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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..84ce41d --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #64001 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/64001) diff --git a/old/64001-0.txt b/old/64001-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 9a743e3..0000000 --- a/old/64001-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,5643 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of J. Comyns Carr, by Alice Vansittart Carr - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this ebook. - -Title: J. Comyns Carr - Stray Memories - -Author: Alice Vansittart Carr - -Release Date: December 10, 2020 [EBook #64001] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -Image source(s): https://archive.org/details/jcomynscarrstray00carrrich - -Produced by: Fay Dunn, Fiona Holmes and the Online Distributed - Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was - produced from images generously made available by The Internet - Archive/American Libraries.) - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK J. COMYNS CARR *** - - -TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES - -This ebook was created in honour of Distributed Proofreaders 20th Anniversary. - -Changes made are noted at the end of the book. - - - - -J. COMYNS CARR - - - - -[Illustration] - -MACMILLAN AND CO., LIMITED -LONDON · BOMBAY · CALCUTTA · MADRAS -MELBOURNE - -THE MACMILLAN COMPANY -NEW YORK · BOSTON · CHICAGO -DALLAS · SAN FRANCISCO - -THE MACMILLAN CO. OF CANADA, LTD. -TORONTO - -[Illustration] - -J. COMYNS CARR - -_Stray Memories_ - -BY -HIS WIFE - -MACMILLAN AND CO., LIMITED -ST. MARTIN’S STREET, LONDON -1920 - - - - -_COPYRIGHT_ - - -GLASGOW: PRINTED AT THE UNIVERSITY PRESS -BY ROBERT MACLEHOSE AND CO. LTD. - - - - -TO -OUR GRANDSONS -RICHARD AND JOHN COMYNS CARR - - - - -FOREWORD - - -My husband wrote his own Reminiscences in his two books--_Some Eminent -Victorians_ and _Coasting Bohemia_, and it might justly be brought up -against me that I could have nothing to add to what he has said himself. - -But a critic remarked at the time that there were few “Reminiscences” -in which the pronoun “I” occurred so seldom; and it is upon this ground -that I venture to take my stand. - -His friends meant so much to him that his talk is all of them. But they -also loved him, and the few who are left among those of whom he wrote, -as well as the many more of the younger generation who testify to-day -to the exhilaration of his presence and the tonic of his humour may, I -hope, find in my effort something which may recall to them his urbane -and inspiring personality. - - - - -CONTENTS - - - PAGE - - I. COURTSHIP 1 - - II. THE HOME OF BOYHOOD 10 - - III. MARRIAGE 16 - - IV. HOME LIFE AND DRAMATIC CRITICISM 28 - - V. JOURNALISM AND LETTERS 43 - - VI. BOOKS AND TRAVEL 63 - - VII. GROSVENOR AND NEW GALLERIES 76 - - VIII. DRAMATIC WORK AND MANAGEMENT 83 - - IX. SOCIAL OCCASIONS 115 - - X. FOREIGN HOLIDAYS 129 - - XI. FISHING HOLIDAYS 156 - - XII. EARLY VERSE 175 - - -_Frontispiece_ - -J. COMYNS CARR - -From a photograph by the London Stereoscopic Co. Ltd. - - - - -CHAPTER I - -COURTSHIP - - -It was in June of the year 1873 that I first saw my husband. - -Aimée Desclée was beginning a memorable season of French Plays at the -Royalty Theatre, and it was in the capacity of dramatic critic to _The -Echo_--a post to which he had recently been appointed--that “Joe -Carr,” as his friends called him, sat awaiting the curtain to -rise on that remarkable performance of _Frou-Frou_ which set the -cosmopolitan world of London aflame in its day. - -He was twenty-four years of age; but he looked more, for though he had -the complexion almost of a girl and that unruly twist in his fair, -curling hair which belongs to early youth, he was broad-shouldered and -had the strong build of the Cumberland statesmen from whom he was as -proud to claim ancestry on his father’s side as he was of the -Irish blood that came to him from his mother. - -Not that I could have described him that evening: the stalls were too -ill lit and my excitement over the play was too great. - -I had but lately arrived from Italy--having cajoled my father, then -English chaplain at Genoa, into letting me “see London” -under the care of my brother, resident there; so that I had just -been shot from the socially restricted life of a parson’s -daughter in the small English colony of a small foreign town into the -comparative Bohemianism of the artistic set in the London of that day -best described by my husband himself in the introduction to his book -_Coasting Bohemia_. - -There was much that must have been, unconsciously to myself, of -rare educational advantage in the lovely scenery and picturesque -surroundings of my childhood’s life on the Riviera and in the -Apennines; and my parents so loved both Nature and Art that they gave -us constant change of opportunity in these directions. Yet I must -confess that as I grew up, the chestnut groves of the Apennines and -the shores of the blue Mediterranean became empty joys to me, and -even the comparative excitement of wearing my own and criticizing my -friends’ frocks in the Public Gardens of Genoa or the keener -delight of an occasional dance in a stately palace, was insufficient -to fill my cravings; and I longed for freedom and the attractions -of the world--more especially in London, which I only knew through -visits to relatives during the holidays of a short period of my life -at a Brighton school. And it was from the house of specially strict -relatives that I definitely escaped that evening, to come to the wicked -French play with my brother and his friend and housemate, Mr. Frederick -Jameson, an architect by profession, but incidentally a distinguished -musician--in later years the translator of the Wagner libretti. - -Mr. Comyns Carr, to whom they introduced me, sat behind us; and, though -he often told me that he marked me down as I came in, and somehow -associated me with the personality of Aimée Desclée herself, I took -small heed of him then, and when, as we sought a cab at the close of -the performance, he volunteered to go back and search for a valueless -brooch which I had lost, I did not have the grace to insist on waiting -for his return before we hurried off. - -But I was not to be punished; that very incident furnished occasion for -a next meeting. - -Through my brother he tracked me to a Bloomsbury boarding-house, -whereto insubordination to the deserved reproof of the conventional -relatives had made me condemn myself. - -Oh, that boarding-house--with the city clerk’s _bon mot_, -“Why are you like the spoon resting in your tea?” And the -spinster convinced that the Italian Stornelli I sang in the evening -must be “improper!” Could I have endured it if Mr. Jameson -and my brother had not started the glorious idea of theatricals in -their rooms hard by in Great Russell Street? And if, on the second day -of my sojourn, the lodging-house slavey had not burst into the wee -bedroom looking out to the backyard where I was putting on my hat, with -the news that a gentleman was asking for me at the front door? - -I never guessed who it was, but, through the sunshine that struck into -the dingy hall, I saw a strong figure on the door-step and, as I -advanced out of the dimness, a mouth hidden in a fair beard--thick and -long according to the fashion of the hour--parted in a smile; then I -recognised the young man whom I had seen two nights ago at the play. - -He had brought my lost brooch, but I don’t think the excuse -was needed. I knew why he had come, though at the moment an unwonted -shyness had fallen on me, and I think I did not know whether to be -pleased or frightened. - -He said, “Mayn’t I come in?” - -And I recollect my vexation as I answered, “There’s nowhere -to come to! The drawing-room is full of old ladies--the sort who tell -one that a waterproof and an umbrella are the safe dress for a girl in -London.” - -How he laughed! the laugh that many knew and loved him for: and any who -recollect the speckled-hen variety of the waterproof of the seventies -will not wonder. - -Then he said: “But you are going out. Which way are you -going?” - -My reply so well betrayed utter ignorance of London thoroughfares that -his next remark was natural. - -“Well, as I know you’re a stranger, I won’t say -you’ve a small bump of locality!” he said. And how often -did he say it again in after years! “But you had better let me -take you along. I’m going that way.” - -He told the lie unblushingly--and unblushing I did as he bade me and -followed him into the street. - -I had been brought up with the strictness not only of my -father’s cloth but of Italian customs, and I felt I was doing a -bold thing: in those days my whole English adventure was considered -bold by Mrs. Grundy, and my poor father had already come over on a -hasty visit from Italy to place me with those relatives from whom I had -escaped; but on that occasion I was simply overborne. Long afterwards, -at a crush where Royalty was present, my husband won a bet that he -would sup in the Royal room merely by the way in which he bade the -footman drop the dividing red rope, and by the same way of bidding a -porter put his valise on a cab, he won another with J. L. Toole as to -his luggage passing unexamined on a return from abroad. So it was by -some kindred “way” that he led me forth that day--whither -I knew not. And honestly, I forget where we went. I only knew that he -took me a long way--in more senses than one--and showed me many things -that were new and told me many that were more Greek to me than I chose -to admit at the time. - -I was an ignorant girl--the smattering of a brief boarding-school -education counting probably far less than the companionship of refined -parents in a land of beauty, and of the sort of cultivation in which -Joe lived and revelled I knew absolutely nothing. - -I don’t know that, at that stage in my career, I ever had so much -desire to learn as I pretended--and I am not sure that Joe cared. - -Yet he was in those days of his youth at the height of his enthusiasm -on matters of Art; he had just written those articles on living -painters--specially noting the so-called Pre-Raphaelites--which had -drawn considerable notice to his pseudonym of “Ignotus,” -and he was, at the moment, one of Rossetti’s favoured young -admirers. - -But I knew nothing of all this; nor of his having already begun his -career of a “wit” as Junior of the Bar on the Northern Circuit. In -fact, what I recall of him then is not his wit but his tenderness. -He was the ardent pursuer, the first man I had met with whom I was -afraid to flirt, because--in spite of some tremulousness in his eager -insistence--there was something that said: “I mean to succeed.” - -So I stood dreaming before the masterpieces of the National Gallery, -and he, I am bound to say, was content with much silence as we sat in -the large, cool rooms on that hot May day. - -Later on, when he was showing me what to admire, I would teaze him by -pointing to some atrocity in Art, and say: “That is what I really -like.” But not that day. - -And when the hour came for me to return to the boarding-house, I think -his sole thought was upon the contriving of our next meeting. As we -passed the British Museum--he looked up at the windows of my brother’s -rooms facing it, and said: “Sheridan Knowles’ ‘Hunchback,’ you said.” - -“Yes,” I replied. “And I do Julia and Mr. Jameson Master Walter. But it -may all fall through because he can’t find a man for the lover. It is -desolating.” - -I can recall the slow look he gave me; but then he smiled and said: -“Is that what you would say in your foreign tongues?” - -I got cured of such expressions later on, but that day I think I was -ashamed of my careless speech, for I knew better; and I shook hands -with him with a sense of disappointment as the slavey opened the door -into the dingy brown hall. Had I been too flippant and free to please -such a clever man? - -That evening, however, when I went to the rehearsal in Great Russell -Street, Mr. Comyns Carr was there; of course he had offered himself to -play that lover’s part. He was busy enough--though not so busy -as he had been before I knew him, when reading for his Law Scholarship -at the London University. He had, in fact, if I remember rightly, just -returned from his first experience on the Northern Circuit and was -beginning to supplement his earnings at the Bar by literary efforts. -But he was not too busy for this adventure, and there followed three -weeks of rehearsals under Mr. Jameson’s management, during which -my assets for the stage were calmly discussed, Mr. Jameson declaring -that they were good, and finally winning my brother’s consent to -the bidding of his theatrical friends--John Hare among them--to decide -the question. - -But Joe always pooh-poohed the notion. - -And when I said: “Well, I’m going to earn enough to keep -me in London somehow. I’m not going back to that dead-alive -life at home!” he only said cryptically, “There are other -ways.” - -I think I was a bit huffed at the time and crowed when a lightly spoken -word of praise came to me presently from a very authoritative quarter. - -For one day, as we sat resting from our labours in one of the window -seats of the beautiful Adams room where Burne-Jones had once painted -and that Whistler had not long left, a light rap fell on the door and a -voice long loved by us all called out: “Anybody at home?” -as the radiant face of Ellen Terry peeped merrily in upon us. - -There was little work done that day; but our stage manager, whose old -friend she was, bade me speak one of my speeches, and she said: “A -good carrying voice, and she finishes her words.” No merit to me, who -had been bred in a land where folk open their throats and where I had -heard cultivated English only; but I was naturally flattered and, when -“the night” came and I was awkward and terrified and John Hare smiled -pleasant nothings and my kindly, ambitious stage-manager’s ardour was -damped, I might have been sore cast down but that a new excitement and -glamour had flashed into my life. - -Joe Carr’s “way” was carving its straight course. - -Many a time I had been caught wandering aimlessly up Gower Street -pretending a shopping excursion and swearing that I had not seen him on -the opposite pavement, and many a half-hour had we both pretended to -enjoy the Elgin Marbles in the British Museum, but in truth it was only -three weeks after that theatrical performance when I put my key one day -into the door of the Dispensary over which were those historic rooms -and felt rather than saw a figure behind me, and knew that the great -moment had come for me and that I was to be carried off my feet. - -As once before he said: “May I come in?” And I answered -nothing and left the key in the door (of which I never heard the end), -and he followed me up to the big studio where we were to spend the -first year of our wedded life. - -I had come there that day for a singing lesson from Mr. Jameson and, -when he returned presently, I am sure he guessed no more than we did -that in four months he would be in America and would have rented his -rooms to us for our first home. - - - - -CHAPTER II - -THE HOME OF BOYHOOD - - -So from that day there was no more dingy boarding-house for me: my -betrothed took me to his parents’ house at Clapham, where I well -remember the courtly words: “I hear I have to congratulate my son -Joe” with which I was received by his father. - -Small blame would it have been to parents, ambitious for the -advancement of their children, had they only seen in me a foreign -adventuress without credentials coming to snatch one of the flowers of -their flock; yet instead of that, most generously was I welcomed to a -home of which I have never seen the like; and if sometimes bewildered -and always non-plussed by the free-and-easy give and take and the -wonderful argumentative capacity of that large and variously gifted -family--I felt out of it--my lover was always unobtrusively protecting, -and the artist-sister who had always shared his tastes and sympathized -with his ambitions, often held out a kindly hand to help me up the -steep places. - -But they were few: the sunny places, full of real romance, of utter -confidence in our future--rash as it might appear to prudent -elders--bright with his radiant enthusiasms and his fine ambitions, are -the things that cannot fade from my memory. - -In those days much verse was written not then intended for publication, -but some of which has seen the light since. - -The typical gathering, of the large family, presided over by the wise -father whose “Landmarks, boys”! from the head of the table -generally calmed any storm, was most often one of obstinate argument -and fierce word-fights, and stands out now as the proper school where -the keen critical faculty and the gift of ready repartee for which many -friends now remember Joe Carr, were first forged and perfected. - -And, be it noted, that however sanguinary the fight, there was never -any malice, never any after ill-will among the combatants: generous -natures and a Celtic sense of humour prevented that--not a little -helped by the complete freedom of arena left by the parents. - -The mother ruled her household as Victorian mothers did, and spared -neither pains nor expense for her son’s ambitions and her -daughters’ proper advancement in the world; she welcomed -their friends with courteous Irish welcome, however little many of -their tastes might be in harmony with her own; but she let them -talk unmolested and was content to keep her own counsel, while she -ministered lavishly to their creature comforts; and the father--a man -of few words but of strong character and clear insight--kept his own -views undisturbed. He had nevertheless more deeply, though probably -unconsciously, impressed them on his children, than his children then -guessed. He was a broad Liberal, and it is interesting to note that, in -days when we were even more insular than we are now, no fighter in the -cause of freedom was forbidden his house because he was a foreigner. -Under the auspices of Mr. Adam Gielgud--the son of a great Polish -refugee--patriots from many lands who had sought our shelter, found -their way to that hospitable roof. Pulski and Riciotti Garibaldi are -the only other names that recur to me, but there were more and they -were all welcome. Men of after note in the art world and in journalism -came also as friends of Joe’s or of his sister’s--shaken -together with charming Irish and hard-headed North country cousins. - -Many were the times when dinner had been ordered for six, and sixteen -would sit down at the long mahogany table, the polishing of which Mrs. -Carr supervised daily, laden with homely but abundant fare. - -But Joe made many other friends in town who never found time to -visit Clapham. In spite of his recent appointment as dramatic critic -to _The Echo_ his new friends were less among actors than among -painters--Burne-Jones and perhaps chiefest just then, Rossetti, -whose friendship he describes himself in _Some Eminent Victorians_. -Nevertheless he had met Henry Irving through the son of the Lyceum -manager, Mr. Bateman, and had often passionately praised him. - -To the girl fresh from the small English colony abroad it was all -vastly entertaining, though I did not realize then how much of a -figure my betrothed already was among the men of his time. Even the -gayer part of my girlhood--the summers spent at S. Moritz, which -my father had discovered, as a homely village in his yearly Alpine -tramp--bore little resemblance to London excitements. I had but rarely -seen the inside of a theatre and never a fine English actor, and my -first vision of Henry Irving in “The Bells,” is a haunting -memory still. - -This was in July, 1873. - -But this engrossing first season of mine had to be interrupted; for -Joe, having at last obtained a commission from one of the dailies for -holiday articles which would bring in a sum just sufficient to pay -his expenses, was whirled off to the Engadine by my brother to be -introduced to my parents as my suitor. - -In some ways a strange meeting on both sides: to Joe the restrictions -of a parson’s home--though greatly modified by the manner of -a foreign life--must have seemed a contrast to the methodical yet -easy-going Clapham household; to my parents the reckless courage -of my lover’s plan of life, his bold enthusiasms and gay -self-confidence must have been--to my father, at all events--somewhat -startling. But my brother was a bit of an autocrat in the family -circle and knew the position which Joe was likely to win in the London -world of letters; my sister, a very young girl, kept the ball rolling -merrily on the lighter side, while my mother quickly discovered deep -points of sympathy with her would-be son-in-law, and the two would sit -on the terrace of our mountain home, looking on the green lake with -the snow-capped peaks cleaving an indigo sky, and quote Wordsworth -contentedly. To the end of her life they understood one another; but -even my father came to recognise the value of a fine character above -creeds. Certain it is that Joe was as much pleased with the Italian -cooking of the maid who sat on the sofa with the dish in her hands -while waiting for him to ask for a second helping, as he was surprised -at my brother advising him not to borrow a postage stamp when five -minutes later my father proposed to settle a small yearly sum upon me -which would enable us to marry as soon as Joe had any fixed income -whatsoever. - -As often later, his personality had won, his incurable optimism and -self-confidence had inspired the confidence of my parents, and it was -not misplaced. They made the speedy marriage which, he insisted, could -alone lead him to success, just possible: economy and courage did the -rest--the courage which never forsook him. For as I look over his -letters--written to me in later years when some one of his many bold -ventures had not succeeded like another--I find the cheerful phrase -recurring: “Don’t be afraid; there’s a lot of fight left in me yet.” - -Upon that--safest and most enduring of all incomes--we set sail without -a vestige of misgiving upon the sea of life; and I’m thankful to -say that I never was “afraid.” - -But it was this early marriage that led Joe for a second time, as he -tells in his _Reminiscences_, to change his profession, and gradually, -and to the distress of his legal friends, to forsake the Bar for the -more immediately remunerative work of literature. I well recollect his -joyful announcement to me of his appointment as Art Critic to the _Pall -Mall Gazette_--the beginning of a long period of many-sided association -with Frederick Greenwood; and that slender certainty of income provided -the condition imposed by my father: our wedding day was fixed. - - - - -CHAPTER III - -MARRIAGE - - -We were married in Dresden, where my father had taken a temporary -chaplaincy. - -Joe had a merry journey out from England with Mr. Jameson and a gentle -but less intellectual friend who was to act as best man. - -I was told later of this friend’s innocent boast of conversion to free -thought and of Joe’s quick reply: “Why, then, you’ll have plenty of -time to think.” But this sterner remark was not in his usual vein, -and much oftener I think he pleased his two friends by his immediate -sympathy with free foreign manners, most especially those of the -French, who always had the first place in his affections as contrasted -with “bulgy-necked Germans whose poverty-stricken tongue” forced -them to call a thimble a “finger hat” and a glove a “hand-shoe,” and -decreed that three men must order their baths as “drei.” I must add -in his defence that he never could speak or read the language; it was -his mother wit that pulled him through difficulties. Once when alone -in Dresden he was driven to ask his way in the words of a well-known -song and, even at that time, was probably set down as an insolent -Englishman for the intimate pronoun in his “Kennst du das Sidonien -Strasse”? - -What treatment would he receive now and how would he take it? - -But his two friends were German scholars and good cicerones, and led -him safely to the Hotel de Saxe on the morning of December 15th, 1873, -where my father married us in the presence of a newly arrived British -ambassador. - -There was some obvious raillery, to which Joe nimbly responded, in -consequence of that pleni-potentiary remarking, with grim humour, that -he wondered if these marriages were really valid; but the gentleman -took the best precautions available in requiring the legal part of -the ceremony to take place on the “British ground” of his -small, temporary hotel room, and there, both of us kneeling on two -little sofa cushions, the ring was put upon my finger. - -My father, however, naturally wanted to “finish us off” in -the English Church, and I remember my shyness when I saw the uninvited -crowd which had assembled there--I was told afterwards to see what a -high-art wedding dress would be like! - -Joe declared that they expected it to be scanty; if so they must have -been disappointed that the folds of my soft brocade, fashioned after my -artist sister-in-law’s design and approved by my husband, were -much more ample than was the mode of the day. - -How much have we changed since the Morris vogue! - -I don’t think I minded then being the centre of observation, even -though I may have guessed it was fraught with adverse criticism--not -wholly, as I now think, undeserved. - -But in the friendly little party that assembled in our modest home to -wish us God-speed there was no adverse criticism, and we went off to -Leipzig for our honeymoon _en route_ for England and work, without any -of the fatiguing excitement of a society assembly. - -Joe’s graceful little speech in reply to congratulations was -quite the merriest note of the simple festivities. - -I daresay the wine at that table was not wholly worthy of the palate -for which Joe had already acquired a reputation among his London -friends; but when we reached Leipzig I remember his ordering a bottle -of the celebrated Johannesberg for our wedding dinner. Possibly he may -have told a sympathetic _bon viveur_ of this afterwards; anyhow our -first dinner invitation on our return to London was to the house of a -wealthy bachelor who produced a bottle of the (ostensibly) same wine -with the dessert. Unluckily, Joe, on being pressed to praise it, said -with his usual candour: “Well, my dear fellow, you gave us such -excellent claret during dinner that you have spoiled my palate for -this!” - -The laugh that followed compensated for an ominous frown on the brow of -our rather peppery host, who was however placated by one of the guests -recalling an occasion on which Joe had mortified the famous proprietor -of a famous eating-house by forcing him to admit a mistake in serving, -later in the dinner, an inferior brand of the wine supplied at first. - -Two days of lazy sight-seeing in the fine old German town, and then on -we travelled; and a cold journey we had of it! But Joe’s spirits -were equal to every _contretemps_: even when we were turned out at a -dreary frontier junction in the middle of the night to await a slow -train, although we had paid first class fare and had been told there -was no change. - -There was but one other passenger in the train--a quiet, elderly -German, and when I translated to Joe the bullying official’s -assurance that this gentleman had agreed to waive his rights if we did -the same, he made me ask our fellow-traveller if this was the case. -Unwarily the gentleman admitted that he had been told the same thing -of us, and although I was unable to put all the epithets which Joe -applied to the lying official into colloquial German, I was buoyed up -to persuade the traveller to use some of them, with the result that a -special engine and first class carriage took us all three on to Paris -by the morning. Perhaps our unknown companion was a person in power. - -But in Paris fresh delays awaited us. When after two arduous but -cheerful days of some sight-seeing and a good deal of aimless and -delightful wandering and strange but equally pleasant meals in tiny -restaurants--we came to the Gare du Nord on our last day, Joe found -that he had not money enough to pay for tickets and luggage, and we -were obliged to return ignominiously to the hotel and borrow from our -best man--happily for us just arrived there on his own homeward route. - -Somehow we minded little, but we reached Clapham one day late for the -family Christmasing--arriving, indeed, when the turkey was already -on the table, and I think it took all Joe’s tact to win his -mother’s forgiveness. - -So that was the end of our one week’s wedding trip; it was back -to work and a busy time we had of it till our son Philip was about nine -months old. Then, by dint of Joe’s unceasing work and my economy -we found that we could allow ourselves a journey to Italy to stay with -the various friends of my girlhood. - -We called it our honeymoon--a belated one, like the gift of -a portrait-bust of our boy at three years old, which Joe -chaffed Miss Henrietta Montalba for presenting to us as a -“wedding-present.” But none the less a honeymoon for that, -though not of the conventional and luxurious type. - -Many a funny experience attended Joe’s efforts to pursue in travel the -economy which I had sternly sought to instil at home, and I am afraid -that he never again fully resumed the good habit from which he then -first broke away. Economy was not one of his virtues--was he not the -son of an Irish-woman? But, then, generosity was. Burne-Jones once -asked him why he took a cab to drive down the Strand, and he said it -came cheaper, because if he walked he was sure to give half a crown to -some former “stage-hand.” Yet when another day Burne-Jones himself was -deceived by a plausible story and Joe cried in reproof: “Can’t you see -that it’s only acting?” Burne-Jones replied: “Well, my dear, I’ve paid -ten-and-six to see worse.” - -But in the days of our first foreign trip my extravagant husband was -still “trying to be good.” - -I remember his taking the English prescription for a sedative to a -small chemist on Lago Maggiore, whom he described as the alchymist in -_Romeo and Juliet_; but when the dose, which at home represented about -two tablespoonfuls, arrived in a straw covered quart “fiasco,” he -preferred a night’s toothache to venturing on it. - -As representing his sympathetic understanding of one side of the -Italian character, I might cite our going into the quaintest of -curiosity shops in an old town where we had to wait at a junction, and -his tendering a cheque in payment of a trifling purchase. I am bound -to say he confessed afterwards that he had only bought me the trinket -in the faint hope of getting the change he needed and that he was -as surprised as I was to see the ox-eyed little hunchback unearth a -beautiful ancient casket and hand him from it the gold required. - -Possibly the timid request having come from me in the man’s own dialect -may have helped to confirm the impression of “good faith” given by -Joe’s candid countenance; but he did naturally count on me; and on a -different occasion when he was obstinately trying to drive a bargain -with an unwisely grasping _vetturino_, his delight was great at the -sudden drop of five francs in the demand of the astounded plunderer -upon hearing his own vernacular from my indignant English lips. - -There were many times when Joe would have none of my help. When we -were staying on the Riviera he would go every day into the town in the -rattling little omnibus that plied along the dusty road, succeeding -by sheer kindred _bonhomie_ in making friends with the drivers and -rejoicing at the abusive epithet of “ugly microbe” suggested by some -late epidemic, with which they used at the time merrily to bombard one -another. - -His best crony amongst the friends of my childhood was the old priest -of our Apennine village who had taught me the piano when I was a little -girl, in exchange--as he always averred--for my instruction in my own -tongue. - -I’m afraid his conversational English was little credit to me -and not much better than Joe’s Italian, although the old man was -a scholar and had taught himself enough, with occasional help from my -father, to read Shakespeare in the original. - -He pronounced the name with every vowel broad and separate, as in his -Latin; this was easy in that case, but when he wanted to tell which -were his “four favourite poets”--in which list he included -musicians--he was sore put to it for the pronunciation of Byron, -Beethoven and Bach. - -But Joe taught him more than I had done at ten years old, for which the -old man upbraided me again as he would have done in my baby days. - -I can see him standing in his shabby cassock beneath his pergola with -the sun filtering through the vines on to the hanging bunches of purple -fruit, and shaking his finger at me with mock solemnity as of yore. - -“When she was four years old she told me I spoke English like a -Spanish cow,” said he, quoting a Genoese proverb. “But she -taught me badly.” - -And then he related--what I refused at first to translate--how he had -had to whip me for stealing his currants. - -“Grapes she might have had--but English currants, they require -_watering_.” - -And grapes _we_ had too, as many as we could devour. In their natural -form Joe could pluck and eat them gladly too; but when it came to -the sour wine which the _Prevosto_ had made from them and with which -he served him at table, I am bound to confess that my husband risked -disgracing me by spilling it on the brick floor when his host’s -back was turned; and on one occasion he even went so far as to pour -a whole half _fiasco_ through the little window which separated the -refectory from the church, where he bespattered the marble pavement -behind the high altar. - -But these delinquencies remained a secret, and “Giò” became -the old man’s loved and patient instructor and friend. - -“Tor bay or not tor bay,” I seem to hear him painfully enunciating: -and then Joe finishing Hamlet’s familiar soliloquy in slow, even tones -as they passed up the vineyards. Pleasant climbs they were through -sweeping chestnut-woods and beside trickling trout-streams that grew -to rushing torrents after a thunderstorm; climbs that ended perhaps at -some mountain sanctuary whence the white cities of the plain could be -seen beyond a sea of gently lowering ridges and crests; or sometimes -only at some hamlet beside the stony bed of the wandering river, -where the old man would bid him wait while he mumbled his “Office” or -went in “to see an ill” in one of the thatched cottages adorned with -hanging fringe of golden maize-cones that cluster around the village -fountain. It was here that one evening, when I had been my husband’s -companion, the village sempstress came forth to greet us--she who had -made my own and my sister’s new cotton frocks on that great occasion -when the _Prevosto_ had begged for us, as the “cleanest children in the -village,” to strew flowers before the Archbishop when he came for the -Confirmation. - -I reminded the old priest of it and he said: “Yes, yes! -And the Archbishop asked if you were Protestants and I answered -‘Certainly! but their parents did not refuse because we are -Catholics: we all pray to the same God.’” - -The sempstress was old when Joe saw her and so stout that the great -scissors that hung from her vast apron bobbed as she moved; but she was -handsome still and gracious with the graciousness of a duchess; I well -recollect Joe’s comment on it. - -The laughing girls who clustered round us in wonder pinched his calves, -perhaps to see if they were padded, though their excuse to old Teresa’s -sharp and quick reprimand was that they only wanted to feel “the -beautiful real English wool” of his shooting stockings. - -Joe had not objected, but she was not placated, and bade the hussies be -off while she invited us into her dwelling. - -A girl sat at the hand-loom, rapidly moving her bare brown feet and -flinging the shuttle to and fro for the weaving of the sheeting, a -completed length of which lay beside her ready to be bleached on the -stones by the river. - -Joe wanted to hear about it from her, for her eyes were “like the -fish pools of Heshbon”; but she jumped up at the mistress’s -bidding and he lost interest in weaving; I think he would even have -tasted the sour wine which she presently brought on a copper tray if I -had not quickly invented a polite fiction to the effect that Englishmen -never drink anything but tea in the afternoon. - -A slice of chestnut cake we were forced to accept from the elder -woman’s hospitable hand as she asked my husband’s name. I remember the -charming bow with which she turned to him after she had heard it and -said: “_O che bel San Guiseppe!_” and his equally charming recognition -of her pretty compliment. - -Irish and Italian--there was some subtle affinity always between -them--the grave and the gay, the superstitious and the Pagan, as _he_ -said--and he was positively confused when she observed that his golden -beard and fair, curling hair were just like the St. Joseph’s in -the Church. It was a merry run we had down through the chestnut woods -and a sweet walk by the river in the sunset, back to the Presbytery. - -Graver but none the less satisfactory was the appreciation given to -him by my old nurse, when we arrived presently in Genoa. She was of a -different type--refined, sensitive, serious even to sadness--with the -blight always on her of a foundling’s ignorance of parentage; but -devoted beyond all words and of a rare intelligence: Joe was impressed -with her and likened her to a female Dante. - -Yet the brighter types were more in accordance with his holiday mood: -when we were on a visit later at a mediaeval castle whose battlements -stand sheer above the sea and whose olive groves slope to a transparent -bay, he spent all the time not occupied by eating figs off the tree on -the Castle keep to playing with half-naked brown urchins on the quay of -the tiny fishing-port below. - -His first acquaintance with one of them was at dead of night when we -were alone in the weird old place and a hollow bell clanged suddenly -through the hot air. - -Joe got out of bed--his chief fear being lest the mosquitoes should -take the chance to get in under the sheltering net--and made his way -down a dark, vaulted passage to the outer gateway and what was once -the portcullis. A ragged boy stood there with a telegram: it was an -invitation which should have been delivered six hours before, but the -boy had walked five miles along a cliff in the dark and Joe rewarded -him so well that his fame was spread in the village and he never more -walked peacefully abroad. - -The little girls, however, were his chief pilferers: he could never -refuse their appealing black eyes. And some of them were fine -coquettes. I can see him now dancing a hornpipe on the quay with a -half-clad little maiden who presently signed to him to take off his -hat; the elaborate bow with which he did so, bidding me apologise to -her for the omission, was worthy of the producer of many subsequent -plays. - -The little incident recalls another of later date. - -Then it was in the Engadine that we were holiday-making. Mr. and Mrs. -Bancroft--as they then were--had invited us to lunch at the Campfer -Hotel and we had walked over from S. Moritz where we were lodged. - -As we came up the path through the pine-wood beside the rushing stream -we saw the famous little lady standing on the dusty road above to -welcome us; and Joe--his hat in his hand this time--began advancing -towards her executing his hornpipe step. - -To the entranced amazement of a few loungers, she picked up her -skirts in the prettiest way imaginable and immediately responded with -a pas-seul of her own--her little feet nimble as ever, till the two -met, laughing immoderately, in the middle of the highway just as the -diligence hove in sight. - - - - -CHAPTER IV - -HOME LIFE AND DRAMATIC CRITICISM - - -These latter incidents occurred some time after 1873. When we got -back to England after our Dresden wedding we took up our abode almost -immediately in the old Adams house in Great Russell Street. The two -rooms which Mr. Jameson sub-let to us were all that we could at first -obtain above the Dispensary, but they were large and quite sufficient -for the Bohemian life which was all that we could then afford; anyway -no subsequent home of ours was pleasanter and nothing was ever again so -little burthensome. - -At a long table by the door of the one large dwelling-room the old -couple who had been our predecessor’s factotums served our meals; and -around the handsome Adams chimney-piece at the other end, or in the -panelled window-seats looking on the restful façade of the British -Museum, we gathered Joe’s friends--they were all Joe’s friends--for a -“pipe and a chat.” - -And what chats they were! - -James Sime, the historian, kindliest of men with his Teutonic -philosophies and his deep Scottish sentiment and enthusiasm; Churton -Collins richly capping his host’s poetical quotations and -sometimes boldly challenged for an inaccuracy; W. Minto, afterwards -Professor of Literature at Aberdeen, who was just starting his -Editorship of _The Examiner_, and pressing Joe into the ranks of his -contributors; Camille Barrère, now French Ambassador in Rome, but then -a Communist refugee earning a living by London journalism, and of whose -friendship and instruction in French Joe tells himself; Frederick -Jameson and Beatty Kingston with their friends at piano and violin, -to say nothing of the colleagues with whom my husband had just become -associated in his work on _The Globe_ and of whom he again tells in his -_Eminent Victorians_. - -Dare I recall the evening when my husband proudly named me to Minto as -the writer of a little descriptive article which he had read in the -_Pall Mall Gazette_ and the consequent suggestion that I should do the -series of Italian sketches for _The Examiner_ which were afterwards -reprinted in a volume with Randolph Caldecott’s illustrations. - -Of course I should never have done even as much without their kindly -encouragement, but to the end of his life I think a good review of any -small effort of mine pleased Joe far more than one on his own serious -work. But I must admit criticism affected him little--never when it was -adverse and, in fact, only when it showed real insight. - -In his own merry manner he would say: “People always mean blame when -they talk of criticism. But I can _blame_ myself; all I want from -others is praise--fulsome praise.” And so it was! He had the need of it -which came of the Celtic blend of self-confidence and apprehensiveness. -Often have I heard him say of another of like blood: “He couldn’t -swim across the stream if he hadn’t our native conceit.” And then add -gravely: “Believe me, praise is the only sort of criticism that ever -helped a man on his road.” - -And in his own opportunities as critic and editor he always acted up to -this belief. - -In these rosy days of our early struggles and joys, the “first -nights” at which Joe was due in his capacity of dramatic critic -were red-letter days to me. - -The occasion when Ellen Terry first played Portia under the Bancroft -management of the famous little House in Tottenham Court Road was -one of them; I can see her again in her china-blue and white brocade -dress with one crimson rose at her bosom. Neither the fashion of the -dress or of the coiffure were perhaps as correct to the period as the -costumes which I designed for her later on for the better remembered -run of _The Merchant of Venice_ at the Lyceum; but how lovely she -looked and how emphatically Joe picked her out as the evening’s -star beside Coghlan’s Jew! Our hearts beat with pride at the -laurels often gathered by our friend, even in those early days before -her long list of triumphs with Henry Irving; and Joe, as we made our -way home, took some credit to himself for the vehement advice as to -her resuming her temporarily suspended career, which he had given her -a short while before. There were never any first-nights quite like the -Ellen Terry ones to us; but there were many pleasant and exciting -evenings--notably the nights of Irving’s remarkable performances -at a time when he was playing under the Bateman management in _The -Bells_, _The Two Roses_, and many other of his early successes; also -the famous runs of Robertson comedies at the little _Prince of Wales_ -theatre, where the charming Marie Bancroft was at the top of her long -popularity and John Hare’s delicate impersonations vied with his -manager’s carefully studied portraits of the dandy of the day. -Mrs. Kendal was also then at the height of her brilliant career, and -last but not least, the first performances of the Gilbert and Sullivan -operas were nights when the privilege of seats was not easily won. - -I can recall the first performance of _Iolanthe_, and the laughter that -shook the house when the wild applause at the close of the chorus: -“_Oh! Captain Shaw, true type of love kept under_,” at last -brought the Head of the Fire Brigade to the front of his box for an -instant. - -Yet all our first nights were not “great nights,” when--as a -fellow-critic once remarked to Joe--“Strong men shook hands with -strangers.” Sometimes they were even dull; on one occasion so much so -as to draw from one of the critics an unusually caustic bit of advice: -“We are told that so-and-so is a promising young actor,” he wrote, -“personally I don’t care how much he promises so long as he never again -performs.” - -For my part I confess that the theatre was still so new to me that I -looked forward to any first night with pleasant palpitation, though -my best frock was no doubt reserved for the choicest prospects. But -to Joe, possibly the duty of writing the prescribed amount on a -thoroughly poor piece grew irksome; and when, as on the occasion of -the production of F. C. Burnand’s _The Colonel_, his friends and -their serious work were the butt of boisterous hilarity, I know his -loyalty found it difficult not to retort, as he apparently did in the -article alluded to in the following correspondence. - -It must have been written at the moment when the campaign against -so-called “high art” was at its zenith, and had amused the -public as it would probably not do to-day; I should not quote it, but -for the urbane humour of Joe’s rejoinder to the (temporarily) -incensed author. - - _Feb. 22, 1881._ - - “DEAR CARR, - - I have heard that you do the _Saturday Review_ theatrical criticisms. - Did you do that on _The Colonel_? if so I am anxious to know if - you ever read _Un Mari à la Campagne_; also to ask where the puns - are in my piece? I admit three, put in _carefully_ into the right - peoples’ mouths--the right puns in the right places. - - Why is it a farce? Unless _She stoops to Conquer_ is a farce. Where - are the evidences of high animal spirits in my play? I don’t - pretend to quote your article verbatim but this is my impression of - its purport. Had I known at the time that it was your writing I should - have tackled you at once; first because I think you are wrong, second - because if you are not, I am, and I wish to be put right. I should - like to hear your suggestions for the improvement of Act III. where - you think I have bungled ‘into seriousness.’ - - I shouldn’t have taken the trouble to write if I hadn’t - been told that you were the critic who in a friendly way - pooh-pooh’d the notion of _The Colonel_ being a comedy. I - am aware that Dr. Johnson set down _She stoops, etc._ as a farce, - and farcical to a degree its plot is, but not its characters. - _The Colonel_ I contend is comedy--farcical neither in plot _nor_ - characters. - - Yours truly, - F. C. BURNAND (anxious to learn).” - - 19, BLANDFORD SQUARE, N.W., - _February 24th, 1881_. - - “DEAR BURNAND, - - I do not as a rule write the Dramatic Criticism for the _Saturday - Review_, only when the regular critic is away; but you are right in - supposing that I am the author of the article on _The Colonel_. - - Your letter was a surprise to me. I liked _The Colonel_ and thought I - had said as much: but I liked it in my own way and I am not going to - be bullied out of my admiration by the modesty of the author. - - I thought it a brightly written farce with a rather weak last act. You - tell me, and of course you ought to know, that it is not a farce but a - comedy: but if I were to adopt your classification I should not like - it at all, and I want to like it if you will let me--in my own way. - - You ask where the puns are and in the same breath you tell me where - they are. There are three of them you say, and they are all in the - right places. But I never hinted, my dear fellow, that they were not - in the right places. On the contrary it was your gravity not your - humour I found to be in the wrong place. You ask me again where are - the evidences of high animal spirits in your play; after your letter I - shall begin to doubt my recollections, but I had certainly thought the - interest of the play was mainly supported by its high spirits. To be - able to keep a wildly extravagant notion alive for the space of three - acts, demands I think an ample supply of animal spirits. But is it a - crime to have high animal spirits? I thought it was only the gloomy - apostle of high art who loathed hilarity. - - I haven’t the faintest objection to your tackling me, as you - call it, but you must give me leave to speak freely. When I hear you - say that _The Colonel_ is farcical neither in plot nor characters, I - begin seriously to wonder whether your letter is not altogether a form - of practical joke. - - I will not let myself be diverted by your allusions to _She Stoops to - Conquer_. The suggested resemblance had not, I confess, occurred to - me; there seem to me many differences between the two works but this - is rather a question for posterity. - - If, however, you insist on taking Goldsmith into your skiff it will - not be thought presumption on my part if I choose my place in Dr. - Johnson’s heavier craft. I would prefer, however, to take - your own account of your work. Not farcical in plot or character! - Surely your career as a humourist has been fed by the rarest and most - delightful experience, if it has brought you into contact with the - kind of man who would be driven to the verge of immorality by a dado! - No, I can’t think you serious!” - -Here my copy--the rough one of the letter sent--comes to an end; and I -have not F. C. Burnand’s further reply. - -But it is good to remember that there was never any breach between -the friends; I find a scenario by Burnand for a children’s -Christmas play--evidently sent to Joe about the time when he produced -Buchanan’s version of the _Pied Piper of Hamlin_ at the Comedy -Theatre with Lena Ashwell--still a student at the Royal Academy of -Music--acting and singing the girl’s part. - -And from a much later period I can quote the following further proof of -unimpaired friendship in a letter written to thank Joe for having been -largely instrumental in getting up the dinner given to Burnand on his -withdrawal from the editorship of _Punch_. - - - GROSVENOR HOTEL, - LONDON, S.W., - _June 11th, 1911_. - - “MY DEAR CARR, - - I cannot thank you sufficiently for all you have done in this matter - which would never have resulted in the great success it undoubtedly - achieved but for the first generous impetus which set the ball in - motion, and for the continued well directed shoves that kept it - rolling. - - Without your speech the entertainment would have been comparatively - flat; but your speech opened a fresh bottle and infused a fresh life. - - Yours most sincerely, - F. C. BURNAND.” - - -Apropos of Lena Ashwell, I may say that Joe was then so much struck -with her talent for acting that he persuaded her to leave the musical -profession, for which she was being trained, and gave her the part of -_Elaine_ in his _King Arthur_, shortly afterwards produced by Henry -Irving at the Lyceum Theatre. - -I set down these trivial memories as they recur to me, sprinkled over -many a year of work and of anxieties, but of much merriment and many -joys. But, taking up the thread of the first year of our married life, -I recall an amusing incident which bore some pleasant consequences. - -Joe, as was often the case, had sat up writing his dramatic criticism -after I, tired with the still thrilling excitement of some “first -night,” had gone to bed. - -He had posted his article and was sleeping the sleep of the just, when -our hoary retainer mercilessly awakened him early next morning with the -words: “Gentleman on business, Sir!” - -He donned a dressing-gown and went down none too willingly, to find an -unknown little Scot below, who briefly stated that he was empowered by -the proprietors of some Encyclopaedia to offer him a goodly fee for -a short life of--I think it was--Rossetti; but that owing to another -writer having disappointed the Editor at the eleventh hour the copy -must be delivered in three days. - -Joe was full of work, but the sum was too princely to be refused by a -man who knew that shortly he would have to feed an extra mouth; the -impossible was achieved, there was not even time to see a proof--and I -well remember Joe, when telling his tale to a friend, confessing his -relief that he had never come across that volume, and could only hope -that no one else ever had either. - -The cheque, at all events, he _did_ see, and with a part of it we went -to Derbyshire for our first country holiday. And a wild, happy holiday -it was! - -We lodged in the roughest of cottages in a tiny village near the Isaac -Walton Hotel, where Joe had contrived to get some fishing rights. With -what enthusiasm did he show me the haunts of his boyish holidays, the -scenes of fishing adventures and of great walks with early comrades! - -But that cheque from the Scottish publishers contributed to other -things besides a holiday. In the November of that year our son, Philip, -was born. Strange now to think that he, who was in France throughout -the Great War, should have had a German for his first nurse, and that -before he could speak he could hum many a Volkslied--an accomplishment -which his proud nurse and mother made him show off to our musical -friend, Mr. Jameson, who indeed even insisted on testing his intonation -on the piano. - -Other distinguished folk gathered around his cradle in the big studio. -I can see Ellen Terry nursing him in one of the wainscoted window-seats -and so apparently carelessly in one arm while she made wide gestures -with the other to emphasize some point she was discussing with my -husband--that I, nervous young mother, was forced to cry out at last: -“Oh, Nell! Take care of my baby.” - -Upon which she, in a tone of commiserating reproof, replied: -“Now, Alice, do you suppose I need teaching how to hold a -child?” - -Anyone who has seen her do it--even on the stage--knows very well that -she did not. - -So the discussion went on and I even remember the subject: for it was -just when she was weighing the offer of a fresh engagement on the -stage, upon which she had only then appeared in extreme youth. Joe gave -his advice emphatically, though he had never seen her act then and did -not know upon what a future that door would open. - -The opportunity was to be the production of her old friend Charles -Reade’s _Wandering Heir_. The caste was not strong, and it was -not wonderful that “Nell” scored a success; but I think -Joe saw more than most people in that first night at the Queen’s -Theatre when he rushed out between the acts and returned with a rather -damaged bouquet, the only one left in Covent Garden, which he presently -threw at her feet. - -It was the first of many a “first night” when he watched -her--critical, as it was his business to be, but sympathetic and -enthusiastic always. There was no limit to his praise, for instance, of -her pathetic portrayal of _Ophelia_: nor of his immediate appreciation -of that moment in her otherwise tender impersonation of _Olivia_ -in _The Vicar of Wakefield_ when she strikes the young Squire on -discovering his treachery. But these were only two out of many -thrilling “first nights” of her earlier engagements when -I sat beside him, my perfect enjoyment not even hampered, as in later -years at the Lyceum, by my anxiety respecting the proper finishing and -donning of the dresses which I had designed for her. - -But that day in Great Russell Street, even Joe, always nervous about -the children, thought more of our first born. To me her reproof -had been convincing; I never again feared Ellen Terry as the safe -and tender guardian of my children; indeed she first taught me -much delicate observation of infants, but Joe--often terrified -about them--believed in no advice save that of his mother, who had -borne thirteen and reared eleven; yet upon one point my shrewd -Irish mother-in-law, with her always wise but sometimes wittily -caustic advice, and the more indulgent artist were agreed, viz. -that--as our country butcher delighted Joe by saying about his -live “meat”--babies, though disciplined, should be “humoured -not druv.” - -Although nervous in moments of crisis Joe was, however, always calm and -competent; but he generally managed to relieve the situation with his -own irrepressible spirits at the earliest possible moment, and many a -comic tale hangs round the strange doings of an incapable old Gamp who -tended me at the birth of my second child. - -He would lure her with the seemingly innocent question: “Sweetened or -unsweetened gin, Mrs. Peveril?” knowing well that the spirit was needed -for friction and that “Peveril of the Peak” (otherwise hook-nosed) as -he had named her, would “rise” every time and answer demurely: “I’m -sure _I_ don’t know, Sir. I never tasted neither.” - -Luckily the old lady was neither sharp enough to see nor thin-skinned -enough to mind; but who ever minded Joe’s wit? Though it was keen -enough at times, the urbanity behind it shone through too well. - -Even his wife was a willing target--and a good one. As Edward -Burne-Jones used kindly to say when they had both tried me on their -favourite theme and taken me in over a Dickens quotation: “There -never was anybody who rose better than the dear lady.” Yet I -maintain that it needs a profound student of the master to know that he -has created an obscure character named “Pip,” other than -the human boy in _Great Expectations_. - -Well, many is the _bon mot_ to which I helped my husband. - -When I declared myself nervous over my part in private theatricals at -my father’s house in Canterbury, I can hear him say: “You -are surely not bothering your head about two half-pay officers and a -rural dean?” - -And one day at a picnic, commenting on a criticism of a sturdy -Irish uncle as to “not wanting these slight figures at all, -at all,” Joe gave me the sound advice not to sit upon a rock -“lest diamond cut diamond.” - -We were all young then and things that may seem truly foolish now made -the company laugh; it is more remarkable that the radiant personality, -the inexhaustible animal spirits and rare sense of humour should -have survived years of hard work and still have shone forth after the -prostration of illness. - -When scarcely recovered from a serious attack, Joe told me -one morning of a dream that he had had, which--as Mr. W. J. -Locke has remarked--contained such a “lightning flash of -characterization” that it is hard to believe it came to him in -sleep. - -“I dreamed,” he said, “that Squire Bancroft brought -me some grapes,” and as he removed the paper from the basket he said, -“White, Joe; when the case is serious I never bring black.” - -All through his illness, when increasing weakness and the -inconveniences arising from the Great War forced him to an uncongenial -life at sea-side resorts, his wit still bubbled up unbidden, as the -following letter testifies. The boarding-house in which it was written -did not afford exactly sympathetic society, yet on the Christmas -Day that we spent there he offered to give the company a little -“talk” if they cared to listen; and from his armchair, he -chatted for half an hour to a crowded lounge on the eminent men whom -he had known, interspersed with many a flash of fun appropriate to the -hour and received with bursts of laughter by the simple circle. - -“ ... We are comfortable enough here,” he wrote to his -daughter, “and there is entertainment furnished by some of the -types, both in their physique and in their intellectual equipment. Some -of the older females are designed and constructed with “dangerous -salients in their lines,” everything occurring in unexpected -places, and only dimly suggesting the original purpose of the Creator. -One or two are of stupendous girth with hollows and protuberances that -suggest some primeval landscape subjected to volcanic action.” - -Thus with the same humorous and kindly eye on the world as when he -had been the welcome entertainer of a more brilliant society, he -lightened the days--very heavy to him--of national anxiety, and with a -contentment rather wonderful in the typical Londoner, alternated the -few possible hours of patient literary labour with a cheerful delight -in the beauties of the place. - -“I wonder if the present difficulty in getting out of England -will make us appreciate it better,” he said as we stood one -evening on the pier looking towards old Hastings. “If we were -abroad we should say that medieval castle against the sunset was a -wondrous fine sight.” - -So did he still exemplify his life-long belief often expressed in the -words: “How can people be dull when they’re alive?” - - - - -CHAPTER V - -JOURNALISM AND LETTERS - - -My husband has given some account of his days at the Bar in his own -_Reminiscences_. I shall, therefore, not touch on that part of his -career, as it was practically ended before I knew him--the necessity of -earning daily grist for the mill having carried him entirely into the -ranks of journalism. - -I believe he got through a quite unusual amount of work in that -profession. Many an evening did I put back our little dinner while -he rushed off to Euston to give his copy of Art Criticism for the -_Manchester Guardian_ into the hands of the guard for early morning -delivery: he wrote on the same subject for the _Pall Mall Gazette_ and -the _Art Journal_, and what with criticism and social articles for the -_Saturday Review_ and _World_, he was never in bed till long after -midnight. - -It must have been about this time that he took me with him to Paris for -a short so-called holiday while he wrote his criticism for the _Pall -Mall Gazette_ on the _Salon_ of the year. - -A gladsome time it was in that most smiling of cities in spring. There -was a day on which a cry of dismay arose from our party--including his -fellow-worker and old friend, Adam Gielgud with his wife--when a letter -arrived from Edmund Yates refusing to let Joe off his weekly article in -the series of Skits on the London newspapers which were then attracting -attention in the _World_--I think the topic for that week was _The Old -Maid of Journalism_ (“The Spectator”) and perhaps that dignified lady -received a more caustic drubbing than she would otherwise have had -because of the distaste with which he set to his task. - -Cheerful meals in the humblest of restaurants--whenever we could run -to it, in the excellent Café Gaillon--now the fashionable _Henry_, but -then of far simpler ambitions; merry meetings at the house of that good -comrade of Joe’s of whom he tells the tale of exchanged French -and English lessons at _Kettner’s_ restaurant in London, and -lastly a gorgeous feast in the suburban home of a fellow contributor -to _L’Art_, to both of which festivities my sister, Mrs. -Harrison--then Alma Strettell--was bidden as being of our party. - -Both occasions were a pleasant peep into Parisian bourgeois life. Our -first host was eager to show that he could give us a _gigot_ of mutton -as well roasted as in London, and sorely crestfallen was the poor -man when the little joint came to table black as a cinder and blue -when cut. Joe quickly made capital out of the catastrophe, however, -by declaring that one didn’t come to Paris to eat home fare, -and that it served his friend right for putting his cook to such an -unworthy task. - -Our second entertainment, though we did not meet such intellectual -company as the distinguished writers on the _Temps_ and the _Débats_, -who so courteously helped Joe to express brilliant ideas in daringly -lame French and paid such charming court to my sister and myself, -was more typical of its class; for, although the young couple of the -house were our entertainers, the old couple were our hosts, and it was -wondrous and delightful to see the respectful attitude of the son and -his wife to the parents and the undisputed supremacy which they held -from their two ends of the long table set out under the trees of the -flower-laden May. - -A rushing week it was, into which my sister and I crammed much -enthralling shopping. I can see now Joe’s reproachful face at the door -of the café where we had kept him waiting half an hour for _déjeuner_ -after his hot and tiring morning’s work at the _Salon_. I made a -shameless excuse to the effect that we had secured many “occasions” -(bargains). And as I gave him a toothbrush which he had asked me to -buy, he said: “Is this an ‘occasion’ too? I’d rather have a punctual -meal than an occasional toothbrush!” - -Merry hours but very far from idle ones, and he reaped an additional -and unexpected reward for his labours when we got home. - -We had been bidden to a cricket match at his old school the day after -our return, where, in virtue of his old rank of Captain of the Eleven, -he was to play as a visitor; and I seem to see the boyish blush of -satisfaction with which he told his beloved master--Dr. Birkbeck -Hill--that it was he and no leader-writer on the _Times_, as was -rumoured, who was writing those humorous articles on the newspapers for -the _World_. - -My husband has told so much of the tale of his early journalistic days -in his _Eminent Victorians_ that I find little to add; but I remember -a curious incident in the fine old room at Great Russell Street when -George Hake--Dante Gabriel Rossetti’s secretary--came one day, -ostensibly “on his own,” to have a talk with him on the -series of papers on painters of the day, appearing above the signature -of “Ignotus,” but of which the authorship had leaked out. - -Joe has told, in _Coasting Bohemia_, of the rift in his friendship with -Rossetti over these articles, and a sad tale it is. Mr. Hake fancied -that Rossetti would like to see his friend’s bride, but, alas! -he was taking too much on himself, for the visit never came off. But -Rossetti was at that time already an invalid and was not to be counted -upon. - -It must have been some time after this that the French proprietors of -that luxurious publication, _L’Art_, invited Joe to run a London -office for its sale, in connection with which he afterwards started -an English version--_Art and Letters_--edited and largely written by -himself. - -Many funny incidents group themselves around the person of the French -proprietor, whose English, though insistently fluent, was of the -lamest, and I think Joe sometimes led him on in the expectation of some -pleasant malapropism. - -“How are you now?” he would ask, when the poor gentleman had “suffered -the sea.” - -“Only ’alf and ’alf, my friend,” the Frenchman would reply. “But I -must back tonight. I make my trunk at four.” And his apt _mots_ on the -super-sensitive lady-assistant who “always begin to tear for nothing” -and “forgive never man that he ’ave not married her” afforded Joe -continual delight. - -But a courtlier host than that Frenchman never existed. He would -entertain us royally at the old _Maison Dorée_ when we went to Paris -though he ate but little himself and always preferred the humbler Café -Duval; so little, in fact, was he in accord with most men of his nation -upon the food question that, when Joe gave him the usual fish dinner at -Greenwich, he was naturally dismayed at the explanation, after several -courses had been passed by, of “_Mon ami, je ne mange jamais du -poisson_.” - -_Art and Letters_, though an artistic was not a financial success, -but it may have led to the one of his many adventures of which he -was perhaps the most proud: the planning and editing, at the request -of Messrs. Macmillan, of their beautiful magazine, the _English -Illustrated_. - -He has spoken so well himself of his pleasant intercourse with the men -who worked for him--struggling men in those days but known to fame -since--that there is little left for me to record, save to note that -among the many tributes from his many friends I prize not least those -of his collaborators of that time, with the oft-repeated testimony to -his having helped them to the first-rung on the ladder of success. - -Mr. Stanley Weyman, whose first book, _The House of the Wolf_, was -published in those pages, comes first to my mind, and those who -have read my husband’s _Eminent Victorians_ will recollect -the striking proof of the accuracy of his critical faculty in the -incident of Mr. Weyman’s bringing him two letters--written -with an interval of many years--in which he criticized a play of -that brilliant novelist’s in almost identical words, although -the first letter was written openly to the author and the second--in -forgetfulness of the fact--to a theatrical agent who had not divulged -the playwright’s name. - -Robert Louis Stevenson was one of his cherished contributors, and I -recall an angry rebuke from that great man to the Editor, who had -dared to strike out a word in the title of one of his articles at the -moment of going to press; it is pleasant to add that a placated and -highly amused reply followed on Joe’s deft and short method of -extricating himself from the position: “My dear Stevenson--You -see, I knew that the extra word was a slip of the pen,” he wrote, -“for I should as soon have expected you to talk of female bitches -as of male dogs. Yours etc.” - -Sir James Barrie wrote one of his early essays for the _English -Illustrated Magazine_, and in a kindred branch of the adventure--that -of illustration--Mr. Hugh Thomson was discovered by Joe--a poor Irish -lad living on the scanty pay of advertisements for a business firm, -and devoting all his leisure to flights of fancy in the most delicate -realms of the humorous eighteenth century subjects in which he has -always excelled. Joe confessed to me on the day when the boy sought an -interview, with his portfolio under his arm, that he did not at first -believe he had done the drawings himself. But he gave him a subject, -and when he returned with it after a day or two his doubts were set -at rest, and he offered him the post which he held for so long with -distinction. - -The relations between editor and artist were always affectionate and I -have two letters from the latter--one to Joe and one to myself--full -of a touching gratitude such as perhaps only an Irishman could have -expressed. The one quoted below is of later date. - - - 27, PERHAM ROAD, - WEST KENSINGTON, - _February 5th, 1909_. - - DEAR MR. COMYNS CARR, - - It is only now that we have contrived to get a reading of your - delightful book “Some Eminent Victorians,” and it has - literally staggered me (with delight) to find myself in such company. - I so rarely see a soul that I was entirely ignorant, and never dreamt - of it. We had of course read such reviews of the book as came our way - and had rejoiced in the whole-hearted pleasure with which the notices - were charged but we never suspected that in a corner of the book you - had propped me up. My wife is more than ever confirmed in her opinion - that you are the most delightful author that ever lived, and she is - already looking forward, frugally, to the time when the libraries will - be selling off their soiled copies of books when she hopes to secure - Some Eminent Victorians and ME for her very own. Possibly you might - think it forward in me if I told you what a genuine delight it is to - read the book for the way it is written. Your pages on Bright and the - orators are as eloquent as they. But it is all the most entertaining - book we have read for ages. Below is a memory of the famous interview - you had with the suspicious character from Ireland. I think I have - caught the bannisters well, as also Lacour waiting outside. - - Your delighted - HUGH THOMSON. - - -So much for the affectionate reverence in which one held him who was -starting life’s race when that “famous interview” took place. Joe was -comparatively young himself then, but as the years went on there were -many of greater disparity in age, who did not fail to pay him the same -tribute; indeed, I don’t think there was ever any sense of difference -in this respect between him and the many good comrades in many classes -of society who rejoiced to _work_ with him because he always lightened -labour with kindness and good humour--who rejoiced to _play_ with him -because he was never afraid of, or at a loss for, the right word at -the right moment, were it grave or gay, appreciative or pungent as the -occasion required. - -He was always the encourager, never the discourager, of sincere and -patient effort: bombast and a pandering to mere popularity, he could -censure with words of biting wit, but he never laughed at those who -sent their arrows at the moon though he knew well enough that such -might not achieve financial prosperity. His unfaltering advice was -always that everyone should stick to what he best loved to do. - -“My dear,” I remember his saying to me one day, when I had -tried and signally failed to write a popular farce, “it takes a -more competent fool than you to know just what kind of foolishness the -public wants. Don’t you be put off what you _can_ do because you -fancy it is not what they want.” - -And in a letter written perhaps in a more serious spirit to one often -oppressed by a sense of failure I find the words: “There is no -such thing as failure--excepting the failure to see and love the beauty -of life.” - -These are among the graver memories of him: his generation will -remember him most readily for what Sir James Barrie, writing to me -of him as “a man for whom I had a mighty admiration,” appreciatively -describes as “his positive genius for conversation.” The latter word is -so apt because it perceives that the Celtic gift of repartee was the -most finely pointed of his arrows: he was generally at his best when -some might have fancied that he was going to be non-plussed. - -One day he told me of a dinner at which King Edward VII., then Prince -of Wales, was the honoured guest. Someone had whispered to the Prince -that my husband was a Radical, and he, turning to him, asked if such a -thing could be true. - -“I _am_ a Radical, Sir,” replied Joe, and after a -little pause added: “but I never mention it in respectable -society.” - -The table was silent for an instant, but the Prince led the way with a -laugh and all was well. - -A funny little incident, told me in the small hours when Joe came home, -described the dire discomfiture of one of his greatest admirers when, -having invited him to supper that he might silence “a conceited young -ass” by his superior wit, the “conceited young ass” so fancied himself -as to monopolize the whole conversation: this fiasco, though not to -his own glorification, caused Joe infinite delight; but the disgusted -host was only consoled after he had arranged a duel for my husband with -Robert Marshall, the playwright, a recognised wit--the condition being -that neither should think before speaking: I consider that here an -unfair advantage was taken--any one who was a friend of Joe’s knowing -full well that this was just the whip of which he loved the lash. Be it -added that this tilt between the two knights cemented their friendship. - -A host of these incidents took place in his well-loved Garrick Club, of -which--by the testimony of many friends--he was the heart and soul and -some add the good genius. I believe there were quarrels not a few that -he averted or headed by his tact and kindly humour--quarrels that might -sometimes have led to sorrowful decisions by the Club Committee to -which he belonged. He told me one day of a humorous end to an earnest -expostulation he had held with poor Harry Kemble--greatly beloved in -spite of his known weakness: “Every word you say is true, my -dear Joe,” the actor had replied with the tears streaming down -his great cheeks--“but what if I like it?” - -It is good to remember that that colossal figure--of which our -daughter, seeing it on the stage when she was a child, asked -tremulously, “Is it a human being?”--remained to the end an -honoured institution of the Club. - -Of Joe’s tactful capacity as a peacemaker I was a witness at the -home of my mother’s family--the beautiful Gothic Abbey of Bisham -near Marlow. We were staying with my cousin, George Vansittart, who -was then the owner. He was the kindest of men, but had a peppery and -ill-controlled temper, and nothing so inflamed it as the growing habit -with trippers on the Thames of landing upon his grounds. His gardeners -and keepers were sternly bidden to warn off these rash people, and he -himself, if walking or shooting in Bisham woods--quite a mile from the -Abbey--would angrily bid them begone. - -One day he and Joe were sitting in his ground-floor library facing the -river, when he espied a boat containing a lady and a man making across -stream towards the big trees shading his lawns. He jumped up--his face -flushed, and watched the man rise, a powerful figure, ship his sculls -and push into shore. “By----, the insolent brute! Under my very -nose!” shrieked the incensed squire. And, seizing a heavy stick -he strode out of the French window--Joe following somewhat alarmed. - -My cousin took no pains to soften the language with which he addressed -“the insolent brute” before he was half-way across the lawn, and Joe -hastened as he saw the big man step defiantly out of the boat while -the woman wept and implored him unavailingly to return. Joe caught my -cousin by the arm--he was getting on in years--for as he drew near he -saw that the intruder was an actor--of no great refinement--known in -the profession for a swaggering bully. - -“There’s a lady in the boat, Mr. Vansittart,” said -my husband. Instantly my cousin stopped, and the man, recognising -Joe, greeted him surlily and presently turned back to his companion -now fainting on the bank. Joe followed him, and George Vansittart, -returning to the house, called out to his butler, who was hastening -to the scene: “Take out some brandy and water for the lady and -see she needs nothing.” Joe brought back a message of thanks -from the poor thing, and was far too anxious lest the outbreak should -affect my cousin’s health to mind his remark that he was to be -congratulated upon his acquaintance. - -Recurring to that appreciation of him by the young in his last years, -which is one of the sweetest tributes to Joe’s memory, many -alert and boyish faces rise up before me; eager over some animated -discussion in which the give-and-take was always even between the older -man and the younger, or alight with laughter at his quaint wit and -merry censure of some foible of the day; for though he could laugh at -its foibles he was never out of heart with the world, which was always -to him a good world, even when he prophesied that, through _some_ -crucible, the crazes of the last twenty years would have to pass -for elimination. “They have got to have this epidemic,” -he would say of Cubist painter and eccentric poet, “but -they’ll get over it, and meanwhile the good old world will go -on quietly as usual and young folk will fall in love and want poets -to sing for them and so the best things must come to the top in the -end.” - -Apart from this sort of, as he called it, “half-baked” -thought, he was always ready to weigh and consider every new aspect of -life; and if no passing mode could deceive him or put him out of heart, -either with his life-long heroes or with his own methods of expression; -yet to the last hour he was always keen--not only for fresh work -himself, but to see the work of the world develop. In the words of Mr. -Stopford Brooke, quoted in the _Life_ by Prof. L. P. Jacks, he would -have said: “Whether in this world or another we will pursue, we -will overtake, we will divide the spoil.” - -And so, whether he were hanging over the garden gate of our holiday -home gathering information from the labourers who passed along the -road, or discussing ethical problems with his sons and their friends, -he was always “pursuing”--and the young were always at home -with him, for he never wanted to lead only to express his opinion and -listen to their reply. - -One of these younger men--Mr. Hammond, by no means an -“obscure” one--writes: “There have been few men -whose companionship was so delightful to all who had the privilege -of knowing him.... I always remember with gratitude that he allowed -even young and obscure people to enjoy the pleasure of his best -conversation--one of the rarest intellectual pleasures that I have ever -known.” - -And Mr. Hugh Sidgwick--killed in the prime of his own rare intellectual -career--follows with what might be called an echo: “I can’t -say how much I owe to him and to you for the many happy hours I spent -at your house. He never let the barrier of the generations stand -between him and us young men and we all of us looked on him as a real -friend and the most delightful of companions. There are memories of -many good talks and jovial discussions--with Mr. Carr always leading -and contributing more than his share of life and vivacity to them. And -it was inspiring to us--more perhaps than appeared--to meet one who was -so young in heart, so full of life and so sensitive to all the beauties -of all the arts.” - -The words of W. A. Moore--blessed with his own Celtic temperament and -eager fighting quality--sound the same note: - -“It was a great thing to have known him,” he writes -from Salonica, “I can never forget him for he was a most -radiant personality.” It is a curious thing that a kindred -epithet--“joyous personality”--was a favourite one of his -own, and he would maintain that you could see two men in the Seven -Dials--one lean, soured and scowling, his companion stout, merry, -humorous and full of vitality, though both dwelt on the same gutter and -wore the same threadbare garments. - -It is, of course, quite impossible to give on paper any idea whatever -of the charm and brilliancy which these and many more testimonies -prove; to quote some words spoken by our friend Sir Arthur Pinero, -“It is rather like trying to remember the summers of years -ago!” and he left so few letters, possibly because he possessed -that “genius of conversation,” that he has few words to say -for himself; but it may not be inappropriate here to quote two which he -wrote to an old friend who had affectionately watched his whole career -and highly appraised his powers and judgment. - -The first is in answer to an appeal as to whether it showed -“symptoms of senile decay” not to be able to admire _The -Hound of Heaven_ by Francis Thompson, which had been hailed with a -shout of praise from a section of the public. I quote it as showing -Joe’s own confession of faith in regard to the poetry that -endures. - - - “My dear--The Hound is a Mongrel. I know him of old and - have more than once driven him from my door. Several friends have - endeavoured to persuade me that he was of the true breed but I would - have none of him and will not now. Upon the provocation of your letter - I read the thing again and most gladly and willingly share your - symptoms of senile decay. The fabric of it I take to be pure fustian. - And there is not a line in it that does not debauch the language it - employs; not a phrase in it that does not seem to me to vulgarize by - its expression whatever innocent thought may underlie it. - - The more I ponder over the great verse which time has left - impregnable, the more I am impressed by the true poet’s - unfailing reverence for the sanctity of words in their relation to - sense and by his stern rejection of all melody that is not rooted - there: the tinkling cadence of an obvious tune is not for him. His - purpose might be taken to be no other than to express in final - simplicity the thought that is in him. Why it is, or how it is, - that in this process he achieves a result, in which the sense of - beauty banishes all remembrance of intellectual origin--that is the - poet’s secret: the mystery and the mastery of his craft. - - But I am getting into depths that cannot be plumbed on this tiny sheet - of paper. It is the old subject of many a long night’s talk with - you and concerns matters in which I think you and I are of accord.... - - As to Electra (Richard Strauss’ opera) of course I have no right - to plead before that tribunal; but the terms in which it is praised - make me suspect it is not praiseworthy. - - Yours ever, - J. W. COMYNS CARR.” - - -In relation to the above I cannot refrain from quoting an appreciation -of my husband written some little while later by the late Theodore -Watts Dunton. He had asked for news of his old friend after his first -serious illness, and the following passage occurs in his acknowledgment -of the reply: - -“Although he belongs to a later generation than mine, he and I -are as intimate as brothers and I deeply prize the intimacy. There is -no man on this earth whom I love more. Moreover I have always asserted -that he is a man of genius--a true poet, with wings clipped, for the -present, by the conditions of life.” - -As his intimates know, Charles Dickens was one of the brightest stars -in my husband’s firmament. During all the years of our marriage, I -never remember him without a volume of Dickens and one of Boswell’s -_Life of Johnson_ beside his bed. Many a “night’s talk” with the -life-long friend to whom he wrote as above had been devoted to -ineffectual attempts to converting him to a real appreciation of -Dickens--attempts which, as the following letters show, were finally -successful. - - - “MY DEAR,---- - - I am very much interested in your letter about Dickens.... [This was - in the early stage of conversion.] Curiously enough I have lately - been reading the whole of Macready’s Diary and was immensely - interested in it. His conceit of course is colossal, but the diary - struck me as affording a revelation of a real and virile creature of - great independence of character, gifted on occasion with striking - insight and vision. I was noticing as I read that Dickens was the only - one of all his friends of long date with whom he never quarrelled, - and it struck me that there must have been something innately fine - and magnanimous in Dickens’ nature to command this constancy of - friendship from a man so vain and irascible as Macready. - - But Macready sometimes sees far and I think his understanding of - Browning and his appreciation of the poet’s inherent limitations - in the field of drama are very illuminating. Evidently the drama was - the goal of Browning’s ambition and yet it has always seemed to - me--as it appeared to Macready--that he was not in essence a dramatist - at all. - - When you next come to London you should look in at the Grafton - Gallery and take a glance at the Post Impressionists. I saw most - of them in Paris, with something added of further extravagance and - crude indecency; but the Parisian critics, with few exceptions, took - small account of the matter. Here, on the contrary, nearly all the - younger critics are at their feet. It seems to me to indicate a wave - of disease, even of absolute madness; for the whole product seems to - breathe not ineptitude merely but corruption--especially marked in - a sort of combined endeavour to degrade and discredit all forms of - feminine beauty. - - Yours ever, - JOE.” - - -Later this was his great indictment of the Cubists also, well known to -his friends in the Club. - -The following letter is to the same correspondent written during the -last year of his life and in much more satisfied mood on the subject of -his hero. - - - HASTINGS, 1915. - - “MY DEAR,---- - - It gave me delight to get your letter--the greater in that you talk to - me of Dickens. I never tire of him nor of talking of him. But I was - not unprepared for your enthusiasm. I remember only the last time we - touched on the topic it was already brewing. I am struck above all by - what you feel about the composer’s gift in him, that unconscious - power of massing and moulding his material, the instructive adjustment - of varying currents in the narrative, so that--as he traces the - courses in which they run, we recognise in wonderment that they are - confluent streams though often seeming for the time to flow so far - asunder. Even the most modest of us are, I think, sometimes aware - that there is a force outside ourselves which holds the reins of our - fancy and that we must needs obey; but the exercise of that faculty in - Dickens approaches the miraculous. At times it would almost seem as if - he threw down the gauntlet to himself, directly challenging his own - powers of artistic control by flinging at his own feet the unsifted - harvest of the most prodigal invention with which man was ever endowed - and defying the artist in him to reduce it to order and harmony. - - And yet the artist invariably wins and by a victory so complete as - to cheat us into the belief that every obstacle he subdues was an - integral feature of the original design. Inexhaustible invention and - unfailing control, these are the things that always seem to me to set - Dickens on an eminence which he shares with no one in his own time and - with only a few in our creative literature of any time. Shakespeare - stands there--as he stands everywhere, no matter what the quality to - be appraised or what the arena in which it finds exercise, above all - rivalry; and Walter Scott most surely and securely too; and ... well, - I don’t feel able to be certain about any others!... - - I am not disposed to quarrel about _Bleak House_, I do not like it; - but that story and _Little Dorrit_ have always been my stumbling - blocks. - - On the other hand I heartily agree about _Our Mutual Friend_; I think - it illustrates a giant’s way with Nature which becomes a fawning - slave before the tyranny of genius. - - Yours ever, - JOE.” - - - - -CHAPTER VI - -BOOKS AND TRAVEL - - -Of work in volume form my husband left comparatively little, and all -the books of his earlier years were on Art. His criticisms on the -various exhibitions of Old Masters at Burlington House, chiefly written -at that time for the _Pall Mall Gazette_ and the _Art Journal_, were -useful to him in a volume on _The Drawings of the Old Masters_ in the -British Museum, upon which subject he was a careful and enthusiastic -student; and at a somewhat later period--when he and Mr. C. E. Hallé -organized the famous exhibitions of those drawings at the Grosvenor -Gallery--a recognised connoisseur. - -It is interesting to note that much of the matter written in those -early years upon a subject on which he was always a master was echoed -involuntarily in my husband’s swan-song upon the same subject, -i.e. _The Ideals of Painting_, posthumously published in 1917; for -although he naturally acquired a deeper knowledge of individual -pictures as the years went on, bringing him opportunities of visiting -the great collections of Europe, he very rarely changed his opinion -of the characteristics of each painter; and his loving appreciation of -the subtlest qualities in his favourites was such that I remember a -gifted connoisseur saying to him once respecting a fellow art critic: -“So-and-so could tell you whether a picture was authentic or -not with his back to it, provided he had got its pedigree at his -fingers ends; but you don’t depend on books; you know the man -and his method and study the painter in the light of them, and if your -verdict is sometimes at variance with the alleged pedigree, by Jove, -you’re generally right.” - -So thoroughly had he steeped himself in the subject that when we went -on our belated honeymoon to the towns of Northern Italy, he always -knew exactly where every picture was that he wanted to see, and many -is the argument that I had in those less enlightened days with Italian -officials as to the existence of some particular work of Art which -they little knew was under their care, and many lovely things we found -in private places which, perhaps even now, are missed by the ordinary -tourist. - -I recollect the weary trip he made from Milan that he might study -the wonderful Luini frescoes at Saronno. Now the little town is on a -railway, but in those days it was only reached in a horse-omnibus, -slowly jogging, as only the poor starved Italian horses of that day -_could_ jog, across the sun-baked Lombard plains. The beautiful lunar -frescoes, some of them in sepia, in the sacristy of the Church of San -Maurizio Maggiore at Milan, were among the things which we should -never have seen if he had not made me insist on the sacristan opening -that closed door that he might examine for himself. And a really funny -incident occurred at Mantova--a town lying off the regular route, but -so picturesque, with its lovely Palazzo del Të raised on arcades built -into the marshes--that it is strange it should not be oftener visited -by the tourist. - -We lodged in a vast but dirty old Inn, waited on by a girl whose beauty -compensated, in _Joe’s_ eyes only, for slipshod methods; nothing but my -knowledge of the tongue would have procured us even the comfort of a -huge warming-pan with which I endeavoured to dry the damp sheets. After -a sleepless night and a tiring morning in the Castle looking at the -Mantegna portraits of grim Gonzagas and stooping to enter the “dwarf’s -apartments,” whence slits of windows peer upon the eerie marshland, -I was in no mood for an altercation. Yet an altercation was the only -means by which I finally succeeded in inducing the morose custodian of -a dark church in the town to do Joe’s will: he had come to Mantova to -see examples of Mantegna for some work that he was doing and he was not -going away without having unearthed this specially interesting one. He -led the way himself to the side-chapel where he believed the painting -to be, but lo! a hideous modern daub hung over the little altar and -his face fell. Then he had an inspiration: in spite of the man’s -remonstrances he went up the steps and peered behind the gaudy painting. - -“Tell him I’ll pay him to help me get this thing -down,” he said: “I believe what I want is at the back of -it.” - -Then my altercation began. - -We were mad English, and one couldn’t behave in a Church as if it -were a shop. - -But “mad English” or not we were also “rich -English” (in the custodian’s eyes), and a very little -English gold won the day: we saw the picture we wanted. - -These were only a few instances of the “tonic of a young man’s -conceit and obstinacy”--to use Joe’s own chaff of himself--in that -never-to-be-forgotten journey through the highways and by-ways of -Northern Italy. Everything was grist that came to his mill in this as -in each separate field of his activities; but Florence was the real -goal of all his desires, and this first visit to it, close on the study -which had made him long to see for himself the Masters whom he loved -and the fairest of towns which was their home, had a glamour which -was never quite reached in later visits. I can see again the poor -_Trattorìa della Luna_ where we lodged and the handsome waiter whom we, -in the wild enthusiasm of the hour, persuaded to follow us to England. -That he ever arrived at all was the marvel. He might well have spent -the journey-money given him on pastimes suggested by his reproach to -me in London afterwards as to engaging a cook who remembered the birth -of Christ: that he arrived weeping in a November fog and bitterly -resenting having been left to come “by sea when we had come by land,” -was not wonderful. Joe was patient with him for my sake and many a -funny tale did he forge out of the Italian’s vagaries. - -But when this unkempt Adonis had demoralized our maid, smashed our -pretty wedding gifts in fits of gloom, during which he would shake his -fist at the fog and say: “Goo’ nigh’,” and finally taunted us with not -providing sufficient wine at a humble entertainment to excuse one of -the guests for having left his hat behind, we felt it best he should -return to his native land--though not before he had inadvertently half -poisoned us with dried mushrooms sent by his relatives. - -Well, badly as Mario behaved subsequently in Great Russell Street he -was one of the features of our happy Florence holiday and directed our -steps towards many out-of-the-way places which Joe thirsted to explore -in search of Art treasures unknown to guide-books. - -My husband’s knowledge culled from many old books was of great -value to him, and with his bump of locality, joined to my knowledge of -the speech of the people, we penetrated into many lovely corners and -met with as many amusing adventures. - -Strange food did we eat too on that weird trip, for here, as elsewhere, -Joe insisted on exploring. - -“Tell him I’m a judge of the _cuisine_,” he would -say, “and only want the best.” And--with an instinct that -the rewarding tip would not be wanting--as it never was--cooks hastened -to concoct the spiciest of their national dishes for his criticism. - -The publication of Joe’s first book was quickly followed by an -illustrated volume on the Abbey Church of St. Albans from articles -written for the _Art Journal_; plenty of study on architecture and -on monkish lore was done for this in the Reading Room of the British -Museum. Later in life Joe used to say that, after the period of -ravenous and enthusiastic boyhood, he might never have opened a serious -book again--so much more enthralling to him was the daily intercourse -for work or play with living men and women--had it not been for the -necessity of boiling the pot; and that all that he read for a special -purpose stuck to him as no desultory reading did and became stored in -his mind for use and pleasure for the rest of his life. - -I can see myself how true this was in respect of the whole range of -Arthurian legend, on which subject he became an authority; he devoured -everything in English and French that he could find when he was writing -his plays of _King Arthur_ and _Tristram_, and never forgot any of it. - -The _Abbey of St. Albans_ was too special a subject to make a popular -book, and the first volume of Joe’s work which attracted -attention was _Essays on Art_, gathered together in 1879. - -I remember that, just as among his published work in verse he held -that his _Tristram and Iseult_ was his best, so he considered the -Essay--practically on Keats, who held, I think, the highest place with -him among the nineteenth century poets but entitled _The Artistic -Spirit in Modern English Poetry_, he judged to be among his most -satisfactory prose; with the exception of the _Essay on Macbeth_, -written as a pamphlet at the time of Henry Irving’s production of -the play, and now re-published under the title of _Sex in Tragedy_ in -his book _Coasting Bohemia_. - -A letter which he wrote me later from France, when he was studying the -provincial museums there for a series of articles in the _Manchester -Guardian_, bears out pleasantly the criticism in the article on _Corot -and Millet_ in _Essays on Art_. - - - LIMOGES, - _August 1882_. - - “ ... The landscape of the Loire somewhat disappointed me, - although the towns are full of interest. Very fruitful the country - seems to be, overflowing with corn and vine but far stretching and - unvaried with a vague sense of melancholy in it that is almost - oppressive. It is impossible to catch even a passing view of such - country as lies between Orléans and Nantes without turning in thought - from the landscape to the people who dwell in it; and the picture that - is left in the mind of the daily life of these peasants who labour - all day in fields that have no break or limit save where patches of - corn alternate with spaces of vine, is strangely touching and sad. - It wanted a France such as France is on the borders of the Loire to - produce the solemn and austere sentiment of Millet, and I hardly think - one understands the stern reality of his work until one has passed - through miles and miles of this fruitful and uneventful land. - - The later passages of to-day’s journey were a delightful change - in the character of the scenery; a narrower river (The Vienne) but - more sympathetic, with happy-looking green pastures and hilly banks. - - This place stands high and the air is delightfully fresh. It has an - industrial museum which is important in connection with my work. - - I visited Chambord also Chenonceau. They are both much restored and - inferior in interest to Blois, which is a most delightful place in - every way.” - -In respect of Blois he writes as follows in another letter: “This -town is more picturesque than any French town I have yet seen; most of -it, or the older part of it at any rate, is high up on a hill, and the -steps that mount up between the different streets are very beautifully -contrived. - -Tell Phil I should like him to read the parts of his French history -connected with Blois, particularly about Henri III. and the Duke of -Guise, and I will tell him about the wonderful castle when I get -back.” - -I remember he brought home some excellent photographs of that castle -and the lovely outer staircase of the tower. - -Another letter written during this French journey brings in a more -humorous note: “Toulouse is a real city of the south, its market -place covered with big red umbrellas reminding one of Verona, and the -old hotel having a pleasant shady courtyard with pots of oleanders.... -It is difficult to give you much news. I was thinking this morning -how funny it was how little I had spoken English since I left home, -once with the manager of a travelling English panorama at Limoges -and yesterday at Montauban where I met a Frenchman who insisted upon -speaking my native tongue to me. He declared that he knew English -‘au fond,’ but his mastery of the tongue was not complete. -‘Good voyage, have distraction,’ were his parting words to -me.” - -These good wishes were not entirely fulfilled. The day after his -arrival at Toulouse Joe had been overcome by the August heat and -mosquito bites, and had been obliged to take to his bed for a day -in the fine old inn, where he was admirably nursed by the motherly -landlady; and, as he sat in the cool courtyard next day he was vastly -amused by the discomfiture of a fat commercial traveller, awaiting -his _déjeuner_ with napkin tucked in ready under his chin, when a -one-legged old stork, who perambulated the garden, suddenly uttered -its raucous note: “Quel cri épouvantable!” exclaimed the -poor gentleman, and jumping up he overturned the small table on which a -succulent Southern dish now steamed ready for his consumption, and wept -afresh at the sight of gravy and red wine trickling together down the -coarse clean tablecloth! - -I think merriment must have hampered Joe’s offers of assistance, -and his French was not then as fluent as he made it in after years. - -Anyhow the commercial traveller appears to have been less genial than -was a gentleman in the train later on who thought to flatter him by -comparing him to the then Prince of Wales: “Les mêmes traits, la -même barbe, le même âge!” said he pleasantly, not thinking that -he was speaking to a man years younger than Edward VII. - -But if there was a momentary annoyance it was immediately forgotten by -Joe in a lively, if halting, conversation on the merits of a trout -stream which the train was skirting--Joe vehemently describing how -different was our view regarding poachers with the net, and mentally -despising his fellow-traveller for upholding the equal merits of perch, -gudgeon and trout. - -When they reached Lourdes the traveller again afforded Joe a fresh -cause for wonder--unfamiliar as he then was with what later he called -“the Frenchman’s unfailing desire to place himself in a -category.” - -The station was crammed with pilgrims to the Holy Wells, and Joe, -innocent of this, asked for what event the crowd was gathered; -whereupon the Frenchman, turning his head contemptuously from the -window, said loftily: “_Monsieur, dans ma qualité d’Athée -je ne connais rien de tout cela!_” - -Even in those early days he loved the French; their joy of living -appealed to him as it did in all the Latin races, and their wit--more -subtle and polished than the Italian’s child-like though not childish -high spirits--was akin to his own, and it was often wonderful how -swiftly he would “get the hang of it” even when sometimes he would -appeal to me for translation of a word; while their shrewd and clear -common-sense found an echo somewhere on another side of him, perhaps in -his Border ancestry. - -Yet I have heard him say that, in his opinion, the deeper courtesy of -an unspoiled Italian--were he peasant or peer--came out of a further -and finer civilization. - -These travelling conversations, even in a foreign tongue, were entirely -in keeping with Joe’s intensely human temperament. He had -none of the aloofness of the Britisher of that day; and I remember -his amusement at the talk of a party of English shop-keepers in a -second-class railway carriage on the Paris-Calais route. - -“To see them working men forced to sit and smoke their pipe in the -street for a breath of fresh air on a summer evening fairly flummoxed -me,” said one. “Why the poorest of _us_ ’ave got a bit of a -backyard.” - -Though he was the most reserved of men as regards deep, personal -matters, he found that sort of sentiment was utterly ridiculous to his -Irish sense of humour. - -I recollect hearing Joe whimsically tell a friend once that he would -far sooner confide his most intimate concerns to a man in a train than -to his nearest and dearest; and then he would recall (or invent?) the -most humorous conversations which he had overheard or in which he had -taken part, chiefly on the physical ills of life during long journeys -in dark railway carriages. I don’t suppose he went these lengths -in French; probably his vocabulary was not equal to it. - -He said he missed my help on that Loire journey although I think he -liked learning for himself too. I certainly, sitting in a tiny cottage -near Witley with my sister and the two children, missed my opportunity -and sighed to be with him, especially when his letter home contained a -passage like this: - -“Marseilles is a city with something of romantic suggestion -about it. One feels that it is one of the Avenues of the East, one -of the places also that connects the old world with the new. It was -terribly hot, but the sea tempered the sun and the sea-bath in the -evening was a delicious revenge for the heat of the day. The view -over the Mediterranean at sunset is delightful, with an atmosphere -that seems to be stained with rose colour floating over a sea of real -aquamarine.” - -I had to solace myself with taking Phil to sit for his portrait to -Edward Burne-Jones--delightful occasions when that most lovable of -great men would talk of my husband and of their kindred enthusiasms, -chaffing me gently as well for the “wicked travesties” of -classic myths with which I tried to keep quiet the “worst of -little sitters,” who would innocently ask why his standing pose -was called “sitting.” - -And at last Joe came home, only about a week before our son Arthur was -born. - -These travelling memories are a digression induced by their bearing -on my husband’s first published volumes. As to his subsequent -contributions to permanent literature I may mention his _Papers on -Art_--a sequel to the _Essays on Art_--published in 1885. - -After that, until the last years of his life, his many vocations so -entirely filled every hour of the day--and often of the night--that he -had no leisure for any more such ventures, excepting the publication of -his verse-plays as they appeared on the stage. - -And it was not until 1908 that he once more came before the -book-reading public. Then he wrote his two separate volumes of personal -recollections under the titles of _Eminent Victorians_ and _Coasting -Bohemia_; but these are of recent enough date to need no comment of -mine, for they are still before the world, as is also his posthumously -published volume, _The Ideals of Painting_. - - - - -CHAPTER VII - -THE GROSVENOR AND THE NEW GALLERIES - - -In the autumn of the year 1876 we were invited to Sir Coutts Lindsay’s -Scottish seat at Balcarres, where Joe’s collaboration with Mr. C. E. -Hallé as Director of the Grosvenor Gallery in Bond Street was fixed and -led later to the long co-operation of these two friends in their New -Gallery Exhibitions. - -Sir Coutts’s venture was to start in the following May, and there was -much to discuss and settle at that shooting party; yet not so much as -to interfere with plenty of fun by the way. - -It was on this visit that Prince Leopold was a guest at the house -and I vividly recall a series of _tableaux vivants_ got up for his -entertainment, in which Joe played a part he was often to fill -later--that of stage manager, combined on this occasion with the office -of _Dresser_, in which capacity he “corked” a moustache on -His Royal Highness’ face for an impersonation of Charles I. - -There were anxious moments--such as when the Prince’s tights did -not arrive from Edinburgh, or when Sir Arthur Sullivan, after nobly -seconding Joe’s efforts with his incidental music, flatly refused to -abandon his cigar at a late hour to play waltzes; or again, on the -following Sunday morning when--the crimson cloth being laid ready -at the Episcopalian Church--a belated telegram arrived from Windsor -commanding H.R.H.’s attendance at Presbyterian worship. But I think -Joe’s unconventional and merry wit--even in those early days when he -might have felt strange in that kind of society--helped away many a -little ruction, and the fun that he made of himself as “one of the -lower middle class” little used to the ways of great houses was much -appreciated by Arthur Sullivan, “Dicky Doyle” and others claiming -kinship with the “Bohemians,” yet used to the habits at which he -pretended to be alarmed. - -I can see the twinkle in the eye with which he stoutly declared that a -French Chef did not necessarily beget a sure taste in the hosts, and -the corroboration given to his statement by the sight of some twenty -docile people eating a salad that had been mixed with methylated spirit -in mistake for vinegar without turning a hair. - -I think Arthur Sullivan--who was an _habitué_--expostulated with the -butler about it, when the cause of the “odd taste” was run -to earth and laid to the account of the kitchenmaid. - -These Balcarres days began for us that series of social gatherings so -well known later as the Grosvenor Gallery Sunday afternoons, at which -Lady Lindsay presided over a company including all the most notable -people in Literature and Art, to say nothing of the “beaux -noms,” courtiers and politicians in her more exclusive set. - -Those most entertaining parties and the Private Views both at the -Grosvenor Gallery and, later on, at the New Gallery in Regent Street, -were among the season’s features of that period, and invitations -to both of them were eagerly sought by all classes of Society. -Especially in the earlier years the vagaries in dress assumed by some -of the women of the “Artistic” and Theatrical Set were, and -I fear often justly, matters for merriment to those of the fashionable -world who fitly displayed the last modes from Paris; and I hear again -the softly sarcastic tones of a society lady commenting on the clinging -draperies of a pretty artist “finished by a pair of serviceable -boots.” - -Yet there were those among the leaders of the _élite_ who chose to -wear garments following the simpler and more graceful patterns of some -bygone era; and I am bound to say that these were often among the most -beautiful toilettes present and those which Joe then most admired. - -But much strenuous work preceded the days of the Private Views. Early -in the career of the Grosvenor Gallery, Joe, steeped in the work of the -Old Masters of which he had made such a special study, persuaded Sir -Coutts Lindsay to have an exhibition of their drawings--culled from the -great collections of England; and many a pleasant visit did he have to -fine country houses on this quest. - -Once he arrived after a night journey at the seat of Lord Warwick just -as the men of the house-party were met in the hall for the day’s -“shoot,” and I can fancy the merry excuse with which he -surely fitted the occasion as he presented himself bare-headed, having -left his hat in the train when he sleepily changed carriages at the -junction; luckily he was well provided with natural covering. - -Plenty of his Celtic persuasiveness must have come into play--both on -this occasion and on those when the fine shows of Paintings by Old -Masters were made--in cajoling the owners to lend their priceless -treasures, and I recollect one or two very anxious moments over -transport, etc. - -But this first ambitious Exhibition of _Drawings_ exceeded, both in -bulk and excellence, anything previously attempted in London and -attracted the enthusiastic attention of all connoisseurs; the hanging -and cataloguing involved immense labour, and I was proud to be allowed -to take a small share in the last part of the work--an opportunity in -which I learnt much which I have never forgotten. - -When, some few years later, my husband and Mr. Hallé started their -independent enterprise in Regent Street, their sole responsibility made -the work none the less arduous though naturally less hampered. - -The first task--exciting as it was--was a Herculean one, for the New -Gallery was practically built upon the site of an old fruit-market, and -an anxious winter was that, lest it should not be completed in time -for an opening with the other May Exhibitions. But completed it was -and handsomely; though the last touch, the gilding of the rails of the -gallery which overhung the Central Court, was only finished through Joe -inducing the frame-gilders to work with the builders’ men--an -infringement of custom which, it seemed, only the affection which they -bore him induced them to overlook. - -The effect of that Central Court with its fountain fringed with flowers -and its arcade panelled with fine, coloured marbles, was one of the -sensations of the day, and deserved the praise of a critic: “It -is an Aladdin’s Palace sprung up in the night.” Joe has -spoken of this first Exhibition in _Eminent Victorians_; suffice it, -therefore, to say that the Burne Jones and Watts’ pictures were -the distinguishing features, as they always were so long as these great -men survived. - -As years went on, the collecting of works among the lesser artists for -the modern yearly Exhibition became more and more irksome to Joe, and -the rounds that he and Mr. Hallé used to make to the artists’ -studios were something of a penance to him. - -Not only were they physically fatiguing, but the difficulties of -choice, of obtaining what they desired and of refusing what they -didn’t desire without undue offence to the artist, taxed the -patience of both directors and, I think, Joe’s wit was often -needed to turn a dangerous corner. - -“Good isn’t the word,” he once answered to a -sympathiser who asked him what he said when confronted with a -thoroughly bad picture; and, although this too transparent form of -salve may not really have been uttered, I am told that the kindly chaff -which he would sometimes expend upon the shameless offer of a poor -painting from a man who knew what he was doing but meant to send his -best work to take its chance elsewhere, was such as might not have -“gone down” from anyone else but Joe Carr. - -Yet there were pleasant hours even on these days of weary rounds. In -each of the districts visited the directors were sure to count at -least one firm friend, anxious to lighten the road; in Kensington -it was Burne Jones, who, speaking of his young daughter, wrote on -one occasion: “In my wife’s absence, Margaret dispenses middle-class -hospitality with a tact and finish worthy of a higher sphere.” In -St. John’s Wood it was Alma Tadema--most hospitable of hosts--always -ready with a bottle of his best wine and some funny tale uttered in -his quaint English, and admirably seconded by his charming wife at the -long, narrow table loaded with old Dutch silver and lovely curios. - -And upon the onerous occasions of the varnishing days when the -positions on the line were supposed to be the right of every exhibitor, -these and other leaders in the world of art would often “stand -by” even when some incensed young gentleman--these were usually -young gentlemen--would go the length of removing his picture in a -four-wheeler. - -Many were the humorous incidents that used to be told to me! A -favourite and out-spoken assistant was once asked what he thought of -the position of a small picture which was being tried above a larger -one; to which his reply was: “If you ask me, Sir, I think -it looks like a tom-tit on a round of beef.” Apparently the -directors thought so too for the picture was removed and hung in a -corner, or perhaps in the balcony above the Central Court--a place even -less coveted by the ambitious. - -Little however did _I_ know of these prickly passages, specially -at that momentous first opening, when a kind supporter of the new -enterprise presented me with a beautiful old brocade dress in which I -took my share of receiving the crowds of visitors at the entrance of -the Hall: and I don’t think that, when the varnishing day was -past, the two directors bothered their heads much about the prickly -passages or even about the Press opinions. Joe’s optimism was -always irrepressible and when his task at the New Gallery was over, he -would turn, on the following day--with something perhaps of relief--to -one of the many other sides of his full life. - - - - -CHAPTER VIII - -DRAMATIC WORK AND MANAGEMENT - - -It must have been somewhere about this period that the first impetus -was, funnily enough, given to Joe’s dramatic career by a request -from our dear friend, Ellen Terry, that I should make an English -adaptation for her from the famous French play of _Frou-Frou_. - -The thing was done, and played in Glasgow and other Northern towns -under the title of _Butterfly_, and great fun we had over our first -initiation into the mysteries of dress-rehearsals--not always perhaps -quite so funny in the more responsible circumstances of later years, -though it is a form of patient work electrified by the gambling spirit, -which never lost its attraction for Joe. - -My altered version of the French play was a poor one, but it had, I -suppose, sufficient merit to obtain me a commission from Mme. Modjeska, -the noted Polish actress, for a free translation of the same play, -which she performed first in London with Sir Johnston Forbes-Robertson -and afterwards throughout the United States. - -The “youthful conceit” to which Joe was throughout his -life so lenient as even to consider a virtue, led me presently to try -my hand at a bigger task--no less than the dramatisation of Thomas -Hardy’s _Far from the Madding Crowd_. I was quite unequal to -the attempt, and I only mention it because it proved the beginning of -Joe’s dramatic work. He took the play in hand, refashioned the -plot, only keeping portions of the dialogue as I had adapted it to -stage necessity; and it was produced--with Marion Terry as the wilful -and charming Bathsheba--first in the provinces and then in London. - -Owing to circumstances needless to recall, the venture was a financial -failure; but it served to start Joe on a new road; and it was not long -before he scored a big success. He came home one night from a railway -journey and gave me a little book which he had bought to read in the -train: it was _Called Back_ by Hugh Conway. - -“See if you don’t think that an enthralling story?” -he said. - -There could be no doubt of this and the British public gave its verdict -promptly. The book began to sell like “hot cakes” and Joe -went down to Clifton, saw its clever author--until then unknown to -literature--and arranged with him for its dramatisation. - -The play was produced on May 20th, 1884, and I think there are still -people who remember its first success and that, in the rôle of the -Italian conspirator--Macari--Sir Herbert Tree scored one of his finest -early triumphs; the piece was revived several times in London and the -provinces and had the questionable compliment of being also pirated. -But I shall not easily forget the dress-rehearsal! - -I was comparatively new to such things then and I can well recall the -chill of heart with which we got home to Blandford Square in the early -hours and my inner conviction that the scenery could not possibly be -finished nor, one at least, of the principal actors, know his part -by the next night! But nothing could ever quell Joe’s hopeful -spirit; he plied his somewhat less optimistic colleague with cold -tongue and whisky-and-soda and made merry work of the stupidity of -lime-light men and scene-shifters, to say nothing of others of higher -degree; and then went to sleep at 6 a.m. and got up and returned to the -theatre at 10 a.m. without turning a hair. - -I wonder now if he was as strong as he seemed in those days or whether -it was only his gay and excitable Celtic temperament that carried him -through everything. Anyhow he enjoyed his life to the full and there -were never any dull moments, whether he was at work or at play. - -The radiant vitality which lasted him so long and so well--and to which -there is such frequent testimony in letters from the various friends -with whom he laboured in his many walks of life--seems to have had the -power of so communicating itself to his fellow-workers that they would -share his optimistic hopes and, if these were disappointed, generally -be ashamed to utter reproach in the face of his urbane acceptance of -failure. But on this occasion there was only rejoicing. - -In a letter of his, replying to Hugh Conway’s generous -recognition of help, I find these words: - -“I want to tell you how much touched I have been by your letters. -I say ‘letters’ for my wife read me as much of your note as -she thought good for me. Rest assured that I am delighted to have done -what I have done--also that the result has been fortunate for us both. -I don’t think I could have got through so well with any other -man; with you I have never had a shadow of worry or annoyance and I -have been able at all points to do my best--as far as I knew how.” - -This happy venture led to a friendship which had no let until the -untimely death of Hugh Conway in the very zenith of his fame; they -were, as dear old Sir Alma Tadema said in his quaint English: -“Very fat together--like two hands on one stomach.” - -Yet they did much work together, for not only did Joe collaborate again -with Hugh Conway in the adaptation of _Dark Days_ for the stage, but -he also published that gifted, ghoulish tale _Paul Vargus_ during his -editorship of _The English Illustrated Magazine_, as well as the serial -entitled _A Family Affair_, a humorous and urbane story with a plot -so delicately suggesting possible immorality, however, that it drew -down upon the editor a sharp reproach from Mrs. Grundy, who declared -that, although she believed all would “come right” she could never -again allow the magazine to lie on her drawing-room table lest her -well-brought-up daughters might open its pages. - -Does that Mrs. Grundy still live to-day? - -_Dark Days_ was Joe’s last bit of work with his poor friend -but by no means the last of his adaptations for the stage, the chief -of which number _Madame Sans Gêne_ for Sir Henry Irving; _My Lady of -Rosedale_ for Sir Charles Wyndham; _Nerves_ which ran with success -for some time at the Comedy Theatre, and last, but not at all least, -his fine play fashioned on Charles Dickens’ _Oliver Twist_ and -followed by one on _Edwin Drood_. - -The former, with Sir Herbert Tree as _Fagin_, Constance Collier as -_Nancy_ and Lyn Harding as _Sikes_, held the public for many months -both in London and the United States. - -At the height of its London success, a flaw in the architecture of the -central proscenium arch of His Majesty’s Theatre necessitated the -temporary transference of the play to another house. Joe was naturally -in despair, but the untoward incident in no way interfered with the run -of the piece which--in the words of the stage manager--had been kicked -up and down the Strand and only gathered force as it rolled. - -But although I have spoken first of his adaptations, it is of his -original plays that I hold the dearest memories; and first and -foremost of _King Arthur_ which contains some of the best of the -lyrics and blank verse for which Theodore Watts Dunton held him to be -a “true poet.” The _May Song_ and _Song of the Grail_ he -placed himself among his best verse and they were well appreciated. - -As the book was published by Messrs. Macmillan, it belongs to the -public. - -The production of _King Arthur_ was one of the most beautiful of Henry -Irving’s many Lyceum triumphs. Even in those far-removed days -Sir Edward Burne Jones’ exquisite designs for the armour and -dresses, as well as for the scenery, will be remembered by some, and -I am proud to think that I was allowed the privilege of carrying out -some of them in detail. It was a hard six months’ work but it was -well rewarded and I think Joe had no happier hours than those he spent -in the writing and in the producing of his two finest efforts--_King -Arthur_ and _Tristram and Iseult_. - -I cannot leave this subject without mention of the tender and lovely -impersonation of _Guinevere_ by Ellen Terry, and the touching tribute -to her which Joe himself gives in the following dedication, written on -the fly-leaf of the copy he presented to her. - - “To Guinevere herself from one who, after years of closest - friendship, looks to her now as always, for the vindication of what is - highest and gentlest in womanhood; and who would count this not too - poor a gift for her to take, could he but hope that some part of the - grace and charm of her spirit had found its way into the portrait of - Arthur’s Queen.” - -Following on this it would seem incongruous in connection with anyone -else but Joe to quote a funny tale bearing on the above; but Joe loved -the tale himself and often told it merrily and so will I. - -On his being presented to a newly-arrived prominent American at a -public dinner, this gentleman opened the conversation by saying that -he had been privileged, on the voyage with Sir Henry Irving and Ellen -Terry, to read _King Arthur_ in the lady’s own copy containing the -author’s charming dedication. A pause ensued, when Joe--thinking -himself on solid ground--said: “Well, sir, I hope you liked the play?” -What was his astonishment at the Yankee’s gentle reply! “Well, not very -much!” said he, “You see I had Lord Tennyson in my mind.” - -Silence ensued but I think Joe explained with urbanity that he had -taken an entirely different view of the old legend, founded in a -measure on Sir Thomas Malory’s version. - -_A propos_ of this old name, Joe has himself told of the arrival at -the theatre of a batch of press cuttings addressed to that knight of -the days of chivalry, the title tactfully supplemented by the affix of -“Bart.” - -Perhaps scarcely less funny and more unpardonable was the question of -the Society lady who asked him, in the case of _Tristram and Iseult_, -how he had obtained Mme. Wagner’s consent to tamper with her -husband’s book. - -A play--_The Lonely Queen_--on which he spent much care, still remains -to be performed when a suitable actress shall present herself for the -strong and sympathetic part of the girlish ruler over a wild land. - -The piece opens on a hillside overlooking an Eastern city--a scene -shewn again later on in sinister circumstances; and with dance and -laughter, a group of girls crown their wayward young mistress with -a wreath of flowers in merry mimicry of the weightier diadem she -will soon be called to wear. And presently, in a lonely mood of -apprehension, she meets as a stranger, the patriot-poet who is to be -both her bane and her salvation in the future. - -He enjoyed writing this play and was pleased with the following lyric, -which he read to me--as I am proud to think, he generally read anything -with which he was satisfied or on which he wanted such criticism as I -could give--on the very morning when he had written it. - - -THE POET TO A GIRL-QUEEN UNKNOWN. - - Oh Lady of the Lily Hand! - Whose face unseen we long to greet, - At whose command this desert land - Springs into flower about thy feet. - - Fair maiden whom we know not yet, - Yet know thy heart can know no fear, - Queen, who shalt teach us to forget - The wounds of many a wasted year. - - The curtains of the night are drawn, - Its shadows all have fled away, - For in thine eyes there dwells the dawn - And in thy smile the new born day. - - A people’s love that waits thee now - Is thine to take and thine to hold, - Till God shall set upon thy brow - A crown that is not forged of gold. - - Twixt Right and Wrong He yields thee choice, - Heed not the worship of the weak, - That in a maiden’s fearless voice - The clarion voice of God may speak. - - Be swift to strike and strong to save, - Steadfast in all! Till all the land - Shall hail thee ‘Bravest of the Brave’ - Oh Lady of the Lily Hand. - -It was a fair scene in which it was written--a hill-top under Monte -Rosa overlooking the lovely shores of Lugano--and, though he always -said that actual surroundings were never proper to be described in -the work of the moment but must be digested and crystallized in the -hidden corners of remembrance, I think that the spirit of a place did -influence him, so that the sun shone on the hillside of the first -Act of _The Lonely Queen_ as the lowering brow of the Black Mount, -at Rannoch, seemed to overshadow the halls of Camelot; he even said -himself that he could see the barge with Elaine’s body float -down the Hertfordshire stream where he was wont to fish after his -day’s labour. - -His poetical work was always that which lay nearest his heart, though -his friends often deplored that he did not devote himself more to -comedy; but strange to say, his humour, which was so inexhaustible -in colloquial intercourse, did not strike home so surely in his -stage dialogue: he needed the stimulus of conversation. Possibly he -felt this, which made him shyer of comedy-writing than he would have -been; in _Nerves_ he was witty enough and there is a very deft comedy -scene for two old ladies in _Forgiveness_, produced at the “St. -James’” Theatre by Sir George Alexander. His first attempts -at dramatic work, made on the tiny stage of German Reed’s, were -entirely in quaint comedy. - -I think a free rendering of a fancy of Hugh Conway’s on the -Blue-and-White China Craze was one of the first things he did for the -stage and it contained some charming lyrics after the Elizabethan -manner which won instant recognition. - -I quote three of them, for they were never printed for the public. - - -From _The United Pair_. - -DUET: SONG OF THE TWO CHINA-COLLECTORS. - -SEXTUS. - - A love like mine is far above - The thing that we are told is love, - In Shakespeare or in Chaucer. - For while they are content to praise - The famous forms of classic days, - I revel in the form and glaze, - Of one unrivalled saucer. - -VIRGINIA. - - Ah sir, I know the thought is vain, - Yet if a man were porcelain, - Then love would be the master; - If only in a single night - Your face could change to blue and white, - I think at such a glorious sight - My heart would beat the faster. - -VIRGINIA AND SEXTUS. - - And such a love were far above - The thing that we are told is love, - In Shakespeare or in Chaucer; - For while they are content to praise - The famous forms of classic days, - We revel in the form and glaze, - Of every cup and saucer. - -SEXTUS. - - Ah madam, if that dream were true, - How easy would it be to woo, - And never fear the winning; - If woman also could be graced - With all the silent charms of paste, - Then love could never be misplaced, - And hate have no beginning. - -VIRGINIA. - - Then every vase would find its mate, - Each dish would woo a neighbouring plate, - Each bowl would wed a beaker; - And if perchance, through pride or pique, - Some youth or maid should fail to speak, - Each bachelor would be unique, - And each old maid uniquer. - -VIRGINIA AND SEXTUS. - - And such a love were far above - The thing that we are told is love, - In Shakespeare or in Chaucer; - For while they are content to praise - The famous forms of classic days, - We revel in the form and glaze, - Of every cup and saucer. - -The following duet bore a charming promise of the maturer work that was -to follow in wider spheres. - - From _The United Pair_. - - Played at Mr. and Mrs. German Reed’s about 1880. - - - I. - - ADA. - - What Love was yesterday, we both could tell; - - JACK. - - What Love may be to-morrow, who can guess? - - ADA. - - What Love is now both Jack and I know well; - - JACK. - - But that’s a secret lovers ne’er confess. - - JACK AND ADA. - - But this we know, that Love is much maligned - By those who call him deaf, and dumb, and blind. - - -II. - -ADA. - - Yet Love was dumb: ’tis but an hour ago - I spied him ’mid the daisies as I passed, - Like a pale rose-leaf on new fallen snow - He lay with drooping lids and lips shut fast. - And though the birds sang, Love made no reply, - He had no message for the whispering stream, - He sent no echoing answer to the sky, - That laughed with dancing shadows o’er his dream. - Then kneeling down beside him where he lay, - I wept aloud for grief that Love was dead; - But when Jack came and kissed my tears away, - Love spoke one word: we both heard what he said. - -JACK AND ADA. - - Therefore we say that Love is much maligned, - For he is neither deaf, nor dumb, nor blind. - - -III. - -JACK. - - Yet Love was deaf: ’twas only yesterday - I found him fishing down beside the brook, - His rod a snowy branch of flowering may, - Whose spiny thorn he fashioned for a hook. - Small heed had he of any lover’s pain, - Who would not hear the cuckoo’s ringing note, - I cried to him, but cried alas in vain, - He only laughed to watch the dancing float; - And while I wept to see him laughing so, - I heard a voice that whispered one sweet word - Ah Ada, tell me was it “yes” or “no”? - She answered “yes” and then I knew Love heard. - -JACK AND ADA. - - Therefore we say that Love is much maligned, - For he is neither deaf, nor dumb, nor blind. - - -IV. - -JACK AND ADA. - - Yet Love was blind: for so he lost his way, - And so we found him when the day was done, - Within a wood where happy lovers stray, - There he had wandered weeping and alone. - Then wondering much, we thought to ask his name, - But Love replied: “Ah, surely ye should know!” - And as he spake, beneath his wings of flame - We saw Love’s arrows and his glittering bow, - “For you,” he cried, “the way is strewn with flowers, - You’ve found the path that I shall never find.” - Then looking up we saw Love’s eyes in ours, - And then we knew why men do call him blind. - - Therefore we know that Love is much maligned, - By all who call him deaf, and dumb, and blind. - - - - -From _The Naturalist_. - -A SONG OF PROVERBS. - - I know that truth’s stranger than fiction, - And I fancy I don’t stand alone, - If I cling to an old predilection, - For killing two birds with one stone; - I never shed tears that are bitter - Over milk that I know to be spilt, - And whenever gold happens to glitter - I make up my mind that its gilt; - Yet the riddle of life grows no clearer, - And still broken-hearted I yearn - For the season that never draws nearer-- - When a worm may take courage and turn. - - And if for a moment I wander - Into themes more profound and abstruse, - To note that the sauce for a gander - Is also the sauce for the goose; - That one man is free to steal horses, - While another is punished by fate, - Who shuns all such virtuous courses, - And dares to look over a gate,-- - It is but for the sake of forgetting - What gives me far greater concern, - It is but with a view of abetting - A worm in its efforts to turn. - - I could live and not care in the slightest - To know when a dog had his day, - And though the sun shone at its brightest, - I could let other people make hay. - I could perish without ascertaining - Why pearls should be cast before swine, - I could die without ever complaining - That one stitch will never save nine; - And though I once had the ambition - A candle at both ends to burn, - The old craving might go to perdition - If I knew that a worm had its turn. - -These little pieces were admirably rendered by Mr. Alfred Reed and his -company, and they won instant success. - -I can see Mr. Clement Scott’s delighted face just under my box on -the first night of _The United Pair_ and hear his burst of laughter at -the concluding line of the “Song of the China Collectors.” - -But the one of the three comediettas upon which Joe spent the most -pleasant care was _The Friar_--a little thirteenth century fancy of -his own invention and for which he wrote the following verses, giving -charming expression to the pique of a high-born damsel towards her -proud lover and the sorrow of the shepherd swain who becomes the -favourite of an hour. - - - - -THE LADY ISOBEL’S SONG. - - Oh, if I be a lady fair, - I’ll weep for no lord’s frown, - And if my lord should ride away, - I’ll put aside my silk array - And take a russet gown. - - I’ll wear a gown of russet brown, - And sleep on the grassy sward, - And when I meet a shepherd swain, - If he should sigh, I’ll sigh again, - And choose him for my lord. - - I’ll choose a shepherd for my lord, - Though I be a lady fair, - And when the woods are golden brown, - Of yellow leaves I’ll weave a crown, - And bind his golden hair. - - Then my false lord shall cry and weep, - And call his lady fair, - But though for love his heart should bleed, - His sighs and tears I will not heed, - Nor hearken to his prayer. - - - - -THE SHEPHERD AND THE LADY. - -ISOBEL. - - Shepherd, if thou wouldst learn to woo a maid - In Love’s own way, - Follow young Cupid to the hawthorn shade - Some day in May, - And bid him tell thee true - What way were best to woo; - What a poor swain should do - When maids say nay. - -HUBERT. - - Ah! could I find the bower where Love doth dwell - Beneath the May, - And could I plead to him, I know full well - What Love would say. - For he would bid me sigh, - And weep, and moan and cry, - And he would bid me die, - For that’s Love’s way. - -ISOBEL. - - Hast thou forgotten how in shepherd’s guise - One day in May, - Love taught a cruel maid with laughing eyes - To feel Love’s sway, - And when she thought to scorn - This lover lowly born - Love did not weep or mourn, - But laughed and turned away, - And singing when she sighed, - Love wept not when she cried - He cared not if she died - For that’s Love’s way! - -BOTH. - - O Love that came but yester eve, - If thou wilt go before to-morrow, - Then prithee go, but do not leave - My saddened heart to die of sorrow. - If thou wilt hide Love’s laughing eyes, - If we must lose Love’s magic spell, - Then take the burthen of our sighs, - And we will say Farewell! Farewell! - - -THE SHEPHERD’S SONG. - - Ah wherefore should I try to sing - Of Love that’s dead? - Of Love that came before the Spring - And ere Spring came had fled. - ’Tis vain to seek in winter snows - The fallen petals of the rose - ’Tis vain to ask the year to bring - The Love that went before the Spring. - - Our little world was fair to see - Ere Love had come, - Of earth and sky and flower and tree - I sang while Love was dumb. - But now the strings have all one tone, - Love claims all beauty for his own. - In vain! in vain! I can but sing - The Love that went before the Spring. - - And as I sing, Love lives again; - Where’er I go, - His voice is in the summer rain, - His footprints on the snow. - And while October turns to gold, - I dream that April buds unfold, - Ah tell me will the Spring-time bring - The Love that went before the Spring? - -_The Shepherd’s Song_ I have heard him say he was as well pleased with -as with any of his later and more ambitious verse; but it is curious -to note that, quite unconsciously, he repeated the line “But now the -strings have all one tone” in the _Lute Song_, written nearly thirty -years after, for _The Beauty Stone_, an opera done in conjunction with -Sir Arthur Pinero to Sir Arthur Sullivan’s music. - - * * * * * - -The book of _The Beauty Stone_ was published, but I quote the _Lute -Song_ for those who did not know it. - - -THE LUTE’S SONG. - -I. - - Ah, why dost sigh and moan? - Ah, why? ah, why? - Queen of the laughing May - Who wears thy crown to-day? - Good-bye! good-bye! - Yea, for all mirth hath flown; - The strings have all one tone-- - Ah, why? ah, why? - -II. - - It is the lute that sings, - Not I! not I! - Methinks some sleeping heart - That once had felt Love’s smart - Doth wake and cry! - Nay, hark! ’tis love’s own wings - That fan the trembling strings-- - Not I! Not I! - -But dainty as is this little song, it does not to my mind equal in -charm the duet of the two old lovers in the same opera. - - -THE OLD LOVERS OFFERING ONE ANOTHER THE BEAUTY STONE. - -SIMON. - - I would see a maid who dwells in Zolden-- - Her eyes are soft as moonlight on the mere; - The spring hath fled, the ripened year turns golden-- - Shall I win her ere the waning of the year? - The reaping-folk pass homeward by the fountain; - What is it then that calls me from the dell, - What bids me climb the path beside the mountain - To the down beyond the sheepfold? Who can tell? - - Then take it, for this magic stone hath power - To change thee to the fairest; yet to me - Thou wert fairest as I knew thee in that hour - When a maiden dwelt in Zolden! Ah, take it, ’tis for thee! - -JOAN. - - I would see a youth who comes from Freyden-- - He is straighter than the mountain pine-trees grow; - Gossips say he comes to woo a maiden, - So the gossips say--but can they know? - Three laughing maids are in the hollow, - Yet none will set him straight upon his way; - Nay! soft! for he hath found the path to follow-- - He is coming! little heart, what will he say? - - Then take it, for this magic stone hath power - To change thee to the fairest, yet to me - Thou wert fairest as I knew thee in that hour - When a youth came up from Freyden! Ah, take it, ’tis for thee! - -In the Beauty-Stone Joe was only responsible for the lyrics and parts of -the plot. But I know that his idea of the man’s true love being -first awakened after he became blind was dear to him, and he used it -again in his adaptation of Jekyll and Hyde for H. B. Irving; but there -it is the wife whose blindness hides from her all but the beautiful -side of her husband. - -Such were the chief of Joe’s plays. Tireless energy was given to -the production of them all, for I think it was universally admitted -that no one bore the strain of rehearsals as cheerily and patiently -as Joe. But these attributes shone equally in his work upon the plays -of others produced during his many years of management at the Comedy -Theatre, at the Lyceum, after it was taken over by a company, at His -Majesty’s when producing plays for Sir Herbert Tree, and lastly -at Covent Garden, where he arranged the _mise en scène_ for _Parsifal_ -at a time when he was already stricken by failing health. - -Many strenuous hours were spent over each of these ventures in the -most arduous of professions; but what I prefer to recall are the gay -ones--the merry moments--the unfailing good humour, wit and pleasant -jest by which my husband lightened the weary waits with which all who -have laboured for the stage are familiar. - -“Rome wasn’t built in a day,” I can hear him -retort cheerfully to some impatient spectator who was grumbling at -the long waits during the last rehearsal of _Julius Cæsar_ at His -Majesty’s Theatre; and none was so ready as his friend the -actor-manager, with the appreciative laugh. - -Lady Tree--Maud, to us--reminds me of his favourite attitude as he -would stand watching the effects of the lighting of his scenes from -the empty stalls with his stick passed through his arms behind his -back, and his cheery tones uttering the most fearful anathemas against -lime-light men and scene-shifters. - -One day I said to him: “Don’t get so angry, Joe, it must -tire you out.” - -To which he replied with his usual promptness, “Angry, my dear! -Why, I’m only using the language proper to lime-light men: they -understand no other.” - -Once at a Christmas rehearsal, when the stage-hands were all rather -more tipsy than was generally allowable, he came from the stage, and -as he sat down beside me in the stalls he said with a whimsical smile: -“Poor old Burnaby! He keeps muttering, ‘Buried a wife o’ Toosday and -now, s’elp me, can’t lay my ’and on a hammer.’” - -He was held in firm affection by his stage-hands just as he was by -his New Gallery staff, not forgetting the decorators, and those -superior frame-gilders who were only induced by regard for “the -boss” to work together in completing the balustrade of the -balcony during the strenuous last days before the opening of that -“Aladdin’s palace.” - -I recollect one of the scene-shifters at His Majesty’s Theatre -putting his shoulder out at a rehearsal and Joe taking him to hospital -himself; I should never have known of it but that the man’s -quaint expression of gratitude--“Your gentlemanly conduct, sir, -I never shall forget”--so pleased Joe that he had to repeat it to -me. - -The humours of these people always delighted him, and I can see his -mock-grave face as he told me of the head stage-carpenter’s refusal -to carry out an order because it was the day upon which: “We’re all -subservient to Mr. Telbin”--an excuse which Joe, knowing that irascible -scene-painter’s peculiarities--found sufficient. - -No memories are pleasanter to me than those of presentations to us -by these working folk. I have a little Old English silver waiter, an -inscribed gift from the employés at the Comedy Theatre for our silver -wedding; and a ponderous marble clock, also touchingly inscribed, which -the foreman of the stage-hands in the Lyceum Company presented to Joe -in the library of our Kensington house. The man stood in the centre of -the room making a speech, but before it was ended nature prevailed and -he concluded hastily: “If I don’t set it down somewhere I -shall let it drop.” - -Joe had given instructions to our maid to pay the donor’s cab, -and when he retired and found it gone, we were all in dismay upon -learning that he had left his overcoat in it. - -Anecdotes of entertainments in the higher circles of the stage Joe -has told himself in his two books of Reminiscences, the most notable -of them being Henry Irving’s splendid reception to the Rajahs, -when the stage and stalls of the Lyceum were transformed into one vast -flower-garden in half an hour after the fall of the curtain. But I can -add my testimony as to memorable evenings spent at His Majesty’s -Theatre and at Sir Henry Irving’s supper-table in the “Old -Beefsteak Room” of the Lyceum Theatre, when I listened proudly to -Joe’s brilliant talk or speeches, and was sometimes privileged -to act as interpreter between the host and the many distinguished -foreigners who graced that board. Liszt, Joachim, Sarasate are names -which recur to me among them as musicians; but, of course, the guests -were chiefly actors and actresses, flattered, I think, at the fine -welcome from the foremost English Manager. - -Booth, Mary Anderson, Mansfield were the foremost Americans, to -the latter of whom I remember Irving’s grim advice _à propos_ of -the fatigue of a ventriloquist-voice in a gruesome part: “If it’s -unwholesome I should do it some other way.” Jane Hading, Coquelin, -Réjane and, of course, the incomparable Sarah Bernhardt represented the -French; and I think Salvini was the only one from the stage of Italy. - -Sarah and our dear Ellen Terry were always great friends, and I call -to mind a pretty little passage when they were sitting opposite to one -another and Sarah, leaning forward, cried, in response to some gracious -word of Nell’s: “My dearling, there are two peoples who -shall never be old--you and me.” - -The words are still, happily, true at the hour when I write. - -Relating to members of the German stage entertained by Sir Henry, the -most amusing incident is that related by Joe himself in detail: of -the great actor’s grim humour in calling upon him suddenly to -speak in praise of the Sax-Meiningen Company, when Joe had innocently -told him an hour before that he had been unable to go to any of their -performances. Ladies were not present on that occasion, but I was told -that Joe’s speech was one of the wittiest he ever delivered: -there was nothing that so sharpened his rapier as being apparently put -at a disadvantage. - -I find no mention by himself of a similar occurrence on a different -issue. This time Irving had invited the Oxford and Cambridge crews to -supper and, being suddenly indisposed, was unable to propose their -health. Without even waiting to be asked Joe rose to his feet and, -anxious to divert the young men’s attention from their host, -surpassed himself in exuberant fun, keeping them in a roar of laughter -for a quarter of an hour over his alleged uncertainty as to which of -the two ’Varsities had secured the honours of the boat-race. - -I am told that Joe again acquitted himself well at a dinner given to -Arthur Balfour, when Anthony Hope called upon him without notice from -the chair to return thanks for his proposed health. I don’t know why or -how the inspiration came, but “Love” was Joe’s topic, and it is easy to -imagine what a gracious and merry time he made with the various aspects -of this subject. - -Of his meetings with Italian actors and actresses Joe does not speak -save in the instance of Madame Ristori, for whose genius he had an -unsurpassed veneration. - -His _Eminent Victorians_ contains the tale of an afternoon at her house -when she had invited him and one or two of the dramatic critics to hear -her speak _Lady Macbeth’s_ sleep-walking scene in English with a -view to doing it before a British audience. - -Her large and sonorous rendering of the line “All the perfumes -of Arâbia” delighted him, though he tried to teach her our -own insular pronunciation; he was loudly in favour of the public -performance in English, which she finally gave, and I shall never -forget the awe-inspiring effect of the slow and gentle snoring which -she kept running through the whole of the speech. - -Joe never admired even Salvini as much, though he revelled in his great -voice on the resounding Roman tongue. He made us all laugh one day by -mimicking the mincing tones of a Cockney interpreter translating the -Italian tragedian’s sonorous language when returning thanks for -his London welcome at a public dinner. - -Eleonora Duse, for whom our Nell had the most ardent admiration, was -rarely able, by reason of her frail health, to grace festive occasions -after her work; but Joe had one or two interesting meetings with her -during the season that she rented one of the theatres that he managed -and we were all present together at her pathetic performance of the -_Dame aux Camelias_; the next night we witnessed Sarah Bernhardt in the -same rôle, and Joe gives an able comparison of the two performances in -_Coasting Bohemia_. On the latter occasion a note came round to Nell -from the stage saying: “To-night I play for you.” And the -promise was well kept. - -Speaking of Sarah Bernhardt, I recall a happening of the days before -Joe was entitled to the consideration due to a theatrical manager; -he had obtained a promise from the famous lady that she would lunch -with us in our quiet home and we bade to meet her not by any means our -“second-best” friends--to quote a huffed English actor regarding the -guests of another evening. We waited an hour with a patient party and -then Joe hastened with a cab to fetch the lady, only to be told that -she had forgotten the engagement and was in her bath preparing to keep -another. I need not perhaps record that Joe’s wit was equal to the -occasion in pacifying our outraged guests. - -He and Sarah became firm friends later, and she had Joe’s _King -Arthur_ translated into French with a view to playing the part of -_Lancelot_; but this intention was never carried out. - -So many and various are the memories which crowd upon me connected with -the stage that it is quite impossible for me to sift and record them -without undue risk of boring any readers I may have. Suffice it to say -that I think, of his many occupations, the theatre, whether in writing -for it or in labouring at productions upon it, was the one which most -entranced and held Joe. Not only did he love every detail of the work, -but it brought him in daily contact with all sorts and conditions of -men and women, taxed his powers as a leader of them and gave him hourly -opportunity for the exercise of his humanizing and inspiring gift: -that highest kind of humour which needs no preparation, but is evoked -by every little passing incident and has its real might in the love of -mankind. - -Perhaps I may here quote a portion of an American interviewer’s -account of a talk with Henry Irving, sent to Joe by J. L. Toole during -one of his old friend’s long tours in the United States. - - -“THE WITTIEST MAN IN ENGLAND.” - -“Whom do you consider the wittiest man in England to-day?” - -“Well, in my opinion, the greatest of our wits is a man of whom -very little is known out here. He is Comyns Carr, who wrote _King -Arthur_ for me.” - -“He is a theatrical manager in London, is he not?” - -“Yes, at the present he is, but he is a distinguished man in -literature as well. A polished essayist and the most sparkling man I -have ever met. As an extemporaneous speaker he is delightful.” - -“Is he an Irishman?” - -“Perhaps he is, originally. Now you speak of it. Do you know -if Carr is an Irish name? Comyns is at any rate and then most of -our celebrated wits have been Irishmen--our Sheridans and our -Goldsmiths?” - -With this pleasing tribute to my husband I may fitly close these -theatrical reminiscences, though I like to recall that Joe and Henry -Irving had appreciations of one another on a graver side to which -some pages in _Eminent Victorians_ testify, and many are the pleasant -holiday hours we spent as his guests both abroad and at home. He used -to visit the old-world village of Winchelsea by Rye, where we had a -cottage close to the ancient gateway of the town--afterwards sold to -Ellen Terry. - -But the most notable of our joint trips was that to Nuremberg in search -of material for the production of _Faust_. This was the first occasion -on which I made a hit with my designing of Ellen Terry’s dresses, -which I afterwards did for nearly twenty years. Being the only one -of the party speaking German, I made many bargains in the shops and -on the old market-place chiefly under Joe’s direction but also -by request of Henry or Nell. She bought me a solid housewife’s -copper jug in the market, and Joe and I secured an old ivory casket -which she accepted from us and in which she kept the gew-gaws in the -“Jewel Scene.” - -She and I had a delightful evening in the old Castle, I having -persuaded a little girl-custodian to let us in after hours so that we -saw the place in solemn loneliness with the sunset glow reddening the -red roofs of the city far below us. - -I won the admission by a highly coloured description of the actress in -Shakespeare, which the child actually had seen in her own town; and -Nell promised her a signed photograph--punctually posted on our return. - -This excursion was made while Joe and Henry were away at Rothenburg, -which my husband had insisted that Irving must see on account of its -unique preservation of untouched city-wall and battlements. - -It was a memorable tour, of which Joe tells some interesting anecdotes -in _Coasting Bohemia_. - -In speaking of the long drives which his host loved and so greatly -preferred to any kind of exercise, Joe does not confess, however, how -impossible he found it to keep himself awake. “We sit side by -side and sleep for hours!” he would tell me regretfully when he -came home. And I don’t suppose it occurred to any of us then that -it was the best rest that tired theatrical managers could have. - - - - -CHAPTER IX - -ENTERTAINMENT - - -This is a topic upon which I touch timidly; not only because Joe has -talked of it himself in _Some Eminent Victorians_, but also because -I had, perhaps less than most of his friends, the opportunity to -appreciate his gifts as a public, or even a social, entertainer. In -the long list of his after-dinner speeches there were not more than -half a dozen that I was lucky enough to hear; and the little corner in -the Garrick Club where I know he was wont to sit, quickly attracting -thither the most appreciative spirits and keeping them all the evening -in a ripple of laughter, was obviously a forbidden spot to me. - -I think his celebrity in this matter needs no mention of mine; but I -should like to quote one or two appreciations by distinguished literary -men. - -The first is in a letter to myself, where Anthony Hope draws a -remarkable portrait of him: “He was a great arguer,” he writes; “for -while his temper was always serene, his good humour did not blunt the -edge of his tongue. Quite recently I have reread his last book with the -keenest appreciation; it shows a broad, appreciative mind, and yet one -quite clear for values and criterions. - -“We have lost a man of rare gifts, a splendid companion, a -generous, kindly, gracious friend. One is happy in having known him, -happy too in feeling that life was to him a fine thing--a thing he -loved, appreciated and used to the utmost. And his name will live--I -think that will be proved true--in the memories of men and in their -written records of these times. - -“He was a figure and a presence amongst us.” - -Another appreciation is by W. J. Locke and appeared in one of the -leading papers: - -“In a brief notice like the present it is impossible to dwell on -the career of one of the most versatile of our profession. Everything -he touched he adorned with his own peculiar sense of artistic -perfection. He was an eminent art critic, a theatrical manager with -high ideals, an editor of fine discernment, and a distinguished -playwright. He was one of the finest after-dinner speakers of his -generation, and one of the few men who earned, maintained, and deserved -the reputation of a wit. A writer in a recent newspaper article -wrongly charged him with being rather a monologuist in social talk -than a conversationalist. Far from this being the case, no one more -fully appreciated and practised the delicate art of conversation. It -may be said, perhaps, that he was one of the youngest--he died in -his sixty-eighth year--and one of the last of the great Victorians; -for though his keen intellect never lost touch with the events and -movements of recent years, yet his mental attitude was typically -that of the second half of the nineteenth century in its sturdy -radicalism, its search after essentials, its abhorrence of shams, and -its lusty enjoyment of what was real and good in life. The honest -workman with pen or brush always found at his hands generous praise or -encouragement; for the charlatan, or ‘Jack Pudding,’ as he -was fond of terming him, he had no mercy. - -“Struggling against grievous physical disability, he died -practically in harness. His last book, a treatise on painting, -completed but a month or two ago, is said by those privileged to read -the proofs, to reveal a vigour unimpaired by illness and an enthusiasm -undimmed by age. An arresting and lovable figure has passed from us, -one that linked us with a generation of giants whose work was ending -when ours began. It is for us, with sadness, to say, _Vale_: but we -know that their honoured shades will greet with many an _ave_ the -advent of ‘Joe’ Carr on the banks of Acheron.” - -Two more extracts from letters, I have the permission of the writers to -quote. One is from A. E. W. Mason: - -“The traits and qualities which come back to me,” he -writes, are “his boyish spirit, his sense of fun, his swiftness -in dropping out of fun and suddenly touching upon great themes with the -surest possible touch, his knowledge of Shakespeare, his passion for -Dickens,” etc. And the other is in the letter of affectionate -sympathy written to me at the time of his death by one of the oldest -and most valued of his friends, Sir Frederick Macmillan: - -“He was one of the most gifted and brilliant creatures I have -ever known, and had such a kindly nature that no one could come across -him without loving him. - -“I am proud to think that it was my privilege to give him his -last literary commission, and that it has resulted in such a fine piece -of work in the region in which he had always been a master.” - -This allusion is to _The Ideals of Painting_, published posthumously -and still before the public. - -The following notice appeared in the _Manchester Guardian_: - -“The remarkable thing about Mr. Joseph Comyns Carr was that, -while his reputation as a talker and after-dinner speaker was made in -the late Victorian days, his gift was so genuine and so deep-set in -human nature that even in these days when the whole poise of humour -is changed, people still spoke of him as our best man. I doubt if -anyone could stand the Victorian after-dinner speeches that established -reputations, or if Wilde himself would keep the table quiet, but, until -near the end, Carr was the person organisers of dinners first thought -of when they wanted a toast list that would attract guests. He had -a Johnsonian decisiveness and real brilliance of definition, with a -freakish fancy and playfulness that at times had much of Henley’s -saltness and ferocity.” - -I am bound to say I never heard the ferocity, but then there were -ladies present when I was. His chaff was sometimes keen, it is true, -and at our friends’ houses I sometimes sat quaking for fear it -should give offence; but even I underrated the power of his personality -and the deep affection in which he was universally held, and I did not -guess till he was gone the wealth of friends who missed him. - -“There should be a monument erected to him for having cheered -more folk and made more laughter than anyone did before him,” -said one; and so it was even in the less inspiring surroundings of his -own home. - -My mind goes back to the first frugal little dinners of our early life, -given when we had moved from the rooms over the dispensary in Great -Russell Street to a proper house in Blandford Square, now the Great -Central Railway Station. - -He always did his own carving, and later taught our daughter to be -nearly as expert as he was at it; no amount of pleading for the -“table decoration” from our handsome parlour-maid would -deter him, and she and I had cause to weep over splashed brocade -table-centres which were the fashion of the hour. - -“What _is_ this bird, my dear?” he asked one -night about some moderate-priced game which I thought I had -“discovered.” - -“Hazel-grouse, Joe,” faltered I, guessing that some reproof -was coming. - -“Nasal-grouse, you mean,” said he; promptly adding for -my consolation, “She’s a bit of a foreigner, you see, -so they take her in about our English birds. Never mind, dear! This -bird’s muscles are less tough, at all events, than those of -your country fowl who walked from Devonshire last week.” And he -turned to his friends and added: “I can give you nothing but the -plainest of food, but I always take a pride in its being the best of -its kind.” - -That was his unfailing word: “The best is good enough for -me!” he would say; and he would go himself to the butcher if the -Sunday beef had not been succulent, and say kindly: “You need not -trouble to send me anything but the best.” - -That was why his friends set so much store by his gastronomic -opinion--he was a great judge of food, he had it both from his Irish -mother and his Cumberland father; he knew good meat when he saw it, as -that astute friend of his, the Hertfordshire butcher already mentioned, -would tell him; and no one appreciated this more than the late Lord -Burnham. They both agreed that plain fare was always the finest--_but_ -it must be of the best. A cold sirloin must be served uncut, yet the -host of those memorable week-end parties at Hall Barn always knew -whether it would be “prime” _when_ cut and would beg Joe to -keep a good portion of his appetite for the tasting of it. Neither of -them gave the first place to made-dishes, though Joe could enjoy these -when perfect--as they were at that bountiful table. - -The made-dishes of unknown cooks he always mistrusted, especially when -he had reason to fear that the dinner would be of what he called “the -green-grocer’s and pastry-cook’s” class; and I remember his wicked -assertion that his “inside was rattling like a pea in a canister” with -all the tinned food that he had eaten at one such entertainment. - -Alas, that he should have been condemned to some of it, through war -necessities, at the end of his life! - -He would take pains sometimes in instructing me and our own humble cook -in the concoction of some new dish from a good receipt; but nothing was -to be spared in the cost of the necessary ingredients: the soup, fish -or _entree_ must be made “of the best,” not forgetting that the “pig -and onion were the North and South poles of cookery;” and, I think, he -might have added also the oyster. - -His Christmas turkey was almost always boiled, after his mother’s -Irish method, stuffed with oysters and served with fried pork -sausages and a lavish oyster sauce or a _vol-au-vent_ of the same; -latterly the oysters always came in a barrel from our kind friend -“Bertie” Sullivan. - -Yes, his friends esteemed him highly as a food expert; there is a -letter from Edward Burne-Jones (quoted, I think, by Joe) in which he -begs him to order the dinner for some entertainment of his own. “Oh, -dear Carr, save my honour,” he writes, “I know no more what dinner to -order than the cat on the hearth--less, for she would promptly order -mice. Oh, Carr, order a nice dinner so that I may not be quoted as a -warning of meanness ... yet not ostentatious and presuming such as -would foolishly compete with the banquets of the affluent. O, Carr, -come to the rescue!” - -This dear friend cared comparatively little for the pleasures of the -table, but Joe was even privileged to pass on one of his receipts to an -acknowledged _gourmet_: it was the simmering of a ham half the time in -stock and vegetables, and the remainder in champagne--or, failing that, -in any good white wine; and as for his salads, he was famed for them. - -I can see the pretty little plate of chives and other chopped herbs, -with yoke and white of hard-boiled mashed egg, that our French -_bourgeoise_ cook would send up ready for his meticulous choice in the -mixing of either a Russian or a lettuce salad: “a niggard of -vinegar, a spendthrift of oil, and a maniac at mixing,” was the -old adage he went by. - -Our cooks were always as proud as I was to try and follow out his -ideas, and we were invariably praised for success: I remember an -occasion when the confused damsel--partly because she happened to be -very pretty--was summoned to the dining-room to receive her meed; and -when it was blame, I caught the brunt of it and mitigated the dose -downstairs. - -But as it was always in the form of fun I never minded; I was always -proud to be the butt of it. Sometimes I scored, as when the dessert -came at that first party, and he said, offering a dish of sweets to his -neighbour: - -“Try a preserved fruit; they’ve stood the move from -Bloomsbury wonderfully well,” and I was able to produce the -freshly opened box, just arrived from a choice foreign firm, and prove -my hospitality to be less stinted. - -I had my partisans in those days. Pellegrini, the _Vanity Fair_ -caricaturist, was one of them. I hailed from his own country, and I can -hear him say: - -“Never minder Joe! You and I we ’ave de sun in de -eyes.” And then we would discuss the proper condiment for -_maccaroni_, and next time he came he would bring it ready cooked in -a fireproof dish, tenderly carried on his lap in the hansom, which he -insisted upon placing on the proper spot of the kitchen stove to warm: -on such nights, he ate little of our British fare. - -My husband and he were fast friends nevertheless. If Joe had not -“de sun in de eyes” he had it in the heart, and Pellegrini -adored him, even going so far once as to break his oath never to -sleep out of his own lodgings, that he might visit us at a cottage on -the Thames, where--although he allowed that the moon “she is a -beauty”--he used cold cream and kid gloves to counteract the -ill-effects of hard water, and sat up all night rather than retire to a -strange bed. - -Several tales of this lovable and laughable character are told in -_Eminent Victorians_, most of them referring to those happy little -homely dinner parties where Joe shone so pleasantly, and which his -friends not only graced with their presence, but even sometimes -contributed to by little kindly presentations of delicacies. - -Perhaps few have received as much kindness as Joe did, and though -always grateful, he was never overwhelmed. Of the pride which resents -gifts he had none. “I wouldn’t take a jot from any but a -friend,” he would say. “But if a friend, who has more than -I, likes to share it with me, why should I refuse? I would do the same -for him. I have no money, but I give him what I possess.” - -And none who knew him--rich or poor--in any of his many spheres, but -would testify to this: he gave the young of his wise and tactful advice -in their careers, sparing no time or trouble to advance those who were -steadfast of purpose; he gave to his contemporaries of his untiring -sympathy--known only to those who received it; he gave of his cheerful -optimism to all: no form of envy ever crossed his mind. - -“I can enjoy fine things just as well when they belong to -others as to me,” he would say. Of none are the words truer: -“Having nothing yet possessing all things.” - -But this graver digression has led me far from that merry Christmas -party, when the parlour-maid, whose beauty was an attraction of our -first home, and whose charm and devotion for eleven years are one -of its sweetest memories, was forced to retire to the sideboard to -compose her face; which sort of thing did not only occur at our own -table, but at far smarter houses where decorous butlers would bow -their heads lower to conceal their smiles, the mistress of one of them -even declaring that her maggiordomo had not considered the company -that evening worthy of Joe, and had suggested a different choice for a -future party. - -There was one over-cultured house to which we used to be bidden where -the learned hostess was mated to a meek alien, who never presumed to -understand her conversation. One evening, before the fish was removed, -she leant forward and called down the table to Joe: “Mr. Comyns -Carr, would you kindly inform us ‘what is style?’” - -Joe scarcely paused before he replied with his sunniest smile, -“Not before the sweets, Madam.” And he turned pleasantly to -the amazed host and began complimenting him on the excellence of his -claret. - -I think, although I am afraid I have heard him call that host a “Prince -of Duldoggery,” he preferred him that night to the lady of culture, -though she was too serious to be included in his pet aversions, the -“Lady Sarah Volatile’s” or “jumping-cats” of Society. - -But even among such, how prompt he was to detect the tiniest spark of -genuine knowledge or enthusiasm, the most foolishly concealed quality -of true womanliness and devotion. - -I remember a girl-friend of his daughter’s, boasting to him in -defiance of his counsel, that she would drive to Ascot alone in an -admirer’s car. - -“No you won’t,” said Joe quietly. - -And loudly as she persisted that night--she did _not_. - -I could multiply these instances by the score, for even in middle -age he was the darling of all girls, though he always told them -home-truths, and many was the match he made or wisely marred in the -confidential corner of a drawing-room. - -Whether in the quiet or the open, of course, he always talked the -better for his cigar, and to some the sight of the matches he wasted -while seeking the positively apt word was a joy in itself--or an -annoyance, as the case might be. - -I know one dear friend who could not listen for irritation, and would -burst out at last: “Light your pipe, first, old man, do!” - -Yet there were times when he had no pipe to light--in smart -drawing-rooms or theatre stalls, for instance. He was very naughty in -the latter, and kept me in a fever lest, being so well known, some one -should overhear him who could make mischief. - -Once he was reproved by the management for making his party laugh -immoderately in the stage-box at a sorely dull farcical comedy. - -“Pray present my compliments to the manager,” said Joe -suavely to the attendant who had brought the message, “and assure -him that we were not laughing at anything on the stage.” - -The speech he was proud to make every 8th of January in honour of his -dear old friend, Sir Lawrence Alma-Tadema’s birthday, and the -good wishes which for many years he voiced for many friends at Sir -George and Lady Lewis’ New-Year parties, will not perhaps be -altogether forgotten, nor could I recall the topical interests of the -moment after so long. - -But those who knew him best knew that the opportunities for witty -rejoinder and humorous invention were by no means limited to set -occasions; they were instantly seized on provocation which no one else -would have perceived, and as often in the simplicity of domestic life -as in the society of clever people who might have been supposed to -inspire him. - -Who but Joe, when a picnic was spread beneath the trees in the woods -at Walton, and a combative young curate, claiming to have secured the -spot, swooped down upon us with his Sunday-school flock, would have -whispered merrily: “Never mind! We’ll cut him according to -his cloth!” - -Or who, on being asked by a lady which was my “At Home” -day, would have replied: “Let me see! Sunday is the Lord’s -Day, and Monday is my wife’s day;” or, in the days of my -slenderness and his more opulent figure, would have declared that, -taking the average, we were the thinnest couple in London? - -These trivial jokes will seem poor to the friends who have heard -his later and more brilliant _bon-mots_ and have listened to his -longer orations; but, as I have said, I know little of those public -speeches. The most notable of these at which I remember being present -was at a dinner of the Royal Literary Fund, when he spoke long and -with deep illumination on his beloved Charles Dickens; he always -spoke at the various commemorative entertainments given in the great -novelist’s honour, but never so brilliantly and so profoundly as -that time. - -When the occasion was more formal--as when he took the chair at the -Actors’ Benevolent or the Dramatic and Musical Fund--he would -sometimes recite to me beforehand part of the speech which he intended -to deliver, but I believe he rarely stuck to his plan, and I have heard -him say that he preferred merely to prepare the “joints” of -his subject--_i.e._ each new departure--and to leave all the filling-in -to the inspiration of the moment as influenced by the foregoing speaker -or any unforeseen incident. - -I recollect that the peroration of a speech for the Dramatic and -Musical Fund ended: “I plead not so much for the deserving as for -the undeserving,” and I believe that he added: “of whom I -am one.” - -I know that he told me next day--half in glee, but much also in -pride--that the Toastmaster had told him that he had never stood behind -a chair and seen so much money raked in. - -It was certainly to his mastery of the impromptu that he owed the -triumph of his oration before the U.S. Ambassador, Mr. Bayard, -at a moment when war seemed suddenly possible with our great -English-speaking neighbour; and I recollect that Ellen Terry, who was -then in New York, told me later that when Joe’s speech appeared -in the papers _en résumé_ (it never could be wholly reported owing to -his making no notes) there was a marked change in the tide of feeling. - -He has related a part of this incident in his _Eminent Victorians_, but -he has not mentioned this last particular, neither has he told how his -triumph was won by his large appreciation of the love lavished upon -the giants of our English literature by our “friends across the -seas.” - - - - -CHAPTER X - -HOLIDAYS - - -A happy chapter this: for though Joe always had so many irons in the -fire that lengthy holidays were not only very few with him but actually -avoided and disliked, he made merry so well by the wayside that many a -memory falls into a category scarcely enshrined in a longer period than -a summer afternoon, or at most, a week-end trip; he made holiday for -other folk all the time, and in so doing made it for himself. - -Of week-end visits none were more joyous than those spent under -the hospitable roof of our friends Sir George and Lady Lewis at -Walton-on-Thames, where Sir Edward Burne-Jones was a constant visitor. -Neither of those friends were knighted or baroneted then, so that -perhaps we might all have been said to be--using Joe’s own -words--“of the lower middle class, to which I am proud to -belong.” - -Oscar Wilde was often of the Walton party--fresh from Oxford then, and -considerably esteemed as a wit himself, though not, as Joe shows in his -Reminiscences, always above the suspicion of borrowing. - -In this respect he somewhat resembled Whistler; but the latter was more -honest in his plagiarism. - -One day Whistler accused Joe of making a joke at the expense of his -friend--a false accusation in reality, though sometimes lightly -true--to which Joe quickly answered: “Well, I can make a friend -most days, but I can only make a good joke now and then:” -assuredly only half a truth, too. - -“Ha! ha!” laughed Whistler with his shrill cackle, “I -wish I had said that myself!” - -“Never mind, Jimmy, you will,” retorted Joe. - -And the cackle broke forth again whole-heartedly, whereas Wilde might -possibly have been offended. - -But very few folk were ever offended at my husband’s fun. - -One of the members said to him one day at the Garrick Club, in a -whimsical and deprecating manner: “These fellows tell me that I have -the reputation of a wit, my dear Carr.” To which Joe replied: “Don’t -worry! you’ll live that down in an afternoon.” And I am told that the -friend was wont to repeat this against himself. Again, the mother of a -pretty young girl, whom he was openly flattering, asked him, laughing, -whether his intentions were serious, to which he replied: “Serious, but -not honourable, madam.” But if this lady was not offended perhaps it -was because he had known her since the time when she was fourteen years -old herself. - -An evening in Lady Lewis’ pretty drawing-room at the Walton -cottage comes vividly back to me. We were playing some geographical -game with the children, in the course of which Oscar Wilde--with a -view to grown-up applause--found occasion to ask: “Where is the -capital of the Rothschilds?” - -The children looked blank. - -“Why, in Behring Straits,” said Joe promptly, and I -remember old Sir George Lewis’ smile, for it was at the time of -the famous city crisis when, but for that capital, the great firm of -Baring might have stopped payment. - -Even in that most precarious form of fun, the practical joke, Joe was -never known to hurt even the most thin-skinned. - -One day he and Mr. Hallé, his co-director at the New Gallery--made -an excursion to Sir Edward Burne-Jones’ home--The Grange, -Kensington--and sent up a message to the artist asking if he would -receive two gentlemen who had called to ask whether he would take -shares in the _Great Wheel_. The maid must have been sore put to it to -keep her countenance, for the rage with which the painter viewed the -monstrosity that climbed the sky above his garden wall was well known -in his household. - -He rushed downstairs, palette in hand, only to find “little -Carr,” as he affectionately called him, waiting demurely in the -hall on quite other business. - -At the sweet Rottingdean home a similar joke was played: Burne-Jones’ -loathing of the “interviewer” was a very open secret; so one summer -evening Joe crept up to the front door and sent in an audacious name, -purporting to be that of an American who hoped for a few words with the -distinguished artist. - -From the shade of the porch he peeped into the dining-room window, -and had the satisfaction of seeing his friend creep under the -dinner-table, while the maid returned with the message that Sir Edward -Burne-Jones was not at home. I think Joe’s familiar back was -quickly recognised as he walked, in mock dignity, down the garden path, -and he was not sent empty away. - -Of course, the practical jokes of which he shared the invention with -his good friend J. L. Toole--a master of the craft--were the most -cunningly devised. He has related the choicest in _Eminent Victorians_, -but I could tell of many a family laugh over them, and “One more -Tooler, father, before we go to bed,” was a common request. - -One of the favourite stories was told of him when travelling down with -Joe to the beautiful old moated house at Ightham, which our American -friends, General and Mrs. Palmer, had made their English home. Stopping -at a wayside station above which a lordly mansion stood among the -trees, Toole beckoned a porter and, in the gibberish that he used so -glibly at these moments, pretended to utter the name of its owner. - -“Oh, you mean Mr. So-and-So,” said the porter. - -“Of course--I said so!” retorted the shameless comedian. “Well, here’s -half a crown. When the train’s off, run up to the house and say ‘we -shall be seven to dinner and the game will follow.’” - -The whistle went as the porter, holding on to the door, enquired: -“Who shall I say, Sir?” - -But the train moved on and Toole returned to the reading of his paper, -leaving a gaping man on the platform. - -This same Ightham Mote was the scene of many of our happiest hours. -Its charming hostess was a dear friend whose rare gifts of sympathy -and true hospitality enabled her not only to attract to her house the -brightest of spirits, but also to draw from them their best. Children, -too, to whom she was a fairy godmother, were welcome as friends in -their own right. Our daughter and younger son were specially dear to -her in their different ways, and many was the grave, childish saying of -the latter that she would repeat to the proud father, though perhaps -the one he oftenest told himself was said to Alma Tadema when the -five-year-old boy remarked that he preferred a gas to a coal fire, -because the first went out when _you_ liked, and the latter when _it_ -liked. - -Joe was appreciated of all children and always won their favour easily; -but I remember one little lady administering a severe rebuff to him -when, after many lures, he said at last: “Well, I don’t -care whether you come or not!” to which she replied: “Oh, -yes, you do!” - -But that was an exception; they were usually his slaves, and loved his -stories as much as their elders did. He treated them as his equals only -requiring that they should do the same; and when his first grandson -was born and some one alluded to him as a proud grandfather, he said: -“I like the child, but there’s to be no grandfather about -it. I’m to be Joe to him as to others.” And so he was to -the children of that dear lady in beautiful Ightham Mote. - -Christmas was a real Yuletide in the fine old wainscoted hall and -library, where Joe was always ready for the revel, as he was for the -outdoor sports with his own children and those of the house. There -were games in the beautiful old quadrangle and fishing feats from the -bridges that lead across the moat to the bowling-green beyond; but the -latter must have been worse than a bad joke to an expert angler such -as my husband--consisting as they did in trying to lure the trout by -a bait tied on to a hairpin; luckily the fish swam away merrily and -perhaps enjoyed the fun too. - -Frederick Jameson, that earliest friend of the days of our courtship, -led the carol and song, and played for children and grown-ups to dance; -Henry James sat in the ingle nook and told us ghost-stories of his -making wholly in keeping with the place; George Meredith watched and -made shrewd comments on the characteristics and possible careers of our -various children, and discoursed on every topic--always expecting the -homage due to him and reserving the conversation, even from Joe, by a -long-drawn “Ah--” until he was ready with his next paradox. - -Yet there was a moment when Joe scored even off Meredith. I think he -tells the tale in _Coasting Bohemia_, but not of himself. Meredith -had been criticizing George Eliot, and in a brief pause, Joe put in: -“Yes! Panoplied in all the philosophies she swoops upon the -commonplace.” And Meredith, laughing, replied, “I wish I -had said that myself!” - -One day we were busy amusing the children in the big Hall with -a game of Definitions; one wrote down a word for Subject, the -next man defined, and the third--the paper being turned over the -Subject--“recovered” it. - -Thus: Subject, _Soap_; Definition, as made by Joe: _The Horror of the -East-end multitude_. Recovery, _Jack the Ripper_: the nickname of the -celebrated East-end murderer who was then the talk of the whole town. - -Joe was leaving that day for London, and the man came to announce that -the trap was at the door. - -He rose to go, but the children had begun another definition for his -“last.” _Woman_ was given as the word. _The Better Half_, -wrote the next person. - -“Only just time to make the train, Sir,” said the footman. - -The children wailed, and we all followed him out of the hall and saw -him off; but half an hour later a telegram was handed to our hostess. - -“Recovery: _An Angel once removed_”; and nobody needed to -hear the signature. - -The children were always the frame to the picture in that lovable -household, and our daughter--the apple of her father’s eye, -made in his mould, gifted with his humour and large with his urbane -and generous heart--had a very special place there. I remember his -pride when George Meredith watching her one day at his feet, said: -“Look at the bumps on that child’s head. Always let her -pursue whatever walk in life she chooses.” - -His advice was followed; and she _knew_ what she would choose. I was -having her trained for a violinist (for her gifts were several) and her -master was proud of her at twelve years old. But at fourteen she came -to us one day and said: “Father, I hope you won’t mind: -I’ve sold my violin. I know now that I want to draw--and no one -can serve two masters so I’ve put away the temptation.” - -Joe was generally the centre around whom the children mustered in those -good days, and many an extra ten minutes did he beg off their bedtime -in the summer twilight or by the big Christmas logs. He used to tell -them that he hated going to bed himself, and nothing was more true. - -“If I didn’t know that your mother always gives me cotton sheets,” he -would say on a winter’s night, “I would never go. I’ve no fancy for a -country trip every time I turn round in bed.” - -But indeed he needed no such excuse for sitting up late when he had a -congenial audience. He had a wonderful capacity for sound sleep when -the time came--a capacity equalled, as he expressed it, for “enjoying” -laziness; because, of exercise--save in the pursuit of bird or fish--he -would have none; but most of his life he sat up late and his most -welcome form of rest was always in talk. - -In this relaxation he was even more than matched in argumentativeness -by the husband of another most hospitable hostess, to whom he addresses -the following letter after a long visit when she had housed us in a -homeless interval. I may add that our host was an etymologist, and -would confront Joe with a dictionary in support of his own view of -a disputed word; also that he was an eminent amateur musician and a -vehement Wagnerian. - - - “MY DEAR----, - - It seems to me that you and your husband ought to be told that you are - excellent hosts--and yet I don’t want the thing to get about. - At first I thought that I would declare loudly to all whom I met how - pleasant a thing it was to stay in your house; and then I thought I - wouldn’t. - - When one has discovered a really charming place where one can live - with exclusive regard to one’s own selfish indulgence, it is - perhaps hardly wise to noise it abroad. Some of the snuggest corners - in Europe have been ruined by such imprudent chatter; and I feel that - I should never forgive myself if I were to be the means of making it - generally known that your house is so delightful. But I think after - all that I can trust you! - - You are not the sort of person to gossip about such a thing; and when - I tell you that what I am going to say is confidential, I simply mean - that I would not, for the present at any rate, mention the subject to - your daughter; young people are fanciful, and she might misinterpret - my meaning--besides why shouldn’t she find it out for herself? - No, let this be for you and your husband’s ear alone! And even - for you it must be in some sense a barren secret; you cannot stay with - yourselves! If you could I should recommend nothing so strongly as a - few weeks’ visit to your charming home. It would do your husband - all the good in the world--get him out of himself, so to speak--while - it would make you a different woman. Not that I think that in any way - desirable; I simply avail myself of a phrase that is always applied to - me when a change is recommended. - - Yes! If you could only stay at----! - - The family is small, but extremely intelligent, with minds well stored - with the most varied kinds of knowledge. - - Your host is a type! - - Waking--with him--appears to be the momentary interruption of an - animated conversation which has engaged the long hours others reserve - for sleep. - - With them a new day seems to open a new volume with cover, title page - and preface. Not so with him. - - The intervening night is simply a semi-colon in an uncompleted - sentence--a Wagnerian clause in a melody that repudiates a close. - This might seem to argue a too rigid adherence to a single theme with - menace of monotony. Yet nothing could be less true. - - At the bidding of a single word the whole scene changes with the - shifting magic of a dream, and you are surprised to find yourself - suddenly plunged into quite another conversational sea. - - I have seen visitors at your house who would turn a deaf ear to these - alert exercises of the dawn--moody men who became at once absorbed in - the mere pleasures of the table; taking refuge in bacon from arguments - to which they could find no auroral reply. They are cowards and I will - have none of them! Rather would I emulate the tact of your hostess who - finds, and welcomes, in these wide-ranging thoughts of morn, a bulwark - that keeps the host from the kitchen boiler. For he is very apt to - descend suddenly from his philosophic heights and pounce with unerring - precision on some petty domestic error. - - It is here you may observe the sweet influence of the daughter of the - house, whose finesse would almost deserve the name of cunning if its - purpose were not so benign. - - In her skilful hands I have seen disaster averted by a dictionary and - an impending storm transferred from a tea-cup to a disputed line of - Tennyson. - - I am painting for you only the lighter moods of life at this charming - house; of what else is delightful you must some day go and see for - yourself. But I forget; of course you can’t and there is my - difficulty staring me in the face. I wonder if it is mine alone? - - I find it so easy to trace a smile to its source: so difficult to - define the lasting charm that lies behind it! - - And even when the definition is at hand my tongue halts at eulogy. - Odd! I love to be praised and remembrance offers no instance when - I have been in fear lest appreciation should sink to flattery. But - when I try to praise others--even as they deserve--I am overtaken by - a feeling of delicacy on their behalf which I have never felt for - myself. And so I end dumb on the very threshold of my theme. - - I should like to say a great number of things of you and your husband, - but somehow it doesn’t seem possible. Some day, when I meet - a stranger in the train at one of those odd moments when by some - irresistible impulse, I am driven to confide to a chance acquaintance - secrets that through a long life I have hidden from my dearest - friends--I shall say something about you and him that you might like - to hear. But I can’t command the hour and meanwhile, you see, I - am no further than when I began. All I can say is that, if ever you - ask me to your house again, let nothing be changed from what it was, - for it could not be changed for the better. - - Yours ever truly, - J. W. COMYNS CARR.” - - -After this epistle it may not be thought partial on my part to state -that, from the days of our youthful visits to Balcarres to the end -of his life, my husband was a welcome guest at country houses; the -following, in reply to a request from Mrs. F. D. Millet of Broadway, -that he should relieve the strain of a spell of female society upon her -husband, seems to show this. - - - “MY DEAR MRS. MILLET, - - I ought not, but I will! And lest I should falter in my bad - resolution, I have already wired to you saying I should be down on - Saturday. - - It is a strange thing about duty. I believe there is no one who sees - what is facetiously called “the path of duty” more clearly - than I do; but we are differently gifted, and I fancy I never was - intended to walk in it. Like the criminal who acquires in the end an - extensive knowledge of law by industriously incurring its penalties, I - believe that if I could recall all the moral maxims I have neglected - in practice, I might serve as a veritable storehouse of wisdom and - good conduct. And so it happens that, though I see clearly I ought to - stay in town and work, I am nevertheless determined to accept your - kind invitation and come to you on Saturday next. Tell Frank to defer - suicide till after that date. - - I can indeed well understand his melancholy. No man can dwell long in - the exclusive society of women without being crushed by the sense of - his own unworthiness. We are not fit for it. I often wish there were - some bad women in the world, with whom we might associate in our baser - moments, and sometimes, in a dreary mood, I am apt to wonder what - women can have been like before the Fall, they are so perfect now. - - Perhaps in another world we shall be better and you will be worse; let - us hope for the best. - - And in the meantime let not Frank despair. When I see him on Saturday - I will do my best to detach his nose from the grindstone and tune his - unaccustomed lips to words that were once familiar to us both. - - Yours ever truly, - J. W. COMYNS CARR.” - - -In those earlier days he sometimes pretended that his wardrobe was -unfitted for such places, but I think even this was but a shallow piece -of mock modesty on his part, for he was well aware that he could shine -if he liked in any environment. - -A letter to my sister, which I have just found, may illustrate this: - - 19, BLANDFORD SQUARE, - N.W. - - “MY DEAR ALMA, - - Many thanks for the brushes. When my hair is gone--“which will - be short,” as Pellegrini says--I can use them for sweeping - a crossing. In the meantime they make a most excellent parting. - Seriously they are beautiful. - - I have never before had brushes in a case--it seems to lift - one’s social status. Hitherto my brushes have lain in my - portmanteau cheek by jowl with my boots, or have mingled their tears - with my sponge. - - Now all is changed; I feel I could stay at a country house and - meet the footman on equal terms. Of course, I don’t mean - that seriously--no man could hope to be the equal of a footman. I - am a democrat but no revolutionist, and I have always felt that so - long as liveried servants keep their supremacy the throne is safe. - Compared with this the land question is a trifle. “Dieu et - mon drawers” is the loyal but terrified sentiment with which - I always awake on a visit, and see the footman turning my tattered - underclothing inside out. But now my brushes will save me. - - Yours, - JOE.” - -In the later years of his life, as his friends multiplied far and wide -and his social gifts became famous, he was pressed into circles unknown -to me, and our country-house visits together became fewer; so that -personally I remember his talk oftener at some sea-side place where we -had run down for a week-end, or on the verandah of some foreign hotel -where he would be immediately surrounded by a delighted audience--in -later years not by any means always composed of his own countrymen. -Though his associations with French artists and men of letters over -pictures for the New Gallery--and, more still, over his English -editorship of _L’Art_--had taught him enough of their tongue for -his business, he was not a finished French scholar; but he was never -afraid to make a shot at expressing his thought, and consequently he -improved enormously at the end of his life. I remember the astonished -comment of two Armenian lads and a charming Finnish lady whom we met at -a Swiss mountain resort: “_Mais c’est épatant! De faire des -calembours comme cela dans une langue étrangère._” - -He only needed an audience; and he had it every hour of the day in -those two Armenian boys, who would stand for hours watching him throw -his line over the lake and coax the fish out--just, they used to say, -as he would coax the children to him in the roads or the visitors in -the lounge--“sans se donner de la peine.” - -I am not sure of the justice of that last remark. Perhaps he never -purposely gave himself trouble, but he amused others because his love -of his own kind was such that he must always needs be in touch with -them, be they peasant or peer, and at the end of his life he preferred -to lounge in the road and chat with the convalescent soldiers in a -quiet village than to sit comfortably in the seclusion of a lovely -garden. - -It was because he was always alive that he was not dull; but I must -admit he needed plenty of human interest to keep him so. - -And I think, for this reason, that the life of a good hotel, preferably -a foreign one, afforded him the best opportunities for fun; he knew -just how much or how little the applause of such kaleidoscopic society -was worth; but it tickled his appetite for the moment and was the -required sauce to his holiday rest. - -The following letters to his daughter variously illustrate this aspect -of him: - - EDEN HOTEL, - MONTE CARLO. - - “MY DEAR DOLL, - - Our little hotel at Monte Carlo is a cosy place, containing among its - visitors some odd and rather lonely females, both English and American. - I overheard a conversation the other night between four of them--two - English and two Americans--at which your mother would like to have - assisted. They evidently did not know that we were English, and let - themselves go on the subject of the male sex. The leader of the band, - an American lady, whose hips described a circle about as big as the - Round Pond in Kensington Gardens, was especially vehement in denouncing - us, though I can hardly conceive she had ever received any other cause - of resentment than neglect. To an English lady, who could not compete - with her in size but fairly distanced her in ugliness, she held forth - at great length on the superior advantages which women enjoyed in - America. “Over there,” she said, “we’ve just got men like _that_,” - and she placed an enormous thumb on a morsel of unresisting bread to - indicate where men were. “If they do anything we don’t like, why, - Madam, they hear from us pretty quick. And that’s where they ought to - be,” she added, “for they are just nothing but savages!” At which the - gruesome English woman said that that was what she had always held to; - but that, in England, she never could find any woman with the courage - to say so. Then the fat American gave her country away. - - “But see now,” she said, “we’ve still got to fight the law even in our - country. I said to an American man, ‘do you love your wife?’ ‘Why, of - course,’ he said. ‘Do you love your mother?’ I said. ‘Just don’t I,’ he - replied. ‘Do you love your sister?’ ‘Why sure,’ he said. ‘Well then,’ - I said to him, ‘Do you know the American constitution declares that - every living citizen should have a vote except children, criminals _and - women_.’ And then she turned to the English woman and added: “Do you - know, Madam, the thought of that American law just makes me blush all - over when I go to bed at night.” - - I confess as I looked at her, I couldn’t think of the unrighteous law, - for my mind was filled with the idea of what a wild and billowy tract - of country that blush would have to traverse. Fancy the Round Pond - turned into the Red Sea with a single blush. - - Yours, - J. COMYNS CARR.” - - BELLAGIO, - _May, 1903_. - - “MY DEAREST DOLL, - - We are in the midst of a thunderstorm that is tearing and raging - round the mountains; for the moment it is like Mr. Chamberlain in the - earlier part of his campaign--very loud and very near, but I think it - is taking itself off to the Gotthard. - - I don’t think I have told you of the two little bits of American - character I encountered at my hotel. One evening three ladies of - that country were set beside me at table d’hote. They were not - pre-possessing or young, but I noticed with just a momentary flush of - flattery that there was an obvious struggle going on as to which of - them should occupy the chair next to me; the struggle ended, and then - the next but one turned to the victor and said, ‘Couldn’t - you see, my dear, that I just wanted to protect you in case you might - be addressed in a manner that might offend you.’ Poor dears! - they didn’t know that God had protected them against any attack - of mine. - - Later, two rather nice girls and their mother took the same places; - and one evening after dinner, when the terrace was full of people, the - mother looked up to where one of the girls was standing at the window - of the room above, and called out: ‘Don’t let him kiss you, dear.’ We - all turned to look up, and there stood the girl with a parrot on her - shoulder. There was naturally an audible smile among the spectators, - and the girl herself was in fits of laughter. - - Best love from your father, - J. COMYNS CARR.” - - BORDIGHERA, - _April 1909_. - - “MY DEAR DOLLY, - - We are very comfortable in our little hotel here, with two nice - Italian brothers to cater for us. The Italian village children please - me mightily, and I hobble about in their language with just enough - understanding to enable me to amuse myself. - - We are an odd society: nearly all women, American and English. They - are mostly nice people in their way, but not exciting, and of the - place generally it may be said that whatever other attractions it may - possess it does not seem to be a health resort for beauty. The air - apparently is not recommended for pretty people. In the streets and - on the hills the German is more or less in evidence, and sometimes as - I pass them by I am inclined to side with Balfour and to demand that - four more Dreadnoughts should be laid down at once. Their admiration - of nature somehow always makes me feel shy, and I can almost see - the landscape making an ugly face after their loudly proclaimed - _Wunderschön_. However, they really don’t trouble us much--the - neighbourhood is so genuinely beautiful. - - Yours, - J. COMYNS CARR.” - -He often touched on the beauties of nature as related to art when -writing to his artist daughter, and I find this keen little bit of -criticism in a letter to her from Bellagio. - -“This place is beautiful, and makes one wonder little that -the Italians thought of landscape as a thing of design before the -Northerners found a new beauty in the empire of cloud and sky. -Certainly these mountains have great enchantment of form, and the -Southern light defines every detail.” - -And this longer letter of varying interest also rings the same note. - - FROM WENGEN, - BERNESE OBERLAND. - - “MY DEAR DOLL, - - Here is a line from me whom I daresay you thought hopeless in that - matter. But such a little thing will sometimes provoke a sinner to - virtue. Two strangely fashioned men share the room adjoining mine, - divided from me only by a washed deal partition held together by - French nails. They spend the day in moody silence and in grey frock - coats which if they were well cut would suit the Cup Day at Ascot. But - they return at nine and chatter unceasingly till 10.30. It is now only - ten and it has occurred to me that instead of tossing about on the sea - of their incoherent conversations I would write a line to you. - - This is a beautiful place which I should admire even more if nobody - else admired it. But it is made too fair to go scot free of praise, - and so I must fain clap my hands with the rest. You see we are - exclusive in our emotions as the society of a country town and do not - wish to share them with our inferiors. That is a part of it, but I - think my reluctance to hear nature applauded has a better reason too, - though it is hard to give it words. I know I always feel a better - right to enjoy its beauty when I am otherwise engaged, in killing a - bird perhaps, in fishing a stream or I suppose best of all in some - sort of labour that the needs of the world demand. - - I went for an early walk the other day up to the Wengern Alp; all - the mountain in shadow and the pines blacker than their own fallen - image on the grass. I was alone and met no one on the path but the - lads laden with their washed deal milk-pails as they came singing - from every green hill. And as they passed I felt sort of shamefaced. - I was out for beauty, a kind of dilettante wandering in search of - impressions, and I knew deep down in me that they must one day and - another have won impressions I could never gain. No one can be really - intimate with a strange land, can ever really read the face of a - hillside as it is read by those however simple who were born to see - it coloured by the changing fortunes of their life from childhood to - manhood. Nature is so shy, so reluctant to speak if she thinks she is - overheard, but she will sing to herself when she thinks we are busy. - - For us who are not artists I think beauty is only really captured in - that way. It is trapped unawares, stolen in the silences of night or - dawn, or burnt into the brain by the fire of some passionate moment - to which it remains as an unforgotten background. Of course the - artist, the poet or the painter, has other rights and other penalties. - ‘He that would save his life must lose it,’ and the artist - is always giving up for himself what he re-fashions for the joy of - others. He is like the cuckoo that sojourns in every nest and is - itself but a homeless voice. Even the beauty that he pursues is never - really possessed; it flutters for a moment in his hand and then takes - wing for others to inherit. It is bought so dearly and then sold for a - mere song. - - But this is a digression. We were talking of Switzerland, and I do - believe this is one of the choicest spots in it, but of course we - don’t discuss its merits all day. On the contrary, I think we - talk most of the food, comparing the veal of yesterday with the mutton - of to-day, wondering from what strange waters, remote or near, come - those strange fish that masquerade under the titles of the dwellers in - Northern seas. And then we pry into the lives of other lodgers, making - up imaginary relationships among families that are as normally related - as our own--taking a curious interest in characters in which we have - really no concern, and exchanging cards warmly with parting guests, - knowing that we shall see their faces again no more. And all the while - the air is so good, when the weather is not so bad, that we feel well, - which is a long way on the road to feeling happy, and we are sometimes - pointed at as distinguished, and then vanity covers the rest of the - road and we are very jolly. - - Yours ever, - FATHER.” - -His preference for a foreign holiday--unless one in his own country, -could be allied to fishing or shooting--did not, as will be understood -from stray remarks in his correspondence, extend to Germany. He always -disliked the race, and I can recollect a journey in our young days -during which we had made a halt at Munich with Beatty Kingston. I am -afraid Joe’s description of the place and the people included such -scathing epithets as “The Burial-place of the Peto-Baptists” and “The -Suburb of the World.” For his excuse I must note that it was the bad -season for the Opera, although we did once hear “The Flying Dutchman,” -which he particularly admired; also that the old Pinacotek, with its -riches in Paintings by Old Masters, was closed, as if to spite him; -naturally he could not be consoled by “the collection of middle-aged -articles” offered him as a salve--declaring that he saw plenty of these -in the streets of the town. - -He was always just as hard on the German “frau” as on her husband, and -his description of them on the mountain paths at Gastein, with skirts -looped up like window blinds and waterproofs strapped across their -shoulders in case of a storm, could only be equalled by the whimsical -words he had for the red necks of the men bulging over their collars. - -He was not a Central Europe man; the French or the Italians were always -first with him after his own people. _Romance_ for him lay in the -North; I have often heard him insist that those most deeply possess -it who dwell in the mist and dream of the sun, and he would cite -“The Wizard of the North” and the Scottish Land in proof of -his theory: yet the South stood for gaiety with him, and he sighed for -the sun even as I did who had been bred in it. - -It is curious that Rome he only saw for the first time late in life, -upon being chosen to write the introduction to the British Section -of the International Exhibition there, and afterwards appointed -England’s representative on the Art Congress. - -I shall quote a private appreciation of the written part of his -work from that acute and sympathetic critic, Edward Russell of the -_Liverpool Post_. - - NAPLES, - _April 28th, 1911_. - - “DEAR COMYNS CARR, - - I cannot refrain from congratulating you on your Introduction to the - Roman Catalogue of British Paintings, etc. Not only its literary - felicity, but its fine and illuminating judgment; the choiceness of - the language; and the apt biographical illustrations; the humane - diplomacy of occasional gentle, but searching suggestions of censure; - the insight of the aperçus; and the contribution of several original - maxims to the sterling floating currency of criticism, make it one of - the most memorable of such pieces. - - Yours, - EDWARD RUSSELL.” - -But Rome as a city he loved not, as he loved the Tuscan and Umbrian -towns; its vast antiquities oppressed him, its medieval structures he -disliked, and the race that had left its impress there bored him; even -in the natural surroundings he found too much melancholy--definitely -contrasted in his mind with that Northern sternness which breeds -Romance; but he shall speak for himself. - - “The archeological side of Rome I can only gape at as a tourist: - I have no learning that way: though, of course, there are scenes - of the old world which touch the imagination without the kind of - knowledge that must, to those who possess it, make the place deeply - interesting. The more modern Rome--the Rome of the Renaissance, - scarcely makes a single appeal and creates no such satisfying - atmosphere as Florence. The Sistine I must see again; the light was - bad to-day and the effect at so great a height did not immediately - leave the tremendous impression of Michael Angelo’s power that - comes of the more intimate knowledge given by our photographs. The - colour, however, yielded more than I had expected. Tell Fred if he is - by you that I am wholly at one with him about the Stanze of Raphael. - They gain in site, and although I knew the compositions well, I found - them better than I knew with a charm of colour unexpected and superior - to any of his easel pictures, except perhaps the Madonna at Dresden; - truly a marvellous genius, using all the resources of style with the - freedom and ease of a painter of genre--and here, which is not always - so in his later work, absolutely free from rhetoric in gesture: I must - go back to them again. - - “In the general style of Roman Renaissance building I have no - delight--and never thought to have; but, of course, there are separate - things to discover that I have as yet not had time to see. But St. - Angelo makes a great barbaric pile that is mightily impressive. St. - Peter’s seems to me much less noble in general effect than St. Paul’s, - and its interior ornament, painting and sculpture, seemed, on a swift - view, to be a wilderness of that kind of art I don’t love--all except - Michael Angelo’s _Pietà_, which stood out in modest simplicity and - intensity amid the garish surroundings. - - Yours, - JOE.” - - “DEAREST, - - I lunched with Barrère again to-day, and afterwards we went in his - motor to the lakes of Nemi and Albano. It was a very interesting - drive, and the lakes are really beautiful, though in a grave and - sombre way. Of course it was not bright sunlight, but in any case the - landscape here has a peculiar character. It has an ancient and desert - look, hardly joyous and not very fruitful, different entirely in this - respect from the landscape around Florence. But it has character, and - what one may call style: and the remains of ruined buildings, aqueduct - or tomb, which cut the sky at every turn, seem to belong to these - surroundings. The landscape is of their date, seems almost to have - remained of their date, and not to have found the renewed youth which - mocks antiquity in other kinds of scenery. A certain gravity is the - prevailing sentiment--impressive but touched with sadness. - - I am seeing isolated bits of Rome little by little. If I were - settled here for long I think the sculpture would attract me as a - study--but like everything else in the way of art in Rome one has - to be constantly sifting and sorting the good from the bad. Here - as elsewhere there is a mass of indifferent achievement, a mass - of work either poorly copied from the Greek or poorly conceived - and lacking vitality. One feels more and more that the Romans - were not artists--great collectors I have no doubt, and perhaps - connoisseurs--but without the finest fire of the spirit. There are a - few great things here that are superb, and others doubtless which I - haven’t seen, but in many instances of even admired things there - is not the saving quality of life that makes Phidias seem modern as - well as great. - - Yours, - JOE.” - -Touching this last criticism he made us laugh when he got home by -saying that he longed to cry to the crowds who patiently paced the -Vatican galleries, guide-book in hand: “Go out into the sunshine, -dear people, and enjoy your lunch--this is all bosh.” - -It was delightful to me the other day to find a perfect echo of these -sentiments in the letters of the late Mr. Stopford Brooke to his -daughters. But it is not the only instance in those enthralling volumes -where I noted a remarkable likeness in many of the views, and even in -the method of expressing them, of these two brilliant Irishmen. - - - - -CHAPTER XI - -FISHING HOLIDAYS - - -I had not known my husband six months before I knew him for an -enthusiastic fisherman. He tells in his Reminiscences of the first -teaching he had from a reprobate old peasant in the Lake Country, and -the passion for it never left him; the happiest of his summer days -were spent in the pursuit of it and, from the time when I--set to -watch a float while he threw a line further down the stream--allowed -the fish to escape, to an evening towards the close of his life when -I helped his unsteady steps to the bank of the Windrush at Burford, -his characteristic grey felt hat stuck full of flies and the graceful -gesture with which his long line was flung back and forward and then -laid softly on the water of some quiet stream, are among the things -which I often recall. - -I can see him now, on that first holiday, stumbling with his swaying -rod down the rocky bed of the Dove with the sunset behind him, while -I sat waiting on a grassy bank eager to know what sport he had had -as soon as he was within earshot. He was a most expert angler; and -that was the beginning of many happy fishing trips--in Derbyshire -and Westmoreland, on the Tweed at Peebles and the lochs and rivers of -Perthshire, Argyllshire and Sutherland; but most notably on the stretch -of a Hertfordshire stream which he rented for some years with other -friends, and where he could best exercise his skill with the dry fly. - -A tiny cottage, just big enough for three men or for me and the -children, stood on the edge of the water, which was crossed by a plank -bridge. Sometimes, when there was no one else, I would be allowed--most -alarming of experiences!--to use the landing net, and I think any of -his angling comrades--A. E. W. Mason, Seymour Hicks, Sam Sothern and -others--would sympathise with my terror over the responsibility. - -I think there were no happier days in my husband’s life than -those spent in that Hertfordshire cot, and there is no frame into which -his figure fits more familiarly than the sedgy bank of that sunlit -river, hemmed by boldly contrasting forget-me-not and marshmallow, with -the May-fly flitting over the sparkling ripples and the shaded pools. - -And nothing so helped his periods of creative work as this rural -recreation. - -It was on the shores of Loch Rannoch that he wrote the first Acts of -his _King Arthur_ for Henry Irving, and on the banks of the Lea that -he saw the barge bearing the body of the Fair Elaine. The Black Mount -at the foot of the loch may have stood for the rugged rocks around -Camelot, and the limpid stream dividing emerald meadows at eventide, -for the river that circled Arthur’s Halls. - -He was wont whimsically to declare that the “gaslights of -Piccadilly” were more satisfying to him than a country life -unless enhanced by the pleasure of sport; but no one saw the beauties -of Nature in the intervals of sport more sympathetically than he did, -as he tells for himself in _Coasting Bohemia_: - - “I sometimes think,” he writes, “that those who - haunt the country, without conscious sense of its many beauties, - are apt to learn and love its beauties best. How often the memory - of a day’s shooting is indissolubly linked with the pattern - of a fading autumn sky, when we have stood at the edge of a stubble - field wondering whether the growing twilight will suffice for the - last drive. And if this is true of other forms of sport, it is - everlastingly true of fishing. There is hardly a remembered day on a - Scotch loch, or beside a southern stream, which has not stamped upon - it some unfading image of landscape beauty. It was not for that we - set forth in the morning, for then the changing lights in a dappled - sky counted for no more than a promise of good sport; during those - earlier hours there is no feeling but a feeling of impatience to be - at work; and the splash of a rising trout, before the rod is joined - and ready and the line run through its rings, is heard with a sense - of half-resentment lest we should have missed the favourable moment - of the day. But as the hours pass, the mind becomes more tranquilly - attuned to its surroundings. The keenness of the pursuit is still - there, but little by little the still spirit of the scene invades our - thoughts, and as we tramp home at nightfall the landscape that was - unregarded when we set forth upon our adventure now seems to wrap - itself like a cloak around us with a spell that it is impossible to - resist. A hundred such visions, born of an angler’s wanderings, - come back to me across the space of many years. I can see the reeds - etched against a sunset sky, as they spring out of a little loch in - the hills above the inn at Tummel. And then, with a changing flash - of memory, the broad waters of Rannoch are outspread, fringed by its - purple hills. And then, again, in a homelier frame, I can see the - willows that border the Lea, their yellow leaves turned to gold under - the level rays of the evening sun; and I can hear the nightingale in - the first notes of its song as I cross the plank bridge that leads me - homeward to the cottage by the stream.” - -By which it will also be seen that his “love of laziness” -did not hinder him in the pursuit of sport. - -Exercise for its own sake he resolutely refused to take, and when my -Alpine-enthusiast father dragged him up a Piz--the last bit with his -eyes shut--he said: “I shall never climb anything again!” - -But Seymour Hicks could tell a different tale of a memorable evening on -which he hooked a big trout in the dusk--Joe teasing him as to its poor -weight--and when they stayed so late beside a Scottish tarn to land -it that their friends below came up the mountain with lanterns to the -rescue. - -In Peeblesshire, too, he had gay hours with a Captain Fearon, known to -our children as _Plum-bun_, because of a rhyme with which he teased -them. - -This fine old sportsman--though he must have been sixty at the -time--walked twenty miles after a day’s sport so as to let Joe -have the only spare seat on a buggy that he might catch the night -express to town for work on the morrow. I can see the tall handsome old -man now on the moorside, gaily waving adieu to Joe with a champagne -bottle which he had seized from the picnic basket to cheer him on the -road. - -Joe had many days with him on the Tweed; one of them, following such a -big spate that an old countryman wading in front of them was never seen -more after they had warned him against imprudently breasting the swirl -of the water where the river made an abrupt bend ahead. - -The gloom of this incident was partly mitigated by their being told -that the man was a drunkard whose fate had often been so prophesied to -him; but they fished no more in a spate on the Tweed. - -Fun was oftener their portion. I fancy it was to Fearon that Joe made -the _bon-mot_ current in the Garrick Club, where he represented himself -as lunching with Noah on the Ark. - -“You must have good spate fishing here, Mr. Noah,” he -reports himself as saying while they sat smoking on the balcony -overlooking the Flood. - -“It _would_ be good,” replied the host, “but -unluckily, you see, I have only two worms.” - -He writes himself of his fishing on Loch Awe; and later, on Loch Etive, -as the guest of our charming friend Alec Stevenson, whose cheery voice -would ask of his keeper after breakfast: “Is it fishin’ -or shutin’ the day, Duncan?” But there is no mention of -a happy six weeks in Sutherlandshire where we were chiefly fed by the -guests “killing” of the daily trout, proudly displayed at -even upon a large tray in the hall. - -I think it was here that Joe had trudged for three hours up a -mountain with his fly-rod set up, to find--when he reached the tarn -at the top--that his top joint had fallen off on the road; as he was -alone only the midges heard his remarks, for he had not even his -fourteen-year old son with him--the happy companion of his later -angling days. It was into just such a tarn, that that boy fell off the -boat one day, when landing a trout, and was advised by his father to -run about in the natural state on the moor while his clothes dried on a -sun-baked rock. - -A lovely place is Inchnadamph on blue Loch Assynt; the great mountain -that guards the valley towards Lochinver can be golden in the long, -northern twilight, when the water that has been as a sapphire before -the sunset, becomes purple in the gloaming; but oh! the midges! -Useless to tie our heads in bags and grease our faces: they penetrated -everywhere and “bit like dogs.” They _almost_ deterred Joe -from his evening hour on the water because of the landing afterwards, -when the pony would not stand for him to step into the cart. - -But nothing really deterred Joe from fly-fishing--neither heat nor -cold nor rain nor wind; he only regarded the weather at those times -from the point of view of its influence on the sport. Even when it was -too bad for fishing he couldn’t keep away from the water. But he could -never keep away from water--he said it was the life of a landscape -as the blood is the life of the human body. In our early days, when -we were too poor for Highland trips, visits to friends on the Thames -afforded him his best access to it; and, though he was not perhaps a -perfect oarsman, as may be proved by a “stroke’s” petition that he -would not “go so deep,” to which he replied: “Ah, I never leave a stone -unturned!”--he loved the “noble river.” Though for perfect satisfaction -he chose more swiftly running waters. - -I came across some passages in one of Stopford Brooke’s letters -which strangely call to mind Joe’s passion for a free stream. - -“There is no companion like a quick stream,” writes the -older man; “full, but not too full, capable of shallows and -water-breaks, with deep pools when it likes and with a thousand shadows -acquainted with all the tales of the hills....” - -And once more: “Running water surely is the dearest and best-bred -thing in the world. And a great workman and a great artist.... Nor is -there any Singer, any Poet, any Companion so near and dear as it is -when it shapes itself into a mountain stream in a quiet country.” - -Often have I seen Joe beside such streams, and though it so chanced -that the last happy holiday we had together was spent beside lakes -rather than rivers, the sense of moving water remains associated in my -mind with him through all the earlier days of our life. - -It was in Ireland--his motherland, though he had never seen it till -then--that we passed those last unforgetable weeks of autumn. - -Even as we landed at Rosslare there seemed to fall upon him an -unnameable affinity with the country of his blood; as we travelled -slowly--very slowly--over her truly emerald bosom, he sat in a dream -watching the little black cattle, that we afterwards learnt to beware -of for “cross bastes,” as they cropped the sedgy meadows, -his eyes wandering from them to the tender Irish sky and then waking -into fun as he saw a peasant at a small station trip a boy up unawares -and cuff him soundly, laughing as he did it. - -And when we reached Waterford--only a dirty town to me--he plunged at -once among his people and laughed joyously at the retort of a begging -urchin, whose pathetic plea of hunger he had pretended to rail at: -“That’s where ye’re wrong, yer honour,” the cheery little villain had -cried: “A man may be fat and hungry too.” - -The horse races were going on, and the inn was in an uproar, which he -sat up most of the night to watch. - -But the next day sleepy ways prevailed once more, and it took us a long -time to get off at the station, where I recollect his amusement at the -porter’s instruction: “This way to America.” - -We reached Killarney without trunks, and the conveyance sent to meet us -broke down on the way to the hotel; but he would meet no _contretemps_ -save with a smile, and it was borne in on me that it was because he -was an Irishman that Italian happy-go-luckiness had never ruffled him. -So we fell in with the leisurely ways of the land, and were fain to -“enjoy the soft rain” at that romantic spot and watch for -the beautiful shapes of the hills to appear out of the mists on the -lake. - -Next morning, however, that unique green-blue sky, washed with rain and -dappled with wisps of cloud, smiled on us in faint sunshine, and from -that hour our journey was one passing from fair to fairer scenes. - -In a short time our train was climbing, or burrowing, through perilous -cliffs of granite, crowned with lonely moors and, presently swooping -down on the glorious coast-line, that makes for Valencia Island. - -This we left on one side, and at Lough Caragh we also did not halt, -tempting as it was; for our destination was Waterville, where we had -rooms booked at the charming Great Southern Hotel for the fishing -season; and after an hour or so more of leisurely travel we reached -Cahirciveen, where a ramshackle trap waited to carry us over the moors -to the village that lies twixt sea and lough. - -The whole journey, and the last of it not least, was a revelation to -him of which I think he was proud to talk to me, and I certainly had -formed no notion of the beauties of _The Kingdom of Kerry_. The rough -road across the wild heather-moor was bordered almost continuously -with hedges of the small purple-red fuchsia in full bloom, and the -cabins--white or pink-washed, with thatched roofs--that we passed at -rare intervals, were shaded with it and covered with honeysuckle. - -“You live in a fair country,” said Joe to an old man -standing one day at the door of his tiny hovel; and I--looking beyond -him to the dim range of the Macgillicuddy Reeks--added, “and -with beautiful hills.” - -“The visitors say ’tis fair, but I’ve seen it _arl_ -me life,” replied the proprietor, with a quaint smile. And then -to me--“but sure the Reeks are illigant in winter wi’ the -darlin’ snaws upon them.” - -But that was later. That day we were silent with contented fatigue -till the muffled boom of the great Atlantic breakers began to fall as -distant thunder on our ears: then suddenly Ballinskelligs’ Bay -lay before us with the massive headlands of Bolus and Hog’s Head -guarding it from the Ocean. - -The shore is wild and desolate with the sense of the vast Atlantic -ever present; but soon we turned inland again towards the mountains of -the “deep Glenmore,” and there, under the purple shadow of -Mount Knockaline, lay a long, grave Lough with a tiny deserted islet -in its midst upon which one of the ancient beehive cells stands under -the eaves of a ruined church. It is Lough Currane, and we drove under -overhanging fuchsias, to the Great Southern Hotel on its shore. - -We had two more beautiful drives while we were in the _Kingdom of -Kerry_: one along the perilous Irish _Cornice_, known as the Coomakista -Pass, where one prayed one might not meet the coach, to Park-na-Silla; -the other from Kenmare over a rocky road to Glengariff. - -The Cornice drive beggars description, and I never knew Joe to be so -enthusiastic over a view. Shallow little coves fringed with brilliant -golden seaweed--upon which herons stand feeding at times--indent the -shore itself; but the Sound is studded with numberless islets--some -clad with heather, others with semi-tropical shrubs, and faintly ringed -with the silver foam of a streaked and gentle sea. In an opal haze -beyond them, the opposite shore of County Cork lies as a dream; but -the two great guardian cliffs of Ballinskelligs’ Bay with their -outriders--the Bull and Cow Rocks--stand in firm and grand outline away -whence we came where the Sound joins the Ocean. - -The coach driver draws up when he reaches the best point, and tells -us all about it, and points out the Great Skellig Rock--twelve miles -out to sea, and close at hand the bridle path by which O’Connell rode -over the mountains to his home at Darrynane. As we near that Bay and -its multitude of tiny islets, upon one of which stands the ruined -Monastery of St. Finnan, he shews us the “Liberator’s” very house and -then we turn inland again among undulating moors--our road fenced with -the fuchsia and every variety of fern, till of a sudden the beautiful -bridge and square church tower of Sneem village seem to beckon us into -the very heart of a fiery sunset. - -Our second drive from Kenmare was again quite different and not without -incident. In the first place Irish unpunctuality caused us to start -two hours late, and in the second, when the carriage arrived at last, -the harness had to be tied up with cord before we could proceed, a -beginning which filled me with alarm though it reminded me of youthful -days in Italy: but to Joe it only afforded opportunity for pleasant -raillery with his compatriot, and I only wish I could remember all the -_bon-mots_ with which they capped one another. - -The last part of the ascent was very wild, but when we emerged from -the tunnel that pierces the topmost granite cliff, the view that burst -upon us--though wild still in its freedom from the intrusion of human -interest, was soft and tender with all the glamour of the South. Range -upon range of finely-chiselled hills stood crossing and re-crossing one -another with gentle valleys between, and the glint of water here and -there made visible by the golden splash of sunset; and presently the -hills--so soft and so solemn upon the mellow evening sky--were cleft to -their base, and Bantry Bay lay spread in the distance beneath us. - -The road went down in sharp turns and, the driver cheerfully remarking -that we should have to pass a motor-roller on the way, my heart -jumped into my mouth. But Joe administered a little salutary chaff -together with a cup of tea at the wayside inn, where we changed -drivers, and a pretty girl assured me that “Faith,” I had -“no need to fear, for the lad was the coolest whip on arl the -mountain-side.” - -So he was, but he went a fine pace, and the waiter at the inn, who told -us he was the girl’s brother, told us also that that cool lad was -her lover, so perhaps he was eager to show his prowess. - -At Glengariff our weather was hot and fine, and the water of that -land-locked end of the Bay was so calm that the pleasure boats round -the jetty, and indeed every tree on the shore and on the near island, -would lie reflected on its surface in the rosy dawns or the golden -sunsets as they do on the Italian lakes. But out beyond the island -the breeze would freshen, and thither Joe hied him with a friendly -fisherman every morning to lie in wait for the bass and the mackerel. - -Our friends--Mr. and Mrs. Annan Bryce--owned the beautiful island at -the mouth of the bay, and there we spent happy afternoons wandering -over the heather and gazing afar from the old castle’s ruined -battlements; but Joe’s mornings were his own, and he would go -even further out to sea than the island, to where the seals sunned -themselves on the rocks, unscared by the approach of man, but scuttling -under water when the fishing-reel ran out, the old ones calling their -young to safety with an eerie cry. - -Perhaps Glengariff was the most lovely spot that we saw, but the -hothouse atmosphere of it made a prolonged stay too trying, hence we -enjoyed Waterville and Lough Currane best, where the more invigorating -air of the open Atlantic in our wake kept even the moisture of the -valleys freshened with soft breezes. - -Also it is here that Joe rejoiced in the only branch of angling that he -really loved; sunshine, mist or rain he was off on the lough with his -faithful gillie, his trout-rod set up, his old hat well-adorned with -every likely fly and, if necessary, his oilskins about him. - -It took him all his time--easy as it usually was with him to make -friends--to make them with that gillie: a curiously sad and silent lad, -whose rage at the “lack of pride” in a besotted old poacher -who would hang about the landing-stage, knew no bounds. - -But Joe would only laugh, and give the old beggar the -“tanner” that he begged “for the love of God,” -with a willing heart. - -“Don’t be too hard on him,” he would say to the -young boatman. But the boy had been in America, and, as it presently -appeared, was ashamed of the lazy ways of his countrymen. - -“Home Rule might be arl right,” he would say--adding -shrewdly--“if it don’t keep the visitors” (generally -meaning the English) “away. But, begorra, let us work for -it!” - -Few held such wide views even in that day, and Joe could rarely get -any one to talk on that favourite topic of his; but he made various -pleasant little discoveries, one of which was that Catholic and -Protestant children worked together at school without trouble; but then -most of the latter were fathered by English experts working at the -Cable Station and were ranked as “visitors.” - -His chief enjoyment when not fishing, was in the cabins--when he could -find excuse for entrance. There was a weaver of the frieze not far from -our inn, and there we went to buy a length for a gift. We were rewarded -for a wet walk. The weaver was out--but his wife sat by the peat-fire -with a new-born baby in her arms. - -As we opened the door the cow that was in the yard thrust in a soft -nose to hold it ajar, and lo, we beheld a sow within, rise slowly up -and waddle out, followed by ten wee sucking pigs: then the cow stepped -over the threshold beside us. - -The woman rose asking us our errand, while I edged away from the cow -and tried to get out again. - -“She’ll not harm ye, lady,” said she with a smile, “It’s her milkin’ -time, and sure she knows I’d not take the darlin’ babe out in the rain.” - -But it was not often that Joe spared time from serious business for -calling and sight-seeing. Once we went to the Cable Station and -learned, in an amazing short time, from America, that the weather was -fine and dry; and on two occasions I went with him to Lough Coppul (The -Horse) away up in the “deep Glenmore”; but that was only -allowed so that I might see the sleepy beauty of that tiny, lonely -lake, where the water is peat-brown even in the sunlight; here I was -introduced to two lovely children with gold-red hair and deep eyes, -who dwelt in the schoolhouse of four districts, and were Joe’s -special friends. This treat was a great favour granted to me, nor was -I admitted into the boat even then, but had to roam about the shores -while work was done. Luckily it was fine and warm, and the midges are -not nearly so fierce in Ireland; and, with the children’s tales -of the plights of scholars coming over the mountains in winter and a -shy admission, warily coaxed out of them, as to the presence of fairy -horsemen there on All Hallowe’en, many an hour went by like a -dream, till the gloaming called us home. - -But my lot was more often to sit reading or writing on the terrace of -the hotel watching for the boats to round the point of _Church Island_, -as they came in with their catch to meals. - -Whether anglers are men or women--and most of the women in the Hotel -were anglers--they mind nothing but meals, and rarely the _hours_ of -those; so that I was mostly alone, but the excitement of the “basket” -was an event each time, and Joe’s was often the heaviest. - -Through the gap in the fuchsia hedge, whose tassels lay blood-red -upon the lough’s blue background on a fine morning, I would first -distinguish his boat in the offing, and walk down to the landing-stage -to watch it nearing me between the shallows, where those coal-black -little “cross” bullocks stood knee-deep on the emerald marshland. I can -see him, skilfully throwing his line on the water to the last instant; -then turning towards me with the welcoming smile on his face always, -though I generally knew, before he had stepped ashore, whether he had -had good luck or not. - -Yet the weather was not by any means always fine, and many a day I sat -in our little parlour, not even seeing the fuchsia hedge, and certainly -not the water. - -One wet day comes specially to my mind. It had rained steadily, and out -of the soft, white mist that shrouded the lough, the sound of a tolling -bell had come eerily to me all the afternoon. I knew of no church -within two miles save the ruined one on the Island, and at last I asked -the chambermaid what it might mean. - -“Sure, it’ll be a buryin’ on St. Finnan’s -Isle,” said she, crossing herself, after listening for a minute. -“The family will still have the right of it, and they keep a -bell in the broken tower. But the corpse will have come from far, poor -sowl!” - -She went her way, and soon the bell ceased, and almost at the same -time the mist began to clear and the shapes of the black cattle to -appear again on the sedgy marshes, browsing as usual; then I saw black -boats--like phantom things--stealing away in the distance and--behind -them--a streak of gold struck across the wet mountain-side and all the -mist shrank away, and the purple ridge was set against that tender -blue-green Irish sky, crossed with bars of rosy light. - -I went out and down the wet path to the landing-stage, and there was -Joe’s boat pulling towards the shore, and he standing up in it -with a smile upon his face. - - * * * * * - -That was our last holiday. - -We were often out of London again, and in lovely spots: in summer, -at Studland in Dorset, at Broadway and Burford in Oxon, at Ditchling -in Sussex; in winter, at Hastings and Bournemouth. But it was always -in search of health and to escape the nerve-racking air-raids of -War--never again in the boyish spirit of holiday. - -Yet let it not be supposed that Joe was ever dismal. “Comyns -Carr is a good fellow and a boon fellow,” George Meredith wrote -of him to another old friend, and so he was to the last. Depressed now -and then, but hopeful again till near the end, and always thankful for -every bright moment and for every kindness received. “Grumbling -is so dull,” he would say; and when I was dismayed at the -_contretemps_ of travel lest they should affect his comfort, he would -beg me to “bridge it over”--as he did. - -As we drove away from the house at Bournemouth on our last journey he -said to the landlady: “I’ve never been so comfortable in -any lodgings”; yet he had suffered much there, and had often -lacked luxuries unprocurable in war-time. Sometimes in those days, -after a long silence, I would ask him what he was thinking of, and he -would answer simply: “Nothing, dear!” By which I am sure he -meant nothing troublous--and truly to the wearying, harassing thoughts -which beset many of us he was a stranger--for he would sometimes add: -“I’ve plenty to remember.” - -And then, to the last, he worked part of every day. His hand had not -been able to write for long, but he would dictate to a shorthand -typist; the whole of his _Ideals of Painting_, posthumously published, -was so written, and his precision never flagged, as he instructed -me over the correction of those proofs--whether in regard to the -letterpress or to the re-production of the illustrations; the -photogravure after Rembrandt’s _Mill_ had been delayed, and -on the last day of his life he asked me if it had come and if it -“looked well.” - -Reading over his own words upon the waning of his old friend, Sir John -Millais’ life, they seem to me unconsciously, yet so fitly, to -describe himself, that I shall end this effort to preserve some sort of -a portrait of him by quoting them. - -“I never heard from him,” he writes, “however -great the dejection of spirit he must have suffered, a single sour -word concerning life or nature. His outlook on the world was never -tainted by self-compassion, never clouded by any bitterness of personal -experience, and one came to recognise then--as his life and strength -gradually failed and waned--that the spirit of optimism ... was indeed -a beauty deeply resident in his character, which even the shadow of -coming death was powerless to cloud or darken.” - -So I think of Joe as he stepped out of the boat on Currane, with the -smile upon his face. - - -I here add a few unpublished early lyrics and sonnets, never revised by -my husband for publication, which may give pleasure to his friends of -those days. - - -LOVE’S SUMMER. - - Away in our far Northern Land, - Where blustering winds swept o’er the wold, - Love came with Winter hand in hand - Changing our leaden skies to gold, - And as we raced across the Snow, - Love set the frozen world aglow. - - Ah, give me back that frozen year, - Those leaden skies, that wind swept wold! - ’Twas summer then, ’tis winter here, - Here where my dearest heart is cold, - Where all the Earth and all the Sun, - Tell only that Love’s race is run. - - J. C. C. - 1870. - - -A SONG. - - -I. - - What need of words, when lips that might have spoken - Clung close to mine? - And through the shadowed silence long unbroken, - This hand in thine, - There came from lowered lids such speech as lingers - When Love grows dumb, - And muted strings yield up to unseen fingers - Sweet strains to come. - - -II. - - But now! Ah now! what love left half-unheeded - Or half untold, - Each little word those quivering lips conceded - Has turned to gold. - I hoard them all as misers hoard their treasure - In secret store, - Till once again Love finds that muted measure - As once before. - - J. C. C. - - -FOR MUSIC. - - O winged Love! bear those red lips to mine, - That at one draught together we may drain - This Cup of Life that holds Love’s magic wine, - Then turn with lip to lip and drink again, - O Winged Love! - - Or waft me as a rose to where she lies - And hide me with thy hands within her breast. - That my bruised petals, wakened by her sighs, - May live one hour, then cease, and sink to rest, - O Winged Love! - - J. C. C. - 1873. - - -LINES WRITTEN ON A PAGE OF A YOUNG GIRL’S ALBUM - -AT RAGATZ, AUGUST 1889. - - Just as a dream of music never heard - May charm our spirit with its mystic spell, - This little page without one written word - Speaks more than words can tell: - - Fair as the unchanging fields of Alpine snow, - That hide the buried and the unborn spring, - Its silence guards all secrets that we know - And all that time may bring: - - Bearing sweet memories of past hours held dear - For all whose youth is flying, or has flown, - And softly whispering in a maiden’s ear - A name as yet unknown. - - J. C. C. - - - My love is fair and yet not made so fair - As though fed only with the sun and sky - For now some viewless vision fills the air - And laughing lips grow mute--she knows not why, - And on her eyelids fallen unaware - The shadow as of passing tears doth lie! - Of tears unwept, born of an unknown care - That dwells beyond the flight of memory. - - Ah, sweet, into thy beauty there could come - No better thing: the earth that holds thy feet - Must bring earth’s stain upon them where they meet - The path not made for thee--and the wind’s breath - That speaks not unto others but is dumb, - Whispers to thee of Life and Love and Death. - - J. C. C. - 1875. - - -ON A PICTURE. - -BY E. BURNE-JONES. - - Sad swift return of old love unforgot, - And passion of sweet lips that may not meet, - And trembling eyes that, like to weary feet, - Press close unto the goal yet touch it not, - Ah! Love, what hinders unto these the lot - Of common lovers? Shall no hour complete - This sweetness half-begun, no new day greet - The old love freed of the old stain and blot? - - At this last hour, O Death, within thy heart - Hast thou no pity? Shall the night be dumb - Nor ever from thy lips the low words come, - Giving once more the old sweet wanderings? - Shall yearning lips for ever stand apart - Shadowed beneath the darkness of thy wings? - - J. W. C. C. - 1872. - - - There was a time, Love, when I strove to tell - Our love but newly won: and tried to sing - In broken verse that scarcely found a wing - Some praise of all the beauty that doth dwell - Beneath long lashes: But then came the spell - Of love possessed, and I no more dared bring,-- - Thy hand in mine,--the old verse offering - Lest any spoken word should sound ‘farewell.’ - - Song at the best is but a cry for love - Not love itself and ere our paths had met - We cried to one another through the maze - That men call life:--until the moon above-- - Our steadfast moon of love that’s not yet set-- - Had drawn our feet into the selfsame ways. - - J. C. C. - _July, 1878._ - - - Ah! Love, I know thou hast no power to bring - Those lips once more to my lips; those sweet eyes, - Back to where once they dreamed so near to mine.-- - I know that not again on Earth shall cling - Those fair white arms, and not till all Time dies - Shall these hands in her loosened hair entwine. - There is no might can give back to the Spring - The lowliest flower dead under summer skies. - - Yet thou can’st tell me wandering by what stream - And in what fields of night her white feet tread. - Have I not wandered, Love, in many a dream? - Has she not too in dreaming wanderèd? - Then send her soul now to some garden fair - That my soul too may meet and wander there. - - J. W. C. C. - - - The moon that leans o’er yonder fleecy lawn - Lights a white path where wandering souls may stray - From earth as high as heaven: and when the day - Shall pass night’s dusky curtains, newly-drawn, - And swiftly with the footing of a fawn - Leaps up, from cloud to cloud, till all the gray - Burns crimson--then our feet may find a way - From East to West led by the feet of dawn. - - Yet now how far apart stand North and South - And that one face and mine! Ah, not so far! - For at the call of one remembered word - I hear again that voice which first I heard - When day dawned in the smile about her mouth - And in her eyes I saw the morning Star. - - J. C. C. - 1873. - - - Death speaks one word and all Love’s speech is dumb - And on Love’s parted lips that breathe farewell - Death’s marble finger lays its mystic spell - And bears the unuttered message to the tomb, - From whose closed door no whispered echoes come - To break the discord of the tolling bell - That sounds through city lane and woodland dell - With the sad burthen of Love’s martyrdom. - - And so Love dies. Ah no! it is not so! - For locked in Death’s white arms Love lies secure - In changeless sleep that knows no dream of change. - ’Tis Life not Death that works Love’s overthrow, - For while Life lasts what love is safe or sure - When each day tells of passionate hearts grown strange? - - J. C. C. - 1890. - - -GLASGOW: PRINTED AT THE UNIVERSITY PRESS BY ROBERT MACLEHOSE AND CO. -LTD. - - -Transcriber’s Notes - - Note: In The Table of Contents, ‘IX Social Occasions p115’ is - entitled ‘Entertainment’ in the body of the book. - - Page 12: changed, of his sisters’--shaken to of his sister’s--shaken - Page 41: changed, me some grapes, to me some grapes,’ - Page 44: changed, surburban to suburban - Page 73: changed, flummuxed to flummoxed - Page 88: changed, ‘Wall Sir, I hope’ to ‘Well Sir, I hope’ - Page 126: changed, opportunites to opportunities - Page 136: added the word ‘whom’-the centre around whom the children - Page 136: changed, children, criminals _and women_.” to - children, criminals _and women_.’ - Page 170: changed, horsesmen to horsemen - - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK J. 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Comyns Carr, by Alice Vansittart Carr - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this ebook. - -Title: J. Comyns Carr - Stray Memories - -Author: Alice Vansittart Carr - -Release Date: December 10, 2020 [EBook #64001] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -Produced by: Fay Dunn, Fiona Holmes and the Online Distributed - Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was - produced from images generously made available by The Internet - Archive/American Libraries.) - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK J. COMYNS CARR *** -</pre> -<h1 class="faux">J. COMYNS CARR</h1> - -<div class="transnote"> -<h2 class="nopagebreak" title="">Transcriber’s Notes</h2> - -This ebook was created in honour of Distributed Proofreaders 20th Anniversary. - -<p>Changes made are noted at the <a href="#end_note" title="Go to the End Note">end of the book.</a></p> -</div> - -<div class="figcenter"> -<img src="images/i_cover.jpg" alt="" width="609" height="1000" /> -</div> - - -<h2 class="faux" title="">J. COMYNS CARR</h2> - - -<div class="figcenter"> -<img src="images/i_colophon.jpg" alt="" width="90" height="36" /> -</div> -<p class="center p80">MACMILLAN AND CO., <span class="smcap">Limited</span><br /></p> -<p class="center p60">LONDON · BOMBAY · CALCUTTA · MADRAS<br /></p> -<p class="center p60">MELBOURNE</p> - -<p class="center p80">THE MACMILLAN COMPANY<br /></p> -<p class="center p60">NEW YORK · BOSTON · CHICAGO<br /></p> -<p class="center p60">DALLAS · SAN FRANCISCO</p> - -<p class="center p80">THE MACMILLAN CO. OF CANADA, <span class="smcap">Ltd.</span><br /></p> -<p class="center p60">TORONTO -</p> - - -<div class="figcenter"> -<img src="images/i_frontis.jpg" alt="Photo of J Comyns Carr" width="301" height="480" /> -</div> - -<p class="space-above4"></p> - -<p class="center p130">J. COMYNS CARR</p> - -<p class="center p120"><em>Stray Memories</em></p> - -<p class="center space-above2">BY<br /> -HIS WIFE</p> - -<p class="center space-above4">MACMILLAN AND CO., LIMITED<br /> -ST. MARTIN’S STREET, LONDON<br /> -1920 -</p> - -<p class="space-above4"></p> - -<p class="center p60"><i>COPYRIGHT</i></p> - -<p class="space-above4"></p> - -<p class="center p80">GLASGOW: PRINTED AT THE UNIVERSITY PRESS<br /> -BY ROBERT MACLEHOSE AND CO. LTD. -</p> - -<p class="space-above4"></p> -<hr class="tb" /> -<p class="center">TO<br /> -OUR GRANDSONS<br /> -RICHARD AND JOHN COMYNS CARR -</p> - -<p class="space-above4"></p> -<hr class="tb" /> -<div class="chapter"> -<h2>FOREWORD</h2> - - -<p class="noindent"><span class="smcap">My</span> husband wrote -his own Reminiscences in his two books—<cite>Some Eminent -Victorians</cite> and <cite>Coasting Bohemia</cite>, and it might -justly be brought up against me that I could have nothing to add to -what he has said himself.</p> - -<p>But a critic remarked at the time that there were few -“Reminiscences” in which the pronoun “I” -occurred so seldom; and it is upon this ground that I venture to take -my stand.</p> - -<p>His friends meant so much to him that his talk -is all of them. But they also loved him, and the -few who are left among those of whom he wrote, -as well as the many more of the younger generation -who testify to-day to the exhilaration of his presence -and the tonic of his humour may, I hope, find in -my effort something which may recall to them his -urbane and inspiring personality.</p> -</div> - -<p class="space-above4"></p> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2>CONTENTS</h2> - -<table summary="Contents" class="toc"> -<tr> - <td> </td> - <td> </td> - <td class="tdr"><small>PAGE</small></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="chapnum">I.</td> - <td>COURTSHIP</td> - <td class="right"><a href="#Page_1">1</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="chapnum">II.</td> - <td>THE HOME OF BOYHOOD</td> - <td class="right"><a href="#Page_10">10</a></td> - </tr> -<tr> - <td class="chapnum">III.</td> - <td>MARRIAGE</td> - <td class="right"><a href="#Page_16">16</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="chapnum">IV.</td> - <td>HOME LIFE AND DRAMATIC CRITICISM</td> - <td class="right"><a href="#Page_28">28</a></td> - </tr> -<tr> - <td class="chapnum">V.</td> - <td>JOURNALISM AND LETTERS</td> - <td class="right"><a href="#Page_43">43</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="chapnum">VI.</td> - <td>BOOKS AND TRAVEL</td> - <td class="right"><a href="#Page_63">63</a></td> - </tr> -<tr> - <td class="chapnum">VII.</td> - <td>GROSVENOR AND NEW GALLERIES</td> - <td class="right"><a href="#Page_76">76</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="chapnum">VIII.</td> - <td>DRAMATIC WORK AND MANAGEMENT</td> - <td class="right"><a href="#Page_83">83</a></td> - </tr> -<tr> - <td class="chapnum">IX.</td> - <td>SOCIAL OCCASIONS</td> - <td class="right"><a href="#Page_115">115</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="chapnum">X.</td> - <td>FOREIGN HOLIDAYS</td> - <td class="right"><a href="#Page_129">129</a></td> - </tr> -<tr> - <td class="chapnum">XI.</td> - <td>FISHING HOLIDAYS</td> - <td class="right"><a href="#Page_156">156</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="chapnum">XII.</td> - <td>EARLY VERSE</td> - <td class="right"><a href="#Page_175">175</a></td> - </tr> - </table> -</div> - - -<p class="space-above2"></p> - -<p class="center"><em>Frontispiece</em></p> - -<p class="center">J. COMYNS CARR</p> - -<p class="center">From a photograph by the London Stereoscopic Co. Ltd.</p> -<hr class="chap" /> - - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[1]</a></span></p> -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_I" id="CHAPTER_I"></a>CHAPTER I</h2> - -<p class="center">COURTSHIP</p> - - -<p class="noindent"><span class="smcap">It</span> was in June of the year 1873 that I first saw -my husband.</p> - -<p>Aimée Desclée was beginning a memorable season of -French Plays at the Royalty Theatre, and it was in the capacity of -dramatic critic to <cite>The Echo</cite>—a post to which he had -recently been appointed—that “Joe Carr,” as his -friends called him, sat awaiting the curtain to rise on that remarkable -performance of <em>Frou-Frou</em> which set the cosmopolitan world of -London aflame in its day.</p> - -<p>He was twenty-four years of age; but he looked more, for though he -had the complexion almost of a girl and that unruly twist in his fair, -curling hair which belongs to early youth, he was broad-shouldered and -had the strong build of the Cumberland statesmen from whom he was as -proud to claim ancestry on his father’s side as he was of the -Irish blood that came to him from his mother.</p> - -<p>Not that I could have described him that evening: -the stalls were too ill lit and my excitement -over the play was too great.</p> - -<p>I had but lately arrived from Italy—having <span -class="pagenum"><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[2]</a></span>cajoled my -father, then English chaplain at Genoa, into letting me “see -London” under the care of my brother, resident there; so -that I had just been shot from the socially restricted life of a -parson’s daughter in the small English colony of a small foreign -town into the comparative Bohemianism of the artistic set in the London -of that day best described by my husband himself in the introduction to -his book <cite>Coasting Bohemia</cite>.</p> - -<p>There was much that must have been, unconsciously to myself, of -rare educational advantage in the lovely scenery and picturesque -surroundings of my childhood’s life on the Riviera and in -the Apennines; and my parents so loved both Nature and Art that -they gave us constant change of opportunity in these directions. -Yet I must confess that as I grew up, the chestnut groves of the -Apennines and the shores of the blue Mediterranean became empty joys -to me, and even the comparative excitement of wearing my own and -criticizing my friends’ frocks in the Public Gardens of Genoa -or the keener delight of an occasional dance in a stately palace, was -insufficient to fill my cravings; and I longed for freedom and the -attractions of the world—more especially in London, which I -only knew through visits to relatives during the holidays of a short -period of my life at a Brighton school. And it was from the house of -specially strict relatives that I definitely escaped that evening, -to come to the wicked French play with my brother and his friend and -housemate, Mr. Frederick Jameson, an architect by profession, but -incidentally a distinguished <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[3]</a></span>musician—in later years the translator -of the Wagner libretti.</p> - -<p>Mr. Comyns Carr, to whom they introduced me, sat behind us; -and, though he often told me that he marked me down as I came in, -and somehow associated me with the personality of Aimée -Desclée herself, I took small heed of him then, and when, as we -sought a cab at the close of the performance, he volunteered to go back -and search for a valueless brooch which I had lost, I did not have the -grace to insist on waiting for his return before we hurried off.</p> - -<p>But I was not to be punished; that very incident -furnished occasion for a next meeting.</p> - -<p>Through my brother he tracked me to a Bloomsbury -boarding-house, whereto insubordination to -the deserved reproof of the conventional relatives -had made me condemn myself.</p> - -<p>Oh, that boarding-house—with the city clerk’s <i -lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">bon mot</i>, “Why are you like the spoon -resting in your tea?” And the spinster convinced that the Italian -Stornelli I sang in the evening must be “improper!” Could -I have endured it if Mr. Jameson and my brother had not started the -glorious idea of theatricals in their rooms hard by in Great Russell -Street? And if, on the second day of my sojourn, the lodging-house -slavey had not burst into the wee bedroom looking out to the backyard -where I was putting on my hat, with the news that a gentleman was -asking for me at the front door?</p> - -<p>I never guessed who it was, but, through the sunshine -that struck into the dingy hall, I saw a strong -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[4]</a></span>figure on the door-step and, as I advanced out of -the dimness, a mouth hidden in a fair beard—thick -and long according to the fashion of the hour—parted -in a smile; then I recognised the young man -whom I had seen two nights ago at the play.</p> - -<p>He had brought my lost brooch, but I don’t think -the excuse was needed. I knew why he had come, -though at the moment an unwonted shyness had -fallen on me, and I think I did not know whether -to be pleased or frightened.</p> - -<p>He said, “Mayn’t I come in?”</p> - -<p>And I recollect my vexation as I answered, -“There’s nowhere to come to! The drawing-room -is full of old ladies—the sort who tell one -that a waterproof and an umbrella are the safe -dress for a girl in London.”</p> - -<p>How he laughed! the laugh that many knew -and loved him for: and any who recollect the -speckled-hen variety of the waterproof of the -seventies will not wonder.</p> - -<p>Then he said: “But you are going out. Which -way are you going?”</p> - -<p>My reply so well betrayed utter ignorance of -London thoroughfares that his next remark was -natural.</p> - -<p>“Well, as I know you’re a stranger, I won’t -say you’ve a small bump of locality!” he said. -And how often did he say it again in after years! -“But you had better let me take you along. I’m -going that way.”</p> - -<p>He told the lie unblushingly—and unblushing -I did as he bade me and followed him into the street.</p> - -<p>I had been brought up with the strictness not -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[5]</a></span>only of my father’s cloth but of Italian customs, -and I felt I was doing a bold thing: in those days -my whole English adventure was considered bold -by Mrs. Grundy, and my poor father had already -come over on a hasty visit from Italy to place me -with those relatives from whom I had escaped; -but on that occasion I was simply overborne. Long -afterwards, at a crush where Royalty was present, -my husband won a bet that he would sup in the -Royal room merely by the way in which he bade -the footman drop the dividing red rope, and by the -same way of bidding a porter put his valise on a -cab, he won another with J. L. Toole as to his luggage -passing unexamined on a return from abroad. -So it was by some kindred “way” that he led me -forth that day—whither I knew not. And honestly, -I forget where we went. I only knew that he took -me a long way—in more senses than one—and -showed me many things that were new and told -me many that were more Greek to me than I chose -to admit at the time.</p> - -<p>I was an ignorant girl—the smattering of a brief -boarding-school education counting probably far less than the -companionship of refined parents in a land of beauty, and of the sort -of cultivation in which Joe lived and revelled I knew absolutely -nothing.</p> - -<p>I don’t know that, at that stage in my career, I ever had so -much desire to learn as I pretended—and I am not sure that Joe -cared.</p> - -<p>Yet he was in those days of his youth at the height of his -enthusiasm on matters of Art; he had just written those articles -on living painters—<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[6]</a></span>specially noting the so-called -Pre-Raphaelites—which had drawn considerable notice to his -pseudonym of “Ignotus,” and he was, at the moment, one of -Rossetti’s favoured young admirers.</p> - -<p>But I knew nothing of all this; nor of his having already begun -his career of a “wit” as Junior of the Bar on the -Northern Circuit. In fact, what I recall of him then is not his wit -but his tenderness. He was the ardent pursuer, the first man I had -met with whom I was afraid to flirt, because—in spite of some -tremulousness in his eager insistence—there was something that -said: “I mean to succeed.”</p> - -<p>So I stood dreaming before the masterpieces of the National Gallery, -and he, I am bound to say, was content with much silence as we sat in -the large, cool rooms on that hot May day.</p> - -<p>Later on, when he was showing me what to admire, -I would teaze him by pointing to some atrocity -in Art, and say: “That is what I really like.” -But not that day.</p> - -<p>And when the hour came for me to return to -the boarding-house, I think his sole thought was -upon the contriving of our next meeting. As we -passed the British Museum—he looked up at the -windows of my brother’s rooms facing it, and said: -“Sheridan Knowles’ ‘Hunchback,’ you said.”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” I replied. “And I do Julia and Mr. -Jameson Master Walter. But it may all fall through -because he can’t find a man for the lover. It is -desolating.”</p> - -<p>I can recall the slow look he gave me; but then -he smiled and said: “Is that what you would -say in your foreign tongues?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[7]</a></span>I got cured of such expressions later on, but -that day I think I was ashamed of my careless -speech, for I knew better; and I shook hands with -him with a sense of disappointment as the slavey -opened the door into the dingy brown hall. Had -I been too flippant and free to please such a clever -man?</p> - -<p>That evening, however, when I went to the rehearsal -in Great Russell Street, Mr. Comyns Carr was -there; of course he had offered himself to play that -lover’s part. He was busy enough—though not so -busy as he had been before I knew him, when reading -for his Law Scholarship at the London University. -He had, in fact, if I remember rightly, just -returned from his first experience on the Northern -Circuit and was beginning to supplement his earnings -at the Bar by literary efforts. But he was not -too busy for this adventure, and there followed -three weeks of rehearsals under Mr. Jameson’s -management, during which my assets for the stage -were calmly discussed, Mr. Jameson declaring that -they were good, and finally winning my brother’s -consent to the bidding of his theatrical friends—John -Hare among them—to decide the question.</p> - -<p>But Joe always pooh-poohed the notion.</p> - -<p>And when I said: “Well, I’m going to earn enough -to keep me in London somehow. I’m not going -back to that dead-alive life at home!” he only -said cryptically, “There are other ways.”</p> - -<p>I think I was a bit huffed at the time and crowed -when a lightly spoken word of praise came to me -presently from a very authoritative quarter.</p> - -<p>For one day, as we sat resting from our labours -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[8]</a></span>in one of the window seats of the beautiful Adams -room where Burne-Jones had once painted and -that Whistler had not long left, a light rap fell on -the door and a voice long loved by us all called -out: “Anybody at home?” as the radiant face -of Ellen Terry peeped merrily in upon us.</p> - -<p>There was little work done that day; but our -stage manager, whose old friend she was, bade -me speak one of my speeches, and she said: “A -good carrying voice, and she finishes her words.” -No merit to me, who had been bred in a land where -folk open their throats and where I had heard -cultivated English only; but I was naturally flattered -and, when “the night” came and I was awkward -and terrified and John Hare smiled pleasant nothings -and my kindly, ambitious stage-manager’s ardour -was damped, I might have been sore cast down -but that a new excitement and glamour had flashed -into my life.</p> - -<p>Joe Carr’s “way” was carving its straight course.</p> - -<p>Many a time I had been caught wandering aimlessly -up Gower Street pretending a shopping -excursion and swearing that I had not seen him -on the opposite pavement, and many a half-hour -had we both pretended to enjoy the Elgin Marbles -in the British Museum, but in truth it was only three -weeks after that theatrical performance when I -put my key one day into the door of the Dispensary -over which were those historic rooms and felt -rather than saw a figure behind me, and knew that -the great moment had come for me and that I was -to be carried off my feet.</p> - -<p>As once before he said:<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[9]</a></span> “May I come in?” -And I answered nothing and left the key in the door -(of which I never heard the end), and he followed -me up to the big studio where we were to spend -the first year of our wedded life.</p> - -<p>I had come there that day for a singing lesson -from Mr. Jameson and, when he returned presently, -I am sure he guessed no more than we did that in -four months he would be in America and would -have rented his rooms to us for our first home.</p> -</div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[10]</a></span></p> -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_II" id="CHAPTER_II"></a>CHAPTER II</h2> - -<p class="center">THE HOME OF BOYHOOD</p> - - -<p class="noindent"><span class="smcap">So</span> from that day there was no more dingy boarding-house -for me: my betrothed took me to his parents’ -house at Clapham, where I well remember the -courtly words: “I hear I have to congratulate my -son Joe” with which I was received by his father.</p> - -<p>Small blame would it have been to parents, -ambitious for the advancement of their children, -had they only seen in me a foreign adventuress -without credentials coming to snatch one of the -flowers of their flock; yet instead of that, most -generously was I welcomed to a home of which -I have never seen the like; and if sometimes bewildered -and always non-plussed by the free-and-easy -give and take and the wonderful argumentative -capacity of that large and variously gifted -family—I felt out of it—my lover was always -unobtrusively protecting, and the artist-sister who -had always shared his tastes and sympathized -with his ambitions, often held out a kindly hand -to help me up the steep places.</p> - -<p>But they were few: the sunny places, full of real romance, of -utter confidence in our future—<span class="pagenum"><a -name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[11]</a></span>rash as it might appear to -prudent elders—bright with his radiant enthusiasms and his fine -ambitions, are the things that cannot fade from my memory.</p> - -<p>In those days much verse was written not then intended for -publication, but some of which has seen the light since.</p> - -<p>The typical gathering, of the large family, presided over by the -wise father whose “Landmarks, boys”! from the head of the -table generally calmed any storm, was most often one of obstinate -argument and fierce word-fights, and stands out now as the proper -school where the keen critical faculty and the gift of ready repartee -for which many friends now remember Joe Carr, were first forged and -perfected.</p> - -<p>And, be it noted, that however sanguinary -the fight, there was never any malice, never any -after ill-will among the combatants: generous -natures and a Celtic sense of humour prevented -that—not a little helped by the complete freedom -of arena left by the parents.</p> - -<p>The mother ruled her household as Victorian -mothers did, and spared neither pains nor expense -for her son’s ambitions and her daughters’ proper -advancement in the world; she welcomed their -friends with courteous Irish welcome, however -little many of their tastes might be in harmony -with her own; but she let them talk unmolested -and was content to keep her own counsel, while -she ministered lavishly to their creature comforts; -and the father—a man of few words but of strong -character and clear insight—kept his own views -undisturbed. He had nevertheless more deeply, -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[12]</a></span>though probably unconsciously, impressed them -on his children, than his children then guessed. -He was a broad Liberal, and it is interesting to note -that, in days when we were even more insular -than we are now, no fighter in the cause of freedom -was forbidden his house because he was a foreigner. -Under the auspices of Mr. Adam Gielgud—the son -of a great Polish refugee—patriots from many -lands who had sought our shelter, found their way -to that hospitable roof. Pulski and Riciotti -Garibaldi are the only other names that recur to -me, but there were more and they were all welcome. -Men of after note in the art world and in journalism -came also as friends of Joe’s or of his sister’s—shaken -together with charming Irish and hard-headed North -country cousins.</p> - -<p>Many were the times when dinner had been ordered -for six, and sixteen would sit down at the long -mahogany table, the polishing of which Mrs. Carr -supervised daily, laden with homely but abundant -fare.</p> - -<p>But Joe made many other friends in town who -never found time to visit Clapham. In spite of -his recent appointment as dramatic critic to <cite>The -Echo</cite> his new friends were less among actors than -among painters—Burne-Jones and perhaps chiefest -just then, Rossetti, whose friendship he describes -himself in <cite>Some Eminent Victorians</cite>. Nevertheless -he had met Henry Irving through the son of the Lyceum -manager, Mr. Bateman, and had often passionately praised -him.</p> - -<p>To the girl fresh from the small English colony -abroad it was all vastly entertaining, though I did -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[13]</a></span>not realize then how much of a figure my betrothed -already was among the men of his time. Even -the gayer part of my girlhood—the summers spent -at S. Moritz, which my father had discovered, -as a homely village in his yearly Alpine tramp—bore -little resemblance to London excitements. -I had but rarely seen the inside of a theatre and -never a fine English actor, and my first vision of -Henry Irving in “The Bells,” is a haunting memory -still.</p> - -<p>This was in July, 1873.</p> - -<p>But this engrossing first season of mine had to be -interrupted; for Joe, having at last obtained a -commission from one of the dailies for holiday -articles which would bring in a sum just sufficient -to pay his expenses, was whirled off to the Engadine -by my brother to be introduced to my parents -as my suitor.</p> - -<p>In some ways a strange meeting on both sides: -to Joe the restrictions of a parson’s home—though -greatly modified by the manner of a foreign life—must -have seemed a contrast to the methodical -yet easy-going Clapham household; to my parents -the reckless courage of my lover’s plan of life, -his bold enthusiasms and gay self-confidence must -have been—to my father, at all events—somewhat -startling. But my brother was a bit of an autocrat -in the family circle and knew the position which -Joe was likely to win in the London world of letters; -my sister, a very young girl, kept the ball rolling -merrily on the lighter side, while my mother quickly -discovered deep points of sympathy with her would-be -son-in-law, and the two would sit on the terrace -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[14]</a></span>of our mountain home, looking on the green lake -with the snow-capped peaks cleaving an indigo -sky, and quote Wordsworth contentedly. To the -end of her life they understood one another; but -even my father came to recognise the value of -a fine character above creeds. Certain it is that -Joe was as much pleased with the Italian cooking -of the maid who sat on the sofa with the dish in -her hands while waiting for him to ask for a second -helping, as he was surprised at my brother advising -him not to borrow a postage stamp when five minutes -later my father proposed to settle a small yearly -sum upon me which would enable us to marry as -soon as Joe had any fixed income whatsoever.</p> - -<p>As often later, his personality had won, his incurable -optimism and self-confidence had inspired -the confidence of my parents, and it was not misplaced. -They made the speedy marriage which, -he insisted, could alone lead him to success, just -possible: economy and courage did the rest—the -courage which never forsook him. For as I look -over his letters—written to me in later years when -some one of his many bold ventures had not succeeded -like another—I find the cheerful phrase -recurring: “Don’t be afraid; there’s a lot of fight -left in me yet.”</p> - -<p>Upon that—safest and most enduring of all incomes—we set -sail without a vestige of misgiving upon the sea of life; and I’m -thankful to say that I never was “afraid.”</p> - -<p>But it was this early marriage that led Joe for a second time, as -he tells in his <cite>Reminiscences</cite>, to change his profession, -and gradually, and to the <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[15]</a></span>distress of his legal friends, to forsake -the Bar for the more immediately remunerative work of literature. I -well recollect his joyful announcement to me of his appointment as Art -Critic to the <cite>Pall Mall Gazette</cite>—the beginning of a -long period of many-sided association with Frederick Greenwood; and -that slender certainty of income provided the condition imposed by my -father: our wedding day was fixed.</p> -</div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[16]</a></span></p> -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_III" id="CHAPTER_III"></a>CHAPTER III</h2> - -<p class="center">MARRIAGE</p> - - -<p class="noindent"><span class="smcap">We</span> were married in Dresden, where my father -had taken a temporary chaplaincy.</p> - -<p>Joe had a merry journey out from England with Mr. Jameson and a -gentle but less intellectual friend who was to act as best man.</p> - -<p>I was told later of this friend’s innocent boast of -conversion to free thought and of Joe’s quick -reply: “Why, then, you’ll have plenty of time -to think.” But this sterner remark was not in his -usual vein, and much oftener I think he pleased -his two friends by his immediate sympathy with -free foreign manners, most especially those of the -French, who always had the first place in his affections -as contrasted with “bulgy-necked Germans whose -poverty-stricken tongue” forced them to call a -thimble a “finger hat” and a glove a “hand-shoe,” -and decreed that three men must order their baths -as “drei.” I must add in his defence that he never -could speak or read the language; it was his mother -wit that pulled him through difficulties. Once when -alone in Dresden he was driven to ask his way in -the words of a well-known song and, even at that -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[17]</a></span>time, was probably set down as an insolent Englishman -for the intimate pronoun in his “Kennst du -das Sidonien Strasse”?</p> - -<p>What treatment would he receive now and how -would he take it?</p> - -<p>But his two friends were German scholars and good -cicerones, and led him safely to the Hotel de Saxe -on the morning of December 15th, 1873, where my -father married us in the presence of a newly arrived -British ambassador.</p> - -<p>There was some obvious raillery, to which Joe -nimbly responded, in consequence of that pleni-potentiary -remarking, with grim humour, that he -wondered if these marriages were really valid; -but the gentleman took the best precautions available -in requiring the legal part of the ceremony to take -place on the “British ground” of his small, temporary -hotel room, and there, both of us kneeling on -two little sofa cushions, the ring was put upon my -finger.</p> - -<p>My father, however, naturally wanted to “finish -us off” in the English Church, and I remember my -shyness when I saw the uninvited crowd which had -assembled there—I was told afterwards to see what -a high-art wedding dress would be like!</p> - -<p>Joe declared that they expected it to be scanty; -if so they must have been disappointed that the -folds of my soft brocade, fashioned after my artist -sister-in-law’s design and approved by my husband, -were much more ample than was the mode of the -day.</p> - -<p>How much have we changed since the Morris -vogue!</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[18]</a></span></p> -<p>I don’t think I minded then being the centre of -observation, even though I may have guessed it -was fraught with adverse criticism—not wholly, -as I now think, undeserved.</p> - -<p>But in the friendly little party that assembled in -our modest home to wish us God-speed there was -no adverse criticism, and we went off to Leipzig -for our honeymoon <em>en route</em> for England and work, -without any of the fatiguing excitement of a society -assembly.</p> - -<p>Joe’s graceful little speech in reply to congratulations -was quite the merriest note of the simple -festivities.</p> - -<p>I daresay the wine at that table was not wholly -worthy of the palate for which Joe had already -acquired a reputation among his London friends; -but when we reached Leipzig I remember his ordering -a bottle of the celebrated Johannesberg for our -wedding dinner. Possibly he may have told a -sympathetic <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">bon viveur</i> of this afterwards; anyhow -our first dinner invitation on our return to London -was to the house of a wealthy bachelor who produced -a bottle of the (ostensibly) same wine with the -dessert. Unluckily, Joe, on being pressed to praise -it, said with his usual candour: “Well, my dear -fellow, you gave us such excellent claret during dinner -that you have spoiled my palate for this!”</p> - -<p>The laugh that followed compensated for an -ominous frown on the brow of our rather peppery -host, who was however placated by one of the guests -recalling an occasion on which Joe had mortified the -famous proprietor of a famous eating-house by -forcing him to admit a mistake in serving, later in -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[19]</a></span>the dinner, an inferior brand of the wine supplied -at first.</p> - -<p>Two days of lazy sight-seeing in the fine old -German town, and then on we travelled; and a -cold journey we had of it! But Joe’s spirits were -equal to every <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">contretemps</i>: even when we were -turned out at a dreary frontier junction in the -middle of the night to await a slow train, although -we had paid first class fare and had been told there -was no change.</p> - -<p>There was but one other passenger in the train—a quiet, -elderly German, and when I translated to Joe the bullying -official’s assurance that this gentleman had agreed to waive his -rights if we did the same, he made me ask our fellow-traveller if this -was the case. Unwarily the gentleman admitted that he had been told the -same thing of us, and although I was unable to put all the epithets -which Joe applied to the lying official into colloquial German, I was -buoyed up to persuade the traveller to use some of them, with the -result that a special engine and first class carriage took us all three -on to Paris by the morning. Perhaps our unknown companion was a person -in power.</p> - -<p>But in Paris fresh delays awaited us. When after two arduous but -cheerful days of some sight-seeing and a good deal of aimless and -delightful wandering and strange but equally pleasant meals in tiny -restaurants—we came to the Gare du Nord on our last day, Joe -found that he had not money enough to pay for tickets and luggage, and -we were obliged to return ignominiously to the hotel and borrow from -our best man—happily <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[20]</a></span>for us just arrived there on his own -homeward route.</p> - -<p>Somehow we minded little, but we reached Clapham one day late for -the family Christmasing—arriving, indeed, when the turkey was -already on the table, and I think it took all Joe’s tact to win -his mother’s forgiveness.</p> - -<p>So that was the end of our one week’s wedding -trip; it was back to work and a busy time we had of -it till our son Philip was about nine months old. -Then, by dint of Joe’s unceasing work and my -economy we found that we could allow ourselves a -journey to Italy to stay with the various friends of -my girlhood.</p> - -<p>We called it our honeymoon—a belated one, like -the gift of a portrait-bust of our boy at three years -old, which Joe chaffed Miss Henrietta Montalba -for presenting to us as a “wedding-present.” But -none the less a honeymoon for that, though not of -the conventional and luxurious type.</p> - -<p>Many a funny experience attended Joe’s efforts -to pursue in travel the economy which I had sternly -sought to instil at home, and I am afraid that he -never again fully resumed the good habit from -which he then first broke away. Economy was not -one of his virtues—was he not the son of an Irish-woman? -But, then, generosity was. Burne-Jones -once asked him why he took a cab to drive down the -Strand, and he said it came cheaper, because if he -walked he was sure to give half a crown to some -former “stage-hand.” Yet when another day -Burne-Jones himself was deceived by a plausible -story and Joe cried in reproof:<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[21]</a></span> “Can’t you see -that it’s only acting?” Burne-Jones replied: “Well, -my dear, I’ve paid ten-and-six to see worse.”</p> - -<p>But in the days of our first foreign trip my -extravagant husband was still “trying to be good.”</p> - -<p>I remember his taking the English prescription -for a sedative to a small chemist on Lago Maggiore, -whom he described as the alchymist in <cite>Romeo and -Juliet</cite>; but when the dose, which at home represented -about two tablespoonfuls, arrived in a straw -covered quart “fiasco,” he preferred a night’s -toothache to venturing on it.</p> - -<p>As representing his sympathetic understanding -of one side of the Italian character, I might cite our -going into the quaintest of curiosity shops in an old -town where we had to wait at a junction, and his -tendering a cheque in payment of a trifling purchase. -I am bound to say he confessed afterwards that he -had only bought me the trinket in the faint hope of -getting the change he needed and that he was as surprised -as I was to see the ox-eyed little hunchback -unearth a beautiful ancient casket and hand him -from it the gold required.</p> - -<p>Possibly the timid request having come from me -in the man’s own dialect may have helped to confirm -the impression of “good faith” given by Joe’s -candid countenance; but he did naturally count -on me; and on a different occasion when he was -obstinately trying to drive a bargain with an unwisely -grasping <i lang="it" xml:lang="it">vetturino</i>, his delight was great at the sudden -drop of five francs in the demand of the astounded -plunderer upon hearing his own vernacular from my -indignant English lips.</p> - -<p>There were many times when Joe would have none -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[22]</a></span>of my help. When we were staying on the Riviera -he would go every day into the town in the rattling -little omnibus that plied along the dusty road, succeeding -by sheer kindred <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">bonhomie</i> in making friends -with the drivers and rejoicing at the abusive epithet -of “ugly microbe” suggested by some late epidemic, -with which they used at the time merrily to bombard -one another.</p> - -<p>His best crony amongst the friends of my childhood -was the old priest of our Apennine village who -had taught me the piano when I was a little girl, -in exchange—as he always averred—for my instruction -in my own tongue.</p> - -<p>I’m afraid his conversational English was little -credit to me and not much better than Joe’s Italian, -although the old man was a scholar and had taught -himself enough, with occasional help from my -father, to read Shakespeare in the original.</p> - -<p>He pronounced the name with every vowel -broad and separate, as in his Latin; this was -easy in that case, but when he wanted to tell which -were his “four favourite poets”—in which list he -included musicians—he was sore put to it for the -pronunciation of Byron, Beethoven and Bach.</p> - -<p>But Joe taught him more than I had done at ten -years old, for which the old man upbraided me -again as he would have done in my baby days.</p> - -<p>I can see him standing in his shabby cassock -beneath his pergola with the sun filtering through -the vines on to the hanging bunches of purple fruit, -and shaking his finger at me with mock solemnity -as of yore.</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[23]</a></span></p> -<p>“When she was four years old she told me I spoke -English like a Spanish cow,” said he, quoting a -Genoese proverb. “But she taught me badly.”</p> - -<p>And then he related—what I refused at first to -translate—how he had had to whip me for stealing -his currants.</p> - -<p>“Grapes she might have had—but English -currants, they require <em>watering</em>.”</p> - -<p>And grapes <i>we</i> had too, as many as we could -devour. In their natural form Joe could pluck -and eat them gladly too; but when it came to the -sour wine which the <em>Prevosto</em> had made from them -and with which he served him at table, I am bound -to confess that my husband risked disgracing me by -spilling it on the brick floor when his host’s back was -turned; and on one occasion he even went so -far as to pour a whole half <em>fiasco</em> through the little -window which separated the refectory from the -church, where he bespattered the marble pavement -behind the high altar.</p> - -<p>But these delinquencies remained a secret, and -“Giò” became the old man’s loved and patient -instructor and friend.</p> - -<p>“Tor bay or not tor bay,” I seem to hear him -painfully enunciating: and then Joe finishing -Hamlet’s familiar soliloquy in slow, even tones as -they passed up the vineyards. Pleasant climbs -they were through sweeping chestnut-woods and -beside trickling trout-streams that grew to rushing -torrents after a thunderstorm; climbs that ended -perhaps at some mountain sanctuary whence the -white cities of the plain could be seen beyond -a sea of gently lowering ridges and crests; or sometimes -only at some hamlet beside the stony bed of -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[24]</a></span>the wandering river, where the old man would bid -him wait while he mumbled his “Office” or went -in “to see an ill” in one of the thatched cottages -adorned with hanging fringe of golden maize-cones -that cluster around the village fountain. It was -here that one evening, when I had been my husband’s -companion, the village sempstress came forth to -greet us—she who had made my own and my sister’s -new cotton frocks on that great occasion when the -<em>Prevosto</em> had begged for us, as the “cleanest children -in the village,” to strew flowers before the Archbishop -when he came for the Confirmation.</p> - -<p>I reminded the old priest of it and he said: “Yes, -yes! And the Archbishop asked if you were -Protestants and I answered ‘Certainly! but their -parents did not refuse because we are Catholics: -we all pray to the same God.’”</p> - -<p>The sempstress was old when Joe saw her and so -stout that the great scissors that hung from her -vast apron bobbed as she moved; but she was handsome -still and gracious with the graciousness of a -duchess; I well recollect Joe’s comment on it.</p> - -<p>The laughing girls who clustered round us in -wonder pinched his calves, perhaps to see if they -were padded, though their excuse to old Teresa’s -sharp and quick reprimand was that they only wanted -to feel “the beautiful real English wool” of his -shooting stockings.</p> - -<p>Joe had not objected, but she was not placated, -and bade the hussies be off while she invited us into -her dwelling.</p> - -<p>A girl sat at the hand-loom, rapidly moving her -bare brown feet and flinging the shuttle to and fro -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[25]</a></span>for the weaving of the sheeting, a completed -length of which lay beside her ready to be bleached -on the stones by the river.</p> - -<p>Joe wanted to hear about it from her, for her eyes -were “like the fish pools of Heshbon”; but she -jumped up at the mistress’s bidding and he lost -interest in weaving; I think he would even have -tasted the sour wine which she presently brought -on a copper tray if I had not quickly invented a -polite fiction to the effect that Englishmen never -drink anything but tea in the afternoon.</p> - -<p>A slice of chestnut cake we were forced to accept -from the elder woman’s hospitable hand as she asked -my husband’s name. I remember the charming -bow with which she turned to him after she had heard -it and said: “<i lang="it" xml:lang="it">O che bel San Guiseppe!</i>” and his -equally charming recognition of her pretty compliment.</p> - -<p>Irish and Italian—there was some subtle affinity -always between them—the grave and the gay, the -superstitious and the Pagan, as <i>he</i> said—and he was -positively confused when she observed that his -golden beard and fair, curling hair were just like the -St. Joseph’s in the Church. It was a merry run we -had down through the chestnut woods and a sweet -walk by the river in the sunset, back to the Presbytery.</p> - -<p>Graver but none the less satisfactory was the -appreciation given to him by my old nurse, when -we arrived presently in Genoa. She was of a -different type—refined, sensitive, serious even to -sadness—with the blight always on her of a foundling’s -ignorance of parentage; but devoted beyond -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[26]</a></span>all words and of a rare intelligence: Joe was impressed -with her and likened her to a female -Dante.</p> - -<p>Yet the brighter types were more in accordance -with his holiday mood: when we were on a visit -later at a mediaeval castle whose battlements stand -sheer above the sea and whose olive groves slope to a -transparent bay, he spent all the time not occupied -by eating figs off the tree on the Castle keep to -playing with half-naked brown urchins on the quay -of the tiny fishing-port below.</p> - -<p>His first acquaintance with one of them was at -dead of night when we were alone in the weird old -place and a hollow bell clanged suddenly through -the hot air.</p> - -<p>Joe got out of bed—his chief fear being lest the -mosquitoes should take the chance to get in under -the sheltering net—and made his way down a dark, -vaulted passage to the outer gateway and what was -once the portcullis. A ragged boy stood there with -a telegram: it was an invitation which should have -been delivered six hours before, but the boy had -walked five miles along a cliff in the dark and Joe -rewarded him so well that his fame was spread in -the village and he never more walked peacefully -abroad.</p> - -<p>The little girls, however, were his chief pilferers: -he could never refuse their appealing black eyes. -And some of them were fine coquettes. I can see -him now dancing a hornpipe on the quay with a -half-clad little maiden who presently signed to him -to take off his hat; the elaborate bow with which he -did so, bidding me apologise to her for the omission, -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[27]</a></span>was worthy of the producer of many subsequent -plays.</p> - -<p>The little incident recalls another of later date.</p> - -<p>Then it was in the Engadine that we were holiday-making. -Mr. and Mrs. Bancroft—as they then -were—had invited us to lunch at the Campfer -Hotel and we had walked over from S. Moritz where -we were lodged.</p> - -<p>As we came up the path through the pine-wood -beside the rushing stream we saw the famous little -lady standing on the dusty road above to welcome -us; and Joe—his hat in his hand this time—began -advancing towards her executing his hornpipe step.</p> - -<p>To the entranced amazement of a few loungers, -she picked up her skirts in the prettiest way imaginable -and immediately responded with a pas-seul -of her own—her little feet nimble as ever, till the two -met, laughing immoderately, in the middle of the -highway just as the diligence hove in sight.</p> -</div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[28]</a></span></p> -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IV" id="CHAPTER_IV"></a>CHAPTER IV</h2> - -<p class="center">HOME LIFE AND DRAMATIC CRITICISM</p> - - -<p class="noindent"><span class="smcap">These</span> latter incidents occurred some time after -1873. When we got back to England after our -Dresden wedding we took up our abode almost -immediately in the old Adams house in Great Russell -Street. The two rooms which Mr. Jameson sub-let -to us were all that we could at first obtain above -the Dispensary, but they were large and quite -sufficient for the Bohemian life which was all that -we could then afford; anyway no subsequent home -of ours was pleasanter and nothing was ever again -so little burthensome.</p> - -<p>At a long table by the door of the one large -dwelling-room the old couple who had been our -predecessor’s factotums served our meals; and -around the handsome Adams chimney-piece at the -other end, or in the panelled window-seats looking -on the restful façade of the British Museum, we -gathered Joe’s friends—they were all Joe’s friends—for -a “pipe and a chat.”</p> - -<p>And what chats they were!</p> - -<p>James Sime, the historian, kindliest of men with -his Teutonic philosophies and his deep Scottish -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[29]</a></span>sentiment and enthusiasm; Churton Collins richly -capping his host’s poetical quotations and sometimes -boldly challenged for an inaccuracy; W. -Minto, afterwards Professor of Literature at Aberdeen, -who was just starting his Editorship of <cite>The -Examiner</cite>, and pressing Joe into the ranks of his -contributors; Camille Barrère, now French Ambassador -in Rome, but then a Communist refugee -earning a living by London journalism, and of whose -friendship and instruction in French Joe tells himself; -Frederick Jameson and Beatty Kingston with -their friends at piano and violin, to say nothing -of the colleagues with whom my husband had just -become associated in his work on <cite>The Globe</cite> and of -whom he again tells in his <cite>Eminent Victorians</cite>.</p> - -<p>Dare I recall the evening when my husband -proudly named me to Minto as the writer of a -little descriptive article which he had read in the -<cite>Pall Mall Gazette</cite> and the consequent suggestion -that I should do the series of Italian sketches for -<cite>The Examiner</cite> which were afterwards reprinted in -a volume with Randolph Caldecott’s illustrations.</p> - -<p>Of course I should never have done even as much -without their kindly encouragement, but to the end -of his life I think a good review of any small effort -of mine pleased Joe far more than one on his own -serious work. But I must admit criticism affected -him little—never when it was adverse and, in fact, -only when it showed real insight.</p> - -<p>In his own merry manner he would say: “People -always mean blame when they talk of criticism. -But I can <em>blame</em> myself; all I want from others is -praise—fulsome praise.” And so it was! He had -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[30]</a></span> -the need of it which came of the Celtic blend of self-confidence -and apprehensiveness. Often have I -heard him say of another of like blood: “He -couldn’t swim across the stream if he hadn’t our -native conceit.” And then add gravely: “Believe -me, praise is the only sort of criticism that ever -helped a man on his road.”</p> - -<p>And in his own opportunities as critic and -editor he always acted up to this belief.</p> - -<p>In these rosy days of our early struggles and joys, -the “first nights” at which Joe was due in his -capacity of dramatic critic were red-letter days to -me.</p> - -<p>The occasion when Ellen Terry first played Portia -under the Bancroft management of the famous little -House in Tottenham Court Road was one of them; -I can see her again in her china-blue and white -brocade dress with one crimson rose at her bosom. -Neither the fashion of the dress or of the coiffure -were perhaps as correct to the period as the costumes -which I designed for her later on for the better -remembered run of <cite>The Merchant of Venice</cite> at the -Lyceum; but how lovely she looked and how -emphatically Joe picked her out as the evening’s -star beside Coghlan’s Jew! Our hearts beat with -pride at the laurels often gathered by our friend, -even in those early days before her long list of -triumphs with Henry Irving; and Joe, as we made -our way home, took some credit to himself for the -vehement advice as to her resuming her temporarily -suspended career, which he had given her a short -while before. There were never any first-nights -quite like the Ellen Terry ones to us; but there -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[31]</a></span>were many pleasant and exciting evenings—notably -the nights of Irving’s remarkable performances at -a time when he was playing under the Bateman -management in <cite>The Bells</cite>, <cite>The Two Roses</cite>, and many -other of his early successes; also the famous runs of -Robertson comedies at the little <em>Prince of Wales</em> -theatre, where the charming Marie Bancroft was at -the top of her long popularity and John Hare’s -delicate impersonations vied with his manager’s -carefully studied portraits of the dandy of the day. -Mrs. Kendal was also then at the height of her brilliant -career, and last but not least, the first performances -of the Gilbert and Sullivan operas were nights -when the privilege of seats was not easily won.</p> - -<p>I can recall the first performance of <em>Iolanthe</em>, and -the laughter that shook the house when the wild -applause at the close of the chorus: “<em>Oh! Captain -Shaw, true type of love kept under</em>,” at last brought -the Head of the Fire Brigade to the front of his box -for an instant.</p> - -<p>Yet all our first nights were not “great nights,” -when—as a fellow-critic once remarked to Joe—“Strong -men shook hands with strangers.” Sometimes -they were even dull; on one occasion so much -so as to draw from one of the critics an unusually -caustic bit of advice: “We are told that so-and-so -is a promising young actor,” he wrote, “personally -I don’t care how much he promises so long as he -never again performs.”</p> - -<p>For my part I confess that the theatre was still -so new to me that I looked forward to any first night -with pleasant palpitation, though my best frock was -no doubt reserved for the choicest prospects. But to -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[32]</a></span>Joe, possibly the duty of writing the prescribed -amount on a thoroughly poor piece grew irksome; -and when, as on the occasion of the production of -F. C. Burnand’s <cite>The Colonel</cite>, his friends and their -serious work were the butt of boisterous hilarity, -I know his loyalty found it difficult not to retort, -as he apparently did in the article alluded to in the -following correspondence.</p> - -<p>It must have been written at the moment when -the campaign against so-called “high art” was at -its zenith, and had amused the public as it would -probably not do to-day; I should not quote it, but -for the urbane humour of Joe’s rejoinder to the -(temporarily) incensed author.</p> - -<p class="space-above2"></p> -<div class="blockquot"> -<p class="right"><i>Feb. 22, 1881.</i></p> - -<p><span class="smcap">“Dear Carr,</span></p> - -<p class="indent3">I have heard that you do the <cite>Saturday -Review</cite> theatrical criticisms. Did you do that on -<cite>The Colonel</cite>? if so I am anxious to know if you ever -read <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Un Mari à la Campagne</i>; also to ask where the -puns are in my piece? I admit three, put in -<em>carefully</em> into the right peoples’ mouths—the right -puns in the right places.</p> - -<p>Why is it a farce? Unless <cite>She stoops to Conquer</cite> -is a farce. Where are the evidences of high animal -spirits in my play? I don’t pretend to quote your -article verbatim but this is my impression of its -purport. Had I known at the time that it was your -writing I should have tackled you at once; first -because I think you are wrong, second because if -you are not, I am, and I wish to be put right. I -should like to hear your suggestions for the improvement -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[33]</a></span> -of Act III. where you think I have bungled -‘into seriousness.’</p> - -<p>I shouldn’t have taken the trouble to write if I -hadn’t been told that you were the critic who in a -friendly way pooh-pooh’d the notion of <cite>The Colonel</cite> -being a comedy. I am aware that Dr. Johnson -set down <em>She stoops, etc.</em> as a farce, and farcical to -a degree its plot is, but not its characters. <cite>The -Colonel</cite> I contend is comedy—farcical neither in -plot <i>nor</i> characters.</p> - -<p class="center">Yours truly,</p> -<p class="right"><span class="smcap">F. C. Burnand</span> (anxious to learn).”</p> -</div> - -<p class="space-above4"></p> -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p class="right">19, <span class="smcap">Blandford Square, N.W.</span>,</p> -<p class="date-r"><i>February 24th, 1881</i>.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">“Dear Burnand,</span></p> - -<p class="indent3">I do not as a rule write the Dramatic -Criticism for the <cite>Saturday Review</cite>, only when the -regular critic is away; but you are right in supposing -that I am the author of the article on -<cite>The Colonel</cite>.</p> - -<p>Your letter was a surprise to me. I liked <cite>The -Colonel</cite> and thought I had said as much: but I -liked it in my own way and I am not going to be -bullied out of my admiration by the modesty of -the author.</p> - -<p>I thought it a brightly written farce with a rather -weak last act. You tell me, and of course you ought -to know, that it is not a farce but a comedy: but if -I were to adopt your classification I should not like -it at all, and I want to like it if you will let me—in -my own way.</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[34]</a></span></p> -<p>You ask where the puns are and in the same -breath you tell me where they are. There are -three of them you say, and they are all in the right -places. But I never hinted, my dear fellow, that -they were not in the right places. On the contrary -it was your gravity not your humour I found to be -in the wrong place. You ask me again where are -the evidences of high animal spirits in your play; -after your letter I shall begin to doubt my recollections, -but I had certainly thought the interest of the -play was mainly supported by its high spirits. -To be able to keep a wildly extravagant notion alive -for the space of three acts, demands I think an ample -supply of animal spirits. But is it a crime to have -high animal spirits? I thought it was only the -gloomy apostle of high art who loathed hilarity.</p> - -<p>I haven’t the faintest objection to your tackling -me, as you call it, but you must give me leave to speak -freely. When I hear you say that <cite>The Colonel</cite> is -farcical neither in plot nor characters, I begin -seriously to wonder whether your letter is not -altogether a form of practical joke.</p> - -<p>I will not let myself be diverted by your allusions -to <cite>She Stoops to Conquer</cite>. The suggested resemblance -had not, I confess, occurred to me; there seem to -me many differences between the two works but -this is rather a question for posterity.</p> - -<p>If, however, you insist on taking Goldsmith into -your skiff it will not be thought presumption on my -part if I choose my place in Dr. Johnson’s heavier -craft. I would prefer, however, to take your own -account of your work. Not farcical in plot or -character! Surely your career as a humourist has -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[35]</a></span> -been fed by the rarest and most delightful experience, -if it has brought you into contact with the kind of -man who would be driven to the verge of immorality -by a dado! No, I can’t think you serious!”</p></div> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Here my copy—the rough one of the letter sent—comes -to an end; and I have not F. C. Burnand’s -further reply.</p> - -<p>But it is good to remember that there was never -any breach between the friends; I find a scenario by -Burnand for a children’s Christmas play—evidently -sent to Joe about the time when he produced -Buchanan’s version of the <cite>Pied Piper of Hamlin</cite> -at the Comedy Theatre with Lena Ashwell—still a -student at the Royal Academy of Music—acting -and singing the girl’s part.</p> - -<p>And from a much later period I can quote the -following further proof of unimpaired friendship -in a letter written to thank Joe for having been -largely instrumental in getting up the dinner given -to Burnand on his withdrawal from the editorship -of <cite>Punch</cite>.</p> - -<p class="space-above2"></p> -<div class="blockquot"> -<p class="date-r"><span class="smcap">Grosvenor Hotel,</span></p> -<p class="date-r"><span class="smcap">London, S.W.</span>,</p> -<p class="right"><i>June 11th, 1911</i>.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">“My Dear Carr,</span></p> - -<p class="indent3">I cannot thank you sufficiently for all you -have done in this matter which would never have -resulted in the great success it undoubtedly achieved -but for the first generous impetus which set the ball -in motion, and for the continued well directed shoves -that kept it rolling.</p> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[36]</a></span> -<p>Without your speech the entertainment would -have been comparatively flat; but your speech -opened a fresh bottle and infused a fresh life.</p> - -<p class="center">Yours most sincerely,</p> -<p class="date-r"><span class="smcap">F. C. Burnand.”</span></p> -</div> - -<p>Apropos of Lena Ashwell, I may say that Joe was -then so much struck with her talent for acting that -he persuaded her to leave the musical profession, -for which she was being trained, and gave her the -part of <em>Elaine</em> in his <cite>King Arthur</cite>, shortly afterwards -produced by Henry Irving at the Lyceum Theatre.</p> - -<p>I set down these trivial memories as they recur -to me, sprinkled over many a year of work and of -anxieties, but of much merriment and many joys. -But, taking up the thread of the first year of our -married life, I recall an amusing incident which -bore some pleasant consequences.</p> - -<p>Joe, as was often the case, had sat up writing his -dramatic criticism after I, tired with the still -thrilling excitement of some “first night,” had -gone to bed.</p> - -<p>He had posted his article and was sleeping the -sleep of the just, when our hoary retainer mercilessly -awakened him early next morning with the words: -“Gentleman on business, Sir!”</p> - -<p>He donned a dressing-gown and went down none -too willingly, to find an unknown little Scot below, -who briefly stated that he was empowered by the -proprietors of some Encyclopaedia to offer him a -goodly fee for a short life of—I think it was—Rossetti; -but that owing to another writer having -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[37]</a></span>disappointed the Editor at the eleventh hour the -copy must be delivered in three days.</p> - -<p>Joe was full of work, but the sum was too princely -to be refused by a man who knew that shortly he -would have to feed an extra mouth; the impossible -was achieved, there was not even time to see a proof—and -I well remember Joe, when telling his tale -to a friend, confessing his relief that he had never -come across that volume, and could only hope that -no one else ever had either.</p> - -<p>The cheque, at all events, he <i>did</i> see, and with a -part of it we went to Derbyshire for our first country -holiday. And a wild, happy holiday it was!</p> - -<p>We lodged in the roughest of cottages in a tiny -village near the Isaac Walton Hotel, where Joe had -contrived to get some fishing rights. With what -enthusiasm did he show me the haunts of his boyish -holidays, the scenes of fishing adventures and of -great walks with early comrades!</p> - -<p>But that cheque from the Scottish publishers -contributed to other things besides a holiday. -In the November of that year our son, Philip, was -born. Strange now to think that he, who was -in France throughout the Great War, should -have had a German for his first nurse, and that -before he could speak he could hum many a Volkslied—an -accomplishment which his proud nurse and -mother made him show off to our musical friend, -Mr. Jameson, who indeed even insisted on testing -his intonation on the piano.</p> - -<p>Other distinguished folk gathered around his cradle -in the big studio. I can see Ellen Terry nursing -him in one of the wainscoted window-seats and so -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[38]</a></span>apparently carelessly in one arm while she made -wide gestures with the other to emphasize some point -she was discussing with my husband—that I, nervous -young mother, was forced to cry out at last: “Oh, -Nell! Take care of my baby.”</p> - -<p>Upon which she, in a tone of commiserating reproof, -replied: “Now, Alice, do you suppose I -need teaching how to hold a child?”</p> - -<p>Anyone who has seen her do it—even on the stage—knows -very well that she did not.</p> - -<p>So the discussion went on and I even remember -the subject: for it was just when she was weighing -the offer of a fresh engagement on the stage, upon -which she had only then appeared in extreme youth. -Joe gave his advice emphatically, though he had -never seen her act then and did not know upon -what a future that door would open.</p> - -<p>The opportunity was to be the production of -her old friend Charles Reade’s <cite>Wandering Heir</cite>. -The caste was not strong, and it was not wonderful -that “Nell” scored a success; but I think Joe saw -more than most people in that first night at the -Queen’s Theatre when he rushed out between the -acts and returned with a rather damaged bouquet, -the only one left in Covent Garden, which he -presently threw at her feet.</p> - -<p>It was the first of many a “first night” when he -watched her—critical, as it was his business to be, -but sympathetic and enthusiastic always. There -was no limit to his praise, for instance, of her pathetic -portrayal of <cite>Ophelia</cite>: nor of his immediate appreciation -of that moment in her otherwise tender impersonation -of <em>Olivia</em> in <cite>The Vicar of Wakefield</cite> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[39]</a></span>when she strikes the young Squire on discovering -his treachery. But these were only two out of -many thrilling “first nights” of her earlier engagements -when I sat beside him, my perfect enjoyment -not even hampered, as in later years at the Lyceum, -by my anxiety respecting the proper finishing and -donning of the dresses which I had designed for -her.</p> - -<p>But that day in Great Russell Street, even Joe, -always nervous about the children, thought more -of our first born. To me her reproof had been -convincing; I never again feared Ellen Terry as -the safe and tender guardian of my children; -indeed she first taught me much delicate observation -of infants, but Joe—often terrified about them—believed -in no advice save that of his mother, who -had borne thirteen and reared eleven; yet upon one -point my shrewd Irish mother-in-law, with her -always wise but sometimes wittily caustic advice, -and the more indulgent artist were agreed, viz. -that—as our country butcher delighted Joe by -saying about his live “meat”—babies, though -disciplined, should be “humoured not druv.”</p> - -<p>Although nervous in moments of crisis Joe was, -however, always calm and competent; but he -generally managed to relieve the situation with his -own irrepressible spirits at the earliest possible -moment, and many a comic tale hangs round the -strange doings of an incapable old Gamp who -tended me at the birth of my second child.</p> - -<p>He would lure her with the seemingly innocent -question: “Sweetened or unsweetened gin, Mrs. -Peveril?” knowing well that the spirit was needed -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[40]</a></span>for friction and that “Peveril of the Peak” (otherwise -hook-nosed) as he had named her, would -“rise” every time and answer demurely: “I’m -sure <i>I</i> don’t know, Sir. I never tasted neither.”</p> - -<p>Luckily the old lady was neither sharp enough to -see nor thin-skinned enough to mind; but who -ever minded Joe’s wit? Though it was keen enough -at times, the urbanity behind it shone through too -well.</p> - -<p>Even his wife was a willing target—and a good -one. As Edward Burne-Jones used kindly to say -when they had both tried me on their favourite -theme and taken me in over a Dickens quotation: -“There never was anybody who rose better than -the dear lady.” Yet I maintain that it needs a -profound student of the master to know that he has -created an obscure character named “Pip,” other -than the human boy in <cite>Great Expectations</cite>.</p> - -<p>Well, many is the <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">bon mot</i> to which I helped my -husband.</p> - -<p>When I declared myself nervous over my part -in private theatricals at my father’s house in -Canterbury, I can hear him say: “You are surely -not bothering your head about two half-pay officers -and a rural dean?”</p> - -<p>And one day at a picnic, commenting on a criticism -of a sturdy Irish uncle as to “not wanting these -slight figures at all, at all,” Joe gave me the sound -advice not to sit upon a rock “lest diamond cut -diamond.”</p> - -<p>We were all young then and things that may -seem truly foolish now made the company laugh; -it is more remarkable that the radiant personality, -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[41]</a></span>the inexhaustible animal spirits and rare sense of -humour should have survived years of hard work -and still have shone forth after the prostration of -illness.</p> - -<p>When scarcely recovered from a serious attack, -Joe told me one morning of a dream that he had -had, which—as Mr. W. J. Locke has remarked—contained -such a “lightning flash of characterization” -that it is hard to believe it came to him in sleep.</p> - -<p>“I dreamed,” he said, “that Squire Bancroft -brought me some grapes,” and as he removed the -paper from the basket he said, “White, Joe; -when the case is serious I never bring black.”</p> - -<p>All through his illness, when increasing weakness -and the inconveniences arising from the Great War -forced him to an uncongenial life at sea-side resorts, -his wit still bubbled up unbidden, as the following -letter testifies. The boarding-house in which it -was written did not afford exactly sympathetic -society, yet on the Christmas Day that we spent -there he offered to give the company a little “talk” -if they cared to listen; and from his armchair, -he chatted for half an hour to a crowded lounge on -the eminent men whom he had known, interspersed -with many a flash of fun appropriate to the hour and -received with bursts of laughter by the simple circle.</p> - -<p>“... We are comfortable enough here,” he -wrote to his daughter, “and there is entertainment -furnished by some of the types, both in their -physique and in their intellectual equipment. Some -of the older females are designed and constructed -with “dangerous salients in their lines,” everything -occurring in unexpected places, and only dimly -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[42]</a></span> -suggesting the original purpose of the Creator. -One or two are of stupendous girth with hollows -and protuberances that suggest some primeval -landscape subjected to volcanic action.”</p> - -<p>Thus with the same humorous and kindly eye on -the world as when he had been the welcome entertainer -of a more brilliant society, he lightened the -days—very heavy to him—of national anxiety, -and with a contentment rather wonderful in the -typical Londoner, alternated the few possible hours -of patient literary labour with a cheerful delight in -the beauties of the place.</p> - -<p>“I wonder if the present difficulty in getting out -of England will make us appreciate it better,” he -said as we stood one evening on the pier looking -towards old Hastings. “If we were abroad we -should say that medieval castle against the sunset -was a wondrous fine sight.”</p> - -<p>So did he still exemplify his life-long belief often -expressed in the words: “How can people be dull -when they’re alive?”</p> -</div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[43]</a></span></p> -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_V" id="CHAPTER_V"></a>CHAPTER V</h2> - -<p class="center">JOURNALISM AND LETTERS</p> - - -<p class="noindent"><span class="smcap">My</span> husband has given some account of his days -at the Bar in his own <cite>Reminiscences</cite>. I shall, -therefore, not touch on that part of his career, -as it was practically ended before I knew him—the -necessity of earning daily grist for the mill having -carried him entirely into the ranks of journalism.</p> - -<p>I believe he got through a quite unusual amount -of work in that profession. Many an evening -did I put back our little dinner while he rushed -off to Euston to give his copy of Art Criticism -for the <cite>Manchester Guardian</cite> into the hands of -the guard for early morning delivery: he wrote -on the same subject for the <cite>Pall Mall Gazette</cite> -and the <cite>Art Journal</cite>, and what with criticism -and social articles for the <cite>Saturday Review</cite> -and <cite>World</cite>, he was never in bed till long after -midnight.</p> - -<p>It must have been about this time that he took -me with him to Paris for a short so-called holiday -while he wrote his criticism for the <cite>Pall Mall Gazette</cite> -on the <em>Salon</em> of the year.</p> - -<p>A gladsome time it was in that most smiling -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[44]</a></span>of cities in spring. There was a day on which a -cry of dismay arose from our party—including -his fellow-worker and old friend, Adam Gielgud -with his wife—when a letter arrived from Edmund -Yates refusing to let Joe off his weekly article in -the series of Skits on the London newspapers which -were then attracting attention in the <cite>World</cite>—I -think the topic for that week was <em>The Old Maid of -Journalism</em> (“The Spectator”) and perhaps that -dignified lady received a more caustic drubbing -than she would otherwise have had because of the -distaste with which he set to his task.</p> - -<p>Cheerful meals in the humblest of restaurants—whenever -we could run to it, in the excellent Café -Gaillon—now the fashionable <em>Henry</em>, but then of -far simpler ambitions; merry meetings at the -house of that good comrade of Joe’s of whom he -tells the tale of exchanged French and English -lessons at <em>Kettner’s</em> restaurant in London, and -lastly a gorgeous feast in the suburban home -of a fellow contributor to <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">L’Art</i>, to both of which -festivities my sister, Mrs. Harrison—then Alma -Strettell—was bidden as being of our party.</p> - -<p>Both occasions were a pleasant peep into Parisian -bourgeois life. Our first host was eager to show -that he could give us a <em>gigot</em> of mutton as well -roasted as in London, and sorely crestfallen was -the poor man when the little joint came to table -black as a cinder and blue when cut. Joe quickly -made capital out of the catastrophe, however, -by declaring that one didn’t come to Paris to eat -home fare, and that it served his friend right for -putting his cook to such an unworthy task.</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[45]</a></span></p> -<p>Our second entertainment, though we did not -meet such intellectual company as the distinguished -writers on the <em>Temps</em> and the <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Débats</i>, who so courteously -helped Joe to express brilliant ideas in -daringly lame French and paid such charming -court to my sister and myself, was more typical -of its class; for, although the young couple of the -house were our entertainers, the old couple were -our hosts, and it was wondrous and delightful to -see the respectful attitude of the son and his wife -to the parents and the undisputed supremacy -which they held from their two ends of the long -table set out under the trees of the flower-laden May.</p> - -<p>A rushing week it was, into which my sister -and I crammed much enthralling shopping. I can -see now Joe’s reproachful face at the door of the -café where we had kept him waiting half an hour -for <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">déjeuner</i> after his hot and tiring morning’s -work at the <em>Salon</em>. I made a shameless excuse -to the effect that we had secured many “occasions” -(bargains). And as I gave him a toothbrush which -he had asked me to buy, he said: “Is this an ‘occasion’ -too? I’d rather have a punctual meal -than an occasional toothbrush!”</p> - -<p>Merry hours but very far from idle ones, and he -reaped an additional and unexpected reward for -his labours when we got home.</p> - -<p>We had been bidden to a cricket match at his -old school the day after our return, where, in virtue -of his old rank of Captain of the Eleven, he was -to play as a visitor; and I seem to see the boyish -blush of satisfaction with which he told his beloved -master—Dr. Birkbeck Hill—that it was he and -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[46]</a></span>no leader-writer on the <cite>Times</cite>, as was rumoured, -who was writing those humorous articles on the -newspapers for the <cite>World</cite>.</p> - -<p>My husband has told so much of the tale of his -early journalistic days in his <cite>Eminent Victorians</cite> -that I find little to add; but I remember a curious -incident in the fine old room at Great Russell Street -when George Hake—Dante Gabriel Rossetti’s secretary—came -one day, ostensibly “on his own,” to -have a talk with him on the series of papers on -painters of the day, appearing above the signature -of “Ignotus,” but of which the authorship had -leaked out.</p> - -<p>Joe has told, in <cite>Coasting Bohemia</cite>, of the rift in -his friendship with Rossetti over these articles, and -a sad tale it is. Mr. Hake fancied that Rossetti -would like to see his friend’s bride, but, alas! he -was taking too much on himself, for the visit never -came off. But Rossetti was at that time already -an invalid and was not to be counted upon.</p> - -<p>It must have been some time after this that -the French proprietors of that luxurious publication, -<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">L’Art</i>, invited Joe to run a London office for its -sale, in connection with which he afterwards started -an English version—<cite>Art and Letters</cite>—edited and -largely written by himself.</p> - -<p>Many funny incidents group themselves around -the person of the French proprietor, whose English, -though insistently fluent, was of the lamest, and -I think Joe sometimes led him on in the expectation -of some pleasant malapropism.</p> - -<p>“How are you now?” he would ask, when the -poor gentleman had “suffered the sea.”</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[47]</a></span></p> -<p>“Only ’alf and ’alf, my friend,” the Frenchman -would reply. “But I must back tonight. I make -my trunk at four.” And his apt <em>mots</em> on the super-sensitive -lady-assistant who “always begin to -tear for nothing” and “forgive never man that -he ’ave not married her” afforded Joe continual -delight.</p> - -<p>But a courtlier host than that Frenchman never -existed. He would entertain us royally at the -old <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Maison Dorée</i> when we went to Paris though -he ate but little himself and always preferred the -humbler Café Duval; so little, in fact, was he in -accord with most men of his nation upon the food -question that, when Joe gave him the usual fish -dinner at Greenwich, he was naturally dismayed -at the explanation, after several courses had been -passed by, of “<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Mon ami, je ne mange jamais du -poisson</i>.”</p> - -<p><cite>Art and Letters</cite>, though an artistic was not a -financial success, but it may have led to the one -of his many adventures of which he was perhaps -the most proud: the planning and editing, at the -request of Messrs. Macmillan, of their beautiful -magazine, the <cite>English Illustrated</cite>.</p> - -<p>He has spoken so well himself of his pleasant -intercourse with the men who worked for him—struggling -men in those days but known to fame -since—that there is little left for me to record, -save to note that among the many tributes from -his many friends I prize not least those of his collaborators -of that time, with the oft-repeated testimony -to his having helped them to the first-rung -on the ladder of success.</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[48]</a></span></p> -<p>Mr. Stanley Weyman, whose first book, <cite>The -House of the Wolf</cite>, was published in those pages, -comes first to my mind, and those who have read -my husband’s <cite>Eminent Victorians</cite> will recollect -the striking proof of the accuracy of his critical -faculty in the incident of Mr. Weyman’s bringing -him two letters—written with an interval of many -years—in which he criticized a play of that brilliant -novelist’s in almost identical words, although the -first letter was written openly to the author and -the second—in forgetfulness of the fact—to a -theatrical agent who had not divulged the playwright’s -name.</p> - -<p>Robert Louis Stevenson was one of his cherished -contributors, and I recall an angry rebuke from that -great man to the Editor, who had dared to strike -out a word in the title of one of his articles at the -moment of going to press; it is pleasant to add -that a placated and highly amused reply followed -on Joe’s deft and short method of extricating -himself from the position: “My dear Stevenson—You -see, I knew that the extra word was a slip -of the pen,” he wrote, “for I should as soon have -expected you to talk of female bitches as of male -dogs. Yours etc.”</p> - -<p>Sir James Barrie wrote one of his early essays -for the <cite>English Illustrated Magazine</cite>, and in -a kindred branch of the adventure—that of illustration—Mr. -Hugh Thomson was discovered -by Joe—a poor Irish lad living on the scanty pay -of advertisements for a business firm, and devoting -all his leisure to flights of fancy in the most delicate -realms of the humorous eighteenth century subjects -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[49]</a></span>in which he has always excelled. Joe confessed -to me on the day when the boy sought an interview, -with his portfolio under his arm, that he did not -at first believe he had done the drawings himself. -But he gave him a subject, and when he returned -with it after a day or two his doubts were set -at rest, and he offered him the post which he held -for so long with distinction.</p> - -<p>The relations between editor and artist were -always affectionate and I have two letters from the -latter—one to Joe and one to myself—full of a -touching gratitude such as perhaps only an Irishman -could have expressed. The one quoted below is -of later date.</p> - -<div class="blockquot"> -<p class="name-rr"><span class="smcap">27, Perham Road,</span></p> -<p class="name-r"><span class="smcap">West Kensington,</span></p> -<p class="date-r"><i>February 5th, 1909</i>.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Dear Mr. Comyns Carr</span>,</p> - -<p class="indent3">It is only now that we have contrived to -get a reading of your delightful book “Some Eminent -Victorians,” and it has literally staggered -me (with delight) to find myself in such company. -I so rarely see a soul that I was entirely ignorant, -and never dreamt of it. We had of course read -such reviews of the book as came our way and had -rejoiced in the whole-hearted pleasure with which -the notices were charged but we never suspected -that in a corner of the book you had propped me -up. My wife is more than ever confirmed in her -opinion that you are the most delightful author -that ever lived, and she is already looking forward, -frugally, to the time when the libraries will be -selling off their soiled copies of books when she hopes -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[50]</a></span>to secure Some Eminent Victorians and ME for -her very own. Possibly you might think it forward -in me if I told you what a genuine delight -it is to read the book for the way it is written. -Your pages on Bright and the orators are as eloquent -as they. But it is all the most entertaining -book we have read for ages. Below is a memory -of the famous interview you had with the suspicious -character from Ireland. I think I have caught -the bannisters well, as also Lacour waiting outside.</p> - -<p class="center">Your delighted</p> -<p class="name-r"><span class="smcap">Hugh Thomson.</span></p> -</div> - -<p class="space-above2"></p> - -<p>So much for the affectionate reverence in which -one held him who was starting life’s race when that -“famous interview” took place. Joe was comparatively -young himself then, but as the years -went on there were many of greater disparity -in age, who did not fail to pay him the same tribute; -indeed, I don’t think there was ever any sense -of difference in this respect between him and the -many good comrades in many classes of society -who rejoiced to <i>work</i> with him because he always -lightened labour with kindness and good humour—who -rejoiced to <i>play</i> with him because he was never -afraid of, or at a loss for, the right word at the -right moment, were it grave or gay, appreciative -or pungent as the occasion required.</p> - -<p>He was always the encourager, never the discourager, -of sincere and patient effort: bombast -and a pandering to mere popularity, he could censure -with words of biting wit, but he never laughed -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[51]</a></span>at those who sent their arrows at the moon though -he knew well enough that such might not achieve -financial prosperity. His unfaltering advice was -always that everyone should stick to what he best -loved to do.</p> - -<p>“My dear,” I remember his saying to me one -day, when I had tried and signally failed to write -a popular farce, “it takes a more competent fool -than you to know just what kind of foolishness -the public wants. Don’t you be put off what you -<i>can</i> do because you fancy it is not what they -want.”</p> - -<p>And in a letter written perhaps in a more serious -spirit to one often oppressed by a sense of failure -I find the words: “There is no such thing as failure—excepting -the failure to see and love the beauty -of life.”</p> - -<p>These are among the graver memories of him: -his generation will remember him most readily -for what Sir James Barrie, writing to me of him -as “a man for whom I had a mighty admiration,” -appreciatively describes as “his positive genius for -conversation.” The latter word is so apt because -it perceives that the Celtic gift of repartee was the -most finely pointed of his arrows: he was generally -at his best when some might have fancied that he -was going to be non-plussed.</p> - -<p>One day he told me of a dinner at which -King Edward VII., then Prince of Wales, was the -honoured guest. Someone had whispered to the -Prince that my husband was a Radical, and he, -turning to him, asked if such a thing could be true.</p> - -<p>“I <i>am</i> a Radical, Sir,” replied Joe, and after -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[52]</a></span>a little pause added: “but I never mention it in -respectable society.”</p> - -<p>The table was silent for an instant, but the Prince -led the way with a laugh and all was well.</p> - -<p>A funny little incident, told me in the small -hours when Joe came home, described the dire -discomfiture of one of his greatest admirers when, -having invited him to supper that he might silence -“a conceited young ass” by his superior wit, -the “conceited young ass” so fancied himself -as to monopolize the whole conversation: this -fiasco, though not to his own glorification, caused -Joe infinite delight; but the disgusted host was -only consoled after he had arranged a duel for my -husband with Robert Marshall, the playwright, -a recognised wit—the condition being that neither -should think before speaking: I consider that -here an unfair advantage was taken—any one -who was a friend of Joe’s knowing full well that -this was just the whip of which he loved the lash. -Be it added that this tilt between the two knights -cemented their friendship.</p> - -<p>A host of these incidents took place in his well-loved -Garrick Club, of which—by the testimony -of many friends—he was the heart and soul and -some add the good genius. I believe there were -quarrels not a few that he averted or headed by -his tact and kindly humour—quarrels that might -sometimes have led to sorrowful decisions by the -Club Committee to which he belonged. He told -me one day of a humorous end to an earnest -expostulation he had held with poor Harry Kemble—greatly -beloved in spite of his known weakness:<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[53]</a></span> -“Every word you say is true, my dear Joe,” the -actor had replied with the tears streaming down -his great cheeks—“but what if I like it?”</p> - -<p>It is good to remember that that colossal figure—of -which our daughter, seeing it on the stage when -she was a child, asked tremulously, “Is it a human -being?”—remained to the end an honoured institution -of the Club.</p> - -<p>Of Joe’s tactful capacity as a peacemaker I -was a witness at the home of my mother’s -family—the beautiful Gothic Abbey of Bisham -near Marlow. We were staying with my cousin, -George Vansittart, who was then the owner. He -was the kindest of men, but had a peppery and -ill-controlled temper, and nothing so inflamed it -as the growing habit with trippers on the Thames -of landing upon his grounds. His gardeners and -keepers were sternly bidden to warn off these rash -people, and he himself, if walking or shooting in -Bisham woods—quite a mile from the Abbey—would -angrily bid them begone.</p> - -<p>One day he and Joe were sitting in his ground-floor -library facing the river, when he espied a boat -containing a lady and a man making across stream -towards the big trees shading his lawns. He jumped -up—his face flushed, and watched the man rise, -a powerful figure, ship his sculls and push into -shore. “By——, the insolent brute! Under my -very nose!” shrieked the incensed squire. And, -seizing a heavy stick he strode out of the French -window—Joe following somewhat alarmed.</p> - -<p>My cousin took no pains to soften the language -with which he addressed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[54]</a></span> “the insolent brute” -before he was half-way across the lawn, and Joe -hastened as he saw the big man step defiantly out -of the boat while the woman wept and implored -him unavailingly to return. Joe caught my cousin -by the arm—he was getting on in years—for as -he drew near he saw that the intruder was an actor—of -no great refinement—known in the profession -for a swaggering bully.</p> - -<p>“There’s a lady in the boat, Mr. Vansittart,” -said my husband. Instantly my cousin stopped, -and the man, recognising Joe, greeted him surlily -and presently turned back to his companion now -fainting on the bank. Joe followed him, and George -Vansittart, returning to the house, called out to -his butler, who was hastening to the scene: “Take -out some brandy and water for the lady and see -she needs nothing.” Joe brought back a message -of thanks from the poor thing, and was far too -anxious lest the outbreak should affect my cousin’s -health to mind his remark that he was to be congratulated -upon his acquaintance.</p> - -<p>Recurring to that appreciation of him by the -young in his last years, which is one of the sweetest -tributes to Joe’s memory, many alert and boyish -faces rise up before me; eager over some animated -discussion in which the give-and-take was always -even between the older man and the younger, -or alight with laughter at his quaint wit and merry -censure of some foible of the day; for though he -could laugh at its foibles he was never out of heart -with the world, which was always to him a good -world, even when he prophesied that, through <i>some</i> -crucible, the crazes of the last twenty years would -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[55]</a></span>have to pass for elimination. “They have got -to have this epidemic,” he would say of Cubist -painter and eccentric poet, “but they’ll get over -it, and meanwhile the good old world will go on -quietly as usual and young folk will fall in love -and want poets to sing for them and so the best -things must come to the top in the end.”</p> - -<p>Apart from this sort of, as he called it, “half-baked” -thought, he was always ready to weigh -and consider every new aspect of life; and if no -passing mode could deceive him or put him out -of heart, either with his life-long heroes or with -his own methods of expression; yet to the last -hour he was always keen—not only for fresh work -himself, but to see the work of the world develop. -In the words of Mr. Stopford Brooke, quoted in -the <cite>Life</cite> by Prof. L. P. Jacks, he would have said: -“Whether in this world or another we will pursue, -we will overtake, we will divide the spoil.”</p> - -<p>And so, whether he were hanging over the garden -gate of our holiday home gathering information -from the labourers who passed along the road, -or discussing ethical problems with his sons and -their friends, he was always “pursuing”—and the -young were always at home with him, for he never -wanted to lead only to express his opinion and listen -to their reply.</p> - -<p>One of these younger men—Mr. Hammond, -by no means an “obscure” one—writes: “There -have been few men whose companionship was so -delightful to all who had the privilege of knowing -him.... I always remember with gratitude that -he allowed even young and obscure people to -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[56]</a></span> -enjoy the pleasure of his best conversation—one of -the rarest intellectual pleasures that I have ever -known.”</p> - -<p>And Mr. Hugh Sidgwick—killed in the prime of -his own rare intellectual career—follows with what -might be called an echo: “I can’t say how much -I owe to him and to you for the many happy hours -I spent at your house. He never let the barrier -of the generations stand between him and us young -men and we all of us looked on him as a real friend -and the most delightful of companions. There -are memories of many good talks and jovial discussions—with -Mr. Carr always leading and contributing -more than his share of life and vivacity -to them. And it was inspiring to us—more perhaps -than appeared—to meet one who was so young -in heart, so full of life and so sensitive to all the -beauties of all the arts.”</p> - -<p>The words of W. A. Moore—blessed with his -own Celtic temperament and eager fighting quality—sound -the same note:</p> - -<p>“It was a great thing to have known him,” -he writes from Salonica, “I can never forget him -for he was a most radiant personality.” It is a -curious thing that a kindred epithet—“joyous -personality”—was a favourite one of his own, -and he would maintain that you could see two -men in the Seven Dials—one lean, soured and -scowling, his companion stout, merry, humorous -and full of vitality, though both dwelt on the same -gutter and wore the same threadbare garments.</p> - -<p>It is, of course, quite impossible to give on paper -any idea whatever of the charm and brilliancy -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[57]</a></span>which these and many more testimonies prove; -to quote some words spoken by our friend Sir -Arthur Pinero, “It is rather like trying to remember -the summers of years ago!” and he left so few -letters, possibly because he possessed that “genius -of conversation,” that he has few words to say -for himself; but it may not be inappropriate here -to quote two which he wrote to an old friend who -had affectionately watched his whole career and -highly appraised his powers and judgment.</p> - -<p>The first is in answer to an appeal as to whether -it showed “symptoms of senile decay” not to be -able to admire <cite>The Hound of Heaven</cite> by Francis -Thompson, which had been hailed with a shout -of praise from a section of the public. I quote -it as showing Joe’s own confession of faith in regard -to the poetry that endures.</p> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p>“My dear—The Hound is a Mongrel. I know -him of old and have more than once driven him -from my door. Several friends have endeavoured -to persuade me that he was of the true breed but I -would have none of him and will not now. Upon -the provocation of your letter I read the thing -again and most gladly and willingly share your -symptoms of senile decay. The fabric of it I take -to be pure fustian. And there is not a line in it -that does not debauch the language it employs; -not a phrase in it that does not seem to me to -vulgarize by its expression whatever innocent -thought may underlie it.</p> - -<p>The more I ponder over the great verse which -time has left impregnable, the more I am impressed -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[58]</a></span> -by the true poet’s unfailing reverence for the sanctity -of words in their relation to sense and by his stern -rejection of all melody that is not rooted there: -the tinkling cadence of an obvious tune is not -for him. His purpose might be taken to be no -other than to express in final simplicity the thought -that is in him. Why it is, or how it is, that -in this process he achieves a result, in which the -sense of beauty banishes all remembrance of -intellectual origin—that is the poet’s secret: the -mystery and the mastery of his craft.</p> - -<p>But I am getting into depths that cannot be -plumbed on this tiny sheet of paper. It is the old -subject of many a long night’s talk with you and -concerns matters in which I think you and I are -of accord....</p> - -<p>As to Electra (Richard Strauss’ opera) of course -I have no right to plead before that tribunal; -but the terms in which it is praised make me suspect -it is not praiseworthy.</p> - -<p class="center">Yours ever,</p> -<p class="name-r"><span class="smcap">J. W. Comyns Carr.”</span></p> -</div> - -<p class="space-above2"></p> - -<p>In relation to the above I cannot refrain from -quoting an appreciation of my husband written -some little while later by the late Theodore Watts -Dunton. He had asked for news of his old friend -after his first serious illness, and the following passage -occurs in his acknowledgment of the reply:</p> - -<p>“Although he belongs to a later generation than -mine, he and I are as intimate as brothers and -I deeply prize the intimacy. There is no man -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[59]</a></span> -on this earth whom I love more. Moreover I -have always asserted that he is a man of genius—a -true poet, with wings clipped, for the present, -by the conditions of life.”</p> - -<p>As his intimates know, Charles Dickens was one -of the brightest stars in my husband’s firmament. -During all the years of our marriage, I never remember -him without a volume of Dickens and -one of Boswell’s <cite>Life of Johnson</cite> beside his bed. -Many a “night’s talk” with the life-long friend -to whom he wrote as above had been devoted -to ineffectual attempts to converting him to a real -appreciation of Dickens—attempts which, as the -following letters show, were finally successful.</p> - -<p class="space-above2"></p> - -<div class="blockquot"> -<p><span class="smcap">“My Dear,——</span></p> - -<p>I am very much interested in your letter -about Dickens.... [This was in the early stage of -conversion.] Curiously enough I have lately -been reading the whole of Macready’s Diary and -was immensely interested in it. His conceit of -course is colossal, but the diary struck me as affording -a revelation of a real and virile creature of -great independence of character, gifted on occasion -with striking insight and vision. I was noticing -as I read that Dickens was the only one of all his -friends of long date with whom he never quarrelled, -and it struck me that there must have been something -innately fine and magnanimous in Dickens’ -nature to command this constancy of friendship -from a man so vain and irascible as Macready.</p> - -<p>But Macready sometimes sees far and I think -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[60]</a></span> -his understanding of Browning and his appreciation -of the poet’s inherent limitations in the field -of drama are very illuminating. Evidently the -drama was the goal of Browning’s ambition and -yet it has always seemed to me—as it appeared -to Macready—that he was not in essence a dramatist -at all.</p> - -<p>When you next come to London you should -look in at the Grafton Gallery and take a glance -at the Post Impressionists. I saw most of them -in Paris, with something added of further extravagance -and crude indecency; but the Parisian -critics, with few exceptions, took small account -of the matter. Here, on the contrary, nearly all -the younger critics are at their feet. It seems to -me to indicate a wave of disease, even of absolute -madness; for the whole product seems to breathe -not ineptitude merely but corruption—especially -marked in a sort of combined endeavour to degrade -and discredit all forms of feminine beauty.</p> - -<p class="center">Yours ever,</p> -<p class="name-r"><span class="smcap">Joe.”</span></p> -</div> - -<p class="space-above2"></p> - -<p>Later this was his great indictment of the Cubists -also, well known to his friends in the Club.</p> - -<p>The following letter is to the same correspondent -written during the last year of his life and in much -more satisfied mood on the subject of his hero.</p> - -<p class="space-above2"></p> - -<div class="blockquot"> -<p class="date-r"><span class="smcap">Hastings, 1915.</span></p> - -<p><span class="smcap">“My Dear,——</span></p> - -<p>It gave me delight to get your letter—the -greater in that you talk to me of Dickens. -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[61]</a></span> -I never tire of him nor of talking of him. But -I was not unprepared for your enthusiasm. I -remember only the last time we touched on the -topic it was already brewing. I am struck above -all by what you feel about the composer’s gift -in him, that unconscious power of massing and -moulding his material, the instructive adjustment -of varying currents in the narrative, so that—as -he traces the courses in which they run, we recognise -in wonderment that they are confluent -streams though often seeming for the time to flow -so far asunder. Even the most modest of us are, -I think, sometimes aware that there is a force -outside ourselves which holds the reins of our -fancy and that we must needs obey; but the -exercise of that faculty in Dickens approaches -the miraculous. At times it would almost seem -as if he threw down the gauntlet to himself, directly -challenging his own powers of artistic control by -flinging at his own feet the unsifted harvest of -the most prodigal invention with which man was -ever endowed and defying the artist in him to reduce -it to order and harmony.</p> - -<p>And yet the artist invariably wins and by a -victory so complete as to cheat us into the belief -that every obstacle he subdues was an integral -feature of the original design. Inexhaustible invention -and unfailing control, these are the things -that always seem to me to set Dickens on an eminence -which he shares with no one in his own time and -with only a few in our creative literature of any -time. Shakespeare stands there—as he stands -everywhere, no matter what the quality to be -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[62]</a></span> -appraised or what the arena in which it finds exercise, -above all rivalry; and Walter Scott most surely -and securely too; and ... well, I don’t feel able -to be certain about any others!...</p> - -<p>I am not disposed to quarrel about <cite>Bleak -House</cite>, I do not like it; but that story and <cite>Little -Dorrit</cite> have always been my stumbling blocks.</p> - -<p>On the other hand I heartily agree about -<cite>Our Mutual Friend</cite>; I think it illustrates a giant’s -way with Nature which becomes a fawning slave -before the tyranny of genius.</p> - -<p class="center">Yours ever,</p> -<p class="name-r">JOE.”</p> -</div></div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[63]</a></span></p> -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VI" id="CHAPTER_VI"></a>CHAPTER VI</h2> - -<p class="center">BOOKS AND TRAVEL</p> - - -<p class="noindent"><span class="smcap">Of</span> work in volume form my husband left comparatively -little, and all the books of his earlier -years were on Art. His criticisms on the various -exhibitions of Old Masters at Burlington House, -chiefly written at that time for the <cite>Pall Mall -Gazette</cite> and the <cite>Art Journal</cite>, were useful to him -in a volume on <cite>The Drawings of the Old Masters</cite> -in the British Museum, upon which subject he -was a careful and enthusiastic student; and at -a somewhat later period—when he and Mr. C. E. -Hallé organized the famous exhibitions of those -drawings at the Grosvenor Gallery—a recognised -connoisseur.</p> - -<p>It is interesting to note that much of the matter -written in those early years upon a subject on which -he was always a master was echoed involuntarily -in my husband’s swan-song upon the same subject, -i.e. <cite>The Ideals of Painting</cite>, posthumously published -in 1917; for although he naturally acquired a -deeper knowledge of individual pictures as the -years went on, bringing him opportunities of visiting -the great collections of Europe, he very rarely -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[64]</a></span>changed his opinion of the characteristics of each -painter; and his loving appreciation of the subtlest -qualities in his favourites was such that I remember -a gifted connoisseur saying to him once respecting -a fellow art critic: “So-and-so could tell you -whether a picture was authentic or not with his -back to it, provided he had got its pedigree at -his fingers ends; but you don’t depend on books; -you know the man and his method and study -the painter in the light of them, and if your verdict -is sometimes at variance with the alleged pedigree, -by Jove, you’re generally right.”</p> - -<p>So thoroughly had he steeped himself in the -subject that when we went on our belated honeymoon -to the towns of Northern Italy, he always -knew exactly where every picture was that he wanted -to see, and many is the argument that I had in -those less enlightened days with Italian officials -as to the existence of some particular work of Art -which they little knew was under their care, and -many lovely things we found in private places -which, perhaps even now, are missed by the ordinary -tourist.</p> - -<p>I recollect the weary trip he made from Milan -that he might study the wonderful Luini frescoes -at Saronno. Now the little town is on a railway, -but in those days it was only reached in a horse-omnibus, -slowly jogging, as only the poor starved -Italian horses of that day <i>could</i> jog, across the -sun-baked Lombard plains. The beautiful lunar -frescoes, some of them in sepia, in the sacristy of -the Church of San Maurizio Maggiore at Milan, -were among the things which we should never have -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[65]</a></span>seen if he had not made me insist on the sacristan -opening that closed door that he might examine -for himself. And a really funny incident occurred -at Mantova—a town lying off the regular route, -but so picturesque, with its lovely Palazzo del Të -raised on arcades built into the marshes—that it -is strange it should not be oftener visited by the -tourist.</p> - -<p>We lodged in a vast but dirty old Inn, waited -on by a girl whose beauty compensated, in <em>Joe’s</em> -eyes only, for slipshod methods; nothing but my -knowledge of the tongue would have procured -us even the comfort of a huge warming-pan with -which I endeavoured to dry the damp sheets. -After a sleepless night and a tiring morning in the -Castle looking at the Mantegna portraits of grim -Gonzagas and stooping to enter the “dwarf’s -apartments,” whence slits of windows peer upon -the eerie marshland, I was in no mood for an altercation. -Yet an altercation was the only means by -which I finally succeeded in inducing the morose -custodian of a dark church in the town to do Joe’s -will: he had come to Mantova to see examples -of Mantegna for some work that he was doing -and he was not going away without having unearthed -this specially interesting one. He led the way -himself to the side-chapel where he believed the -painting to be, but lo! a hideous modern daub -hung over the little altar and his face fell. Then -he had an inspiration: in spite of the man’s remonstrances -he went up the steps and peered behind -the gaudy painting.</p> - -<p>“Tell him I’ll pay him to help me get this thing -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[66]</a></span> -down,” he said: “I believe what I want is at the -back of it.”</p> - -<p>Then my altercation began.</p> - -<p>We were mad English, and one couldn’t behave -in a Church as if it were a shop.</p> - -<p>But “mad English” or not we were also “rich -English” (in the custodian’s eyes), and a very little -English gold won the day: we saw the picture -we wanted.</p> - -<p>These were only a few instances of the “tonic -of a young man’s conceit and obstinacy”—to use -Joe’s own chaff of himself—in that never-to-be-forgotten -journey through the highways and by-ways -of Northern Italy. Everything was grist -that came to his mill in this as in each separate -field of his activities; but Florence was the real -goal of all his desires, and this first visit to it, close -on the study which had made him long to see for -himself the Masters whom he loved and the fairest -of towns which was their home, had a glamour -which was never quite reached in later visits. -I can see again the poor <i lang="it" xml:lang="it">Trattorìa della Luna</i> where -we lodged and the handsome waiter whom we, -in the wild enthusiasm of the hour, persuaded to -follow us to England. That he ever arrived at -all was the marvel. He might well have spent the -journey-money given him on pastimes suggested -by his reproach to me in London afterwards as -to engaging a cook who remembered the birth of -Christ: that he arrived weeping in a November -fog and bitterly resenting having been left to come -“by sea when we had come by land,” was not wonderful. -Joe was patient with him for my sake and -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[67]</a></span>many a funny tale did he forge out of the Italian’s -vagaries.</p> - -<p>But when this unkempt Adonis had demoralized -our maid, smashed our pretty wedding gifts in -fits of gloom, during which he would shake his -fist at the fog and say: “Goo’ nigh’,” and finally -taunted us with not providing sufficient wine at -a humble entertainment to excuse one of the guests -for having left his hat behind, we felt it best he -should return to his native land—though not before -he had inadvertently half poisoned us with dried -mushrooms sent by his relatives.</p> - -<p>Well, badly as Mario behaved subsequently -in Great Russell Street he was one of the features -of our happy Florence holiday and directed our -steps towards many out-of-the-way places which -Joe thirsted to explore in search of Art treasures -unknown to guide-books.</p> - -<p>My husband’s knowledge culled from many -old books was of great value to him, and with -his bump of locality, joined to my knowledge of -the speech of the people, we penetrated into many -lovely corners and met with as many amusing -adventures.</p> - -<p>Strange food did we eat too on that weird trip, -for here, as elsewhere, Joe insisted on exploring.</p> - -<p>“Tell him I’m a judge of the <em>cuisine</em>,” he would -say, “and only want the best.” And—with an -instinct that the rewarding tip would not be wanting—as -it never was—cooks hastened to concoct -the spiciest of their national dishes for his criticism.</p> - -<p>The publication of Joe’s first book was quickly -followed by an illustrated volume on the Abbey -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[68]</a></span>Church of St. Albans from articles written for the -<cite>Art Journal</cite>; plenty of study on architecture and -on monkish lore was done for this in the Reading -Room of the British Museum. Later in life Joe -used to say that, after the period of ravenous and -enthusiastic boyhood, he might never have opened -a serious book again—so much more enthralling -to him was the daily intercourse for work or play -with living men and women—had it not been for -the necessity of boiling the pot; and that all that -he read for a special purpose stuck to him as no -desultory reading did and became stored in his -mind for use and pleasure for the rest of his life.</p> - -<p>I can see myself how true this was in respect -of the whole range of Arthurian legend, on which -subject he became an authority; he devoured -everything in English and French that he could -find when he was writing his plays of <cite>King Arthur</cite> -and <cite>Tristram</cite>, and never forgot any of it.</p> - -<p>The <em>Abbey of St. Albans</em> was too special a subject -to make a popular book, and the first volume of -Joe’s work which attracted attention was <cite>Essays -on Art</cite>, gathered together in 1879.</p> - -<p>I remember that, just as among his published -work in verse he held that his <cite>Tristram and -Iseult</cite> was his best, so he considered the Essay—practically -on Keats, who held, I think, the highest -place with him among the nineteenth century poets -but entitled <cite>The Artistic Spirit in Modern English -Poetry</cite>, he judged to be among his most satisfactory -prose; with the exception of the <cite>Essay on Macbeth</cite>, -written as a pamphlet at the time of Henry Irving’s -production of the play, and now re-published under -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[69]</a></span>the title of <cite>Sex in Tragedy</cite> in his book <cite>Coasting -Bohemia</cite>.</p> - -<p>A letter which he wrote me later from France, -when he was studying the provincial museums there -for a series of articles in the <cite>Manchester Guardian</cite>, -bears out pleasantly the criticism in the article -on <cite>Corot and Millet</cite> in <cite>Essays on Art</cite>.</p> - -<p class="space-above2"></p> - -<div class="blockquot"> -<p class="name-rr"><span class="smcap">Limoges,</span></p> -<p class="date-r"><i>August 1882</i>.</p> - -<p>“... The landscape of the Loire somewhat -disappointed me, although the towns are full of -interest. Very fruitful the country seems to be, -overflowing with corn and vine but far stretching -and unvaried with a vague sense of melancholy in -it that is almost oppressive. It is impossible to -catch even a passing view of such country as lies -between Orléans and Nantes without turning in -thought from the landscape to the people who -dwell in it; and the picture that is left in the mind -of the daily life of these peasants who labour all -day in fields that have no break or limit save where -patches of corn alternate with spaces of vine, is -strangely touching and sad. It wanted a France -such as France is on the borders of the Loire to -produce the solemn and austere sentiment of -Millet, and I hardly think one understands the stern -reality of his work until one has passed through -miles and miles of this fruitful and uneventful -land.</p> - -<p>The later passages of to-day’s journey were a -delightful change in the character of the scenery; -a narrower river (The Vienne) but more sympathetic, -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[70]</a></span> -with happy-looking green pastures and hilly -banks.</p> - -<p>This place stands high and the air is delightfully -fresh. It has an industrial museum which is -important in connection with my work.</p> - -<p>I visited Chambord also Chenonceau. They are -both much restored and inferior in interest to Blois, -which is a most delightful place in every way.”</p></div> - -<p>In respect of Blois he writes as follows in another -letter: “This town is more picturesque than any -French town I have yet seen; most of it, or the -older part of it at any rate, is high up on a hill, and -the steps that mount up between the different -streets are very beautifully contrived.</p> - -<p>Tell Phil I should like him to read the parts -of his French history connected with Blois, particularly -about Henri III. and the Duke of Guise, -and I will tell him about the wonderful castle when -I get back.”</p> - -<p>I remember he brought home some excellent -photographs of that castle and the lovely outer -staircase of the tower.</p> - -<p>Another letter written during this French journey -brings in a more humorous note: “Toulouse is a -real city of the south, its market place covered with -big red umbrellas reminding one of Verona, and the -old hotel having a pleasant shady courtyard with -pots of oleanders.... It is difficult to give you -much news. I was thinking this morning how -funny it was how little I had spoken English since -I left home, once with the manager of a travelling -English panorama at Limoges and yesterday at -Montauban where I met a Frenchman who insisted -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[71]</a></span> -upon speaking my native tongue to me. He declared -that he knew English ‘au fond,’ but his mastery -of the tongue was not complete. ‘Good voyage, -have distraction,’ were his parting words to me.”</p> - -<p>These good wishes were not entirely fulfilled. -The day after his arrival at Toulouse Joe had been -overcome by the August heat and mosquito bites, -and had been obliged to take to his bed for a day -in the fine old inn, where he was admirably nursed -by the motherly landlady; and, as he sat in the -cool courtyard next day he was vastly amused by -the discomfiture of a fat commercial traveller, -awaiting his <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">déjeuner</i> with napkin tucked in ready -under his chin, when a one-legged old stork, who -perambulated the garden, suddenly uttered its -raucous note: “Quel cri épouvantable!” exclaimed -the poor gentleman, and jumping up he overturned -the small table on which a succulent Southern dish -now steamed ready for his consumption, and wept -afresh at the sight of gravy and red wine trickling -together down the coarse clean tablecloth!</p> - -<p>I think merriment must have hampered Joe’s -offers of assistance, and his French was not then as -fluent as he made it in after years.</p> - -<p>Anyhow the commercial traveller appears to -have been less genial than was a gentleman in the -train later on who thought to flatter him by comparing -him to the then Prince of Wales: “Les -mêmes traits, la même barbe, le même âge!” said -he pleasantly, not thinking that he was speaking to -a man years younger than Edward VII.</p> - -<p>But if there was a momentary annoyance it was -immediately forgotten by Joe in a lively, if halting, -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[72]</a></span>conversation on the merits of a trout stream which -the train was skirting—Joe vehemently describing -how different was our view regarding poachers -with the net, and mentally despising his fellow-traveller -for upholding the equal merits of perch, -gudgeon and trout.</p> - -<p>When they reached Lourdes the traveller again -afforded Joe a fresh cause for wonder—unfamiliar -as he then was with what later he called “the -Frenchman’s unfailing desire to place himself in a -category.”</p> - -<p>The station was crammed with pilgrims to the -Holy Wells, and Joe, innocent of this, asked -for what event the crowd was gathered; whereupon -the Frenchman, turning his head contemptuously -from the window, said loftily: “<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Monsieur, dans -ma qualité d’Athée je ne connais rien de tout -cela!</i>”</p> - -<p>Even in those early days he loved the French; -their joy of living appealed to him as it did in all the -Latin races, and their wit—more subtle and polished -than the Italian’s child-like though not childish -high spirits—was akin to his own, and it was often -wonderful how swiftly he would “get the hang of -it” even when sometimes he would appeal to me -for translation of a word; while their shrewd and -clear common-sense found an echo somewhere -on another side of him, perhaps in his Border -ancestry.</p> - -<p>Yet I have heard him say that, in his opinion, -the deeper courtesy of an unspoiled Italian—were -he peasant or peer—came out of a further and finer -civilization.</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[73]</a></span></p> -<p>These travelling conversations, even in a foreign -tongue, were entirely in keeping with Joe’s intensely -human temperament. He had none of the aloofness -of the Britisher of that day; and I remember his -amusement at the talk of a party of English shop-keepers -in a second-class railway carriage on the -Paris-Calais route.</p> - -<p>“To see them working men forced to sit and smoke -their pipe in the street for a breath of fresh air on -a summer evening fairly flummoxed me,” said one. -“Why the poorest of <i>us</i> ’ave got a bit of a backyard.”</p> - -<p>Though he was the most reserved of men as -regards deep, personal matters, he found that sort -of sentiment was utterly ridiculous to his Irish -sense of humour.</p> - -<p>I recollect hearing Joe whimsically tell a friend -once that he would far sooner confide his most -intimate concerns to a man in a train than to his -nearest and dearest; and then he would recall -(or invent?) the most humorous conversations which -he had overheard or in which he had taken part, -chiefly on the physical ills of life during long journeys -in dark railway carriages. I don’t suppose he went -these lengths in French; probably his vocabulary -was not equal to it.</p> - -<p>He said he missed my help on that Loire journey -although I think he liked learning for himself too. -I certainly, sitting in a tiny cottage near Witley -with my sister and the two children, missed my -opportunity and sighed to be with him, especially -when his letter home contained a passage like this:</p> - -<p>“Marseilles is a city with something of romantic<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[74]</a></span> -suggestion about it. One feels that it is one of the -Avenues of the East, one of the places also that -connects the old world with the new. It was -terribly hot, but the sea tempered the sun and the -sea-bath in the evening was a delicious revenge for -the heat of the day. The view over the Mediterranean -at sunset is delightful, with an atmosphere -that seems to be stained with rose colour floating -over a sea of real aquamarine.”</p> - -<p>I had to solace myself with taking Phil to sit for -his portrait to Edward Burne-Jones—delightful -occasions when that most lovable of great men -would talk of my husband and of their kindred -enthusiasms, chaffing me gently as well for the -“wicked travesties” of classic myths with which -I tried to keep quiet the “worst of little sitters,” who -would innocently ask why his standing pose was -called “sitting.”</p> - -<p>And at last Joe came home, only about a week -before our son Arthur was born.</p> - -<p>These travelling memories are a digression induced -by their bearing on my husband’s first published -volumes. As to his subsequent contributions to -permanent literature I may mention his <cite>Papers -on Art</cite>—a sequel to the <cite>Essays on Art</cite>—published -in 1885.</p> - -<p>After that, until the last years of his life, his many -vocations so entirely filled every hour of the day—and -often of the night—that he had no leisure -for any more such ventures, excepting the publication -of his verse-plays as they appeared on the -stage.</p> - -<p>And it was not until 1908 that he once more came<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[75]</a></span> -before the book-reading public. Then he wrote -his two separate volumes of personal recollections -under the titles of <cite>Eminent Victorians</cite> and <cite>Coasting -Bohemia</cite>; but these are of recent enough date to -need no comment of mine, for they are still before -the world, as is also his posthumously published -volume, <cite>The Ideals of Painting</cite>.</p> -</div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[76]</a></span></p> -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VII" id="CHAPTER_VII"></a>CHAPTER VII</h2> - -<p class="center">THE GROSVENOR AND THE NEW GALLERIES</p> - - -<p class="noindent"><span class="smcap">In</span> the autumn of the year 1876 we were invited -to Sir Coutts Lindsay’s Scottish seat at Balcarres, -where Joe’s collaboration with Mr. C. E. Hallé -as Director of the Grosvenor Gallery in Bond Street -was fixed and led later to the long co-operation of -these two friends in their New Gallery Exhibitions.</p> - -<p>Sir Coutts’s venture was to start in the following -May, and there was much to discuss and settle at -that shooting party; yet not so much as to interfere -with plenty of fun by the way.</p> - -<p>It was on this visit that Prince Leopold was -a guest at the house and I vividly recall a series -of <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">tableaux vivants</i> got up for his entertainment, -in which Joe played a part he was often to fill later—that -of stage manager, combined on this occasion -with the office of <em>Dresser</em>, in which capacity he -“corked” a moustache on His Royal Highness’ -face for an impersonation of Charles I.</p> - -<p>There were anxious moments—such as when the -Prince’s tights did not arrive from Edinburgh, -or when Sir Arthur Sullivan, after nobly seconding -Joe’s efforts with his incidental music, flatly refused -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[77]</a></span>to abandon his cigar at a late hour to play waltzes; -or again, on the following Sunday morning when—the -crimson cloth being laid ready at the Episcopalian -Church—a belated telegram arrived from -Windsor commanding H.R.H.’s attendance at -Presbyterian worship. But I think Joe’s unconventional -and merry wit—even in those early days -when he might have felt strange in that kind of -society—helped away many a little ruction, and the -fun that he made of himself as “one of the lower -middle class” little used to the ways of great houses -was much appreciated by Arthur Sullivan, “Dicky -Doyle” and others claiming kinship with the -“Bohemians,” yet used to the habits at which he -pretended to be alarmed.</p> - -<p>I can see the twinkle in the eye with which he -stoutly declared that a French Chef did not necessarily -beget a sure taste in the hosts, and the -corroboration given to his statement by the sight of -some twenty docile people eating a salad that had -been mixed with methylated spirit in mistake for -vinegar without turning a hair.</p> - -<p>I think Arthur Sullivan—who was an <em>habitué</em>—expostulated -with the butler about it, when the -cause of the “odd taste” was run to earth and laid -to the account of the kitchenmaid.</p> - -<p>These Balcarres days began for us that series of -social gatherings so well known later as the Grosvenor -Gallery Sunday afternoons, at which Lady Lindsay -presided over a company including all the most -notable people in Literature and Art, to say nothing -of the “beaux noms,” courtiers and politicians in -her more exclusive set.</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[78]</a></span></p> -<p>Those most entertaining parties and the Private -Views both at the Grosvenor Gallery and, later on, -at the New Gallery in Regent Street, were among the -season’s features of that period, and invitations to -both of them were eagerly sought by all classes of -Society. Especially in the earlier years the vagaries -in dress assumed by some of the women of the -“Artistic” and Theatrical Set were, and I fear often -justly, matters for merriment to those of the fashionable -world who fitly displayed the last modes from -Paris; and I hear again the softly sarcastic tones of a -society lady commenting on the clinging draperies -of a pretty artist “finished by a pair of serviceable -boots.”</p> - -<p>Yet there were those among the leaders of the -<em>élite</em> who chose to wear garments following the -simpler and more graceful patterns of some bygone -era; and I am bound to say that these were often -among the most beautiful toilettes present and -those which Joe then most admired.</p> - -<p>But much strenuous work preceded the days of -the Private Views. Early in the career of the -Grosvenor Gallery, Joe, steeped in the work of the -Old Masters of which he had made such a special -study, persuaded Sir Coutts Lindsay to have an -exhibition of their drawings—culled from the -great collections of England; and many a pleasant -visit did he have to fine country houses on this -quest.</p> - -<p>Once he arrived after a night journey at the seat -of Lord Warwick just as the men of the house-party -were met in the hall for the day’s “shoot,” -and I can fancy the merry excuse with which he -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[79]</a></span> -surely fitted the occasion as he presented himself -bare-headed, having left his hat in the train when -he sleepily changed carriages at the junction; -luckily he was well provided with natural covering.</p> - -<p>Plenty of his Celtic persuasiveness must have -come into play—both on this occasion and on those -when the fine shows of Paintings by Old Masters -were made—in cajoling the owners to lend their -priceless treasures, and I recollect one or two very -anxious moments over transport, etc.</p> - -<p>But this first ambitious Exhibition of <cite>Drawings</cite> -exceeded, both in bulk and excellence, anything -previously attempted in London and attracted the -enthusiastic attention of all connoisseurs; the -hanging and cataloguing involved immense labour, -and I was proud to be allowed to take a small share -in the last part of the work—an opportunity in -which I learnt much which I have never forgotten.</p> - -<p>When, some few years later, my husband and -Mr. Hallé started their independent enterprise in -Regent Street, their sole responsibility made the -work none the less arduous though naturally less -hampered.</p> - -<p>The first task—exciting as it was—was a Herculean -one, for the New Gallery was practically built upon -the site of an old fruit-market, and an anxious winter -was that, lest it should not be completed in time for -an opening with the other May Exhibitions. But -completed it was and handsomely; though the -last touch, the gilding of the rails of the gallery -which overhung the Central Court, was only finished -through Joe inducing the frame-gilders to work -with the builders’ men—an infringement of custom -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[80]</a></span>which, it seemed, only the affection which they bore -him induced them to overlook.</p> - -<p>The effect of that Central Court with its fountain -fringed with flowers and its arcade panelled with -fine, coloured marbles, was one of the sensations of -the day, and deserved the praise of a critic: “It -is an Aladdin’s Palace sprung up in the night.” -Joe has spoken of this first Exhibition in <cite>Eminent -Victorians</cite>; suffice it, therefore, to say that the -Burne Jones and Watts’ pictures were the distinguishing -features, as they always were so long -as these great men survived.</p> - -<p>As years went on, the collecting of works among -the lesser artists for the modern yearly Exhibition -became more and more irksome to Joe, and the -rounds that he and Mr. Hallé used to make to the -artists’ studios were something of a penance to -him.</p> - -<p>Not only were they physically fatiguing, but the -difficulties of choice, of obtaining what they desired -and of refusing what they didn’t desire without -undue offence to the artist, taxed the patience of -both directors and, I think, Joe’s wit was often -needed to turn a dangerous corner.</p> - -<p>“Good isn’t the word,” he once answered to a -sympathiser who asked him what he said when -confronted with a thoroughly bad picture; and, -although this too transparent form of salve may -not really have been uttered, I am told that the -kindly chaff which he would sometimes expend upon -the shameless offer of a poor painting from a man -who knew what he was doing but meant to send -his best work to take its chance elsewhere, was such -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[81]</a></span>as might not have “gone down” from anyone -else but Joe Carr.</p> - -<p>Yet there were pleasant hours even on these days -of weary rounds. In each of the districts visited -the directors were sure to count at least one firm -friend, anxious to lighten the road; in Kensington -it was Burne Jones, who, speaking of his young -daughter, wrote on one occasion: “In my wife’s -absence, Margaret dispenses middle-class hospitality -with a tact and finish worthy of a higher sphere.” -In St. John’s Wood it was Alma Tadema—most -hospitable of hosts—always ready with a bottle -of his best wine and some funny tale uttered in his -quaint English, and admirably seconded by his -charming wife at the long, narrow table loaded with -old Dutch silver and lovely curios.</p> - -<p>And upon the onerous occasions of the varnishing -days when the positions on the line were supposed -to be the right of every exhibitor, these and -other leaders in the world of art would often “stand -by” even when some incensed young gentleman—these -were usually young gentlemen—would go the -length of removing his picture in a four-wheeler.</p> - -<p>Many were the humorous incidents that used to -be told to me! A favourite and out-spoken assistant -was once asked what he thought of the position of -a small picture which was being tried above a -larger one; to which his reply was: “If you ask -me, Sir, I think it looks like a tom-tit on a round of -beef.” Apparently the directors thought so too -for the picture was removed and hung in a corner, -or perhaps in the balcony above the Central Court—a -place even less coveted by the ambitious.</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[82]</a></span></p> -<p>Little however did <i>I</i> know of these prickly passages, -specially at that momentous first opening, -when a kind supporter of the new enterprise presented -me with a beautiful old brocade dress in -which I took my share of receiving the crowds of -visitors at the entrance of the Hall: and I don’t -think that, when the varnishing day was past, the -two directors bothered their heads much about the -prickly passages or even about the Press opinions. -Joe’s optimism was always irrepressible and when -his task at the New Gallery was over, he would turn, -on the following day—with something perhaps of -relief—to one of the many other sides of his full life.</p> -</div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[83]</a></span></p> -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VIII" id="CHAPTER_VIII"></a>CHAPTER VIII</h2> - -<p class="center">DRAMATIC WORK AND MANAGEMENT</p> - - -<p class="noindent"><span class="smcap">It</span> must have been somewhere about this period -that the first impetus was, funnily enough, given -to Joe’s dramatic career by a request from our dear -friend, Ellen Terry, that I should make an English -adaptation for her from the famous French play of -<cite>Frou-Frou</cite>.</p> - -<p>The thing was done, and played in Glasgow and -other Northern towns under the title of <cite>Butterfly</cite>, -and great fun we had over our first initiation into the -mysteries of dress-rehearsals—not always perhaps -quite so funny in the more responsible circumstances -of later years, though it is a form of patient work -electrified by the gambling spirit, which never lost -its attraction for Joe.</p> - -<p>My altered version of the French play was a poor -one, but it had, I suppose, sufficient merit to obtain -me a commission from Mme. Modjeska, the noted -Polish actress, for a free translation of the same play, -which she performed first in London with Sir -Johnston Forbes-Robertson and afterwards throughout -the United States.</p> - -<p>The “youthful conceit” to which Joe was -throughout his life so lenient as even to consider a -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[84]</a></span>virtue, led me presently to try my hand at a bigger -task—no less than the dramatisation of Thomas -Hardy’s <cite>Far from the Madding Crowd</cite>. I was quite -unequal to the attempt, and I only mention it -because it proved the beginning of Joe’s dramatic -work. He took the play in hand, refashioned the -plot, only keeping portions of the dialogue as I had -adapted it to stage necessity; and it was produced—with -Marion Terry as the wilful and charming -Bathsheba—first in the provinces and then in London.</p> - -<p>Owing to circumstances needless to recall, the -venture was a financial failure; but it served to -start Joe on a new road; and it was not long before -he scored a big success. He came home one night -from a railway journey and gave me a little book -which he had bought to read in the train: it was -<cite>Called Back</cite> by Hugh Conway.</p> - -<p>“See if you don’t think that an enthralling story?” -he said.</p> - -<p>There could be no doubt of this and the British -public gave its verdict promptly. The book began -to sell like “hot cakes” and Joe went down to -Clifton, saw its clever author—until then unknown -to literature—and arranged with him for its dramatisation.</p> - -<p>The play was produced on May 20th, 1884, and I -think there are still people who remember its first -success and that, in the rôle of the Italian conspirator—Macari—Sir -Herbert Tree scored one of his -finest early triumphs; the piece was revived several -times in London and the provinces and had the -questionable compliment of being also pirated. But -I shall not easily forget the dress-rehearsal!</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[85]</a></span></p> -<p>I was comparatively new to such things then and -I can well recall the chill of heart with which we got -home to Blandford Square in the early hours and my -inner conviction that the scenery could not possibly -be finished nor, one at least, of the principal actors, -know his part by the next night! But nothing -could ever quell Joe’s hopeful spirit; he plied his -somewhat less optimistic colleague with cold tongue -and whisky-and-soda and made merry work of the -stupidity of lime-light men and scene-shifters, to -say nothing of others of higher degree; and then -went to sleep at 6 a.m. and got up and returned to -the theatre at 10 a.m. without turning a hair.</p> - -<p>I wonder now if he was as strong as he seemed in -those days or whether it was only his gay and -excitable Celtic temperament that carried him -through everything. Anyhow he enjoyed his life -to the full and there were never any dull moments, -whether he was at work or at play.</p> - -<p>The radiant vitality which lasted him so long and -so well—and to which there is such frequent testimony -in letters from the various friends with whom -he laboured in his many walks of life—seems to -have had the power of so communicating itself to -his fellow-workers that they would share his optimistic -hopes and, if these were disappointed, generally -be ashamed to utter reproach in the face of his -urbane acceptance of failure. But on this occasion -there was only rejoicing.</p> - -<p>In a letter of his, replying to Hugh Conway’s -generous recognition of help, I find these words:</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[86]</a></span></p> -<p>“I want to tell you how much touched I have -been by your letters. I say ‘letters’ for my wife -read me as much of your note as she thought good for -me. Rest assured that I am delighted to have done -what I have done—also that the result has been -fortunate for us both. I don’t think I could have -got through so well with any other man; with you -I have never had a shadow of worry or annoyance -and I have been able at all points to do my best—as -far as I knew how.”</p> - -<p>This happy venture led to a friendship which had -no let until the untimely death of Hugh Conway -in the very zenith of his fame; they were, as dear -old Sir Alma Tadema said in his quaint English: -“Very fat together—like two hands on one stomach.”</p> - -<p>Yet they did much work together, for not only -did Joe collaborate again with Hugh Conway in -the adaptation of <cite>Dark Days</cite> for the stage, but he -also published that gifted, ghoulish tale <cite>Paul Vargus</cite> -during his editorship of <cite>The English Illustrated -Magazine</cite>, as well as the serial entitled <cite>A Family -Affair</cite>, a humorous and urbane story with a plot -so delicately suggesting possible immorality, however, -that it drew down upon the editor a sharp -reproach from Mrs. Grundy, who declared that, -although she believed all would “come right” she -could never again allow the magazine to lie on -her drawing-room table lest her well-brought-up -daughters might open its pages.</p> - -<p>Does that Mrs. Grundy still live to-day?</p> - -<p><cite>Dark Days</cite> was Joe’s last bit of work with his -poor friend but by no means the last of his adaptations -for the stage, the chief of which number -<cite>Madame Sans Gêne</cite> for Sir Henry Irving; <cite>My Lady -of Rosedale</cite> for Sir Charles Wyndham; <cite>Nerves</cite> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[87]</a></span>which ran with success for some time at the Comedy -Theatre, and last, but not at all least, his fine play -fashioned on Charles Dickens’ <cite>Oliver Twist</cite> and followed -by one on <cite>Edwin Drood</cite>.</p> - -<p>The former, with Sir Herbert Tree as <em>Fagin</em>, -Constance Collier as <em>Nancy</em> and Lyn Harding as -<em>Sikes</em>, held the public for many months both in -London and the United States.</p> - -<p>At the height of its London success, a flaw in the -architecture of the central proscenium arch of -His Majesty’s Theatre necessitated the temporary -transference of the play to another house. Joe -was naturally in despair, but the untoward incident -in no way interfered with the run of the piece which—in -the words of the stage manager—had been -kicked up and down the Strand and only gathered -force as it rolled.</p> - -<p>But although I have spoken first of his adaptations, -it is of his original plays that I hold the -dearest memories; and first and foremost of <cite>King -Arthur</cite> which contains some of the best of the -lyrics and blank verse for which Theodore Watts -Dunton held him to be a “true poet.” The <cite>May -Song</cite> and <cite>Song of the Grail</cite> he placed himself among -his best verse and they were well appreciated.</p> - -<p>As the book was published by Messrs. Macmillan, -it belongs to the public.</p> - -<p>The production of <cite>King Arthur</cite> was one of the -most beautiful of Henry Irving’s many Lyceum -triumphs. Even in those far-removed days Sir Edward -Burne Jones’ exquisite designs for the armour and -dresses, as well as for the scenery, will be remembered -by some, and I am proud to think that I was allowed -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[88]</a></span>the privilege of carrying out some of them in detail. -It was a hard six months’ work but it was well rewarded -and I think Joe had no happier hours than -those he spent in the writing and in the producing -of his two finest efforts—<cite>King Arthur</cite> and <cite>Tristram -and Iseult</cite>.</p> - -<p>I cannot leave this subject without mention of -the tender and lovely impersonation of <cite>Guinevere</cite> -by Ellen Terry, and the touching tribute to her -which Joe himself gives in the following dedication, -written on the fly-leaf of the copy he presented to her.</p> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p>“To Guinevere herself from one who, after years -of closest friendship, looks to her now as always, for -the vindication of what is highest and gentlest in -womanhood; and who would count this not too poor -a gift for her to take, could he but hope that some -part of the grace and charm of her spirit had found -its way into the portrait of Arthur’s Queen.”</p></div> - -<p>Following on this it would seem incongruous in -connection with anyone else but Joe to quote a -funny tale bearing on the above; but Joe loved the -tale himself and often told it merrily and so will I.</p> - -<p>On his being presented to a newly-arrived prominent -American at a public dinner, this gentleman -opened the conversation by saying that he had -been privileged, on the voyage with Sir Henry -Irving and Ellen Terry, to read <cite>King Arthur</cite> in -the lady’s own copy containing the author’s charming -dedication. A pause ensued, when Joe—thinking -himself on solid ground—said: “Well, sir, I hope -you liked the play?” What was his astonishment -at the Yankee’s gentle reply! “Well, not very -much!” said he, “You see I had Lord Tennyson in -my mind.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[89]</a></span>Silence ensued but I think Joe explained with -urbanity that he had taken an entirely different -view of the old legend, founded in a measure on Sir -Thomas Malory’s version.</p> - -<p><em>A propos</em> of this old name, Joe has himself told -of the arrival at the theatre of a batch of press -cuttings addressed to that knight of the days of -chivalry, the title tactfully supplemented by the -affix of “Bart.”</p> - -<p>Perhaps scarcely less funny and more unpardonable -was the question of the Society lady who asked -him, in the case of <cite>Tristram and Iseult</cite>, how he had -obtained Mme. Wagner’s consent to tamper with her -husband’s book.</p> - -<p>A play—<cite>The Lonely Queen</cite>—on which he spent -much care, still remains to be performed when a -suitable actress shall present herself for the strong -and sympathetic part of the girlish ruler over a -wild land.</p> - -<p>The piece opens on a hillside overlooking an -Eastern city—a scene shewn again later on in -sinister circumstances; and with dance and -laughter, a group of girls crown their wayward -young mistress with a wreath of flowers in merry -mimicry of the weightier diadem she will soon be -called to wear. And presently, in a lonely mood -of apprehension, she meets as a stranger, the patriot-poet -who is to be both her bane and her salvation -in the future.</p> - -<p>He enjoyed writing this play and was pleased -with the following lyric, which he read to me—as I -am proud to think, he generally read anything -with which he was satisfied or on which he wanted -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[90]</a></span>such criticism as I could give—on the very morning -when he had written it.</p> - - -<h3>THE POET TO A GIRL-QUEEN UNKNOWN.</h3> - -<div class="poetry-container"> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse"><span class="smcap">Oh</span> Lady of the Lily Hand!</div> -<div class="indent4">Whose face unseen we long to greet,</div> -<div class="verse">At whose command this desert land</div> -<div class="indent4">Springs into flower about thy feet.</div> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">Fair maiden whom we know not yet,</div> -<div class="indent4">Yet know thy heart can know no fear,</div> -<div class="verse">Queen, who shalt teach us to forget</div> -<div class="indent4">The wounds of many a wasted year.</div> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">The curtains of the night are drawn,</div> -<div class="indent4">Its shadows all have fled away,</div> -<div class="verse">For in thine eyes there dwells the dawn</div> -<div class="indent4">And in thy smile the new born day.</div> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">A people’s love that waits thee now</div> -<div class="indent4">Is thine to take and thine to hold,</div> -<div class="verse">Till God shall set upon thy brow</div> -<div class="indent4">A crown that is not forged of gold.</div> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">Twixt Right and Wrong He yields thee choice,</div> -<div class="indent4">Heed not the worship of the weak,</div> -<div class="verse">That in a maiden’s fearless voice</div> -<div class="indent4">The clarion voice of God may speak.</div> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">Be swift to strike and strong to save,</div> -<div class="indent4">Steadfast in all! Till all the land</div> -<div class="verse">Shall hail thee ‘Bravest of the Brave’</div> -<div class="indent4">Oh Lady of the Lily Hand.</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[91]</a></span></p> -<p>It was a fair scene in which it was written—a -hill-top under Monte Rosa overlooking the lovely -shores of Lugano—and, though he always said that -actual surroundings were never proper to be described -in the work of the moment but must be -digested and crystallized in the hidden corners of -remembrance, I think that the spirit of a place did -influence him, so that the sun shone on the hillside -of the first Act of <cite>The Lonely Queen</cite> as the lowering -brow of the Black Mount, at Rannoch, seemed to -overshadow the halls of Camelot; he even said -himself that he could see the barge with Elaine’s -body float down the Hertfordshire stream where he -was wont to fish after his day’s labour.</p> - -<p>His poetical work was always that which lay -nearest his heart, though his friends often deplored -that he did not devote himself more to comedy; -but strange to say, his humour, which was so inexhaustible -in colloquial intercourse, did not strike -home so surely in his stage dialogue: he needed the -stimulus of conversation. Possibly he felt this, -which made him shyer of comedy-writing than he -would have been; in <cite>Nerves</cite> he was witty enough -and there is a very deft comedy scene for two old -ladies in <cite>Forgiveness</cite>, produced at the “St. James’” -Theatre by Sir George Alexander. His first attempts -at dramatic work, made on the tiny stage -of German Reed’s, were entirely in quaint comedy.</p> - -<p>I think a free rendering of a fancy of Hugh Conway’s -on the Blue-and-White China Craze was one of -the first things he did for the stage and it contained -some charming lyrics after the Elizabethan manner -which won instant recognition.</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[92]</a></span></p> -<p>I quote three of them, for they were never printed -for the public.</p> - -<p class="space-above2"></p> - -<p class="center">From <cite>The United Pair</cite>.</p> - -<h3>DUET: SONG OF THE TWO CHINA-COLLECTORS.</h3> - -<div class="poetry-container"> - <div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="indent7"><span class="smcap">Sextus.</span></div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">A love like mine is far above</div> -<div class="verse">The thing that we are told is love,</div> -<div class="indent4">In Shakespeare or in Chaucer.</div> -<div class="verse">For while they are content to praise</div> -<div class="verse">The famous forms of classic days,</div> -<div class="verse">I revel in the form and glaze,</div> -<div class="indent4">Of one unrivalled saucer.</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="indent7"><span class="smcap">Virginia.</span></div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">Ah sir, I know the thought is vain,</div> -<div class="verse">Yet if a man were porcelain,</div> -<div class="indent4">Then love would be the master;</div> -<div class="verse">If only in a single night</div> -<div class="verse">Your face could change to blue and white,</div> -<div class="verse">I think at such a glorious sight</div> -<div class="indent4">My heart would beat the faster.</div> -</div> - - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="indent7"><span class="smcap">Virginia and Sextus.</span></div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">And such a love were far above</div> -<div class="verse">The thing that we are told is love,</div> -<div class="indent4">In Shakespeare or in Chaucer;</div> -<div class="verse">For while they are content to praise</div> -<div class="verse">The famous forms of classic days,</div> -<div class="verse">We revel in the form and glaze,</div> -<div class="indent4">Of every cup and saucer.</div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[93]</a></span></p> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="indent7"><span class="smcap">Sextus.</span></div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">Ah madam, if that dream were true,</div> -<div class="verse">How easy would it be to woo,</div> -<div class="indent4">And never fear the winning;</div> -<div class="verse">If woman also could be graced</div> -<div class="verse">With all the silent charms of paste,</div> -<div class="verse">Then love could never be misplaced,</div> -<div class="indent4">And hate have no beginning.</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="indent7"><span class="smcap">Virginia.</span></div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">Then every vase would find its mate,</div> -<div class="verse">Each dish would woo a neighbouring plate,</div> -<div class="indent4">Each bowl would wed a beaker;</div> -<div class="verse">And if perchance, through pride or pique,</div> -<div class="verse">Some youth or maid should fail to speak,</div> -<div class="verse">Each bachelor would be unique,</div> -<div class="indent4">And each old maid uniquer.</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="indent7"><span class="smcap">Virginia and Sextus.</span></div> -</div> - -<div class="verse">And such a love were far above</div> -<div class="verse">The thing that we are told is love,</div> -<div class="indent4">In Shakespeare or in Chaucer;</div> -<div class="verse">For while they are content to praise</div> -<div class="verse">The famous forms of classic days,</div> -<div class="verse">We revel in the form and glaze,</div> -<div class="indent4">Of every cup and saucer.</div> -</div></div></div> - -<p class="space-above2"></p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[94]</a></span></p> -<p>The following duet bore a charming promise of -the maturer work that was to follow in wider spheres.</p> - -<p class ="center">From <cite>The United Pair</cite>.</p> - -<p>Played at Mr. and Mrs. German Reed’s about 1880.</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> - <div class="poetry"> -<div class="indent11">I.</div> - - - <div class="stanza"> -<div class="indent10"><span class="smcap">Ada.</span></div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza">What Love was yesterday, we both could tell;</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="indent10"><span class="smcap">Jack.</span></div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza">What Love may be to-morrow, who can guess?</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="indent10"><span class="smcap">Ada.</span></div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza">What Love is now both Jack and I know well;</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="indent10"><span class="smcap">Jack.</span></div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza">But that’s a secret lovers ne’er confess.</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="indent8"><span class="smcap">Jack and Ada.</span></div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">But this we know, that Love is much maligned</div> -<div class="verse">By those who call him deaf, and dumb, and blind.</div> -</div> - -<div class="indent11">II.</div> - - <div class="stanza"> -<div class="indent10"><span class="smcap">Ada.</span></div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">Yet Love was dumb: ’tis but an hour ago</div> -<div class="indent4">I spied him ’mid the daisies as I passed,</div> -<div class="verse">Like a pale rose-leaf on new fallen snow</div> -<div class="indent4">He lay with drooping lids and lips shut fast.</div> -<div class="verse">And though the birds sang, Love made no reply,</div><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[95]</a></span> -<div class="indent4">He had no message for the whispering stream,</div> -<div class="verse">He sent no echoing answer to the sky,</div> -<div class="indent4">That laughed with dancing shadows o’er his dream.</div> -<div class="verse">Then kneeling down beside him where he lay,</div> -<div class="indent4">I wept aloud for grief that Love was dead;</div> -<div class="verse">But when Jack came and kissed my tears away,</div> -<div class="indent4">Love spoke one word: we both heard what he said.</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="indent8"><span class="smcap">Jack and Ada.</span></div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">Therefore we say that Love is much maligned,</div> -<div class="verse">For he is neither deaf, nor dumb, nor blind.</div> -</div> - -<div class="indent11">III.</div> - - <div class="stanza"> -<div class="indent10"><span class="smcap">Jack.</span></div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">Yet Love was deaf: ’twas only yesterday</div> -<div class="indent4">I found him fishing down beside the brook,</div> -<div class="verse">His rod a snowy branch of flowering may,</div> -<div class="indent4">Whose spiny thorn he fashioned for a hook.</div> -<div class="verse">Small heed had he of any lover’s pain,</div> -<div class="indent4">Who would not hear the cuckoo’s ringing note,</div> -<div class="verse">I cried to him, but cried alas in vain,</div> -<div class="indent4">He only laughed to watch the dancing float;</div> -<div class="verse">And while I wept to see him laughing so,</div> -<div class="indent4">I heard a voice that whispered one sweet word</div> -<div class="verse">Ah Ada, tell me was it “yes” or “no”?</div> -<div class="verse">She answered “yes” and then I knew Love heard.</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="indent8"><span class="smcap">Jack and Ada.</span></div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">Therefore we say that Love is much maligned,</div> -<div class="verse">For he is neither deaf, nor dumb, nor blind.</div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[96]</a></span></p> -<div class="indent11">IV.</div> - - <div class="stanza"> -<div class="indent8"><span class="smcap">Jack and Ada.</span></div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">Yet Love was blind: for so he lost his way,</div> -<div class="indent4">And so we found him when the day was done,</div> -<div class="verse">Within a wood where happy lovers stray,</div> -<div class="indent4">There he had wandered weeping and alone.</div> -<div class="verse">Then wondering much, we thought to ask his name,</div> -<div class="indent4">But Love replied: “Ah, surely ye should know!”</div> -<div class="verse">And as he spake, beneath his wings of flame</div> -<div class="indent4">We saw Love’s arrows and his glittering bow,</div> -<div class="verse">“For you,” he cried, “the way is strewn with flowers,</div> -<div class="indent4">You’ve found the path that I shall never find.”</div> -<div class="verse">Then looking up we saw Love’s eyes in ours,</div> -<div class="indent4">And then we knew why men do call him blind.</div> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">Therefore we know that Love is much maligned,</div> -<div class="verse">By all who call him deaf, and dumb, and blind.</div> -</div></div></div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[97]</a></span></p> - - - -<p class="center"><a name="From_The_Naturalist" id="From_The_Naturalist"></a>From <cite>The Naturalist</cite>.</p> - -<h3>A SONG OF PROVERBS.</h3> - -<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poetry"><div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse"><span class="smcap">I know</span> that truth’s stranger than fiction,</div> -<div class="indent4">And I fancy I don’t stand alone,</div> -<div class="verse">If I cling to an old predilection,</div> -<div class="indent4">For killing two birds with one stone;</div> -<div class="verse">I never shed tears that are bitter</div> -<div class="indent4">Over milk that I know to be spilt,</div> -<div class="verse">And whenever gold happens to glitter</div> -<div class="indent4">I make up my mind that its gilt;</div> -<div class="verse">Yet the riddle of life grows no clearer,</div> -<div class="indent4">And still broken-hearted I yearn</div> -<div class="verse">For the season that never draws nearer—</div> -<div class="indent4">When a worm may take courage and turn.</div> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">And if for a moment I wander</div> -<div class="indent4">Into themes more profound and abstruse,</div> -<div class="verse">To note that the sauce for a gander</div> -<div class="indent4">Is also the sauce for the goose;</div> -<div class="verse">That one man is free to steal horses,</div> -<div class="indent4">While another is punished by fate,</div> -<div class="verse">Who shuns all such virtuous courses,</div> -<div class="indent4">And dares to look over a gate,—</div> -<div class="verse">It is but for the sake of forgetting</div> -<div class="indent4">What gives me far greater concern,</div> -<div class="verse">It is but with a view of abetting</div> -<div class="indent4">A worm in its efforts to turn.</div> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">I could live and not care in the slightest</div> -<div class="indent4">To know when a dog had his day,</div> -<div class="verse">And though the sun shone at its brightest,</div> -<div class="indent4">I could let other people make hay.</div> -<div class="verse">I could perish without ascertaining</div> -<div class="indent4">Why pearls should be cast before swine,</div> -<div class="verse">I could die without ever complaining</div> -<div class="indent4">That one stitch will never save nine;</div> -<div class="verse">And though I once had the ambition</div> -<div class="indent4">A candle at both ends to burn,</div> -<div class="verse">The old craving might go to perdition</div> -<div class="indent4">If I knew that a worm had its turn.</div> -</div></div></div> - -<p>These little pieces were admirably rendered by -Mr. Alfred Reed and his company, and they won -instant success.</p> - -<p>I can see Mr. Clement Scott’s delighted face just -under my box on the first night of <cite>The United Pair</cite> -and hear his burst of laughter at the concluding -line of the “Song of the China Collectors.”</p> - -<p>But the one of the three comediettas upon which -Joe spent the most pleasant care was <cite>The Friar</cite>—a -little thirteenth century fancy of his own invention -and for which he wrote the following verses, giving -charming expression to the pique of a high-born -damsel towards her proud lover and the sorrow of -the shepherd swain who becomes the favourite of -an hour.</p> -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[99]</a></span></p> - - - -<h3>THE LADY ISOBEL’S SONG.</h3> - -<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poetry"><div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse"><span class="smcap">Oh</span>, if I be a lady fair,</div> -<div class="indent4">I’ll weep for no lord’s frown,</div> -<div class="verse">And if my lord should ride away,</div> -<div class="verse">I’ll put aside my silk array</div> -<div class="indent4">And take a russet gown.</div> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">I’ll wear a gown of russet brown,</div> -<div class="indent4">And sleep on the grassy sward,</div> -<div class="verse">And when I meet a shepherd swain,</div> -<div class="verse">If he should sigh, I’ll sigh again,</div> -<div class="indent4">And choose him for my lord.</div> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">I’ll choose a shepherd for my lord,</div> -<div class="indent4">Though I be a lady fair,</div> -<div class="verse">And when the woods are golden brown,</div> -<div class="verse">Of yellow leaves I’ll weave a crown,</div> -<div class="indent4">And bind his golden hair.</div> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">Then my false lord shall cry and weep,</div> -<div class="indent4">And call his lady fair,</div> -<div class="verse">But though for love his heart should bleed,</div> -<div class="verse">His sighs and tears I will not heed,</div> -<div class="indent4">Nor hearken to his prayer.</div> -</div></div></div> -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[100]</a></span></p> - - - -<h3>THE SHEPHERD AND THE LADY.</h3> -<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poetry"> -<div class="indent10"><span class="smcap">Isobel.</span></div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">Shepherd, if thou wouldst learn to woo a maid</div> -<div class="indent6">In Love’s own way,</div> -<div class="verse">Follow young Cupid to the hawthorn shade</div> -<div class="indent6">Some day in May,</div> -<div class="indent7">And bid him tell thee true</div> -<div class="indent7">What way were best to woo;</div> -<div class="indent7">What a poor swain should do</div> -<div class="indent8">When maids say nay.</div> -</div> - -<div class="indent10"><span class="smcap">Hubert.</span></div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">Ah! could I find the bower where Love doth dwell</div> -<div class="indent6">Beneath the May,</div> -<div class="verse">And could I plead to him, I know full well</div> -<div class="indent6">What Love would say.</div> -<div class="indent7">For he would bid me sigh,</div> -<div class="indent7">And weep, and moan and cry,</div> -<div class="indent7">And he would bid me die,</div> -<div class="indent8">For that’s Love’s way.</div> -</div> - -<div class="indent10"><span class="smcap">Isobel.</span></div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">Hast thou forgotten how in shepherd’s guise</div> -<div class="indent6">One day in May,</div> -<div class="verse">Love taught a cruel maid with laughing eyes</div> -<div class="indent6">To feel Love’s sway,</div> -<div class="indent7">And when she thought to scorn</div> -<div class="indent7">This lover lowly born</div> -<div class="indent7">Love did not weep or mourn,</div> -<div class="indent8">But laughed and turned away,</div> -<div class="indent6">And singing when she sighed,</div><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[101]</a></span> -<div class="indent7">Love wept not when she cried</div> -<div class="indent7">He cared not if she died</div> -<div class="indent8">For that’s Love’s way!</div> -</div> - -<div class="indent10"><span class="smcap">Both.</span></div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">O Love that came but yester eve,</div> -<div class="indent4">If thou wilt go before to-morrow,</div> -<div class="verse">Then prithee go, but do not leave</div> -<div class="indent4">My saddened heart to die of sorrow.</div> -<div class="verse">If thou wilt hide Love’s laughing eyes,</div> -<div class="indent4">If we must lose Love’s magic spell,</div> -<div class="verse">Then take the burthen of our sighs,</div> -<div class="indent4">And we will say Farewell! Farewell!</div> -</div></div></div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[102]</a></span></p> - -<h3>THE SHEPHERD’S SONG.</h3> - -<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poetry"><div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse"><span class="smcap">Ah</span> wherefore should I try to sing</div> -<div class="indent4">Of Love that’s dead?</div> -<div class="verse">Of Love that came before the Spring</div> -<div class="indent4">And ere Spring came had fled.</div> -<div class="indent6">’Tis vain to seek in winter snows</div> -<div class="indent6">The fallen petals of the rose</div> -<div class="indent6">’Tis vain to ask the year to bring</div> -<div class="indent6">The Love that went before the Spring.</div> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">Our little world was fair to see</div> -<div class="indent4">Ere Love had come,</div> -<div class="verse">Of earth and sky and flower and tree</div> -<div class="indent4">I sang while Love was dumb.</div> -<div class="indent6">But now the strings have all one tone,</div> -<div class="indent6">Love claims all beauty for his own.</div> -<div class="indent6">In vain! in vain! I can but sing</div> -<div class="indent6">The Love that went before the Spring.</div> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">And as I sing, Love lives again;</div> -<div class="indent4">Where’er I go,</div> -<div class="verse">His voice is in the summer rain,</div> -<div class="indent4">His footprints on the snow.</div> -<div class="indent6">And while October turns to gold,</div> -<div class="indent6">I dream that April buds unfold,</div> -<div class="indent6">Ah tell me will the Spring-time bring</div> -<div class="indent6">The Love that went before the Spring?</div> -</div></div></div> - -<p><cite>The Shepherd’s Song</cite> I have heard him say he was -as well pleased with as with any of his later and -more ambitious verse; but it is curious to note -that, quite unconsciously, he repeated the line<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[103]</a></span> -“But now the strings have all one tone” in the -<cite>Lute Song</cite>, written nearly thirty years after, for -<cite>The Beauty Stone</cite>, an opera done in conjunction with -Sir Arthur Pinero to Sir Arthur Sullivan’s music.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>The book of <cite>The Beauty Stone</cite> was published, but -I quote the <cite>Lute Song</cite> for those who did not know it.</p> - - -<h3>THE LUTE’S SONG.</h3> - -<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poetry"> -<div class="indent10">I.</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse"><span class="smcap">Ah</span>, why dost sigh and moan?</div> -<div class="indent4">Ah, why? ah, why?</div> -<div class="verse">Queen of the laughing May</div> -<div class="verse">Who wears thy crown to-day?</div> -<div class="indent4">Good-bye! good-bye!</div> -<div class="verse">Yea, for all mirth hath flown;</div> -<div class="verse">The strings have all one tone—</div> -<div class="indent4">Ah, why? ah, why?</div> -</div> - -<div class="indent10">II.</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">It is the lute that sings,</div> -<div class="indent4">Not I! not I!</div> -<div class="verse">Methinks some sleeping heart</div> -<div class="verse">That once had felt Love’s smart</div> -<div class="indent4">Doth wake and cry!</div> -<div class="verse">Nay, hark! ’tis love’s own wings</div> -<div class="verse">That fan the trembling strings—</div> -<div class="indent4">Not I! Not I!</div> -</div></div></div> - -<p>But dainty as is this little song, it does not to -my mind equal in charm the duet of the two old -lovers in the same opera.</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[104]</a></span></p> - -<p class="space-above2"></p> -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p class="center">THE OLD LOVERS OFFERING ONE -ANOTHER THE BEAUTY STONE.</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poetry"> -<div class="indent10"><span class="smcap">Simon.</span></div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse"><span class="smcap">I would</span> see a maid who dwells in Zolden—</div> -<div class="indent4">Her eyes are soft as moonlight on the mere;</div> -<div class="verse">The spring hath fled, the ripened year turns golden—</div> -<div class="indent4">Shall I win her ere the waning of the year?</div> -<div class="verse">The reaping-folk pass homeward by the fountain;</div> -<div class="indent4">What is it then that calls me from the dell,</div> -<div class="verse">What bids me climb the path beside the mountain</div> -<div class="indent4">To the down beyond the sheepfold? Who can tell?</div> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">Then take it, for this magic stone hath power</div> -<div class="indent4">To change thee to the fairest; yet to me</div> -<div class="verse">Thou wert fairest as I knew thee in that hour</div> -<div class="indent4">When a maiden dwelt in Zolden! Ah, take it, ’tis for thee!</div> -</div> - -<div class="indent10"><span class="smcap">Joan.</span></div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">I would see a youth who comes from Freyden—</div> -<div class="indent4">He is straighter than the mountain pine-trees grow;</div> -<div class="verse">Gossips say he comes to woo a maiden,</div> -<div class="indent4">So the gossips say—but can they know?</div> -<div class="verse">Three laughing maids are in the hollow,</div> -<div class="indent4">Yet none will set him straight upon his way;</div> -<div class="verse">Nay! soft! for he hath found the path to follow—</div> -<div class="indent4">He is coming! little heart, what will he say?</div> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">Then take it, for this magic stone hath power</div> -<div class="indent4">To change thee to the fairest, yet to me</div> -<div class="verse">Thou wert fairest as I knew thee in that hour</div> -<div class="indent4">When a youth came up from Freyden! Ah, take it, ’tis for thee!</div> -</div></div></div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[105]</a></span></p> -<p>In the Beauty-Stone Joe was only responsible -for the lyrics and parts of the plot. But I know that -his idea of the man’s true love being first awakened -after he became blind was dear to him, and he used -it again in his adaptation of Jekyll and Hyde for -H. B. Irving; but there it is the wife whose blindness -hides from her all but the beautiful side of her -husband.</p> - -<p>Such were the chief of Joe’s plays. Tireless energy -was given to the production of them all, for I think -it was universally admitted that no one bore the -strain of rehearsals as cheerily and patiently as Joe. -But these attributes shone equally in his work upon -the plays of others produced during his many years -of management at the Comedy Theatre, at the -Lyceum, after it was taken over by a company, at -His Majesty’s when producing plays for Sir Herbert -Tree, and lastly at Covent Garden, where he arranged -the <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">mise en scène</i> for <cite>Parsifal</cite> at a time when he -was already stricken by failing health.</p> - -<p>Many strenuous hours were spent over each of -these ventures in the most arduous of professions; -but what I prefer to recall are the gay ones—the -merry moments—the unfailing good humour, wit -and pleasant jest by which my husband lightened -the weary waits with which all who have laboured -for the stage are familiar.</p> - -<p>“Rome wasn’t built in a day,” I can hear him -retort cheerfully to some impatient spectator who -was grumbling at the long waits during the last -rehearsal of <cite>Julius Cæsar</cite> at His Majesty’s Theatre; -and none was so ready as his friend the actor-manager, -with the appreciative laugh.</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[106]</a></span></p> -<p>Lady Tree—Maud, to us—reminds me of his -favourite attitude as he would stand watching the -effects of the lighting of his scenes from the empty -stalls with his stick passed through his arms behind -his back, and his cheery tones uttering the most -fearful anathemas against lime-light men and scene-shifters.</p> - -<p>One day I said to him: “Don’t get so angry, -Joe, it must tire you out.”</p> - -<p>To which he replied with his usual promptness, -“Angry, my dear! Why, I’m only using the -language proper to lime-light men: they understand -no other.”</p> - -<p>Once at a Christmas rehearsal, when the stage-hands -were all rather more tipsy than was generally -allowable, he came from the stage, and as he sat -down beside me in the stalls he said with a whimsical -smile: “Poor old Burnaby! He keeps muttering, -‘Buried a wife o’ Toosday and now, s’elp me, can’t -lay my ’and on a hammer.’”</p> - -<p>He was held in firm affection by his stage-hands -just as he was by his New Gallery staff, not forgetting -the decorators, and those superior frame-gilders -who were only induced by regard for “the -boss” to work together in completing the -balustrade of the balcony during the strenuous -last days before the opening of that “Aladdin’s -palace.”</p> - -<p>I recollect one of the scene-shifters at His -Majesty’s Theatre putting his shoulder out at a -rehearsal and Joe taking him to hospital himself; -I should never have known of it but that the man’s -quaint expression of gratitude—“Your gentlemanly -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[107]</a></span>conduct, sir, I never shall forget”—so pleased Joe -that he had to repeat it to me.</p> - -<p>The humours of these people always delighted -him, and I can see his mock-grave face as he told me -of the head stage-carpenter’s refusal to carry out -an order because it was the day upon which: -“We’re all subservient to Mr. Telbin”—an excuse -which Joe, knowing that irascible scene-painter’s -peculiarities—found sufficient.</p> - -<p>No memories are pleasanter to me than those of -presentations to us by these working folk. I have -a little Old English silver waiter, an inscribed gift -from the employés at the Comedy Theatre for our -silver wedding; and a ponderous marble clock, -also touchingly inscribed, which the foreman of -the stage-hands in the Lyceum Company presented -to Joe in the library of our Kensington house. The -man stood in the centre of the room making a speech, -but before it was ended nature prevailed and he -concluded hastily: “If I don’t set it down somewhere -I shall let it drop.”</p> - -<p>Joe had given instructions to our maid to pay -the donor’s cab, and when he retired and found it -gone, we were all in dismay upon learning that he -had left his overcoat in it.</p> - -<p>Anecdotes of entertainments in the higher circles -of the stage Joe has told himself in his two books of -Reminiscences, the most notable of them being -Henry Irving’s splendid reception to the Rajahs, -when the stage and stalls of the Lyceum were transformed -into one vast flower-garden in half an hour -after the fall of the curtain. But I can add my -testimony as to memorable evenings spent at His -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[108]</a></span>Majesty’s Theatre and at Sir Henry Irving’s supper-table -in the “Old Beefsteak Room” of the Lyceum -Theatre, when I listened proudly to Joe’s brilliant -talk or speeches, and was sometimes privileged to -act as interpreter between the host and the many -distinguished foreigners who graced that board. -Liszt, Joachim, Sarasate are names which recur to -me among them as musicians; but, of course, the -guests were chiefly actors and actresses, flattered, -I think, at the fine welcome from the foremost -English Manager.</p> - -<p>Booth, Mary Anderson, Mansfield were the foremost -Americans, to the latter of whom I remember -Irving’s grim advice <em>à propos</em> of the fatigue of a -ventriloquist-voice in a gruesome part: “If it’s -unwholesome I should do it some other way.” -Jane Hading, Coquelin, Réjane and, of course, the -incomparable Sarah Bernhardt represented the -French; and I think Salvini was the only one from -the stage of Italy.</p> - -<p>Sarah and our dear Ellen Terry were always great -friends, and I call to mind a pretty little passage -when they were sitting opposite to one another and -Sarah, leaning forward, cried, in response to some -gracious word of Nell’s: “My dearling, there are two -peoples who shall never be old—you and me.”</p> - -<p>The words are still, happily, true at the hour when -I write.</p> - -<p>Relating to members of the German stage entertained -by Sir Henry, the most amusing incident -is that related by Joe himself in detail: of the -great actor’s grim humour in calling upon him -suddenly to speak in praise of the Sax-Meiningen -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[109]</a></span>Company, when Joe had innocently told him an hour -before that he had been unable to go to any of their -performances. Ladies were not present on that -occasion, but I was told that Joe’s speech was one -of the wittiest he ever delivered: there was nothing -that so sharpened his rapier as being apparently -put at a disadvantage.</p> - -<p>I find no mention by himself of a similar occurrence -on a different issue. This time Irving had invited -the Oxford and Cambridge crews to supper and, being -suddenly indisposed, was unable to propose their -health. Without even waiting to be asked Joe -rose to his feet and, anxious to divert the young -men’s attention from their host, surpassed himself -in exuberant fun, keeping them in a roar of laughter -for a quarter of an hour over his alleged uncertainty -as to which of the two ’Varsities had secured the -honours of the boat-race.</p> - -<p>I am told that Joe again acquitted himself well at -a dinner given to Arthur Balfour, when Anthony -Hope called upon him without notice from the -chair to return thanks for his proposed health. -I don’t know why or how the inspiration came, but -“Love” was Joe’s topic, and it is easy to imagine -what a gracious and merry time he made with the -various aspects of this subject.</p> - -<p>Of his meetings with Italian actors and actresses -Joe does not speak save in the instance of Madame -Ristori, for whose genius he had an unsurpassed -veneration.</p> - -<p>His <cite>Eminent Victorians</cite> contains the tale of an -afternoon at her house when she had invited him -and one or two of the dramatic critics to hear her -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[110]</a></span>speak <cite>Lady Macbeth’s</cite> sleep-walking scene in -English with a view to doing it before a British -audience.</p> - -<p>Her large and sonorous rendering of the line -“All the perfumes of Arâbia” delighted him, though -he tried to teach her our own insular pronunciation; -he was loudly in favour of the public performance -in English, which she finally gave, and I shall never -forget the awe-inspiring effect of the slow and gentle -snoring which she kept running through the whole -of the speech.</p> - -<p>Joe never admired even Salvini as much, though -he revelled in his great voice on the resounding -Roman tongue. He made us all laugh one day by -mimicking the mincing tones of a Cockney interpreter -translating the Italian tragedian’s sonorous -language when returning thanks for his London -welcome at a public dinner.</p> - -<p>Eleonora Duse, for whom our Nell had the most -ardent admiration, was rarely able, by reason of -her frail health, to grace festive occasions after her -work; but Joe had one or two interesting meetings -with her during the season that she rented one of -the theatres that he managed and we were all present -together at her pathetic performance of the <cite>Dame -aux Camelias</cite>; the next night we witnessed Sarah -Bernhardt in the same rôle, and Joe gives an able -comparison of the two performances in <cite>Coasting -Bohemia</cite>. On the latter occasion a note came round -to Nell from the stage saying: “To-night I play for -you.” And the promise was well kept.</p> - -<p>Speaking of Sarah Bernhardt, I recall a happening -of the days before Joe was entitled to the con<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[111]</a></span>sideration -due to a theatrical manager; he had -obtained a promise from the famous lady that she -would lunch with us in our quiet home and we -bade to meet her not by any means our “second-best” -friends—to quote a huffed English actor -regarding the guests of another evening. We waited -an hour with a patient party and then Joe hastened -with a cab to fetch the lady, only to be told that she -had forgotten the engagement and was in her bath -preparing to keep another. I need not perhaps -record that Joe’s wit was equal to the occasion in -pacifying our outraged guests.</p> - -<p>He and Sarah became firm friends later, and she -had Joe’s <cite>King Arthur</cite> translated into French with -a view to playing the part of <cite>Lancelot</cite>; but this -intention was never carried out.</p> - -<p>So many and various are the memories which -crowd upon me connected with the stage that it is -quite impossible for me to sift and record them -without undue risk of boring any readers I may -have. Suffice it to say that I think, of his many -occupations, the theatre, whether in writing for it or -in labouring at productions upon it, was the one -which most entranced and held Joe. Not only -did he love every detail of the work, but it brought -him in daily contact with all sorts and conditions -of men and women, taxed his powers as a leader of -them and gave him hourly opportunity for the -exercise of his humanizing and inspiring gift: -that highest kind of humour which needs no preparation, -but is evoked by every little passing -incident and has its real might in the love of -mankind.</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[112]</a></span></p> -<p>Perhaps I may here quote a portion of an American -interviewer’s account of a talk with Henry Irving, -sent to Joe by J. L. Toole during one of his old -friend’s long tours in the United States.</p> - -<p class="space-above2"></p> - -<p class="center"><span class="smcap">“The Wittiest Man in England.”</span></p> - -<p>“Whom do you consider the wittiest man in -England to-day?”</p> - -<p>“Well, in my opinion, the greatest of our wits is -a man of whom very little is known out here. He is -Comyns Carr, who wrote <cite>King Arthur</cite> for me.”</p> - -<p>“He is a theatrical manager in London, is he not?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, at the present he is, but he is a distinguished -man in literature as well. A polished essayist and -the most sparkling man I have ever met. As an -extemporaneous speaker he is delightful.”</p> - -<p>“Is he an Irishman?”</p> - -<p>“Perhaps he is, originally. Now you speak of -it. Do you know if Carr is an Irish name? Comyns -is at any rate and then most of our celebrated wits -have been Irishmen—our Sheridans and our Goldsmiths?”</p> - -<p>With this pleasing tribute to my husband I may -fitly close these theatrical reminiscences, though I -like to recall that Joe and Henry Irving had appreciations -of one another on a graver side to which some -pages in <cite>Eminent Victorians</cite> testify, and many are -the pleasant holiday hours we spent as his guests -both abroad and at home. He used to visit the old-world -village of Winchelsea by Rye, where we had -a cottage close to the ancient gateway of the town—afterwards -sold to Ellen Terry.</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[113]</a></span></p> -<p>But the most notable of our joint trips was that -to Nuremberg in search of material for the production -of <cite>Faust</cite>. This was the first occasion on which I -made a hit with my designing of Ellen Terry’s -dresses, which I afterwards did for nearly twenty -years. Being the only one of the party speaking -German, I made many bargains in the shops and -on the old market-place chiefly under Joe’s direction -but also by request of Henry or Nell. She bought -me a solid housewife’s copper jug in the market, and -Joe and I secured an old ivory casket which she -accepted from us and in which she kept the gew-gaws -in the “Jewel Scene.”</p> - -<p>She and I had a delightful evening in the old -Castle, I having persuaded a little girl-custodian -to let us in after hours so that we saw the place in -solemn loneliness with the sunset glow reddening -the red roofs of the city far below us.</p> - -<p>I won the admission by a highly coloured description -of the actress in Shakespeare, which the child -actually had seen in her own town; and Nell -promised her a signed photograph—punctually -posted on our return.</p> - -<p>This excursion was made while Joe and Henry -were away at Rothenburg, which my husband had -insisted that Irving must see on account of its -unique preservation of untouched city-wall and -battlements.</p> - -<p>It was a memorable tour, of which Joe tells some -interesting anecdotes in <cite>Coasting Bohemia</cite>.</p> - -<p>In speaking of the long drives which his host -loved and so greatly preferred to any kind of exercise, -Joe does not confess, however, how impossible he -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[114]</a></span>found it to keep himself awake. “We sit side by -side and sleep for hours!” he would tell me regretfully -when he came home. And I don’t suppose it -occurred to any of us then that it was the best rest -that tired theatrical managers could have.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[115]</a></span></p> -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IX" id="CHAPTER_IX"></a>CHAPTER IX</h2> - -<p class="center">ENTERTAINMENT</p> - - -<p class="noindent"><span class="smcap">This</span> is a topic upon which I touch timidly; not -only because Joe has talked of it himself in <cite>Some -Eminent Victorians</cite>, but also because I had, perhaps -less than most of his friends, the opportunity to -appreciate his gifts as a public, or even a social, -entertainer. In the long list of his after-dinner -speeches there were not more than half a dozen that -I was lucky enough to hear; and the little corner -in the Garrick Club where I know he was wont to -sit, quickly attracting thither the most appreciative -spirits and keeping them all the evening in a -ripple of laughter, was obviously a forbidden spot -to me.</p> - -<p>I think his celebrity in this matter needs no -mention of mine; but I should like to quote one -or two appreciations by distinguished literary men.</p> - -<p>The first is in a letter to myself, where Anthony -Hope draws a remarkable portrait of him: “He -was a great arguer,” he writes; “for while his temper -was always serene, his good humour did not blunt -the edge of his tongue. Quite recently I have reread -his last book with the keenest appreciation; -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[116]</a></span>it shows a broad, appreciative mind, and yet one -quite clear for values and criterions.</p> - -<p>“We have lost a man of rare gifts, a splendid -companion, a generous, kindly, gracious friend. -One is happy in having known him, happy too in -feeling that life was to him a fine thing—a thing he -loved, appreciated and used to the utmost. And -his name will live—I think that will be proved true—in -the memories of men and in their written -records of these times.</p> - -<p>“He was a figure and a presence amongst us.”</p> - -<p>Another appreciation is by W. J. Locke and -appeared in one of the leading papers:</p> - -<p>“In a brief notice like the present it is impossible -to dwell on the career of one of the most versatile -of our profession. Everything he touched he -adorned with his own peculiar sense of artistic -perfection. He was an eminent art critic, a theatrical -manager with high ideals, an editor of fine discernment, -and a distinguished playwright. He was one -of the finest after-dinner speakers of his generation, -and one of the few men who earned, maintained, -and deserved the reputation of a wit. A writer in -a recent newspaper article wrongly charged him -with being rather a monologuist in social talk than -a conversationalist. Far from this being the case, -no one more fully appreciated and practised the -delicate art of conversation. It may be said, -perhaps, that he was one of the youngest—he died -in his sixty-eighth year—and one of the last of the -great Victorians; for though his keen intellect -never lost touch with the events and movements of -recent years, yet his mental attitude was typically -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[117]</a></span>that of the second half of the nineteenth century -in its sturdy radicalism, its search after essentials, -its abhorrence of shams, and its lusty enjoyment -of what was real and good in life. The honest -workman with pen or brush always found at his -hands generous praise or encouragement; for the -charlatan, or ‘Jack Pudding,’ as he was fond of -terming him, he had no mercy.</p> - -<p>“Struggling against grievous physical disability, -he died practically in harness. His last book, a -treatise on painting, completed but a month or two -ago, is said by those privileged to read the proofs, -to reveal a vigour unimpaired by illness and an -enthusiasm undimmed by age. An arresting and -lovable figure has passed from us, one that linked us -with a generation of giants whose work was ending -when ours began. It is for us, with sadness, to say, -<em>Vale</em>: but we know that their honoured shades -will greet with many an <em>ave</em> the advent of ‘Joe’ -Carr on the banks of Acheron.”</p> - -<p>Two more extracts from letters, I have the permission -of the writers to quote. One is from A. E. W. -Mason:</p> - -<p>“The traits and qualities which come back to -me,” he writes, are “his boyish spirit, his sense of -fun, his swiftness in dropping out of fun and suddenly -touching upon great themes with the surest -possible touch, his knowledge of Shakespeare, his -passion for Dickens,” etc. And the other is in the -letter of affectionate sympathy written to me at the -time of his death by one of the oldest and most -valued of his friends, Sir Frederick Macmillan:</p> - -<p>“He was one of the most gifted and brilliant -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[118]</a></span>creatures I have ever known, and had such a kindly -nature that no one could come across him without -loving him.</p> - -<p>“I am proud to think that it was my privilege -to give him his last literary commission, and that -it has resulted in such a fine piece of work in the -region in which he had always been a master.”</p> - -<p>This allusion is to <cite>The Ideals of Painting</cite>, published -posthumously and still before the public.</p> - -<p>The following notice appeared in the <cite>Manchester -Guardian</cite>:</p> - -<p>“The remarkable thing about Mr. Joseph Comyns -Carr was that, while his reputation as a talker and -after-dinner speaker was made in the late Victorian -days, his gift was so genuine and so deep-set in -human nature that even in these days when the -whole poise of humour is changed, people still spoke -of him as our best man. I doubt if anyone could -stand the Victorian after-dinner speeches that -established reputations, or if Wilde himself would -keep the table quiet, but, until near the end, Carr -was the person organisers of dinners first thought of -when they wanted a toast list that would attract -guests. He had a Johnsonian decisiveness and real -brilliance of definition, with a freakish fancy and -playfulness that at times had much of Henley’s -saltness and ferocity.”</p> - -<p>I am bound to say I never heard the ferocity, -but then there were ladies present when I was. -His chaff was sometimes keen, it is true, and at our -friends’ houses I sometimes sat quaking for fear it -should give offence; but even I underrated the -power of his personality and the deep affection in -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[119]</a></span>which he was universally held, and I did not guess -till he was gone the wealth of friends who missed him.</p> - -<p>“There should be a monument erected to him for -having cheered more folk and made more laughter -than anyone did before him,” said one; and so it -was even in the less inspiring surroundings of his -own home.</p> - -<p>My mind goes back to the first frugal little dinners -of our early life, given when we had moved from -the rooms over the dispensary in Great Russell -Street to a proper house in Blandford Square, now -the Great Central Railway Station.</p> - -<p>He always did his own carving, and later taught -our daughter to be nearly as expert as he was at it; -no amount of pleading for the “table decoration” -from our handsome parlour-maid would deter him, -and she and I had cause to weep over splashed -brocade table-centres which were the fashion of the -hour.</p> - -<p>“What <i>is</i> this bird, my dear?” he asked one night -about some moderate-priced game which I thought -I had “discovered.”</p> - -<p>“Hazel-grouse, Joe,” faltered I, guessing that -some reproof was coming.</p> - -<p>“Nasal-grouse, you mean,” said he; promptly -adding for my consolation, “She’s a bit of a foreigner, -you see, so they take her in about our English birds. -Never mind, dear! This bird’s muscles are less -tough, at all events, than those of your country fowl -who walked from Devonshire last week.” And he -turned to his friends and added:<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[120]</a></span> “I can give you -nothing but the plainest of food, but I always take -a pride in its being the best of its kind.”</p> - -<p>That was his unfailing word: “The best is good -enough for me!” he would say; and he would -go himself to the butcher if the Sunday beef had not -been succulent, and say kindly: “You need not -trouble to send me anything but the best.”</p> - -<p>That was why his friends set so much store by -his gastronomic opinion—he was a great judge of -food, he had it both from his Irish mother and his -Cumberland father; he knew good meat when he -saw it, as that astute friend of his, the Hertfordshire -butcher already mentioned, would tell him; and no -one appreciated this more than the late Lord Burnham. -They both agreed that plain fare was always -the finest—<i>but</i> it must be of the best. A cold sirloin -must be served uncut, yet the host of those memorable -week-end parties at Hall Barn always knew -whether it would be “prime” <i>when</i> cut and would -beg Joe to keep a good portion of his appetite for the -tasting of it. Neither of them gave the first place -to made-dishes, though Joe could enjoy these -when perfect—as they were at that bountiful -table.</p> - -<p>The made-dishes of unknown cooks he always -mistrusted, especially when he had reason to fear -that the dinner would be of what he called “the -green-grocer’s and pastry-cook’s” class; and I -remember his wicked assertion that his “inside was -rattling like a pea in a canister” with all the tinned -food that he had eaten at one such entertainment.</p> - -<p>Alas, that he should have been condemned to -some of it, through war necessities, at the end of his -life!</p> - -<p>He would take pains sometimes in instructing me -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[121]</a></span>and our own humble cook in the concoction of some -new dish from a good receipt; but nothing was to -be spared in the cost of the necessary ingredients: -the soup, fish or <em>entree</em> must be made “of the best,” -not forgetting that the “pig and onion were the -North and South poles of cookery;” and, I think, -he might have added also the oyster.</p> - -<p>His Christmas turkey was almost always boiled, -after his mother’s Irish method, stuffed with oysters -and served with fried pork sausages and a lavish -oyster sauce or a <em>vol-au-vent</em> of the same; latterly -the oysters always came in a barrel from our kind -friend “Bertie” Sullivan.</p> - -<p>Yes, his friends esteemed him highly as a food -expert; there is a letter from Edward Burne-Jones -(quoted, I think, by Joe) in which he begs him to -order the dinner for some entertainment of his own. -“Oh, dear Carr, save my honour,” he writes, “I -know no more what dinner to order than the cat on -the hearth—less, for she would promptly order mice. -Oh, Carr, order a nice dinner so that I may not be -quoted as a warning of meanness ... yet not -ostentatious and presuming such as would foolishly -compete with the banquets of the affluent. O, -Carr, come to the rescue!”</p> - -<p>This dear friend cared comparatively little for the -pleasures of the table, but Joe was even privileged -to pass on one of his receipts to an acknowledged -<em>gourmet</em>: it was the simmering of a ham half the -time in stock and vegetables, and the remainder in -champagne—or, failing that, in any good white -wine; and as for his salads, he was famed for them.</p> - -<p>I can see the pretty little plate of chives and other -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[122]</a></span>chopped herbs, with yoke and white of hard-boiled -mashed egg, that our French <em>bourgeoise</em> cook would -send up ready for his meticulous choice in the mixing -of either a Russian or a lettuce salad: “a niggard -of vinegar, a spendthrift of oil, and a maniac at -mixing,” was the old adage he went by.</p> - -<p>Our cooks were always as proud as I was to try -and follow out his ideas, and we were invariably -praised for success: I remember an occasion when -the confused damsel—partly because she happened -to be very pretty—was summoned to the dining-room -to receive her meed; and when it was blame, -I caught the brunt of it and mitigated the dose -downstairs.</p> - -<p>But as it was always in the form of fun I never -minded; I was always proud to be the butt of it. -Sometimes I scored, as when the dessert came at -that first party, and he said, offering a dish of sweets -to his neighbour:</p> - -<p>“Try a preserved fruit; they’ve stood the move -from Bloomsbury wonderfully well,” and I was able -to produce the freshly opened box, just arrived -from a choice foreign firm, and prove my hospitality -to be less stinted.</p> - -<p>I had my partisans in those days. Pellegrini, the -<cite>Vanity Fair</cite> caricaturist, was one of them. I hailed -from his own country, and I can hear him say:</p> - -<p>“Never minder Joe! You and I we ’ave de sun -in de eyes.” And then we would discuss the proper -condiment for <em>maccaroni</em>, and next time he came he -would bring it ready cooked in a fireproof dish, -tenderly carried on his lap in the hansom, which -he insisted upon placing on the proper spot of the -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[123]</a></span>kitchen stove to warm: on such nights, he ate little -of our British fare.</p> - -<p>My husband and he were fast friends nevertheless. -If Joe had not “de sun in de eyes” he had it in the -heart, and Pellegrini adored him, even going so far -once as to break his oath never to sleep out of his -own lodgings, that he might visit us at a cottage on -the Thames, where—although he allowed that the -moon “she is a beauty”—he used cold cream and -kid gloves to counteract the ill-effects of hard water, -and sat up all night rather than retire to a strange -bed.</p> - -<p>Several tales of this lovable and laughable character -are told in <cite>Eminent Victorians</cite>, most of them referring -to those happy little homely dinner parties where -Joe shone so pleasantly, and which his friends not -only graced with their presence, but even sometimes -contributed to by little kindly presentations of -delicacies.</p> - -<p>Perhaps few have received as much kindness as -Joe did, and though always grateful, he was never -overwhelmed. Of the pride which resents gifts he -had none. “I wouldn’t take a jot from any but a -friend,” he would say. “But if a friend, who has -more than I, likes to share it with me, why should I -refuse? I would do the same for him. I have no -money, but I give him what I possess.”</p> - -<p>And none who knew him—rich or poor—in any -of his many spheres, but would testify to this: he -gave the young of his wise and tactful advice in their -careers, sparing no time or trouble to advance those -who were steadfast of purpose; he gave to his -contemporaries of his untiring sympathy—known -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[124]</a></span>only to those who received it; he gave of his cheerful -optimism to all: no form of envy ever crossed his -mind.</p> - -<p>“I can enjoy fine things just as well when they -belong to others as to me,” he would say. Of none -are the words truer: “Having nothing yet possessing -all things.”</p> - -<p>But this graver digression has led me far from that -merry Christmas party, when the parlour-maid, whose -beauty was an attraction of our first home, and -whose charm and devotion for eleven years are one -of its sweetest memories, was forced to retire to the -sideboard to compose her face; which sort of thing -did not only occur at our own table, but at far -smarter houses where decorous butlers would bow -their heads lower to conceal their smiles, the -mistress of one of them even declaring that her -maggiordomo had not considered the company that -evening worthy of Joe, and had suggested a different -choice for a future party.</p> - -<p>There was one over-cultured house to which we -used to be bidden where the learned hostess was -mated to a meek alien, who never presumed to -understand her conversation. One evening, before -the fish was removed, she leant forward and called -down the table to Joe: “Mr. Comyns Carr, would -you kindly inform us ‘what is style?’”</p> - -<p>Joe scarcely paused before he replied with his -sunniest smile, “Not before the sweets, Madam.” -And he turned pleasantly to the amazed host and -began complimenting him on the excellence of his -claret.</p> - -<p>I think, although I am afraid I have heard him -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[125]</a></span>call that host a “Prince of Duldoggery,” he preferred -him that night to the lady of culture, though she -was too serious to be included in his pet aversions, -the “Lady Sarah Volatile’s” or “jumping-cats” -of Society.</p> - -<p>But even among such, how prompt he was to -detect the tiniest spark of genuine knowledge or -enthusiasm, the most foolishly concealed quality of -true womanliness and devotion.</p> - -<p>I remember a girl-friend of his daughter’s, boasting -to him in defiance of his counsel, that she would -drive to Ascot alone in an admirer’s car.</p> - -<p>“No you won’t,” said Joe quietly.</p> - -<p>And loudly as she persisted that night—she did <i>not</i>.</p> - -<p>I could multiply these instances by the score, for -even in middle age he was the darling of all girls, -though he always told them home-truths, and many -was the match he made or wisely marred in the -confidential corner of a drawing-room.</p> - -<p>Whether in the quiet or the open, of course, he -always talked the better for his cigar, and to some -the sight of the matches he wasted while seeking the -positively apt word was a joy in itself—or an annoyance, -as the case might be.</p> - -<p>I know one dear friend who could not listen for -irritation, and would burst out at last: “Light -your pipe, first, old man, do!”</p> - -<p>Yet there were times when he had no pipe to -light—in smart drawing-rooms or theatre stalls, -for instance. He was very naughty in the latter, -and kept me in a fever lest, being so well known, -some one should overhear him who could make -mischief.</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[126]</a></span></p> -<p>Once he was reproved by the management for -making his party laugh immoderately in the stage-box -at a sorely dull farcical comedy.</p> - -<p>“Pray present my compliments to the manager,” -said Joe suavely to the attendant who had brought -the message, “and assure him that we were not -laughing at anything on the stage.”</p> - -<p>The speech he was proud to make every 8th of -January in honour of his dear old friend, Sir Lawrence -Alma-Tadema’s birthday, and the good wishes which -for many years he voiced for many friends at Sir -George and Lady Lewis’ New-Year parties, will -not perhaps be altogether forgotten, nor could I -recall the topical interests of the moment after -so long.</p> - -<p>But those who knew him best knew that the -opportunities for witty rejoinder and humorous -invention were by no means limited to set occasions; -they were instantly seized on provocation which -no one else would have perceived, and as often in -the simplicity of domestic life as in the society of -clever people who might have been supposed to -inspire him.</p> - -<p>Who but Joe, when a picnic was spread beneath -the trees in the woods at Walton, and a combative -young curate, claiming to have secured the spot, -swooped down upon us with his Sunday-school -flock, would have whispered merrily: “Never -mind! We’ll cut him according to his cloth!”</p> - -<p>Or who, on being asked by a lady which was my -“At Home” day, would have replied: “Let me -see! Sunday is the Lord’s Day, and Monday is -my wife’s day;” or, in the days of my slenderness -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[127]</a></span>and his more opulent figure, would have declared -that, taking the average, we were the thinnest -couple in London?</p> - -<p>These trivial jokes will seem poor to the friends -who have heard his later and more brilliant <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">bon-mots</i> -and have listened to his longer orations; but, as -I have said, I know little of those public speeches. -The most notable of these at which I remember -being present was at a dinner of the Royal Literary -Fund, when he spoke long and with deep illumination -on his beloved Charles Dickens; he always spoke -at the various commemorative entertainments given -in the great novelist’s honour, but never so brilliantly -and so profoundly as that time.</p> - -<p>When the occasion was more formal—as when he -took the chair at the Actors’ Benevolent or the -Dramatic and Musical Fund—he would sometimes -recite to me beforehand part of the speech which he -intended to deliver, but I believe he rarely stuck to -his plan, and I have heard him say that he preferred -merely to prepare the “joints” of his subject—<i>i.e.</i> -each new departure—and to leave all the filling-in -to the inspiration of the moment as influenced -by the foregoing speaker or any unforeseen incident.</p> - -<p>I recollect that the peroration of a speech for the -Dramatic and Musical Fund ended: “I plead not -so much for the deserving as for the undeserving,” -and I believe that he added: “of whom I am one.”</p> - -<p>I know that he told me next day—half in glee, -but much also in pride—that the Toastmaster had -told him that he had never stood behind a chair -and seen so much money raked in.</p> - -<p>It was certainly to his mastery of the impromptu -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[128]</a></span>that he owed the triumph of his oration before the -U.S. Ambassador, Mr. Bayard, at a moment when -war seemed suddenly possible with our great -English-speaking neighbour; and I recollect that -Ellen Terry, who was then in New York, told me -later that when Joe’s speech appeared in the papers -<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">en résumé</i> (it never could be wholly reported owing -to his making no notes) there was a marked change -in the tide of feeling.</p> - -<p>He has related a part of this incident in his -<cite>Eminent Victorians</cite>, but he has not mentioned this -last particular, neither has he told how his triumph -was won by his large appreciation of the love lavished -upon the giants of our English literature by our -“friends across the seas.”</p> -</div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[129]</a></span></p> -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_X" id="CHAPTER_X"></a>CHAPTER X</h2> - -<p class="center">HOLIDAYS</p> - - -<p class="noindent"><span class="smcap">A happy</span> chapter this: for though Joe always had -so many irons in the fire that lengthy holidays were -not only very few with him but actually avoided and -disliked, he made merry so well by the wayside -that many a memory falls into a category scarcely -enshrined in a longer period than a summer afternoon, -or at most, a week-end trip; he made holiday for -other folk all the time, and in so doing made it for -himself.</p> - -<p>Of week-end visits none were more joyous than -those spent under the hospitable roof of our friends -Sir George and Lady Lewis at Walton-on-Thames, -where Sir Edward Burne-Jones was a constant -visitor. Neither of those friends were knighted or -baroneted then, so that perhaps we might all have -been said to be—using Joe’s own words—“of the -lower middle class, to which I am proud to belong.”</p> - -<p>Oscar Wilde was often of the Walton party—fresh -from Oxford then, and considerably esteemed -as a wit himself, though not, as Joe shows in his -Reminiscences, always above the suspicion of -borrowing.</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[130]</a></span></p> -<p>In this respect he somewhat resembled Whistler; -but the latter was more honest in his plagiarism.</p> - -<p>One day Whistler accused Joe of making a joke -at the expense of his friend—a false accusation in -reality, though sometimes lightly true—to which -Joe quickly answered: “Well, I can make a friend -most days, but I can only make a good joke now -and then:” assuredly only half a truth, too.</p> - -<p>“Ha! ha!” laughed Whistler with his shrill -cackle, “I wish I had said that myself!”</p> - -<p>“Never mind, Jimmy, you will,” retorted Joe.</p> - -<p>And the cackle broke forth again whole-heartedly, -whereas Wilde might possibly have been offended.</p> - -<p>But very few folk were ever offended at my -husband’s fun.</p> - -<p>One of the members said to him one day at the -Garrick Club, in a whimsical and deprecating manner: -“These fellows tell me that I have the reputation of -a wit, my dear Carr.” To which Joe replied: “Don’t -worry! you’ll live that down in an afternoon.” -And I am told that the friend was wont to repeat -this against himself. Again, the mother of a pretty -young girl, whom he was openly flattering, asked -him, laughing, whether his intentions were serious, -to which he replied: “Serious, but not honourable, -madam.” But if this lady was not offended -perhaps it was because he had known her -since the time when she was fourteen years old -herself.</p> - -<p>An evening in Lady Lewis’ pretty drawing-room -at the Walton cottage comes vividly back to me. -We were playing some geographical game with the -children, in the course of which Oscar Wilde—with -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[131]</a></span>a view to grown-up applause—found occasion to -ask: “Where is the capital of the Rothschilds?”</p> - -<p>The children looked blank.</p> - -<p>“Why, in Behring Straits,” said Joe promptly, -and I remember old Sir George Lewis’ smile, for it -was at the time of the famous city crisis when, but -for that capital, the great firm of Baring might have -stopped payment.</p> - -<p>Even in that most precarious form of fun, the -practical joke, Joe was never known to hurt even -the most thin-skinned.</p> - -<p>One day he and Mr. Hallé, his co-director at the -New Gallery—made an excursion to Sir Edward -Burne-Jones’ home—The Grange, Kensington—and -sent up a message to the artist asking if he would -receive two gentlemen who had called to ask whether -he would take shares in the <cite>Great Wheel</cite>. The maid -must have been sore put to it to keep her countenance, -for the rage with which the painter viewed -the monstrosity that climbed the sky above his -garden wall was well known in his household.</p> - -<p>He rushed downstairs, palette in hand, only to -find “little Carr,” as he affectionately called him, -waiting demurely in the hall on quite other business.</p> - -<p>At the sweet Rottingdean home a similar joke -was played: Burne-Jones’ loathing of the “interviewer” -was a very open secret; so one summer -evening Joe crept up to the front door and sent in -an audacious name, purporting to be that of an -American who hoped for a few words with the distinguished -artist.</p> - -<p>From the shade of the porch he peeped into the -dining-room window, and had the satisfaction of -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[132]</a></span>seeing his friend creep under the dinner-table, while -the maid returned with the message that Sir Edward -Burne-Jones was not at home. I think Joe’s familiar -back was quickly recognised as he walked, in mock -dignity, down the garden path, and he was not -sent empty away.</p> - -<p>Of course, the practical jokes of which he shared -the invention with his good friend J. L. Toole—a -master of the craft—were the most cunningly devised. -He has related the choicest in <cite>Eminent Victorians</cite>, -but I could tell of many a family laugh over them, -and “One more Tooler, father, before we go to bed,” -was a common request.</p> - -<p>One of the favourite stories was told of him when -travelling down with Joe to the beautiful old moated -house at Ightham, which our American friends, -General and Mrs. Palmer, had made their English -home. Stopping at a wayside station above which -a lordly mansion stood among the trees, Toole -beckoned a porter and, in the gibberish that he used -so glibly at these moments, pretended to utter the -name of its owner.</p> - -<p>“Oh, you mean Mr. So-and-So,” said the porter.</p> - -<p>“Of course—I said so!” retorted the shameless -comedian. “Well, here’s half a crown. When the -train’s off, run up to the house and say ‘we -shall be seven to dinner and the game will -follow.’”</p> - -<p>The whistle went as the porter, holding on to the -door, enquired: “Who shall I say, Sir?”</p> - -<p>But the train moved on and Toole returned to the -reading of his paper, leaving a gaping man on the -platform.</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[133]</a></span></p> -<p>This same Ightham Mote was the scene of many -of our happiest hours. Its charming hostess was a -dear friend whose rare gifts of sympathy and true -hospitality enabled her not only to attract to her -house the brightest of spirits, but also to draw from -them their best. Children, too, to whom she was a -fairy godmother, were welcome as friends in their -own right. Our daughter and younger son were -specially dear to her in their different ways, and -many was the grave, childish saying of the latter -that she would repeat to the proud father, though -perhaps the one he oftenest told himself was said -to Alma Tadema when the five-year-old boy remarked -that he preferred a gas to a coal fire, because the first -went out when <i>you</i> liked, and the latter when <i>it</i> liked.</p> - -<p>Joe was appreciated of all children and always -won their favour easily; but I remember one little -lady administering a severe rebuff to him when, -after many lures, he said at last: “Well, I don’t -care whether you come or not!” to which she -replied: “Oh, yes, you do!”</p> - -<p>But that was an exception; they were usually his -slaves, and loved his stories as much as their elders -did. He treated them as his equals only requiring -that they should do the same; and when his first -grandson was born and some one alluded to him as -a proud grandfather, he said: “I like the child, -but there’s to be no grandfather about it. I’m -to be Joe to him as to others.” And so he was to -the children of that dear lady in beautiful Ightham -Mote.</p> - -<p>Christmas was a real Yuletide in the fine old -wainscoted hall and library, where Joe was always -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[134]</a></span>ready for the revel, as he was for the outdoor sports -with his own children and those of the house. There -were games in the beautiful old quadrangle and -fishing feats from the bridges that lead across the -moat to the bowling-green beyond; but the latter -must have been worse than a bad joke to an expert -angler such as my husband—consisting as they did -in trying to lure the trout by a bait tied on to a -hairpin; luckily the fish swam away merrily and -perhaps enjoyed the fun too.</p> - -<p>Frederick Jameson, that earliest friend of the days -of our courtship, led the carol and song, and played -for children and grown-ups to dance; Henry James -sat in the ingle nook and told us ghost-stories of his -making wholly in keeping with the place; George -Meredith watched and made shrewd comments on -the characteristics and possible careers of our various -children, and discoursed on every topic—always -expecting the homage due to him and reserving -the conversation, even from Joe, by a long-drawn -“Ah—” until he was ready with his next -paradox.</p> - -<p>Yet there was a moment when Joe scored even off -Meredith. I think he tells the tale in <cite>Coasting -Bohemia</cite>, but not of himself. Meredith had been -criticizing George Eliot, and in a brief pause, Joe -put in: “Yes! Panoplied in all the philosophies -she swoops upon the commonplace.” And Meredith, -laughing, replied, “I wish I had said that -myself!”</p> - -<p>One day we were busy amusing the children in -the big Hall with a game of Definitions; one wrote -down a word for Subject, the next man defined, and -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[135]</a></span>the third—the paper being turned over the Subject—“recovered” -it.</p> - -<p>Thus: Subject, <em>Soap</em>; Definition, as made by -Joe: <cite>The Horror of the East-end multitude</cite>. Recovery, -<cite>Jack the Ripper</cite>: the nickname of the celebrated -East-end murderer who was then the talk of the -whole town.</p> - -<p>Joe was leaving that day for London, and the -man came to announce that the trap was at the -door.</p> - -<p>He rose to go, but the children had begun another -definition for his “last.” <em>Woman</em> was given as -the word. <em>The Better Half</em>, wrote the next -person.</p> - -<p>“Only just time to make the train, Sir,” said the -footman.</p> - -<p>The children wailed, and we all followed him out -of the hall and saw him off; but half an hour later a -telegram was handed to our hostess.</p> - -<p>“Recovery: <em>An Angel once removed</em>”; and -nobody needed to hear the signature.</p> - -<p>The children were always the frame to the picture -in that lovable household, and our daughter—the -apple of her father’s eye, made in his mould, gifted -with his humour and large with his urbane and -generous heart—had a very special place there. I -remember his pride when George Meredith watching -her one day at his feet, said: “Look at the bumps -on that child’s head. Always let her pursue whatever -walk in life she chooses.”</p> - -<p>His advice was followed; and she <i>knew</i> what she -would choose. I was having her trained for a -violinist (for her gifts were several) and her master -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[136]</a></span>was proud of her at twelve years old. But at -fourteen she came to us one day and said: “Father, -I hope you won’t mind: I’ve sold my violin. I -know now that I want to draw—and no one can -serve two masters so I’ve put away the temptation.”</p> - -<p>Joe was generally the centre around whom the children -mustered in those good days, and many an extra -ten minutes did he beg off their bedtime in the -summer twilight or by the big Christmas logs. He -used to tell them that he hated going to bed himself, -and nothing was more true.</p> - -<p>“If I didn’t know that your mother always gives -me cotton sheets,” he would say on a winter’s night, -“I would never go. I’ve no fancy for a country -trip every time I turn round in bed.”</p> - -<p>But indeed he needed no such excuse for sitting -up late when he had a congenial audience. He had -a wonderful capacity for sound sleep when the time -came—a capacity equalled, as he expressed it, for -“enjoying” laziness; because, of exercise—save -in the pursuit of bird or fish—he would have none; -but most of his life he sat up late and his most -welcome form of rest was always in talk.</p> - -<p>In this relaxation he was even more than matched -in argumentativeness by the husband of another -most hospitable hostess, to whom he addresses the -following letter after a long visit when she had -housed us in a homeless interval. I may add that -our host was an etymologist, and would confront -Joe with a dictionary in support of his own view of -a disputed word; also that he was an eminent -amateur musician and a vehement Wagnerian.</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[137]</a></span></p> -<div class="blockquot"> -<p><span class="smcap">“My Dear ——,</span></p> - -<p>It seems to me that you and your husband -ought to be told that you are excellent hosts—and -yet I don’t want the thing to get about. At first -I thought that I would declare loudly to all whom -I met how pleasant a thing it was to stay in your -house; and then I thought I wouldn’t.</p> - -<p>When one has discovered a really charming place -where one can live with exclusive regard to one’s -own selfish indulgence, it is perhaps hardly wise to -noise it abroad. Some of the snuggest corners in -Europe have been ruined by such imprudent chatter; -and I feel that I should never forgive myself if I -were to be the means of making it generally known -that your house is so delightful. But I think after -all that I can trust you!</p> - -<p>You are not the sort of person to gossip about -such a thing; and when I tell you that what I am -going to say is confidential, I simply mean that I -would not, for the present at any rate, mention the -subject to your daughter; young people are fanciful, -and she might misinterpret my meaning—besides -why shouldn’t she find it out for herself? No, let -this be for you and your husband’s ear alone! -And even for you it must be in some sense a barren -secret; you cannot stay with yourselves! If you -could I should recommend nothing so strongly as a -few weeks’ visit to your charming home. It would -do your husband all the good in the world—get him -out of himself, so to speak—while it would make you -a different woman. Not that I think that in any -way desirable; I simply avail myself of a phrase -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[138]</a></span>that is always applied to me when a change is -recommended.</p> - -<p>Yes! If you could only stay at——!</p> - -<p>The family is small, but extremely intelligent, -with minds well stored with the most varied kinds -of knowledge.</p> - -<p>Your host is a type!</p> - -<p>Waking—with him—appears to be the momentary -interruption of an animated conversation which has -engaged the long hours others reserve for sleep.</p> - -<p>With them a new day seems to open a new volume -with cover, title page and preface. Not so with him.</p> - -<p>The intervening night is simply a semi-colon in an -uncompleted sentence—a Wagnerian clause in a -melody that repudiates a close. This might seem -to argue a too rigid adherence to a single theme -with menace of monotony. Yet nothing could be -less true.</p> - -<p>At the bidding of a single word the whole scene -changes with the shifting magic of a dream, and you -are surprised to find yourself suddenly plunged into -quite another conversational sea.</p> - -<p>I have seen visitors at your house who would turn -a deaf ear to these alert exercises of the dawn—moody -men who became at once absorbed in the -mere pleasures of the table; taking refuge in bacon -from arguments to which they could find no auroral -reply. They are cowards and I will have none of -them! Rather would I emulate the tact of your -hostess who finds, and welcomes, in these wide-ranging -thoughts of morn, a bulwark that keeps the -host from the kitchen boiler. For he is very apt to -descend suddenly from his philosophic heights and -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[139]</a></span>pounce with unerring precision on some petty -domestic error.</p> - -<p>It is here you may observe the sweet influence of -the daughter of the house, whose finesse would almost -deserve the name of cunning if its purpose were not -so benign.</p> - -<p>In her skilful hands I have seen disaster averted -by a dictionary and an impending storm transferred -from a tea-cup to a disputed line of Tennyson.</p> - -<p>I am painting for you only the lighter moods of -life at this charming house; of what else is delightful -you must some day go and see for yourself. But I -forget; of course you can’t and there is my difficulty -staring me in the face. I wonder if it is mine alone?</p> - -<p>I find it so easy to trace a smile to its source: -so difficult to define the lasting charm that lies -behind it!</p> - -<p>And even when the definition is at hand my -tongue halts at eulogy. Odd! I love to be praised -and remembrance offers no instance when I have -been in fear lest appreciation should sink to flattery. -But when I try to praise others—even as they -deserve—I am overtaken by a feeling of delicacy -on their behalf which I have never felt for myself. -And so I end dumb on the very threshold of my -theme.</p> - -<p>I should like to say a great number of things of -you and your husband, but somehow it doesn’t -seem possible. Some day, when I meet a stranger -in the train at one of those odd moments when by -some irresistible impulse, I am driven to confide -to a chance acquaintance secrets that through a -long life I have hidden from my dearest friends—I -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[140]</a></span>shall say something about you and him that you -might like to hear. But I can’t command the hour -and meanwhile, you see, I am no further than when -I began. All I can say is that, if ever you ask me -to your house again, let nothing be changed from -what it was, for it could not be changed for the -better.</p> - -<p class="center">Yours ever truly,</p> -<p class="name-r"><span class="smcap">J. W. Comyns Carr.”</span></p> -</div> - -<p>After this epistle it may not be thought partial -on my part to state that, from the days of our -youthful visits to Balcarres to the end of his life, -my husband was a welcome guest at country houses; -the following, in reply to a request from Mrs. F. D. -Millet of Broadway, that he should relieve the strain -of a spell of female society upon her husband, seems -to show this.</p> - -<p class="space-above2"></p> - -<div class="blockquot"> -<p><span class="smcap">“My Dear Mrs. Millet,</span></p> - -<p>I ought not, but I will! And lest I should -falter in my bad resolution, I have already wired -to you saying I should be down on Saturday.</p> - -<p>It is a strange thing about duty. I believe there -is no one who sees what is facetiously called “the -path of duty” more clearly than I do; but we -are differently gifted, and I fancy I never was -intended to walk in it. Like the criminal who -acquires in the end an extensive knowledge of law -by industriously incurring its penalties, I believe -that if I could recall all the moral maxims I have -neglected in practice, I might serve as a veritable -storehouse of wisdom and good conduct. And so -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[141]</a></span>it happens that, though I see clearly I ought to -stay in town and work, I am nevertheless determined -to accept your kind invitation and come to you on -Saturday next. Tell Frank to defer suicide till -after that date.</p> - -<p>I can indeed well understand his melancholy. -No man can dwell long in the exclusive society of -women without being crushed by the sense of his -own unworthiness. We are not fit for it. I often -wish there were some bad women in the world, with -whom we might associate in our baser moments, -and sometimes, in a dreary mood, I am apt to -wonder what women can have been like before the -Fall, they are so perfect now.</p> - -<p>Perhaps in another world we shall be better and -you will be worse; let us hope for the best.</p> - -<p>And in the meantime let not Frank despair. -When I see him on Saturday I will do my best to -detach his nose from the grindstone and tune his -unaccustomed lips to words that were once familiar -to us both.</p> - -<p class="center">Yours ever truly,</p> -<p class="name-r"><span class="smcap">J. W. Comyns Carr.”</span></p> -</div> - -<p>In those earlier days he sometimes pretended that -his wardrobe was unfitted for such places, but -I think even this was but a shallow piece of mock -modesty on his part, for he was well aware that he -could shine if he liked in any environment.</p> - -<p>A letter to my sister, which I have just found, -may illustrate this:</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[142]</a></span></p> -<div class="blockquot"> -<p class="right"><span class="smcap">19, Blandford Square,</span></p> -<p class="name-r">N.W.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">“My Dear Alma,</span></p> - -<p>Many thanks for the brushes. When my -hair is gone—“which will be short,” as Pellegrini -says—I can use them for sweeping a crossing. In -the meantime they make a most excellent parting. -Seriously they are beautiful.</p> - -<p>I have never before had brushes in a case—it -seems to lift one’s social status. Hitherto my -brushes have lain in my portmanteau cheek by jowl -with my boots, or have mingled their tears with -my sponge.</p> - -<p>Now all is changed; I feel I could stay at a -country house and meet the footman on equal terms. -Of course, I don’t mean that seriously—no man -could hope to be the equal of a footman. I am a -democrat but no revolutionist, and I have always -felt that so long as liveried servants keep their -supremacy the throne is safe. Compared with this -the land question is a trifle. “Dieu et mon drawers” -is the loyal but terrified sentiment with which I -always awake on a visit, and see the footman turning -my tattered underclothing inside out. But now my -brushes will save me.</p> - -<p class="center">Yours,</p> -<p class="name-r"><span class="smcap">Joe.”</span></p> -</div> - -<p>In the later years of his life, as his friends multiplied -far and wide and his social gifts became famous, -he was pressed into circles unknown to me, and our -country-house visits together became fewer; so -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[143]</a></span>that personally I remember his talk oftener at some -sea-side place where we had run down for a week-end, -or on the verandah of some foreign hotel where he -would be immediately surrounded by a delighted -audience—in later years not by any means always -composed of his own countrymen. Though his -associations with French artists and men of letters -over pictures for the New Gallery—and, more still, -over his English editorship of <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">L’Art</i>—had taught -him enough of their tongue for his business, he was -not a finished French scholar; but he was never -afraid to make a shot at expressing his thought, -and consequently he improved enormously at the -end of his life. I remember the astonished comment -of two Armenian lads and a charming Finnish lady -whom we met at a Swiss mountain resort: “<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Mais -c’est épatant! De faire des calembours comme cela -dans une langue étrangère.</i>”</p> - -<p>He only needed an audience; and he had it every -hour of the day in those two Armenian boys, who -would stand for hours watching him throw his line -over the lake and coax the fish out—just, they used -to say, as he would coax the children to him in the -roads or the visitors in the lounge—“sans se donner -de la peine.”</p> - -<p>I am not sure of the justice of that last remark. -Perhaps he never purposely gave himself trouble, -but he amused others because his love of his own kind -was such that he must always needs be in touch with -them, be they peasant or peer, and at the end of -his life he preferred to lounge in the road and chat -with the convalescent soldiers in a quiet village than -to sit comfortably in the seclusion of a lovely garden.</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[144]</a></span></p> -<p>It was because he was always alive that he was -not dull; but I must admit he needed plenty of -human interest to keep him so.</p> - -<p>And I think, for this reason, that the life of a -good hotel, preferably a foreign one, afforded him -the best opportunities for fun; he knew just how -much or how little the applause of such kaleidoscopic -society was worth; but it tickled his appetite -for the moment and was the required sauce to his -holiday rest.</p> - -<p>The following letters to his daughter variously -illustrate this aspect of him:</p> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p class="name-rr"><span class="smcap">Eden Hotel,</span></p> -<p class="name-r"><span class="smcap">Monte Carlo.</span></p> - -<p><span class="smcap">“My dear Doll,</span></p> - -<p>Our little hotel at Monte Carlo is a cosy -place, containing among its visitors some odd and -rather lonely females, both English and American. -I overheard a conversation the other night between -four of them—two English and two Americans—at -which your mother would like to have assisted. -They evidently did not know that we were English, -and let themselves go on the subject of the male sex. -The leader of the band, an American lady, whose -hips described a circle about as big as the Round -Pond in Kensington Gardens, was especially vehement -in denouncing us, though I can hardly conceive -she had ever received any other cause of resentment -than neglect. To an English lady, who could not -compete with her in size but fairly distanced her -in ugliness, she held forth at great length on the -superior advantages which women enjoyed in -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[145]</a></span> -America. “Over there,” she said, “we’ve just -got men like <i>that</i>,” and she placed an enormous -thumb on a morsel of unresisting bread to indicate -where men were. “If they do anything we don’t -like, why, Madam, they hear from us pretty quick. -And that’s where they ought to be,” she added, -“for they are just nothing but savages!” At -which the gruesome English woman said that that -was what she had always held to; but that, in -England, she never could find any woman with the -courage to say so. Then the fat American gave her -country away.</p> - -<p>“But see now,” she said, “we’ve still got to fight -the law even in our country. I said to an American -man, ‘do you love your wife?’ ‘Why, of course,’ -he said. ‘Do you love your mother?’ I said. -‘Just don’t I,’ he replied. ‘Do you love your -sister?’ ‘Why sure,’ he said. ‘Well then,’ I -said to him, ‘Do you know the American constitution -declares that every living citizen should have -a vote except children, criminals <em>and women</em>.’ -And then she turned to the English woman and -added: “Do you know, Madam, the thought of -that American law just makes me blush all over -when I go to bed at night.”</p> - -<p>I confess as I looked at her, I couldn’t think of -the unrighteous law, for my mind was filled with the -idea of what a wild and billowy tract of country -that blush would have to traverse. Fancy the -Round Pond turned into the Red Sea with a single -blush.</p> - -<p class="center">Yours,</p> -<p class="name-r"><span class="smcap">J. Comyns Carr.”</span></p> -</div> - -<p class="space-above2"></p> - -<div class="blockquot"> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[146]</a></span> -<p class="name-r"><span class="smcap">Bellagio,</span></p> -<p class="date-r"><i>May, 1903</i>.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">“My dearest Doll,</span></p> - -<p>We are in the midst of a thunderstorm -that is tearing and raging round the mountains; -for the moment it is like Mr. Chamberlain in the -earlier part of his campaign—very loud and very -near, but I think it is taking itself off to the Gotthard.</p> - -<p>I don’t think I have told you of the two little bits -of American character I encountered at my hotel. -One evening three ladies of that country were set -beside me at table d’hote. They were not pre-possessing -or young, but I noticed with just a -momentary flush of flattery that there was an -obvious struggle going on as to which of them -should occupy the chair next to me; the struggle -ended, and then the next but one turned to the -victor and said, ‘Couldn’t you see, my dear, that -I just wanted to protect you in case you might be -addressed in a manner that might offend you.’ -Poor dears! they didn’t know that God had protected -them against any attack of mine.</p> - -<p>Later, two rather nice girls and their mother -took the same places; and one evening after dinner, -when the terrace was full of people, the mother -looked up to where one of the girls was standing -at the window of the room above, and called out: -‘Don’t let him kiss you, dear.’ We all turned to -look up, and there stood the girl with a parrot on -her shoulder. There was naturally an audible -smile among the spectators, and the girl herself was -in fits of laughter.</p> - -<p class="center">Best love from your father,</p> -<p class="name-r"><span class="smcap">J. Comyns Carr.”</span></p> -</div> - -<p class="space-above2"></p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[147]</a></span></p> -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p class="name-r"><span class="smcap">Bordighera,</span></p> -<p class="date-r"><i>April 1909</i>.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">“My dear Dolly,</span></p> - -<p>We are very comfortable in our little hotel -here, with two nice Italian brothers to cater for us. -The Italian village children please me mightily, -and I hobble about in their language with just -enough understanding to enable me to amuse myself.</p> - -<p>We are an odd society: nearly all women, -American and English. They are mostly nice -people in their way, but not exciting, and of the -place generally it may be said that whatever other -attractions it may possess it does not seem to be -a health resort for beauty. The air apparently is -not recommended for pretty people. In the streets -and on the hills the German is more or less in -evidence, and sometimes as I pass them by I am -inclined to side with Balfour and to demand that -four more Dreadnoughts should be laid down at once. -Their admiration of nature somehow always makes -me feel shy, and I can almost see the landscape -making an ugly face after their loudly proclaimed -<em>Wunderschön</em>. However, they really don’t trouble -us much—the neighbourhood is so genuinely -beautiful.</p> - -<p class="center">Yours,</p> -<p class="name-r"><span class="smcap">J. Comyns Carr.”</span></p> -</div> - -<p>He often touched on the beauties of nature as -related to art when writing to his artist daughter, -and I find this keen little bit of criticism in a letter -to her from Bellagio.</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[148]</a></span></p> -<p>“This place is beautiful, and makes one wonder -little that the Italians thought of landscape as a -thing of design before the Northerners found a new -beauty in the empire of cloud and sky. Certainly -these mountains have great enchantment of form, -and the Southern light defines every detail.”</p> - -<p>And this longer letter of varying interest also -rings the same note.</p> - -<p class="space-above2"></p> - -<div class="blockquot"> -<p class="center"><span class="smcap">From Wengen,</span></p> -<p class="name-r"><span class="smcap">Bernese Oberland.</span></p> - - -<p><span class="smcap">“My dear Doll,</span></p> - -<p>Here is a line from me whom I daresay -you thought hopeless in that matter. But such a -little thing will sometimes provoke a sinner to -virtue. Two strangely fashioned men share the -room adjoining mine, divided from me only by a -washed deal partition held together by French nails. -They spend the day in moody silence and in grey -frock coats which if they were well cut would suit -the Cup Day at Ascot. But they return at nine -and chatter unceasingly till 10.30. It is now only -ten and it has occurred to me that instead of tossing -about on the sea of their incoherent conversations -I would write a line to you.</p> - -<p>This is a beautiful place which I should admire -even more if nobody else admired it. But it is made -too fair to go scot free of praise, and so I must fain -clap my hands with the rest. You see we are -exclusive in our emotions as the society of a country -town and do not wish to share them with our -inferiors. That is a part of it, but I think my -reluctance to hear nature applauded has a better -reason too, though it is hard to give it words. I -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[149]</a></span>know I always feel a better right to enjoy its beauty -when I am otherwise engaged, in killing a bird -perhaps, in fishing a stream or I suppose best of -all in some sort of labour that the needs of the -world demand.</p> - -<p>I went for an early walk the other day up to the -Wengern Alp; all the mountain in shadow and the -pines blacker than their own fallen image on the -grass. I was alone and met no one on the path -but the lads laden with their washed deal milk-pails -as they came singing from every green hill. And -as they passed I felt sort of shamefaced. I was out -for beauty, a kind of dilettante wandering in search -of impressions, and I knew deep down in me that -they must one day and another have won impressions -I could never gain. No one can be really intimate -with a strange land, can ever really read the face -of a hillside as it is read by those however simple -who were born to see it coloured by the changing -fortunes of their life from childhood to manhood. -Nature is so shy, so reluctant to speak if she thinks -she is overheard, but she will sing to herself when -she thinks we are busy.</p> - -<p>For us who are not artists I think beauty is only -really captured in that way. It is trapped unawares, -stolen in the silences of night or dawn, or burnt -into the brain by the fire of some passionate moment -to which it remains as an unforgotten background. -Of course the artist, the poet or the painter, has -other rights and other penalties. ‘He that would -save his life must lose it,’ and the artist is always -giving up for himself what he re-fashions for the -joy of others. He is like the cuckoo that sojourns -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[150]</a></span>in every nest and is itself but a homeless voice. -Even the beauty that he pursues is never really -possessed; it flutters for a moment in his hand -and then takes wing for others to inherit. It is -bought so dearly and then sold for a mere song.</p> - -<p>But this is a digression. We were talking of -Switzerland, and I do believe this is one of the -choicest spots in it, but of course we don’t discuss -its merits all day. On the contrary, I think we -talk most of the food, comparing the veal of yesterday -with the mutton of to-day, wondering from what -strange waters, remote or near, come those strange -fish that masquerade under the titles of the dwellers -in Northern seas. And then we pry into the lives -of other lodgers, making up imaginary relationships -among families that are as normally related as our -own—taking a curious interest in characters in -which we have really no concern, and exchanging -cards warmly with parting guests, knowing that -we shall see their faces again no more. And all the -while the air is so good, when the weather is not -so bad, that we feel well, which is a long way on the -road to feeling happy, and we are sometimes pointed -at as distinguished, and then vanity covers the rest -of the road and we are very jolly.</p> - -<p class="center">Yours ever,</p> -<p class="name-r"><span class="smcap">Father.”</span></p> -</div> - -<p>His preference for a foreign holiday—unless one -in his own country, could be allied to fishing or -shooting—did not, as will be understood from -stray remarks in his correspondence, extend to -Germany. He always disliked the race, and I can -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[151]</a></span>recollect a journey in our young days during which -we had made a halt at Munich with Beatty Kingston. -I am afraid Joe’s description of the place and the -people included such scathing epithets as “The -Burial-place of the Peto-Baptists” and “The -Suburb of the World.” For his excuse I must note -that it was the bad season for the Opera, although -we did once hear “The Flying Dutchman,” which -he particularly admired; also that the old Pinacotek, -with its riches in Paintings by Old Masters, was -closed, as if to spite him; naturally he could not be -consoled by “the collection of middle-aged articles” -offered him as a salve—declaring that he saw plenty -of these in the streets of the town.</p> - -<p>He was always just as hard on the German -“frau” as on her husband, and his description of -them on the mountain paths at Gastein, with skirts -looped up like window blinds and waterproofs -strapped across their shoulders in case of a storm, -could only be equalled by the whimsical words he -had for the red necks of the men bulging over their -collars.</p> - -<p>He was not a Central Europe man; the French -or the Italians were always first with him after his -own people. <em>Romance</em> for him lay in the North; -I have often heard him insist that those most deeply -possess it who dwell in the mist and dream of the -sun, and he would cite “The Wizard of the North” -and the Scottish Land in proof of his theory: yet -the South stood for gaiety with him, and he sighed -for the sun even as I did who had been bred -in it.</p> - -<p>It is curious that Rome he only saw for the first -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[152]</a></span>time late in life, upon being chosen to write the -introduction to the British Section of the International -Exhibition there, and afterwards appointed -England’s representative on the Art Congress.</p> - -<p>I shall quote a private appreciation of the written -part of his work from that acute and sympathetic -critic, Edward Russell of the <cite>Liverpool Post</cite>.</p> - -<p class="space-above2"></p> - -<div class="blockquot"> -<p class="name-r"><span class="smcap">Naples,</span></p> -<p class="date-r"><i>April 28th, 1911</i>.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">“Dear Comyns Carr,</span></p> - - -<p>I cannot refrain from congratulating you -on your Introduction to the Roman Catalogue of -British Paintings, etc. Not only its literary felicity, -but its fine and illuminating judgment; the choiceness -of the language; and the apt biographical -illustrations; the humane diplomacy of occasional -gentle, but searching suggestions of censure; the -insight of the aperçus; and the contribution of -several original maxims to the sterling floating -currency of criticism, make it one of the most -memorable of such pieces.</p> - -<p class="center">Yours,</p> -<p class="name-r"><span class="smcap">Edward Russell.”</span></p> -</div> - -<p>But Rome as a city he loved not, as he loved the -Tuscan and Umbrian towns; its vast antiquities -oppressed him, its medieval structures he disliked, -and the race that had left its impress there bored -him; even in the natural surroundings he found -too much melancholy—definitely contrasted in his -mind with that Northern sternness which breeds -Romance; but he shall speak for himself.</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[153]</a></span></p> -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p>“The archeological side of Rome I can only -gape at as a tourist: I have no learning that way: -though, of course, there are scenes of the old world -which touch the imagination without the kind of -knowledge that must, to those who possess it, make -the place deeply interesting. The more modern -Rome—the Rome of the Renaissance, scarcely makes -a single appeal and creates no such satisfying atmosphere -as Florence. The Sistine I must see again; -the light was bad to-day and the effect at so great a -height did not immediately leave the tremendous -impression of Michael Angelo’s power that comes -of the more intimate knowledge given by our photographs. -The colour, however, yielded more than -I had expected. Tell Fred if he is by you that I -am wholly at one with him about the Stanze of -Raphael. They gain in site, and although I knew -the compositions well, I found them better than I -knew with a charm of colour unexpected and superior -to any of his easel pictures, except perhaps the -Madonna at Dresden; truly a marvellous genius, -using all the resources of style with the freedom and -ease of a painter of genre—and here, which is not -always so in his later work, absolutely free from -rhetoric in gesture: I must go back to them again.</p> - -<p>“In the general style of Roman Renaissance -building I have no delight—and never thought to -have; but, of course, there are separate things -to discover that I have as yet not had time to see. -But St. Angelo makes a great barbaric pile that is -mightily impressive. St. Peter’s seems to me much -less noble in general effect than St. Paul’s, and its -interior ornament, painting and sculpture, seemed, -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[154]</a></span>on a swift view, to be a wilderness of that kind of -art I don’t love—all except Michael Angelo’s <em>Pietà</em>, -which stood out in modest simplicity and intensity -amid the garish surroundings.</p> - -<p class="name-rr">Yours,</p> -<p class="name-r"><span class="smcap">Joe.”</span></p> -</div> - -<div class="blockquot"> -<p><span class="smcap">“Dearest,</span></p> - -<p>I lunched with Barrère again to-day, and -afterwards we went in his motor to the lakes of -Nemi and Albano. It was a very interesting drive, -and the lakes are really beautiful, though in a grave -and sombre way. Of course it was not bright -sunlight, but in any case the landscape here has a -peculiar character. It has an ancient and desert -look, hardly joyous and not very fruitful, different -entirely in this respect from the landscape around -Florence. But it has character, and what one may -call style: and the remains of ruined buildings, -aqueduct or tomb, which cut the sky at every turn, -seem to belong to these surroundings. The landscape -is of their date, seems almost to have remained -of their date, and not to have found the renewed -youth which mocks antiquity in other kinds of -scenery. A certain gravity is the prevailing sentiment—impressive -but touched with sadness.</p> - -<p>I am seeing isolated bits of Rome little by little. -If I were settled here for long I think the sculpture -would attract me as a study—but like everything -else in the way of art in Rome one has to be constantly -sifting and sorting the good from the bad. -Here as elsewhere there is a mass of indifferent -achievement, a mass of work either poorly copied -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[155]</a></span>from the Greek or poorly conceived and lacking -vitality. One feels more and more that the Romans -were not artists—great collectors I have no doubt, -and perhaps connoisseurs—but without the finest -fire of the spirit. There are a few great things here -that are superb, and others doubtless which I -haven’t seen, but in many instances of even admired -things there is not the saving quality of life that -makes Phidias seem modern as well as great.</p> - -<p class="name-rr">Yours,</p> -<p class="name-r"><span class="smcap">Joe.”</span></p> -</div> - -<p>Touching this last criticism he made us laugh -when he got home by saying that he longed to cry -to the crowds who patiently paced the Vatican -galleries, guide-book in hand: “Go out into the -sunshine, dear people, and enjoy your lunch—this -is all bosh.”</p> - -<p>It was delightful to me the other day to find a -perfect echo of these sentiments in the letters of the -late Mr. Stopford Brooke to his daughters. But it -is not the only instance in those enthralling volumes -where I noted a remarkable likeness in many of the -views, and even in the method of expressing them, -of these two brilliant Irishmen.</p> -</div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[156]</a></span></p> -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XI" id="CHAPTER_XI"></a>CHAPTER XI</h2> - -<p class="center">FISHING HOLIDAYS</p> - - -<p class="noindent"><span class="smcap">I had</span> not known my husband six months before I -knew him for an enthusiastic fisherman. He tells -in his Reminiscences of the first teaching he had -from a reprobate old peasant in the Lake Country, -and the passion for it never left him; the happiest -of his summer days were spent in the pursuit of it -and, from the time when I—set to watch a float -while he threw a line further down the stream—allowed -the fish to escape, to an evening towards the -close of his life when I helped his unsteady steps -to the bank of the Windrush at Burford, his -characteristic grey felt hat stuck full of flies and the -graceful gesture with which his long line was flung -back and forward and then laid softly on the water -of some quiet stream, are among the things which -I often recall.</p> - -<p>I can see him now, on that first holiday, stumbling -with his swaying rod down the rocky bed of the -Dove with the sunset behind him, while I sat waiting -on a grassy bank eager to know what sport he had -had as soon as he was within earshot. He was a -most expert angler; and that was the beginning of -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[157]</a></span>many happy fishing trips—in Derbyshire and Westmoreland, -on the Tweed at Peebles and the lochs -and rivers of Perthshire, Argyllshire and Sutherland; -but most notably on the stretch of a Hertfordshire -stream which he rented for some years with other -friends, and where he could best exercise his skill -with the dry fly.</p> - -<p>A tiny cottage, just big enough for three men or for me and the -children, stood on the edge of the water, which was crossed by a -plank bridge. Sometimes, when there was no one else, I would be -allowed—most alarming of experiences!—to use the landing -net, and I think any of his angling comrades—A. E. W. Mason, -Seymour Hicks, Sam Sothern and others—would sympathise with my -terror over the responsibility.</p> - -<p>I think there were no happier days in my husband’s life than -those spent in that Hertfordshire cot, and there is no frame into which -his figure fits more familiarly than the sedgy bank of that sunlit -river, hemmed by boldly contrasting forget-me-not and marshmallow, -with the May-fly flitting over the sparkling ripples and the shaded -pools.</p> - -<p>And nothing so helped his periods of creative -work as this rural recreation.</p> - -<p>It was on the shores of Loch Rannoch that he -wrote the first Acts of his <cite>King Arthur</cite> for Henry -Irving, and on the banks of the Lea that he saw the -barge bearing the body of the Fair Elaine. The -Black Mount at the foot of the loch may have stood -for the rugged rocks around Camelot, and the limpid -stream dividing emerald meadows at eventide, for -the river that circled Arthur’s Halls.</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[158]</a></span></p> -<p>He was wont whimsically to declare that the -“gaslights of Piccadilly” were more satisfying to -him than a country life unless enhanced by the -pleasure of sport; but no one saw the beauties -of Nature in the intervals of sport more sympathetically -than he did, as he tells for himself in <cite>Coasting -Bohemia</cite>:</p> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p>“I sometimes think,” he writes, “that those -who haunt the country, without conscious sense of -its many beauties, are apt to learn and love its -beauties best. How often the memory of a day’s -shooting is indissolubly linked with the pattern of -a fading autumn sky, when we have stood at the -edge of a stubble field wondering whether the growing -twilight will suffice for the last drive. And if this -is true of other forms of sport, it is everlastingly -true of fishing. There is hardly a remembered day -on a Scotch loch, or beside a southern stream, which -has not stamped upon it some unfading image of -landscape beauty. It was not for that we set forth -in the morning, for then the changing lights in a -dappled sky counted for no more than a promise -of good sport; during those earlier hours there is no -feeling but a feeling of impatience to be at work; -and the splash of a rising trout, before the rod is -joined and ready and the line run through its rings, -is heard with a sense of half-resentment lest we -should have missed the favourable moment of the -day. But as the hours pass, the mind becomes -more tranquilly attuned to its surroundings. The -keenness of the pursuit is still there, but little by -little the still spirit of the scene invades our thoughts, -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[159]</a></span>and as we tramp home at nightfall the landscape -that was unregarded when we set forth upon our -adventure now seems to wrap itself like a cloak -around us with a spell that it is impossible to resist. -A hundred such visions, born of an angler’s wanderings, -come back to me across the space of many -years. I can see the reeds etched against a sunset -sky, as they spring out of a little loch in the hills -above the inn at Tummel. And then, with a -changing flash of memory, the broad waters of -Rannoch are outspread, fringed by its purple hills. -And then, again, in a homelier frame, I can see -the willows that border the Lea, their yellow leaves -turned to gold under the level rays of the evening -sun; and I can hear the nightingale in the first -notes of its song as I cross the plank bridge that -leads me homeward to the cottage by the stream.”</p></div> - -<p>By which it will also be seen that his “love of -laziness” did not hinder him in the pursuit of sport.</p> - -<p>Exercise for its own sake he resolutely refused -to take, and when my Alpine-enthusiast father -dragged him up a Piz—the last bit with his eyes shut—he -said: “I shall never climb anything again!”</p> - -<p>But Seymour Hicks could tell a different tale of -a memorable evening on which he hooked a big -trout in the dusk—Joe teasing him as to its poor -weight—and when they stayed so late beside a -Scottish tarn to land it that their friends below -came up the mountain with lanterns to the rescue.</p> - -<p>In Peeblesshire, too, he had gay hours with a -Captain Fearon, known to our children as <em>Plum-bun</em>, -because of a rhyme with which he teased them.</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[160]</a></span></p> -<p>This fine old sportsman—though he must have -been sixty at the time—walked twenty miles after a -day’s sport so as to let Joe have the only spare -seat on a buggy that he might catch the night -express to town for work on the morrow. I can -see the tall handsome old man now on the moorside, -gaily waving adieu to Joe with a champagne -bottle which he had seized from the picnic basket -to cheer him on the road.</p> - -<p>Joe had many days with him on the Tweed; -one of them, following such a big spate that an old -countryman wading in front of them was never seen -more after they had warned him against imprudently -breasting the swirl of the water where the river -made an abrupt bend ahead.</p> - -<p>The gloom of this incident was partly mitigated -by their being told that the man was a drunkard -whose fate had often been so prophesied to him; -but they fished no more in a spate on the Tweed.</p> - -<p>Fun was oftener their portion. I fancy it was to -Fearon that Joe made the <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">bon-mot</i> current in the -Garrick Club, where he represented himself as -lunching with Noah on the Ark.</p> - -<p>“You must have good spate fishing here, Mr. -Noah,” he reports himself as saying while they sat -smoking on the balcony overlooking the Flood.</p> - -<p>“It <em>would</em> be good,” replied the host, “but -unluckily, you see, I have only two worms.”</p> - -<p>He writes himself of his fishing on Loch Awe; -and later, on Loch Etive, as the guest of our charming -friend Alec Stevenson, whose cheery voice would -ask of his keeper after breakfast: “Is it fishin’ -or shutin’ the day, Duncan?” But there is no -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[161]</a></span>mention of a happy six weeks in Sutherlandshire -where we were chiefly fed by the guests “killing” -of the daily trout, proudly displayed at even upon -a large tray in the hall.</p> - -<p>I think it was here that Joe had trudged for three -hours up a mountain with his fly-rod set up, to find—when -he reached the tarn at the top—that his -top joint had fallen off on the road; as he was alone -only the midges heard his remarks, for he had not -even his fourteen-year old son with him—the happy -companion of his later angling days. It was into -just such a tarn, that that boy fell off the boat -one day, when landing a trout, and was advised by -his father to run about in the natural state on the -moor while his clothes dried on a sun-baked rock.</p> - -<p>A lovely place is Inchnadamph on blue Loch -Assynt; the great mountain that guards the -valley towards Lochinver can be golden in the long, -northern twilight, when the water that has been as -a sapphire before the sunset, becomes purple in the -gloaming; but oh! the midges! Useless to tie -our heads in bags and grease our faces: they penetrated -everywhere and “bit like dogs.” They -<em>almost</em> deterred Joe from his evening hour on the -water because of the landing afterwards, when the -pony would not stand for him to step into the -cart.</p> - -<p>But nothing really deterred Joe from fly-fishing—neither -heat nor cold nor rain nor wind; he only -regarded the weather at those times from the point -of view of its influence on the sport. Even when -it was too bad for fishing he couldn’t keep away -from the water. But he could never keep away -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[162]</a></span>from water—he said it was the life of a landscape -as the blood is the life of the human body. In our -early days, when we were too poor for Highland -trips, visits to friends on the Thames afforded him -his best access to it; and, though he was not perhaps -a perfect oarsman, as may be proved by a “stroke’s” -petition that he would not “go so deep,” to which -he replied: “Ah, I never leave a stone unturned!”—he -loved the “noble river.” Though for perfect -satisfaction he chose more swiftly running waters.</p> - -<p>I came across some passages in one of Stopford -Brooke’s letters which strangely call to mind Joe’s -passion for a free stream.</p> - -<p>“There is no companion like a quick stream,” -writes the older man; “full, but not too full, capable -of shallows and water-breaks, with deep pools -when it likes and with a thousand shadows acquainted -with all the tales of the hills....”</p> - -<p>And once more: “Running water surely is the -dearest and best-bred thing in the world. And a -great workman and a great artist.... Nor is there -any Singer, any Poet, any Companion so near and -dear as it is when it shapes itself into a mountain -stream in a quiet country.”</p> - -<p>Often have I seen Joe beside such streams, and -though it so chanced that the last happy holiday we -had together was spent beside lakes rather than -rivers, the sense of moving water remains associated -in my mind with him through all the earlier days of -our life.</p> - -<p>It was in Ireland—his motherland, though he had -never seen it till then—that we passed those last -unforgetable weeks of autumn.</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[163]</a></span></p> -<p>Even as we landed at Rosslare there seemed to -fall upon him an unnameable affinity with the country -of his blood; as we travelled slowly—very slowly—over -her truly emerald bosom, he sat in a dream -watching the little black cattle, that we afterwards -learnt to beware of for “cross bastes,” as they -cropped the sedgy meadows, his eyes wandering from -them to the tender Irish sky and then waking into -fun as he saw a peasant at a small station trip a -boy up unawares and cuff him soundly, laughing as -he did it.</p> - -<p>And when we reached Waterford—only a dirty -town to me—he plunged at once among his people -and laughed joyously at the retort of a begging -urchin, whose pathetic plea of hunger he had pretended -to rail at: “That’s where ye’re wrong, yer -honour,” the cheery little villain had cried: “A -man may be fat and hungry too.”</p> - -<p>The horse races were going on, and the inn was in -an uproar, which he sat up most of the night to -watch.</p> - -<p>But the next day sleepy ways prevailed once more, -and it took us a long time to get off at the station, -where I recollect his amusement at the porter’s -instruction: “This way to America.”</p> - -<p>We reached Killarney without trunks, and the -conveyance sent to meet us broke down on the way -to the hotel; but he would meet no <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">contretemps</i> -save with a smile, and it was borne in on me that it -was because he was an Irishman that Italian happy-go-luckiness -had never ruffled him. So we fell in -with the leisurely ways of the land, and were fain to -“enjoy the soft rain” at that romantic spot and -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[164]</a></span>watch for the beautiful shapes of the hills to appear -out of the mists on the lake.</p> - -<p>Next morning, however, that unique green-blue -sky, washed with rain and dappled with wisps of -cloud, smiled on us in faint sunshine, and from that -hour our journey was one passing from fair to fairer -scenes.</p> - -<p>In a short time our train was climbing, or burrowing, -through perilous cliffs of granite, crowned with -lonely moors and, presently swooping down on -the glorious coast-line, that makes for Valencia -Island.</p> - -<p>This we left on one side, and at Lough Caragh we -also did not halt, tempting as it was; for our -destination was Waterville, where we had rooms -booked at the charming Great Southern Hotel for -the fishing season; and after an hour or so more of -leisurely travel we reached Cahirciveen, where a -ramshackle trap waited to carry us over the moors -to the village that lies twixt sea and lough.</p> - -<p>The whole journey, and the last of it not least, -was a revelation to him of which I think he was -proud to talk to me, and I certainly had formed no -notion of the beauties of <em>The Kingdom of Kerry</em>. -The rough road across the wild heather-moor was -bordered almost continuously with hedges of the -small purple-red fuchsia in full bloom, and the -cabins—white or pink-washed, with thatched roofs—that -we passed at rare intervals, were shaded with it -and covered with honeysuckle.</p> - -<p>“You live in a fair country,” said Joe to an old -man standing one day at the door of his tiny hovel; -and I—looking beyond him to the dim range of the -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[165]</a></span>Macgillicuddy Reeks—added, “and with beautiful -hills.”</p> - -<p>“The visitors say ’tis fair, but I’ve seen it <em>arl</em> -me life,” replied the proprietor, with a quaint smile. -And then to me—“but sure the Reeks are illigant -in winter wi’ the darlin’ snaws upon them.”</p> - -<p>But that was later. That day we were silent with -contented fatigue till the muffled boom of the great -Atlantic breakers began to fall as distant thunder -on our ears: then suddenly Ballinskelligs’ Bay lay -before us with the massive headlands of Bolus and -Hog’s Head guarding it from the Ocean.</p> - -<p>The shore is wild and desolate with the sense -of the vast Atlantic ever present; but soon we -turned inland again towards the mountains of the -“deep Glenmore,” and there, under the purple -shadow of Mount Knockaline, lay a long, grave -Lough with a tiny deserted islet in its midst upon -which one of the ancient beehive cells stands under -the eaves of a ruined church. It is Lough Currane, -and we drove under overhanging fuchsias, to the -Great Southern Hotel on its shore.</p> - -<p>We had two more beautiful drives while we were -in the <em>Kingdom of Kerry</em>: one along the perilous -Irish <em>Cornice</em>, known as the Coomakista Pass, where -one prayed one might not meet the coach, to Park-na-Silla; -the other from Kenmare over a rocky -road to Glengariff.</p> - -<p>The Cornice drive beggars description, and I -never knew Joe to be so enthusiastic over a view. -Shallow little coves fringed with brilliant golden -seaweed—upon which herons stand feeding at times—indent -the shore itself; but the Sound is studded -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[166]</a></span>with numberless islets—some clad with heather, -others with semi-tropical shrubs, and faintly ringed -with the silver foam of a streaked and gentle sea. -In an opal haze beyond them, the opposite shore of -County Cork lies as a dream; but the two great -guardian cliffs of Ballinskelligs’ Bay with their -outriders—the Bull and Cow Rocks—stand in firm -and grand outline away whence we came where the -Sound joins the Ocean.</p> - -<p>The coach driver draws up when he reaches the -best point, and tells us all about it, and points out -the Great Skellig Rock—twelve miles out to sea, -and close at hand the bridle path by which O’Connell -rode over the mountains to his home at Darrynane. -As we near that Bay and its multitude of tiny -islets, upon one of which stands the ruined Monastery -of St. Finnan, he shews us the “Liberator’s” very -house and then we turn inland again among undulating -moors—our road fenced with the fuchsia and -every variety of fern, till of a sudden the beautiful -bridge and square church tower of Sneem village seem -to beckon us into the very heart of a fiery sunset.</p> - -<p>Our second drive from Kenmare was again quite -different and not without incident. In the first place -Irish unpunctuality caused us to start two hours -late, and in the second, when the carriage arrived at -last, the harness had to be tied up with cord before -we could proceed, a beginning which filled me with -alarm though it reminded me of youthful days in -Italy: but to Joe it only afforded opportunity for -pleasant raillery with his compatriot, and I only wish -I could remember all the <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">bon-mots</i> with which they -capped one another.</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[167]</a></span></p> -<p>The last part of the ascent was very wild, but -when we emerged from the tunnel that pierces the -topmost granite cliff, the view that burst upon us—though -wild still in its freedom from the intrusion -of human interest, was soft and tender with all the -glamour of the South. Range upon range of finely-chiselled -hills stood crossing and re-crossing one -another with gentle valleys between, and the glint -of water here and there made visible by the golden -splash of sunset; and presently the hills—so soft -and so solemn upon the mellow evening sky—were -cleft to their base, and Bantry Bay lay spread in -the distance beneath us.</p> - -<p>The road went down in sharp turns and, the -driver cheerfully remarking that we should have to -pass a motor-roller on the way, my heart jumped -into my mouth. But Joe administered a little -salutary chaff together with a cup of tea at the -wayside inn, where we changed drivers, and a pretty -girl assured me that “Faith,” I had “no need to -fear, for the lad was the coolest whip on arl the -mountain-side.”</p> - -<p>So he was, but he went a fine pace, and the waiter -at the inn, who told us he was the girl’s brother, -told us also that that cool lad was her lover, so -perhaps he was eager to show his prowess.</p> - -<p>At Glengariff our weather was hot and fine, and -the water of that land-locked end of the Bay was so -calm that the pleasure boats round the jetty, and -indeed every tree on the shore and on the near -island, would lie reflected on its surface in the rosy -dawns or the golden sunsets as they do on the -Italian lakes. But out beyond the island the breeze -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[168]</a></span>would freshen, and thither Joe hied him with a -friendly fisherman every morning to lie in wait for -the bass and the mackerel.</p> - -<p>Our friends—Mr. and Mrs. Annan Bryce—owned -the beautiful island at the mouth of the bay, and -there we spent happy afternoons wandering over the -heather and gazing afar from the old castle’s ruined -battlements; but Joe’s mornings were his own, -and he would go even further out to sea than the -island, to where the seals sunned themselves on the -rocks, unscared by the approach of man, but scuttling -under water when the fishing-reel ran out, the old -ones calling their young to safety with an eerie -cry.</p> - -<p>Perhaps Glengariff was the most lovely spot that -we saw, but the hothouse atmosphere of it made a -prolonged stay too trying, hence we enjoyed Waterville -and Lough Currane best, where the more -invigorating air of the open Atlantic in our wake -kept even the moisture of the valleys freshened -with soft breezes.</p> - -<p>Also it is here that Joe rejoiced in the only branch -of angling that he really loved; sunshine, mist or -rain he was off on the lough with his faithful gillie, -his trout-rod set up, his old hat well-adorned with -every likely fly and, if necessary, his oilskins about -him.</p> - -<p>It took him all his time—easy as it usually was -with him to make friends—to make them with that -gillie: a curiously sad and silent lad, whose rage at -the “lack of pride” in a besotted old poacher -who would hang about the landing-stage, knew no -bounds.</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[169]</a></span></p> -<p>But Joe would only laugh, and give the old -beggar the “tanner” that he begged “for the -love of God,” with a willing heart.</p> - -<p>“Don’t be too hard on him,” he would say to the -young boatman. But the boy had been in America, -and, as it presently appeared, was ashamed of the -lazy ways of his countrymen.</p> - -<p>“Home Rule might be arl right,” he would say—adding -shrewdly—“if it don’t keep the visitors” -(generally meaning the English) “away. But, -begorra, let us work for it!”</p> - -<p>Few held such wide views even in that day, and Joe -could rarely get any one to talk on that favourite -topic of his; but he made various pleasant little -discoveries, one of which was that Catholic and -Protestant children worked together at school -without trouble; but then most of the latter were -fathered by English experts working at the Cable -Station and were ranked as “visitors.”</p> - -<p>His chief enjoyment when not fishing, was in the -cabins—when he could find excuse for entrance. -There was a weaver of the frieze not far from our -inn, and there we went to buy a length for a gift. -We were rewarded for a wet walk. The weaver -was out—but his wife sat by the peat-fire with a -new-born baby in her arms.</p> - -<p>As we opened the door the cow that was in the -yard thrust in a soft nose to hold it ajar, and lo, -we beheld a sow within, rise slowly up and waddle -out, followed by ten wee sucking pigs: then the -cow stepped over the threshold beside us.</p> - -<p>The woman rose asking us our errand, while I -edged away from the cow and tried to get out again.</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[170]</a></span></p> -<p>“She’ll not harm ye, lady,” said she with a smile, -“It’s her milkin’ time, and sure she knows I’d not -take the darlin’ babe out in the rain.”</p> - -<p>But it was not often that Joe spared time from -serious business for calling and sight-seeing. Once -we went to the Cable Station and learned, in an -amazing short time, from America, that the weather -was fine and dry; and on two occasions I went -with him to Lough Coppul (The Horse) away up in -the “deep Glenmore”; but that was only allowed -so that I might see the sleepy beauty of that tiny, -lonely lake, where the water is peat-brown even in -the sunlight; here I was introduced to two lovely -children with gold-red hair and deep eyes, who dwelt -in the schoolhouse of four districts, and were Joe’s -special friends. This treat was a great favour -granted to me, nor was I admitted into the boat -even then, but had to roam about the shores while -work was done. Luckily it was fine and warm, and -the midges are not nearly so fierce in Ireland; and, -with the children’s tales of the plights of scholars -coming over the mountains in winter and a shy -admission, warily coaxed out of them, as to the -presence of fairy horsemen there on All Hallowe’en, -many an hour went by like a dream, till the gloaming -called us home.</p> - -<p>But my lot was more often to sit reading or writing -on the terrace of the hotel watching for the boats -to round the point of <em>Church Island</em>, as they came -in with their catch to meals.</p> - -<p>Whether anglers are men or women—and most -of the women in the Hotel were anglers—they mind -nothing but meals, and rarely the <em>hours</em> of those; -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[171]</a></span>so that I was mostly alone, but the excitement of -the “basket” was an event each time, and Joe’s -was often the heaviest.</p> - -<p>Through the gap in the fuchsia hedge, whose -tassels lay blood-red upon the lough’s blue background -on a fine morning, I would first distinguish -his boat in the offing, and walk down to the landing-stage -to watch it nearing me between the shallows, -where those coal-black little “cross” bullocks stood -knee-deep on the emerald marshland. I can see -him, skilfully throwing his line on the water to the -last instant; then turning towards me with the -welcoming smile on his face always, though I -generally knew, before he had stepped ashore, -whether he had had good luck or not.</p> - -<p>Yet the weather was not by any means always -fine, and many a day I sat in our little parlour, -not even seeing the fuchsia hedge, and certainly not -the water.</p> - -<p>One wet day comes specially to my mind. It -had rained steadily, and out of the soft, white mist -that shrouded the lough, the sound of a tolling bell -had come eerily to me all the afternoon. I knew -of no church within two miles save the ruined one -on the Island, and at last I asked the chambermaid -what it might mean.</p> - -<p>“Sure, it’ll be a buryin’ on St. Finnan’s Isle,” -said she, crossing herself, after listening for a minute. -“The family will still have the right of it, and they -keep a bell in the broken tower. But the corpse -will have come from far, poor sowl!”</p> - -<p>She went her way, and soon the bell ceased, and -almost at the same time the mist began to clear and -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[172]</a></span>the shapes of the black cattle to appear again on the -sedgy marshes, browsing as usual; then I saw -black boats—like phantom things—stealing away -in the distance and—behind them—a streak of -gold struck across the wet mountain-side and all the -mist shrank away, and the purple ridge was set -against that tender blue-green Irish sky, crossed with -bars of rosy light.</p> - -<p>I went out and down the wet path to the landing-stage, -and there was Joe’s boat pulling towards the -shore, and he standing up in it with a smile upon -his face.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>That was our last holiday.</p> - -<p>We were often out of London again, and in lovely -spots: in summer, at Studland in Dorset, at Broadway -and Burford in Oxon, at Ditchling in Sussex; -in winter, at Hastings and Bournemouth. But it -was always in search of health and to escape the -nerve-racking air-raids of War—never again in the -boyish spirit of holiday.</p> - -<p>Yet let it not be supposed that Joe was ever -dismal. “Comyns Carr is a good fellow and a boon -fellow,” George Meredith wrote of him to another -old friend, and so he was to the last. Depressed now -and then, but hopeful again till near the end, and -always thankful for every bright moment and for -every kindness received. “Grumbling is so dull,” -he would say; and when I was dismayed at the -<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">contretemps</i> of travel lest they should affect his -comfort, he would beg me to “bridge it over”—as -he did.</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[173]</a></span></p> -<p>As we drove away from the house at Bournemouth -on our last journey he said to the landlady: “I’ve -never been so comfortable in any lodgings”; yet -he had suffered much there, and had often lacked -luxuries unprocurable in war-time. Sometimes in -those days, after a long silence, I would ask him -what he was thinking of, and he would answer -simply: “Nothing, dear!” By which I am sure -he meant nothing troublous—and truly to the -wearying, harassing thoughts which beset many of -us he was a stranger—for he would sometimes add: -“I’ve plenty to remember.”</p> - -<p>And then, to the last, he worked part of every -day. His hand had not been able to write for long, -but he would dictate to a shorthand typist; the -whole of his <cite>Ideals of Painting</cite>, posthumously -published, was so written, and his precision never -flagged, as he instructed me over the correction of -those proofs—whether in regard to the letterpress -or to the re-production of the illustrations; the photogravure -after Rembrandt’s <em>Mill</em> had been delayed, -and on the last day of his life he asked me if it had -come and if it “looked well.”</p> - -<p>Reading over his own words upon the waning of -his old friend, Sir John Millais’ life, they seem to me -unconsciously, yet so fitly, to describe himself, that -I shall end this effort to preserve some sort of a -portrait of him by quoting them.</p> - -<p>“I never heard from him,” he writes, “however -great the dejection of spirit he must have suffered, -a single sour word concerning life or nature. His -outlook on the world was never tainted by self-compassion, -never clouded by any bitterness of -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[174]</a></span>personal experience, and one came to recognise then—as -his life and strength gradually failed and waned—that -the spirit of optimism ... was indeed a -beauty deeply resident in his character, which even -the shadow of coming death was powerless to cloud -or darken.”</p> - -<p>So I think of Joe as he stepped out of the boat on -Currane, with the smile upon his face.</p> -</div> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[175]</a></span></p> -<p>I here add a few unpublished early lyrics -and sonnets, never revised by my husband -for publication, which may give pleasure -to his friends of those days.</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[177]</a></span></p> - - -<p class="center">LOVE’S SUMMER.</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poetry"><div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">Away in our far Northern Land,</div> -<div class="indent4">Where blustering winds swept o’er the wold,</div> -<div class="verse">Love came with Winter hand in hand</div> -<div class="indent4">Changing our leaden skies to gold,</div> -<div class="indent6">And as we raced across the Snow,</div> -<div class="indent6">Love set the frozen world aglow.</div> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">Ah, give me back that frozen year,</div> -<div class="indent4">Those leaden skies, that wind swept wold!</div> -<div class="verse">’Twas summer then, ’tis winter here,</div> -<div class="indent4">Here where my dearest heart is cold,</div> -<div class="indent6">Where all the Earth and all the Sun,</div> -<div class="indent6">Tell only that Love’s race is run.</div> - -<p class="right">J. C. C.</p> - -<p class="date">1870.</p> -</div></div></div></div> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p class="space-above4"></p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[178]</a></span></p> -<p class="center">A SONG.</p> - -<p class="center">I.</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poetry"><div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">What need of words, when lips that might have spoken</div> -<div class="indent8">Clung close to mine?</div> -<div class="verse">And through the shadowed silence long unbroken,</div> -<div class="indent8">This hand in thine,</div> -<div class="verse">There came from lowered lids such speech as lingers</div> -<div class="indent8">When Love grows dumb,</div> -<div class="verse">And muted strings yield up to unseen fingers</div> -<div class="indent8">Sweet strains to come.</div> -</div></div></div> - - -<p class="center">II.</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poetry"><div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">But now! Ah now! what love left half-unheeded</div> -<div class="indent8">Or half untold,</div> -<div class="verse">Each little word those quivering lips conceded</div> -<div class="indent8">Has turned to gold.</div> -<div class="verse">I hoard them all as misers hoard their treasure</div> -<div class="indent8">In secret store,</div> -<div class="verse">Till once again Love finds that muted measure</div> -<div class="indent8">As once before.</div> - -<p class="right">J. C. C.</p> -</div></div></div></div> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p class="space-above4"></p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[179]</a></span></p> -<p class="center">FOR MUSIC.</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poetry"><div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">O winged Love! bear those red lips to mine,</div> -<div class="indent4">That at one draught together we may drain</div> -<div class="verse">This Cup of Life that holds Love’s magic wine,</div> -<div class="indent4">Then turn with lip to lip and drink again,</div> -<div class="indent8">O Winged Love!</div> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">Or waft me as a rose to where she lies</div> -<div class="indent4">And hide me with thy hands within her breast.</div> -<div class="verse">That my bruised petals, wakened by her sighs,</div> -<div class="indent4">May live one hour, then cease, and sink to rest,</div> -<div class="indent8">O Winged Love!</div> - -<p class="right">J. C. C.</p> - -<p class="date">1873.</p> -</div></div></div></div> - - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[180]</a></span></p> -<p class="space-above4"></p> -<p class="center">LINES WRITTEN ON A PAGE OF A YOUNG -GIRL’S ALBUM</p> - -<p class="center p80">AT RAGATZ, AUGUST 1889.</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poetry"><div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">Just as a dream of music never heard</div> -<div class="indent4">May charm our spirit with its mystic spell,</div> -<div class="verse">This little page without one written word</div> -<div class="indent4">Speaks more than words can tell:</div> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">Fair as the unchanging fields of Alpine snow,</div> -<div class="indent4">That hide the buried and the unborn spring,</div> -<div class="verse">Its silence guards all secrets that we know</div> -<div class="indent4">And all that time may bring:</div> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">Bearing sweet memories of past hours held dear</div> -<div class="indent4">For all whose youth is flying, or has flown,</div> -<div class="verse">And softly whispering in a maiden’s ear</div> -<div class="indent4">A name as yet unknown.</div> - -<p class="right">J. C. C.</p> -</div></div></div> - -<p class="space-above4"></p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[181]</a></span></p> -<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poetry"><div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">My love is fair and yet not made so fair</div> -<div class="indent4">As though fed only with the sun and sky</div> -<div class="verse">For now some viewless vision fills the air</div> -<div class="indent4">And laughing lips grow mute—she knows not why,</div> -<div class="verse">And on her eyelids fallen unaware</div> -<div class="indent4">The shadow as of passing tears doth lie!</div> -<div class="verse">Of tears unwept, born of an unknown care</div> -<div class="indent4">That dwells beyond the flight of memory.</div> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">Ah, sweet, into thy beauty there could come</div> -<div class="indent4">No better thing: the earth that holds thy feet</div> -<div class="verse">Must bring earth’s stain upon them where they meet</div> -<div class="indent4">The path not made for thee—and the wind’s breath</div> -<div class="verse">That speaks not unto others but is dumb,</div> -<div class="indent4">Whispers to thee of Life and Love and Death.</div> - -<p class="right">J. C. C.</p> - -<p class="date">1875.</p> -</div></div></div></div> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[182]</a></span></p> -<p class="space-above4"></p> -<p class="center">ON A PICTURE.</p> - -<p class="center p80">BY E. BURNE-JONES.</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poetry"><div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">Sad swift return of old love unforgot,</div> -<div class="indent4">And passion of sweet lips that may not meet,</div> -<div class="indent4">And trembling eyes that, like to weary feet,</div> -<div class="verse">Press close unto the goal yet touch it not,</div> -<div class="verse">Ah! Love, what hinders unto these the lot</div> -<div class="indent4">Of common lovers? Shall no hour complete</div> -<div class="indent4">This sweetness half-begun, no new day greet</div> -<div class="verse">The old love freed of the old stain and blot?</div> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">At this last hour, O Death, within thy heart</div> -<div class="indent4">Hast thou no pity? Shall the night be dumb</div> -<div class="indent4">Nor ever from thy lips the low words come,</div> -<div class="indent4">Giving once more the old sweet wanderings?</div> -<div class="verse">Shall yearning lips for ever stand apart</div> -<div class="indent4">Shadowed beneath the darkness of thy wings?</div> - -<p class="right">J. W. C. C.</p> -<p class="indent4">1872.</p> -</div></div></div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[183]</a></span></p> -<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poetry"><div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">There was a time, Love, when I strove to tell</div> -<div class="indent4">Our love but newly won: and tried to sing</div> -<div class="indent4">In broken verse that scarcely found a wing</div> -<div class="verse">Some praise of all the beauty that doth dwell</div> -<div class="verse">Beneath long lashes: But then came the spell</div> -<div class="indent4">Of love possessed, and I no more dared bring,—</div> -<div class="indent4">Thy hand in mine,—the old verse offering</div> -<div class="verse">Lest any spoken word should sound ‘farewell.’</div> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">Song at the best is but a cry for love</div> -<div class="indent4">Not love itself and ere our paths had met</div> -<div class="indent4">We cried to one another through the maze</div> -<div class="verse">That men call life:—until the moon above—</div> -<div class="indent4">Our steadfast moon of love that’s not yet set—</div> -<div class="indent4">Had drawn our feet into the selfsame ways.</div> - -<p class="right">J. C. C.</p> -<p class="indent4"><i>July, 1878.</i></p> -</div></div></div></div> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p class="space-above4"></p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[184]</a></span></p> - -<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poetry"><div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">Ah! Love, I know thou hast no power to bring</div> -<div class="indent4">Those lips once more to my lips; those sweet eyes,</div> -<div class="indent4">Back to where once they dreamed so near to mine.—</div> -<div class="verse">I know that not again on Earth shall cling</div> -<div class="indent4">Those fair white arms, and not till all Time dies</div> -<div class="indent4">Shall these hands in her loosened hair entwine.</div> -<div class="verse">There is no might can give back to the Spring</div> -<div class="indent4">The lowliest flower dead under summer skies.</div> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">Yet thou can’st tell me wandering by what stream</div> -<div class="indent4">And in what fields of night her white feet tread.</div> -<div class="verse">Have I not wandered, Love, in many a dream?</div> -<div class="indent4">Has she not too in dreaming wanderèd?</div> -<div class="indent4">Then send her soul now to some garden fair</div> -<div class="indent4">That my soul too may meet and wander there.</div> - -<p class="right">J. W. C. C.</p> -</div></div></div></div> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[185]</a></span></p> - -<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poetry"><div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">The moon that leans o’er yonder fleecy lawn</div> -<div class="indent4">Lights a white path where wandering souls may stray</div> -<div class="indent4">From earth as high as heaven: and when the day</div> -<div class="verse">Shall pass night’s dusky curtains, newly-drawn,</div> -<div class="verse">And swiftly with the footing of a fawn</div> -<div class="indent4">Leaps up, from cloud to cloud, till all the gray</div> -<div class="indent4">Burns crimson—then our feet may find a way</div> -<div class="verse">From East to West led by the feet of dawn.</div> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">Yet now how far apart stand North and South</div> -<div class="indent4">And that one face and mine! Ah, not so far!</div> -<div class="indent4">For at the call of one remembered word</div> -<div class="indent4">I hear again that voice which first I heard</div> -<div class="verse">When day dawned in the smile about her mouth</div> -<div class="indent4">And in her eyes I saw the morning Star.</div> - -<p class="right">J. C. C.</p> - -<p class="indent4">1873.</p> -</div></div></div></div> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[186]</a></span></p> - -<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poetry"><div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">Death speaks one word and all Love’s speech is dumb</div> -<div class="indent4">And on Love’s parted lips that breathe farewell</div> -<div class="indent4">Death’s marble finger lays its mystic spell</div> -<div class="verse">And bears the unuttered message to the tomb,</div> -<div class="verse">From whose closed door no whispered echoes come</div> -<div class="indent4">To break the discord of the tolling bell</div> -<div class="indent4">That sounds through city lane and woodland dell</div> -<div class="verse">With the sad burthen of Love’s martyrdom.</div> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">And so Love dies. Ah no! it is not so!</div> -<div class="indent4">For locked in Death’s white arms Love lies secure</div> -<div class="indent4">In changeless sleep that knows no dream of change.</div> -<div class="verse">’Tis Life not Death that works Love’s overthrow,</div> -<div class="indent4">For while Life lasts what love is safe or sure</div> -<div class="indent4">When each day tells of passionate hearts grown strange?</div> - -<p class="right">J. C. C.</p> - -<p class="date">1890.</p> - </div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>GLASGOW: PRINTED AT THE UNIVERSITY PRESS BY ROBERT MACLEHOSE AND CO. LTD.</p> - - -<p class="space-above2"></p> - -<div class="transnote"> - <h2 id="end_note" class="nopagebreak" title="">Transcriber’s Notes</h2> - -<p>Note: In The Table of Contents, ‘IX Social Occasions p115’ is - entitled ‘Entertainment’ in the body of the book.</p> - -<p><a href="#Page_12" title="">Page 12</a>: changed, of his sisters’—shaken to of his sister’s—shaken</p> -<p><a href="#Page_41" title="">Page 41</a>: changed, me some grapes, to me some grapes,’</p> -<p><a href="#Page_44" title="">Page 44</a>: changed, surburban to suburban</p> -<p><a href="#Page_73" title="">Page 73</a>: changed, flummuxed to flummoxed</p> -<p><a href="#Page_88" title="">Page 88</a>: changed, ‘Wall Sir, I hope’ to ‘Well Sir, I hope’</p> -<p><a href="#Page_126" title="">Page 126</a>: changed, opportunites to opportunities</p> -<p><a href="#Page_136" title="">Page 136</a>: added the word ‘whom’ - the centre around whom the children</p> -<p><a href="#Page_145" title="">Page 145</a>: changed, children, criminals <em>and women</em>.” to - children, criminals <em>and women</em>.’</p> -<p><a href="#Page_170" title="">Page 170</a>: changed, horsesmen to horsemen</p> - </div> -<pre style='margin-top:6em'> -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK J. 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