade, 
embroidered  with  apple-blossoms  of  the  faintest 
pink.'  Among  the  guests  were  Henry  Stanley, 
the  discoverer  of  Livingstone,  and  his  brilliant 
wife,  nee  Dorothy  Tennant.  Madame  Daudet  was 
still  remarkable  for  her  vivacity  and  her  good 
looks,  while  her  husband  was  always  a  most 
picturesque  figure,  with  his  masses  of  long  dark 
hair,  his  regular  features,  and  luminous  eyes. 
During  the  last  year  of  his  life  he  was  generally 
seen  leaning  on  the  arm  of  his  elder  son,  who 
watched  over  him  with  unfailing  tenderness.  His 
death  came  very  suddenly,  December  16,  1897. 
He  was  sitting  at  dinner  when  he  fell  from  his 
chair,  and  never  regained  consciousness.  He  was 
only  fifty-seven,  and  years  of  work  seemed  to 
stretch  before  him.  His  funeral,  as  it  passed 
along  the  boulevards  of  Paris,  was  followed  by 
a  crowd  of  artisans,  seamstresses,  and  factory 
workers,  who  seemed  to  know  that  they  had  lost 
a  friend  and  a  sympathizer.  Madame  Daudet 
still  survives,  and  contributes,  both  in  prose  and 
verse,  to  several  Parisian  newspapers.  During  her 
married  life  she  showed  one  of  the  rarest  qualities 
of  a  literary  woman,  that  of  self-effacement.  She 
was  content  to  help  and  minister  to  her  husband, 
to  stand  by  his  side  as  his  faithful  companion  and 
devoted  collaborator,  quite  satisfied  not  to  gain 
anything  but  the  joy  of  serving  the  man  to  whom 
she  had  devoted  her  life.  And  surely  she  had  her 
reward  in  his  prompt  and  eager  recognition  of  all 
she  had  been  to  him  through  his  arduous  career. 


FELIX  MENDELSSOHN -BARTHOLDY 
AND  C^CILE  JEANRENAUD. 

'  O  Life  and  Love !     O  happy  throng 
Of  thoughts,  whose  only  speech  is  song.' 

Longfellow :  '  A  Day  of  Sunshine.1 

IF  anyone  was  ever  entitled  to  the  name  of 
Felix — the  ■  Fortunate ' — it  was  Mendelssohn. 
He  was  fortunate  in  every  respect — in  his 
friends  and  in  his  family,  especially  in  his  favourite 
sister,  Fanny,  who  was  his  congenial  companion, 
with  a  passion  for  music  only  second  to  his  own. 
He  had  no  early  struggles  to  contend  with.  Fame 
and  Fortune  came  to  him,  holding  out  both  hands ; 
and,  lastly,  his  marriage  was  a  decided  success. 
In  Cecile  Jeanrenaud  he  found  a  wife  exactly 
suited  to  him — beautiful,  loving,  and  sympathetic. 
She  made  a  home  for  him  full  of  rest  and  peaceful 
joy.  He  had  no  domestic  misery  to  endure, 
as  Wagner  had.  Life  flowed  on  smoothly 
and  cheerily,  brightened  by  the  happy  faces  of 
children,  and  animated  by  the  constant  smiles  of 
success.  Mendelssohn  himself  seemed  to  radiate 
an  atmosphere  of  joy  wherever  he  went.  He  came 
243  16 — 2 


244  Famous  Love  Matches 

from  a  Jewish  stock.  His  grandfather,  Moses 
Mendelssohn,  though  small  and  hump -backed, 
raised  himself  from  a  state  of  poverty  to  one  of 
wealth.  His  second  son,  Abraham,  married  Leah 
Salamon,  of  a  Jewish  family  in  Berlin,  and  settled 
in  the  town  of  Hamburg.  Here  three  children 
were  born,  Fanny  Cecilia,  Felix  —  or,  to  give 
him  his  full  name,  Ludwig  Jakob  Felix,  born 
February  3, 1809 — and  another  daughter,  Rebekah. 
Soon  after  her  birth  Hamburg  fell  into  the  hands 
of  the  French,  and  the  Mendelssohn  family  escaped 
from  it  by  night,  and  took  refuge  in  Berlin.  Here 
the  banking  business  was  carried  on,  and  the 
family  occupied  a  large  house  on  the  Neue 
Promenade,  with  houses  on  one  side  and  a  canal, 
bordered  by  trees,  on  the  other.  After  a  second 
son,  Paul,  was  added  to  the  family,  Abraham 
Mendelssohn  took  the  decisive  step  of  leaving 
Judaism  for  Christianity.  He  had  all  his  children 
baptized  and  brought  up  in  the  Lutheran  faith, 
which  he  and  his  wife  also  embraced,  much  to  the 
disgust  of  their  Jewish  relations. 

Leah  Mendelssohn  was  a  very  accomplished 
woman.  She  not  only  spoke  French,  English, 
and  Italian,  but  she  was  an  excellent  musician, 
and  played  and  sang  beautifully.  Her  remark 
about  her  daughter  Fanny  was  that  the  child  had 
1  Bach-fugue  lingers.'  She  soon  began  to  teach 
both  children  music,  giving  them  only  five  minutes 
at  a  time.  This  was  after  the  flight  from  Hamburg, 
when  Fanny  was  seven  and  Felix  three  years  of 


Felix  Mendelssohn-Bartholdy     245 

age.  They  had  further  instruction  in  Paris, 
whither  Abraham  Mendelssohn  and  his  brother 
Joseph  went,  on  business  connected  with  the 
war  indemnity  exacted  from  France  by  Prussia. 
Madame  Bigot  was  a  good  teacher  of  the  piano, 
and  the  children  made  excellent  progress.  After 
their  return  to  Berlin  they  worked  at  music  harder 
than  ever,  beginning  at  five  o'clock  in  the  morning. 
Felix  had  lessons  in  harmony  and  counterpoint 
from  Zelter,  and  soon  began  to  compose  on  his 
own  account.  He  was  a  very  handsome  boy,  with 
a  lofty  brow,  aquiline  nose,  finely-cut  mouth,  and 
clear,  bright  eyes.  He  was  remarkable  for  his 
long  curls.  When  Sir  Julius  Benedict  met  him 
as  a  boy  of  eleven  he  had  auburn  hair,  clustering 
in  ringlets  on  his  shoulders.  In  later  life  it 
became  almost  black.  He  joined  a  singing-class 
in  Berlin  as  an  alto,  and  took  his  place  among  the 
grown-up  people  in  a  tight-fitting  jacket,  cut  very 
low  at  the  neck,  and  with  full  trousers  buttoned 
over  it.  He  liked  to  thrust  his  hands  into  the 
long,  slanting  pockets,  moving  his  head,  covered 
with  long  brown  curls,  from  side  to  side,  and 
shuffling  restlessly  from  one  foot  to  the  other. 
As  a  boy,  one  of  his  most  thrilling  experiences 
was  a  visit  to  Weimar,  when  he  played  constantly 
to  Goethe,  then  a  man  of  seventy-three.  Felix 
wrote  a  delightful  letter  to  his  mother,  and  says 
in  it : 

'  Every  afternoon  Goethe  opens  his  instrument 
and  says,  "  I  have  not  heard  you  to-day ;  make  a 


246  Famous  Love  Matches 

little  noise  for  me."  And  then  he  sits  down  by 
my  side,  and  when  I  have  done,  mostly  extem- 
porizing, I  ask  for  a  kiss  or  take  one.  You  can 
fancy  how  good  and  kind  he  is  to  me.  Of  course, 
when  Goethe  says,  "  There  is  company  to-morrow 
at  eleven,  little  one,  and  you  must  play  us  some- 
thing," I  cannot  say  "  No."  ' 

No  expense  was  spared  by  Abraham  Mendels- 
sohn in  giving  his  son  every  advantage.  One  of 
the  boy's  masters  was  Moscheles,  who  said : 
'  To-day  I  gave  Felix  his  first  lesson,  but  not  for 
a  moment  could  I  conceal  from  myself  that  I  was 
with  my  master,  not  with  my  pupil.  ...  He 
catches  at  the  slightest  hint  I  give,  and  guesses 
my  meaning  before  I  speak.' 

On  Mendelssohn's  fifteenth  birthday  his  fourth 
opera, '  Die  beiden  Neffen  '  ('  The  Two  Nephews'), 
was  rehearsed,  and  Zelter,  his  master,  taking  him 
by  the  hand,  said  :  '  From  this  day,  dear  boy,  thou 
art  no  longer  an  apprentice,  but  an  independent 
member  of  the  brotherhood  of  musicians.  I  pro- 
claim thine  independence  in  the  names  of  Haydn, 
Mozart,  and  of  old  Father  Bach.' 

It  was  not,  however,  in  composing  operas  that 
Mendelssohn's  real  genius  lay.  It  was  more  the 
spiritual,  religious  aspect  of  music  which  appealed 
to  him,  and  drew  out  all  that  was  best  in  him. 
His  was  a  deeply  devout  nature.  On  the  margin 
of  his  music-paper  he  scribbled  the  letters, 
1  H.  d.  m./  which  stand  for  '  Help  Thou  me !' 
Even  in  his  earlier  years  there  was  an  uplifting  of 


Felix  Mendelssohn-Bartholdy     247 

his  soul  to  Heaven  for  help  and  support.  In  his 
oratorio  of  '  St.  Paul,'  first  produced  at  Dlisseldorf 
on  May  22,  1836,  he  revealed  his  real  genius. 
Hiller  describes  the  crash  of  brass  instruments  in 
1  Sleepers,  wake !'  as  quite  overpowering,  and  the 
success  of  the  work  was  beyond  question.  The 
method  of  introducing  old  German  chorales  was 
at  once  novel  and  striking. 

Soon  after  this  Mendelssohn  went  to  Frankfort 
to  take  charge  of  the  musical  society  there,  during 
the  illness  of  his  friend  Schelble.  This  visit  had 
most  important  results,  as  it  led  to  his  acquaint- 
ance with  his  future  wife.  She  was  the  daughter 
of  a  minister  of  the  French  Reformed  Church. 
Her  father  died  early  in  life,  and  Madame  Jean- 
renaud,  a  youthful-looking  and  attractive  widow, 
was  living  at  Frankfort  with  her  two  daughters, 
Julie  and  Cecile  Charlotte  Sophie.  With  C6cile, 
Mendelssohn,  who  was  now  twenty -seven,  fell 
desperately  in  love.  Up  to  this  time  he  had  been 
perfectly  heart-whole,  but  now  everything  was 
changed.  His  love  had  the  effect  of  making  him 
so  shy  that  he  rarely  spoke  to  the  girl ;  all  his  con- 
versation was  addressed  to  her  mother,  who,  being 
still  a  young  and  charming  woman,  was  supposed 
to  be  the  object  of  his  frequent  visits  to  the  house 
on  the  Quai  of  the  Main.  But  when  Mendelssohn 
was  alone  with  his  friend  and  confidant,  Ferdi- 
nand Hiller,  he  made  no  secret  of  the  real  state  of 
things.  As  he  lay  on  the  sofa  at  Hiller's  lodgings, 
he  indulged  in  raptures  about  the  grace  and  beauty 


248  Famous  Love  Matches 

of  the  charming  Cecile.  He  wished  to  find  out  if 
his  affection  would  bear  the  test  of  absence,  so, 
when  his  engagement  with  the  Frankfort  Musical 
Society  came  to  an  end,  he  set  off  to  Scheveningen 
for  a  course  of  sea-bathing.  His  numerous  letters 
to  Hiller  show  that  the  time  passed  heavily,  and 
that  he  had  left  his  heart  behind  at  Frankfort. 
He  could  remain  away  no  longer  ;  back  he  came, 
and  now  he  took  the  decisive  step — he  opened  his 
heart  to  Cecile.     On  September  9  he  wrote  : 

'  Dear  Mother, 

•  I  have  only  this  moment  returned,  but  I 
can  settle  to  nothing  until  I  have  written  to  tell 
you  that  I  have  just  been  accepted  by  Cecile 
Jeanrenaud.  My  head  is  quite  giddy  from  the 
effect  of  the  day.  It  is  already  late  at  night,  and 
I  have  nothing  else  to  say,  but  I  must  write  to 
you.  I  feel  so  rich  and  happy.  To-morrow  I 
will,  if  I  can,  write  a  long  letter,  and  so  will  my 
dear  betrothed.' 

There  were  no  difficulties  in  the  way  except 
that  Mendelssohn  was  bound  to  return  to  Leipzig 
in  time  for  the  concert  season,  which  began  the 
first  week  in  October.  Already  he  was  far  on 
the  road  to  fame.  His  marriage  took  place  on 
March  17,  1837,  at  Frankfort,  in  the  French 
Reformed  Church  of  which  Cecile  Jeanrenaud's 
father  had  been  pastor.  On  the  return  of  the 
happy  pair  from  church  they  were  greeted  by  a 


Felix  Mendelssohn-Bartholdy     249 

bridal  chorus,  specially  composed  by  Hiller,  and 
sung  by  a  number  of  young  ladies  who  belonged 
to  his  choral  society. 

The  honeymoon  was  spent  at  Freiburg,  in 
Breisgau,  an  exquisitely  beautiful  spot,  surrounded 
by  hills.  Mendelssohn  wrote :  *  You  may  fancy 
how  lovely  it  all  is  as  we  saunter  about  the  whole 
afternoon  in  the  warm  sunshine,  standing  still 
now  and  then  to  look  around  and  talk  over  the 
past  and  the  future.  I  may  well  say  with  thank- 
fulness that  I  am  a  happy  man.' 

It  was  during  this  time  that  Mendelssohn  com- 
posed the  music  to  the  forty-second  Psalm — music 
which  breathes  the  highest  spirit  of  devotion  and 
aspiration.  He  was  always  fond  of  sketching, 
and  so  was  Cecile.  She  was  quite  a  good  artist, 
and  between  them  they  made  up  a  sort  of  album, 
full  of  landscapes,  pretty  cottages,  or  anything 
else  that  struck  their  fancy.  This  album  has  been 
preserved,  and  is  now  in  the  possession  of  Men- 
delssohn's granddaughter. 

Writing  to  his  friend  Devrient,  four  months  after 
his  marriage,  July  13,  1837,  Mendelssohn  said  : 
1  I  will  only  say  that  I  am  in  excellent  spirits  and 
perfectly  happy.  Far  from  being  over-excited,  as 
I  expected,  I  am  as  calm  and  collected  as  if  all 
that  has  happened  was  the  most  natural  thing  in 
the  world.  Thank  God,  my  dear  Cecile  is  bright 
and  gay,  and  her  health  is  excellent.  Perhaps  you 
will  not  believe  me  when  I  say  that  I  love  her  more 
and  more  every  day,  but  it  is  true,  all  the  same.' 


250  Famous  Love  Matches 

About  a  month  after  this  letter  was  written, 
Mendelssohn  was  obliged  to  leave  his  young  bride 
to  go  to  England  for  the  purpose  of  conducting 
his  oratorio  of  '  St.  Paul '  at  the  Birmingham 
Festival.  This  was  his  fifth  visit  to  England, 
and  a  very  important  one,  as  the  popularity  of 
1  St.  Paul '  with  an  English  audience  dates  from 
this  time. 

During  this  visit  Madame  Moscheles  wrote : 
*  Felix  spoke  with  much  happiness  of  his  wife. 
The  portrait  he  showed  us  makes  her  very  pretty, 
and,  according  to  him,  she  must  be  an  angel.' 

Some  years  later,  when  Mendelssohn  brought 
his  wife  with  him  to  London,  Madame  Moscheles 
wrote  again :  '  At  last  my  ardent  wish  is  fulfilled, 
and  I  have  learned  to  know  the  beautiful  and 
charming  C£cile.  One  must  congratulate  the  ex- 
citable, effervescent  Mendelssohn.  He  has  met 
with  a  wife  so  gentle,  so  perfectly  feminine,  that 
they  are  perfectly  matched.' 

C6cile  won  golden  opinions  even  from  her 
husband's  family  when  she  made  their  acquaint- 
ance, which  was  not  till  after  her  marriage. 
Fanny  Hensel,  Mendelssohn's  sister,  had  written 
to  her :  '  I  tell  you  frankly,  when  anyone  comes 
to  talk  to  me  about  your  beauty  and  your  eyes,  it 
makes  me  quite  cross.  I  have  had  enough  of 
hearsay,  and  beautiful  eyes  were  not  meant  to  be 
heard.' 

When  seen,  however,  Ce^cile  justified  all  descrip- 
tions, and  she  and  Fanny  Hensel  soon  became 


Felix  Mendelssohn-Bartholdy     251 

friends.  The  only  drawback  to  the  domestic  bliss 
of  Mendelssohn  and  his  wife  was  that  he  had  to 
be  constantly  on  the  wing — conducting,  playing, 
rehearsing.  Though  his  head-quarters  were  at 
Leipzig,  we  constantly  hear  of  him  at  Cologne, 
Dusseldorf,  and  Frankfort. 

His  home  happiness  was  increased  by  the  birth 
of  a  son,  Carl,  in  February,  1838.  He  wrote : 
1  Now  that  my  wife  and  child  are  well,  I  feel  per- 
fectly happy.  It  is  quite  too  charming  to  see  a 
little  creature  like  that  who  has  brought  into  the 
world  with  him  the  blue  eyes  and  retrousse  nose  of 
his  mother,  and  who  smiles  every  time  she  comes 
into  the  room.  They  look  so  happy  that  I  cannot 
contain  myself  with  joy.' 

There  were  four  more  children  after  Carl — Marie, 
Paul,  Felix,  and  Lilie  followed  in  rapid  succession. 
Nothing  delighted  Mendelssohn  so  much  as  play- 
ing with  his  children.  Sometimes  he  pretended 
to  be  an  eagle,  while  his  wife  was  supposed  to  be 
a  hare,  and  Paul  a  bullfinch.  With  the  composi- 
tion of  '  Elijah '  came  more  work,  more  rehearsals, 
more  conducting,  more  visits  to  England,  as  well 
as  to  the  principal  German  towns.  King  Friedrich 
Wilhelm  of  Prussia  offered  Mendelssohn  £450  a 
year  to  come  to  Berlin  and  organize  a  new  musical 
academy  there.  He  obeyed,  but  the  post  was  not 
a  bed  of  roses,  and  he  never  felt  his  own  master. 
It  was,  however,  at  the  request  of  the  King  that 
he  composed  the  music  to  \  Athalie,'  in  which 
we  have  that  spirit-stirring  'War  March  of  the 


252  Famous  Love  Matches 

Priests,'  a  great  favourite  with  all  organists. 
Mendelssohn  was  even  a  better  performer  on  the 
organ  than  he  was  on  the  piano,  and  his  mastery 
of  the  pedals  when  he  played  at  St.  Paul's 
Cathedral  and  at  Christ  Church,  Newgate  Street, 
was  the  admiration  of  all  who  heard  him. 

After  his  tenth  visit  to  England,  when  the  revised 
version  of  the  '  Elijah  '  was  performed  at  Exeter 
Hall  before  Queen  Victoria  and  the  Prince  Consort, 
his  strength  visibly  failed,  and  the  sudden  death  of 
his  sister  Fanny  gave  him  a  shock  from  which  he 
never  quite  recovered.  He  died  on  November  4, 
1847,  at  the  early  age  of  thirty-seven.  He  had  to 
suffer  from  no  painful  disease  or  gradual  loss  of 
memory;  he  was  happy  in  his  death  as  he  had 
been  happy  in  his  life.  His  pure  spirit  passed  in 
music  out  of  sight. 

While  Chopin  gave  utterance  to  the  unrest,  the 
yearnings  of  humanity,  Mendelssohn's  message  to 
the  world  was  essentially  one  of  joy.  We  hear  it 
in  the  jubilant  strains  of  'The  Wedding  March'; 
we  hear  it,  too,  in  a  spiritualized  form,  in  '  Oh,  for 
the  Wings  of  a  Dove !'  as  well  as  in  many  of  the 
sonatas  and  '  Songs  without  Words ' :  the  spirit  of 
happiness,  of  brightness,  seems  to  rise  up,  like  the 
song  of  the  lark,  to  the  "very  gate  of  heaven. 
This  is  the  legacy  left  us  by  Felix,  the  Happy. 
His  C6cile,  loving  and  beloved,  did  not  long 
survive  him.  Six  years  after  his  death  she  was 
attacked  by  consumption,  and  died  at  Frankfort 
in  September,  1853. 


CARL  MARIA  VON  WEBER  AND 
CAROLINE  BRANDT. 

1  One  planet  in  a  starless  night, 
One  blossom  on  a  briar, 
One  friend  not  quite  a  hypocrite, 
One  woman  not  a  liar  !' 

W.  M.  Praed. 

SOME  of  Weber's  music  is  bound  to  live.  In 
his  operas,  '  Preciosa,'  ■  Der  Freischtitz,' 
1  Euryanthe,'  and  '  Oberon,'  he  may  be  said 
to  have  created  the  romantic  school.  Wagner, 
with  greater  genius  and  thorough  mastery  of 
orchestral  effects,  has  followed  in  his  footsteps, 
but  in  one  respect  Weber  stood  pre-eminent :  he 
had  the  gift  of  melody.  The  hunting  chorus  in 
*  Der  Freischtitz  '  used  to  be  whistled  in  the  pit 
and  gallery  of  the  theatres  and  sung  in  the  streets. 
Everyone  was  carried  away  by  it  and  by  other 
haunting  melodies  from  Weber's  operas.  In  lighter 
compositions  he  has  been  equally  successful,  his 
1  Invitation  a  la  Valse  '  and  his  '  Concertstuck  ' 
are  stock  pieces  with  every  pianist,  beginning  with 
the  great  Liszt. 

Though  only  extending  to  forty  years,  Weber's 
life  was  varied  and  eventful,  and  his  love  affairs 

253 


254  Famous  Love  Matches 

were  many,  finishing  by  a  marriage  with  the 
talented  singer,  Caroline  Brandt,  to  whom  he  was 
devoted,  and  to  whom  his  dying  thoughts  turned 
with  tender  longing  and  the  deepest  affection. 

Weber  was  of  noble  birth.  His  father,  Baron 
Franz  Anton,  was  a  handsome  lieutenant,  who  by 
the  interest  of  his  first  wife's  family  was  created 
a  judge.  But  his  tastes  were  all  for  a  wandering 
life.  He  played  the  violin  extremely  well,  and 
when  he  was  dismissed  from  his  judicial  duties 
he  followed  his  taste  in  starting  as  director  of  a 
strolling  theatrical  company.  His  first  wife  died 
of  mortification  at  such  a  come  down  in  the  world, 
and  after  her  death  Baron  Franz  speedily  fell  in 
love  with  and  married  a  pretty  girl  of  sixteen, 
called  Genoveva.  In  the  provincial  town  of  Eutin 
she  gave  birth  to  Carl  Maria,  the  future  composer, 
on  December  18,  1786.  He  was  a  sickly  child, 
suffering  from  disease  of  the  hip-bone,  which 
caused  a  slight  lameness.  His  two  stepbrothers 
having  proved  failures  as  musicians,  Baron  Franz 
was  determined  to  make  something  of  the  back- 
ward little  boy  who  could  not  walk  until  he  was 
four  years  old. 

The  ambitious  baron,  who  was  uncle  by  mar- 
riage of  the  great  Mozart,  thought  he  would  make 
a  similar  prodigy  of  delicate  little  Carl,  who  was 
taught  to  put  his  hands  on  the  piano  and  to  sing 
almost  before  he  could  speak.  Along  with  the 
strolling  company  went  Baron  Franz's  young 
wife  and  her  puny  little  son.     Before  the  boy  had 


Carl  Maria  von  Weber  255 

reached  the  age  of  twelve  poor  Genoveva  sank 
under  her  many  troubles,  and  Carl  was  left  alone 
to  bear  the  brunt  of  his  father's  temper  and  his 
injudicious  training.  Constant  familiarity  with 
footlights  and  scene-painting  may  have  been  of 
service  to  the  receptive  mind  of  the  boy,  but  it 
injured  him  in  other  ways.  His  selfish,  boasting 
father  forced  him  to  write  trios,  sonatas,  four-part 
songs — even  an  opera,  which  was  accidentally 
burnt.  At  Munich  he  had  lessons  from  Kalcher, 
organist  to  the  Court,  who  was  the  first  to  direct 
the  boy's  studies  in  the  way  they  should  go. 
Weber  himself  admitted  that  he  owed  much  to 
Kalcher.  He  formed  a  close  friendship  with  a 
young  Tyrolese  officer,  Gansbacher,  and  the  two 
young  men,  left  to  their  own  devices,  plunged 
into  all  the  gaieties  and  temptations  of  Vienna. 
Owing  to  an  accident  with  some  corrosive  poison, 
Weber  was  for  two  months  at  death's  door,  and 
his  beautiful  voice  was  lost  for  ever.  He  was 
appointed  conductor  of  the  Opera  at  Breslau,  but 
his  salary  was  only  £  go  a  year,  and  his  father  was 
dependent  on  him.  He  also  became  the  victim 
of  a  singer  at  the  theatre,  who  absorbed  a  large 
part  of  his  earnings.  We  find  him  writing  a  con- 
fession, in  which  he  reveals  the  state  of  his  heart. 
He  was  at  this  time  twenty-five,  though  he  writes 
as  if  he  were  much  older.  February  18,  181 1,  is 
the  date  of  the  reverie. 

1 1   have  never  loved,   for  reason    always  too 
quickly  showed  me  that   all  those  by  whom  I 


256  Famous  Love  Matches 

foolishly  fancied  I  was  beloved,  were  only  trifling 
with  me  from  the  most  pitiful  motives.  One 
coquetted  with  me  because  perhaps  I  was  the  only 

man  in  under  forty  years  of  age;    another 

was  attracted  by  my  uniform ;  a  third,  perhaps, 
thought  she  loved  me  because  it  was  a  necessity 
for  her  to  have  a  love  affair,  and  chance  brought 
me  into  her  domestic  circle.  My  faith  in  woman- 
hood, of  whom  I  cherish  a  high  ideal,  is  gone  for 
ever,  and  with  it  a  large  share  of  my  pretensions 
to  human  happiness.  I  feel  that  I  must  love — I 
adore  woman,  and  yet  I  hate  and  despise  her. 
My  mother  died  early,  my  father  cherished  me 
but  too  fondly,  and  in  spite  of  all  the  love  and 
esteem  I  bear  him,  this  deprived  him  of  my  con- 
fidence, for  I  often  felt  how  weak  he  was  towards 
me,  and  love  of  this  kind  is  seldom  forgiven.  In 
short,  misery  is  the  lot  of  man,  never  attaining  to 
perfection,  always  discontented,  at  war  with  him- 
self, he  is  yearning  personified,  unstable  yet  ever 
moving.' 

The  year  after  these  despairing  words  were 
written,  Weber  had  another  disastrous  love  ex- 
perience which  nearly  made  shipwreck  of  his  life. 
He  had  been  appointed  musical  director  of  the 
theatre  at  Prague  in  January,  1813,  and  a  busy 
and  eventful  time  began.  He  had  to  be  scene- 
painter,  stage -manager,  prompter,  copyist,  and 
musical  director  all  in  one.  Here  he  came  in  con- 
tact with  a  fascinating  and  unscrupulous  woman, 
named  Therese  Brunetti,  who  was  the  wife  of  a 


Carl  Maria  von  Weber  257 

dancer  belonging  to  the  company  engaged  by 
Weber.  She  herself  had  risen  from  being  a  ballet- 
dancer  to  the  position  of  an  actress,  and  was  very 
successful  in  light  parts.  She  was  the  mother  of 
several  children,  but  she  still  preserved  her  youth 
and  freshness.  With  the  young  conductor,  not  a 
handsome  but  a  very  susceptible  man,  she  came 
in  daily  contact  at  rehearsals,  and  he  fell  under 
her  fatal  spell.  She  induced  him  to  make  his 
home  at  Brunetti's  house,  and  here  she  exerted  her 
power,  sometimes  driving  him  to  madness  with 
jealousy.  He  watched  her  every  movement,  and 
wasted  valuable  time  in  winning  a  smile  from  her. 
In  his  diary  of  November  8  he  wrote :  ■  Terrible 
scene  (with  Th£rese).  It  is  really  a  hard  fate  that 
the  first  woman  whom  I  really  and  truly  love 
should  believe  me  faithless,  and  before  God  that 
is  false.  The  enchanting  dream  is  over.  Con- 
fidence cannot  return.' 

A  week  afterwards  we  find :  *  Again  seen  Th^rese. 
Long  estrangement,  at  last  reconciliation  .  .  .  our 
sufferings  vanishing  as  if  by  enchantment.'  But 
on  November  23  there  comes  the  entry :  '  She 
loves  me  not.  If  she  did,  would  it  be  possible  for 
her  to  speak  with  such  warmth  of  her  first  love 
.  .  .  and  to  relate  her  own  peculiar  feelings  at 
that  time  ?  Could  she  be  so  pitiless  if  she  loved 
me?  No.  This  dream  has  also  fled.  I  must 
never  know  this  bliss,  but  always  stand  alone. 
Here  I  love  for  the  first  time,  and  this  woman  has 
every  quality  to   make  me  happy.     She  fancies 

17 


258  Famous  Love  Matches 

sometimes  that  she  loves  me,  but  it  is  not  true. 
...  I  will  now  again  shut  myself  up  in  myself, 
and  she,  at  any  rate,  shall  not  be  able  to  say  that 
I  did  not  worship  her  most  intensely.  I  will  do 
all  for  her  happiness — bury  the  bitter  certainty 
deep  within  me  .  .  .  and  work.* 

Within  another  month  the  right  enchantress 
appeared  on  the  scene.  This  was  the  young 
singer,  Caroline  Brandt,  who  had  taken  the  part 
of  the  heroine  in  Weber's  opera  of '  Sylvan  '  when 
it  had  been  first  produced  at  Frankfort  in  18 10. 
She  was  then  eighteen,  now  she  was  twenty,  and 
in  the  bloom  of  beauty,  modest  and  cheerful, 
with  a  sweet  though  not  powerful  voice.  Of  un- 
blemished character,  the  contrast  between  her  and 
the  fickle  and  self-seeking  Therese  was  marked. 
Caroline  Brandt  made  her  first  appearance  at 
Prague  in  a  German  version  of  '  Cinderella,'  called 
1  Aschenbrodel.'  Soon  afterwards  she  met  with 
an  accident  to  her  foot  at  the  theatre,  which 
obliged  her  to  remain  at  home.  Weber  constantly 
asked  for  his  favourite  singer,  and  paid  a  visit  to 
her  in  her  quiet  home,  where  she  lived  with  her 
mother.  The  affection  between  the  mother  and 
daughter  touched  Weber  deeply,  but  he  could  not 
give  up  Therese  Brunetti,  who  was  continually 
reproaching  him  for  his  inconstancy.  He  clung 
to  Therese  against  his  better  judgment.  He  wrote 
in  his  note-book  :  *  Without  her  no  joy  ;  with  her 
only  sorrow.'  On  her  birthday  he  sent  her  two 
presents  :   a  beautiful  gold  watch,  with  a  set  of 


Carl  Maria  von  Weber  259 

charms,  and  a  dish  of  oysters.  She  took  small 
notice  of  the  watch,  but  greedily  devoured  the 
oysters.  A  final  breach  came  when  Therese 
announced  to  Weber  that  a  rich  proprietor  called 
Calina  had  offered  her  and  her  husband  a  home 
in  his  house.  This  was  the  finishing  stroke,  and 
Caroline  now  reigned  triumphant.  Weber  wrote 
to  his  friend  Gansbacher  : 

*  Perhaps  you  will  hardly  believe  me  when  I  say 
that  I  had  a  heavy  heart  when  I  quitted  Prague, 
but  the  enigma  will  be  quickly  solved  when  I  tell 
you  that  I  left  there  a  beloved  being,  who,  though 
not  of  the  highest  class,  might  make  me  very 
joyful  and  happy,  for  it  really  seems  that  she  truly 
loves  me.  You  need  not  fear  that  I  am  blind,  and 
that  my  previous  experiences  have  left  me  timid 
and  distrustful,  for  I  intend  to  find  out  what  stuff 
she  is  made  of,  and  whether  the  substance  will 
stand  wear  and  tear.  My  three  months'  absence 
will  be  a  good  opportunity  to  put  this  to  the  test. 
You  do  not  even  know  to  whom  I  allude ;  it  is 
Mademoiselle  Caroline  Brandt  whom  I  fervently 
love,  and  daily  do  I  pray  to  God  that  He  will 
vouchsafe  to  make  her  a  little  better  than  the  rest 
of  her  sex.' 

Weber  was  not  disappointed.  His  Caroline 
proved  true,  and  her  sweet  disposition  was  an 
unfailing  source  of  joy  to  him  throughout  the  next 
ten  years  of  his  chequered  life.  He  procured  for 
her  a  starring  engagement  at  the  Opera  House  at 
Prague,  and  he  wrote :  '  On  December  19,  1816, 

17 — 2 


260  Famous  Love  Matches 

I  invited  my  dearest  friends  to  an  oyster  feast, 
and  was  betrothed  to  my  beloved  Lina.  If  she 
remains  constant,  and  I  succeed  in  getting  a  good 
appointment,  she  will  then  leave  the  theatre  and 
become  my  beloved  wife.' 

The  engagement  lasted  for  nearly  a  year ;  the 
only  difficulty  seemed  to  be  that  Caroline  did  not 
wish  to  give  up  the  theatre ;  but  when  Weber  was 
appointed  Kapellmeister  of  the  Royal  Theatre  at 
Dresden,  she  consented,  and  the  marriage  took 
place,  November  4,  18 17.  Shortly  before  Weber 
wrote  to  her : 

*  If  women  thrive  as  well  in  this  most  prosperous 
year  as  wine  seems  to  do,  I  shall  often  call  out,  in 
sipping  a  glass  of  the  1817  vintage,  "  That  was 
the  good  year  when  my  wife  ripened  for  me." 
Therefore,  remember,  be  matured  by  the  sun  of 
truth  and  knowledge,  be  refreshed  by  the  dew 
of  love  and  patience,  so  that  our  marriage  may 
be  blessed  with  the  bright,  clear  wine  of  life,  to 
renew,  to  strengthen,  and  to  bless  us.' 

The  wedding  was  a  very  quiet  one,  and  the 
Webers  were  soon  settled  in  their  home  at 
Dresden.    Weber  wrote  to  his  friend  Gansbacher  : 

1 1  must  not  delay  telling  you  how  happy  and 
cheerful  I  am,  and  how  much  my  beloved  Lina 
embellishes  my  life,  and  helps  me  to  bear  its 
burdens.  I  am,  indeed,  a  fortunate  man.  No  one 
could  in  the  most  remote  degree  discover  that  my 
Lina  had  ever  been  an  actress.  She  is  become 
such    a    busy,   intelligent,    and    careful    mistress 


Carl  Maria  von  Weber  261 

of  a  household,  and  takes  delight  in  her  new 
sphere.' 

Her  practical  knowledge  of  the  operatic  stage 
was  of  great  use  to  Weber  as  a  composer,  and  she 
gave  him  many  valuable  hints.  He  loved  com- 
posing in  the  open  air,  in  the  depths  of  a 
forest. 

During  the  year  1818  he  was  busy  with  his 
opera,  which  was  at  first  called  *  The  Hunter's 
Bride,'  but  afterwards  was  renamed  ■  Der  Frei- 
schiitz.'  He  also  wrote  a  Mass  in  E  flat,  and  a 
Jubilee  Cantata  and  Overture. 

On  June  18,  1820,  the  anniversary  of  the  Battle 
of  Waterloo,  '  Der  Freischutz '  was  performed  at 
Berlin  for  the  first  time.  Weber  himself  con- 
ducted. It  was  a  proud  moment  for  him  when  he 
limped  to  the  conductor's  desk.  Though  small, 
lame,  and  ungainly,  Sir  Julius  Benedict,  who  was 
one  of  his  pupils,  says  that  he  had  a  great  deal  of 
dignity  about  him,  'and  there  was  so  much  in- 
telligence, enthusiasm,  and  feeling  in  his  face  that 
the  irregular  features  were  quite  forgotten.'  '  Der 
Freischutz '  was  the  flower  of  his  genius.  Gounod, 
when  describing  a  scene  in  Naples,  said  :  ■  It  made 
me  think  of  those  weird  precipices,  whose  horror 
Weber  has  rendered  with  such  marvellous  power 
in  that  immortal  incantation  scene  in  "  Der 
Freischutz."  ' 

The  lovely  aria,  'Softly  Sigh  the  Winds  of 
Evening,'  and  the  stirring  '  Hunters'  Chorus,' 
called  forth  storms  of  applause.     It  was  the  cul- 


262  Famous  Love  Matches 

minating  period  of  Weber's  prosperity,  and  the 
two  months  spent  at  Berlin  after  this  crowning 
success  were  the  happiest  in  his  chequered  career. 
It  was  just  before  the  first  performance  of  '  Der 
Freischiitz'  that  he  sat  down  to  the  piano  and 
played  over  his  musical  poem  the  '  Concertstuck,' 
just  as  it  came  from  his  fertile  brain. 

Though  Weber's  married  life  at  Dresden  with 
his  beloved  Lina  was  exceptionally  happy,  he 
had  many  difficulties  to  contend  with.  His  next 
opera,  '  Euryanthe,'  did  not  meet  with  the  same 
success  as  its  predecessor,  and,  worse  than  all, 
Weber's  health  began  to  fail  rapidly.  He  had  a 
chronic  cough,  and  the  doctors  told  him  that  his 
lungs  were  in  such  a  state  that  he  had  but  a  short 
time  to  live.  Just  at  this  crisis  he  had  an  offer 
from  the  managers  at  Covent  Garden  to  produce 
his  new  opera,  '  Oberon,'  in  London,  and  he  was 
summoned  to  come  over  to  conduct  it  personally. 
Such  an  offer  was  too  tempting  to  refuse,  espe- 
cially as  he  had  now  two  little  sons  to  support  as 
well  as  his  wife.  His  answer  was,  '  Whether  I  go 
or  remain,  in  one  year  I  am  a  dead  man.  But  if 
I  go,  my  children  will  have  bread;  if  I  remain, 
they  will  starve.' 

So,  ill  and  weak  though  he  was,  Weber  started 
on  this  fatal  journey,  February  16,  1826.  Every- 
thing was  done  for  his  comfort.  He  rested  at 
Paris,  his  doctor  went  with  him,  and  when  he 
reached  London  he  was  hospitably  received  by 
Sir  George  Smart  at  his  house  in  Great  Portland 


Carl  Maria  von  Weber  263 

Street.  It  was  March  16  when  Weber  reached 
London,  and  on  April  12,  after  sixteen  fatiguing 
rehearsals,  '  Oberon  '  was  performed  for  the  first 
time  before  a  crowded  house.  Weber  wrote  home 
to  his  wife : 

1  By  God's  grace  and  help  I  have  had  to-night 
such  a  perfect  success  as  I  never  had  before. 
When  I  entered  the  orchestra,  the  whole  house 
rose  as  if  by  one  accord,  and  I  was  received  with 
incredible  applause,  cheering,  and  waving  of  hats 
and  handkerchiefs.' 

Next  morning  Weber  was  lying  in  an  arm-chair 
quite  exhausted.  When  his  doctor  offered  him 
medicine,  he  said :  '  It  is  no  use ;  I  am  a  shattered 
machine.  Would  to  God  it  would  hold  together 
until  I  might  embrace  once  more  my  Lina  and 
my  boys.' 

Weber's  success  in  London  died  out  rapidly. 
A  concert  was  got  up  for  him  at  the  Argyll  Rooms, 
and  the  hall  presented  rows  of  empty  benches. 
As  the  weary  and  discouraged  man  was  led  into 
the  artists'  room,  he  whispered  to  his  friend 
Goschen,  'What  do  you  say  to  it  ?  This  is  Weber 
in  London.' 

His  one  thought  now  was  to  get  back  to  his 
wife  and  children.  He  wrote  to  his  Lina :  'In 
the  last  days  of  June  I  hope  to  clasp  you  in  my 
arms.'  Little  gifts  were  purchased ;  all  prepara- 
tions were  made.  He  had  £100  profit  from  a 
concert — not  much  for  England,  a  good  deal  for 
Germany.     The  evening  before  his  journey  Weber 


264  Famous  Love  Matches 

said :  '  Let  me  go  back  to  my  own ;  let  me  see 
them  once  more,  and  then  God's  will  be  done.' 

He  went  to  bed,  saying,  ■  Now  let  me  sleep.' 
He  did  sleep,  but  it  was  the  sleep  that  knows  no 
waking  on  this  earth.  Weber's  last  valse  had 
indeed  been  written.  His  funeral  was  a  very  im- 
posing one ;  the  service  was  at  Moorfields  Chapel, 
Mozart's  '  Requiem  Mass '  being  sung  at  it  by 
Lablache,  Braham,  and  other  famous  singers. 

Seventeen  years  later,  in  October,  1844,  Weber's 
remains  were  removed  to  Dresden,  the  farewell 
at  the  grave  being  spoken  by  Wagner,  his  great 
successor.  Lina,  too,  was  there,  the  beloved  one 
of  Weber's  soul.  His  younger  son,  Alexander, 
had  been  buried  in  the  same  spot  just  a  fortnight 
before. 

In  contrast  with  some  of  the  love  matches  we 
have  been  considering,  this  one  of  Weber's  only 
took  place  after  a  series  of  disasters  and  dis- 
appointments. When  at  last  he  did  find  a  woman 
whom  he  could  trust,  and  when,  with  her,  a  wave 
of  success  flowed  in,  checks,  broken  health,  separa- 
tion, and  finally  death,  apart  from  her,  in  an  un- 
familiar land,  followed.  There  is  a  Nemesis  in  all 
this.  For  a  man  to  win  the  crowning  and  com- 
plete joy  of  married  life,  it  must  be  said  of  him  as 
was  said  of  Sir  Galahad — 

'  His  strength  was  as  the  strength  of  ten, 
Because  his  heart  was  pure.' 

Elliot  Stock,  62,  Paternoster  Row,  London,  E.C. 


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