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diff --git a/76491-h/76491-h.htm b/76491-h/76491-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..f8bfee6 --- /dev/null +++ b/76491-h/76491-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,12006 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html> +<html lang="en"> +<head> + <meta charset="UTF-8"> + <title> + Mary Russell Mitford | Project Gutenberg </title> + <link rel="icon" href="images/cover.jpg" type="image/x-cover"> + <style> + +body { + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + + h1,h2 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; +} + +p { + margin-top: .51em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .49em; +} + +.p2 {margin-top: 2em;} +.p4 {margin-top: 4em;} + +.p80 { + font-size: 0.80em; + text-align: center; + font-weight: bold;} + +.p140 { + font-size: 1.40em; + text-align: center; + font-weight: bold;} + +hr { + width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: 33.5%; + margin-right: 33.5%; + clear: both; +} + +hr.tb {width: 45%; margin-left: 27.5%; margin-right: 27.5%;} +hr.chap {width: 65%; margin-left: 17.5%; margin-right: 17.5%;} +@media print { hr.chap {display: none; visibility: hidden;} } + +div.chapter {page-break-before: always;} +h2.nobreak {page-break-before: avoid;} + +ul.index { list-style-type: none; } +li.ifrst { + margin-top: 1em; + text-indent: -2em; + padding-left: 1em; +} +li.indx { + margin-top: .5em; + text-indent: -2em; + padding-left: 1em; +} + +li.isub3 { + text-indent: -2em; + padding-left: 4em; +} +li.isub4 { + text-indent: -2em; + padding-left: 5em; +} + +table { + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; +} + +table.toi { + margin: auto; + width:auto; + max-width: 35em;} + +table.autotable td, + +.tdr {text-align: right;} + +td.chn { + text-align: right; + vertical-align: top; + padding-left: 0.5em + } +td.cht { + text-align: left; + vertical-align: top; + padding-left: 1.5em; + text-indent: -1em + } + +th.pag { + font-weight: normal; + font-size: small; + text-align: right; + padding-left: 2em + } + +th.chap { + font-weight: normal; + font-size: smaller; + text-align: left; + padding-left: 2em; +} + +td.pag { + text-align: right; + vertical-align: bottom; + padding-left: 2em + } + +div.title-page { + text-align: center; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + padding-left: 0.5em; + padding-right: 0.5em; + max-width: 25em; + page-break-before: always; + page-break-after: always; + border: 6px double black + } + +.pagenum { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */ + /* visibility: hidden; */ + position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: small; + text-align: right; + font-style: normal; + font-weight: normal; + font-variant: normal; + text-indent: 0; +} /* page numbers */ + + +.blockquot { + margin-left: 5%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + +.left {margin-left: 5%;} +.center {text-align: center;} + +.right {text-align: right;} + +.smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + +.allsmcap {font-variant: small-caps; text-transform: lowercase;} + +.caption {font-weight: bold;} + +/* Images */ + +img { + max-width: 100%; + height: auto; +} + +.figcenter { + margin: auto; + text-align: center; + page-break-inside: avoid; + max-width: 100%; +} + +/* comment out next line and uncomment the following one for floating figleft on ebookmaker output */ + +/* Footnotes */ +.footnotes {border: 1px dashed;} + +.footnote {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-size: 0.9em;} + +.footnote .label {position: absolute; right: 84%; text-align: right;} + +.fnanchor { + vertical-align: super; + font-size: .8em; + text-decoration: + none; +} + +/* Poetry */ +/* uncomment the next line for centered poetry */ +/* .poetry-container {display: flex; justify-content: center;} */ +.poetry-container {text-align: center;} +.poetry {text-align: left; display: inline-block;} +.poetry .stanza {margin: 1em auto;} +.poetry .verse {text-indent: -3em; padding-left: 3em;} + +/* Transcriber’s notes */ +.transnote {background-color: #E6E6FA; + color: black; + font-size:small; + padding:0.5em; + margin-bottom:5em; + font-family:sans-serif, serif; +} + +/* Poetry indents */ +.poetry .indent0 {text-indent: -3em;} +.poetry .indent1 {text-indent: -2.5em;} +.poetry .indent10 {text-indent: 2em;} +.poetry .indent2 {text-indent: -2em;} +.poetry .indent4 {text-indent: -1em;} + + + </style> +</head> +<body> +<div style='text-align:center'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 76491 ***</div> + + +<div class="transnote"> +<h2>Transcriber’s Note</h2> + +<p>Footnotes have all been renumbered from 1 to 20.</p> + +<p><a href="#Page_76">Page 76</a>—bougeoises changed to +<strong>bourgeoises</strong>.</p> + +<p><a href="#Page_332">Page 332</a>—biassed changed to +<strong>biased</strong>.</p> + +<p>The Advertisements “By Same Author”, have been placed at the back of + the project.</p> +</div> + +<figure class="figcenter x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<img src="images/cover.jpg" title="" alt="" width="1641" height="2560"> +</figure> + + + + + +<h1>MARY RUSSELL MITFORD</h1> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="figcenter" id="i_004"> +<img src="images/i_004.jpg" alt="Portrait of Mary Mitford" width="457" height="650"> +<p class="caption center"><em>From a portrait by A. Burt</em><br> +<em>Taken in 1836.</em></p> +</div> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p class="p4"></p> +<div class="title-page"> +<p class="center p140"> MARY RUSSELL MITFORD + AND HER SURROUNDINGS</p> + +<p class="center"> BY</p> + +<p class="center"> CONSTANCE HILL</p> + +<p class="p2"></p> +<p class="center"> WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY ELLEN + G. HILL AND REPRODUCTIONS + OF PORTRAITS</p> + +<p class="p2"></p> +<p class="center"> “There are few names which fall with + a pleasanter sound upon the ears of + those who adopt authors as friends than + the name of Mary Russell Mitford.”</p> + +<p class="p2"></p> +<p class="center p80"> LONDON: JOHN LANE, THE BODLEY HEAD + NEW YORK: JOHN LANE COMPANY. <abbr title="1920">MCMXX</abbr> </p> +</div> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_iv">[iv]</span></p> + +<p class="p4"></p> +<div class="chapter"> +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p><em>The centre design in the binding represents +a French gold enamelled watch which belonged +to Mrs. Mitford and was inherited +by her daughter. The original is in the +possession of the Misses Lovejoy.</em></p> +</div> + + +<p class="center p80">WILLIAM BRENDON AND SON, LTD.,<br> + PRINTERS, PLYMOUTH, ENGLAND</p> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_v">[v]</span></p> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p class="p4"></p> + +<p class="center">PREFACE</p> + +<p>The more we study the life and character of +Mary Russell Mitford the more we become +attached to her, for we come under the influence +of a nature that seems to radiate peace and +good-will upon all who surround her.</p> + +<p>“The pleasant compelled enjoyment of her +tales,” writes Harriet Martineau, “is ascribable +no doubt to the flow of good spirits and kindliness +that lighted up and warmed everything +that her mind produced.” And if we seek for +a further reason, surely it is to be found, as +another writer observes, “in their strong rural +flavour. They breathe the air of the hay-fields +and the scent of the hawthorn boughs. There +is nothing artificial about them, nothing of the +conventional pastoral. They are native and to +the manner born.”</p> + +<p>Here is an example that occurs in a letter to +a friend, written long before her printed works +appeared. Speaking of a walk in the Berkshire +meadows on a spring morning, she says: “Oh,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_vi">[vi]</span> +how beautiful they were to-day, with all their +train of callow goslings, and frisking lambs, and +laughing children chasing the butterflies that +floated like animated flowers in the air!... +How full of fragrance and of melody! It is +when walking in such scenes, listening to the +mingled notes of a thousand birds and inhaling +the mingled perfume of a thousand flowers that +I feel the real joy of existence.”</p> + +<p>Many writers have imitated Miss Mitford’s +style since the “tales” of <cite>Our Village</cite> first +took the reading world by surprise nearly a +hundred years ago; but none of those writers, +in my opinion, possess her potent charm, nor +do they possess her wonderful power of making +her readers see nature, as it were, through her +eyes and grasp the beauty and poetry of rural +life.</p> + +<p>Mary as a child was shy and silent before +strangers, but withal very observant. Writing +of the impressions made upon her mind by some +of the French <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">émigré</i> coteries with which she +had come in contact, she says: “In truth they +formed a motley group [whose] contrasts and +combinations were too ludicrous not to strike +irresistibly the fancy of an acute observing girl +whose perception of the ludicrous was rendered<span class="pagenum" id="Page_vii">[vii]</span> +keener by the invincible shyness which confined +the enjoyment entirely to her own +breast.”</p> + +<p>But is it not to the experiences gained by +such quiet, shy children as herself and Charlotte +Brontë that we owe much of our knowledge +of life and its surroundings? It is the +listeners not the talkers that can hand down +this knowledge to us.</p> + +<p>Miss Mitford’s talents were varied, and we +owe to her pen some stirring dramas which +were performed with much éclat on the London +stage, and in which John Kemble and Macready +took the leading parts. The public were astonished +to learn that it was a gentle lady +living in a remote Berkshire village who was +thus moving the great London audiences.</p> + +<p>A shrewd American critic of the day remarks: +“In all these plays there is strong, vigorous +writing—masculine in the free unhashed use +of language—but wholly womanly in its purity +from coarseness or licence and in the inter-mixture +of those incidental touches of softest +feeling and finest observation which are peculiar +to the gentler sex.”</p> + +<p>It has been said of Miss Mitford by one who +knew her that “as a letter-writer she has<span class="pagenum" id="Page_viii">[viii]</span> +rarely been surpassed, and that her correspondence, +so full as it is of point in allusions, so full +of anecdote and of recollections, will be considered +among her finest writings.” Even her +hasty notes, we are told, “had a relish about +them quite their own.” It is interesting to find +the views she herself entertained on the subject +of letter-writing as given in her <cite>Recollections of +a Literary Life</cite>. It runs as follows: “Such is +the reality and identity belonging to letters +written at the moment and intended only for +the eye of a favourite friend, that probably any +genuine series of epistles were the writer ever +so little distinguished would ... possess the +invaluable quality of individuality which so +often causes us to linger before an old portrait +of which we know no more than that it is a +Burgomaster by Rembrandt or a Venetian +Senator by Titian. The least skilful pen when +flowing from the fulness of the heart ... shall +often paint with as faithful and life-like a touch +as either of those great masters.”</p> + +<p>Mary Russell Mitford’s friends were numerous, +both here in England and on the other side of +the Atlantic, and her sympathies were as wide +as the great ocean that lies between us. She +writes in later life: “I love poetry and people<span class="pagenum" id="Page_ix">[ix]</span> +as well at sixty as I did at sixteen, and can never +be sufficiently grateful to God for having permitted +me to retain the two joy-giving faculties +of admiration and sympathy by which we are +enabled to escape from the consciousness of our +own infirmities into the great works of all ages +and the joys and sorrows of our immediate +friends.”</p> + +<p>This sunny nature which was unembittered +by severe trials speaks to us in all the stories of +<cite>Our Village</cite>, and it spread such a halo about +the scenes therein described that little Three +Mile Cross—the prototype of <cite>Our Village</cite>—became +in time a resort of pilgrims from far +and near, among whom were some of the finest +spirits of the age. All longed to gaze upon the +cottage in which Mary Russell Mitford had +dwelt, and to sit in the small parlour whose +window looks down upon the village street, +where she had written the stories so dear to +her readers.</p> + +<p>Happily the cottage itself, with the little +general shop on one side and the village inn on +the other, are still so much what they were in +her day that the long space of time that has +rolled by since her room was left vacant seems +to vanish, and as we enter the front door we<span class="pagenum" id="Page_x">[x]</span> +almost expect to see the small figure of the +“lady of <cite>Our Village</cite>” coming down the narrow +stairs to welcome us.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>Before closing this Preface I would express +my gratitude to Lord Treowen, Mr. and Mrs. +Alfred Palmer, Mr. F. Cowslade, Mr. W. May, +the Misses Lovejoy, and Mr. J. J. Cooper, for +permission to reproduce valuable portraits and +relics, and for other kind help.</p> + +<p class="right">CONSTANCE HILL.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" id="i_014"> +<img src="images/i_014.jpg" alt="" width="525" height="600"> +<p class="caption center">Grove Cottage,<br> +Frognal, Hampstead,<br> +<em>August, 1919</em>.</p> +</div> +</div> + +<p class="p4"></p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_xi">[xi]</span></p> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CONTENTS">CONTENTS</h2> + + +<table><tr> +<th class="chap"><span class="allsmcap">CHAPTER</span></th> +<th class="chn"></th> +<th class="pag"><small><small>PAGE</small></small></th> +</tr><tr> +<td class="chn">I.</td> +<td class="cht"><span class="allsmcap">AN AUTHOR’S BIRTHPLACE</span></td> +<td class="pag"><a href="#Page_1">1</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td class="chn"><abbr title="2">II</abbr> .</td> +<td class="cht"><span class="allsmcap">HAPPY MEMORIES</span></td> +<td class="pag"><a href="#Page_9">9</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td class="chn"><abbr title="3">III</abbr> .</td> +<td class="cht"><span class="allsmcap">VILLAGE NEIGHBOURS</span></td> +<td class="pag"><a href="#Page_15">15</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td class="chn"><abbr title="4">IV</abbr> .</td> +<td class="cht"><span class="allsmcap">EARLY LIFE IN READING</span></td> +<td class="pag"><a href="#Page_22">22</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td class="chn"><abbr title="5">V</abbr> .</td> +<td class="cht"><span class="allsmcap">LYME REGIS</span></td> +<td class="pag"><a href="#Page_29">29</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td class="chn"><abbr title="6">VI</abbr> .</td> +<td class="cht"><span class="allsmcap">A STORMY COAST</span></td> +<td class="pag"><a href="#Page_40">40</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td class="chn"><abbr title="7">VII</abbr> .</td> +<td class="cht"><span class="allsmcap">A FLIGHT</span></td> +<td class="pag"><a href="#Page_52">52</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td class="chn"><abbr title="8">VIII</abbr> .</td> +<td class="cht"><span class="allsmcap">RETURN TO READING</span></td> +<td class="pag"><a href="#Page_56">56</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td class="chn"><abbr title="9">IX</abbr> .</td> +<td class="cht"><span class="allsmcap">THE SCHOOL IN HANS PLACE</span></td> +<td class="pag"><a href="#Page_66">66</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td class="chn"><abbr title="10">X</abbr> .</td> +<td class="cht"><span class="allsmcap">A GLIMPSE OF OLD FRENCH SOCIETY</span></td> +<td class="pag"><a href="#Page_74">74</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td class="chn"><abbr title="11">XI</abbr> .</td> +<td class="cht"><span class="allsmcap">THE GAY REALITIES OF MOLIÈRE</span></td> +<td class="pag"><a href="#Page_82">82</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td class="chn"><abbr title="12">XII</abbr> .</td> +<td class="cht"><span class="allsmcap">RECOLLECTIONS OF OLD READING </span></td> +<td class="pag"><a href="#Page_92">92</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td class="chn"><abbr title="13">XIII</abbr> .</td> +<td class="cht"><span class="allsmcap">A NORTHERN TOUR</span></td> +<td class="pag"><a href="#Page_101">101</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td class="chn"><abbr title="14">XIV</abbr> .</td> +<td class="cht"><span class="allsmcap">A ROYAL VISIT </span></td> +<td class="pag"><a href="#Page_110">110</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td class="chn"><abbr title="15">XV</abbr> .</td> +<td class="cht"><span class="allsmcap">PLAYS AND POETRY</span></td> +<td class="pag"><a href="#Page_119">119</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td class="chn"><abbr title="16">XVI</abbr> .</td> +<td class="cht"><span class="allsmcap">A CHOSEN CORRESPONDENT </span></td> +<td class="pag"><a href="#Page_126">126</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td class="chn"><abbr title="17">XVII</abbr> .</td> +<td class="cht"><span class="allsmcap">THE MARCH OF MIND</span></td> +<td class="pag"><a href="#Page_134">134</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td class="chn"><abbr title="18">XVIII</abbr> .</td> +<td class="cht"><span class="allsmcap">VERSATILITY AND PLAYFULNESS </span></td> +<td class="pag"><a href="#Page_144">144</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td class="chn"><abbr title="19">XIX</abbr> .</td> +<td class="cht"><span class="allsmcap">FROM MANSION TO COTTAGE</span></td> +<td class="pag"><a href="#Page_156">156</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td class="chn"><abbr title="20">XX</abbr> .</td> +<td class="cht"><span class="allsmcap">THREE MILE CROSS </span></td> +<td class="pag"><a href="#Page_161">161</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td class="chn"><abbr title="21">XXI</abbr> .</td> +<td class="cht"><span class="allsmcap">THE NEW HOME</span></td> +<td class="pag"><a href="#Page_179">179</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td class="chn"><abbr title="22">XXII</abbr> .</td> +<td class="cht"><span class="allsmcap">A LOQUACIOUS VISITOR </span></td> +<td class="pag"><a href="#Page_190">190</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td class="chn"><abbr title="23">XXIII</abbr> .</td> +<td class="cht"><span class="allsmcap">THE PUBLICATION OF “OUR VILLAGE”</span></td> +<td class="pag"><a href="#Page_203">203</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td class="chn"><abbr title="24">XXIV</abbr> .</td> +<td class="cht"><span class="allsmcap">A COUNTRY-SIDE ROMANCE </span></td> +<td class="pag"><a href="#Page_212">212<span class="pagenum" id="Page_xii">[xii]</span></a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td class="chn"><abbr title="25">XXV</abbr> .</td> +<td class="cht"><span class="allsmcap">A NEW PLAYWRIGHT</span></td> +<td class="pag"><a href="#Page_221">221</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td class="chn"><abbr title="26">XXVI</abbr> .</td> +<td class="cht"><span class="allsmcap">“RIENZI”</span></td> +<td class="pag"><a href="#Page_230">230</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td class="chn"><abbr title="27">XXVII</abbr> .</td> +<td class="cht"><span class="allsmcap">FOREIGN NEIGHBOURS</span></td> +<td class="pag"><a href="#Page_241">241</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td class="chn"><abbr title="28">XXVIII</abbr> .</td> +<td class="cht"><span class="allsmcap">AGREEABLE JAUNTS</span></td> +<td class="pag"><a href="#Page_250">250</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td class="chn"><abbr title="29">XXIX</abbr> .</td> +<td class="cht"><span class="allsmcap">UFTON COURT</span></td> +<td class="pag"><a href="#Page_260">260</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td class="chn"><abbr title="30">XXX</abbr> .</td> +<td class="cht"><span class="allsmcap">A FURTHER GLANCE AT OUR VILLAGE</span></td> +<td class="pag"><a href="#Page_271">271</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td class="chn"><abbr title="31">XXXI</abbr> .</td> +<td class="cht"><span class="allsmcap">ECCENTRIC NEIGHBOURS</span></td> +<td class="pag"><a href="#Page_283">283</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td class="chn"><abbr title="32">XXXII</abbr> .</td> +<td class="cht"><span class="allsmcap">THE MAY-HOUSES</span></td> +<td class="pag"><a href="#Page_292">292</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td class="chn"><abbr title="33">XXXIII</abbr> .</td> +<td class="cht"><span class="allsmcap">WALKS IN THE COUNTRY</span></td> +<td class="pag"><a href="#Page_302">302</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td class="chn"><abbr title="34">XXXIV</abbr> .</td> +<td class="cht"><span class="allsmcap">A CENTRE OF INTEREST</span></td> +<td class="pag"><a href="#Page_315">315</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td class="chn"><abbr title="35">XXXV</abbr> .</td> +<td class="cht"><span class="allsmcap">A LONDON WELCOME</span></td> +<td class="pag"><a href="#Page_328">328</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td class="chn"><abbr title="36">XXXVI</abbr> .</td> +<td class="cht"><span class="allsmcap">A BRAVE HEART </span></td> +<td class="pag"><a href="#Page_339">339</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td class="chn"><abbr title="37">XXXVII</abbr> .</td> +<td class="cht"><span class="allsmcap">FAREWELL TO THREE MILE CROSS</span></td> +<td class="pag"><a href="#Page_350">350</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td class="chn"><abbr title="38">XXXVIII</abbr> .</td> +<td class="cht"><span class="allsmcap">SWALLOWFIELD </span></td> +<td class="pag"><a href="#Page_360">360</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td class="chn"><abbr title="39">XXXIX</abbr> .</td> +<td class="cht"><span class="allsmcap">PEACEFUL CLOSING YEARS </span></td> +<td class="pag"><a href="#Page_372">372</a></td> +</tr> +</table> + + +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_xiii">[xiii]</span> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="ILLUSTRATIONS">ILLUSTRATIONS</h2> +</div> + +<table class="toi"> +<tr> +<td class="cht"></td> +<td class="pag"><small><small>PAGE</small></small></td> +</tr><tr> + <td class="cht">Portrait of Mary Russell Mitford. (<em>By A. Burt, taken in + 1836</em>)</td> + <td class="pag"><a href="#i_004"><em>Frontispiece</em></a></td> +</tr><tr> + <td class="cht"> Grove Cottage, Frognal, Hampstead </td> + <td class="tdr"><em>Preface</em> <a href="#Page_x">x</a> </td> +</tr><tr> + <td class="cht">The Mitfords’ house in Broad Street, Alresford</td> + <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_3">3</a></td> +</tr><tr> + <td class="cht"> Antique girandole </td> + <td class="pag"> <a href="#Page_8">8</a> </td> +</tr><tr> + <td class="cht">Mary Russell Mitford’s birthplace</td> + <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_11">11</a></td> +</tr><tr> + <td class="cht"> Mary Russell Mitford at the age of four years. (<em>After a + miniature</em>)</td> + <td class="tdr"><em>To face</em> <a href="#Page_16">16</a></td> +</tr><tr> + <td class="cht">The Cross-house</td> + <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_21">21</a></td> +</tr><tr> + <td class="cht"> Southampton Street, Reading</td> + <td class="pag"> <a href="#Page_24">24</a> </td> +</tr><tr> + <td class="cht">The “Walk” by the sea, Lyme Regis</td> + <td class="pag"><a href="#i_031">31</a></td> +</tr><tr> + <td class="cht"> The Great House, Lyme Regis </td> + <td class="pag"> <a href="#Page_35">35</a> </td> +</tr><tr> + <td class="cht">Old ironwork </td> + <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_39">39</a></td> +</tr><tr> + <td class="cht"> The panelled chamber</td> + <td class="pag"> <a href="#Page_41">41</a> </td> +</tr><tr> + <td class="cht">The drawing-room </td> + <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_47">47</a></td> +</tr><tr> + <td class="cht"> Blackfriars Bridge in 1796 </td> + <td class="pag"> <a href="#Page_52">52</a> </td> +</tr><tr> + <td class="cht">Dr. Mitford’s house in the London Road, Reading </td> + <td class="tdr"><em>To face</em> <a href="#Page_58">58</a></td> +</tr><tr> + <td class="cht"> Antique ironwork </td> + <td class="pag"> <a href="#Page_65">65</a> </td> +</tr><tr> + <td class="cht">Hans Place in 1798 </td> + <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_69">69</a></td> +</tr><tr> + <td class="cht"> Ceiling decoration (1714)</td> + <td class="pag"> <a href="#Page_81">81</a> </td> +</tr><tr> + <td class="cht">A purse-bag </td> + <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_91">91</a></td> +</tr><tr> + <td class="cht"> A skit on the “Pink of the mode”</td> + <td class="tdr"><em>To face</em> <a href="#Page_92">92</a></td> +</tr><tr> + <td class="cht"> A quaint tea-set </td> + <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_100">100</a></td> +</tr><tr> + <td class="cht"> Gosfield Hall </td> + <td class="tdr"><em>To face</em> <a href="#Page_110">110</a></td> +</tr><tr> + <td class="cht">Le Comte d’Artois (afterwards Charles <abbr title="10">X</abbr> )</td> + <td class="tdr"><em>To face</em> <a href="#Page_112">112</a></td> +</tr><tr> + <td class="cht"> The Dining-room in the Deanery, Bocking</td> + <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_115">115</a></td> +</tr><tr> + <td class="cht">Dr. Valpy’s school</td> + <td class="tdr"><em>To face</em> <a href="#Page_122">122</a></td> +</tr><tr> + <td class="cht">Country cottages </td> + <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_143">143</a></td> +</tr><tr> + <td class="cht"> Bertram House</td> + <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_147">147</a></td> +</tr><tr> + <td class="cht">Inlaid tea-caddy </td> + <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_160">160</a></td> +</tr><tr> + <td class="cht"> The Mitfords’ cottage in Three Mile Cross </td> + <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_163">163</a><span class="pagenum" id="Page_xiv">[xiv]</span></td> +</tr><tr> + <td class="cht">The village shop </td> + <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_169">169</a></td> +</tr><tr> + <td class="cht"> The Swan Inn </td> + <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_173">173</a></td> +</tr><tr> + <td class="cht">A country wheelbarrow</td> + <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_178">178</a></td> +</tr><tr> + <td class="cht"> Miss Mitford’s writing-parlour </td> + <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_181">181</a></td> +</tr><tr> + <td class="cht">The wheelwright’s workshop</td> + <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_185">185</a></td> +</tr><tr> + <td class="cht"> Fragment of the Silchester Roman wall </td> + <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_189">189</a></td> +</tr><tr> + <td class="cht">Where the curate lodged</td> + <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_193">193</a></td> +</tr><tr> + <td class="cht">The curate’s parlour </td> + <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_197">197</a></td> +</tr><tr> + <td class="cht"> An old Berkshire farm</td> + <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_213">213</a></td> +</tr><tr> + <td class="cht">Frith Street, Soho Square </td> + <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_225">225</a></td> +</tr><tr> + <td class="cht">Old houses in Great Queen Street </td> + <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_233">233</a></td> +</tr><tr> + <td class="cht">A French bonbonnière </td> + <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_249">249</a></td> +</tr><tr> + <td class="cht">The West Gate, Southampton </td> + <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_251">251</a></td> +</tr><tr> + <td class="cht">Pulteney Bridge, Bath </td> + <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_254">254</a></td> +</tr><tr> + <td class="cht">Arabella Fermor as a child. (<em>After a picture in the + possession of Frederick Cowslade, Esq.</em>) </td> + <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_259">259</a></td> +</tr><tr> + <td class="cht">The Porch, Ufton Court </td> + <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_261">261</a></td> +</tr><tr> + <td class="cht">Arabella Fermor, the “Belinda” of the “Rape of the Lock,” + afterwards Mrs. Perkins. (<em>From a painting by W. Sykes + in the possession of Lord Treowen</em>)</td> + <td class="tdr"><em>To face</em> <a href="#Page_262">262</a></td> +</tr><tr> + <td class="cht"> Francis Perkins. (<em>By W. Sykes, from a painting also + in the possession of Lord Treowen</em>)</td> + <td class="tdr"><em>To face</em> <a href="#Page_262">262</a></td> +</tr><tr> + <td class="cht">Belinda’s parlour </td> + <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_265">265</a></td> +</tr><tr> + <td class="cht">The garden steps </td> + <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_267">267</a></td> +</tr><tr> + <td class="cht">A dandy of the period </td> + <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_291">291</a></td> +</tr><tr> + <td class="cht">An old shoeing forge </td> + <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_297">297</a></td> +</tr><tr> + <td class="cht">A bridge on the Loddon </td> + <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_303">303</a></td> +</tr><tr> + <td class="cht">In Aberleigh (Arborfield) Park </td> + <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_307">307</a></td> +</tr><tr> + <td class="cht"> Dr. Mitford. (<em>From a painting by John Lucas in the + possession of W. May, Esq.</em>)</td> + <td class="tdr"><em>To face</em> <a href="#Page_330">330</a></td> +</tr><tr> + <td class="cht">Ironwork in the balcony of Sergeant Talfourd’s house </td> + <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_338">338</a></td> +</tr><tr> + <td class="cht"> Verses by M. R. Mitford written in a friend’s album + (<em>facsimile</em>)</td> + <td class="tdr"><em>To face</em> <a href="#Page_344">344</a></td> +</tr><tr> + <td class="cht">Old house near Swallowfield </td> + <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_355">355</a></td> +</tr><tr> + <td class="cht">A teapot which belonged to M. R. Mitford </td> + <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_359">359</a></td> +</tr><tr> + <td class="cht"> M. R. Mitford’s last home at Swallowfield </td> + <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_363">363</a></td> +</tr><tr> + <td class="cht"> Swallowfield Church </td> + <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_380">380</a></td> +</tr> +</table> + + <span class="pagenum" id="Page_1">[1]</span> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="MARY_RUSSELL_MITFORD">MARY RUSSELL MITFORD</h2> +</div> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class ="chapter"> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_I">CHAPTER <abbr title="1">I</abbr> </h2> +</div> + +<p class="center">AN AUTHOR’S BIRTHPLACE</p> + + +<p>In a sunny corner of Hampshire there lies the +tiny historic town of Alresford on the gentle +slopes of a hill, at whose feet flows the little +river Arle which gives its name to the place. +“A town so small that but for an ancient +market very slenderly attended, nobody would +have dreamt of calling it anything but a village.” +And yet, oddly enough, in this same place great +dignity was united with rustic simplicity, for +the living of “Old” Alresford was one of the +richest in England, and was held by the Bishop +of Exeter in conjunction with his very poor see. +The Post Office was formerly installed in a +very small room with nothing but a letter-box +in the window; still, it had its importance, +being at the head of many others scattered over +the country-side.</p> + +<p>Alresford was the birthplace of one who loved +nature as few have loved her, and whose writings +“breathe the air of the hay-fields and the +scent of the hawthorn boughs,” and seem to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_2">[2]</span> +waft to us “the sweet breezes that blow over +ripened, cornfields or daisied meadows.”</p> + +<p>The name of Mary Russell Mitford—the +author of <cite>Our Village</cite>—is dear to thousands of +readers, both English and American, for she +has enabled them to see nature with her eyes +and to enter into the very spirit of rural +life.</p> + +<p>Alresford is built on the plan of the letter +T, at the top of which stands the old church; +Broad Street being the perpendicular stem, +traversed by East Street and West Street, +which form the cross-bar.</p> + +<p>Supposing that we are coming up from the +valley below where we have left behind us the +winding river with its old mill, we enter the +lower end of Broad Street—that picturesque +street with its raised footpaths on either side +bordered by trees, and its low, irregular houses, +dominated at the upper end by the grey tower +of the old church. That dignified looking house +on the right-hand side, with its hooded doorway +and its tall windows, belonged to Dr. +Mitford.</p> + +<p>Here it was that the doctor started a practice +soon after his marriage with Miss Russell, +the only child and heiress of the late Dr. Russell, +Rector of Ashe, and here, on the 16th December, +1787, Mary, also an only child, was born.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_3">[3]</span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" id="i_023"> +<img src="images/i_023.jpg" alt="" width="600" height="410"> +<p class="caption center">THE HOUSE IN BROAD STREET</p> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_4">[4]</span></p> + + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_5">[5]</span></p> + +<p>“A pleasant house in truth it was,” she +writes. “The breakfast-room ... was a lofty +and spacious apartment literally lined with +books, which, with its Turkey carpet, its glowing +fire, its sofas and its easy-chairs, seemed, +what indeed it was, a very nest of English comfort. +The windows opened on a large old-fashioned +garden, full of old-fashioned flowers—stocks, +roses, honeysuckles and pinks; and +that again led into a grassy orchard, abounding +with fruit trees....</p> + +<p>“What a playground was that orchard! and +what playfellows were mine! My maid Nancy +with her trim prettiness, my own dear father, +handsomest and cheerfullest of men, and the +great Newfoundland dog Coe, who used to lie +down at my feet as if to invite me to mount +him, and then to prance off with his burthen, +as if he enjoyed the fun as much as we did!... +How well I remember my father’s carrying me +round the orchard on his shoulder, holding fast +my little three-year-old feet, whilst the little +hands hung on to his pig-tail, which I called +my bridle; hung so fast, and tugged so heartily, +that sometimes the ribbon would come off +between my fingers and send his hair floating +and the powder flying down his back!... +Happy, happy days! It is good to have the +memory of such a childhood!”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_6">[6]</span></p> + +<p>Miss Mitford writes on another occasion:—</p> + +<p>“In common with many only children, I +learnt to read at a very early age. My +father would perch me on the breakfast-table +to exhibit my only accomplishment to some +admiring guest, who admired all the more +[from my being] a small puny child, gifted with +an affluence of curls [who] might have passed +for the twin sister of my own great doll. On +the table was I perched to read some Foxite +newspaper, <cite>Courier</cite> or <cite>Morning Chronicle</cite>, the +Whiggish oracles of the day.... I read leading +articles to please the company; and my +dear mother recited ‘The Children in the Wood’ +to please me. This was my reward, and I looked +for my favourite ballad after every performance, +just as the piping bull-finch that hung in the +window looked for his lump of sugar after going +through ‘God save the King.’ The two cases +were exactly parallel.”</p> + +<p>We have sat in the very room where this scene +took place. Little is changed there, and we +stepped from its windows “opening down to +the ground” into the garden. A narrow footpath, +bordered by greensward, led to a small +flagged courtyard, flanked on one side by a +quaint old brew-house, with its red-tiled roof +and peaked windowed centre. Then, passing +through a wicket-gate, we found ourselves in<span class="pagenum" id="Page_7">[7]</span> +the “large old-fashioned garden,” itself gay +with flowers as of yore.</p> + +<p>An adjoining house has arisen, since the Mitfords +lived in their house more than a hundred +years ago, but this building has in its turn +grown old, so that it does not mar the character +of the place.</p> + +<p>Beyond the garden lay the orchard, now used +as a tennis lawn, but still happily surrounded +by trees, through whose boughs peeps of the +sweet surrounding country can be seen. Indeed +Alresford is entirely encircled by the +country, and its three only streets—Broad +Street, East Street, and West Street—lead +straight into it. Miss Mitford, describing the +views on either side of their grounds, says that +to the south rose the “picturesque church with +its yews and lindens, and beyond it a down as +smooth as velvet, dotted with rich islands of +coppice, hazel, woodbine and hawthorn”; +while down in the valley “gleamed a bright, +clear lakelet radiant with swans and water-lilies, +which the simple townsfolk were content +to call the ‘Great Pond.’”</p> + +<p>Dr. Mitford’s house must indeed have been +a “pleasant home” for a child, with its garden +and orchard for a playground behind the house, +and, in front, its cheerful view of the village +street with its ever-changing scenes of passing<span class="pagenum" id="Page_8">[8]</span> +horsemen and carts, or of herds of sheep and +cattle driven to market.</p> + +<p>Here Mary first learnt, though unconsciously, +to enjoy the beauties of nature and to enter +into the simple pleasures of village life.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" id="i_028"> +<img src="images/i_028.jpg" alt="Antique girandole" width="123" height="250"> +</div> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_9">[9]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_II">CHAPTER <abbr title="2">II</abbr> </h2> +</div> + +<p class="center">HAPPY MEMORIES</p> + + +<p>The market of old days used to be held in an +open space where East Street and West Street +meet, near to the Bell Inn, whose gilded sign, +in the form of a bas-relief, is displayed over its +entrance.</p> + +<p>Here we can fancy the little Mary being taken +to see the gay booths with their display of toys +or of ginger-bread, and the sheep or pigs in +pens.</p> + +<p>Miss Mitford was warmly attached to the place +of her birth, and often alludes to it, but usually +under the pseudonym of “Cranley.”</p> + +<p>“One of the noisiest inhabitants,” she writes, +“of the small, irregular town of Cranley, in +which I had the honour to be born, was a certain +cobbler by name Jacob Giles. He lived exactly +over-right our house in a little appendage to the +baker’s shop.... At his half-hatch might he +be seen stitching and stitching, with the peculiar, +regular two-handed jerk proper to the art of +cobbling, from six in the morning to six at<span class="pagenum" id="Page_10">[10]</span> +night.... There he sat with a dirty red +night-cap over his grizzled hair, a dingy waistcoat +and old blue coat, darned, patched and +ragged, and a greasy leathern apron....</p> + +<p>“The face belonging to this costume was +rough and weather-beaten, deeply lined and +deeply tinted of a right copper colour, with a +nose that would have done honour to Bardolph, +and a certain indescribable half-tipsy look, even +when sober. Nevertheless the face, ugly and +tipsy as it was, had its merits.... There was +good humour in the half-shut eye, the pursed-up +mouth and the whole jolly visage.... +There he sat in that small den, looking something +like a thrush in a goldfinch’s cage, and +singing with as much power and far wider range—albeit +his notes were hardly as melodious—Jobson’s +songs in the ‘Devil to Pay’ and ‘A +cobbler there was, and he lived in a stall, which +served him for parlour, for kitchen and hall’ +being his favourites.</p> + +<p>“... Poor as he was Jacob Giles had always +something for those poorer than himself; would +share his scanty dinner with a starving beggar, +and his last quid of tobacco with a crippled +sailor. The children came to him for nuts and +apples, for comical stories and droll songs; the +very curs of the street knew that they had a +friend in the poor cobbler.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_11">[11]</span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" id="i_031"> +<img src="images/i_031.jpg" alt="" width="407" height="600"> +<p class="caption center">MARY RUSSELL MITFORD’S BIRTHPLACE.</p> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_12">[12]</span></p> + + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_13">[13]</span></p> + +<p>“For my own part I can recollect Jacob Giles +as long as I can recollect anything. He made +the shoes for my first doll (pink I remember +they were)—a doll called Sophie, who had the +misfortune to break her neck by a fall from +the nursery window. Jacob Giles mended all +the shoes of the family, with whom he was a +universal favourite.... He used to mimic +Punch for my amusement, and I once greatly +offended the real Punch by preferring the +cobbler’s performance of the closing scene.”</p> + +<p>Writing in after years, Miss Mitford remarks: +“Where my passion for plays began it is difficult +to say. Perhaps at the little town of +Alresford, when I was somewhat short of four +years old, and was taken by my dear father to +see one of the greatest tragedies of the world +set forth in a barn. Even now I have a dim +recollection of a glimmering row of candles +dividing the end which was called the stage +from the part which did duty as pit and boxes, +of the black face and the spangled turban, of +my wondering admiration, and the breathless +interest of the rustic audience.”</p> + +<p>Among some of her happiest recollections of +early childhood were her rides on horseback +with her father. “This dear papa of mine,” +she writes, “whose gay and careless temper all +the professional etiquette of the world could<span class="pagenum" id="Page_14">[14]</span> +never tame into the staid gravity proper to a +doctor of medicine, happened to be a capital +horseman, and abandoning the close carriage +almost wholly to my mother used to pay his +country visits on a favourite blood mare, whose +extreme docility and gentleness tempted him +into having a pad constructed, perched upon +which I might occasionally accompany him, +when the weather was favourable and the distance +not too great.</p> + +<p>“A groom, who had been bred up in my +grandfather’s family, always attended us, and I +do think that both Brown Bess and George liked +to have me with them almost as well as my +father did. The old servant, proud, as grooms +always are, of a fleet and beautiful horse, was +almost as proud of my horsemanship, for I, +cowardly enough, Heaven knows, in after years, +was then too young and too ignorant for fear—if +it could have been possible to have any sense +of danger when strapped so tightly to my +father’s saddle, and enclosed so fondly by his +strong and loving arm. Very delightful were +those rides across the breezy Hampshire downs +on a sunny summer morning!”</p> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_15">[15]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_III">CHAPTER <abbr title="3">III</abbr> </h2> +</div> + +<p class="center">VILLAGE NEIGHBOURS</p> + + +<p>In one of Miss Mitford’s tales entitled <cite>A +Country Barber</cite> she describes a humble neighbour +whose tiny shop adjoined their own +“handsome and commodious dwelling.” This +tiny shop has long since disappeared, having +given place to the “adjoining house” already +mentioned.</p> + +<p>“The barber’s shop,” we are told, “consisted +of a low-browed cottage with a pole before it, +and a half-hatch always open, through which +was visible a little dusty hole where a few wigs, +on battered wooden blocks, were ranged round +a comfortable shaving chair. There was a +legend, over the door in which ‘William Skinner, +wig-maker, hairdresser, and barber’ was set +forth in yellow letters on a blue ground.”</p> + +<p>After speaking of her happy early recollections +of “Will Skinner,” Miss Mitford remarks: +“So agreeable indeed is the impression which +he has left in my memory that I cannot help +regretting the decline and extinction of a race<span class="pagenum" id="Page_16">[16]</span> +which, besides figuring so notably in the old +novels and comedies, formed so genial a link +between the higher orders of society, supplying +to the rich the most familiar of followers and +most harmless of gossips.”</p> + +<p>How vividly these words recall to our mind +Sir Walter Scott’s old Caxon the barber and +familiar follower of Mr. Oldbuck, “who was +accustomed to bring to his patron each morning +along with the powder and pomatum his version +of the politics or the gossip of the neighbourhood.</p> + +<p>“‘Heeh, sirs!’ he exclaims, ‘nae wonder the +commons will be discontent, when they see +magistrates, and bailies, and deacons, and the +provost himsell wi’ heads as bald and as bare +as one o’ my blocks!’</p> + +<p>“It certainly was not Will Skinner’s beauty,” +writes Mary Mitford, “that caught my fancy. +His person was hardly of the kind to win a +lady’s favour, even although that lady were +only four years of age.... Good old man! I +see him in my mind’s eye at this moment: lean, +wrinkled, shabby, poor, slow of speech, and +ungainly of aspect, yet pleasant to look at and +delightful to recollect. It was the overflowing +kindness of his temper that rendered Will +Skinner so general a favourite. Poor he was +certainly and lonely, for he had been crossed<span class="pagenum" id="Page_17">[17]</span> +in love in his youth, and lived alone in his little +tenement, with no other companions than his +wig blocks and a tame starling. ‘Pretty company’ +he used to call them.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" id="i_037"> +<img src="images/i_037.jpg" alt="" width="394" height="600"> +<p class="caption center">MARY RUSSELL MITFORD</p> +<p class="caption center"><em>From a miniature</em></p> +</div> + +<p>“His fortunes had at one time assumed a +more flourishing aspect when the Bishop of +Exeter and Rector of Alresford had employed +him to superintend the ‘posting’ of his wig, +and had also promoted him to the posts of +sexton and of deputy parish clerk. But on the +death of the Bishop, and on the advent of the +French Revolution, when cropped heads came +into fashion and powder and hairdressing went +out, poor Will found himself nearly at his wit’s +end. In this dilemma he resolved to turn his +hand to other employments, and, living in the +neighbourhood of a famous trout stream, he +applied himself to the construction of artificial +flies.</p> + +<p>“This occupation he usually followed in his +territory the churchyard, a place ... occupying +a gentle eminence by the side of Cranley +Down—a down on which the cricketers of that +cricketing country used to muster two elevens +for practice, almost every fine evening, from +Easter to Michaelmas. Thither Will, who had +been a cricketer himself in his youth, and still +loved the wind of a ball, used to resort on +summer afternoons, perching himself on a large<span class="pagenum" id="Page_18">[18]</span> +square raised monument, a spreading lime tree +above his head, Izaak Walton before him, and +his implements of trade at his side. There he +sat, now manufacturing a cannon-fly, and now +watching Tom Taylor’s unparagoned bowling.</p> + +<p>“On this spot our intimacy commenced. A +spoilt child and an only child, it was my delight +to escape from nurse and nursery and to follow +everywhere the dear papa, [even] to the cricket +ground, in spite of all remonstrance, causing +him no small perplexity as to how to bestow me +in safety during the game. Will and the +monument seemed to offer exactly the desired +refuge, and our good neighbour readily consented +to fill the post of deputy nursery-maid +for the time, assisted in his superintendence by +our very beautiful and sagacious black Newfoundland +dog called Coe....</p> + +<p>“Poor dear old man, what a life I led him!—now +playing at bo-peep on one side of the +great monument and now on the other; now +crawling away amongst the green graves; now +gliding round before him, and laughing up in +his face as he sat.... How he would catch +me away from the very shadow of danger if a +ball came near; and how often did he interrupt +his own labours to forward my amusement, +sliding from his perch to gather lime branches +to stick in Coe’s collar, or to collect daisies,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_19">[19]</span> +buttercups, or ragged-robins to make what I +used to call daisy-beds for my doll.”</p> + +<p>Here is another pretty incident of the Alresford +life recorded by Miss Mitford.</p> + +<p>“Before we left Hampshire,” she writes, “my +maid Nancy married a young farmer, and +nothing would serve her but I must be bridesmaid. +And so it was settled.</p> + +<p>“I remember the whole scene as if it were +yesterday! How my father took me himself +to the churchyard gate, where the procession +was formed, and how I walked next to the young +couple hand-in-hand with the bridegroom’s +man, no other than the village blacksmith, a +giant of six feet three, who might have served +as a model for Hercules. Much trouble had he +to stoop low enough to reach down to my hand, +and many were the rustic jokes passed upon the +disproportioned pair....</p> + +<p>“In this order, followed by the parents on +both sides, and a due number of uncles, aunts +and cousins, we entered the church, where I +held the glove with all the gravity and importance +proper to my office; and so contagious is +emotion that when the bride cried, I could not +help crying for company. But it was a love-match, +and between smiles and blushes Nancy’s +tears soon disappeared, and so did mine. The +happy husband helped his pretty wife into her<span class="pagenum" id="Page_20">[20]</span> +own chaise-cart, my friend the blacksmith lifted +me in after her, and we drove gaily to the large, +comfortable farm-house where her future life +was to be spent.</p> + +<p>“The bride was [soon] taken to survey her +new dominions by her proud bridegroom, and +the blacksmith, finding me, I suppose, easier to +carry than to lead, followed close upon their +steps with me in his arms.</p> + +<p>“Nothing could exceed the good nature of +my country beau; he pointed out bantams and +pea-fowls, and took me to see a tame lamb and +a tall, staggering calf, born that morning; but +for all that I do not think I should have submitted +to the indignity of being carried if it +had not been for the chastening influence of a +little touch of fear. Entering the poultry yard +I had caught sight of a certain turkey-cock, who +erected that circular tail of his, and swelled out +his deep red comb and gills after a fashion +familiar to that truculent bird, but which up to +the present hour I am far from admiring....</p> + +<p>“[At last] we drew back to the hall, a large +square bricked apartment, with a beam across +the ceiling and a wide yawning chimney, where +many young people being assembled, and one +of them producing a fiddle, it was agreed to have +a country dance until dinner should be ready, +the bride and bridegroom leading off, and I +following with the bridegroom’s man.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_21">[21]</span></p> + +<p>“Oh! the blunders, the confusion, the merriment +of that country dance! No two people +attempted the same figure; few aimed at any +figure at all; each went his own way; many +stumbled, some fell, and everybody capered, +laughed and shouted at once!”</p> + +<div class="figcenter" id="i_043"> +<img src="images/i_043.jpg" alt="The Cross house" width="492" height="550"> +</div> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_22">[22]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_IV">CHAPTER <abbr title="4">IV</abbr> </h2> +</div> + +<p class="center">EARLY LIFE IN READING</p> + + +<p>Towards the end of the year 1791, before +the little Mary had become quite four years +old, a change came over the fortunes of the +family.</p> + +<p>Dr. Mitford, in spite of some really good +qualities, was of a careless and thoughtless disposition +as regards money matters, and was, +unhappily, addicted to games of chance. “He +had the misfortune,” writes his daughter, “to +be the best whist player in England,” and like +the celebrated Mr. Micawber and so many of +his class, he had an unchanging faith in his own +“good luck,” and felt confident that however +dark the horizon might be something would +turn up to his advantage. “Dr. Mitford,” +remarks a shrewd writer, “belonged to that +class of impecunious individuals who seem to +have been born insolvent.”</p> + +<p>He had come into possession of a large fortune +on his marriage, for his bride-elect had +refused to have any settlement made concerning<span class="pagenum" id="Page_23">[23]</span> +property under her own control, and this fortune +had already nearly melted away.</p> + +<p>In spite, however, of all his thoughtless extravagance, +from which both wife and child +suffered severely, they remained at all times +devoted to him. As she grew older Mary could +not shut her eyes to her father’s faults; but +she loved him in spite of them, dwelling constantly +in her writings upon his invariable kindness +to her as a child, which claimed, she considered, +her lasting gratitude. “He possessed +indeed,” she remarks, “every manly and +generous quality, excepting that which is so +necessary in this workaday world—the homely +quality called prudence.”</p> + +<p>On leaving Alresford, where many of their +valued possessions had to be sold, the little +family removed to a house in Southampton +Street, Reading, where the doctor hoped to +establish a practice. This street, which crosses +the river Kennet by a stone bridge, has still an +old-world appearance, with its modest-looking +dwelling-houses and its old-fashioned inns; +while high above its roofs rises the spire of the +old church of St. Giles.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" id="i-046"> +<img src="images/i-046.jpg" alt="" width="486" height="600"> +<p class="caption center">SOUTHAMPTON STREET</p> +</div> + +<p>It is in connection with this very church that +we have a pleasant glimpse of the little Mary +from the pen of Mrs. Sherwood, then a young +girl living in Reading. “I remember,” she<span class="pagenum" id="Page_24">[24]</span> +writes, “once going to a church in the town, +which we did not usually attend, and being +taken into Mrs. Mitford’s pew, where I saw the +young authoress, Miss Mitford, then about four<span class="pagenum" id="Page_25">[25]</span> +years old. Miss Mitford was standing on the seat, +and so full of play that she set me on to laugh +in a way which made me thoroughly ashamed.”</p> + +<p>Writing of this same period in after life, +Mary Mitford says: “It is now about forty +years since I, a damsel scarcely so high as the +table on which I am writing, and somewhere +about four years old, first became an inhabitant +of Belford Regis” (her name for Reading), +“and really I remember a great deal not worth +remembering concerning the place, especially +our own garden and a certain dell on the Bristol +road to which I used to resort for primroses.”</p> + +<p>It was during this first residence in Reading, +when she was still a small child, that she saw +London for the first time.</p> + +<p>“Business called my father thither in the +middle of July,” she writes, “and he suddenly +announced his intention of driving me up in his +gig (a high open carriage holding two persons), +unencumbered by any other companion, male +or female. George only, the old groom, was +sent forward with a spare horse over-night to +Maidenhead Bridge, and, the dear papa conforming +to my nursery hours, we dined at Crauford +Bridge ... and reached Hatchett’s Hotel, +Piccadilly (the New White Horse Cellar of the +old stage-coaches), early in the afternoon....</p> + +<p>“I had enjoyed the drive past all expression,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_26">[26]</span> +chattering all the way, and falling into no other +mistakes than those common to larger people +than myself of thinking that London began at +Brentford, and wondering in Piccadilly when the +crowd would go by; and I was so little tired +when we arrived that, to lose no time, we +betook ourselves that night to the Haymarket +Theatre, the only one then open. I had been +at plays in the country, in a barn in Hampshire +... but the country play was nothing to the +London play—a lively comedy with the rich +caste of those days—one of the comedies that +George <abbr title="3">III</abbr> enjoyed so heartily. I enjoyed it as +much as he, and laughed and clapped my hands +and danced on my father’s knee, and almost +screamed with delight, so that a party in the +same box, who had begun by being half angry +at my restlessness, finished by being amused +with my amusement.</p> + +<p>“The next day, my father, having an appointment +at the Bank, took the opportunity of +showing me St. Paul’s and the Tower.</p> + +<p>“At St. Paul’s I saw all the wonders of the +place, whispered in the whispering gallery, and +walked up the tottering wooden stairs, not into +the ball itself but to the circular balustrade of +the highest gallery beneath it. I have never +been there since, but I can still recall most +vividly that wonderful panorama: the strange<span class="pagenum" id="Page_27">[27]</span> +diminution produced by the distance, the toy-like +carriages and horses, and men and women +moving noiselessly through the toy-like streets.... +Looking back to that [scene] what strikes +me most is the small dimensions to which the +capital of England was then confined. When I +stood on the topmost gallery of St. Paul’s I saw +a compact city spreading along the river, it +is true, from Billingsgate to Westminster, but +clearly defined to the north and to the south, +the West-End beginning at Hyde Park on the +one side and the Green Park on the other. Then +Belgravia was a series of pastures and Paddington +a village.</p> + +<p>“We proceeded to the Tower, that place so +striking by force of contrast ... the jewels +and the armoury glittering ... amidst the +gloom of the old fortress and the stories of +great personages imprisoned, beheaded, buried +within its walls;—a dreary thing it seemed to +be a queen! But at night I went to Astley’s, +and I forgot the sorrows of Lady Jane Grey and +Anne Boleyn in the wonders of the horsemanship +and the tricks of the clown.”</p> + +<p>Into the last day were crowded visits to the +Houses of Lords and Commons, to Westminster +Abbey, to Cox’s Museum in Spring Gardens, to +the Leverian Museum in the Blackfriars Road, +and finally at night to the theatre once more,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_28">[28]</span> +returning home on the morrow “without a +moment’s weariness of mind or body.”</p> + +<p>About this time Lord Charles Murray-Aynsley, +a younger son of the Duke of Athol, became +engaged to be married to a cousin of the Mitfords.</p> + +<p>“Lord Charles, as fine a young man as one +should see in a summer’s day, tall, well-made, +with handsome features ... and charming +temper, had an infirmity which went nigh to +render all [his] good gifts of no avail; a shyness, +a bashfulness, a timidity most painful to himself +and distressing to all about him.... That +a man with such a temperament, who could +hardly summon courage to say ‘How d’ye do?’ +should ever have wrought himself up to the +point of putting the great question was wonderful.... +I myself, a child not five years old, one +day threw him into an agony of blushing by +running up to his chair in mistake for my papa. +Now I was a shy child, a very shy child, and as +soon as I arrived in front of his lordship and +found that I had been misled by a resemblance +of dress, by the blue coat and buff waistcoat, I +first of all crept under the table, and then flew +to hide my face in my mother’s lap; my poor +fellow-sufferer, too big for one place of refuge, +too old for the other, had nothing for it but to +run away, which, the door being luckily open, +he happily accomplished.”</p> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_29">[29]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_V">CHAPTER <abbr title="5">V</abbr> </h2> +</div> + +<p class="center">LYME REGIS</p> + + +<p>Dr. Mitford had been gradually establishing +a practice in Reading, where a remarkable cure +he had effected was already making his name +known, when, as his daughter tells us, he +resolved to remove to Lyme, “feeling with +characteristic sanguineness that in a fresh place +success would be certain.”</p> + +<p>Some of our readers will no doubt have +visited Lyme Regis—that quaint little seaport +situated on the steep slope of a hill, whose main +street seems, as Jane Austen has remarked, “to +be almost hurrying into the water.” They will +remember its harbour formed by the curved +stone piers of the old Cobb, from which can be +seen the pretty bay with its sandy beach bordered +by the Parade, or “Walk” as it used to +be called, which runs at the foot of a grassy +hillside. At the town end of this “Walk” are +to be seen some thatched cottages nestling +under the shelter of the hill, and beyond them +on a small promontory, jutting out into the sea,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_30">[30]</span> +the old Assembly Rooms. A few miles east-ward +lies the sunny little bay of Charmouth, +with a grand chain of hills beyond it, rising from +the water’s edge and terminating in the far +distance in the Bill of Portland.</p> + +<p>Lyme Regis lies in the borderland of Dorset +and Devonshire, “but the character of the +scenery,” writes Miss Mitford, “the boldness +of the coast, and the rich woodiness of the +inland views belong entirely to Devonshire—beautiful +Devonshire.</p> + +<p>“Our habitation,” she continues, “although +situated not merely in the town but in the principal +street, had nothing in common with the +small and undistinguished houses on either side. +It was a very large, long-fronted stone mansion, +terminated at either end by massive iron gates, +the pillars of which were surmounted by spread +eagles. An old stone porch, with benches on +either side, projected from the centre, covered, +as was the whole front of the house, with +tall, spreading, wide-leafed myrtle, abounding +in blossom, with moss-roses, jessamine and +passion-flowers.”<span class="pagenum" id="Page_31">[31]</span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" id="i-053"> +<img src="images/i-053.jpg" alt="" width="600" height="500"> +<p class="caption center">THE “WALK” BY THE SEA</p> +</div> + +<p>This old porch had its special historical association, +for here William Pitt as a child used +to play at marbles when his father the great +Lord Chatham rented the Great House. Unhappily +the porch has been altered and injured +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_33">[33]</span>since we visited Lyme some years ago. Other +changes have also been made at various periods, +notably a storey added in the northern or upper +end of the building; but in spite of these +changes the Great House, as it is always called, +still dominates the little town like a feudal +castle of old amongst its vassals, its massive +walls manfully resisting modern innovations.</p> + +<p>The illustration represents the house as it +appeared in Miss Mitford’s day.</p> + +<p>The southern portion of the building is of +the most ancient date. Its walls are of great +thickness. The Great House is full of traditions +of past history, and its gloomy vaults and +passages below ground must have witnessed +many a tragic scene at the time of the Monmouth +Rebellion. Here it was that Judge +Jeffreys took up his quarters for a time when +he came to stamp out the Rebellion and to +wreak the vengeance of James <abbr title="2">II</abbr> upon the unhappy +followers of his rival. The owner of the +house in those days was a man named Jones—the +squire of Lyme—who aided and abetted +Jeffreys in all his awful tyranny, spying upon +the inhabitants and reporting every idle word +that might serve to incriminate them. The +memory of Jones is loathed to this day, and +tradition declares the house to be haunted by +his ghost.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_34">[34]</span></p> + +<p>Happily the little girl, who came to live in +this weird old mansion, knew nothing of its +tragic history, and could laugh and play with +childish mirth above its sombre vaults. In her +<cite>Recollections</cite>, Mary Mitford speaks of the “large, +lofty rooms of the building, of its noble oaken +staircases, its marble hall, and its long galleries,” +and mentions “the book room,” where her +grandfather Dr. Russell’s fine library was +arranged. “Behind the building,” she says, +“which extended round a paved quadrangle, +was the drawing-room, a splendid apartment +looking upon a little lawn surrounded by choice +evergreens,” beyond which lay the spacious +gardens.</p> + +<p>The drawing-room still bears traces of its +former dignity in its lofty ceiling and handsome +dentil cornice, and also in its three tall +recessed windows, whose side panels end in fine +curled scrolls.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_35">[35]</span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" id="i-057"> +<img src="images/i-057.jpg" alt="" width="431" height="600"> +<p class="caption center">THE GREAT HOUSE</p> +</div> + +<p>“My own nurseries,” she says, “were spacious +and airy, but the place which I most affected +was a dark panelled chamber on the first floor, +to which I descended through a private door by +half a dozen stairs, so steep that, still a very +small and puny child between eight and a half +and nine and a half, and unable to run down +them in the common way, I used to jump from +one step to the other.”</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_37">[37]</span></p> +<p>We have entered this small panelled room, +which is lighted by a narrow leaded window, +and as we looked upon the steps leading down +from the upper room we fancied we saw the +tiny figure jumping from step to step.</p> + +<p>“This chamber,” continues Miss Mitford, +“was filled with such fossils as were then known +... some the cherished products of my own +discoveries, and some broken for me by my +father’s little hammer from portions of the +rocks that lay beneath the cliffs, under which +almost every day we used to wander hand-in-hand.”</p> + +<p>Beyond “the little lawn, surrounded by +choice evergreens,” there was “an old-fashioned +greenhouse and a filbert-tree walk, from which +again three detached gardens sloped abruptly +down to one of the clear, dancing rivulets of that +western country.” These three gardens are +still to be seen. A part of them is well cultivated, +and abounds in smooth lawns, majestic +trees and flowers of all kinds; but that part +which belongs to the older portion of the mansion, +deserted for many years, is left wild and +untended. It is, however, pathetically beautiful +in its mixture of garden flowers and showy +weeds. The high box-edgings to the borders +prove that great care was once taken of the +place, and the tall rose bushes which still<span class="pagenum" id="Page_38">[38]</span> +abound stretch out their long branches of pink +and white blossoms as if to hide what is mean +and unsightly.</p> + +<p>“In the steep declivity of the central garden,” +writes Mary, “which I was permitted to call +mine, was a grotto overarching a cool, sparkling +spring, never overflowing its small sandy basin, +which yet was always full.” “Years many and +long,” she adds, “have passed since I sat beside +that tiny fountain, and yet never have I forgotten +the pleasure which I derived from +watching its clear crystal wave.”</p> + +<p>“The slopes on either side of the grotto,” +she says, “were carpeted with strawberries and +dotted with fruit trees. One drooping medlar, +beneath whose pendent branches I have often +hidden, I remember well.”</p> + +<p>This spring is known in that country-side by +the name of the “Lepers’ Well.” It is reached +by a steep flight of rugged stone steps from the +terrace above, and is still surrounded by old +gnarled fruit trees, though the medlar seems to +have disappeared. Beyond a low hedge at the +foot of the grounds flows the little river Lym, +clear and sparkling as ever.</p> + +<p>Lyme is full of traditions, and this little river, +at one spot, bears the name of “Jordan,” so +called by a colony of Baptists who took refuge +in the neighbourhood during the seventeenth<span class="pagenum" id="Page_39">[39]</span> +century. It was in “Jordan” that they immersed +their converts, and the old Biblical +names given by them to the adjoining fields of +Jericho and Paradise still linger in that district.</p> + +<p>“I used to disdain the [Devonshire] streamlets,” +writes Mary, “with such scorn as a small +damsel fresh from the Thames and the Kennett +thinks herself privileged to display. ‘They call +that a river here, papa! Can’t you jump me +over it?’ quoth I in my sauciness. About a +month ago I heard a young lady from New +York talking in some such strain of Father +Thames. ‘It’s a pretty little stream,’ said she, +‘but to call it a river!’ And I half expected +to hear a complete reproduction of my own +impertinence, and a request to be jumped from +one end to the other of Caversham Bridge!”</p> + +<div class="figcenter" id="i-061"> +<img src="images/i-061.jpg" alt="A fancy border" width="400" height="120"> +</div> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_40">[40]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_VI">CHAPTER <abbr title="6">VI</abbr> </h2> +</div> + +<p class="center">A STORMY COAST</p> + + +<p>Writing of her sojourn at Lyme Regis Miss +Mitford says:—</p> + +<p>“That was my only opportunity of making +acquaintance with the mighty ocean in its +winter sublimity of tempest and storm; and +partly perhaps from the striking and awful +nature of the impression [upon the mind of] a +lonely, musing, visionary child, the recollection +remains indelibly fixed in my memory, fresh +and vivid as if of yesterday....</p> + +<p>“Once my father took me from my bed at +midnight that I might see, from the highest +storey of our house, the grandeur and the glory +of the tempest; the spray rising to the very tops +of the cliffs, pale and ghastly in the lightning, +and hear the roar of the sea, the moaning of the +wind, the roll of the thunder, and amongst them +all the fearful sound of the minute guns, telling +of death and danger on that iron-bound coast. +Then in the morning I have seen the cold bright +wintry sun shining gaily on the dancing sea, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_41">[41]</span>still stirred by the last breath of the tempest, and +on the floating spars and parted timbers of +the wreck....</p> + +<div class="figcenter" id="i-063"> +<img src="images/i-063.jpg" alt="" width="600" height="496"> +<p class="caption center">THE PANELLED CHAMBER</p> +</div> + +<p>“My walks,” she writes, “were confined to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_43">[43]</span> +rambles on the shore with my maid, or still +more to my delight with my dear father, the +recollection of whose fond indulgence is connected +with every pleasure of my childhood.... +Sometimes we would go towards Charmouth, +with its sweeping bay, passing below church +and churchyard, perched high above us, and +already undermined by the tide. Another time +we bent our steps to the Pinny cliffs [that +stretch away] on the western side of the harbour; +the beautiful Pinny cliffs, where an old +landslip had deposited a farm-house, with its +outbuildings, its garden and its orchard, tossed +half-way down amongst the rocks, its look of +home and of comfort contrasting so strangely +with the dark rugged masses above, below and +around.</p> + +<p>“My father, a dabbler in science, with his +hammer and basket was engaged in breaking +off fragments of rock, to search for curious spars +and fossil remains; I in picking up shells and +sea-weed.... What enjoyment it was to feel +the pleasant sea-breeze, and see the sun dancing +on the waters, and wander as free as the sea-bird +over my head beneath those beetling cliffs!<span class="pagenum" id="Page_44">[44]</span> +Now for a moment losing sight of the dear papa, +and now rejoining him with some delicate shell, +or brightly coloured sea-weed, or imperfect +<em>coruna ammoris</em>, enquiring into the success of +his graver labours, and comparing our discoveries +and treasures.</p> + +<p>“What pleasure too to rest at the well-known +cottage, the general termination of our walk, +where old Simon the curiosity-monger picked +up a mongrel sort of livelihood by selling fossils +and petrifactions to one class of visitors, and +cakes and fruit and cream to another. His +scientific bargains were not without suspicion +of a little cheatery, as my companion used +laughingly to tell him ... but the fruit and +curds were honest, as I can well avouch; and +the legends of petrified sea-monsters, with +which they were seasoned, bones of the mammoth, +and skeletons of the sea-serpent have +always been amongst the pleasantest of my +seaside recollections.”</p> + +<p>Perhaps these “legends” had a tinge of +prophecy in them, as it was only fifteen years +later that Mary Anning, then a child of eleven +years old, discovered in the rocks of Lyme +Regis the gigantic fossil bones of the ichthyosaurus—a +creature whose very jaw it seems +exceeded six feet in length, and whose existence +had hitherto been unknown. She also discovered<span class="pagenum" id="Page_45">[45]</span> +later on the remains of the plesiosaurus.<a id="FNanchor_1" href="#Footnote_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a></p> + +<div class="footnote"> + +<p><a id="Footnote_1" href="#FNanchor_1" class="label">[1]</a> The entire skeletons of these actual creatures are now to +be seen in the Natural History Museum at South Kensington.</p> + +</div> + +<p>Miss Anning kept a curiosity shop in a tiny +house which is still to be seen facing the upper +gates of the Great House. The King of Saxony, +who visited Lyme in 1844, thus describes the +place:—</p> + +<p>“We had alighted from the carriage,” he +writes, “and were proceeding along on foot +when we fell in with a shop in which the most +remarkable petrifactions and fossil remains—the +head of an ichthyosaurus, beautiful ammonites, +etc.—were exhibited in the window. +We entered and found a little shop and adjoining +chamber completely filled with fossil productions +of the coast.... I was anxious +[before leaving] to write down the address of +the place, and the woman who kept the shop +with a firm hand wrote her name ‘Mary +Anning’ in my pocket-book, and added as +she returned the book into my hands: ‘I am +well known throughout the whole of Europe.’”</p> + +<p>It is said that the King of Saxony paid a +second visit to the fossil shop, when he invited +Miss Anning to accompany him in his travelling +coach and four to the scene of the great landslip +at Pinny. On reaching a small farm-house on<span class="pagenum" id="Page_46">[46]</span> +the hillside they quitted the coach to roam +about the fallen rocks. On their return they +found an old country woman seated in the +stately vehicle. She explained, with some confusion, +that she wanted to be able to boast +hereafter that she had sat for once in her life +in a royal coach! The kindly monarch assured +her that he was in no way displeased, and he +handed her out of the coach with courtly politeness.</p> + +<p>Miss Mitford in one of her letters remarks: +“It is singular that the name of Mary Anning +crosses me often. One of my friend Mr. +Kenyon’s graceful poems is addressed to her, +and Charmouth and Lyme are dear to me as +being full of my first recollections of the sea. +I should like of all things to go there again and +make acquaintance with Mary Anning.”</p> + +<p>Here are a few stanzas of the poem alluded +to:—</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">“E’en poets shall by thee set store;</div> + <div class="verse indent2">For wonders feed the poet’s wish;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And is their mermaid wondrous more</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Than thy half-lizard and half-fish?</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0"> +</div> +</div> +<hr class="tb"> + + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">While Lyme’s dark-headed urchins grow</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Each in his turn to grey-haired men,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Yet, when grown old, this beach they walk,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Some pensive breeze their grey locks fanning,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Their sons shall love to hear them talk</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Of many a feat of Mary Anning.”</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_47">[47]</span></p> +<div class="figcenter" id="i-069"> +<img src="images/i-069.jpg" alt="" width="385" height="550"> +<p class="caption center">IN THE DRAWING-ROOM</p> +</div> + +<p>Writing of their residence in Lyme Mary +says:—<span class="pagenum" id="Page_49">[49]</span></p> + +<p>“My dear mother had three or four young +relations, misses in their teens, staying with her +and was sufficiently occupied in playing the +chaperone to the dull gaieties of the place.... +Of course I was too young to be admitted to the +society, such as it was; but I had even then a +dim glimmering perception of its being anything +but exhilarating.”</p> + +<p>Sometimes the company assembled in the +Great House. “One incident that occurred +there,” writes Miss Mitford—“a frightful danger—a +providential escape—I shall never forget.</p> + +<p>“There was to be a ball at the rooms, and a +party of sixteen or eighteen persons, dressed for +the assembly, were sitting in the dining-room +at dessert. The ceiling was ornamented with a +rich running pattern of flowers in high relief, the +shape of the wreath corresponding pretty exactly +with the company arranged round the oval +table. Suddenly, without the slightest warning, +all that part of the ceiling became detached +and fell down in large masses upon the table +and the floor. It seems even now all but +miraculous how such a catastrophe could occur +without danger to life or limb; but the only +things damaged were the flowers and feathers +of the ladies and the fruits and wines of the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_50">[50]</span> +dessert. I myself, caught instantly in my +father’s arms, by whose side I was standing, +had scarcely even time to be frightened, +although after the danger was over our fair +visitors of course began to scream.”</p> + +<p>Towards the end of their year’s residence in +Lyme Regis the fortunes of the Mitford family +were once more clouded over.</p> + +<p>“Nobody told me,” writes Mary, “but I felt, +I knew, I had an interior conviction for which +I could not have accounted ... that in spite +of the company, in spite of the gaiety, something +was wrong. It was such a foreshowing +as makes the quicksilver in the barometer sink +whilst the weather is still bright and clear.</p> + +<p>“And at last the change came. My father +went again to London and lost—I think, I have +always thought so—more money.... Then +one by one our visitors departed; and my +father, who had returned in haste again, in +equal haste left home, after short interviews +with landlords, and lawyers, and auctioneers; +and I knew—I can’t tell how, but I did know—that +everything was to be parted with and everybody +paid.</p> + +<p>“That same night two or three large chests +were carried away through the garden by +George and another old servant, and a day or +two after my mother and myself, with Mrs.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_51">[51]</span> +Mosse, the good housekeeper who lived with +my grandfather, and the other maid-servant, +left Lyme in a hack-chaise.”</p> + +<p>After various delays, due partly to the breaking +up of a camp between Bridport and Dorchester, +the party pursued their journey in “a +sort of tilted cart without springs.” “Doubtless,” +remarks Mary, “many a fine lady would +laugh at such a shift. But it was not as a temporary +discomfort that it came upon my poor +mother. It was her first touch of poverty. It +seemed like the final parting from all the +elegances and all the accommodations to which +she had been used. I shall never forget her +heart-broken look when she took her little girl +upon her lap in that jolting caravan, nor how +the tears stood in her eyes when we turned into +our miserable bedroom when we reached the +roadside alehouse where we were to pass the +night. The next day we resumed our journey, +and reached a dingy, comfortless lodging in one +of the suburbs beyond Westminster Bridge.”</p> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_52">[52]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_VII">CHAPTER <abbr title="7">VII</abbr> </h2> +</div> + +<p class="center">A FLIGHT</p> + + +<p>The “comfortless lodging” mentioned by Miss +Mitford was on the Surrey side of Blackfriars +Bridge, where Dr. Mitford, it seems, was able to +find a refuge from his creditors within the rules +of the King’s Bench.</p> + +<p>“What my father’s plans were,” writes his +daughter in later years, “I do not exactly know; +probably to gather together what disposable +money still remained after paying all debts from +the sale of books, plate and furniture at Lyme +and thence to proceed ... to practise in some +distant town. At all events London was the +best starting-place, and he could consult his +old fellow-pupil and life-long friend, Dr. Babington, +then one of the physicians to Guy’s Hospital, +and refresh his medical studies with experiments +and lectures. In the meanwhile his +spirits returned as buoyant as ever, and so, now +that fear had changed into certainty, did mine.”</p> + +<div class="figcenter" id="i-075"> +<img src="images/i-075.jpg" alt="" width="600" height="437"> +<p class="caption center">BLACKFRIARS BRIDGE (1796)</p> +</div> + +<p>But at this time, when the prospects of the +family seemed to be irretrievably overclouded +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_53">[53]</span>and when dire poverty stared them in the face, +an extraordinary event occurred to raise them +suddenly into affluence!</p> + +<p>“In the intervals of his professional pursuits,” +writes Mary, “my father walked about London +with his little girl in his hand; and one day (it +was my birthday, and I was ten years old) he +took me into a not very tempting-looking place +which was, as I speedily found, a lottery office. +An Irish lottery was upon the point of being +drawn, and he desired me to choose one out of +several bits of printed paper (I did not then +know their significance) that lay upon the +counter.</p> + +<p>“‘Choose which number you like best,’ said +the dear papa, ‘and that shall be your birthday +present.’</p> + +<p>“I immediately selected one, and put it into +his hand: No. 2224.</p> + +<p>“‘Ah,’ said my father, examining it, ‘you +must choose again. I want to buy a whole +ticket, and this is only a quarter. Choose again, +my pet.’</p> + +<p>“‘No, dear papa, I like this one best.’</p> + +<p>“‘Here is the next number,’ interposed the +lottery office keeper, ‘No. 2223.’</p> + +<p>“‘Ay,’ said my father, ‘that will do just as +well. Will it not, Mary? We’ll take that.’</p> + +<p>“‘No,’ returned I obstinately, ‘that won’t<span class="pagenum" id="Page_54">[54]</span> +do. This is my birthday you know, papa, and I +am ten years old. Cast up <em>my</em> number and you’ll +find that makes ten. The other is only nine.”</p> + +<p>“My father, superstitious like all speculators, +struck with my pertinacity and with the reason +I gave, resisted the attempt of the office keeper +to tempt me by different tickets, and we had +nearly left the shop without a purchase when the +clerk who had been examining different desks +and drawers, said to his principal:</p> + +<p>“‘I think, sir, the matter may be managed +if the gentleman does not mind paying a few +shillings more. That ticket 2224 only came +yesterday, and we have still all the shares: one-half, +one-quarter, one-eighth, two-sixteenths. +It will be just the same if the young lady is set +upon it.’</p> + +<p>“The young lady was set upon it, and the +shares were purchased.</p> + +<p>“The whole affair was a secret between us, +and my father, whenever he got me to himself, +talked over our future twenty thousand pounds—just +like Alnaschar over his basket of eggs.</p> + +<p>“Meanwhile time passed on, and one Sunday +morning we were all preparing to go to church +when a face that I had forgotten, but my father +had not, made its appearance. It was the clerk +of the lottery office. An express had just arrived +from Dublin announcing that No. 2224 had been<span class="pagenum" id="Page_55">[55]</span> +drawn a prize of twenty thousand pounds, and +he had hastened to communicate the good +news.”</p> + +<p>“Ah, me!” writes Miss Mitford in later life. +“In less than twenty years what was left of the +produce of the ticket so strangely chosen? +What? except a Wedgwood dinner-service +that my father had had made to commemorate +the event, with the Irish harp within the border +on one side and his family crest on the other! +That fragile and perishable ware outlasted the +more perishable money.”</p> + +<p>The writer of a graceful article entitled, “In +Miss Mitford’s Country,” which appeared in a +magazine several years ago, saw at a friend’s +house in Reading some odd pieces of this very +dinner-service. These consisted of “a tureen +of beautiful shape, two or three soup-plates and +a couple of butter-boats and stands in one, in +Wedgwood fashion.” When handling the +china she observed “that the Mitford crest was +stamped on one side of the pieces while on the +opposite side appeared a harp bearing between +the strings the mystic number 2224.”</p> + +<p>She supposed this to be the Wedgwoods’ +private number, and it was not until she came +upon the passage just quoted in Miss Mitford’s +<cite>Recollections of a Literary Life</cite> that the mystery +was solved.</p> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_56">[56]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_VIII">CHAPTER <abbr title="8">VIII</abbr> </h2> +</div> + +<p class="center">RETURN TO READING</p> + + +<p>After the extraordinary event of the lottery +ticket the Mitfords were suddenly placed in a +position of opulence, and they joyfully quitted +their dingy London lodgings and returned once +more to Reading. The doctor had taken a new +red brick house in the London Road, a road +which in those days bordered the open country.</p> + +<p>The house is still standing, and is probably +much as it was in the Mitfords’ day. It has a +deep verandah in front, and behind stretches +a long piece of garden. A small room at the +back of the house is pointed out to visitors as +Dr. Mitford’s dispensary.</p> + +<p>Mary Russell Mitford loved the old town of +Reading—Belford Regis, as she always calls it +in her stories—and the various descriptions of +the place, scattered throughout her writings, +make the Reading of her day to live again.</p> + +<p>On one occasion she describes the view of the +town as seen from the jutting corner of Friar +Street, where she had taken shelter from a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_57">[57]</span> +shower of rain. She speaks of “the fine church +tower of St. Nicholas,<a id="FNanchor_2" href="#Footnote_2" class="fnanchor">[2]</a> with its picturesque +piazza underneath” and its “old vicarage +house hard by, embowered in evergreens”; of +“the old irregular shops in the market-place, +with the trees of the Forbury beyond just peeping +between them, with all their varieties of +light and shadow.”</p> + +<div class="footnote"> + +<p><a id="Footnote_2" href="#FNanchor_2" class="label">[2]</a> St. Lawrence.</p> + +</div> + +<p>Another day, after mentioning “the huge +monastic ruins of the Abbey;” with all its +monuments of ancient times, she goes on to +say “or for a modern scene what can surpass +the High Bridge on a sunshiny day? The +bright river crowded with barges and small +craft; the streets and wharfs and quays, all +alive with the busy and stirring population of +the country and the town—a combination of +light and motion.”</p> + +<p>Miss Mitford has described this same scene +as it appeared on a cold winter’s evening in a +book written late in life entitled, <cite>Atherton and +other Stories</cite>, which we should like to quote here.</p> + +<p>“From ... the High Bridge the Kennet now +showed like a mirror reflecting on its icy surface +into a peculiar broad and bluish shine, the arch +of lamps surmounting the graceful airy bridge +and the twinkling lights that glanced here and +there, from boat or barge or wharf, or from<span class="pagenum" id="Page_58">[58]</span> +some uncurtained window that overhung the +river.”</p> + +<p>But the chief beauty of the old town was to +be seen in summer time on a Saturday (market-day) +at noon. “The old market-place, always +picturesque from the irregular architecture of +the houses, and the beautiful Gothic church by +which it is terminated, is then all alive with the +busy hum of traffic.... Noise of every sort +is to be heard, from the heavy rumbling of so +many loaded waggons over the paved market-place +to the crash of crockery ware in the +narrow passage of Princes Street. One of the +noisiest and prettiest places is the Piazza at +the end of St. Nicholas Church appropriated +by long usage to the female vendors of fruit +and vegetables.” The butter market was at +the back of the market proper, “where respectable +farmers’ wives and daughters sold eggs, +butter and poultry.” Here too “straw-hats, +caps and ribbons were sold, also pet rabbits +and guinea-pigs, together with owls and linnets +in cages.”</p> + +<div class="figcenter" id="i-083"> +<img src="images/i-083.jpg" alt="" width="600" height="427"> +<p class="caption center">DR. MITFORD’S HOUSE IN THE LONDON ROAD</p> +</div> + +<p>Among the odd characters who turned up on +the occasion of markets or fairs Miss Mitford +mentions a certain rat-catcher by name Sam +Page “whose own appearance was as venomous +as that of his retinue,” and “told his calling +almost as plainly as the sharp heads of the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_59">[59]</span>ferrets which protruded from the pockets of his +dirty jean jacket, or the bunch of dead rats +with which he was wont to parade the streets +of B. on a market-day.” But before he had +taken to this business, she says, he had tried +many other callings, amongst them those of “a +barrel-organ grinder, the manager of a celebrated +company of dancing dogs, and the leader of +a bear and a very accomplished monkey. +Suddenly he reappeared one day at B. fair as +showman of the Living Skeleton, and also a +performer [himself] in the Tragedy of the +Edinburgh Murders, as exhibited every half-hour +at the price of a penny to each person.” Sam +confessed that he liked acting of all things, +especially tragedy; “it was such fun.”</p> + +<p>Of the period with which we are dealing +Mary writes: “I was a girl at the time—a very +young girl, and, what is more to the purpose, a +very shy one, so that I mixed in none of the +gaieties of the place; but speaking from observation +and recollection I can fairly say that I +never saw any society more innocently cheerful.” +She tells us of “the old ladies and their tea +visits, the gentlemen and their whist club, and +the merry Christmas parties with their round +games and their social suppers, their mirth and +their jests.”</p> + +<p>And now for Mary herself: how did she strike<span class="pagenum" id="Page_60">[60]</span> +the new acquaintances that her parents were +making? One who knew her well tells us that +“she showed in her countenance, and in her +mild self-possession, that she was no ordinary +child; and with her sweet smile, her gentle +temper, her animated conversation, her keen +enjoyment of life, and her incomparable voice—“that +excellent thing in woman—there +were few of the prettiest children of her age +who won so much love and admiration from +their friends young and old as little Mary +Mitford.”</p> + +<p>In one of Miss Mitford’s tales entitled <cite>My +Godmothers</cite> there is an amusing account of a +stiff maiden lady of the old school by name +Mrs. Patience Wither (the “Mrs.” being given +her by brevet rank). “In point of fact,” writes +Mary, “she was not my godmother, having +stood only as proxy for her younger sister, +Mrs. Mary, my mother’s intimate friend, then +falling into a lingering decline.</p> + +<p>“Mrs. Patience was very masculine in person, +tall, square, large-boned and remarkably upright. +Her features were sufficiently regular, +and would not have been unpleasing but for the +keen, angry look of her light blue eye ... and +her fiery, wiry red hair, to which age did no +good,—it would not turn grey.... She lived +in a large, tall, upright, stately house in the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_61">[61]</span> +largest street of a large town. It was a grave +looking mansion, defended from the pavement +by iron palisades, a flight of steps before the +sober brown door, and every window curtained +and blinded by chintz and silk and muslin, +crossing and jostling each other. None of the +rooms could be seen from the street, nor the +street from any of the rooms—so complete was +the obscurity.</p> + +<p>“On the death of her sister Mrs. Patience +... was pleased to lay claim to me in right of +inheritance, and succeeded to the title of my +godmother pretty much in the same way that +she succeeded to the possession of Flora, her +poor sister’s favourite spaniel. I am afraid that +Flora proved the more grateful subject of the +two. I never saw Mrs. Patience but she took +possession of me for the purpose of lecturing +and documenting me on some subject or other,—holding +up my head, shutting the door, +working a sampler, making a shirt, learning the +pence table, or taking physic....</p> + +<p>“She was assiduous in presents to me at +home and at school; sent me cakes with +cautions against over-eating, and needle-cases +with admonitions to use them; she made over +to me her own juvenile library, consisting of a +large collection of unreadable books ... nay, +she even rummaged out for me a pair of old<span class="pagenum" id="Page_62">[62]</span> +battledores, curiously constructed of netted +pack-thread—the toys of her youth! But +bribery is generally thrown away upon children, +especially on spoilt ones; the godmother whom +I loved never gave me anything, and every +fresh present from Mrs. Patience seemed to me +a fresh grievance. I was obliged to make a call +and a curtsy, and to stammer out something +which passed for a speech, or, which was still +worse, to write a letter of thanks—a stiff, formal, +precise letter! I would rather have gone without +cakes or needle-cases, books or battledores +to my dying day. Such was my ingratitude +from five to fifteen.”</p> + +<p>One of the most prominent figures in the +Reading of those days was Dr. Valpy, headmaster +of the Reading Grammar School. The +school consisted of a group of buildings “standing,” +writes Miss Mitford, “in a nook of the +pleasant green called the Forbury, and parted +from the churchyard of St. Nicholas by a row +of tall old houses. It was in itself a pretty +object—at least I, who loved it almost as much +as if I had been of the sex that learns Greek and +Latin, thought so.... There was a little court +before the door of the doctor’s house with four +fir trees, and at one end a projecting bay +window belonging to a very long room [the +doctor’s study] lined with a noble collection of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_63">[63]</span> +books.” The Forbury was used as the boys’ +playground.</p> + +<p>Dr. Valpy was much reverenced by his fellow-townsmen +and greatly loved by his pupils, in +spite of the stern discipline of those days which +he considered it his duty to administer to culprits. +Among his pupils was Sergeant Talfourd, +who thus describes his character: “Envy, +hatred and malice were to him mere names—like +the figures of speech in a schoolboy’s theme, +or the giants in a fairy-tale, phantoms which +never touched him with a sense of reality.... +His system of education was animated by a +portion of his own spirit: it was framed to +enkindle and to quicken the best affections.”</p> + +<p>Another contemporary who happened to be +of a cynical turn of mind remarks of Dr. Valpy: +“Had he been more supple in his principles or +less open in their avowal he might have risen +to the highest position in his sacred profession. +A mitre might have been the reward of subserviency +and the revenues of a diocese the +bribe of tergiversation and hypocrisy, [but] he +left to others such paths to preferment ... +and lived in the enjoyment of an unblemished +reputation and a clear conscience.”</p> + +<p>On the further side of the Forbury stood a +large old-fashioned building adjoining the Abbey +Gateway and bearing the name of the Abbey<span class="pagenum" id="Page_64">[64]</span> +School. It was a school for “young ladies” of +the ordinary type belonging to the eighteenth +century, but which, at the time we are writing +of, was gradually taking a higher position in +general estimation. Three authoresses of very +different degrees of fame were pupils in this +establishment, namely: Jane Austen for a short +time as a very young child, in about the year +1782, Miss Butt (afterwards Mrs. Sherwood) in +1790, and Mary Russell Mitford when the school +was removed to London in 1798.</p> + +<p>The school had formerly been carried on +under the management of a Mrs. Latournelle, a +good-natured person but, as Mrs. Sherwood +tells us, “only fit for giving out clothes for the +wash, mending them, making tea and ordering +dinners.” But after a time she took as a partner +a young lady of talent and of excellent education +who at once made her mark felt.</p> + +<p>What, however, caused the permanent success +of the school was the arrival in Reading of +a certain Monsieur St. Quintin, the son of a +nobleman in Alsace—a man of very superior +intellect—who had been secretary to the Comte +de Moustier, one of the last ambassadors from +Louis <abbr title="16">XVI</abbr> to the Court of St. James. Having +lost all his property in the French Revolution, +he was thankful to accept the post of French +teacher in Dr. Valpy’s school, and was soon<span class="pagenum" id="Page_65">[65]</span> +afterwards recommended by the doctor as a +teacher of French in the Abbey School. In +course of time he married Mrs. Latournelle’s +young partner, and they “soon so entirely +raised the credit of the seminary,” writes Mrs. +Sherwood, “that when I went there, there +were above sixty girls under their charge. +The style of M. St. Quintin’s teaching,” she +says, “was lively and interesting in the extreme.”</p> + +<p>Dr. Mitford had been a warm friend to +M. St. Quintin ever since his arrival in Reading, +and there was much pleasant intercourse between +the Mitfords and the St. Quintins. In +the summer of 1798 the school was transferred +to London, and Dr. and Mrs. Mitford, who had +then decided to send their little daughter to +school, were glad to place her under the friendly +care of M. and Madame St. Quintin.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" id="i-091"> +<img src="images/i-091.jpg" alt="Antique iron work" width="400" height="101"> +</div> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_66">[66]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_IX">CHAPTER <abbr title="9">IX</abbr> </h2> +</div> + +<p class="center">THE SCHOOL IN HANS PLACE</p> + + +<p>Monsieur and Madame St. Quintin, on removing +the Abbey School from Reading to London, +established it in Hans Place, a small oblong +square of pleasant-looking houses with a garden +in the centre. It was almost surrounded by +fields, for London proper terminated in those +days with the double toll-gates at Hyde Park +Corner.</p> + +<p>The school-house (No. 22) was one of the +largest in the place, and possessed a spacious +garden abounding in fine trees, smooth lawns +and gay flower-beds. Thither the little Mary +was sent on the reopening of the school after +the midsummer holidays of the year 1798. +Writing in later years she thus describes the +event:—</p> + +<p>“It is now more than twenty years since +I, a petted child of ten years old, born and +bred in the country, and as shy as a hare, was +sent to that scene of bustle and confusion, a +London school. Oh, what a change it was!<span class="pagenum" id="Page_67">[67]</span> +What a terrible change!... To leave my +own dear home for this strange new place and +these strange new people ... and so many +of them!... I shall never forget the misery +of the first two days, blushing to be looked at, +dreading to be spoken to, shrinking like a +sensitive plant from the touch, ashamed to +cry, and feeling as if I could never laugh +again.</p> + +<p>“These disconsolate feelings are not astonishing +... the wonder is that they so soon passed +away. But everybody was good and kind. In +less than a week the poor wild bird was tamed. +I could look without fear on the bright, happy +faces; listen without starting to the clear, high +voices, even though they talked in French; +began to watch the ball and the battledore; +and felt something like an inclination to join in +the sports. In short, I soon became an efficient +member of the commonwealth; made a friend, +provided myself with a school-mother, a fine, +tall, blooming girl ... under whose protection +I began to learn and unlearn, to acquire the +habits and enter into the views of my companions, +as well disposed to be idle as the best +of them.”</p> + +<p>M. St. Quintin taught the pupils French, +history and geography, also as much science as +he was master of or as he thought it requisite<span class="pagenum" id="Page_68">[68]</span> +for a young lady to know. Madame St. Quintin +did but little teaching at this period, but used +to sit in the drawing-room with a book in her +hand to receive visitors. After M. St. Quintin +the mainstay of the school was the English +teacher, Miss Rowden, an accomplished young +lady of good birth, who was assisted by finishing +masters for Italian, music, dancing and drawing. +She was admired and loved by the whole school, +and especially by Mary Mitford, over whom she +exercised an excellent influence.</p> + +<p>“To fill up any nook of time,” writes Mary, +“which the common demands of the school +might leave vacant, we used to read together, +chiefly poetry. With her I first became acquainted +with Pope’s Homer, Dryden’s Virgil +and the <cite>Paradise Lost</cite>. She read capitally, +and was a most indulgent hearer of my remarks +and exclamations;—suffered me to admire +Satan and detest Ulysses, and rail at the pious +Æneas as long as I chose.”</p> + +<div class="figcenter" id="i-095"> +<img src="images/i-095.jpg" alt="" width="472" height="600"> +<p class="caption center">HANS PLACE</p> +</div> + +<p>The French teacher was a very different type +of womanhood. “She was a tall, majestic +woman,” writes Mary, “between sixty and +seventy, made taller by yellow slippers with +long slender heels.... Her face was almost invisible, +being concealed between a mannish kind +of neck-cloth and an enormous cap, whose wide, +flaunting strip hung over her cheeks and eyes;—to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_69">[69]</span> +say nothing of a huge pair of spectacles. +Madame, all Parisian though she was, had the +fidgety neatness of a Dutch woman, and was +scandalized at our untidy habits. Four days +passed in distant murmurs ... but this was<span class="pagenum" id="Page_70">[70]</span> +only the gathering of the wind before the storm. +It was dancing day; we were all dressed and +assembled when Madame, provoked by some +indications of latent disorder, instituted, much +to our consternation, a general rummage through +the house for all things out of their places. The +collected mass was thrown together in one +stupendous pile in the middle of the schoolroom—a +pile that defies description or analysis. The +whole was to be apportioned amongst the different +owners and then affixed to their persons!... +Poor Madame! Article after article was +held up to be owned in vain: not a soul would +claim such dangerous property. Nevertheless, +she did succeed by dint of lucky guesses, [and +soon] dictionaries were suspended from the +necks of the pupils <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">en médaillon</i>, shawls tied +round the waist <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">en ceinture</i>, and unbound music +pinned to the frock <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">en queue</i> ... not one of +us but had three or four of these appendages; +many had five or six. These preparations were +intended to meet the eye of Madame’s countryman, +the French dancing master, who would +doubtless assist in supporting her authority.... +She did not know that before his arrival we +were to pass an hour in an exercise of another +kind, under the command of a drill-sergeant. +The man of scarlet was ushered in. It is impossible +to say whether the professor of marching<span class="pagenum" id="Page_71">[71]</span> +or the poor Frenchwoman looked most disconcerted. +Madame began a very voluble explanatory +harangue; but she was again unfortunate—the +sergeant did not understand French. +She attempted to translate: ‘It is, Sare, que +ces dames, dat dese miss be des traineuses.’ +This clear and intelligible sentence producing +no other visible effect than a shake of the head, +Madame desired the nearest culprit to tell ‘ce +soldat là’ what she had said, which caused him +of the red coat to declare that ‘it made his +blood boil to see so many free-born English +girls dominated over by their natural enemy.’ +Finally he insisted that we could not march +with such incumbrances, which declaration +being done into French all at once by half a +dozen eager tongues, the trappings were removed +and the experiment was ended.”</p> + +<p>In spite of this comical exception, the general +system of education followed in Hans Place was +greatly superior to that of the ordinary boarding +schools of the day, where all that could be +said of a young lady when her education was +finished was that she “played a little, sang a +little, talked a little indifferent French, painted +shells and roses, not particularly like nature, +danced admirably, and was the best player at +battledore and shuttle-cock, hunt-the-slipper +and blindman’s-buff in her county.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_72">[72]</span></p> + +<p>Dr. and Mrs. Mitford visited their little +daughter frequently during the period of her +school life—often taking lodgings in the neighbourhood +to be within easy reach. Mrs. Mitford +writes on one of these occasions to her husband: +“<b>Mezza</b>” (a pet name for Mary), “who has got +her little desk here, and her great dictionary, is +hard at her studies beside me.... Her little +spirits are all abroad to obtain the prize, sometimes +hoping, sometimes desponding. It is as +well perhaps you are not here at present, as you +would be in as great a fidget on the occasion as +she herself is.”</p> + +<p>Whether Mary won this particular prize we +do not know, but that she <em>did</em> win prizes is +proved by the fact that two of them are carefully +treasured by the descendants of some of +her friends. One of these is in our temporary +possession. It is a large volume entitled, <cite>Adam’s +Geography</cite>, bound in calf, and ornamented with +elegant patterns in gilding. On the upper side +of the binding are the words:—</p> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Prix</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">de</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Bonne Conduite</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">qu’a obtenu</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Mlle. Midford</span><br> +</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_73">[73]</span></p> + +<p>while on the reverse side we read:—</p> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Mrs. St. Quintin’s</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">School</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Hans Place</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">June 17th</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">1801.</span><br> +</p> + +<p>The Mitfords’ name used to be spelt with a +“d” at one time, but Dr. Mitford changed it +to a “t” a few years later than the period of +which we are writing.</p> + +<p>There were three vacations in the year, the +breaking up for which was always preceded by +a festival. Before Easter and Christmas there +was usually a ballet “when the sides of the +schoolroom were fitted up with bowers, in which +the little girls who had to dance were seated, +and whence they issued at a signal from M. +Duval the dancing master, attired as sylphs or +shepherdesses, to skip or glide through the +mazy movements of a fancy dance to the music +of his kit. Or sometimes there would be a +dramatic performance, as when the same room +was converted into a theatre for the representation +of Hannah More’s <cite>Search after Happiness</cite>.</p> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_74">[74]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_X">CHAPTER <abbr title="10">X</abbr> </h2> +</div> + +<p class="center">A GLIMPSE OF OLD FRENCH SOCIETY</p> + + +<p>During her school life Mary Mitford had an +opportunity of seeing many of the French +refugees of noble birth who had escaped from +their country in the commencement of the +Reign of Terror.</p> + +<p>“M. St. Quintin,” she tells us, “being a lively, +kind-hearted man, with a liberal hand and a +social temper, it was his delight to assemble as +many as he could of his poor countrymen and +countrywomen around his hospitable supper-table.”</p> + +<p>“Something wonderful and admirable it +was,” she writes, “to see how these dukes and +duchesses, marshals and marquises, chevaliers +and bishops bore up under their unparalleled +reverses! How they laughed, and talked, and +squabbled, and flirted, constant to their high +heels, their rouge and their furbelows, to their +old <em>liésons</em>, their polished sarcasms and their +cherished rivalries! They clung even to their +<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">mariages de convenance</i>; and the very habits<span class="pagenum" id="Page_75">[75]</span> +which would most have offended our English +notions, if we had seen them in their splendid +hotels of the Faubourg St. Germain, won tolerance +and pardon when mixed up with such +unaffected constancy and such cheerful resignation.”</p> + +<p>There were supper parties also given to other +members of the French society by a cousin of +Mary Mitford’s who had married an <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">émigré</i> of +high birth and who resided in Brunswick Square. +Mary often spent the interval between Saturday +afternoon and Monday morning with these +relatives. “Saturday was their regular French +day,” she writes, “when in the evening the +conversation, music, games, manners and +cookery were studiously and decidedly French. +Trictrac superseded chess or backgammon, +reversi took the place of whist, Gretry of Mozart, +Racine of Shakespeare; omelettes and salads, +champagne moussu, and <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">eau sucré</i> excluded +sandwiches, oysters and porter.</p> + +<p>“At these suppers their little school-girl +visitor,” she says, “assisted, though at first +rather in the French than the English sense of +the word. I was present indeed, but had as +little to do as possible either with speaking or +eating.... However, in less than three months +I became an efficient consumer of good things, +and said ‘oui, monsieur,’ and ‘merci, madame,’<span class="pagenum" id="Page_76">[76]</span> +as often as a little girl of twelve years old ought +to say anything.</p> + +<p>“I confess, however, that it took more time +to reconcile me to the party round the table +than to the viands with which it was covered. +In truth they formed a motley group, reminding +me now of a masquerade and then of a puppet +show. I shall attempt to sketch a few of them +as they then appeared to me, beginning, as +etiquette demands, with the duchess.</p> + +<p>“She was a tall, meagre woman of a certain +age (that is to say on the wrong side of sixty). +Her face bore the remains of beauty, [but injured +by] a quantity of glaring rouge. Her +dress was always simple in its materials and +delicately clean. She meant the fashion to be +English, I believe,—at least she used often to +say, ‘me voilà mise à l’Anglaise’; but as neither +herself nor her faithful <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">femme de chambre</i> could +or would condescend to seek for patterns from +<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">les grosses bourgeoises de ce Londres là bas</i> they +constantly relapsed into the old French shapes.... +She used to relate the story of her escape +from France, and accounted herself the most +fortunate of women for having, in company +with her faithful <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">femme de chambre</i>, at last contrived +to reach England with jewels enough +concealed about their persons to secure them a +modest competence. No small part of her good<span class="pagenum" id="Page_77">[77]</span> +fortune was the vicinity of her old friend the +Marquis de L., a little thin, withered old man, +with a face puckered with wrinkles, and a prodigious +volubility of tongue. This gentleman +had been madame’s devoted beau for the last +forty years.... They could not exist without +an interchange of looks and sentiments, a +mental intelligence, a gentle gallantry on the +one side and a languishing listening on the other, +which long habit had rendered as necessary to +both as their snuff-box or their coffee.</p> + +<p>“The next person in importance to the +duchess was Madame de V., sister to the marquis. +Her husband, who had acted in a diplomatic +capacity in the stormy days preceding +the Revolution, still maintained his station at +the exiled court, and was at the moment of +which I write employed on a secret embassy to +an unnamed potentate.... In the dearth of +Bourbon news this mysterious mission excited +a lively and animated curiosity amongst these +sprightly people.</p> + +<p>“In person Madame de V. was quite a contrast +to the duchess; short, very crooked, with +the sharp, odd-looking face and keen eye that +so often accompany deformity. She [used] +a quantity of rouge and finery, mingling +[together] ribands, feathers and beads of all +the colours of the rainbow. She was on excellent<span class="pagenum" id="Page_78">[78]</span> +terms with all who knew her, and was also +on the best terms with herself, in spite of the +looking-glass, whose testimony indeed was so +positively contradicted by certain couplets and +acrostics addressed to her by M. le Comte de C., +and the chevalier des I., the poets of the party, +that to believe one uncivil dumb thing against +two witnesses of such undoubted honour would +have been a breach of politeness of which +madame was incapable.</p> + +<p>“The Chevalier des I. was a handsome man, +tall, dark-visaged, and whiskered, with a look +rather of the new than of the old French school, +fierce and soldierly; he was accomplished too, +played the flute, and wrote songs and enigmas. +His wife, the prettiest of women, was the +silliest Frenchwoman I ever encountered. She +never opened her lips without uttering some +<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">bêtise</i>. Her poor husband, himself not the +wisest of men, quite dreaded her speaking.</p> + +<p>“It happened that the Abbé de Lille, the +celebrated French poet, and M. de Colonne, the +ex-minister, had promised one Saturday to join +the party in Brunswick Square. They came: +and our chevalier [as a poet] could not miss so +fair an opportunity of display. Accordingly, +about half an hour before supper he put on a +look of <em>distraction</em>, strode hastily two or three +times up and down the room, slapped his fore-head,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_79">[79]</span> +and muttered a line or two to himself, +then, calling hastily for pen and paper, began +writing with the illegible rapidity of one who +fears to lose a happy thought;—in short, he +acted incomparably the whole agony of composition, +and finally, with becoming diffidence, +presented the impromptu to our worthy host, +who immediately imparted it to the company. +It was heard with lively approbation. At last +the commerce of flattery ceased; the author’s +excuses, the ex-minister’s and the great poet’s +thanks, and the applause of the audience died +away.</p> + +<p>“A pause [now] ensued which was broken +by Madame des I., who had witnessed the whole +scene with intense pleasure, and who exclaimed, +with tears standing in her beautiful eyes, ‘How +glad I am they like the impromptu! My poor +dear chevalier! No tongue can tell what pains +it has cost him! There he was all yesterday +evening writing, writing,—all the night long—never +went to bed—all to-day—only finished +just before we came. My poor dear chevalier! +Now he’ll be satisfied.’</p> + +<p>“Be it recorded to the honour of French +politeness that finding it impossible to stop or +to out-talk her, the whole party pretended not +to hear, and never once alluded to this impromptu +<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">fait à loisir</i> till the discomforted<span class="pagenum" id="Page_80">[80]</span> +chevalier sneaked off with his pretty simpleton. +Then to be sure they did laugh....</p> + +<p>“The Comtess de C. would have been very +handsome but for one terrible drawback—she +squinted. I cannot abide those ‘cross eyes,’ as +the country people call them; but the French +gentlemen did not seem to participate in my +antipathy, for the countess was regarded as the +beauty of the party. Agreeable she certainly +was, lively and witty.... She had an agreeable +little dog called Amour—a pug, the smallest +and ugliest of the species, who regularly after +supper used to jump out of a muff, where he had +lain <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">perdu</i> all the evening, and make the round +of the supper-table, begging cake and biscuits. +He and I established a great friendship, and he +would even venture, on hearing my voice, to +pop his poor little black nose out of his hiding-place +before the appointed time. It required +several repetitions of <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">fi donc</i> from his mistress +to drive him back behind the scenes till she +gave him his cue.</p> + +<p>“No uncommon object of her wit was the +mania of a young smooth-faced little abbé, the +politician <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">par eminence</i>, where all were politicians. +M. l’Abbé must have been an exceeding +bore to our English ministers, whom by his +own showing he pestered weekly with laboured +memorials,—plans for a rising in La Vendée,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_81">[81]</span> +schemes for an invasion, proposals to destroy +the French fleet, offers to take Antwerp, and +plots for carrying off Buonaparte from the +opera-house and lodging him in the Tower of +London. Imagine the abduction, and fancy +him carried off by the unassisted prowess and +dexterity of M. l’Abbé!”</p> + +<div class="figcenter" id="i-107"> +<img src="images/i-107.jpg" alt="Ceiling decoration" width="179" height="150"> +</div> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_82">[82]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XI">CHAPTER <abbr title="11">XI</abbr> </h2> +</div> + +<p class="center">THE GAY REALITIES OF MOLIÈRE</p> + + +<p>Dr. Mitford had set his heart upon his +daughter’s becoming an “accomplished musician,” +in spite of her having, as she tells us, +“neither ear, nor taste, nor application.” +Her first music master in Hans Place failing to +bring about any improvement in her playing +upon the piano, she was removed from his +tuition and placed under that of a German +professor, “an impatient, irritable man of +genius,” who, in his turn, soon summarily dismissed +his pupil! “Things being in this unpromising +state,” she writes, “I began to entertain +some hope that my musical education would +be given up altogether. This time [however] +my father threw the blame upon the instrument, +and he now resolved that I should become a +great performer upon the harp.</p> + +<p>“It happened that our school-house ... was +so built that the principal reception-room was +connected with the entrance-hall by a long passage +and two double doors. This room, fitted<span class="pagenum" id="Page_83">[83]</span> +up with nicely bound books, contained, amongst +other musical instruments, the harp upon +which I was sent to practise every morning. +I was sent alone, [and was] most comfortably +out of sight and hearing of every individual in +the house, the only means of approach being +through the two resounding green baize doors, +swinging to with a heavy bang the moment +they were let go. As the change from piano to +harp ... had by no means worked a miracle, +I very shortly betook myself to the book-shelves, +and seeing a row of octavo volumes +lettered <cite>Théâtre de Voltaire</cite>, I selected one of +them and had deposited it in front of the +music-stand and perched myself upon the stool +to read it in less time than an ordinary pupil +would have consumed in getting through the +first three bars of <em>Ar Hyd y Nos</em>.</p> + +<p>“The play upon which I opened was <em>Zaïre</em>. +There was a certain romance in the situation, +an interest in the story.... So I got through +<em>Zaïre</em>, and when I had finished <em>Zaïre</em> I proceeded +to other plays—<cite>Ædipe</cite>, <cite>Mérope</cite>, <cite>Algire</cite>, <cite>Mahomet</cite>, +plays well worth reading, but not so absorbing +as to prevent my giving due attention to +the warning doors, and putting the book in its +place, and striking the chords of <cite>Ar Hyd y Nos</cite> +as often as I heard a step approaching.</p> + +<p>“But when the dramas of Voltaire were<span class="pagenum" id="Page_84">[84]</span> +exhausted and I had recourse to some neighbouring +volumes the state of matters changed +at once. The new volumes contained the +comedies of Molière, and once plunged into the +gay realities of this delightful world, all the +miseries of this globe of ours—harp, music-books, +practisings, and lessons—were forgotten.... +I never remembered that there was such +a thing as time; I never heard the warning +doors; the only tribulations that troubled me +were the tribulations of <em>Sganarelle</em>, the only +lessons I thought about—the lessons of the +‘Bourgeois Gentilhomme.’ So I was caught; +caught in the very act of laughing till I cried +over the apostrophes of the angry father to the +galley, in which he is told his son has been +taken captive, ‘Que diable allait-il faire dans +cette galère!’</p> + +<p>“Luckily, however, the person who discovered +my delinquency was one of my chief +spoilers—the husband of our good school mistress. +Accordingly when he could speak for +laughing, what he said sounded far more like +a compliment upon my relish for the comic +drama than a rebuke. I suppose that he spoke +to the same effect to my father. At all events +the issue of the affair was the dismissal of the +poor little harp mistress and a present of a +cheap edition of Molière for my own reading.”<span class="pagenum" id="Page_85">[85]</span> +And writing in after years Miss Mitford says: +“I have got the set still—twelve little foreign-looking +books, unbound, and covered with a +gay-looking pink paper, mottled with red, like +certain carnations.”</p> + +<p>Miss Mitford tells us in the Introduction to +one of her works that her father had engaged +the English teacher Miss Rowden, of whom we +have already spoken, to act as a sort of private +tutor—a governess out of school hours to his +young daughter.</p> + +<p>“At the time I was placed under her care,” +writes Mary, “her whole heart was in the drama, +especially as personified by John Kemble; and I +am persuaded that she thought she could in no +way so well perform her duty as in taking me to +Drury Lane whenever his name was in the bills.</p> + +<p>“It was a time of great actors—Jack Bannister +and Jack Johnstone, Fawcett and Emery, +Lewis and Munden, Mrs. Davenport, Miss Pope +and Mrs. Jordan (most exquisite of all) made +comedy a bright and living art, an art as full +as life itself of laughter and tears.</p> + +<p>“My enthusiasm for the drama soon equalled +that of Miss Rowden.... There was of course +a great difference in kind between her pleasure +and mine; hers was a critical, mine a childish +enjoyment; she loved fine acting, I loved the +play.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_86">[86]</span></p> + +<p>Writing in later years of her pleasure, however +imperfect then, in the acting of “the glorious +family of Kemble,” she says: “The fame of +John Kemble ... has suffered not a little by +the contact with his great sister. Besides her +uncontested and incontestable power Mrs. Siddons +had one advantage not always allowed for—she +was a woman. The actress must always +be dearer than the actor, goes closer to the +heart, draws tenderer tears.... Add that the +tragedy in which they were best remembered +was one in which the heroine must always predominate, +for Lady Macbeth is the moving +spirit of the play. But the characters of more +equality—Katherine and Wolsey, Hermione +and Leontes, Coriolanus and Volumnia, Hamlet +and the Queen—and surely John Kemble may +hold his own. How often have I seen them in +those plays! What would I give to see again +those plays so acted!”</p> + +<p>In the year 1802, when Mary was fourteen +years of age, her thirst for knowledge was growing +rapidly. Miss Rowden happened to be reading +Virgil, and Mary longed to be able to read +it also. “I have just taken a lesson in Latin,” +she writes to her mother, “but I shall in consequence +omit some of my other business. It +is so extremely like Italian that I think I shall +find it much easier than I expected.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_87">[87]</span></p> + +<p>“I told you,” she says in a letter to her +father, “that I had finished the <cite>Iliad</cite>, which I +admire beyond anything I ever read. I have +begun the <cite>Æneid</cite>, which I cannot say I admire +so much. Dryden is so fond of triplets and +Alexandrines that it is much heavier reading; +... when I have finished it I shall read the +<cite>Odyssey</cite>.... I am now reading that beautiful +opera of Metastasio, <cite>Themistocles</cite>, and when I +have finished that I shall read Tasso’s <cite>Jerusalem +Delivered</cite>. His poetry is really heavenly.”</p> + +<p>Again she writes, “I went to the library the +other day with Miss Rowden and brought back +the first volume of Goldsmith’s <cite>Animated Nature</cite>. +It is quite a lady’s natural history, and extremely +entertaining.... The only fault is its +length. There are eight volumes. But as I +read it to myself, and read pretty quick, I shall +soon get through it. I am likewise reading the +<cite>Odyssey</cite>, which I even prefer to the <cite>Iliad</cite>. I +think it beautiful beyond comparison.”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Mitford was staying in town in the +summer of 1802, and she writes to her husband: +“You would have laughed yesterday when +M. St. Quintin was reading Mary’s English +composition, of which the subject was, ‘The +advantage of a well-cultivated mind’; a word +struck him as needless to be inserted, and which +after objecting to it he was going to expunge.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_88">[88]</span> +Mam Bonette (a pet name), in her pretty meek +way, urged the necessity of the word used. +Miss Rowden was then applied to. She and I +both asserted that the sentence would be incomplete +without it. St. Quintin, on a more +deliberate view of the subject, with all the +liberality which is so amiable a point in his +character, begged our daughter’s pardon, and +the passage remained as it originally stood.”</p> + +<p>A young French girl, Mlle. Rose, had +recently become an inmate of the schoolroom. +She was an orphan, and her venerable grand-parents, +who belonged to a noble Bretonne +family, were now dependent upon her for support. +The three were to be seen occasionally +at M. St. Quintin’s hospitable supper-parties, +and on such occasions Rose “always brought +with her some ingenious straw-plaiting to make +into fancy bonnets, which were then in vogue.... +She was a pallid, drooping creature, whose +dark eyes looked too large for her face.” She +now brought her straw-plaiting into the schoolroom +and also assisted in teaching French to +the pupils.</p> + +<p>“About this time a little girl named Betsy, of +a short, squat figure, plain in face and ill-dressed +and overdressed, appeared at the school, +brought by her father. They happened to arrive +at the same time with the French dancing<span class="pagenum" id="Page_89">[89]</span> +master, a marquis of the <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">ancien régime</i>. I never +saw such a contrast between two men. The +Frenchman was slim, long and pale, and allowing +always for the dancing-master air, he might +be called elegant. The Englishman was the +beau-ideal of a John Bull, portentous in size, +broad and red of visage, and loud of tongue. +He did not stay five minutes, but that was time +enough to strike monsieur with horror ... +especially when his first words conveyed an injunction +to the lady of the house ‘to take care +that no grinning Frenchman had the ordering +of his Betsy’s feet. If she must learn to dance, +let her be taught by an honest Englishman.’</p> + +<p>“Poor Betsy! there she sat, the tears +trickling down her cheeks, little comforted by +the kind notice of the governess and the English +teacher. I made some girlish advances towards +acquaintanceship which she was too shy or too +miserable to return....</p> + +<p>“For the present she seemed to have attached +herself to Mademoiselle Rose. She had crept +to the side of the young French woman and +watched her as she wove her straw plaits. She +had also attempted the simple art with some +discarded straws, and when mademoiselle had +so far roused herself as to show her the proper +way, she soon became an efficient assistant.</p> + +<p>“No intercourse took place between them.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_90">[90]</span> +Indeed none was possible since neither knew +a word of the other’s language. Betsy was +silence personified, and poor Mlle. Rose was +now more than ever dejected. An opportunity +of returning to France had opened to her and +to her grand-parents, and was passing away. +The expenses of the journey were beyond her +means. So she sighed over her straw-plaiting +and submitted.</p> + +<p>“In the meantime the second Saturday after +the new pupil’s coming to school arrived, and +with it a summons home to Betsy, who, for +the first time gathering courage to address our +good governess, asked ‘if she might be trusted +with the bonnet Mlle. Rose had just finished, +to show her aunt—she knew she would like to +buy that bonnet because mademoiselle had been +so good as to let her assist in plaiting it.’ Our +good governess ordered the bonnet to be put +into the carriage, told her the price, called her +a good child, and took leave of her till Monday.</p> + +<p>“Two hours after, Betsy and her father +reappeared in the schoolroom. ‘Ma’amselle,’ +said he, bawling as loud as he could with the +view evidently of making her understand him, +‘Ma’amselle, I’ve no great love for the French, +whom I take to be our natural enemies. But +you’re a good young woman; you’ve been kind +to my Betsy, and have taught her to make<span class="pagenum" id="Page_91">[91]</span> +your fal-lals. She says that she thinks you’re +fretting because you can’t manage to take your +grandfather and grandmother back to France +again; so as you let her help you in that other +handiwork, why you must let her help you in +this.’ Then throwing a heavy purse into her +lap and catching his little daughter up in his +arms he departed, leaving poor Mlle. Rose too +much bewildered to speak or to comprehend +the happiness that had fallen upon her.”</p> + +<div class="figcenter" id="i-117"> +<img src="images/i-117.jpg" alt="A purse bag" width="107" height="175"> +</div> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_92">[92]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XII">CHAPTER <abbr title="12">XII</abbr> </h2> +</div> + +<p class="center">RECOLLECTIONS OF OLD READING</p> + + +<p>In the spring of the year 1802 Dr. Mitford purchased +an old farm-house with its surrounding +fields amounting to about seventy acres, near +to the small village of Graseley, which lies about +three miles to the south of Reading. The house, +known as Graseley Court, had been built in the +days of Queen Elizabeth, and it possessed fine +rooms with ornamental panelling, oriel windows +and a great oaken staircase with massive balustrades. +It had fallen out of repair, and the +doctor’s first plan was to carry out such restorations +only as would make it a comfortable +dwelling-place for himself and his family. But +unfortunately he soon abandoned this plan and +determined to pull down the old house and to +build upon its site a new and spacious mansion. +Dr. Mitford had little appreciation of the +beauty he was destroying, nor did he foresee +the large sums of money that would be sunk in +this undertaking.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" id="i-119"> +<img src="images/i-119.jpg" alt="" width="600" height="464"> +<p class="caption center">STRIKING LIKENESSES TAKEN IN THIS MANNER <em>ONE GUINEA EACH</em></p> +</div> + +<p>Mary’s school life came to an end at the close +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_93">[93]</span>of the year 1802, when she had just reached the +age of fifteen. Her connection, however, with +Hans Place was not over, for she paid happy +visits from time to time to the St. Quintins and +Miss Rowden, going to the London theatres, +hearing concerts, and seeing interesting society +under their auspices.</p> + +<p>Her first introduction to the Reading gaieties +of a grown-up order was to be at the Race Ball +in August, 1803. “At these balls,” we are told, +“it was the custom for the steward of the races +to dance with the young ladies who then came +out.” After alluding to the distress felt by one +of her companions on having to dance with a +stranger on such an occasion, Mary writes in +1802: “I think myself very fortunate that +Mr. Shaw Lefevre will be steward next year, +for by that time I shall hope to know him well +enough to render the undertaking of dancing +with him less disagreeable.”</p> + +<p>“The public amusements of the town,” she +writes, “as I remember them at bonny fifteen +were sober enough. They were limited to an +annual visit from a respectable company of +actors, the theatre being very well conducted +and exceedingly ill-attended; to biennial concerts +... rather better patronized, to almost +weekly incursions from itinerant lecturers on +all the arts and sciences, and from prodigies of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_94">[94]</span> +every kind, whether three-year-old fiddlers or +learned dogs.”</p> + +<p>“The good town of Belford [Reading],” she +tells us, “was the paradise of ill-jointured +widows and portionless old-maids. They met +in the tableland of gentility, passing their mornings +in calls at each other’s houses and their +evenings in small tea-parties, seasoned with a +rubber or a pool, and garnished with a little +quiet gossiping ... which their habits required. +The part of the town in which they +chiefly congregated, the lady’s <em>quarter</em>, was one +hilly corner of the parish of St. Nicholas, a sort +of highland district, all made up of short Rows +and pigmy Places entirely uncontaminated by +the vulgarity of shops.”</p> + +<p>Miss Mitford has given us many a racy description +of the type of small tradespeople of +the period. Here is one of them:—</p> + +<p>“The greatest man in these parts (I use the +word in the sense of Louis-le-Gros, not Louis-le-Grand) +is our worthy neighbour Stephen +Lane, the grazier ex-butcher of Belford. Nothing +so big hath been seen since Lambert the +gaoler or the Durham ox.</p> + +<p>“When he walks he overfills the pavement +and is more difficult to pass than a link of full-dressed +misses or a chain of becloaked dandies.... +Chairs crack under him, couches rock, +bolsters groan and floors tremble....</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_95">[95]</span></p> + +<p>“Tailors, although he was a liberal and punctual +paymaster, dreaded his custom. It was +not only the quantity of material that he took, +and yet that cloth universally called ‘broad’ +was not broad enough for him; it was not only +the stuff but the work—the sewing, stitching, +plaiting and button-holing without end. The +very shears grew weary of their labours.”</p> + +<p>For a contrast to this personage we have +“little Miss Philly Firkin the china woman,” +whose shop stood in a narrow twisting lane +called Oriel Street. This street was cribbed +and confined on one side by the remains of an +old monastic building, and after winding round +the churchyard of St. Stephens with an awkward +curve it finally abutted upon the market-place. +So popular was this “incommodious +avenue of shops” that nobody dreamt of visiting +Belford without desiring to purchase something +there, so that “horse-people and foot-people +jostled upon its pavement,” whilst +“coaches and phaetons ran against each other +in the road.” Of all the shops the prettiest and +most sought after was that of Miss Philly +Firkin.</p> + +<p>“She herself was in appearance most fit to +be its inhabitant, being a trim, prim little +woman, whose dress hung about her in stiff, +regular folds, very like the drapery of a china<span class="pagenum" id="Page_96">[96]</span> +shepherdess on a mantelpiece, and whose pink +and white complexion ... had the same professional +hue. Change her spruce cap for a wide-brimmed +hat and the damask napkin which she +flourished in wiping her wares for a china crook +and the figure in question might have passed +for a miniature of the mistress. In one respect +they differed. The china shepherdess was a +silent personage. Miss Philadelphia was not; +on the contrary, she was reckoned to make ... +as good a use of her tongue as any woman, +gentle or simple, in the whole town of Belford.”</p> + +<p>Miss Mitford describes another female shop-keeper +of those days, “a reduced gentlewoman +by name Mrs. Martin, who endeavoured to eke +out a small annuity by letting lodgings at eight +shillings a week, and by keeping a toyshop. +The whole stock (of the little shop)—fiddles, +drums, balls, dolls and shuttle-cocks—might be +easily appraised at under eight pounds, including +a stately rocking-horse, the poor widow’s +<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">cheval de bataille</i>, which had occupied one side +of Mrs. Martin’s shop from the time of her setting +up in business, and still continued to keep his +station, uncheapened by her thrifty customers.”</p> + +<p>When a certain Mr. Singleton, we are told, +was ordained curate of St. Nicholas after taking +his degrees at college with “respectable mediocrity” +he was attracted by the appearance of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_97">[97]</span> +the rooms above the toyshop, “and there by +the advice of Dr. Grampound (the Rector) did +he place himself on his arrival at Belford. He +occupied the first floor, consisting of the sitting-room—a +pleasant apartment with one window +abutting on the High Bridge and the other on +the market-place, also a small chamber behind +with its tent-bed and dimity furniture.” And +there the curate continued “to live for full +thirty years with the selfsame spare, quiet, +decent landlady and her small serving maiden +Patty, a demure, civil damsel dwarfed as it +should seem by constant curtseying.... Except +for the clock of time, which, however imperceptibly, +does still keep moving, everything +about the little toyshop was at a standstill. +The very tabby cat, which lay basking on the +hearth, might have passed for his progenitor of +happy memory, who took his station there the +night of Mr. Singleton’s arrival; and the self-same +hobby-horse still stood rocking opposite +the counter, the admiration of every urchin +who passed the door.</p> + +<p>“There the rocking-horse remained, and +there remained Mr. Singleton, gradually advancing +from a personable youth to a portly +middle-aged man.”</p> + +<p>We have already mentioned the frequent +small fairs that were held in the market-place<span class="pagenum" id="Page_98">[98]</span> +from time to time, but the chief event of the +year in such matters was the Reading Great Fair, +which took place regularly upon May Day. “It +was a scene of business as well as of pleasure,” +writes Mary Mitford, “being not only a great +market for horses and cattle, but one of the +principal marts for the celebrated cheese of the +great dairy counties.... Before the actual +fair day waggon after waggon, laden with the +round, hard, heavy merchandise, rumbled +slowly into the Forbury, where the great space +before the school-house was fairly covered with +stacks of Cheddar and North Wilts.</p> + +<p>“Fancy the singular effect of piles of cheeses +several feet high extending over a whole large +cricket ground, and divided only by narrow +paths littered with straw, amongst which wandered +chapmen offering a taste of their wares +to their cautious customers, the country shop-keepers +(who poured in from every village +within twenty miles), and to the thrifty house-wives +of the town.... Fancy the effect of this +remarkable scene, surrounded by the usual +moving picture of a fair, the fine Gothic church +of St. Nicholas on one side, the old arch of the +Abbey and the abrupt eminence called Forbury +Hill, crowned with a grand clump of trees, on +the other.... When lighted up at night it +was, perhaps, still more fantastic and attractive, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_99">[99]</span>when the roars and howlings of the travelling +wild beasts used to mingle so grotesquely with +the drums, trumpets and fiddles of the dramatic +and equestrian exhibitions, and the laugh and +shout and song of the merry visitors.”</p> + +<div class="figcenter" id="i-127"> +<img src="images/i-127.jpg" alt="" width="600" height="426"> +<p class="caption center">THE OLD MARKET PLACE, READING</p> +</div> + +<p>In the year 1804 the building of the large new +house at Graseley was completed, and it received +the name of Bertram House, so called in +honour of the Mitfords’ Norman ancestor, Sir +Robert Bertram. The doctor’s usual extravagance +was shown in the style of its decorations +and furniture, which were little suited to his +small and modest family.</p> + +<p>We have visited Bertram House. It is a +large square white building of little architectural +beauty, but there is beauty in a wide +verandah standing at the summit of a broad +flight of stone steps leading up to the entrance, +which is completely festooned by roses and +honeysuckles. The house faces spreading lawns +and gay flower-beds, whilst its approach from +the lane hard by is beneath an avenue of tall +limes. Fields stretch far away behind the +building, their “richly timbered hedgerows +edging into wild, rude and solemn fir plantations.”</p> + +<p>Here Mary Mitford passed sixteen years of +her life, and here she got to know and love not +only their own beautiful grounds but also<span class="pagenum" id="Page_100">[100]</span> +every turn of the surrounding shady lanes, +where the first violets and primroses were to +be found, and delighted in the wide expanse +of its neighbouring common gay with gorse +and broom. Many of her pastoral stories are +connected with this smiling country.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" id="i-130"> +<img src="images/i-130.jpg" alt="A quaint tea set" width="400" height="92"> +</div> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_101">[101]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XIII">CHAPTER <abbr title="13">XIII</abbr> </h2> +</div> + +<p class="center">A NORTHERN TOUR</p> + + +<p>In the autumn of the year 1806 Mary Mitford, +then eighteen years of age, was taken by her +father for a tour in the north of England with +a view of introducing her to his relations in +Northumberland. The head of the family was +Mitford of Mitford Castle, a fine old Saxon +edifice that stands on high ground above the +river Wansbeck at a point where two fords +meet, and from which circumstance the name +Mid-ford is derived.</p> + +<p>Miss Mitford speaks in her <em>Recollections</em> of +“the massive ruins of the castle” as “the +common ancestral home of our race and name,” +and tells us “of the wild and daring Wansbeck +almost girdling it as a moat.”</p> + +<p>The castle is about two miles distant from +Morpeth, and there is a quaint rhyme still +current in the north-country which runs as +follows:—</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">“Midford was Midford ere Morpeth was ane,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And still shall be Midford when Morpeth is gane.”</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_102">[102]</span></p> +<p>At the time of the Norman Conquest it appears +that the castle and barony were in the +possession of a certain Robert de Mitford, whose +only child and heiress was a daughter named +Sibella. This daughter was given in marriage +by the Conqueror to one of his knights—Sir +Robert Bertram—who had fought in the battle +of Hastings. It seems that there is a curious +entry respecting this same knight in a contemporary +document written in Norman French to +the effect that Sir Robert Bertram <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">estoít tort</i> +(crooked). One would like to know if the +Saxon maid was happy with her deformed +husband, but the old chronicles are of course +silent on that subject.<a id="FNanchor_3" href="#Footnote_3" class="fnanchor">[3]</a></p> + +<div class="footnotes"> + +<p><a id="Footnote_3" href="#FNanchor_3" class="label">[3]</a> See <em>Memories</em>, by Lord Redesdale, K.C.B., published 1915.</p> + +</div> + +<p>It was on the 20th day of September (1806) +that Mary Mitford, together with her father and +her father’s cousin, Mr. Nathaniel Ogle, who +possessed an estate in Northumberland, started +upon their northern tour. They travelled to +London by stage-coach, but performed the rest +of their journey in Mr. Ogle’s private carriage. +Having changed horses at Waltham Cross and +again at Wade’s Mill, they halted at Royston +for the first night, and then, continuing their +journey with various other haltings, reached +Little Harle Tower in Northumberland a few +days later.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_103">[103]</span></p> + +<p>Little Harle Tower, which stands in a romantic +glen through which the Wansbeck flows, was +to be the headquarters of the Mitfords during +their tour. It was the property of Lord and +Lady Charles Murray Aynsley, Lord Charles +having taken the name of Aynsley on account +of a large property left to his wife by a relative +of that name. He was a son of the Duchess of +Athol. Perhaps the reader may remember his +appearance in an early chapter of this work as +a very bashful young man. Lady Charles was +a first cousin of Dr. Mitford’s.</p> + +<p>Mary writes to her mother from Little Harle +Tower on September 28th: “I imagine Papa +has told you all our plans, which are extremely +pleasant. Lord and Lady Charles stay longer +in the country on purpose to receive us, and +have put off their visit to Alnwick Castle that +they may take us there, as well as to Lord +Grey’s, Colonel Beaumont’s and half a dozen +other places.... The post, which <em>never</em> goes +oftener than three times a week from hence, +will not allow our writing again till Wednesday, +when we go to Sir William Lorraine’s, and hope +to get a frank from Colonel Beaumont whom we +are to meet there.”</p> + +<p>This was Mary Mitford’s first introduction +into what is called high society, and the simplicity +of her ordinary life made her specially +enjoy her new experiences.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_104">[104]</span></p> + +<p>The Beaumonts were people of large property, +and Mary describes the wonderful attire of +Mrs. Beaumont, who appeared at the Lorraines’ +dinner-party (although it was supposed +to be a small informal gathering) in a lavender +satin dress covered with Mechlin lace, and whose +jewels consisted of amethysts of priceless value +forming a waist-belt, a bandeau, a tiara, armlets, +bracelets, etc. etc. to match. Lady +Lorraine’s dress was quite different. “Her +ladyship is a small, delicate woman,” writes +Mary, “and she wore a plain cambric gown and +a small chip hat, without any sort of ornament +either on her head or neck.”</p> + +<p>Mary made mental notes concerning many +of her new acquaintance. She describes a +certain Mr. M. as “an oddity from affectation.” +“And I often think,” she adds, “that no young +man affects singularity when he can distinguish +himself by something better.”</p> + +<p>Writing from Kirkley, Mr. Ogle’s property, +on October 8th, Mary says: “We go to-morrow +to Alnwick and return the same night. I will +write you a long account of our stately visit +when I return to Morpeth.”</p> + +<p>Alnwick Castle was at that time the abode +of the Dowager Duchess of Athol, the mother +of Lord Charles Murray Aynsley. This same +Duchess was also (in her own right) Baroness<span class="pagenum" id="Page_105">[105]</span> +Strange and Lady of Man. Her husband, the +third Duke of Athol, had died some thirty years +before, and ever since his death she seems to +have enjoyed a position of ever-increasing +power and authority.</p> + +<p>“To-morrow,” writes Mary, “is expected to +be a very full day at the Castle on account of +the Sessions Ball. The ladies—the married +ones I mean—go in court dresses without hoops, +and display their diamonds and finery upon the +occasion.”</p> + +<p>Mary had to make her preparations accordingly. +“You would have been greatly amused,” +she writes, “at my having my hair cut by Lord +Charles’s <em>frisseur</em>, who is by occupation a joiner, +and actually attended me with an apron covered +with glue and a rule in his hand instead of +scissors.</p> + +<p>“Thursday morning we rose early. I wore +my ball dress, and Lady C. lent me a beautiful +necklace of Scotch pebbles very elegantly set, +with brooches and ornaments to match. My +dress was never the least discomposed during +the whole day, though we travelled thirty miles +of dreadful roads to the Castle. Lord Charles’s +horses had been sent on to Framlington (eighteen +miles) the day before, and we took four +post horses from Cambo to that place. We set +out at eleven and reached Framlington by two....<span class="pagenum" id="Page_106">[106]</span> +We passed Netherwitten ... and Sworland, +the magnificent seat of the famous Alexander +Davison. I had likewise a good view of the +beautiful Roadly Craggs, by which the road +passes, and likewise over some of the moors.</p> + +<p>“The entrance to Alnwick Castle is extremely +striking. After passing through three massive +gateways you alight and enter a most magnificent +hall, lined with servants, who repeat your +name to those stationed on the stairs; these +again re-echo the sound from one to the other, +till you find yourself in a most sumptuous +drawing-room of great size and, as I should +imagine, forty feet in height. This is at least +rather formidable, but the sweetness of the +Duchess soon did away every impression but +that of admiration. We arrived first, and Lady +Charles introduced me with particular distinction +to the whole family; and during the whole +day I was never for one instant unaccompanied +by one of the charming Lady Percys, and principally +by Lady Emily, the youngest and most +beautiful.</p> + +<p>“We sat down sixty-five to dinner.... The +dinner of course was served on plate, and the +middle of the table was decorated by a sumptuous +<em>plateau</em>. I met Sir Charles Monck, my +cousin of Mitford, and several people I had +known at Little Harle. After dinner when the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_107">[107]</span> +Duchess found Lady Charles absolutely refused +to stay all night, she resolved at least that I +should see the Castle, and sent Lady Emily to +show me the library, chapel, state bedrooms, +etc., and, thinking I was fond of dancing, she +persuaded Lady C. to go for an hour with herself +and family to the Sessions Ball, which was +held that night.</p> + +<p>“The Duchess is still a most lovely woman, +and dresses with particular elegance. She wore +a helmet of diamonds. The young ladies were +elegantly dressed in white and gold. The +news of Lord Percy’s election arrived after +dinner.</p> + +<p>“At nine we went to the ball given in the +town, and the room was so bad and the heat +so excessive that I determined, considering the +long journey we had to take, not to dance, and +refused my cousin Mitford of Mitford, Mr. Selby, +Mr. Alder, and half a dozen whose names I have +forgotten. At half-past ten we took leave of +the Duchess and her amiable daughters and +commenced our journey homeward....</p> + +<p>“We went on very quietly for some time +when we suddenly discovered that we had come +about six miles out of our way.... This so +much delayed us that it was near seven o’clock +in the morning before we reached home [Morpeth]. +Seventy miles, a splendid dinner and a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_108">[108]</span> +ball all in one day! Was not this a spirited +expedition?”</p> + +<p>Mary was well placed for enjoyment during +this tour. “My cousins,” she writes in later +life, “were acquainted, as it seemed to me, with +everyone of consequence in the county, and +were themselves two of the most popular persons +it contained, [so] as the young relative and +companion of this amiable couple, I saw the +country and its inhabitants to great advantage.”</p> + +<p>Mary mentions two younger sisters of Lady +Charles—Mary and Charlotte Mitford—cousins +of whom she became fond. They often accompanied +the travellers in their visiting tours, as +did also the Aynsleys’ only son, whom she speaks +of as her father’s “dear godson, and the finest +boy you ever saw.”</p> + +<p>Writing from Morpeth, where her father’s +uncle, old Mr. Mitford, and her cousins lived, +she speaks of a plan for a tour in the northern +part of the county arranged by Sir Charles and +Lady Aynsley for her entertainment. “When +I go back to Little Harle,” she says, “we shall +set out for Admiral Roddam’s upon the Cheviot +Hills, Lord Tankerville’s and Lord Grey’s.... +I am so happy in this opportunity of seeing the +Cheviot Hills.” The tour proved a very pleasant +and interesting one. The party travelled in a +coach and four, the road sometimes taking them<span class="pagenum" id="Page_109">[109]</span> +across the summit of the Cheviots and “above +the clouds.” They visited Fallerton and +Simonsburn and also Hexham—her father’s +birthplace—finally halting at Alnwick.</p> + +<p>At this time Mary was put into an awkward +position by her father suddenly quitting her +and returning in all haste to Reading in order to +further the Parliamentary election of Mr. Shaw +Lefevre, thus cancelling all his engagements +with their relatives and friends. She wrote to +urge his return, and finally he did so on the +3rd November, and towards the end of the +month both father and daughter returned home.</p> + +<p>Late in life, recording the various events of +her tour in the north, Mary writes: “Years +many and changeful have gone by since I trod +those northern braes; they at whose side I +stood lie under the green sod; yet still as I +read of the Tyne or of the Wansbeck the bright +rivers sparkle before me, as if I had walked +beside them but yesterday. I still seem to +stand with my dear father under the grey walls +of that grand old abbey church at Hexham +whilst he points to the haunts of his boyhood. +Bright river Wansbeck! How many pleasant +memories I owe to thy mere name!”</p> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_110">[110]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XIV">CHAPTER <abbr title="14">XIV</abbr> </h2> +</div> + +<p class="center">A ROYAL VISIT</p> + + +<p>Before quitting the pleasant society of Lord +and Lady Charles Aynsley we should like to +introduce an incident in connection with them +which took place in the month of February, +1808. This was no less an event than a visit +from the exiled King Louis <abbr title="18">XVIII</abbr> and his +suite to Lord Charles and his wife at the +Deanery of Bocking.</p> + +<p>Here we would explain that the post of Dean +in connection with Bocking Church, which is +not a cathedral, was of a curious nature. It +seems that by an old ecclesiastical ordinance +a set of clergymen were called the Archbishop +of Canterbury’s “Peculiars,” and that his +Commissary and Head of the Peculiars in +Essex and Suffolk was constituted Dean of +Bocking, a post of such dignity that the Dean +was wholly independent of the Bishop of his +diocese.<a id="FNanchor_4" href="#Footnote_4" class="fnanchor">[4]</a></p> + +<div class="footnotes"> +<p><a id="Footnote_4" href="#FNanchor_4" class="label">[4]</a> See <cite>History of the County of Essex</cite>, by Thos. Wright, +published 1836.</p> +</div> + +<div class="figcenter" id="i-141"> +<img src="images/i-141.jpg" alt="" width="600" height="404"> +<p class="caption center">GOSFIELD HALL</p> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_111">[111]</span></p> +<p>At the time of which we are writing the +French King was residing at Gosfield Hall, a +mansion lent to him by the Marquess of Buckingham +upon his arrival in England during the +previous month of November. There, we are +told, a mimic court was held in strict accordance +with Bourbon traditions; and even the old +French custom of the King’s dining in public +was preserved. On such occasions the inhabitants +of the surrounding neighbourhood were +permitted to pass in procession through the +long dining-room to witness the sight.</p> + +<p>In spite, however, of their courtly ceremonies +the purses of these royal exiles do not seem to +have been very full, to judge by the following +story. It was told some years ago by an old +Essex woman who could remember when a +child seeing the King and his attendants out +walking. The King noticed the child and was +disposed to give her something, but the royal +pockets were searched in vain for a coin of any +kind. At last one of the suite produced a half-penny. +“I ought to have kept that half-penny,” +remarked the old dame.</p> + +<p>The visit of Louis <abbr title="18">XVIII</abbr> to the Bocking +Deanery, which took place on February 18th, +is described in a letter from Lady Charles +Aynsley to her cousin, Mrs. Mitford, to whom +she also sent a copy of the <cite>Chelmsford Chronicle</cite><span class="pagenum" id="Page_112">[112]</span> +of February 26th, which contained a paragraph +describing the event.</p> + +<p>Fortunately the editors of the <cite>Chelmsford +Chronicle</cite>, which has existed for more than one +hundred and fifty years, have kept an unbroken +file of its numbers, so that we have been able +to study the very paragraph in question. Mrs. +Mitford incorporates the two accounts in a +letter to her husband, but where certain details +in this newspaper are omitted, we have +introduced them between brackets.</p> + +<p>In explanation of an allusion to a severe snowstorm +which it was feared might prevent the +royal visit from taking place, we would remark +that an examination of several numbers of the +paper prove that the month of February, 1808, +was marked by a prevalence of violent gales of +wind and heavy falls of snow. A large number +of ships are reported to have foundered, sea-walls +were broken down in many places, and +the Margate pier totally destroyed. “From +the extraordinary falls of snow,” writes a journalist, +“the usual communication between the +metropolis and the distant parts of the kingdom +has been nearly impracticable. The Portsmouth +mail coach is reported to have lost its +way in the snowstorm, and many accidents to +passengers in other mail coaches are related.”</p> + +<div class="figcenter" id="i-145"> +<img src="images/i-145.jpg" alt="" width="387" height="600"> +<p class="caption left"><em>Dantoux</em></p> +<p class="caption center">LE COMTE D’ARTOIS (AFTERWARDS CHARLES <abbr title="10">X</abbr> )</p> +</div> + +<p>“At Hatfield Peveral,” states a writer, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_113">[113]</span>“twenty sheep and lambs were buried in a +snow-drift, but were rescued owing to the +sagacity of the shepherd’s dog.” A solitary +sheep elsewhere “remained buried in the snow +for eight days. When at last dug out it was +discovered to be actually alive! It had found +wurzels in the ground and had fed upon them.”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Mitford writes to her husband on +receiving Lady Charles Aynsley’s letter from +Bocking:—</p> + +<p>“Her ladyship has been in a very grand +bustle, as the King of France, Monsieur (the +Comte d’Artois), the Duke d’Angoulême, Duke +de Berry, Duke de Grammont and the Prince +de Condé, with all the nobles that composed His +Majesty’s suite at Gosfield, dined at the Deanery +last Thursday. Mr. and Mrs. Pepper (Lady +Fitzgerald’s daughter) were asked to meet him, +because she was brought up and educated at +the French Court in Louis <abbr title="16">XVI</abbr> ’s reign; General +and Mrs. Milner for the same reason, and +Colonel, Mrs. and Miss Burgoyne—all the party +quick at languages.</p> + +<p>“The [snow] storms alarmed Lady C. not a +little, for it prevented the carrier going to town +in the first instance, and in the second she began +to fear the King might not be able to come, +after all the preparations made for him. The +Milners were so anxious about it that the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_114">[114]</span> +General, who commands at Colchester, ordered +five hundred pioneers to clear the road from +that city to Bocking. On His Majesty’s approach +the Bocking bells proclaimed it, and on +driving up, the full military band which Lord +C. had engaged for the occasion struck up +‘God save the King’ in the entrance passage. +In His Majesty’s coach were Monsieur [the +Comte d’Artois] and the Dukes d’Angoulême +and Berry. [They arrived a little before five +o’clock, and Lady Charles handed His Majesty +from his carriage into the drawing-room, and +introduced the illustrious guest to those friends +who were invited upon this interesting occasion. +His Majesty in the most affable and engaging +manner entered into conversation with every +individual present.]</p> + +<p>“All stood,” continues Mrs. Mitford, “till +dinner was announced, when our cousin handed +His Majesty—Lord C. walking before him with +a candle. The King sat at the top of the table +with Lady C. on his right and Lord C. on his +left. Mrs. Milner’s and Mrs. Pepper’s French +butlers were lent for the occasion. The bill of +fare was in French, and the King appeared +well pleased with his entertainment. [The +French nobility, who compose His Majesty’s +suite, were in full dress and wore the insignia +of their respective orders.]</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_115">[115]</span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" id="i-149"> +<img src="images/i-149.jpg" alt="" width="425" height="600"> +<p class="caption center">WHERE THE KING DINED</p> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_117">[117]</span></p> +<p>“The company were three hours at dinner, +and at eight the dessert was placed on the table—claret +and all kinds of French wine, fruit, etc., +a beautiful cake at the top with ‘Vive le Roi de +France’ baked round it, and the quarterings +of the French army in coloured pastry, which +had a novel and pretty effect. The three +youngest children then entered with white +satin military sashes over their shoulders (upon +which were) painted in bronze ‘Vive le Roi de +France—Prospérité à Louis dix-huit.’ Charles, +on being asked for a toast, immediately gave +‘The King of France,’ which was drunk with +the utmost sensibility by all present, and one +of the little girls came up to His Majesty and, +with great expression, spoke the lines in French, +composed for the occasion.”</p> + +<p>“Louis soon followed the ladies into the +drawing-room, when again all stood, and +Lady C. served her royal guest with coffee, +which being over, she told him that some of +the neighbouring families were come for a little +dance in the dining-room and that perhaps His +Majesty would be seated at cards. He good +humouredly said he would first go and pay his +respects in the next room, which was the thing +she wished; therefore handed him in, his family +and nobles following, which was a fine sight for +those assembled, in all sixty-two. At the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_118">[118]</span> +King’s desire she introduced each person to him +by name, and, on the King’s sitting down, the +band struck up, and Monsieur, who is supposed +to be the finest dancer in Europe, led off with +Lady C., who, spite of Lord Charles’s horror +and her own fears for her lame ankle, hopped +down two country dances with him, and they +were followed by Charlotte and the Duke +d’Angoulême.”</p> + +<p>We have sat in the long dining-room at the +Deanery where these festivities took place +more than a hundred years ago. The room is +evidently little changed, and as we gazed +around, the whole scene seemed to rise before +our eyes. We saw the French guests in their +stars and orders sparkling under the lights of +the chandeliers, and it seemed almost as if an +echo of their bright racy talk reached our ears.</p> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_119">[119]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XV">CHAPTER <abbr title="15">XV</abbr> </h2> +</div> + +<p class="center">PLAYS AND POETRY</p> + + +<p>Mary Russel Mitford had from early youth +been fond of writing verses upon subjects which +had taken her fancy. “No less than three +octavo volumes,” she writes, “had I perpetrated +in two years. They had all the faults +incident to a young lady’s verses, and one of +them had been deservedly castigated by the +<em>Quarterly</em>.” Here she adds in later years the +following footnote: “This article was fortunate +for the writer at a far more important +moment. Mr. Gifford himself, as I have been +given to understand, came to feel that however +well deserved the strictures might be, an attack +by his great review upon a girl’s first book was +something like breaking a butterfly upon the +wheel. He made amends by a criticism in a +very different spirit on the first series of <cite>Our +Village</cite>, which was of much service to the work.”</p> + +<p>The first volume of poems was published in +the year 1810 and again with additions in 1811. +Two more volumes followed soon afterwards.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_120">[120]</span></p> + +<p>In spite of some adverse criticism the poems +“had had their praises,” writes Miss Mitford, +“as what young lady’s verses have not? Large +impressions had gone rapidly off; we had run +into a second edition. They had been published +in America—always so kind to me! Two +or three of the shorter pieces had been thought +good enough to be stolen, and Mr. Coleridge had +prophesied of the larger one that the authoress +of ‘Blanche’ would write a tragedy.”</p> + +<p>Among the shorter poems was one upon the +death of Sir John Moore, written on February +7th, 1809, eight years before the appearance of +Wolfe’s well-known poem. It does not equal +that poem in merit; but the following lines, +which close the dirge, seem to us to bear the +true ring of poetry:—</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">“No tawdry ‘scutcheons hang around thy tomb,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">No hired mourners wave the sabled plume,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">No statues rise to mark the sacred spot,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">No pealing organ swells the solemn note.</div> + <div class="verse indent2">A hurried grave thy soldiers’ hands prepare—</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Thy soldiers’ hands the mournful burthen bear;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The vaulted sky to earth’s extremest verge</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Thy canopy; the cannon’s roar thy dirge.”</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<p>Mary was only twenty-one years of age when +she wrote these lines, and there is another poem +belonging to the same period that is worthy +of quotation entitled “Westminster Abbey.”<span class="pagenum" id="Page_121">[121]</span> +When viewing the tombs in Poets’ Corner she +writes:—</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">“The brightest union Genius wrought</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Was Garrick’s voice and Shakespeare’s thought.”</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<p>About this same time Miss Mitford wrote a +narrative poem entitled “Christina” which +had good success, especially in America, where +it passed through several editions.</p> + +<p>Coleridge’s prophecy that the author of +“Blanche” would write a tragedy was fulfilled +eventually, but in the meantime her taste for +the drama, stimulated when a school-girl by +Molière’s inimitable plays, was now being further +developed.</p> + +<p>“Every third year,” writes Mary, “a noble +form of tragedy, one with which women are +seldom brought in contact, fell in my way. Dr. +Valpy, the master of Reading School ... had +wisely substituted the representation of one of +the stern Greek plays [given in the original +language] for the speeches and recitations formerly +delivered before the heads of certain +colleges of Oxford at their triennial visitations.”<a id="FNanchor_5" href="#Footnote_5" class="fnanchor">[5]</a></p> + +<div class="footnotes"> + +<p><a id="Footnote_5" href="#FNanchor_5" class="label">[5]</a> Dr. Valpy was thus the pioneer of an important movement +to be adopted in later years by our great Universities.</p> +</div> + +<p>“Many of the old pupils will remember the +effect of these performances, complete in +scenery, dresses and decorations, and remarkable<span class="pagenum" id="Page_122">[122]</span> +for the effect produced, not only on the +actors, but on an audience, of which a considerable +portion was new alike to the language and +the subject. It is no offence to impute such +ignorance to the mayor and aldermen of that +day who in their furred gowns formed part of +the official visitors, or to the mammas and +sisters of the performers, who might plead the +privilege of sex for their want of learning.”</p> + +<div class="figcenter" id="i-157"> +<img src="images/i-157.jpg" alt="" width="650" height="441"> +<p class="caption center">DR. VALPY’S SCHOOL</p> +</div> + +<p>“For myself, as ignorant of Latin or of Greek +as the smuggest alderman or slimmest damsel +present, I had my own share in the pageant. +In spite of all remonstrance the dear Doctor +would insist on my writing the authorised +account of the play—the grand official critique +which filled I know not how many columns of +<cite>The Reading Mercury</cite>, and was sent east, west, +north and south wherever mammas and grand-mammas +were found. Of course it was necessary +to mention everybody and to commit all +the injustice which belongs to a forced equality +by praising some too little and some too much. +The too little was more frequent than the too +much, for the boys, as a body, did act marvellously, +especially those who filled the female +parts, making one understand how the ungentle +sex might have rendered the Desdemonas and +the Imogens in James’s day.... One circumstance +only a little injured the perfect grouping +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_123">[123]</span>of the scene. The visitation occurred in October, +not long after the conclusion of the summer +holidays, and between cricket and boating and +the impossibility of wearing gloves ... our +Helens and Antigones exhibited an assortment +of sunburnt fists that might have become a +tribe of Red Indians.... Sophocles is Sophocles +nevertheless; and seldom can his power have +been more thoroughly felt than in these performances +at Reading School.”</p> + +<p>“The good Doctor,” she continues, “full of +kindness, and far too learned for pedantry, +rewarded my compliance with his wishes in the +way I liked best, by helping me to enter into +the spirit of the mighty masters who dealt forth +these stern Tragedies of Destiny. He put into +my hands le Père Brumoy’s ‘Théâtre des +Grecs,’ and other translations in homely French +prose, where the form and letter were set forth, +untroubled by vexatious attempts at English +verse—grand outlines for imagination to colour +and fill up.”</p> + +<p>In the month of May, 1809, Mary was staying +in Hans Place with her friend Miss Rowden, +who had become the Head of the school on the +retirement of Monsieur and Madame St. Quintin; +these latter, however, still continued to +live in Hans Place although in a different +house. Mary went much into society with her<span class="pagenum" id="Page_124">[124]</span> +kind friends, and greatly enjoyed frequent visits +to the theatre.</p> + +<p>She writes on June 4th to her mother: “I +had not time to tell you [yesterday] how very +much I was gratified at the Opera House on +Friday evening. I dined at the St. Quintins’, +and we proceeded to take possession of our very +excellent situation, a pit-box near the stage. +The house was crammed to suffocation. Young +is an admirable actor; I greatly prefer him to +Kemble, whom I had before seen in the same +character (Zanga in <cite>The Revenge</cite>).... Billington, +Braham, Bianchi, Noldi, Bellamy and +Siboni sang after the play, and the amateurs +were highly gratified. But my delight was yet +to come. The dancing of Vestris is indeed perfection. +The ‘poetry of motion’ is exemplified +in every movement, and his Apollo-like form +excels any idea I had ever formed of manly +grace.”</p> + +<p>This grand performance, it seems, was for +Kelly’s benefit. Kelly was a popular singer of +his day, and was also a composer of music. He +happened in addition to be a wine merchant, +and Sheridan called him “a composer of wine +and importer of music.”</p> + +<p>Besides visits to the Opera House and +theatres Mary describes expeditions to the +Royal Academy, then at Somerset House, to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_125">[125]</span> +the Exhibition of Water Colours in Spring +Gardens, and to the Panorama, where she saw +“a most admirable representation of Grand +Cairo, taken from drawings by Lord Valentia.” +She also gives full particulars of a grand ball +given in a mansion where five splendid rooms +opened into each other; and there were upwards +of three hundred people. “The chalked +floors and Grecian lamps,” she says, “gave it +the appearance of a fairy scene, which was still +further heightened by the beautiful exotics +which almost lined these superb apartments.”</p> + +<p>It is curious to note that in those days +Bedlam was looked upon as one of the sights +of London, to which both foreigners and provincial +visitors were taken as a matter of course. +In her last letter from town Mary says: “To-morrow +we go first to Bedlam, then to St. +James’s Street to see the Court people, and +then I think I shall have had more than enough +of sights and dissipation.”</p> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_126">[126]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XVI">CHAPTER <abbr title="16">XVI</abbr> </h2> +</div> + +<p class="center">A CHOSEN CORRESPONDENT</p> + + +<p>Among the many names of well-known people +that occur in Miss Mitford’s letters of this period +is that of Cobbett, to whom she had addressed +one of her early odes. He was an intimate +friend of her father’s, and we are told that some +of his letters to the Doctor “are written enigmatically +and evidently with a view to secrecy, +whilst others, on the contrary, express his sentiments +as openly as did the ‘Porcupine.’” In +these latter the violent denunciations of the +King and the Government, and indeed of all +persons in authority, comically recall to the +mind of the reader the admirable skit upon +Cobbett in the <cite>Rejected Addresses</cite>. His letters +to the Doctor usually conclude with the words, +“God bless you, and d—— the ministers!”</p> + +<p>Miss Mitford describes Cobbett as “a tall, +stout man, fair and sunburnt, with a bright +smile and an air compounded of the soldier and +the farmer, to which his habit of wearing an +eternal red waistcoat contributed not a little.”<span class="pagenum" id="Page_127">[127]</span> +Mary’s attitude towards politics throughout her +life was naturally influenced by her surroundings; +but her admiration for Cobbett was +caused specially by his love of animals and +love of rural scenery, in which she so warmly +sympathised.</p> + +<p>After a while an estrangement arose between +the two families through some misunderstanding, +but Mary continued to admire Cobbett’s +stirling qualities. Writing of him some years +later she remarks: “He was a sad tyrant, as +my friends the democrats sometimes are. Servants +and labourers fled before him. And yet +with all his faults he was a man one could not +help liking.... The coarseness and violence +of his political writings and conversations +almost entirely disappeared in his family circle, +and were replaced by a kindness, a good humour +and an enjoyment in seeing and promoting the +happiness of others.... He was always what +Johnson would have called ‘a very pretty +hater’; but since his release from Newgate he +has been hatred itself.... [May] milder +thoughts attend him,” she adds: “he has my +good wishes and so have his family.”</p> + +<p>Another political name occurring in Miss +Mitford’s correspondence is that of Sir Francis +Burdett, the well-known leader of reform and +exposer of abuses. Mary writes on March 28th,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_128">[128]</span> +1810: “If the House of Commons send Sir +Francis to the Tower I should not much like +anyone that I loved to be a party in it, for the +populace will not tamely submit to have their +idol torn from them, and especially for defending +the rights and liberties of the subject. As +to Sir Francis himself, I don’t think either he +or Cobbett would much mind it. They would +proclaim themselves martyrs in the cause of +liberty, and the ‘Register’ would sell better +than ever.”</p> + +<p>It was in the spring of this same year when +visiting London that Mary was first introduced +to Sir William Elford, a friend of her father’s, +although totally opposed to him in politics. +Sir William belonged to an old Devonshire +family, and was Recorder for Plymouth, which +borough he had represented in Parliament for +many years. He was, moreover, a man of cultivated +tastes and of much refinement. His +interest in Miss Mitford seems to have commenced +from the perusal of some of her early +verses shown to him by her father.</p> + +<p>Describing their first acquaintance in later +years to a friend, Mary said: “Sir William had +taken a fancy to me, and I became his child-correspondent. +Few things contribute more to +that indirect after-education, which is worth +all the formal lessons of the schoolroom a thousand<span class="pagenum" id="Page_129">[129]</span> +times told, than such good-humoured condescension +from a clever man of the world to +a girl almost young enough to be his grand-daughter. +I owe much to that correspondence.... +Sir William’s own letters were most charming—full +of old-fashioned courtesy, of quaint +humour, and of pleasant and genial criticism on +literature and on art.”<a id="FNanchor_6" href="#Footnote_6" class="fnanchor">[6]</a></p> + +<div class="footnotes"> + +<p><a id="Footnote_6" href="#FNanchor_6" class="label">[6]</a> See <cite>Yesterdays with Authors</cite>, by James T. Fields.</p> + +</div> + +<p>Sometimes he would send Mary a few verses +he had written upon some congenial subject. +Amongst these occur the following lines, composed +after witnessing a performance of Mrs. +Siddons in the Plymouth theatre:—</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">“Her looks, her voice, her features so agree,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Uniting all in such fine harmony,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">That from her <em>voice</em> the blind her looks declare,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And in her sparkling <em>eyes</em> the deaf may hear.”</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<p>In one of his early letters to Mary he remarks: +“Pray never refrain from writing much +because you want time and inclination to read +over what you have written. I would a thousand +times rather see what falls from your pen +naturally and spontaneously than the most +polished and beautiful composition that ever +went to the press, and so would you I doubt +not from your correspondents.... Pope’s +maxim (if it is his) that ‘easy writing is not<span class="pagenum" id="Page_130">[130]</span> +easily written’ is certainly true with respect +to what is intended for the world ... but is +utterly false as applied to familiar writing, of +which his own letters—pretended to be warm +from the brain, but in reality polished and +revised on publication—are a striking proof. +Write away then, my dear, as fast as you can +drive your quill, and abuse Miss Seward as +much as you please.”</p> + +<p>These words call to mind the same kind of +advice given by the good “Daddy” Crisp about +forty years earlier to the young Fanny Burney: +“Let this declaration serve once for all, that +there is no fault in an epistolary correspondence +like stiffness and study. Dash away whatever +comes uppermost; the sudden sallies of imagination +clap’d down on paper, just as they arise, +are worth folios, and have all the warmth and +merit of that sort of nonsense that is eloquent +in love.”</p> + +<p>Crisp had greater powers as a critic than Sir +William Elford, but Sir William had qualities +that specially suited the case in question. He +supplied a channel through which Mary could +express and think out her views on all kinds of +topics, always secure of a kind and friendly +listener, and one whose judgment she valued. +Being an only child and with few intimate +female friends, this was a great boon, and we<span class="pagenum" id="Page_131">[131]</span> +owe to their correspondence a fuller knowledge +of Mary’s mind in its development from youth +to womanhood than we could have obtained +by any other means.</p> + +<p>The allusion to Miss Seward, the “Swan of +Lichfield,” by Sir William refers to the following +passage in one of Mary’s letters: “Have you +seen Miss Seward’s Letters? The names of her +correspondents are tempting, but alas! though +addressed to all the eminent literati of the last +half-century, all the epistles bear the signature +of Anna Seward.... Did she not owe some +of her fame, think you, to writing printed books +at a time when it was quite as much as most +women could do to read them?... I was +always a little shocked at the sort of reputation +she bore in poetry. Sometimes affected, sometimes +<em>fade</em>, sometimes pedantic and sometimes +tinselly, none of her works were ever simple, +graceful, or natural. Her letters ... are +affected, sentimental and lackadaisical to the +highest degree. Who can read a page of Miss +Seward’s writings on any subject without finding +her out at once [as] the pedantic coquette +and cold-hearted sensibility monger?”</p> + +<p>“Anna Seward,” continues Miss Mitford, +“sees nothing to admire in Cowper’s letters—in +letters (the playful ones of course I mean) +which would have immortalized him had the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_132">[132]</span> +<em>Task</em> never been written, and which (much as I +admire the playful wit of the two illustrious +namesakes Lady M. W. and Mrs. Montagu) are +in my opinion the only perfect specimens of +epistolary composition in the English language.... +They have to me, at least, all the properties +of grace; a charm now here, now there; a +witchery rather felt in its effect than perceived +in its cause.”</p> + +<p>“The attraction of Horace Walpole’s letters,” +she adds, “is very different, though almost +equally strong. The charm which lurks in them +is one for which we have no term, and our +Gallic neighbours seem to have engrossed both +the word and the quality. <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Elles sont piquantes</i> +to the highest degree. If you read but a sentence +you feel yourself spellbound till you have +read the volume.”</p> + +<p>On another occasion Mary discusses the merits +of Pope. She holds the same opinion as that +of Sir William respecting his letters “which,” +as she says, “affect to be unaffected and work +so hard to seem quite at their ease.” “Pope +is,” she remarks, “even in his poetry, of a +lower flight and a weaker grasp than his predecessor +[Dryden].... <em>They</em> must be born +without an ear who can prefer the melodious +monotony of Pope to the stateliness, the ease, +the infinite variety of Dryden. I should as soon<span class="pagenum" id="Page_133">[133]</span> +think of preferring the tinkling guitar to the +full-toned organ!</p> + +<p>“... In short, Pope is in the fullest sense of +the word a mannerist. When you have said +‘The Dunciad,’ ‘The Eloise’ and ‘The Rape +of the Lock’ you can say nothing more but +‘The Rape of the Lock,’ ‘The Dunciad’ and +‘The Eloise.’ I have some notion,” she adds, +“that you are of a different opinion, and I am +very glad of it; I love to make you quarrel +with me. Nothing is so tiresome as acquiescence; +I would at any time give a dozen civil +Yes’s for one spirited No, especially in correspondence, +which is exactly like a game of +shuttle-cock, and would be at an end in an instant +if both battledores struck the same way.”</p> + +<p>In another letter, writing of her special +favourites amongst Shakespeare’s plays, she +remarks: “And last, not least, <cite>Much Ado +About Nothing</cite>. The Beatrice of this play is +indeed my standard of female wit and almost +of female character; nothing so lively, so clever, +so unaffected and so warm-hearted ever trod +this workaday world. Benedick is not quite +equal to her; but this, in female eyes, is no +great sin. Shakespeare saw through nature, +and knew which sex to make the cleverest. +There’s a challenge for you! Will you take up +the glove?”</p> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_134">[134]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XVII">CHAPTER <abbr title="17">XVII</abbr> </h2> +</div> + +<p class="center">THE MARCH OF MIND</p> + + +<p>In the month of June, 1814, that memorable +period in our history, Mary Mitford was again +visiting her friends the St. Quintins in Hans +Place.</p> + +<p>London was then swarming with crowned +heads, victorious generals and distinguished +foreigners of all kinds, to rejoice with us upon +the downfall of Napoleon.</p> + +<p>Even the ultra-Whigs, to which Mary and her +family belonged, had long ceased to entertain +any hopes of him as a benefactor to the human +race, and she had declared to Sir William +Elford in 1812 that she “was no well-wisher +to Napoleon—the greatest enemy to democracy +that ever existed.”</p> + +<p>On the 18th June Mary and her friends went +to the office of the <cite>Morning Chronicle</cite> (Mr. +Perry, the editor, being an intimate friend of +the Mitfords) to behold the grand procession of +royal personages to the Merchant Taylors Hall. +Writing on the following day to her mother, she<span class="pagenum" id="Page_135">[135]</span> +says: “The <cite>Chronicle</cite> will tell you much more +of the procession than I can ... suffice it to +say that we got there well and pleasantly, and +saw them all most clearly; that the Emperor +and Duchess are much alike—she a pretty +woman, he a fine-looking man—both with fair +complexions and round <em>Tartar</em> faces—no expression +of any sort except affability and good-humour; +that the King of Prussia is a much +more interesting and intelligent-looking man, +though not so handsome; and that the Regent +got notably hissed, in spite of his protecting +presence.” And writing a few days later she +says:</p> + +<p>“Yesterday I went, as you know, to the +play with papa, and on our road thither had a +very great pleasure in meeting Lord Wellington, +just arrived in London, and driving to his own +house in an open carriage and six. We had an +excellent sight of him, so excellent that I should +know him again anywhere; and it was quite +refreshing after all those parading foreigners, +emperors, and so forth to see an honest English +hero, with a famous Mitford nose, looking quite +happy, without any affectation of bowing or +seeming affable. He is a very fine countenanced +man, tanned and weather-beaten, with good +dark eyes.... Very few of the populace knew +him, but the intelligence spread like wildfire,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_136">[136]</span> +and Piccadilly looked like a hive of bees in +swarming time.”</p> + +<p>Writing to Sir William Elford in July, 1815, +Mary apologises for not having sent him, as she +had proposed to do, a facsimile copy of <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Louis le +Desiré’s</i> letter to Lady Charles Aynsley. “As +kings of France are come in fashion again,” she +remarks, “I hastened to repair my omission by +copying as well as I was able the aforesaid +epistle.... I heard a great deal respecting +that very good but weak and bigoted man from +a French lady, Madame de Gourbillon, who was +one of the favourite attendants of his late wife. +His memory exceeds even that of our own +venerable king. If you mention the slightest, +the least remarkable fact in natural history, in +the belles-lettres, in history, or anything he will +say, ‘Ay, Buffon, or La Harpe, or Vertot speaks +of it (quoting the very words) in such a volume, +such a chapter, such a page and such a line.’ +He is always correct, even to a monosyllable!”</p> + +<p>This recalls to one’s mind the old aphorism +applied to the Bourbons: “They forgot nothing +and they learnt nothing.”</p> + +<p>“Another fact,” continues Mary, “which I +ascertained respecting the King of France is +that he is afraid of my friend <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">la Lectrice de la +feue Reine</i> as ever child was of its schoolmistress, +and really it is no impeachment to his courage,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_137">[137]</span> +for I am not at all sure that Buonaparte himself +could stand against her.... Papa and she +regularly quarrelled once a day on the old +cause, ‘France versus England,’ varied occasionally +into ‘French versus English,’ for she very +reasonably used to attack Papa for his utter +want of French, in which, I believe, he scarcely +knows <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">ouí</i> from <em>non</em>; and he, with no less reason, +would retort on her want of English, she having +condescended to vegetate twelve years in this +island of fogs and roast beef without being able +at the end of that time to distinguish ‘How do +you do?’ from ‘Very well, I thank you!’”</p> + +<p>During Miss Mitford’s stay in town in the +summer of 1814 she had an interesting and unlooked-for +experience of which mention is made +in the <cite>Morning Chronicle</cite> of June 25th.</p> + +<p>The writer of the article remarks: “The +friends of the British and Foreign School Society +dined together yesterday at the Freemasons’ +Tavern. The Marquis of Lansdowne took the +chair, supported by the Dukes of Kent and +Sussex, the Earls of Darnley and Eardley, and +several other eminent persons. The health of +the Chairman and Vice-Presidents was drunk, +and then that of the female members of the +Society. After this a poetical tribute of Miss +Mitford’s was sung, and ‘Thanks to Miss Mitford’ +was drunk with applause.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_138">[138]</span></p> + +<p>The following lines occur in the poem:—</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">“The mental world was wrapt in night.”</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0"> +</div> +</div> +<hr class="tb"> + + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Oh, how the glorious dawn unfold</div> + <div class="verse indent1">The brighter day that lurk’d behind?</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The march of armies may be told,</div> + <div class="verse indent1">But not the march of mind.”</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<p>Mary was present on the occasion, being +seated, together with her friends, in the gallery +of the hall. She writes to her mother: “I did +not believe my ears when Lord Lansdowne, with +his usual graceful eloquence, gave my health. +I did not even believe it when my old friend the +Duke of Kent, observing that Lord Lansdowne’s +voice was not always strong enough to penetrate +the depths of that immense assembly, +reiterated it with stentorian lungs. Still less +did I believe my ears when it was drunk with +‘three times three,’ a flourish of drums and +trumpets from the Duke of Kent’s band, and +the unanimous thundering and continued +plaudits of five hundred people. I really thought +it must be [for] Mr. Whitbread, and though I +wondered how he could be ‘fair and amiable’ +I still thought it him till his health was really +drunk and he rose to make the beautiful speech +of which you have only a very faint outline in +the <cite>Chronicle</cite>.” This speech was made à propos<span class="pagenum" id="Page_139">[139]</span> +of a toast. “The Cause of Education throughout +the World,” Mr. Whitbread remarking, +“Miss Mitford has designated it ‘The March +of Mind.’”</p> + +<p>Whilst Mary Mitford was thus growing in +fame, her father, through his many speculations, +was frequently involved in money difficulties. +In the year 1811 it seems he was +actually detained in the debtors’ prison, and +arrangements had to be made for the sale of +the pictures at Bertram House in order to obtain +money for his release. His wife, who in her +warm affection was almost too forbearing, +wrote to him: “I know you were disappointed +in the sale of the pictures; but, my love, if we +have less wealth than we hoped, we shall not +have less affection; these clouds may blow +over more happily than we expected.”</p> + +<p>Again she writes: “As to the cause of our +present difficulties it avails not how they +originated. The only question is how they can +be most speedily and effectually put an end to. +I ask for no details which you do not voluntarily +choose to make. A forced confidence my whole +soul would revolt at.”</p> + +<p>Mary writes to her father on the occasion +with the same self-sacrificing love, but, it seems +to us, with more judgment. She suggests that +they should let Bertram House, sell books, furniture,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_140">[140]</span> +everything possible to clear their debts, +and then retire to some cottage in the country +or to humble lodgings in London. Then she +goes on to say: “Where is the place in which, +whilst we are all spared to each other, we should +not be happy?... Tell me if you approve +my scheme, and tell me, I implore you, my +most beloved father, the full extent of your +embarrassments. This is no time for false +delicacy on either side, I dread no evil but suspense.... +Whatever those embarrassments +may be, of one thing I am certain that the +world does not contain so proud, so happy, or +so fond a daughter. I would not exchange my +father, even though we toiled together for our +daily bread, for any man on earth, though he +could pour the gold of Peru into my lap.”</p> + +<p>Miss Mitford’s biographers have justly censured +her father’s evil courses, some considering +him as altogether worthless; but surely there +must have been many redeeming qualities in +one who called forth such love from such a +daughter?</p> + +<p>For the time being the crisis described was +averted; but in 1814 Dr. Mitford was again in +great difficulties, caused by his speculations in +two enterprises that proved failures—one in +coal, the other in a new method for lighting and +heating houses, invented by the Marquis de<span class="pagenum" id="Page_141">[141]</span> +Chavannes, a French refugee. In this latter +scheme the doctor actually invested £5000, and +when the crash came he lost more money in +carrying on a protracted law suit in the French +courts in the vain hope of forcing the penniless +nobleman to restore his lost property.</p> + +<p>Mary, writing of her father’s money losses in +later life, says: “He attempted to increase his +own resources by the aid of cards (he was unluckily +one of the finest whist players in England) +or by that other terrible gambling, which +... even when called by its milder term of +<em>speculation</em> is that terrible thing gambling still.”</p> + +<p>Early in the year 1814 Mary Mitford received +a proof of the warm approval accorded to her +poems in America, which gave her heartfelt +pleasure.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Mitford, writing of the event to her +husband, says:—</p> + +<p>“With your letter and the newspaper this +morning arrived a small parcel for our darling, +directed to Miss Mary Russell Mitford.... +This little packet contained,—what do you +think? No less than <em>Narrative Poems on the +Female Character in the various Relations of +Life</em>, by Mary Russell Mitford. Printed at +New York, and published by Eastburn, Kirk +& Co., No. 86 Broadway. The volume is a +small pocket size, well printed and elegantly<span class="pagenum" id="Page_142">[142]</span> +bound, and the following is a copy of the letter +which accompanied it across the Atlantic:—”</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p> +<span class="smcap">New York</span>,<br> +<em>October 23, 1813</em>.<br> +<br> +<span class="smcap">Madam</span>,<br> +</p> + +<p>We have the honour of transmitting to +you a copy of our second edition of your admirable +<cite>Narrative Poems on the Female Character</cite>. +All who have hearts to feel and understandings +to discriminate must earnestly wish you health +and leisure to complete your plan.</p> + +<p>We shall be gratified by a line acknowledging +the receipt of the copy through the medium of +our friends Messrs. Longman & Co....</p> + +<p>We have the honour to be, madam,</p> + +<p> +Your most obedient servants,<br> +<span class="smcap">Eastburn, Kirk & Co.</span><br> +</p> +</div> + +<p>Mary writes to her father on the receipt of +the parcel: “You will easily imagine that I +was flattered and pleased with my American +packet; but even you can scarcely imagine +how much.I never was so vain of anything in +my whole life. Only think of their having +printed two editions (for the words ‘second +edition’ are underscored in their letter) before +last October!”</p> + +<p>The recognition which she received in America<span class="pagenum" id="Page_143">[143]</span> +so early in her career was never forgotten, and +she used to say in after life, “It takes ten years +to make a literary reputation in England, but +America is wiser and bolder and dares to say at +once, ‘This is fine.’”</p> + +<div class="figcenter" id="i-179"> +<img src="images/i-179.jpg" alt="Country cottages" width="450" height="376"> +</div> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_144">[144]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XVIII">CHAPTER <abbr title="18">XVIII</abbr> </h2> +</div> + +<p class="center">VERSATILITY AND PLAYFULNESS</p> + + +<p>In a letter to Sir William Elford dated January, +1812, Mary remarks: “I have lived so little +with girls of my own age, and have been so +much accustomed to think papa my pleasantest +companion and mamma my best friend that ... +I have escaped unscathed from all the charming +folly and delectable romance of female intimacy +and female confidence.” Then going on to +speak of the usual school training of girls at that +period she remarks: “I must observe that in +this educating age everything is taught to +women except that which is perhaps worth all +the rest—the power and the habit of thinking. +Do not misunderstand me.... I would only +wish that while everything is invented and inculcated +that can serve to amuse, to occupy, or +adorn youth—youth which needs so little amusement +or ornament!—something should be instilled +that may add pleasure and respectability +to age.”</p> + +<p>About this time Sir William paid a visit to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_145">[145]</span> +Bath. Mary writes: “What says Bath of +<em>Rokeby</em>? But Bath, I suppose, is, as to literature, +politics and fashion, the echo of London. +Be that as it may, I am very happy that you +have arrived there, both because it brings us a +step nearer, and because it so comfortably rids +you of the horrors of solitude. ‘<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">O, la Solitude +est une belle chose; mais il faut avoir quelqu’une à +qui l’on puisse dire, La Solitude est une belle +chose!</i>’ ... I most sincerely hope that we +shall meet this spring in London ... and that +we shall have the pleasure of renewing (I might +almost say commencing) our personal acquaintance. +You will find just the same plain, awkward, +blushing thing whom you profess to remember.... +I talk to you with wonderful +boldness upon paper, and while we are seventy +miles distant; but I doubt whether I shall say +three sentences to you when we meet, because +the ghosts of all my impertinent letters will +stare me in the face the moment I see you.”</p> + +<p>A little later on Sir William paid a visit to +the Mitfords at Bertram House, and Mary +writes of him: “He is the kindest, cleverest, +warmest-hearted man in the world.” Some of +her friends fancied that, in spite of the great +discrepancy in their ages, her partiality might +possibly lead to a union between the friends. +To their surmise Mary answers: “I shall not<span class="pagenum" id="Page_146">[146]</span> +marry Sir William Elford, for which there is +a remarkably good reason, the aforesaid Sir +William having no sort of desire to marry me.... +He has an outrageous fancy for my letters, +and marrying a favourite correspondent would +be something like killing the goose with the +golden egg.”</p> + +<p>In one of Sir William’s letters he had complained +of Miss Mitford’s writing being somewhat +illegible, to which she responds: “So, my +dear friend, you cannot make out my writing! +And my honoured father cannot help you! +Really this is too affronting! The two persons +in all the world who have had the most of my +letters cannot read them! Well, there is the +secret of your liking them so much. Obscurity +is sometimes a great charm. You just make +out my meaning and fill it up by the force of +your own imagination. The outline is mine, +the colouring your own. So much the better +for me.”</p> + +<p>Writing on a hot summer’s day, she says: +“I have been solacing myself for this week past +‘taking mine ease’ in a hay-cock left solely for +my accommodation, where Mossy and I repair +every morning to perform between us the operation +of reading a <em>good book</em>, I turning the leaves +and <em>he</em> going to sleep over it. It is ... the +most delightful hay-cock in the world, in a snug<span class="pagenum" id="Page_147">[147]</span> +little nook; nothing visible but lawn and plantation; +whilst breathing the odours of the firs, +whose fragrance this wet summer has been past +anything I could have conceived.”</p> + +<div class="figcenter" id="i-183"> +<img src="images/i-183.jpg" alt="" width="484" height="550"> +<p class="caption center">BERTRAM HOUSE</p> +</div> + +<p>Mossy was the name of her dog. Throughout +her life Mary Mitford was much attached to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_148">[148]</span> +dogs, and she was generally accompanied in her +rambles by some special favourite. Sometimes +it was a beautiful greyhound—one of her father’s +coursers that had been given to her.</p> + +<p>She concludes one of her letters by remarking: +“I have nothing more to tell you, except +that I have taken a new pet—the most sagacious +donkey that ever lived. She lets nobody ride +her—follows me everywhere, even indoors when +she can—and is really a wonderful animal. Her +favourite caress is to have her ears stroked. +Shakespeare has noticed this in the <cite>Midsummer +Night’s Dream</cite> when Titania tells Bottom that +she will give him musk-roses and ‘stroke thy +fair, large ears, my gentle joy.’”</p> + +<p>In this same letter Mary speaks of some of +the singers she had heard recently in London. +“I hope you like Braham’s singing,” she says, +“though I know among your scientific musicians +it is a crime of <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">lèse majesté</i> to say so; but +he is the only singer I ever heard in my life who +conveyed to my very unmusical ears any idea +of the expression of which music is susceptible; +no one else joins any sense to the sound. They +may talk of music as ‘married to immortal +verse’; but if it were not for Braham they +would have been divorced long ago.... +Moore’s singing has, indeed, great feeling; but +then his singing is not much beyond a modulated<span class="pagenum" id="Page_149">[149]</span> +sigh—though the most powerful sigh in +the world.”</p> + +<p>And speaking of the actors of the period, she +says: “Of all that I have seen nothing has +afforded me half so much delight as Miss O’Neil. +She broke my heart, and charmed me beyond +expression by showing me that I had a heart +to break, a fact I always before rather doubted, +having been till I saw her as impenetrable to +tragedy as Punch and his wife or any other +wooden-hearted biped. But she is irresistible.... +The manner in which she identifies herself +with the character exceeds all that I had before +conceived possible of theatrical illusion. You +never admire—you only weep.”</p> + +<p>In another letter she complains of Kemble’s +always declaiming and never speaking in a +simple and natural manner. “It does appear +to me,” she says, “that no man can be a perfect +tragedian who is not likewise a good actor in +the higher branch of comedy. A statesman not +at the council board, and a hero when the battle +is safely ended, would, as it seems to me, talk +and walk much in the same way as other people. +Even a tyrant does not always rave nor a lover +always whine.... That Shakespeare and all +the writers of Elizabeth’s days were of my +opinion I am quite sure. Nothing is more remarkable +in their delightful dramas ... than<span class="pagenum" id="Page_150">[150]</span> +the sweet and natural tone of conversation +which sometimes relieves the terrible intensity +of their plots, like a flowery glade in a gloomy +forest, or a sunbeam streaming [across] a +winter sky.” She goes on to say: “I cannot +take leave of the drama without adding my +feeble tribute of regret for the secession of +Mrs. Siddons. Yet it was better that she should +quit the stage in undiminished splendour than +have remained to show the feeble twilight of so +glorious a day.”</p> + +<p>In a letter written during a severe winter we +find this description of a hoar-frost: “The +scene has been lovely beyond any winter piece +I ever beheld; a world formed of something +much whiter than ivory—as white indeed as +snow—but carved with a delicacy, a lightness, +a precision to which the mossy, ungrateful, +tottering snow could never pretend. Rime was +the architect; every tree, every shrub, every +blade of grass was clothed with its pure incrustations, +but so thinly, so delicately clothed that +every twig, every fibre, every ramification remained +perfect, alike indeed in colour, but displaying +in form to the fullest extent the endless, +infinite variety of Nature. It is a scene that +really defies description.”</p> + +<p>Here is a playful letter to Sir William, written +in August, 1816: “Pray, my dear friend, were<span class="pagenum" id="Page_151">[151]</span> +you ever a bridesmaid? I rather expect you +to say no, and I give you joy of your happy +ignorance, for I am just now in the very agonies +of the office, helping to buy and admire wedding +clothes.... The bride is a fair neighbour of +mine.... Her head is a perfect milliner’s shop, +and she plans out her wardrobe much as Phidias +might have planned the Parthenon.... She +has had no sleep since the grand question of a +lace bonnet with a plume, or a lace veil without +one, for the grand occasion came into discussion.”</p> + +<p>Two months later Mary writes: “I have at +last safely disposed of my bride.... She had +accumulated on her person so much finery that +she looked as if by mistake she had put on two +wedding dresses instead of one [and having wept +copiously] was by many degrees the greatest +fright I ever saw in my life. Indeed between +crying and blushing brides, and bridesmaids too, +do generally look strange figures. I am sure we +did, though to confess the truth I really could +not cry, much as I wished to keep all my neighbours +in countenance, and was forced to hold +my handkerchief to my eyes and sigh in vain +for ‘<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">ce don de dames que Dieu ne m’a pas donné</i>.’”</p> + +<p>Mary Mitford always enjoyed writing to Sir +William upon literary matters, as the reader +knows, and comparing their respective opinions.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_152">[152]</span></p> + +<p>“I am almost afraid to tell you,” she writes, +“how much I dislike <cite>Childe Harold</cite>. Not but +there are very many fine stanzas and powerful +descriptions; but the sentiment is so strange, +so gloomy, so heartless, that it is impossible not +to feel a mixture of pity and disgust, which all +our admiration of the author’s talents cannot +overcome.... Are you not rather sick—now +pray don’t betray me—are you not rather sick +of being one of the hundred thousand confidants +of his lordship’s mysterious and secret +sorrows?... I would rather be the poorest +Greek whose fate he commiserates than Lord +Byron, if this poem be a true transcript of his +feelings.”</p> + +<p>In one of her letters she remarks: “I prefer +the French pulpit oratory to any other part of +their literature.... I mean, of course, their old +preachers—Fénelon, Bourdaloue, Massillon and +Bossuet—especially the last, who approaches as +nearly to the unrivalled sublimity of the sacred +writings as any writer I have ever met with. +Oh! what a contrast between him and our +dramatic sermonists Mesdames Hawkins and +Brompton! I am convinced that people read +them for the story, to enjoy the stimulus of a +novel without the name.... Ah! they had +better take South and Blair and Secker for +guides, and go for amusement to Miss Edgeworth<span class="pagenum" id="Page_153">[153]</span> +and Miss Austen. By the way, how +delightful is her <cite>Emma</cite>, the best, I think, of all +her charming works.”</p> + +<p>“Have you read <cite>Pepys’ Memoirs</cite>?” she asks +on another occasion. “I am extremely diverted +with them, and prefer them to Evelyn’s, all to +nothing. He was too precise and too gentlemanly +and too sensible by half; wrote in full +dress, with an eye if not to the press, at least +to posthumous reputation. Now this man sets +down his thoughts in a most becoming <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">déshabille</i>—does +not care twopence for posterity, and +evidently thinks wisdom a very foolish thing. +I don’t know when any book has amused me so +much. It is the very perfection of gossiping—most +relishing nonsense.”</p> + +<p>Writing in 1819 she says: “Oh! but the +oddest book I have met with is Madame de +Genlis’s new novel <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Les Parvenus</i>, an imitation +of <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Gil Blas</i> ... while she sticks to that she is +very good; her comic powers are really exceedingly +respectable—but she flies off at a tangent +to her old beaten path of sentimental vice and +fanatical piety, and sends her heroine to the +Holy Land as a Pilgrim in the nineteenth century +and then fixes her in a Spanish convent!”</p> + +<p>Now she writes with deep admiration of +Burns—“Burns the sweetest, the sublimest, +the most tricksy poet who has blest this nether<span class="pagenum" id="Page_154">[154]</span> +world since the days of Shakespeare! I am +just fresh from reading Dr. Currie’s four volumes +and Cromak’s one, which comprise, I believe, +all that he ever wrote.... Have you lately +read Dr. Currie’s work? If you have not, pray +do, and tell me if you do not admire him—not +with the flimsy lackadaisical praise with which +certain gentle damsels bedaub his <cite>Mountain +Daisy</cite> and his <cite>Woodlark</cite> ... but with the strong +and manly feeling which his fine and indignant +letters, his exquisite and original humour, his +inimitable pathos must awaken in such a mind +as yours. Ah, what have they to answer for +who let such a man perish? I think there is no +poet whose works I have ever read who interests +me so strongly by the display of personal character +contained in almost everything he wrote +(even in his songs) as Burns.” After speaking +of “his versatility and his exhaustless imagination,” +she says: “By the way, my dear Sir +William, does it not appear to you that versatility +is the true and rare characteristic of that +rare thing called genius—versatility and playfulness?”</p> + +<p>Writing to Sir William somewhat hurriedly +in March, 1817, Mary remarks: “Rather than +send the envelope blank I will fill it with the +translation of a pretty allegory of M. Arnault’s, +the author of ‘Germanicus.’ You must not<span class="pagenum" id="Page_155">[155]</span> +read it if you have read the French, because it +does not come near to its simplicity. If you +have not read the French you may read the +English. Be upon honour.”</p> + +<p>Translation of M. Arnault’s lines on his own +exile:—</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">“Torn rudely from thy parent bough,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Poor withered leaf, where roamest thou?</div> + <div class="verse indent0">I know not where! A tempest broke</div> + <div class="verse indent0">My only prop, the stately oak;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And ever since in wearying change</div> + <div class="verse indent0">With each capricious wind I range;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">From wood to plain, from hill to dale,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Borne sweeping on as sweeps the gale,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Without a struggle or a cry,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">I go where all must go as I;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">I go where goes the self-same hour</div> + <div class="verse indent0">A laurel leaf or rose’s flower!”</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_156">[156]</span></p> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XIX">CHAPTER <abbr title="19">XIX</abbr></h2> +</div> + +<p class="center">FROM MANSION TO COTTAGE</p> + + +<p>Miss Mitford owed to her friendship with Sir +William Elford her first acquaintance with the +artist Haydon. Describing in later years to a +friend how this came about, she said: “An +amateur painter himself, painting interested +Sir William particularly, and he often spoke +much, and warmly, of the young man from +Plymouth, whose picture of the ‘Judgement of +Solomon’ was then on exhibition in London. +‘You must see it,’ said he, ‘even if you come +to town on purpose.’</p> + +<p>“It so happened,” continued Miss Mitford, +“that I merely passed through London that +season ... and I arrived at the exhibition in +company with a still younger friend so near the +period of closing that more punctual visitors +were moving out, and the doorkeeper actually +turned us and our money back. I persisted, +however, assuring him that I only wanted to +look at one picture, and promising not to detain +him long. Whether my entreaties would have<span class="pagenum" id="Page_157">[157]</span> +carried the point or not I cannot tell, but half +a crown did; so we stood admiringly before +the ‘Judgement of Solomon.’ I am no great +judge of painting; but that picture impressed +me then, as it does now, as excellent in composition, +in colour, and in that great quality of telling +a story which appeals at once to every mind. +Our delight was sincerely felt, and most enthusiastically +expressed, as we kept gazing at the +picture, and [it] seemed to give much pleasure +to the only gentleman who remained in the +room—a young and very distinguished-looking +person, who had watched with evident amusement +our negotiation with the doorkeeper.... +I soon surmised that we were seeing the painter +as well as his painting; and when two or three +years afterwards a friend took me ... to view +the ‘Entry into Jerusalem,’ Haydon’s next +great picture, then near its completion, I found +I had not been mistaken.</p> + +<p>“Haydon was at that period a remarkable +person to look at and listen to.... His figure +was short, slight, elastic and vigorous; his complexion +clear and healthful.... But how shall +I attempt to tell you,” she adds, “of his brilliant +conversation, of his rapid energetic manner, of +his quick turns of thought as he flew from topic +to topic, dashing his brush here and there upon +the canvas?... Among the studies I remarked<span class="pagenum" id="Page_158">[158]</span> +that day in his apartment was one of +a mother who had just lost her only child—a +most masterly rendering of an unspeakable +grief. A sonnet which I could not help writing +on the sketch gave rise to our long correspondence, +and to a friendship which never +flagged.”</p> + +<p>We have spoken in a recent chapter of the +Mitfords’ great losses of money from time to +time. These were caused in part by the protracted +lawsuit carried on by Dr. Mitford +against the Marquis de Chavannes. But the +main cause was the doctor’s unhappy habits +of gambling and of speculation. He was “ever +seeking,” we are told, “to augment his income +by some doubtful investment for which he had +the tip of some unscrupulous schemer to whose +class he fell an easy prey.” The only remnant +of the family property, once so large, which +Dr. Mitford was unable to touch was a sum of +£3000 left by Dr. Russell to his daughter and +her offspring. This sum, placed in the funds, +was happily held in trust by the Mitfords’ fast +friend, the Rev. William Harness, and although +he was applied to from time to time by Mrs. +Mitford and her daughter to hand it over to the +doctor when he was pressed by creditors, Mr. +Harness steadily refused to do so. Writing to +Miss Mitford some years later after the death<span class="pagenum" id="Page_159">[159]</span> +of her mother, he says: “That £3000 I consider +as the sheet-anchor of your independence +... and <em>while your father lives</em> it shall never +stir from its present post in the funds ... +<em>from whatever quarter the proposition may come</em> +[to hand it over to him]. I have but one black, +blank unqualified <em>No</em> for my answer. I do not +doubt Dr. Mitford’s integrity, but I have not +the slightest confidence in his prudence; and +I am fully satisfied that if these three thousand +and odd hundreds of pounds were placed at his +disposal <em>to-day</em> they would fly the way so many +other thousands have gone before them <em>to-morrow</em>.”<a id="FNanchor_7" href="#Footnote_7" class="fnanchor">[7]</a></p> + +<div class="footnotes"> + +<p><a id="Footnote_7" href="#FNanchor_7" class="label">[7]</a> See <cite>Life and Friendships of Mary Russell Mitford</cite>, by +W. J. Roberts.</p> +</div> + +<p>In the spring of 1820 the family were forced +to quit Bertram House, at which period we are +told “the doctor must have been all but penniless,” +and there could have been “nothing +between the father and mother and hopeless +destitution but the genius and industry of the +daughter.” Happily her courage and her affection +never failed. But she could not quit the +house which had been her home for sixteen +years without sorrow. “It nearly broke my +heart,” she writes. “What a tearing up of the +roots it was! The trees and fields and sunny +hedgerows, however little distinguished by picturesque<span class="pagenum" id="Page_160">[160]</span> +beauty, were to me as old friends. +Women have more of this natural feeling than +the stronger sex; they are creatures of home +and habit, and ill brook transplanting.”</p> + +<div class="figcenter" id="i-196"> +<img src="images/i-196.jpg" alt="Inlaid tea caddy" width="350" height="340"> +</div> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_161">[161]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XX">CHAPTER <abbr title="20">XX</abbr></h2> +</div> + +<p class="center">THREE MILE CROSS</p> + + +<p>The Mitfords had taken a cottage in Three Mile +Cross—a small village about two miles from +Graseley, which they supposed at first would +be only a temporary abode, but which finally +proved to be their home for many years. Here +it was that Mary Russell Mitford, throwing herself +into the life of her rustic surroundings, and +recognizing its poetry and its beauty, conceived +her plan of writing the tales of “Our Village.” +These tales were destined to render little Three +Mile Cross classic ground, and to attract pilgrims, +even from the other side of the Atlantic, +to visit the prototype of “Our Village.”</p> + +<p>Mary writes to Sir William Elford early in +April, 1820:—</p> + +<p>“We have moved a mile nearer Reading—to +a little village street situate on the turnpike +road between Basingstoke and the aforesaid +illustrious and quarrelsome borough. Our residence +is a cottage—no not a cottage, it does not +deserve the name—a messuage or tenement,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_162">[162]</span> +such as a little farmer who had made twelve or +fourteen hundred pounds might retire to when +he left off business to live on his means. It consists +of a series of closets ... which they call +parlours and kitchens and pantries, some of +them minus a corner which has been unnaturally +filched for a chimney; others deficient in +half a side which has been truncated by the +shelving roof.... [But] we shall be greatly +benefited by the compression—though at present +the squeeze sits upon us as uneasily as +tight stays, and is almost as awkward looking.</p> + +<p>“Nevertheless we are really getting very comfortable +and falling into our old habits with all +imaginable ease. Papa has already amused +himself by committing a disorderly person, the +pest of the Cross.... Mamma has converted +an old dairy into a most commodious store-house. +I have stuffed the rooms with books and +the garden with flowers, and lost my only key. +Lucy has made a score of new acquaintances, +and picked up a few lovers; and the great white +cat, after appearing exceedingly disconsolate +and out of his wits for a day or two, has given +full proof of resuming his old warlike and predatory +habits by being lost all the morning in a +large rat hole and stealing the milk for our tea +this afternoon.”<span class="pagenum" id="Page_163">[163]</span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" id="i-199"> +<img src="images/i-199.jpg" alt="" width="328" height="500"> +<p class="caption center">THE MITFORDS’ COTTAGE</p> +</div> + +<p>Ten days later Mary writes to a female +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_165">[165]</span>friend: “We are still at this cottage, which I +like very much.... Indeed I had taken root +completely till yesterday, when some neighbours +of ours (pigs, madam) got into my little +flower court and made havoc among my pinks +and sweet-peas, and a little loosened the fibres +of my affection. At the very same moment the +pump was announced to be dry, which, considering +how much water we consume—I and +my flowers—is a sad affair.” But she adds a +day or two afterwards: “I am all in love with +our cottage again: the cherries are ripe, and the +roses bloom, the water has come, and the pigs +are gone!”</p> + +<p>The Mitfords’ cottage is still to be seen standing +in the long straggling street of low cottages, +divided by pretty gardens, with a wayside inn +on one side, on the other side a village shop, +and right opposite a cobbler’s stall. No railway +has come to bring bustle and noise to that quiet +spot, so that the village still retains what Miss +Mitford has called its “trick of standing still, of +remaining stationary, unchanged and unimproved +in this most changeable and improving +world.”</p> + +<p>In the opening chapter of the first volume of +<cite>Our Village</cite> the writer says:—</p> + +<p>“Will you walk with me through our village, +courteous reader? The journey is not long.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_166">[166]</span> +We will begin at the lower end, and proceed up +the hill.</p> + +<p>“The tidy square red cottage<a id="FNanchor_8" href="#Footnote_8" class="fnanchor">[8]</a> on the right +hand with the long well-stocked garden by the +side of the road belongs to a retired publican +from a neighbouring town ... one who piques +himself on independence and idleness ... and +cries out for reform. He introduced into our +peaceful vicinage the rebellious innovation of +an illumination on the Queen’s acquittal. Remonstrance +and persuasion were in vain; he +talked of liberty and broken windows—so we +all lighted up. Oh! how he shone that night +with candles and laurel and white bows and +gold paper, and a transparency with a flaming +portrait of Her Majesty, hatted and feathered in +red ochre. He had no rival in the village that +we all acknowledged; the very bonfire was less +splendid....</p> + +<div class="footnotes"> + +<p><a id="Footnote_8" href="#FNanchor_8" class="label">[8]</a> This house, though unaltered in appearance, is now an +inn called “The Fox and Horn.”</p> + +</div> + +<p>“Next to his house, though parted from it +by another long garden with a yew arbour at +the end, is the pretty dwelling of the shoemaker, +a pale, sickly-looking, black-haired man, the +very model of sober industry. There he sits in +his little shop from early morning till late at +night. An earthquake would hardly stir him; +the illumination did not. He stuck immovably<span class="pagenum" id="Page_167">[167]</span> +to his last from the first lighting up through the +long blaze and the slow decay till his large +solitary candle was the only light in the place. +One cannot conceive anything more perfect +than the contempt which the man of transparencies +and the man of shoes must have felt +for each other on that evening. Our shoemaker +is a man of substance, he employs three +journeymen, two lame and one a dwarf, so that +his shop looks like a hospital.... He has only +one pretty daughter—a light, delicate, fair-haired +girl of fourteen, the champion, protectress +and playfellow of every brat under three +years old.... A very attractive person is that +child-loving girl....</p> + +<p>“The first house on the opposite side of the +way is the blacksmith’s, a gloomy dwelling, +where the sun never seems to shine, dark and +smoky within and without, like a forge. The +blacksmith is a high officer in our little state, +nothing less than a constable; but alas! alas! +when tumults arise and the constable is called +for he will commonly be found in the thickest +of the fray....</p> + +<p>“Next to this official dwelling is a spruce +little tenement, red, high and narrow, boasting, +one above another, three sash windows, the +only sash windows in the village. That slender +mansion has a fine, genteel look. The little<span class="pagenum" id="Page_168">[168]</span> +parlour seems made for Hogarth’s old maid +and her stunted foot-boy, for tea and card +parties ... for the rustle of faded silks and +the splendour of old china, for affected gentility +and real starvation. This should have +been its destiny, but fate has been unpropitious, +it belongs to a plump, merry, bustling dame +with four fat, rosy, noisy children, the very +essence of vulgarity and plenty.</p> + +<p>“Then comes the village shop, like other +village shops, multifarious as a bazaar; a repository +for bread, shoes, tea, cheese, tape, +ribands and bacon, for everything, in short, +except the one particular thing which you happen +to want at the moment ... and which +‘they had yesterday and will have again to-morrow.’ ... +The people are civil and thriving +and frugal withal. They have let the upper +part of their house to two young women ... +who teach little children their A B C, and make +caps and gowns for their mammas—parcel +schoolmistress, parcel mantua maker. I believe +they find adorning the body a more profitable +vocation than adorning the mind.”</p> + +<p>This little shop still exists, and it still bears +above its modest window the identical name of +Bromley, which it bore in Miss Mitford’s day.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_169">[169]</span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" id="i-205"> +<img src="images/i-205.jpg" alt="" width="435" height="550"> +<p class="caption center">THE VILLAGE SHOP</p> +</div> + +<p>“Divided from the shop by a narrow yard,” +continues Miss Mitford, “and opposite the shoe-maker’s,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_171">[171]</span> +is a habitation of whose inmates I +shall say nothing. A cottage—no—a miniature +house, with many additions, little odds and +ends of places, pantries, and what not; all +angles and of a charming in-and-outness; a +little bricked court before one half, a little +flower-yard before the other; the walls old and +weather-stained, covered with hollyhocks, roses, +honeysuckles and a great apricot tree. The +casements are full of geraniums (ah, there is our +superb white cat peeping out from amongst +them!), the closets ... full of contrivances +and corner cupboards; and the little garden +behind full of common flowers, tulips, pinks, +larkspurs, peonies, stocks and carnations, with +an arbour of privet, not unlike a sentry-box, +where one lives in a delicious green light, and +looks out on the gayest of all gay flower-beds. +That house was built on purpose to show in +what an exceedingly small compass comfort +may be packed. Well, I will loiter there no +longer.</p> + +<p>“The next tenement is a place of importance—the +Rose Inn [‘The Swan’], a whitewashed +building, retired from the road behind its fine +swinging sign, with a little bow-window room +coming out on one side and forming with our +stable on the other a sort of open square, which +is the constant resort of carts, waggons and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_172">[172]</span> +return chaises. There are two carts there now, +and mine host is serving them with beer in his +eternal red waistcoat.... He has a stirring wife, +a hopeful son and a daughter, the belle of the +village, not so pretty as the fair nymph of the +shoe shop, and less elegant, but ten times as +fine, all curl-papers in the morning, like a porcupine, +all curls in the afternoon, like a poodle, +with more flowers than curl-papers and more +lovers than curls....</p> + +<p>“In a line with the bow-window room is a +low garden wall belonging to a house under +repair; the white house opposite the collar-maker’s +shop, with four lime trees before it and +a waggon load of bricks at the door. That +house is the plaything of a wealthy, whimsical +person who lives about a mile off. He has a +passion for bricks and mortar.... Our good +neighbour fancied that the limes shaded the +rooms and made them dark, so he had all the +leaves stripped from every tree. There they +stood, poor miserable skeletons, as bare as +Christmas under the glowing midsummer sun.”<span class="pagenum" id="Page_173">[173]</span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" id="i-209"> +<img src="images/i-209.jpg" alt="" width="550" height="445"> +<p class="caption center">THE SWAN INN</p> +</div> + + +<p>Here we would remark that when paying our +first visit to Three Mile Cross many years ago +that house was unchanged, and the row of old +pollarded limes still stood as sentinels before it; +but since then the house has been altered and +the trees have disappeared. We would also +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_175">[175]</span>mention that the real name of the inn is the +“Swan,” but in all her village tales Miss Mitford +calls it the “Rose.” The “collar-maker’s shop,” +on the opposite side of the road, a quaint little +edifice, is just as it was in appearance in the +writer’s day.</p> + +<p>“Next door [to the house under repair],” continues +Miss Mitford, “lives a carpenter, famed +ten miles round, and worthy all his fame, with +his excellent wife and their little daughter +Lizzie, the plaything and queen of the village, +a child of three years old, according to the +register, but six in size and strength and intellect, +in power and in self-will. She manages +everybody in the place, her schoolmistress included +... makes the lazy carry her, the silent +talk to her, the grave romp with her; does anything +she pleases; is absolutely irresistible.... +Together with a good deal of the character of +Napoleon she has something of his square, +sturdy, upright form ... she has the imperial +attitudes too, and loves to stand with her hands +behind her, or folded over her breast, and sometimes +when she has a little touch of shyness she +clasps them together on the top of her head, +pressing down her shining curls, and looking so +exquisitely pretty! Yes, Lizzie is the queen of +the village! She has but one rival in her +dominions, a certain white greyhound called<span class="pagenum" id="Page_176">[176]</span> +Mayflower, much her friend, who resembles her +in beauty and strength, in playfulness and +almost in sagacity, and reigns over the animal +world as she over the human. They are both +coming with me, Lizzie and Lizzie’s ‘pretty May.’</p> + +<p>“We are now at the end of the street; a +cross lane, a rope walk, shaded with limes and +oaks, and a cool, clear pond, overhung with +elms, lead us to the bottom of the hill. There +is still an house round the corner, ending in a +picturesque wheeler’s shop. The dwelling-house +is more ambitious. Look at the fine flowered +window-blinds, the green door with the brass +knocker.... These are the curate’s lodgings—apartments +his landlady would call them. He +lives with his own family four miles off, but +once or twice a week he comes to his neat little +parlour to write sermons, to marry or to bury +as the case may require. Never were better +people than his host and hostess, and there is a +reflection of clerical importance about them, +since their connection with the Church, which is +quite edifying—a decorum, a gravity, a solemn +politeness. Oh, to see the worthy wheeler carry +the gown after his lodger on a Sunday, nicely +pinned up in his wife’s best handkerchief; or +to hear him rebuke a squalling child or a squabbling +woman! The curate is nothing to him. +He is fit to be perpetual churchwarden.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_177">[177]</span></p> + +<p>We would remark here that the wheeler’s +workshop is one of the most striking objects in +the village. Its great hatch doors are always +thrown wide open, revealing a dark interior in +vivid contrast with the sunshine overhead. Its +old thatched roof is illuminated by the golden +light, as are also the spreading branches of a +huge wistaria that cover its main wall as well +as the whole front of the adjoining dwelling-house. +The present wheelwright is the successor +of the very man whom Miss Mitford has just +described. It is pleasant to have a chat with +him about the village, as he has known every +corner of it ... also its inhabitants for many +a year. He showed us the curate’s little parlour, +into which the front door opens, admitting a +pretty view of the “cool clear pond” on the +further side of the lane with its overhanging +trees.</p> + +<p>Little Three Mile Cross does not boast a +church of its own, but it is in the parish of +Shinfield, and it was to Shinfield Church, distant +about two miles and a half, that the curate +repaired, accompanied by the “wheeler” carrying +his gown.</p> + +<p>On quitting the village Miss Mitford exclaims: +“How pleasantly the road winds up +the hill between its broad green borders and +hedgerows, so thickly timbered!... We are<span class="pagenum" id="Page_178">[178]</span> +now on the eminence close to the Hill-house +and its beautiful garden.” And looking back, +she describes “the view; the road winding +down the hill with a slight bend ... a waggon +slowly ascending, and a horseman passing it at +full trot, [while] further down are seen the +limes and the rope-walk, then the village, peeping +through the trees, whose clustering tops +hide all but the chimneys and various roofs of +the houses ... [and in the distance] the +elegant town of B——, with its fine old church +towers and spires, the whole view shut in by a +range of chalky hills; and over every part of +the picture trees so profusely scattered that it +appears like a woodland scene, with glades and +villages intermixed.”</p> + +<div class="figcenter" id="i-214"> +<img src="images/i-214.jpg" alt="A country wheelbarrow" width="250" height="139"> +</div> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_179">[179]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXI">CHAPTER <abbr title="21">XXI</abbr></h2> +</div> + +<p class="center">THE NEW HOME</p> + + +<p>Miss Mitford’s cottage in Three Mile Cross is +practically the same as it was in her day, the +chief alterations being that the windows to the +front of the house, which were formerly leaded +casement windows, have been enlarged and are +now sashed. Also that the window of a parlour +looking unto the back garden has been enlarged. +In former times, too, the red bricks of which the +house is built were exposed, but they are now +covered with plaster.</p> + +<p>Curiously enough some early prints of the +cottage are very misleading. A limner at a +distance has evidently tried to make a pleasing +drawing from some very imperfect sketch done +on the spot, which did not reveal the fact that +the right-hand portion of the house recedes, and +that the front door is not in the middle but on +one side. Thus a report arose that the cottage +had been rebuilt in later years. But happily +we possess conclusive evidence to the contrary +given by a gentleman still living who passed his<span class="pagenum" id="Page_180">[180]</span> +childhood in the cottage almost as an adopted +son of the household. When visiting the place +a few years ago he declared that the cottage +was unchanged, and recalled, as he passed from +room to room, his happy associations with each +spot.</p> + +<p>The house is now used as a working man’s +club, and the caretaker is ready to show the +place to any visitors desirous to see the home +of Miss Mitford.</p> + +<p>Behind the house on part of the site of Miss +Mitford’s garden there is a large edifice built +called the “Mitford Hall,” which is used as an +Institute for the working classes, and is a source +of much good to the neighbourhood. But happily +it stands well back and cannot be seen by +the visitor who gazes at the cottage from the +village street, and who is glad to dwell only on +what is connected with Miss Mitford’s residence +in the place.</p> + +<p>In the sketch of the cottage given the reader +will observe that the windows have been drawn +as they were formerly and a few other small +alterations made.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" id="i-217"> +<img src="images/i-217.jpg" alt="" width="450" height="550"> +<p class="caption center">THE WRITING PARLOUR</p> +</div> + +<p>The cottage consists of a ground floor with +one storey only above it. The casement window +in the receding portion of the cottage, just below +the shelving roof, belongs to Miss Mitford’s +study, a quaint little room where at a small +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_181">[181]</span>table she used to write her stories of village life. +The window looks down upon the “shoemaker’s” +little shop, with its pointed roof and +tiny window panes. It must be quite unchanged<span class="pagenum" id="Page_182">[182]</span> +in appearance since Miss Mitford described it, +the sole alteration being in the business carried +on there, as it and the collar-maker’s quaint +shop at the top of the village have exchanged +trades.</p> + +<p>As she sat at that window Miss Mitford would +jot down all the incidents that occurred in the +village street below. “It is a pleasant, lively +scene this May morning,” she writes, “with the +sun shining so gaily on the irregular rustic +dwellings, intermixed with their pretty gardens; +a cart and a waggon watering (it would be more +correct perhaps to say <em>beering</em>) at the ‘Rose’; +Dame Wheeler with her basket and her brown +loaf just coming from the bakehouse; the +nymph of the shoe shop feeding a large family +of goslings at the open door; two or three +women in high gossip dawdling up the street; +Charles North the gardener, with his blue apron +and a ladder on his shoulder, walking rapidly +by; a cow and a donkey browsing the grass by +the wayside; my white greyhound, Mayflower, +sitting majestically in front of her own stable; +and ducks, chickens, pigs and children scattered +over all.... Ah! here is the post cart coming +up the road at its most respectable rumble, that +cart, or rather caravan, which so much resembles +a house upon wheels, or a show of the smaller +kind at a country fair. It is now crammed full<span class="pagenum" id="Page_183">[183]</span> +of passengers, the driver just protruding his +head and hands out of the vehicle, and the sharp, +clever boy, who, in the occasional absence of his +father, officiates as deputy, perched like a +monkey on the roof.”</p> + +<p>“I have got exceedingly fond of this little +place,” writes Mary to Sir William Elford; +“could be content to live and die here. To be +sure the rooms are of the smallest; I, in our +little parlour, look something like a blackbird +in a goldfinch’s cage—but it is so snug and comfortable.”</p> + +<p>The projecting piece of building seen in the +sketch in the front of the cottage was appropriated +by the doctor as his dispensary. It has +a door that opens into the little front court. +The bedrooms are on the first floor.</p> + +<p>Mary’s study window commands a pretty +view beyond the low peaked roofs of the shoemaker’s +shop and of its neighbouring cottages. +At the foot of a grassy slope can be seen a dark +line of tree tops. They form part of a magnificent +avenue of elms that border a long stretch +of grass—one of the old drover’s roads—extending +for nearly two miles. “The effect of these +tall solemn trees,” remarks Mary, “so equal in +height, so unbroken and so continuous, is quite +grand and imposing as twilight comes on, +especially when some slight bend in the lane<span class="pagenum" id="Page_184">[184]</span> +gives to the outline almost the look of an amphitheatre.” +This spot—Woodcock Lane as it is +called—was a favourite resort of Mary’s, and +thither she often repaired when composing her +country sketches.</p> + +<p>“In that very lane,” she writes one day, “am +I writing on this sultry June day, luxuriating +in the shade, the verdure, the fragrance of hayfield +and beanfield, and the absence of all noise +except the song of birds and that strange +mingling of many sounds, the whir of a thousand +forms of insect life, so often heard among the +general hush of a summer noon.</p> + +<p>“... Here comes a procession of cows going +to milking, with an old attendant, still called +the cow-boy, who, although they have seen me +often enough, one should think, sitting beneath +a tree writing ... with my dog Fanchon +nestled at my feet—still <em>will</em> start as if they +had never seen a woman before in their lives. +Back they start, and then they rush forward, +and then the old drover emits certain sounds +so horribly discordant that little Fanchon starts +up in a fright on her feet, deranging all the +economy of my extemporary desk and wellnigh +upsetting the inkstand. Very much frightened +is my pretty pet, the arrantest coward that ever +walked upon four legs! And so she avenges +herself, as cowards are wont to do, by following<span class="pagenum" id="Page_185">[185]</span> +the cows at a safe distance as soon as they are +fairly passed, and beginning to bark amain +when they are nearly out of sight.”</p> + +<div class="figcenter" id="i-221"> +<img src="images/i-221.jpg" alt="" width="371" height="550"> +<p class="caption center"> THE WHEELWRIGHT’S SHOP</p> +</div> + +<p>Mary delighted in the beauty of the country<span class="pagenum" id="Page_187">[187]</span> +that surrounds Three Mile Cross even from the +first moment of her arrival, but her delight +increased as she became more intimately acquainted +with its charms.</p> + +<p>“This country is eminently flowery,” she +writes. “Besides the variously tinted primroses +and violets in singular profusion we have +all sorts of orchises and arums; the delicate +wood anemones; the still more delicate wood +sorrel, with its lovely purple veins meandering +over the white drooping flower; the field tulips +[or fritillary] with its rich checker-work of lilac +and crimson, and the sun shining through the +leaves as through old painted glass; the ghostly +field star of Bethlehem [and] the wild lilies-of-the-valley.... +Yes, this is really a country of flowers!”</p> + +<p>She revelled, too, in the wilder beauty of the +great commons in the neighbourhood “always +picturesque and romantic,” she writes one day +in early summer, “and now peculiarly brilliant, +and glowing with the luxuriant orange flowers +of the furze ... stretching around us like a +sea of gold, and loading the very air with its +rich almond odour.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_188">[188]</span></p> + +<p>She loved the winding rivers that water her +part of the country; the “pleasant and pastoral +Kennet for silver eels renowned,” upon +whose bordering meadows the fritillary, both +purple and white, grow in profusion; and the +changeful, beautiful Loddon “rising sometimes +level with its banks, so clear and smooth and +peaceful ... and sometimes like a frisky, +tricksy watersprite much addicted to wandering +out of bounds.”</p> + +<p>There is a fine old stone bridge that crosses +the Loddon about a mile beyond Shinfield, with +a small inn, “The George,” close by, a favourite +resort of fishermen. Standing on that bridge +one summer evening Miss Mitford watched the +setting sun descend over the water.</p> + +<p>“What a sunset! How golden! how beautiful!” +she exclaims. “The sun just disappearing, +and the narrow liny clouds, which a +few minutes ago lay like soft vapoury streaks +along the horizon, lighted up with a golden +splendour that the eye can scarcely endure.... +Another minute and the brilliant orb totally +disappears, and the sky above grows every +moment more varied and more beautiful as the +dazzling golden lines are mixed with glowing +red and gorgeous purple, dappled with small +dark specks and mingled with such a blue as +the egg of the hedge-sparrow. To look up at<span class="pagenum" id="Page_189">[189]</span> +that glorious sky, and then to see that magnificent +picture reflected in the clear and lovely +Loddon water is a pleasure never to be described +and never forgotten. My heart swells and my +eyes fill as I write of it and think of the immeasurable +majesty of nature and the unspeakable +goodness of God who has spread an enjoyment +so pure, so peaceful and so intense before +the meanest and the lowest of His creatures.”</p> + +<div class="figcenter" id="i-225"> +<img src="images/i-225.jpg" alt="Fragment of the Silchester Roman wall" width="300" height="276"> +</div> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_190">[190]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXII">CHAPTER <abbr title="22">XXII</abbr></h2> +</div> + +<p class="center">A LOQUACIOUS VISITOR</p> + + +<p>There is an amusing sketch in the first volume +of <cite>Our Village</cite> entitled “The Talking Lady,” +from which we should like to quote a few passages. +Its scene is evidently laid in the Mitfords’ +common sitting-room, whose two windows look +both front and back, and in which we have sat +many a time.</p> + +<p>After alluding to a play written by Ben Jonson +called <cite>The Silent Woman</cite> Miss Mitford remarks:—</p> + +<p>“If the learned dramatist had happened to +fall in with such a specimen of female loquacity +as I have just parted with, he might perhaps +have given us a pendant to his picture in the +<cite>Talking Lady</cite>. Pity but he had! He would +have done her justice, which I could not at any +time, least of all now. I am too much stunned; +too much like one escaped from a belfry on a +coronation day. I am just resting from the +fatigue of four days’ hard listening—four snowy, +sleety, rainy days, all of them too bad to admit<span class="pagenum" id="Page_191">[191]</span> +the possibility that any petticoated thing, were +she as hardy as a Scotch fir, should stir out; +four days chained by ‘sad civility’ to that fireside +once so quiet, and again—cheering thought!—again +I trust to be so, when the echo of +that visitor’s incessant tongue shall have died +away.</p> + +<p>“The visitor in question is a very excellent +and respectable elderly lady, upright in mind +and body, with a figure that does honour to +her dancing master, and a face exceedingly well +preserved.... She took us in the way from +London to the West of England, and being, as +she wrote, ‘not quite well, not equal to much +company, prayed that no other guest might be +admitted so that she might have the pleasure +of our conversation all to herself’ (<em>Ours!</em> as if +it were possible for any of us to slide in a word +edgewise!) ‘and especially enjoy the gratification +of talking over old times with the master +of the house, her countryman.’ Such was the +promise of her letter, and to the letter it has +been kept. All the news and scandal of a large +county forty years ago ... and ever since has +she detailed with a minuteness ... which +would excite the envy of a county historian, a +king-at-arms, or even a Scotch novelist. Her +knowledge is astonishing.... It should seem +to listen to her as if at some time of her life she<span class="pagenum" id="Page_192">[192]</span> +must have listened herself; and yet her countryman +declares ... no such event has occurred.</p> + +<p>“... Talking, sheer talking, is meat and +drink and sleep to her. She likes nothing else. +Eating is a sad interruption.... Walking exhausts +the breath that might be better employed.... +Allude to some anecdote of the +neighbourhood, and she forthwith treats you +with as many parallel passages as are to be found +in an air with variations.... The very weather +is not a safe subject. Her memory is a perpetual +register of hard frosts and long droughts and +high winds and terrible storms, with all the evils +that followed in their train and all the personal +events connected with them.... By this time +it rains, and she sits down to a pathetic see-saw +of conjectures on the chance of Mrs. Smith’s +having set out for her daily walk, or the possibility +that Dr. Brown may have ventured to +visit his patients in his gig, and the certainty +that Lady Green’s new housemaid would come +from London on the outside of the coach.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_193">[193]</span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" id="i-229"> +<img src="images/i-229.jpg" alt="" width="388" height="550"> +<p class="caption center"> WHERE THE CURATE LODGED</p> +</div> + + +<p>“With all this intolerable prosing she is +actually reckoned a pleasant woman! Her +acquaintance in the great manufacturing town +where she usually resides is very large.... +Doubtless her associates deserve the old French +compliment, ‘<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Ils ont tous un grand talent pour +le silence.</i>‘... It is the <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">tête-à-tête</i> that kills, or +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_195">[195]</span>the small fireside circle of three or four where +only one can speak and all the rest must seem +to listen—<em>seem!</em> did I say?—must listen in +good earnest.... She has the eye of a hawk, +and detects a wandering glance, an incipient +yawn, the slightest movement of impatience. +The very needle must be quiet.... I wonder +if she had married how many husbands she +would have talked to death.... Since the +decease of her last nephew she attempted to +form an establishment with a widow lady for +the sake, as they both said, of the comfort of +society. But—strange miscalculation! she was +a talker too! They parted in a week.</p> + +<p>“... And we have also parted. I am just +returned from escorting her to the coach, which +is to convey her two hundred miles westward; +and I have still the murmur of her adieux resounding +in my ears like the indistinct hum of +the air on a frosty night. It was curious to see +how almost simultaneously these mournful +adieux shaded into cheerful salutations of her +new comrades, the passengers in the mail. Poor +souls! Little does the civil young lad who made +way for her or the fat lady, his mamma, who +with pains and inconvenience made room for +her, or the grumpy gentleman in the opposite +corner who, after some dispute, was at length +won to admit her dressing-box—little do they<span class="pagenum" id="Page_196">[196]</span> +suspect what is to befall them. Two hundred +miles! And she never sleeps in a carriage! +Well, patience be with them ... and to her +all happiness.”</p> + +<p>In one of her stories entitled “Whitsun Eve,” +Mary Mitford describes her own garden and its +picturesque surroundings.</p> + +<p>“The pride of my heart,” she writes, “and +the delight of my eyes is my garden. Our house, +which is in dimensions very much like a bird-cage, +and might with almost equal convenience +be laid on a shelf, or hung up in a tree, would be +utterly unbearable in warm weather were it not +that we have a retreat out of doors—and a very +pleasant retreat it is....</p> + +<p>“Fancy a small plot of ground with a pretty, +low, irregular cottage at one end; a large +granary, divided from the dwelling by a little +court running along one side, and a long thatched +shed, open towards the garden, and supported +by wooden pillars on the other. The bottom is +bounded, half by an old wall and half by an old +paling, over which we see a pretty distance of +woody hills. The house, granary, wall and palings +are covered with vines, cherry trees, roses, +honeysuckles and jessamines, with great clusters +of tall hollyhocks running up between them.... +This is my garden; and the long pillared +shed, the sort of rustic arcade, which runs along +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_197">[197]</span>one side, parted from the flower-beds by a row +of rich geraniums, is our out-of-door drawing-room.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" id="i-233"> +<img src="images/i-233.jpg" alt="" width="378" height="550"> +<p class="caption center"> IN THE CURATE’S PARLOUR</p> +</div> + + +<p>“I know nothing so pleasant as to sit there<span class="pagenum" id="Page_199">[199]</span> +on a summer afternoon, with the western sun +flickering through a great elder tree, and lighting +up one gay parterre, where flowers and +flowering shrubs are set as thick as grass in a +field ... where we may guess that there is +such a thing as mould but never see it. I know +nothing so pleasant as to sit in the shade of that +dark bower ... now catching a glimpse of the +little birds as they fly rapidly in and out of their +nests ... now tracing the gay gambles of the +common butterflies as they sport around the +dahlias; now watching that rarer moth which +the country people, fertile in pretty names, call +the bee-bird....</p> + +<p>“What a contrast from the quiet garden to +the lively street! Saturday night is always a +time of stir and bustle in our village, and this is +Whitsun Eve, the pleasantest Saturday of all +the year, when London journeymen and servant +lads and lasses snatch a short holiday to visit +their families.... This village of ours is +swarming to-night like a hive of bees.... I +must try to give some notion of the various +figures.</p> + +<p>“First there is a group suited to Teniers, a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_200">[200]</span> +cluster of out-of-door customers of the ‘Rose,’ +old benchers of the inn, who sit round a table +smoking and drinking in high solemnity to the +sound of Timothy’s fiddle. Next a mass of +eager boys, the combatants of Monday, who are +surrounding the shoemaker’s shop where an invisible +hole in their [cricket] ball is mending +by Master Kemp himself.... Farther down +the street is the pretty black-eyed girl, Sally +Wheeler, come home for a day’s holiday from +B——, escorted by a tall footman in a dashing +livery, whom she is trying to curtsy off before +her deaf grandmother sees him. I wonder +whether she will succeed?”</p> + +<p>In another early sketch of <cite>Our Village</cite> called +“Dr. Tubb,” Mary Mitford writes:—</p> + +<p>“On taking possession of our present abode +about four years ago we found our garden and +all the gardens of the straggling village street +in which it is situated filled, peopled, infested +by a beautiful flower which grew in such profusion +and was so difficult to keep under that +(poor pretty thing!) instead of being admired +and cherished ... it was cut down, pulled up +and hoed out like a weed. I do not know the +name of this elegant plant, nor have I met with +anyone who does; we call it the Spicer, after +an old naval officer who once inhabited the +white house just above, and, according to tradition,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_201">[201]</span> +first brought the seed from foreign +parts....</p> + +<p>I never saw anything prettier than a whole +bed of these spicers which had clothed the top +of a large heap of earth belonging to our little +mason by the roadside; [they] grew as thick +and close as grass in a meadow, covered with +delicate red and white blossoms like a fairy +orchard.”</p> + +<p>It seems to us that this flower may have been +the American Balsam, which grows as rapidly +as any weed, and which we happened actually +to see, waving its pretty red and white blossoms +in Miss Mitford’s garden some years ago. This +was long after her death, and when the cottage +and garden had fallen into humbler hands.</p> + +<p>“I never passed the spicers,” remarks Mary, +“without stopping to look at them, and I was +one day half shocked to see a man, his pockets +stuffed with the plants, two large bundles under +each arm, and still tugging away root and +branch.... This devastation did not, however, +proceed from disrespect, the spicer gatherer +being engaged in sniffing with visible satisfaction +the leaves and stalks. ‘It has a fine venomous +smell,’ quoth he in soliloquy, ‘and will +certainly when stilled be good for something or +other.’ This was my first sight of Dr. Tubb ... +a quack of the highest and most extended reputation,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_202">[202]</span> +inventor and compounder of medicines, +bleeder, shaver and physicker of man and +beast....</p> + +<p>“We have frequently met since, and are +now well acquainted, although the worthy +experimentalist considers me as a rival practitioner, +an interloper, and hates me accordingly. +He has very little cause, [for] my quackery, +being mostly of the cautious, preventive, safeguard, +commonsense order, stands no chance +against the boldness and decision of his all-promising +ignorance. He says, Do! I say, Do +not! He deals in <em>stimuli</em>, I in sedatives; I give +medicine, he gives cordial waters. Alack! +alack! when could a dose of rhubarb, even +although reinforced by a dole of good broth, +compete with a draught of peppermint and a +licensed dram? No! no! Dr. Tubb has no +cause to fear my practice.”</p> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_203">[203]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXIII">CHAPTER <abbr title="23">XXIII</abbr></h2> +</div> + +<p class="center">THE PUBLICATION OF <em>OUR VILLAGE</em></p> + + +<p>Miss Mitford writes to Sir William Elford on +March 5th, 1824: “In spite of your prognostics, +I think you will like <cite>Our Village</cite>. It will +be out in three weeks or a month.... It is +exceedingly playful and lively, and I think you +will like it. Charles Lamb (the matchless ‘Elia’ +of the <cite>London Magazine</cite>) says that nothing so +fresh and characteristic has appeared for a long +while. It is not over modest to say this; but +who would not be proud of the praise of such a +<em>proser</em>?”</p> + +<p>Sir William Elford, in answering this letter, +expressed his opinion that the sketches of rural +life would have been better if written in the +form of letters.</p> + +<p>“Your notion of letters pleases me much,” +replies Miss Mitford, “as I see plainly that it is +the result of the old prepossessions and partialities +which do me so much honour and give me so +much pleasure. But it would never have done. +The sketches are too long, and necessarily too<span class="pagenum" id="Page_204">[204]</span> +much connected for <em>real</em> correspondence.... +Besides, we are free and easy in these days, and +talk to the public as a friend. Read <cite>Elia</cite>, or the +<cite>Sketch Book</cite>, or Hazlitt’s <cite>Table Talk</cite>, or any +popular book of the new school and you will +find that we have turned over the Johnsonian +periods and the Blair-ian formality, to keep +company with the wigs and hoops, the stiff +curtsys and low bows of our ancestors. Now +the public—the reading public—is, as I said +before, the correspondent and confidant of +everybody.</p> + +<p>“Having thus made the best defence I can +against your criticism, I proceed to answer +your question, ‘Are the characters and descriptions +true?’ Yes! yes! yes! As true as is +well possible. You, as a great landscape painter, +know that in painting a favourite scene you do +a little embellish, and can’t help it; you avail +yourself of happy accidents of atmosphere, and +if anything be ugly you strike it out, or if anything +be wanting you put it in. But still the +picture is a likeness; and that this is a very +faithful one you will judge when I tell you that +a worthy neighbour of ours, a post-captain, who +has been in every quarter of the globe and is +equally distinguished for the sharp look-out +and the <em>bonhomie</em> of his profession, accused me +most seriously of carelessness in putting ‘The<span class="pagenum" id="Page_205">[205]</span> +Rose’ for ‘The Swan’ as the sign of our next-door +neighbour, and was no less disconcerted +at the <em>misprint</em> (as he called it) of B. for R. in +the name of our next town. <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">A cela près</i> he +declares the picture to be exact.”</p> + +<p>Miss Mitford thus prefaces her work in the +first sketch entitled <cite>Our Village</cite>:—</p> + +<p>“Of all situations for a constant residence +that which appears to me most delightful is a +little village far in the country; a small neighbourhood, +not of fine mansions finely peopled, +but of cottages and cottage-like houses ... +with inhabitants whose faces are as familiar to +us as the flowers in our garden; a little world +of our own, close-packed and insulated like ants +in an anthill or bees in a hive, or sheep in a fold.... +[Where we] learn to know and to love the +people about us, with all their peculiarities, just +as we learn to know and to love the nooks and +turns of the shady lanes and sunny commons +that we pass every day.</p> + +<p>“Even in books I like a confined locality, and +so do the critics when they talk of the unities. +Nothing is so tiresome as to be whirled half +over Europe at the chariot wheels of a hero, to +go to sleep at Vienna and awaken at Madrid; +it produces a real fatigue, a weariness of spirit. +On the other hand nothing is so delightful as to +sit down in a country village in one of Miss<span class="pagenum" id="Page_206">[206]</span> +Austen’s delicious novels, quite sure before we +leave it to become intimate with every spot and +every person it contains; or to ramble with +Mr. White over his own parish of Selborne and +form a friendship with the fields and coppices, +as well as with the birds, mice and squirrels who +inhabit them; or to sail with Robinson Crusoe +to his island, and live there with him and his +goats and his man Friday ... or to be ship-wrecked +with Ferdinand on that other lovelier +island—the island of Prospero and Miranda, +and Calaban and Ariel, and nobody else ... +that is best of all. And a small neighbourhood +is as good in sober waking reality as in poetry +or prose; a village neighbourhood such as this +Berkshire hamlet in which I write, a long, +straggling, winding street at the bottom of a +fine eminence, with a road through it, always +abounding in carts, horsemen and carriages, and +lately enlivened by a stage-coach from B—— +to S——, which passed through about ten days +ago, and will, I suppose, return some time or +other.”</p> + +<p><cite>Our Village</cite> soon made its mark, and towards +the end of June Miss Mitford was able to write +to Sir William Elford, “It sells well, and has +been received by the literary world and reviewed +in all the literary papers better than I, for +modesty, dare to say.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_207">[207]</span></p> + +<p>Seven months later she wrote to the same +friend, “The little prose volume has certainly +done its work and made an opening for a longer +effort. You would be diverted at some of the +instances I could tell you of its popularity. +Columbines and children have been named after +Mayflower<a id="FNanchor_9" href="#Footnote_9" class="fnanchor">[9]</a>; stage-coachmen and post-boys +point out the localities; schoolboys deny the +possibility of any woman’s having written the +<cite>Cricket Match</cite> without schoolboy help; and +such men as Lord Stowell (Sir William Scott, the +last relique, I believe, of the Literary Club) send +to me for a key. I mean to try three volumes of +tales next spring.... Heaven knows how I +shall succeed!</p> + +<div class="footnotes"> + +<p><a id="Footnote_9" href="#FNanchor_9" class="label">[9]</a> Her favourite greyhound.</p> + +</div> + +<p>“Of course I shall copy as closely as I can +Nature and Miss Austen, keeping, like her, to +genteel country life, or rather going a little +lower perhaps, and I am afraid with more of +sentiment and less of humour. I do not <em>intend</em> +to commit these delinquencies, mind—I <em>mean</em> to +keep as playful as I can; but I am afraid of +their happening in spite of me.”</p> + +<p>Before the first volume of <cite>Our Village</cite> had +been a year in the hands of the public it had +passed into three editions, and by 1826 a second +volume had made its appearance, whose success +was equally great. With the money gained<span class="pagenum" id="Page_208">[208]</span> +Mary was soon enabled to add to the comforts +of her small establishment. She writes to a +friend in the summer of 1824: “We have a +pretty little pony-chaise and pony (oh! how I +should like to drive you in it!), and my dear +father and mother have been out in it three or +four times, to my great delight; I am sure it +will do them both so much good.”</p> + +<p>Among the various letters of warm appreciation +of <cite>Our Village</cite> received by Miss Mitford was +the following from Mrs. Hemans, written on +June 6th, 1827:—</p> + +<p>“I can hardly feel that I am addressing an +entire stranger in the author of <cite>Our Village</cite>,” +she writes, “and yet I know it is right and proper +that I should apologise for the liberty I am +taking. But really after having accompanied +you, as I have done again and again, in ‘violeting’ +and seeking for wood-sorrel—after having +been with you to call upon Mrs. Allen in ‘the +dell,’ and becoming thoroughly acquainted with +May and Lizzie, I cannot but hope you will +kindly pardon my intrusion, and that my name +may be sufficiently known to you to plead my +cause. There are writers whose books we cannot +read without feeling as if we really <em>had</em> looked +with them upon the scenes they bring before us.... +Will you allow me to say that <em>your</em> writings +have this effect upon me, and that you have<span class="pagenum" id="Page_209">[209]</span> +taught me, in making me know and love your +‘village’ so well, to wish for further knowledge +also of <em>her</em> who has so vividly impressed its +dingles and copses upon my imagination, and +peopled them so cheerily with healthful and +happy beings? I believe if I could be personally +introduced to you that I should in less than five +minutes begin to enquire about Lucy and the +lilies-of-the-valley, and whether you had succeeded +in peopling that ‘shady border’ in your +own territories with those shy flowers.”</p> + +<p>Writing to her mother from London in +November, 1826, Mary says: “I hope that you +have by this time received the new number of +Blackwood<a id="FNanchor_10" href="#Footnote_10" class="fnanchor">[10]</a> in which I am very pleasantly +mentioned in the last article, the ‘Noctes +Ambrosianæ.’”</p> + +<div class="footnotes"> + +<p><a id="Footnote_10" href="#FNanchor_10" class="label">[10]</a> Blackwood’s <cite>Edinburgh Magazine</cite>.</p> + +</div> + +<p>It was under this title, the reader may remember, +that the celebrated “Christopher North” +(John Wilson) was bringing out a series of entertaining +conversations on all sorts of subjects +supposed to be spoken by North himself and a +few fellow habitués of an old-fashioned Edinburgh +inn. The character of the “Shepherd,” +it seems, was drawn from James Hogg the +“Ettrick Shepherd.” This is the passage +alluded to by Miss Mitford—“Noctes Ambrosianæ.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_210">[210]</span></p> + + +<p>“NOCTES AMBROSIANÆ”</p> + +<p>A DIALOGUE BETWEEN THE SHEPHERD, +NORTH, AND TICKLER</p> + +<p> +<span class="smcap">Scene</span>—<em>Ambrose’s Hotel, Picardy Place, Paper Parlour</em><br> +</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p><em>Tickler.</em> Master Christopher North, there’s +Miss Mitford, author of <cite>Our Village</cite>, an admirable +person in all respects, of whom you have +never, to my recollection, taken any notice +in the Magazine. What is the meaning of +that?...</p> + +<p><em>North.</em> I am waiting for her second volume. +Miss Mitford has not, in my opinion, either the +pathos or humour of Washington Irving; but +she excels him in vigorous conception of character, +and in the truth of her pictures of English +life and manners. Her writings breathe a sound, +pure and healthy morality, and are pervaded +by a genuine rural spirit—the spirit of merry +England. Every line bespeaks the lady.</p> + +<p><em>Shepherd.</em> I admire Miss Mitford just excessively. +I dinna wunner at her being able to +write sae weel as she does about drawing-rooms +wi’ sofas and settees, and about the fine folk in +them seein’ themselves in lookin’-glasses frae +tap to tae; but what puzzles the like o’ me is +her pictures o’ poachers and tinklers ... and +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_211">[211]</span>o’ huts and hovels without riggin’ by the wayside, +and the cottages o’ honest, puir men and +byres and barns.... And merry-makin’s at +winter-ingles, and courtships aneath trees +atween lads and lasses as laigh in life as the +servants in her father’s ha’. That’s the puzzle, +and that’s the praise. But ae word explains a’—Genius—Genius—wull +a’ the metaphizzians +in the warld ever expound that mysterious +monysyllable?</p> + +<p><em>Tickler.</em> Monosyllable, James, did you say?</p> + +<p><em>Shepherd.</em> Ay—monysyllable. Does na that +mean a word o’ three syllables?</p> + +<p><em>North</em> (in a later review). The young gentlemen +of England should be ashamed o’ thirselves +fo’ letten her name be Mitford. They should +marry her, whether she wull or no, for she +would mak boith a useful and agreeable wife. +Thet’s the best creetishism on her warks.</p> +</div> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_212">[212]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXIV">CHAPTER <abbr title="24">XXIV</abbr></h2> +</div> + +<p class="center">A COUNTRY-SIDE ROMANCE</p> + + +<p>The framework of these stories—that is all that +concerns Miss Mitford herself, who figures not +only as the narrator but as an actor in the scenes +described—is, for the most part, she tells us, +strictly true. Thus in giving quotations from +her charming tales we are giving also passages +from her own daily life, and so we seem to see +her walking about the country lanes visiting the +cottages or farm-houses, and even to hear her +conversing with the villagers.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" id="i-249"> +<img src="images/i-249.jpg" alt="" width="576" height="600"> +<p class="caption center">OLD BERKSHIRE FARM</p> +</div> + +<p>In a story entitled <cite>Patty’s New Hat</cite>, Mary +Mitford writes:—</p> + +<p>“Wandering about the meadows one morning +last May absorbed in the pastoral beauty of the +season and the scenery, I was overtaken by +a heavy shower, just as I passed old Mrs. +Matthew’s great farm-house and forced to run +for shelter to her hospitable porch. A pleasant +shelter in good truth I found there. The green +pastures dotted with fine old trees stretching +all around; the clear brook winding about<span class="pagenum" id="Page_213">[213]</span> +them, turning and returning on its course, as if +loath to depart ... the village spire rising +amongst a cluster of cottages, all but the roofs +and chimneys concealed by a grove of oaks; +the woody background and the blue hills in the +distance, all so flowery and bowery in the +pleasant month of May. The porch, around<span class="pagenum" id="Page_214">[214]</span> +which a honeysuckle in full bloom was wreathing +its sweet flowers ... was alive and musical +with bees. It is hard to say which enjoyed the +sweet breath of the shower and the honeysuckle +most, the bees or I; but the rain began to drive +so fast that at the end of five minutes I was not +sorry to be discovered by a little girl belonging to +the family, and ushered into the spacious kitchen, +with its ample dresser glittering with crockery +ware, and then finally conducted by Mrs. Matthews +herself into her own comfortable parlour.</p> + +<p>“On my begging that I might cause no interruption +she resumed her labours at a little table +[where she was] mending a fustian jacket +belonging to one of her sons. On the other side +of the little table sat her pretty grand-daughter +Patty, a black-eyed young woman, with a bright +complexion, a neat, trim figure, and a general +air of gentility considerably above her station. +She was trimming a very smart straw hat with +pink ribands, trimming and untrimming, for +the bows were tied and untied, taken off and +put on, and taken off again, with a look of impatience +and discontent, not common to a +damsel of seventeen when contemplating a new +piece of finery. The poor little lass was evidently +out of sorts. She sighed and quirked and +fidgeted and seemed ready to cry, whilst her +grandmother just glanced at her face under her<span class="pagenum" id="Page_215">[215]</span> +spectacles, pursed up her mouth, and contrived +with some difficulty not to laugh. At last Patty +spoke.</p> + +<p>“‘Now, grandmother, you will let me go to +Chapel Row revel this afternoon, won’t you?’</p> + +<p>“‘Humph,’ said Mrs. Matthews.</p> + +<p>“‘It hardly rains at all, grandmother!’</p> + +<p>“‘Humph!’ again said Mrs. Matthews, opening +the prodigious scissors with which she was +amputating, so to say, a button, and directing +the rounded end significantly to my wet shawl, +whilst the sharp point was reverted towards the +dripping honeysuckle. ‘Humph!’</p> + +<p>“‘There’s no dirt to signify!’</p> + +<p>“Another ‘Humph!’ and another point to +the draggled tail of my white gown.</p> + +<p>“‘At all events it’s going to clear.’</p> + +<p>“Two ‘Humphs!’ and two points, one to +the clouds and one to the barometer.</p> + +<p>“‘It’s only seven miles,’ said Patty; ‘and +if the horses are wanted, I can walk.’</p> + +<p>“‘Humph!’ quoth Mrs. Matthews.</p> + +<p>“‘My Aunt Ellis will be there, and my cousin +Mary.’</p> + +<p>“‘Humph!’ again said Mrs. Matthews.</p> + +<p>“‘My cousin Mary will be so disappointed.’</p> + +<p>“‘Humph!’</p> + +<p>“‘And I half promised my cousin William—poor +William!’</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_216">[216]</span></p> + +<p>“‘Humph!’ again.</p> + +<p>“‘Poor William! Oh, grandmother, do let +me go! And I’ve got my new hat and all—just +such a hat as William likes! Poor William! +You will let me go, grandmother?’</p> + +<p>“And receiving no answer but a very unequivocal +‘Humph!’ poor Patty threw down +her hat, fetched a deep sigh, and sat in a most +disconsolate attitude, snipping her pink riband +to pieces. Mrs. Matthews went on manfully +with her ‘stitchery,’ and for ten minutes there +was a dead pause. It was at last broken by my +little friend and introducer, Susan, who was +standing at the window, and exclaimed: ‘Who +is this riding up the meadow all through the +rain? Look!—see!—I do think—no, it can’t +be—yes it is—it is certainly my cousin William +Ellis! Look, grandmother!’</p> + +<p>“‘Humph!’ said Mrs. Matthews.</p> + +<p>“‘What can cousin William be coming for?’ +continued Susan.</p> + +<p>“‘Humph!’ quoth Mrs. Matthews.</p> + +<p>“‘Oh, I know!—I know!’ screamed Susan, +clapping her hands and jumping for joy as she +saw the changed expression of Patty’s countenance,—the +beaming delight, succeeded by a +pretty downcast shamefacedness as she turned +away from her grandmother’s arch smile and +archer nod. ‘I know! I know!’ shouted Susan.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_217">[217]</span></p> + +<p>“‘Humph!’ said Mrs. Matthews.</p> + +<p>“‘For shame, Susan! Pray don’t, grandmother!’ +said Patty imploringly.</p> + +<p>“‘For shame! Why I did not say he was +coming to court Patty! Did I, grandmother?’ +returned Susan.</p> + +<p>“‘And I take this good lady to witness,’ +replied Mrs. Matthews, as Patty, gathering up +her hat and her scraps of riband, prepared to +make her escape. ‘I take you all to witness +that I have said nothing of any sort. Get along +with you, Patty!’ added she, ‘you have spoilt +your pink trimming, but I think you are likely +to want white ribands next, and if you put me +in mind, I’ll buy them for you!’ And smiling +in spite of herself the happy girl ran out of the +room.”</p> + +<p>In one of her tales Miss Mitford describes a +fog in her village and its surrounding neighbourhood, +contrasting it with a fog in London.</p> + +<p>“A London fog,” she writes, “is a sad thing, +as every inhabitant of London knows full well: +dingy, dusky, dirty, damp; an atmosphere +black as smoke and wet as steam, that wraps +round you like a blanket; a cloud reaching +from earth to heaven; ‘a palpable obscure,’ +which not only turns day into night, but +threatens to extinguish the lamps and lanthorns +with which the poor street wanderers strive to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_218">[218]</span> +illuminate their darkness.... Of all detestable +things a London fog is the most detestable.</p> + +<p>“Now a country fog is quite another matter.... +This last lovely autumn has given us more +foggy mornings, or rather more foggy days, than +I ever remember to have seen in Berkshire: +days beginning in a soft and vapoury mistiness, +enveloping the whole country in a veil, snowy, +fleecy, and light, as the smoke which one often +sees circling in the distance from some cottage +chimney, or as the still whiter clouds which +float around the moon, and finishing in sunsets +of a surprising richness and beauty when the +mist is lifted up from the earth and turned into +a canopy of unrivalled gorgeousness, purple, +rosy and golden....</p> + +<p>“It was in one of these days, early in November, +that we set out about noon to pay a visit +to a friend at some distance. The fog was yet +on the earth, only some brightening in the +south-west gave token that it was likely to +clear away. As yet, however, the mist held +complete possession. We could not see the +shoemaker’s shop across the road—no! nor our +chaise when it drew up before our door; were +fain to guess at our own laburnum tree, and +found the sign of The Rose invisible, even when +we ran against the sign-post. Our little maid, a +kind and careful lass, who, perceiving the dreariness<span class="pagenum" id="Page_219">[219]</span> +of the weather, followed us across the court +with extra wraps, had wellnigh tied my veil +round her master’s hat and enveloped me in his +bearskin, and my dog Mayflower, a white greyhound +of the largest size, who had a mind to +give us the undesired honour of her company, +carried her point, in spite of the united efforts +of half a dozen active pursuers, simply because +the fog was so thick that nobody could see her. +It was a complete game at bo-peep.</p> + +<p>“A misty world it was, and a watery; and +I ... began to sigh and shiver and quake, as +much from dread of an overturn as from damp +and chilliness, whilst my careful driver and his +sagacious steed went on groping their way +through the woody lanes that lead to the Loddon. +Nothing but the fear of confessing my fear, +that feeling which makes so many cowards +brave, prevented me from begging to turn back +again. On, however, we went, the fog becoming +every moment heavier as we approached that +beautiful and brimming river. My companion, +nevertheless, continued to assure me that the +day would clear—nay, that it was already +clearing; and I soon found that he was right. +As we left the river we seemed to leave the fog +... [and] it was curious to observe how object +after object glanced out of the vapour. First of +all the huge oak at the corner of Farmer Locke’s<span class="pagenum" id="Page_220">[220]</span> +field, which juts out into the lane like a crag into +the sea ... its head lost in the clouds; then +Farmer Hewitt’s great barn—the house, ricks +and stables still invisible; then a gate and half +a cow, her head being projected over it in strong +relief, whilst the hinder part of her body remained +in the haze; then more and more distinctly +hedgerows, cottages, trees and fields, +until, as we reached the top of Barkham Hill, +the glorious sun broke forth, and the lovely +picture [of the valley] lay before our eyes in its +soft and calm beauty.”</p> + +<p>This account of Mary and her father’s expedition +in a fog caught the fancy of two +authoresses. One—Miss Sedgwick—writes to +Mary from the other side of the Atlantic: “Tell +me anything of your noble father (long may he +live!) whom I have loved ever since you took +that ride with him in a one-horse chaise of a +misty morning. Do you remember?”</p> + +<p>The other—Mrs. Hemans—writes: “I hope +... that you were not the worse for that fog, +the very description of which almost took my +hair out of curl whilst reading it!”</p> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_221">[221]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXV">CHAPTER <abbr title="25">XXV</abbr></h2> +</div> + +<p class="center">A NEW PLAYWRIGHT</p> + + +<p>Mary Russell Mitford’s love of the drama +was awakened in childhood, and at her school +in Hans Place it was much developed. “After +my return home,” she writes, “came days of +eager and solitary poring over the mighty +treasures of the printed drama, that finest +form of poetry which can never be lost. At +school I had been made acquainted, like other +schoolgirls, with Racine. Little did Madame +de Maintenon, proud queen of the left hand, +think when the gentle poet died of a courtly +frown, that she and St. Cyr would be best +remembered by ‘Athalie!’”</p> + +<p>As Mary grew up she longed to try her hand +at tragedy—that ambition of young writers—but +it was not until in later years when spurred +on by the necessity of earning money for the +support of her father and mother that she conceived +the idea of writing plays for the stage. +She had heard that occasionally large sums of +money were gained by the authors of successful<span class="pagenum" id="Page_222">[222]</span> +dramas, and she was encouraged in her undertaking +by the recollection that when her poems +were first published Coleridge had prophesied +that the author of “Blanche” would write a +tragedy. “So,” writes Mary, “I took heart of +grace and resolved to try a play.”</p> + +<p>Her first attempt, a comedy, was rejected by +the manager of a theatre. “Then, nothing +daunted,” she writes, “I tried tragedy, and produced +five acts on the story of <cite>Fiesco</cite>. But just +as—conscious of the smallness of my means and +the greatness of my object—I was about to +relinquish the pursuit in despair, I met with a +critic so candid a friend, so kind, that, aided by +his encouragement, all difficulties seemed to +vanish. I speak,” she adds, “of the author of +<cite>Ion</cite>—Mr. Justice Talfourd—then a very young +man ... <cite>Foscari</cite> was the result of this encouragement.”</p> + +<p>But before <cite>Foscari</cite> had appeared on the stage +her play of <cite>Julian</cite>, having been read and approved +by Macready, was performed with that +celebrated actor as the principal character. It +was, happily, successful, and, greatly cheered +by this result and also by receiving no less than +£200 from the manager of Covent Garden +theatre, Mary Mitford continued her dramatic +work.</p> + +<p>But she had to go through many trials connected<span class="pagenum" id="Page_223">[223]</span> +with it, which often affected her health. +The main cause of these trials were the unhappy +dissensions between Macready and Charles +Kemble, who both appear to have had hasty +tempers. Mary writes to Sir William Elford on +her return home from a hurried visit to London: +“My soul sickens within me when I think of the +turmoil and tumult I have undergone and am +[still] to undergo.... I am tossed about +between Kemble and Macready like a cricket-ball—affronting +both parties and suspected by +both because I will not come to a deadly rupture +with either.”</p> + +<p>But, happily, later on she had reason to think +differently about these great actors. She speaks +of Macready as “a most ardent and devoted +friend”; and when, in the autumn of 1826, +<cite>Foscari</cite> was about to appear on the stage, she +says she feels “inclined to hate herself for her +mistrust of Charles Kemble.” “There are no +words for his kindness,” she declares, “from +the beginning of this affair to the end.”</p> + +<p>Miss Mitford, accompanied by her father, +went up to London for the first performance of +<cite>Foscari</cite> at Covent Garden theatre, which was +fixed for the 5th November. They lodged at +No. 45 Frith Street, Soho Square, whence Mary +wrote to her mother an account of the great +event. Outside her letter were the words,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_224">[224]</span> +“Good news.” The letter is dated Saturday +night, November 5th:—</p> + +<p>“I cannot suffer this parcel to go to you, my +dearest mother, without writing a few lines to +tell you of the complete success of my play. It +was received with rapturous applause [and] +without the slightest symptoms of disapprobation +from beginning to end.... William Harness +and Mr. Talfourd are both quite satisfied +with the whole affair, and my other friends are +half crazy....</p> + +<p>“I quite long to hear how you, my own +dearest darling, have borne the suspense and +anxiety consequent on this affair, which, +triumphantly as it has turned out, was certainly +a very nervous business. They expect the play +to run three times a week till Christmas. It was +so immense a house that you might have walked +over the heads in the pit; and great numbers +were turned away, in spite of the wretched +weather. All the actors were good.... Mr. +Young gave out the tragedy amidst immense +applause.”<span class="pagenum" id="Page_225">[225]</span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" id="i-261"> +<img src="images/i-261.jpg" alt="" width="358" height="550"> +<p class="caption center">FRITH STREET, SOHO SQUARE</p> +</div> + +<p>Mary herself was not present at this wonderful +scene. Writing in later years she remarks: +“I had not nerve enough to attend the first +representation of my tragedies. I sat still and +trembling in some quiet apartment near, and +thither some friend flew to set my heart at ease.</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_227">[227]</span></p> +<p>Generally the messenger of good tidings was +poor Haydon, whose quick and ardent spirit +lent him wings on such an occasion, and who +had full sympathy with my love for a large +canvas, however indifferently filled.”</p> + +<p>When thanking Sir William Elford for his +congratulations upon the success of <cite>Foscari</cite>, +Miss Mitford says: “Hitherto the success has +been very brilliant. We can hardly expect it +to last.... But great good has been done if +(which Heaven avert) the tragedy stop not +to-night.”</p> + +<p>The agreement between the theatre and Miss +Mitford for <cite>Foscari</cite>, we are told, was £100 on the +third, the ninth, the fifteenth, and the twentieth +nights, while the copyright of the play +(together with a volume of Dramatic Sketches) +was sold to Whittaker for £150.</p> + +<p>Miss Mitford had some new and strange experiences +connected with the performance of +her plays, and amongst these she has recorded +her first sight of a theatre by daylight.</p> + +<p>“To one accustomed to the imposing aspect +of a great theatre at night,” she writes, “blazing +with light and beauty, no contrast can be greater +than to enter the same theatre at noontide. +Leaving daylight behind you, and stumbling as +best you may through dark passages and amidst +the inextricable labyrinth of scenery, [you are]<span class="pagenum" id="Page_228">[228]</span> +too happy if you be not projected into the +orchestra or swallowed up by a trap-door....</p> + +<p>“When the eye becomes accustomed to the +darkness the contrasts are sufficiently amusing. +Solemn tragedians ... hatted and great-coated, +skipping about, chatting and joking like +common mortals ... tragic heroines sauntering +languidly through their parts in the closest +of bonnets and thickest of shawls; untidy +ballet girls (there was a dance in <cite>Foscari</cite>) walking +through their quadrille to the sound of a +solitary fiddle, striking up as if of its own +accord from amidst the tall stools and music-desks +of the orchestra, and piercing, one hardly +knew how, through the din that was going on +incessantly.</p> + +<p>“Oh, that din! Voices from every part, +above, below, around, and in every key, bawling, +shouting, screaming; heavy weights rolling +here and falling there, bells ringing, one could +not tell why, and the ubiquitous call-boy everywhere!...</p> + +<p>“No end to the absurdities and discrepancies +of a rehearsal! I contributed my full share to +the amount.... There is a gun in <cite>Julian</cite>, +and I, frightened by one when a child, ‘hate +a gun like a hurt wild duck’ ... and my first +address to Mr. Macready was an earnest entreaty +that he would not suffer them to fire<span class="pagenum" id="Page_229">[229]</span> +that gun at rehearsal. They did, nevertheless, +... but the smiling bow of the great tragedian +had spared me the worst part of that sort of +fright, the expectation....</p> + +<p>“Troubled and anxious though they were,” +she adds, “those were pleasant days, guns and +all, days of hope dashed with so much fear, and +of fear illumined with fitful rays of hope. And +in those rehearsals ... where nobody is ever +found when he is wanted, and nobody ever +seems to know a syllable of his part ... the +business must somehow have gone on, for at +night the scenes fall into the right places, the +proper actors come at the right times, speeches +are spoken in due order, and to the no small +astonishment of the novice, who had given herself +up for lost, the play succeeds.”</p> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_230">[230]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXVI">CHAPTER <abbr title="26">XXVI</abbr></h2> +</div> + +<p class="center"><em>RIENZI</em></p> + + +<p>Miss Mitford’s capacity of throwing herself +heart and soul into the widely varying subjects +upon which she was engaged was truly remarkable. +For whilst writing her playful or pathetic +stories of village life, breathing as they do the +calm and beauty of the surrounding country, +she was composing one after another her +stirring tragedies.</p> + +<p>The finest of these is generally considered +to be <em>Rienzi</em> to which Miss Mitford had given +much time and thought. She wrote in August, +1824, to a female friend who had enquired +after her literary undertakings:—</p> + +<p>“I write as usual for magazines, and (but +this is quite between ourselves) I have a tragedy +which will I may say certainly—as certainly +as we can speak of anything connected with the +theatre—be performed at Drury Lane next +season. It is the story of ‘Rienzi,’ the friend +of Petrarch; the man who restored for a short +time the old republican government of Rome. +If you do not remember the story you will find<span class="pagenum" id="Page_231">[231]</span> +it very beautifully told in the last volume of +Gibbon, and still more graphically related in +L’Abbé de Sadi’s <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Memoires pour la Vie de +Pétrarque</i>.”</p> + +<p>It was not, however, until four years later +that the play actually appeared upon the stage. +Its success was of vital importance to the little +household at Three Mile Cross, and Mary was +immersed in business of all sorts during the +months preceding its début. Still she had a +“heart at leisure” even then to sympathise +with her friends in their joys and sorrows. On +hearing that Haydon’s important picture of +the year had just been purchased by the King, +she writes:—</p> + +<p>“A thousand and a thousand congratulations, +my dear friend, to you and your loveliest and +sweetest wife! I always liked the King, God +bless him! He is a gentleman—and now my +loyalty will be warmer than ever.... This +is fortune—fame you did not want—but this +fashion and fortune. Nothing in this world +could please me more—not even the production +of my own <em>Rienzi</em>. To see you in your place in +Art and Talfourd in his in Parliament are the +wishes next my heart, and I verily believe that +I shall live to see both....</p> + +<p>“God bless you, my dear friends! and God +save the King!”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_232">[232]</span></p> + +<p>Miss Mitford writes on Sept. 23rd, 1828, to +Sir William Elford:—</p> + +<p>“My tragedy of <em>Rienzi</em> is to be produced at +Drury Lane Theatre on Saturday the 11th of +October; that is to say, next Saturday fortnight.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Young plays the hero, and has been +studying the part during the whole vacation; +and a new actress makes her first appearance +in the part of the heroine. This is a very bold +and hazardous experiment, no new actress +having come out in a new play within the +memory of man; but she is young, pretty, +unaffected, pleasant-voiced, with great sensibility, +and a singularly pure intonation—a +qualification which no actress has possessed +since Mrs. Siddons. Stanfield is painting the +new scenes, one of which is an accurate representation +of Rienzi’s house. This building +still exists in Rome.... They have got a +sketch which they sent for on purpose, and they +are hunting up costumes with equal care; +so that it will be very splendidly brought out, +and I shall have little to fear, except from the +emptiness of London so early in the season.”<span class="pagenum" id="Page_233">[233]</span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" id="i-269"> +<img src="images/i-269.jpg" alt="" width="370" height="600"> +<p class="caption center">IN GREAT QUEEN STREET</p> +</div> + +<p>Miss Mitford’s next letter to Sir William is +written from London after the first performance +of <em>Rienzi</em>. It is dated Oct. 5th, 1828, 5 Great +Queen Street, Lincoln’s Inn, and is as follows: +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_235">[235]</span>“Our success last night was very splendid +and we have every hope (in the theatrical world +there is no such word as ‘certainty’) of making +a great hit. As far as things have hitherto gone +nothing can be better—nothing. Our new +actress is charming.... Mr. Young is also +admirable; and, in short, it is a magnificent +performance throughout. God grant that its +prosperity may continue! and these are not +words, of course, but a prayer from my inmost +soul, for on that hangs the comfort of those +far dearer to me than myself.”</p> + +<p>And a fortnight later she writes:—</p> + +<p>“Hitherto the triumph has been most complete +and decisive—the houses crowded—and +the attention such as has not been known since +Mrs. Siddons. You might hear a pin drop in +the house. How long this run may continue +I cannot say, for London is absolutely empty; +but even if the play were to stop to-night I +should be extremely thankful—more thankful +than I have words to tell; the impression has +been so deep and so general.”</p> + +<p>Letters of congratulation from women of +mark poured in from all sides, but Mary missed +the sympathy of her intimate friend Lady +Franklin (wife of the Arctic explorer) who had +recently died. She remarks in the Introduction +to her Dramatic Works:—</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_236">[236]</span></p> + +<p>“When <em>Rienzi</em>, after a more than common +portion of adventures and misadventures, did +come out with a success rare in a woman’s +life ... I missed the eager congratulations +from her ... whose cheering prognostics had +so often spurred me on....</p> + +<p>“No part of my success,” she adds, “was +more delightful than the pleasure which it +excited amongst the most eminent of my female +contemporaries. Maria Edgeworth, Joanna +Baillie, Felicia Hemans (and to two of them +I was at that time unknown) vied in the cordiality +of their praises. Kindness met me on +every hand.”</p> + +<p>In a letter from Mrs. Trollope (a well-known +authoress of the day), who was then staying in +New York, she learns of <em>Rienzi</em> being performed +in that city. “It is here and here only,” writes +Mrs. Trollope, “that I have had an opportunity +of seeing <em>Rienzi</em>; it is a noble tragedy, and not +even the bad acting of the Chatham Theatre +could spoil it. I never witnessed such a triumph +of powerful poetry over weak acting as in the +magnificent scene where Rienzi refuses pardon +to an Orsini.”</p> + +<p>The play continued to draw large audiences +at Drury Lane, and ran for a hundred days, a +most unusual event in those times. Of the +printed play Miss Mitford writes: “It is<span class="pagenum" id="Page_237">[237]</span> +selling immensely, the first very large edition +having gone in three days.”</p> + +<p>We have read <em>Rienzi</em> with deep interest. +The tragic scenes are very powerful, tension +being kept up throughout the whole action, +while the love passages are beautiful, tender +and truly pathetic. If we might venture upon +a criticism it is that there is an absence in the +play of all humour—a quality so conspicuous +in Miss Mitford’s village stories. Perhaps it is +only Shakespeare who possesses the consummate +art of relieving the strain wrought upon the +mind by deep tragedy with a touch of humour. +It is certainly absent in some of the finest +French and German tragedies.</p> + +<p>Miss Mitford’s incessant work at this period, +coupled with much domestic anxiety (for her +mother’s health was then failing), made her +possibly over anxious.</p> + +<p>“I shall have hard work,” she observes in a +letter to a friend, “to write up to my own +reputation, for certainly I am at present +greatly overrated.” And alluding to the +triumph of <em>Rienzi</em> she says:—</p> + +<p>“Dramatic success, after all, is not so delicious, +so glorious, so complete a gratification as in +our secret longings we all expect to find. It is +not satisfactory. It does not fill the heart.... +It is an intoxication.... Within four-and-twenty<span class="pagenum" id="Page_238">[238]</span> +hours [of the performance of <em>Rienzi</em>] +I doubted if triumph there were, and more than +doubted if it were deserved. It is ill-success +that leads to self-assertion. Never in my life +was I so conscious of my dramatic short-comings +as on that day of imputed exaltation +and vainglory.”</p> + +<p>But Mary’s fame as a dramatic author was +growing in spite of her own modest estimate of +her powers, and in spite also of many a disappointment +that she had to endure. Her play +of Charles I, the subject of which was suggested +to her by Macready, was condemned by +the Licenser, “who saw a danger to the State +in permitting the trial of an English monarch +to be represented on the stage.” It was forbidden, +therefore, at the two great houses +although it afterwards appeared at a minor +theatre.</p> + +<p>The fate of another play, <cite>Inez de Castro</cite>, was +still more unfortunate, for after having been +rehearsed three times at the Lyceum Theatre, +apparently with the approval of all concerned, +it was suddenly withdrawn for some unknown +reason. Fanny Kemble, whom Miss Mitford +describes as “a girl of great ability,” was taking +the part of the heroine.</p> + +<p>“Great at the moment were these anxieties +and tribulations,” writes Miss Mitford in after<span class="pagenum" id="Page_239">[239]</span> +life, “but it is good to observe in one’s own +mind and good to tell others how just as the +keenest physical pain is known to be soon +forgotten, so in mental vicissitudes time carries +away the bitter and leaves the sweet. The +vexations and the injuries fade into dim distance +and the kindness and the benefits shine +vividly out.”</p> + +<p>An edition of her collected works was published +in Philadelphia in the year 1841, which +is prefaced by a short biography of the author +written by James Crissy. It is pleasant therein +to read his warm-hearted appreciation of her +literary genius. He speaks of Miss Mitford +as “a dramatist of no common power.” “In +all her plays,” he says, “there is strong, +vigorous writing—masculine in the free unhashed +use of language, but wholly womanly +in its purity from coarseness or licence and +in its touches [of the] softest feeling and finest +observation.”</p> + +<p>He goes on, however, to say: “But the claims +of Miss Mitford to swell the list of <em>inventors</em> +[of new styles in literature] rest upon yet firmer +grounds. They rest upon those exquisite +sketches by which she has created a school of +writing, homely but not vulgar, familiar but not +breeding contempt.... Wherein the small +events and the simple characters of rural life<span class="pagenum" id="Page_240">[240]</span> +are made interesting by the truth and sprightliness +with which they are represented.”</p> + +<p>In the Introduction to her “Dramatic +Works,” Miss Mitford thus closes a detailed +account of the composition and production of +her plays:—</p> + +<p>“So much for the Tragedies. There would +have been many more such but that the pressing +necessity of earning money, and the uncertainties +and the delays of the drama, at moments +when delay or disappointment weighed upon +me like a sin, made it a duty to turn away from +the lofty steep of Tragic Poetry to the everyday +path of Village Stories.”</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>À propos of these words and knowing that +Miss Mitford’s greatest power lay in the writing +of those very Village Stories, we would quote +the words of Tennyson:—</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">“Not once or twice in our fair island story</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The path of duty was the way to glory.”</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_241">[241]</span></p> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXVII">CHAPTER <abbr title="27">XXVII</abbr></h2> +</div> + +<p class="center">FOREIGN NEIGHBOURS</p> + + +<p>“One of the prettiest dwellings in our neighbourhood,” +writes Miss Mitford in one of her +stories, “is the Lime Cottage at Burley-Hatch. +It consists of a low-browed habitation, so entirely +covered with jessamine, honeysuckle, +passion-flowers and china roses, as to resemble +a bower, and is placed in the centre of a large +garden. On either side of the neat gravel walk +which leads from the outer gate to the door of +the cottage stand the large and beautiful trees +to which it owes its name; spreading their +strong, broad shadow over the turf beneath, +and sending, on a summer afternoon, their +rich spring fragrance half across the irregular +village green....</p> + +<p>“Such is the habitation of Thérèse de G., an +<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">émigrée</i> of distinction, whose aunt having +married an English officer, was luckily able to +afford her niece an asylum during the horrors +of the Revolution, and to secure to her a small +annuity and the Lime Cottage after her death.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_242">[242]</span> +There she has lived for five-and-thirty years, +gradually losing sight of her few and distant +foreign connections, and finding all her happiness +in her pleasant home and her kind neighbours—a +standing lesson in cheerfulness and contentment.</p> + +<p>“A very popular person is Mademoiselle +Thérèse—popular both with high and low; +for the prejudice which the country people +almost universally entertain against foreigners +vanished directly before the charm of her +manners.... She is so kind to them too, so +liberal of the produce of her orchard and garden +and so full of resources in their difficulties. +Among the rich she is equally beloved. No +party is complete without the pleasant French +woman. Her conversation is not very powerful, +not very brilliant—but then it is so good-natured, +so genuine, so constantly up and +alive;—to say nothing of the charm which it +derives from her language, which is alternately +the most graceful and purest French and the +most diverting and absurd broken English....</p> + +<p>“Her appearance betrays her country almost +as much as her speech. She is a French-looking +little personage with a slight, active figure, +exceedingly nimble and alert in every movement; +a round and darkly complexioned face, +somewhat faded and passée but still striking<span class="pagenum" id="Page_243">[243]</span> +from the laughing eyes. Nevertheless, in her +youth, she must have been pretty; so pretty +that some of our young ladies, scandalised at +finding their favourite an old maid, have invented +sundry legends to excuse the solecism, +and talk of duels fought <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">pour l’amour de ses +beaux yeux</i>, and of a betrothed lover guillotined +in the Revolution. And the thing may have +been so; although one meets everywhere with +old maids who have been pretty, and whose +lovers have not been guillotined. I rather +suspect our fair demoiselle of having been in +her youth a little of a flirt.</p> + +<p>“Even during her residence at Burley-Hatch +hath not she indulged in divers very distant, +very discreet, very decorous, but still very +evident flirtations? Did not Doctor Abdy, +the portly, ruddy schoolmaster of B. dangle +after her for three mortal years, holidays +excepted? And did she not refuse him at +last? And Mr. Foreclose, the thin, withered, +wrinkled city solicitor, a man, so to say, smoke-dried, +who comes down every year to Burley +for the air, did not he do suit and service to her +during four long vacations with the same ill-success? +Was not Sir Thomas himself a little +smitten? Nay, even now, does not the good +major, a halting veteran of seventy—but really +it is too bad to tell tales out of the parish—all<span class="pagenum" id="Page_244">[244]</span> +that is certain is that Mademoiselle Thérèse +might have changed her name long before now +had she so chosen.</p> + +<p>“Her household consists of her little maid +Betsy, a cherry-cheeked, blue-eyed country lass, +who with a fair unmeaning countenance, copies +the looks and gestures of her alert and vivacious +mistress, and of a fat lap-dog, called Fido, silky, +sleepy and sedate....</p> + +<p>“If everybody is delighted to receive this most +welcome visitor, so is everybody delighted to +accept her graceful invitations, and meet to +eat strawberries at Burley-Hatch.</p> + +<p>“Oh, how pleasant are those summer afternoons, +sitting under the blossomed limes, with +the sun shedding a golden light through the +broad branches, the bees murmuring overhead, +roses and lilies all about us, and the choicest +fruit served up in wicker baskets of her own +making.... Those are pleasant meetings; +nor are her little winter parties less agreeable, +when to two or three female friends assembled +round their coffee, she will tell thrilling stories +of that terrible Revolution, so fertile in great +crimes and great virtues. Or [relate] gayer +anecdotes of the brilliant days preceding that +convulsion, the days which Madame de Genlis +has described so well, when Paris was the +capital of pleasure, and amusement the business<span class="pagenum" id="Page_245">[245]</span> +of life; illustrating her descriptions by a series +of spirited drawings of costumes and characters +done by herself, and always finishing by producing +a group of Louis Seize, Marie Antoinette, +the Dauphin, and Madame Elizabeth, as she +had last seen them at Versailles—the only +recollections that ever bring tears into her +smiling eyes.</p> + +<p>“Madame Thérèse’s loyalty to the Bourbons +was in truth a very real feeling. Her family +had been about the Court, and she had imbibed +an enthusiasm for the royal sufferers natural to +a young and warm heart—she loved the Bourbons +and hated Napoleon with like ardour. +All her other French feelings had for some time +been a little modified. She was not quite so +sure as she had been that France was the only +country, and Paris the only city of the world; +that Shakespeare was a barbarian, and Milton +no poet; that the perfume of English limes +was nothing compared to French orange trees; +that the sun never shone in England; and that +sea-coal fires were bad things.... Her loyalty +to her legitimate king was, however, as strong +as ever, and that loyalty had nearly cost us our +dear mademoiselle.</p> + +<p>“After the Restoration, she hastened, as fast +as steamboat and diligence could carry her, to +enjoy the delight of seeing once more the Bourbons<span class="pagenum" id="Page_246">[246]</span> +and the Tuileries; took leave, between +smiles and tears, of her friends, and of Burley-Hatch, +carrying with her a branch of the lime-tree, +then in blossom, and commissioning her +old lover, Mr. Foreclose, to dispose of the cottage: +but in less than three months, luckily +before Mr. Foreclose had found a purchaser, +mademoiselle came home again. She complained +of nobody; but times were altered. +The house in which she was born was pulled +down; her friends were scattered, her kindred +dead; Madame (la Duchess d’Angoulême) did +not remember her ... the King did not know +her again (poor man! he had not seen her for +these thirty years); Paris was a new city; +the French were a new people; she missed the +sea-coal fires; and for the stunted orange-trees +at the Tuileries, what were they compared +with the blossomed limes of Burley-Hatch!”<a id="FNanchor_11" href="#Footnote_11" class="fnanchor">[11]</a></p> + +<div class="footnotes"> + +<p><a id="Footnote_11" href="#FNanchor_11" class="label">[11]</a> We think this place may have been intended for Burghfield +Hatch.</p> + +</div> + +<p>Another foreign neighbour, described by +Miss Mitford, was an old French <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">émigré</i> who +came to reside in “the small town of Hazelby”; +a pretty little place where everything seemed +at a standstill.... “It has not even a cheap +shop,” she remarks, “for female gear.... The +very literature of Hazelby is doled out at the +pastry-cook’s, in a little one-windowed shop,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_247">[247]</span> +kept by Matthew Wise. Tarts occupy one end +of the counter and reviews the other; whilst +the shelves are parcelled out between books, +and dolls, and ginger-bread. It is a question by +which of his trades poor Matthew gains least.”</p> + +<p>Here it was that the old <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">émigré</i> lodged “in a +low three-cornered room, over the little shop, +which Matthew Wise designated his ‘first +floor.’” Little was known of him, but that he +was a thin, pale, foreign-looking gentleman, who +shrugged his shoulders in speaking, took a great +deal of snuff, and made a remarkably low bow. +But it soon appeared from a written paper +placed in a conspicuous part of Matthew’s +shop, that he was an Abbé, and that he would +do himself the honour of teaching French to +any of the nobility and gentry of Hazelby who +might think fit to employ him. Pupils dropped +in rather slowly. The curate’s daughters, and +the attorney’s son, and Miss Deane the milliner—but +she found the language difficult, and left +off, asserting that M. l’Abbé’s snuff made her +nervous. At last poor M. l’Abbé fell ill, really +ill, dangerously ill, and Matthew Wise went in +all haste to summon Mr. Hallett (the apothecary)....</p> + +<p>“Now Mr. Hallett was what is usually called +a rough diamond. He piqued himself on being +a plain downright Englishman [and] he had such<span class="pagenum" id="Page_248">[248]</span> +an aversion to a Frenchman, in general, as a +cat has to a dog: and was wont to erect himself +into an attitude of defiance and wrath at +the mere sight of the object of his antipathy. +He hated and despised the whole nation, +abhorred the language, and “would as lief,” +he assured Matthew, “have been called in to +a toad.” He went, however, grew interested +in the case, which was difficult and complicated; +exerted all his skill, and in about a month +accomplished a cure.”</p> + +<p>By this time he had also become interested +in his patient, whose piety, meekness, and resignation +had won upon him in an extraordinary +degree. The disease was gone, but a languor +and lowness remained, which Mr. Hallett soon +traced to a less curable disorder, poverty. The +thought of the debt to himself evidently weighed +on the poor Abbé’s spirits, and our good apothecary +at last determined to learn French purely +to liquidate his own long bill.</p> + +<p>It was the drollest thing in the world to see +this pupil of fifty, whose habits were so entirely +unfitted for a learner, conning his task.... +He was a most unpromising scholar, shuffled +the syllables together in a manner that would +seem incredible, and stumbled at every step of +the pronunciation, against which his English +tongue rebelled amain. Every now and then<span class="pagenum" id="Page_249">[249]</span> +he solaced himself with a fluent volley of execrations +in his own language, which the Abbé +understood well enough to return, after rather +a polite fashion, in French. It was a most +amusing scene. But the motive! the generous +noble motive!</p> + +<p>M. l’Abbé after a few lessons detected this +delicate artifice, and, touched almost to tears, +insisted on dismissing his pupil, who, on his side, +declared that nothing should induce him to +abandon his studies. At last they came to a +compromise. The cherry-cheeked Margaret ... +[who kept the doctor’s house] took her uncle’s +post as a learner, which she filled in a manner +much more satisfactory; and the good old +Frenchman not only allowed Mr. Hallett to +administer gratis to his ailments, but partook +of his Sunday dinner as long as he lived.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" id="i-285"> +<img src="images/i-285.jpg" alt="A French bonbonnière" width="300" height="284"> +</div> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_250">[250]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXVIII">CHAPTER <abbr title="28">XXVIII</abbr></h2> +</div> + +<p class="center">AGREEABLE JAUNTS</p> + + +<p>Mary Russell Mitford visited Southampton +in the year 1812, and although only one of her +letters written at that time has been preserved +it gives us a vivid picture of her impressions of +the place. The letter is dated September 3rd.</p> + +<p>“I have just returned from Southampton,” +she writes to Sir William Elford. “Have you +ever been at that lovely spot, which combines +all that is enchanting in wood and land and +water with all that is ‘buxom, blythe and +debonair’ in society—that charming town, +which is not a watering-place only because it +is something better?... Southampton has, +in my eyes, an attraction independent even of +its scenery in the total absence of the vulgar +hurry of business or the chilly apathy of fashion. +It is indeed all life, all gaiety; but it has an +airiness, an animation which might become the +capital of Fairyland. The very motion of its +playful waters, uncontaminated by commerce +or by war, seems in unison with the graceful +yachts that sail upon their bosom.”<span class="pagenum" id="Page_251">[251]</span></p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_252">[252]</span></p> +<div class="figcenter" id="i-287"> +<img src="images/i-287.jpg" alt="" width="368" height="600"> +<p class="caption center">THE WEST GATE, SOUTHAMPTON</p> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_253">[253]</span></p> +<p>She admired the ruins of Netley Abbey, and +writes in one of her poems:—</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">“Methinks that e’en from Netley’s gloom</div> + <div class="verse indent2">To look upon the tide</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Seems gazing from the shadowy tomb</div> + <div class="verse indent2">On life and all its pride.”</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<p>At a much later date Miss Mitford visited +Bath.</p> + +<p>“Bath is a very elegant and classical-looking +city,” she writes, “standing upon a steep hillside, +its regular white buildings rising terrace +above terrace, crescent above crescent, glittering +in the sun, and charmingly varied by the +green trees of its park and gardens.... Very +pleasant is Bath to look at. But when contrasted +with its old reputation as the favourite +resort of the noble and the fair ... it is impossible +not to feel that the spirit has departed; +that it is a city of memories, the very Pompeii +of watering-places.”</p> + +<div class="figcenter" id="i-290"> +<img src="images/i-290.jpg" alt="" width="493" height="550"> +<p class="caption center">PULTENEY BRIDGE</p> +</div> + +<p>Again she writes: “A place full of associations +is Bath. When we had fairly done with +the real people there were great fictions to fall +back upon, and I am not sure ... that those +who never lived except in the writings of other +people—the heroes and heroines of Miss Austen, +for example—are not the more real of the two. +Her exquisite story of <cite>Persuasion</cite> absolutely<span class="pagenum" id="Page_254">[254]</span> +haunted me. Whenever it rained I thought of +Anne Elliott meeting Captain Wentworth, when +driven by a shower to take refuge in a shoe-shop. +Whenever I got out of breath in climbing uphill +I thought of that same charming Anne +Elliott, and of that ascent from the lower town<span class="pagenum" id="Page_255">[255]</span> +to the upper, during which all her tribulations +ceased. And when at last by dint of trotting +up one street and down another I incurred the +unromantic calamity of a blister on the heel, +even that grievance became classical by the +recollection of the similar catastrophe which, in +consequence of her peregrinations with the +Admiral, had befallen dear Mrs. Croft.”</p> + +<p>Miss Mitford writes in one of her letters of a +“most agreeable jaunt to Richmond.”</p> + +<p>“God made the country and man made the +town!” “I wonder,” she says, “in which of +the two divisions Cowper would place Richmond. +Every Londoner would laugh at the +rustic who should call it town, and with +foreigners it passes pretty generally for a +sample (the only one they see) of the rural +villages of England; and yet it is no more like +the country, the real untrimmed genuine country, +than a garden is like a field. Richmond is +Nature in a court dress, but still Nature—aye, +and very lovely nature too, gay and happy and +elegant as one of Charles the Second’s beauties, +and with as little to remind one of the penalty +of labour, or poverty, or grief, or crime. To +the casual visitor (at least) Richmond appears +as a sort of fairyland, a piece of old Arcadia, a +holiday spot for ladies and gentlemen, where +they had a happy out-of-door life, like the gay<span class="pagenum" id="Page_256">[256]</span> +folks in Watteau’s pictures, and have nothing +to do with the workaday world....</p> + +<p>“Here is Richmond Park, where Jeanie +Deans and the Duke of Argyle met Queen +Caroline; it has been improved, unluckily, and +the walk where the interview took place no +longer exists. To make some amends, however, +for this disappointment, [we are told that] in +removing some furniture from an old house in +the town three portraits were discovered in the +wainscot, George the Second, a staring likeness, +between Lady Suffolk and Queen Caroline. +The paintings were the worst of that bad era, +but the position of the three and the recollection +of Jeanie Deans was irresistible; those pictures +ought never to be separated.”</p> + +<p>“The principal charm of this smiling landscape,” +she continues, “is the river, the beautiful +river. Brimming to its very banks of +meadow or of garden; clear, pure and calm as +the bright sky which is reflected in clearer +brightness from its bosom.” As her boat glides +along its smooth surface amid scenes of ever-changing +beauty and interest, Miss Mitford’s +thoughts turn to Sir Joshua Reynolds. “His +villa is here,” she exclaims, “rich in remembrances +of Johnson and Boswell and Goldsmith +and Burke; here again the elegant house of +Owen Cambridge; close by the celebrated villa<span class="pagenum" id="Page_257">[257]</span> +of Pope, where one seems to see again Swift +and Gay, St. John and Arbuthnot. A stone’s-throw +off the still more celebrated Gothic toy-shop, +Strawberry Hill, which we all know so +well from the minute and vivid descriptions of +its master, the most amusing of letter-writers, +the most fashionable of antiquaries, the most +learned of <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">petit-maîtres</i>, the cynical, finical, +delightful Horace Walpole.”</p> + +<p>Then Miss Mitford tells us of “the landing at +Hampton Court, the palace of the cartoons and +of the ‘Rape of the Lock,’ and lastly of her +coming home with her mind full of the divine +Raphael ... strangely chequered and intersected +by vivid images of the fair Belinda, and +of that inimitable game at ombre which will +live longer than any painting, and can only die +with the language.”</p> + +<p>Here we would venture to give some passages +from the “Rape of the Lock” for the benefit +of those who may not as yet have made the +acquaintance of the “fair Belinda.” This +poem, so full of wit and fairy fancy, was written +by Pope to commemorate an event which had +actually occurred. It happened when a party +of noble friends had met together in a stately +room in Hampton Court Palace and were +gathered around a table prepared for a game +at ombre.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_258">[258]</span></p> + +<p>The heroine Belinda (whose real name was +Arabella Fermor), famous for her beauty and +for her “sprightly mind,” was wooed by a +certain young Lord Petre, who ardently desired +to possess one of “the shining ringlets” that +decked “her smooth ivory neck.” Meanwhile +invisible sylphs and sprites, aware that some +“dire disaster” threatens to befall the unconscious +Belinda, hover protectingly about her. +Even the very cards take part in the drama, +giving omens alternately of good or of evil. At +last Belinda wins the game and rejoices, but +all too soon it seems in her triumph.</p> + +<p>The cards removed</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent10">“the board with cups and spoons is crowned,</div> + <div class="verse indent4">The berries crackle and the mill turns round,</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + + +<p>but coffee alas!</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Sent up in vapours to the Baron’s brain,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">New stratagems, the radiant Lock to gain.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">... Just then Clarissa drew, with tempting grace,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">A two-edged weapon from her shining case.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">He takes the gift with reverence and extends</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The little engine on his fingers’ ends;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">This just behind Belinda’s neck he spread</div> + <div class="verse indent0">As o’er the fragrant steams she bends her head.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Swift to the Lock a thousand sprites repair,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">A thousand wings by turns blow back the hair;</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">The peer now spreads the glittering forfex wide</div> + <div class="verse indent0">To enclose the Lock; now joins it to divide.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">... The meeting points the sacred hair dissever</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_259">[259]</span></p> + <div class="verse indent0">From the fair head, for ever and for ever!</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0"> +</div> +</div> +<hr class="tb"> + + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">The Lock, obtained with guilt and kept with pain,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">In every place is sought, but sought in vain:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">With such a prize no mortal must be blest,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">So Heaven decrees: with Heaven who can contest?</div> + <div class="verse indent0">... Then cease, bright nymph! to mourn thy ravished hair</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Which adds new glory to the shining sphere!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Not all the tresses that fair heads can boast</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Shall draw such envy as the Lock you lost.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">For after all the murders of your eye,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">When after millions slain, yourself shall die.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">... This Lock the Muse shall consecrate to fame,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And ‘midst the stars inscribe Belinda’s name.”</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<div class="figcenter" id="i-295"> +<img src="images/i-295.jpg" alt="Arabella Fermor as a child." width="97" height="150"> +</div> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_260">[260]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXIX">CHAPTER <abbr title="29">XXIX</abbr></h2> +</div> + +<p class="center">UFTON COURT</p> + + +<p>One of the most striking buildings in the +beautiful county of Berkshire often visited by +Miss Mitford is Ufton Court, a stately manor-house +of considerable extent “that stands on +the summit of a steep acclivity looking over a +rich and fertile valley to a range of wooded +hills.”</p> + +<p>The court is approached by a double avenue +of oaks, on emerging from which the fine old +Elizabethan mansion is seen rising beyond its +smooth-spreading lawns and shady trees. It +is surmounted “by more gable ends than a lazy +man would care to count on a sunny day,” and +by tall clustered chimneys. Its long façade is +flanked by two projecting wings, and in the +centre is a large porch, forming the letter E in +the true Elizabethan style. The entrance door +of solid oak studded with great nails might +well have resisted an ancient battering-ram.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_261">[261]</span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" id="i-297"> +<img src="images/i-297.jpg" alt="" width="377" height="545"> +<p class="caption center">THE PORCH</p> +</div> + +<p>In the northern wing of Ufton Court we come +once more upon associations with the name of +Arabella Fermor—the “fair Belinda” of the +“Rape of the Lock.” Here it was that she came +to live upon her marriage in 1715 with Mr. +Francis Perkins, a member of an ancient +Roman Catholic family. Mr. Perkins in honour +of his bride had the rooms in this wing newly +decorated in the elegant style of the early +eighteenth century. The ceiling of the larger +room, which is still called Belinda’s Parlour, is +adorned with mouldings of graceful design, +while the small panelling on the walls was replaced +by the tall decorated panels then just +come into fashion. In the same way a lofty +window was introduced to shed light upon the +whole.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_262">[262]</span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" id="i-299"> +<img src="images/i-299.jpg" alt="" width="431" height="550"> +<p class="caption center">ARABELLA FERMOR (MRS. PERKINS)</p> +<p class="caption center"><em>By W. Sykes</em></p> +</div> + + +<div class="figcenter" id="i-301"> +<img src="images/i-301.jpg" alt="" width="433" height="550"> +<p class="caption center">FRANCIS PERKINS</p> +<p class="caption center"><em>By W. Sykes</em></p> +</div> + +<p>We learn from an old list of the furniture of +Ufton Court that in a small room near to +Belinda’s Parlour there stood formerly a harpsichord +and an ombre table, the latter singularly +suggestive of the heroine of the “Rape of the +Lock.”<a id="FNanchor_12" href="#Footnote_12" class="fnanchor">[12]</a></p> + +<div class="footnotes"> + +<p><a id="Footnote_12" href="#FNanchor_12" class="label">[12]</a> See <cite>The History of Ufton Court</cite>, by H. Mary Sharp.</p> + +</div> + +<p>Two fine portraits exist of Mr. and Mrs. +Perkins, which probably hung in Belinda’s +room. They are both signed with the name of +W. Sykes, an artist who flourished in the early +part of the eighteenth century. That of Mrs. +Perkins must have been painted before her +marriage, as her maiden name is inscribed upon<span class="pagenum" id="Page_264">[264]</span> +the picture, together with two lines from the +“Rape of the Lock,” thus:—</p> + + +<p><em>Mrs. Arabella Fermor</em></p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">“<em>On her white breast a sparkling cross she wore,</em></div> + <div class="verse indent0"><em>Which Jews might kiss and Infidels adore.</em>”</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<p>The lady’s dress is of a soft greenish blue +colour so often seen in portraits of that period.</p> + +<p>The only engravings which exist of these portraits +were taken from copies of them made by +Gardner, but they are not satisfactory, and it +is to the kindness of the present owner of the +original pictures that we are indebted for permission +to reproduce them in this work.</p> + +<p>Mary Russell Mitford has written much of +Ufton Court. She delighted in wandering about +the old rambling mansion. “It retained strong +marks of former stateliness,” she writes, “in +the fine proportion of the lofty and spacious +apartments, the rich mouldings of the ceilings, +the carved chimney-pieces and panelled walls; +while the fragments of stained glass in the +windows of the great gallery, the relics of +mouldering tapestry that fluttered against the +walls, and above all the secret chamber constructed +for a priest’s hiding-place in the days +of Protestant persecution conspired to give +Mrs. Radcliffe-like Castle of Udolpho sort of +romance to the manor-house.”<span class="pagenum" id="Page_265">[265]</span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" id="i-305"> +<img src="images/i-305.jpg" alt="" width="425" height="550"> +<p class="caption center">BELINDA’S PARLOUR</p> +</div> + +<p>“The priest’s hiding-place,” she continues, +“was discovered early in the nineteenth century. +A narrow ladder led down into this +gloomy resort, and at the bottom was found a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_266">[266]</span> +crucifix. As many as a dozen carefully masked +openings into dark hiding-places have been discovered +in this storey; no doubt they were +connected one with the other, although the +clue to the labyrinth is wanting.”</p> + +<p>A broad terrace walk lies behind the Court, +and from this terrace a flight of stone steps of +quaint construction leads down to a beautiful +walled garden. Here we can imagine Belinda +and her friends enjoying the delights of a summer +evening and surveying the wide view which +lies beyond the garden of sloping fields to a +wooded valley watered by a rushing stream.</p> + +<p>A pathway of the softest turf leads from the +foot of the steps across the garden to the pillars +of a former gateway surmounted by stone balls +and flanked by two ancient gnarled yews, +which stand like sentinels to guard the entrance. +In the centre of the garden the turf +widens to a circular piece of lawn, upon which +stands an old sundial. It is surrounded by gay +flowers of all sorts, and is partly enclosed by a +rustic fence, forming a fairy garden as it were +within the great garden.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_267">[267]</span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" id="i-307"> +<img src="images/i-307.jpg" alt="" width="427" height="600"> +<p class="caption center">THE GARDEN STEPS</p> +</div> + +<p>Beyond the main boundary wall the greensward +slopes down abruptly to a chain of fish +ponds. These must have been kept neat and +trim when fish, so much needed for a Roman +Catholic household, was difficult to obtain +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_269">[269]</span>beyond the precincts of the Court. But the +ponds are beautiful in their neglected condition, +with their luxuriant growth of water plants, +their surrounding trees, whose branches are +reflected below, and the occasional glimpse of +a moorhen skimming past.</p> + +<p>Miss Mitford speaks of there being “on the +lawn in front of the mansion some magnificent +elms, splendid both in size and form, and one +gigantic broad-browed oak—the real oak of the +English forest—that must have seen many centuries.” +Its upper boughs have now gone, but +its huge trunk and lower foliage still remain.</p> + +<p>It is of this oak that a poetess of the day +wrote:—</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">“Triumphant o’er the tooth of time</div> + <div class="verse indent2">And o’er the woodman’s blade,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Yon oak still rears its head sublime</div> + <div class="verse indent2">And spreads its ample shade.”</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<p>À propos of Ufton Court, with its ingeniously +contrived hiding-places for unhappy refugees, +Miss Mitford writes: “I am indebted to my +friend Mrs. Hughes for the account of another +hiding-place in which the interest is ensured +by that charm of charms—an unsolved and +insoluble mystery.”</p> + +<p>On some alterations being projected in a large +mansion in Scotland belonging to the late Sir +George Warrender, the architect, after examining<span class="pagenum" id="Page_270">[270]</span> +and, so to say, studying the house, declared +that there was a space in the centre for which +there was no accounting, and that there must +certainly be a concealed chamber. Neither +master nor servants had ever heard of such a +thing, and the assertion was treated with some +scorn. The architect, however, persisted, and +at last proved by the sure test of measurement +... that the space he had spoken of did exist, +and as no entrance of any sort could be discovered +from the surrounding rooms it was +resolved to make an incision in the wall. A +large and lofty apartment was disclosed, richly +and completely furnished as a bed-chamber; a +large four-post bed, spread with blankets, counterpanes, +and the finest sheets was prepared for +instant occupation. The very wax lights in +the candlesticks stood ready for lighting. The +room was heavily hung and carpeted as if to +deaden sound, and was of course perfectly dark. +No token was found to indicate the intended +occupant, for it did not appear to have been +used, and the general conjecture was that the +refuge had been prepared for some unfortunate +Jacobite in the ‘15, who had either fallen into +the hands of the Government or had escaped +from the kingdom.</p> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_271">[271]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXX">CHAPTER <abbr title="30">XXX</abbr></h2> +</div> + +<p class="center">A FURTHER GLANCE AT OUR VILLAGE</p> + + +<p>Miss Mitford writes in 1830:—</p> + +<p>“Our village continues to stand pretty much +where it did, and has undergone as little change +in the last two years as any hamlet of its inches +in the county.... I have hinted that it had +a trick of standing still, of remaining stationary, +unchanged and unimproved in this most changeable +and improving world.... There it stands, +the same long straggling street of pretty cottages +divided by pretty gardens, wholly unchanged +in size or appearance, unincreased and undiminished +by a single brick.</p> + +<p>“Ah, the in-and-out cottage! the dear, dear +home!... No changes there! except that +the white kitten who sits purring at the window +under the great myrtle has succeeded to his +lamented grandfather, our beautiful Persian cat. +I cannot find an alteration. To be sure, yesterday +evening a slight misfortune happened to +our goodly tenement, occasioned by the unlucky +diligence which, under the conduct of a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_272">[272]</span> +sleepy coachman and a restive horse, contrived +to knock down and demolish the wall of our +court, and fairly to drive through the front +garden, thereby destroying sundry curious +stocks, carnations and geraniums. It is a mercy +that the unruly steed was content with battering +the wall.... There was quite din enough +without any addition. The three insides (ladies) +squalling from the interior of that commodious +vehicle; the outsides (gentlemen) swearing on +the roof; the coachman still half asleep, but +unconsciously blowing his horn; we in the +house screaming and scolding; the passers-by +shouting and hallooing; May, who little brooked +such an invasion of her territories, barking in +her tremendous lion note, and putting down the +other noises like a clap of thunder. The passengers, +coachman, horses and spectators all righted +at last, and no harm done but to my flowers +and to the wall. May, however, stands bewailing +the ruins, for that low wall was her favourite +haunt; she used to parade backwards and forwards +on the top of it as if to show herself, just +after the manner of a peacock on the top of a +house. But the wall is to be rebuilt to-morrow +with old weather-stained bricks—no patchwork! +exactly in the same form; May herself +will not find out the difference, so that in the +way of alteration this little misfortune will pass<span class="pagenum" id="Page_273">[273]</span> +for nothing. Neither have we any improvements +worth calling such, except that the +wheeler’s green door has been retouched out of +the same pot (as I judge from the tint) with +which he furbished up our new-old pony-chaise; +that the shop window of our neighbour, the +universal dealer Bromley’s, hath been beautified, +and his name and calling splendidly set forth in +yellow letters on a black ground; and that our +landlord of the ‘Rose’ has hoisted a new sign +of unparalleled splendour.”</p> + +<p>Miss Mitford happened to possess an “historic +staff” which she greatly valued, and +which had been handed down from one relative +to another from its former owner—that Duchess +of Athol and Lady of Man of whom mention +has been made in an earlier chapter.</p> + +<p>At the period we are writing of Miss Mitford +used the staff rather as an ornament than otherwise, +being then, as she says, “the best walker +of her years for a dozen miles round”; but in +later life she was glad of its support. “Now +this staff,” she writes, “one of the oldest friends +I have in the world, is pretty nearly as well +known as myself in our Berkshire village.”</p> + +<p>One day the stick was not to be found in its +usual place in the hall, “it was missing, was +gone, was lost!” A great search was made for +it far and wide. “Really, ma’am,” quoth her<span class="pagenum" id="Page_274">[274]</span> +faithful maid, “there is some comfort in the +interest the people take in the stick! If it were +anything alive—the pony, or Fanchon, or ourselves—they +could not be more sorry. Master +Brent, ma’am, at the top of the street, he +promises to speak to everybody, so does William +Wheeler, who goes everywhere, and Mrs. Bromley +at the shop; and the carrier and the postman. +I daresay the whole parish knows it by +this time! I have not been outside the gate +to-day, but a dozen people have asked me if we +had heard of <em>our</em> stick!”</p> + +<p>The bustle of the village and the anxiety of +Mary were, however, soon to be allayed. “At +ten o’clock one evening a rustling of the front +door latch was heard, together with a pattering +of little feet, then the little feet advanced into +the house and some little tongues gained +courage to tell their good news—the stick was +found!</p> + +<p>An intimate friend of Miss Mitford’s, a certain +Miss James, of Binfield Park, had been staying +for a short time at the inn hard by, on which +occasion Mary addressed the following lines to +her:—</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">“The village inn! The wood-fire burning bright,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The solitary taper’s flickering light!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The lowly couch! the casement swinging free!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">My noblest friend, was this a place for thee?</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Yet in that humble room, from all apart,</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_275">[275]</span></p> + <div class="verse indent0">We poured forth mind for mind and heart for heart,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Ranging from idlest words and tales of mirth</div> + <div class="verse indent0">To the deep mysteries of heaven and earth.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0"> +</div> +</div> +<hr class="tb"> + + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">No fitting place; yet (inconsistent strain</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And selfish) come, I prythee! come again.”</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>In a story entitled <cite>The Black Velvet Bag</cite> Miss +Mitford has given an amusing account of some +of her shopping experiences in “Belford Regis,” +her name for Reading, where the various purchases +for the small household of Three Mile +Cross were usually made.</p> + +<p>“Last Friday fortnight,” she writes, “was +one of those anomalies in the weather with +which we English people are visited for our +sins; a day of intolerable wind and insupportable +dust, an equinoctial gale out of season, a +piece of March unnaturally foisted into the very +heart of May.... On that day did I set forth +to the good town of B—— on the feminine +errand called shopping. I am a true daughter +of Eve, a dear lover of bargains and bright +colours, and, knowing this, have generally been +wise enough to keep as much as I can out of +temptation. At last a sort of necessity arose +for some slight purchases. The shopping was +inevitable, and I undertook the whole concern +at once, most heroically resolving to spend just<span class="pagenum" id="Page_276">[276]</span> +so much and no more, and half comforting +myself that I had a full morning’s work of +indispensables and should have no time for +extraneous extravagances.</p> + +<p>“There was to be sure a prodigious accumulation +of errands and wants. The evening before +they had been set down in great form on a slip +of paper headed thus—‘things wanted.’ To +how many and various catalogues that title +would apply—from him who wants a blue +riband to him who wants bread and cheese! +My list was astounding. It was written in +double columns in an invisible hand.... In +good open printing it would have cut a respectable +figure as a catalogue and filled a decent +number of pages—a priced catalogue too, for +as I had a given sum to carry to market I amused +myself with calculating the proper and probable +cost of every article, in which process I most +egregiously cheated the shop-keeper and myself +by copying with the credulity of hope from the +puffs of newspapers, and expecting to buy fine +solid wearable goods at advertising prices. In +this way I stretched my money a good deal +further than it would go, and swelled my catalogue, +so that at last, in spite of compression, +I had no room for another word, and was +obliged to crowd several small but important +articles such as cotton, laces, pins, needles,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_277">[277]</span> +shoe-strings, etc., into that very irregular and +disorderly store-house—that place where most +things deposited are lost—<em>my memory</em>, by +courtesy so called.</p> + +<p>“The written list was safely consigned, with +a well-filled purse, to my usual repository, a +black velvet bag, and the next morning I and +my bag, with its nicely balanced contents of +wants and money, were safely convoyed in a +little open carriage to the good town of B——. +There I dismounted and began to bargain most +vigorously, visiting the cheapest shops, cheapening +the cheapest articles, yet wisely buying the +strongest and the best, a little astonished at +first to find everything so much dearer than I +had set it down, yet soon reconciled to this +misfortune by the magical influence which +shopping possesses over a woman’s fancy—all +the sooner reconciled as the monetary list lay +unlooked at and unthought of in its grave +receptacle, the black velvet bag.</p> + +<p>“On I went with an air of cheerful business, +of happy importance, till my money began to +wax small. Certain small aberrations had +occurred, too, in my economy. One article that +had happened, by rare accident, to be below +my calculation, and indeed below any calculation—calico +at ninepence, fine, thick, strong, +wide calico at ninepence absolutely enchanted<span class="pagenum" id="Page_278">[278]</span> +me and I took the whole piece; then after buying +M. [material for] a gown according to order, +I saw one that I liked better and bought that +too. Then I fell in love, was actually captivated +by a sky-blue sash and handkerchief,—not the +poor, thin greeny colour which usually passes +under that dishonoured name, but the rich full +tint of the noonday sky, and a cap riband +really pink that might have vied with the inside +leaves of a moss-rose. Then in hunting after +cheapness I got into obscure shops where, not +finding what I asked for, I was fain to take +something that they had, purely to make a +compensation for the trouble of lugging out +drawers and answering questions. Lastly I was +fairly coaxed into some articles by the irresistibility +of the sellers, [in one case] by the fluent +impudence of a lying shopman who, under cover +of a well-darkened window, affirmed on his +honour that his brown satin was a perfect match +to my green pattern, and forced the said satin +down my throat accordingly. With these helps +my money melted all too fast; at half-past five +my purse was entirely empty, and as shopping +with an empty purse has by no means the relish +of shopping with a full one I was quite willing +and ready to go home to dinner, pleased as a +child with my purchases and wholly unsuspecting +the sins of omission, the errands unperformed,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_279">[279]</span> +which were the natural result of my +unconsulted <em>memoranda</em> and my treacherous +memory.</p> + +<p>“Home I returned a happy and proud +woman, wise in my own conceit, a thrifty +fashion-monger, laden like a pedlar, with huge +packages in stout brown holland tied up with +whipcord, and genteel little parcels papered +and pack-threaded in shopman-like style. At +last we were safely stowed in the pony-chaise, +which had much ado to hold us, my little black +bag as usual in my lap. When we ascended the +steep hill out of B—— a sudden puff of wind +took at once my cottage-bonnet and my large +cloak, blew the bonnet off my head so that it +hung behind me, suspended by the riband, and +fairly snapped the string of the cloak, which +flew away much in the style of John Gilpin’s +renowned in story. My companion, pitying my +plight, exerted himself manfully to regain the +fly-away garments, shoved the head into the +bonnet, or the bonnet over the head (I do not +know which phrase best describes the manœuvre), +with one hand and recovered the refractory +cloak with the other. It was wonderful what a +tug he was forced to give before that obstinate +cloak could be brought round; it was swelled +with the wind like a bladder, animated, so to +say, like a living thing, and threatened to carry<span class="pagenum" id="Page_280">[280]</span> +pony and chaise and riders and packages backward +down the hill, as if it had been a sail of a +ship. At last the contumacious garment was +mastered. We righted, and by dint of sitting +sideways and turning my back on my kind +comrade, I got home without any further damage +than the loss of my bag, which, though not +missed before the chaise had been unladen, had +undoubtedly gone by the board in the gale, and +I lamented my trusty companion without in the +least foreseeing the use it would probably be of +to my reputation.</p> + +<p>“Immediately after dinner I produced my +purchases. They were much admired, and the +quantity when spread out in our little room +being altogether dazzling, and the quality satisfactory, +the cheapness was never doubted. +Nobody calculated, and the bills being really +lost in the lost bag, and the particular prices +just as much lost in memory (the ninepenny +calico was the only article whose cost occurred +to me), I passed, without telling anything like +a fib, merely by a discreet silence, for the best +and thriftiest bargainer that ever went shopping. +After some time spent very pleasantly in admiration +on one side and display on the other +we were interrupted by the demand for some +of the little articles which I had forgotten.</p> + +<p>“‘The sewing-silk, please, ma’am.’</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_281">[281]</span></p> + +<p>“‘Sewing-silk! I don’t know—look about.’</p> + +<p>“Ah! she might look long enough! no sewing-silk +was there. ‘Very strange.’</p> + +<p>“Presently came other enquiries. ‘Where’s +the tape?’ ‘The tape!’</p> + +<p>“‘Yes, my dear; and the needles, pins, +cotton, stay-laces, boot-laces.’</p> + +<p>“‘The bobbin, the ferret, shirt buttons, shoe-strings?’ +quoth she of the sewing-silk, taking +up the cry, and forthwith began a search.... +At last she suddenly desisted from her rummage.</p> + +<p>“‘Without doubt, ma’am, they are in the +reticule, and all lost,’ said she in a very pathetic +tone.</p> + +<p>“‘Really,’ said I, a little conscious stricken, +‘I don’t recollect, perhaps I might forget.’</p> + +<p>“‘But you never could forget so many +things; besides, you wrote them down.’</p> + +<p>“‘I don’t know. I am not sure.’ But I was +not listened to; Harriet’s conjecture had been +metamorphosed into a certainty; all my sins +of omission were stowed in the reticule, and +before bed-time the little black bag held forgotten +things enough to fill a sack.</p> + +<p>“Never was reticule so lamented by all but +its owner; a boy was immediately dispatched +to look for it, and on his returning empty-handed +there was even a talk of having it cried. +My care, on the other hand, was all directed to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_282">[282]</span> +prevent its being found. I had had the good +luck to lose it in a suburb of B—— renowned +for filching, and I remembered that the street +was at that moment full of people ... so I +went to bed in the comfortable assurance that +it was gone for ever.</p> + +<p>“But there is nothing certain in this world—not +even a thief’s dishonesty. Two old women, +who had pounced at once on my valuable property, +quarrelled about the plunder, and one +of them in a fit of resentment at being cheated +of her share went to the mayor of B—— and +informed against her companion. The mayor, +an intelligent and active magistrate, immediately +took the disputed bag and all its contents into +his own possession, and as he is also a man of +great politeness he restored it as soon as possible +to the right owner. The very first thing that +saluted my eyes when I awoke in the morning +was a note from Mr. Mayor with a sealed packet. +The fatal truth was visible. There it lay, that +identical black bag, with its name-tickets, its +cambric handkerchief, its unconsulted list and +its thirteen bills.... I had recovered my reticule +and lost my reputation!”</p> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_283">[283]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXXI">CHAPTER <abbr title="31">XXXI</abbr></h2> +</div> + +<p class="center">ECCENTRIC NEIGHBOURS</p> + + +<p>Mary Russell Mitford had strong likes and +dislikes. Her American friend Mr. James T. +Fields, who knew her well, remarks:<a id="FNanchor_13" href="#Footnote_13" class="fnanchor">[13]</a> “She +loathed mere dandies, and there were no +epithets too hot for her contempt in that direction. +Old beaux she heartily despised, and +speaking of one whom she had known, I remember +she quoted with a fine scorn this appropriate +passage from Dickens: ‘Ancient, dandified +men, those crippled <em>invalides</em> from the +campaign of vanity, where the only powder was +hair-powder and the only bullets fancy balls.’”</p> + +<div class="footnotes"> + +<p><a id="Footnote_13" href="#FNanchor_13" class="label">[13]</a> See <cite>Yesterdays with Authors</cite>.</p> + +</div> + +<p>In one of her stories we come upon such a +character—Mr. Thompson as she calls him—a +gentleman who had just arrived from London, +and whom she met at the house of a friend.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Thompson was a gentleman of about—Pshaw! +nothing is so impolite as to go guessing +how many years a man may have lived in this +most excellent world, especially when it is perfectly<span class="pagenum" id="Page_284">[284]</span> +clear from his dress and demeanour that +the register of his birth is the last document +relating to himself which he would care to see +produced.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Thompson then was a gentleman of no +particular age, not quite so young as he had +been, but still in very tolerable preservation, +being pretty exactly that which is understood +by the phrase an Old Beau.”</p> + +<p>And then, after describing the very artificial +appearance of his physiognomy, she goes on to +say: “Altogether it was a head calculated to +convey a very favourable impression of the +different artists employed in getting it up.”</p> + +<p>A very different personage to the Old Beau +is described by Miss Mitford in a tale entitled +<cite>An Admiral on Shore</cite>.</p> + +<p>Admiral Floyd, for so she calls him, had +recently come with his wife to reside in the +neighbourhood, and it was when paying a call +upon them in their new home—a fine old +mansion standing in beautiful grounds, known +as the White House at Hannonby—that she +first made his acquaintance.</p> + +<p>“I had been proceeding to call on our new +neighbours,” writes Miss Mitford, “when a very +unaccountable noise induced me to pause at the +entrance; a moment’s observation explained +the nature of the sound. The Admiral was<span class="pagenum" id="Page_285">[285]</span> +shooting wasps with a pocket pistol.... There +under the shade of tall elms sat the veteran, a +little old withered man, very like a pocket pistol +himself, brown, succinct, grave and fiery. He +wore an old-fashioned naval uniform of blue, +faced with white, which set off his mahogany +countenance, drawn into a thousand deep +wrinkles.... At his side stood a very tall, +masculine, large-boned, middle-aged woman, +something like a man in petticoats, whose face, +in spite of a quantity of rouge and a small portion +of modest assurance, might still be called +handsome, and could never be mistaken for +belonging to other than an Irish woman.... +A younger lady was watching them at a little +distance apparently as much amused as myself. +On her advancing to meet me the pistol was +put down and the Admiral joined us. We were +acquainted in a moment, and before the end of +my visit he had shown me all over his house and +told me the whole history of his life and adventures.</p> + +<p>“At twelve years old he was sent to sea, and +had remained there ever since till now, when +an unlucky promotion had sent him ashore and +seemed likely to keep him there. I never saw +a man so unaffectedly displeased with his own +title.</p> + +<p>“Being, however, on land, his first object was<span class="pagenum" id="Page_286">[286]</span> +to make his residence as much like a man-of-war +as possible, or rather as much like that beau-ideal +of a habitation, his last frigate, the <em>Mermaiden</em>, +in which he had by different prizes +made above sixty thousand pounds. By that +standard his calculations were regulated. All +the furniture of the White House at Hannonby +was adapted to the proportions of His Majesty’s +ship the <em>Mermaiden</em>. The great drawing-room +was fitted up exactly on the model of her cabin, +and the whole of that spacious and commodious +mansion made to resemble as much as possible +that wonderfully inconvenient abode, the inside +of a ship; everything crammed into the smallest +possible compass, space most unnecessarily +economized and contrivances devised for all +those matters which need no contriving at all. +He victualled the house as for an East India +voyage, served out the provisions in rations, +and swung the whole family in hammocks.</p> + +<p>“It will easily be believed that these innovations +in a small village in a Midland county, +where nineteen-twentieths of the inhabitants +had never seen a piece of water larger than +Hannonby great pond, occasioned no small +commotion. The poor Admiral had his own +troubles; at first every living thing about the +place rebelled—there was a general mutiny; +the very cocks and hens, whom he had crammed<span class="pagenum" id="Page_287">[287]</span> +up in coops in the poultry yard, screamed aloud +for liberty; and the pigs, ducks and geese, +equally prisoners, squeaked and gabbled for +water; the cows lowed in their stall; the sheep +bleated in their pens; the whole livestock of +Hannonby was in durance.</p> + +<p>“The most unmanageable of these complainers +were, of course, the servants; with the +men, after a little while, he got on tolerably, +sternness and grog (the wind and sun of the +fable) conquered them. His staunchest opponents +were of the other sex, the whole tribe of +housemaids and kitchenmaids abhorred him to +a woman, and plagued and thwarted him every +hour of the day. He, on his part, returned their +aversion with interest; talked of female stupidity, +female awkwardness and female dirt, +and threatened to compound an household of +the crew of the <em>Mermaiden</em> that should shame +all the twirlers of mops and brandishers of +brooms in the county.</p> + +<p>“Especially he used to vaunt the abilities of +a certain Bill Jones as the best laundress, sempstress, +cook and housemaid in the navy; him +he was determined to procure to keep his refractory +household in some order; accordingly +he wrote to desire his presence, and Bill, unable +to resist the summons of his old commander, +arrived accordingly....</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_288">[288]</span></p> + +<p>“The dreaded major-domo turned out to be +a smart young sailor of four or five-and-twenty, +with an arch smile, a bright, merry eye and a +most knowing nod, by no means insensible to +female objurgation or indifferent to female +charms. The women of the house, particularly +the pretty ones, soon perceived their power, +and as the Admirable Crichton of His Majesty’s +ship the <em>Mermaiden</em> had amongst his other +accomplishments the address completely to +govern his master, all was soon in the smoothest +track possible.... Under his wise direction +and discreet patronage a peace was patched up +between the Admiral and his rebellious handmaids.</p> + +<p>“Soothed, guided and humoured by his +trusty adherent, and influenced perhaps by the +force of example and the effect of the land +breeze which he had never breathed so long +before, our worthy veteran soon began to show +symptoms of a man of this world. He took to +gardening and farming, for which Bill Jones +had also a taste, set free his prisoners in the +<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">basse-cour</i> to the unutterable glorification and +crowing of cock and hen and gabbling of goose +and turkey, and enlarged his own walk from +pacing backwards and forwards in the dining-room, +followed by his old shipmates, a Newfoundland +dog and a tame goat, into a stroll<span class="pagenum" id="Page_289">[289]</span> +round his own grounds, to the great delight of +those faithful attendants.</p> + +<p>“... Amongst the country people he soon +became popular. They liked the testy little +gentleman, who dispensed his beer and grog so +bountifully, and talked to them so freely. He +would have his own way to be sure, but then +he paid for it; besides, he entered into their +tastes and amusements, promoted May-games, +revels and other country sports, patronized +dancing dogs and monkeys and bespoke plays +in barns. Above all he had an exceeding partiality +for vagrants, strollers, gipsies and such +like persons, listened to their tales with a +delightful simplicity of belief, pitied them, +relieved them, fought their battles at the bench +and the vestry, and got into two or three +scrapes with constables and magistrates by the +activity of his protection.</p> + +<p>“Only one counterfeit sailor with a sham +wooden leg he found out at a question and, by +aid of Bill Jones, ducked in the horse-pond for +an impostor, till the unlucky wretch, a thorough +landlubber, was nearly drowned, an adventure +which turned out the luckiest of his life, he +having carried his case to an attorney, who +forced the Admiral to pay fifty pounds for the +exploit.</p> + +<p>“Our good veteran was equally popular<span class="pagenum" id="Page_290">[290]</span> +amongst the gentry of the neighbourhood. His +own hospitality was irresistible, and his frankness +and simplicity, mixed with a sort of petulant +vivacity, combined to make him a most +welcome relief to the dullness of a country dinner +party. He enjoyed society extremely, and even +had a spare bed erected for company, moved +thereto by an accident which befell the fat +rector of Kinton, who, having unfortunately +consented to sleep at Hannonby one wet night, +had alarmed the whole house, and nearly broken +his own neck by a fall from his hammock.... +His reading was none of the most extensive: +<cite>Robinson Crusoe</cite>, the <cite>Naval Chronicle</cite>, Southey’s +admirable <cite>Life of Nelson</cite> and Smollett’s novels +formed the greater part of his library, and for +other books he cared little.</p> + +<p>“For the rest he was a most kind and excellent +person, although a little testy and not a +little absolute, and a capital disciplinarian, +although addicted to the reverse sins of making +other people tipsy whilst he kept himself sober, +and of sending forth oaths in volleys whilst he +suffered none other to swear. He had besides +a few prejudices incident to his condition—loved +his country to the point of hating all the rest +of the world, especially the French, and regarded +his own profession with a pride which made +him intolerant of every other. To the army he<span class="pagenum" id="Page_291">[291]</span> +had an intense and growing hatred, much +augmented since victory upon victory had deprived +him of the comfortable feeling of scorn. +The battle of Waterloo fairly posed him. ‘To +be sure to have drubbed the French was a fine +thing—a very fine thing—no denying that! +but why not have fought out the quarrel by +sea?’”</p> + +<div class="figcenter" id="i-331"> +<img src="images/i-331.jpg" alt="A dandy of the period." width="404" height="550"> +</div> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_292">[292]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXXII">CHAPTER <abbr title="32">XXXII</abbr></h2> +</div> + +<p class="center">THE MAY-HOUSES</p> + + +<p>Miss Mitford delighted in all the simple +pleasures of country life, and entered into them +with the enthusiasm of youth.</p> + +<p>On a certain morning in spring-time she and +her father set out in their pony-chaise to attend +the “Maying” at Bramley.</p> + +<p>“Never was a day more congenial to a happy +purpose,” she writes. “It was a day made for +country weddings and dances on the green—a +day of dazzling light, of ardent sunshine falling +on hedgerows and meadows fresh with spring +showers.... We passed through the well-known +and beautiful scenery of W——<a id="FNanchor_14" href="#Footnote_14" class="fnanchor">[14]</a> Park +and the pretty village of M——<a id="FNanchor_15" href="#Footnote_15" class="fnanchor">[15]</a> with a feeling +of new admiration, as if we had never before +felt their charms.... On we passed gaily and +happily as far as we knew our way, perhaps a +little further, for the place of our destination +was new to both of us, when we had the luck, +good or bad, to meet with a director in the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_293">[293]</span>person of the butcher of M——. He soon gave +us the customary and unintelligible directions +as to lanes and turnings, first to the right, then +to the left, etc....</p> + +<div class="footnotes"> +<p><a id="Footnote_14" href="#FNanchor_14" class="label">[14]</a> Wokefield Park.</p> +</div> + +<div class="footnotes"> +<p><a id="Footnote_15" href="#FNanchor_15" class="label">[15]</a> Mortimer.</p> +</div> + +<p>“On we went, twisting and turning through +a labyrinth of lanes ... till we came suddenly +on a solitary farm-house which had one solitary +inmate, a smiling, middle-aged woman, who +came to us and offered her services with the +most alert civility.</p> + +<p>“All her boys and girls were gone to the Maying, +she said, and she remained to keep house.</p> + +<p>“‘The Maying! We are near Bramley then? +Is there no carriage road? Where are we?’</p> + +<p>“‘At Silchester, close to the walls, only half +a mile from the church.’</p> + +<p>“‘At Silchester!’ and in ten minutes we +had said a thankful farewell to our kind informant, +had retraced our steps a little, had turned +up another lane, and found ourselves at the foot +of that commanding spot which antiquaries call +the amphitheatre, close under the walls of the +Roman city.”</p> + +<p>Miss Mitford has written the following lines +on this striking scene:—</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">“Firm as rocks thy ruins stand</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And hem around thy fertile land;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">That land where once a city fair</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Flourished and pour’d her thousands there:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Where now the waving cornfields glow</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_294">[294]</span></p> + <div class="verse indent0">And trace thy wide streets as they grow.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Ah! chronicle of ages gone,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Thou dwellest in thy pride alone.”</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<p>“Under the walls,” she continues, “I [met] +an old acquaintance, the schoolmaster of Silchester, +who happened to be there in his full +glory, playing the part of cicerone to a party +of ladies, and explaining far more than he knows, +or than anyone knows of streets and gates and +sites of temples, which, by the way, the worthy +pedagogue usually calls parish churches. I +never was so glad to see him in my life, never +thought he could have spoken with so much +sense and eloquence as were comprised in the +two words ‘straight forward,’ by which he +answered our enquiry as to the road to Bramley.</p> + +<p>“And forward we went by a way beautiful +beyond description, and left the venerable walls +behind us.... But I must loiter on the road +no longer. Our various delays of a broken +bridge—a bog—another wrong turning—and a +meeting with a loaded waggon in a lane too +narrow to pass—all this must remain untold.</p> + +<p>“At last we reached a large farm-house at +Bramley; another mile remained to the Green, +but that was impassable. Nobody thinks of +riding at Bramley.... We must walk, but +the appearance of gay crowds of rustics, all<span class="pagenum" id="Page_295">[295]</span> +passing along one path, gave assurance that +this time we should not lose our way.... +Cross two fields more and up a quiet lane and +we are at the Maying, announced afar off by +the merry sound of music and the merrier +clatter of childish voices. Here we are at the +Green, a little turfy spot where three roads +meet, close, shut in by hedgerows, with a pretty +white cottage and its long slip of a garden at +one angle.... In the midst grows a superb +horse-chestnut in the full glory of its flowery +pyramids, and from the trunk of this chestnut +the May-houses commence. They are covered +alleys built of green boughs, decorated with +garlands and great bunches of flowers—the +gayest that blow—lilacs, guelder roses, peonies, +tulips, stocks—hanging down like chandeliers +among the dancers; for of dancers, gay, dark-eyed +young girls in straw bonnets and white +gowns, and their lovers in their Sunday attire, +the May-houses were full. The girls had mostly +the look of extreme youth, and danced well and +quietly like ladies—too much so.... Outside +was the fun. It is the outside, the upper +gallery of the world that has that good thing. +There were children laughing, eating, trying to +cheat and being cheated round an ancient and +practised vender of oranges and ginger-bread; +and on the other side of the tree lay a merry<span class="pagenum" id="Page_296">[296]</span> +group of old men.... That group would have +suited Teniers; it smoked and drank a little, +but it laughed a great deal more. There were +... young mothers strolling about with infants +in their arms, and ragged boys peeping +through the boughs at the dancers, and the +bright sun shining gloriously on all this innocent +happiness. Oh, what a pretty sight it was—worth +losing our way for!”</p> + +<p>We hear of another Maying which took place +in a neighbouring hamlet of “Our Village,” +which Miss Mitford calls Whitley Wood, into +which narrative is interwoven an amusing +account of the love affairs of mine host of the +“Rose”—the village inn hard by the Mitfords’ +cottage.</p> + +<p>“Landlord Sims, the master of the revels,” +writes Miss Mitford, “and our very good neighbour, +is a portly, bustling man of five-and-forty +or thereabout, with a hale, jovial visage, a merry +eye, a pleasant smile and a general air of good-fellowship.... +There is not a better companion +or a more judicious listener in the +county.... No one can wonder at Master +Sim’s popularity.</p> + +<p>“After his good wife’s death this popularity +began to extend itself in a remarkable manner +amongst the females of the neighbourhood. +[His] Betsy and Letty were good little girls,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_297">[297]</span> +quick, civil and active, yet, poor things, what +could such young girls know of a house like the +‘Rose’? All would go to rack and ruin without +the eye of a mistress! Master Sims must look +out for a wife. So thought the whole female +world, and apparently Master Sims began to +think so himself.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" id="i-337"> +<img src="images/i-337.jpg" alt="" width="500" height="399"> +<p class="caption center">OLD SHOEING FORGE</p> +</div> + +<p>“The first fair one to whom his attention was +directed was a rosy, pretty widow, a pastry-cook +of the next town who arrived in our village on +a visit to her cousin the baker for the purpose +of giving confectionery lessons to his wife. +Nothing was ever so hot as that courtship. +During the week that the lady of pie-crust<span class="pagenum" id="Page_298">[298]</span> +stayed, her lover almost lived in the oven.... +It would be a most suitable match, as all the +parish agreed.... And when our landlord +carried her back to B—— in his new-painted +green cart all the village agreed that they were +gone to be married, and the ringers were just +setting up a peal when Master Sims returned +alone, single, crestfallen, dejected; the bells +stopped of themselves, and we heard no more +of the pretty pastry-cook. For three months +after that rebuff mine host, albeit not addicted +to assertions, testified an equal dislike to women +and tartlets, widows and plum-cake....</p> + +<p>“The fit, however, wore off in time, and he +began again to follow the advice of his neighbours +and to look out for a wife, up street and +down street.... The down-street lady was a +widow also, the portly, comely relict of our +drunken village blacksmith, who began to find +her shop, her journeymen and her eight children +... rather more than a lone woman could +manage, and to sigh for a helpmate to ease her +of her cares.... Master Sims was the coadjutor +on whom she had inwardly pitched, and +accordingly she threw out broad hints to that +effect every time she encountered him ... and +Mr. Sims was far too gallant and too much in +the habit of assenting to listen unmoved ... +and the whispers and smiles and hand-pressings<span class="pagenum" id="Page_299">[299]</span> +were becoming very tender.... This was his +down-street flame.</p> + +<p>“The rival lady was Miss Lydia Day, the +carpenter’s sister, a slim, upright maiden, not +remarkable for beauty and not quite so young +as she had been, who, on inheriting a small +annuity from the mistress with whom she had +spent the best of her days, retired to her native +village to live on her means. A genteel, demure, +quiet personage was Miss Lydia Day, much +addicted to snuff and green tea, and not averse +to a little gentle scandal—for the rest a good +sort of woman and <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">un très bon parti</i> for Master +Sims, who ... made love to her whenever she +came into his head.... Remiss as he was, he +had no lack of encouragement to complain of—for +she ... put on her best silk, and her best +simper, and lighted up her faded complexion +into something approaching a blush whenever +he came to visit her. And this was Master Sims’ +up-street love.</p> + +<p>“So stood affairs at the ‘Rose’ when the +day of the Maying arrived, and the double +flirtation ... proved on this occasion extremely +useful. Each of the ladies contributed +her aid to the festival, Miss Lydia by tying up +sentimental garlands for the May-house ... +the widow by giving her whole bevy of boys +and girls a holiday and turning them loose in<span class="pagenum" id="Page_300">[300]</span> +the neighbourhood to collect flowers as they +could. Very useful auxiliaries were these eight +foragers; they scoured the country far and near—irresistible +mendicants, pardonable thieves!</p> + +<p>“... By the time a cricket match [which +opened proceedings] was over the world began +to be gay at Whitley Wood. Carts and gigs and +horses and carriages and people of all sorts +arrived from all quarters.... Fiddlers, ballad-singers, +cake, baskets—Punch—Master Frost +crying cherries—a Frenchman with dancing +dogs—a Bavarian woman selling brooms—half +a dozen stalls with fruit and frippery—and +twenty noisy games of quoits and bowls and +ninepins gave to the assemblage the bustle, +clatter and gaiety of a Dutch fair. Plenty of +eating in the booths ... and landlord Sims +bustling everywhere, assisted by the little light-footed +maidens, his daughters, all smiles and +curtsies, and by a pretty black-eyed young +woman—name unknown—with whom, even in +the midst of his hurry, he found time, as it +seemed to me, for a little philandering. What +would the widow and Miss Lydia have said? +But they remained in happy ignorance—the +one drinking tea in most decorous primness in +a distant marquee, the other in full chase after +the most unlucky of all her urchins.</p> + +<p>“Meanwhile the band struck up in the Mayhouse,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_301">[301]</span> +and the dance, after a little dinner, was +fairly set afloat—an honest English country +dance—with ladies and gentlemen at the top +and country lads and lassies at the bottom; a +happy mixture of cordial kindness on the one +hand and pleased respect on the other. It was +droll though to see the beplumed and beflowered +French hats, the silks and the furbelows sailing +and rustling amidst the straw bonnets and +cotton gowns of the humbler dancers.</p> + +<p>“Well! the dance finished, the sun went +down, and we departed. The Maying is over, +the booths carried away and the May-house +demolished. Everything has fallen into its old +position except the love affairs of landlord Sims. +The pretty lass with the black eyes, who first +made her appearance at Whitley Wood, is +actually staying at the Rose Inn on a visit to +his daughters, and the village talk goes that +she is to be the mistress of that thriving hostelry +and the wife of its master.... Nobody knows +exactly who the black-eyed damsel may be—but +she’s young and pretty and civil and modest, +and without intending to depreciate the merits +of either of her competitors, I cannot help +thinking that our good neighbour has shown +his taste.”</p> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_302">[302]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXXIII">CHAPTER <abbr title="33">XXXIII</abbr></h2> +</div> + +<p class="center">WALKS IN THE COUNTRY</p> + + +<p>The above title is given to many a delightful +ramble to which Mary Russell Mitford takes +her readers.</p> + +<p>Writing one day in the month of June, she +exclaims: “What a glowing, glorious day! +Summer in its richest prime, noon in its most +sparkling brightness, little white clouds dappling +the deep blue sky, and the sun, now partially +veiled and now bursting through them with an +intensity of light.... We are going to drive +to the old house at Aberleigh, to spend a morning +under the shade of those balmy firs and +amongst those luxuriant rose trees and by the +side of that brimming Loddon river.</p> + +<p>“‘Do not expect us before six o’clock,’ said +I as I left the house.</p> + +<p>“‘Six at soonest,’ added my charming companion, +and off we drove in our little pony-chaise +drawn by an old mare, and with the good-humoured +urchin, Henry’s successor, who takes +care of horse and chaise, and cow and garden +for our charioteer.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_303">[303]</span></p> + +<p>“My comrade ... Emily is a person whom +it is a privilege to know. She is quite like a +creation of the older poets, and might pass for +one of Shakespeare’s or Fletcher’s women +stepped into life; just as tender, as playful, as +gentle and as kind....</p> + +<div class="figcenter" id="i-343"> +<img src="images/i-343.jpg" alt="" width="530" height="550"> +<p class="caption center">BRIDGE ON THE LODDON</p> +</div> + +<p>“But here we are at the bridge! Here we +must alight! ‘This is the Loddon, Emily. Is<span class="pagenum" id="Page_304">[304]</span> +it not a beautiful river? rising level with its +banks, so clear and smooth and peaceful ... +bearing on its pellucid stream the snowy water-lily, +the purest of flowers, which sits enthroned +on its own cool leaves looking chastity itself, +like the lady in Comus ...’. We must dismount +here and leave Richard to take care of +our equipage under the shade of these trees +whilst we walk up to the house. See, there it +is! We must cross this stile, there is no other +way now.</p> + +<p>“And crossing the stile we were immediately +... in full view of the Great House, a beautiful +structure of James the First time, whose glassless +windows and dilapidated doors form a +melancholy contrast with the strength and entireness +of the rich and massive front. The +story of that ruin—for such it is—is always to +me singularly affecting. It is that of the decay +of an ancient and distinguished family gradually +reduced from the highest wealth and station to +actual poverty.... But here we are in the +smooth, grassy ride on the top of a steep turfy +slope descending to the river, crowned with +enormous firs and limes of equal growth, looking +across the winding waters into a sweet, peaceful +landscape of quiet meadows, shut in by distant +woods. What a fragrance is in the air from +the balmy fir trees and the blossomed limes!<span class="pagenum" id="Page_305">[305]</span> +What an intensity of odour! And what a murmur +of bees in the lime trees! And what a +pleasant sound it is! the pleasantest of busy +sounds, that which comes associated with all +that is good and beautiful—industry and forecast, +and sunshine and flowers.</p> + +<p>“Emily exclaimed in admiration as we stood +under the deep, strong, leafy shadow and still +more ... when roses, really trees, almost intercepted +our passage.</p> + +<p>“‘On, Emily! farther yet! Force your way +by that jessamine—it will yield; I will take +care of this stubborn white rose bough.’ ... +After we won our way through that strait, at +some expense of veils and flounces, she stopped +to contemplate and admire the tall, graceful +shrub whose long, thorny stems, spreading in +every direction, had opposed our progress, and +now waved those delicate clusters over our +heads.... ‘What an exquisite fragrance!’ +she exclaimed, ‘and what a beautiful flower! +so pale and white and tender, and the petals +thin and smooth as silk! What rose is it?’</p> + +<p>“‘Don’t you know? Did you never see it +before? It is rare now, I believe, and seems +rarer than it is because it only blossoms in very +hot summers; but this, Emily, is the musk-rose—that +very musk-rose of which Titania talks, +and which is worthy of Shakespeare and of her.’”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_306">[306]</span></p> + +<p>Having reached some steps that led to a +square summer-house, formerly a banqueting-hall +with a boat-house beneath it, they were +soon close to the old mansion. “But it looked +sad and desolate,” remarks Miss Mitford, “and +the entrance, choked with brambles and nettles, +seemed almost to repel our steps.”</p> + +<p>Later on a halt was made on the further side +of the river for “Emily” to take a sketch, and +this entailed “a delicious walk, when the sun, +having gone in, a reviving coolness seemed to +breathe over the water,” and, lastly, a drive +home amid the lengthening shadows. So ended +their pleasant jaunt.</p> + +<p>The old house known now as Arborfield +House was rebuilt some years after Miss Mitford +knew it. The style is, of course, quite +modern, but the beautiful grounds, with their +magnificent trees and the river winding through +them, remain unchanged, together with the +luxuriant flower gardens, but which are now +carefully tended. We have wandered through +those grounds and have seen the poplars and +acacias and firs gracefully blending their foliage +together as she has described them.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_307">[307]</span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" id="i-347"> +<img src="images/i-347.jpg" alt="" width="331" height="550"> +<p class="caption center">IN ABERLEIGH PARK</p> +</div> + +<p>Miss Mitford had a decided liking for gipsies, +and they often figure in her village stories. +“There is nothing under the sun,” she writes, +“that harmonizes so well with nature, especially<span class="pagenum" id="Page_309">[309]</span><span class="pagenum" id="Page_308">[308]</span> +in her woodland recesses, as that picturesque +people who are, so to say, the wild genus—the +pheasants and roebucks of the human +race.”</p> + +<p>In one of these tales, after describing a spot of +singularly wild beauty some miles distant from +her home, where a dark deep pool lay beneath +the shade of great trees, she says:—</p> + +<p>“In this lovely place I first saw our gipsies. +They had pitched their little tent under one of +the oak trees.... The party consisted only of +four—an old crone in a tattered red cloak and +black bonnet who was stooping over a kettle +of which the contents were probably as savoury +as that of Meg Merrilees, renowned in story; a +pretty black-eyed girl at work under the trees; +a sunburnt urchin of eight or nine, collecting +sticks and dead leaves to feed their out-of-door +fire; and a slender lad two or three years older, +who lay basking in the sun, with a couple of +shabby dogs of the sort called mongrel in all +the joy of idleness, whilst a grave, patient +donkey stood grazing hard by. It was a pretty +picture, with its soft autumnal sky, its rich +woodiness, its sunshine, its verdure, the light +smoke curling from the fire, and the group +disposed around so harmless poor outcasts! +and so happy—a beautiful picture! I stood +gazing at it till I was half ashamed to look<span class="pagenum" id="Page_310">[310]</span> +longer, and came away half afraid that they +should depart before I could see them again.</p> + +<p>“This fear I soon found to be groundless. +The old gipsy was a celebrated fortune-teller.... +The whole village rang with the predictions +of this modern Cassandra.... I myself +could not help admiring the real cleverness, the +genuine gipsy tact with which she adapted her +foretellings to the age, the habits and the known +desires and circumstances of her clients.</p> + +<p>“To our little pet Lizzie, for instance, a +damsel of seven, she predicted a fairing; to Ben +Kirby, a youth of thirteen, head batter of the +boys, a new cricket ball; to Ben’s sister Lucy, +a girl some three years his senior, a pink top-knot; +whilst for Miss Sophia Matthews, an +old-maidish schoolmistress ... she foresaw +one handsome husband; and for the smart +widow Simmons two, etc. etc.</p> + +<p>“No wonder that all the world—that is to +say all our world—were crazy to have their +fortunes told—to enjoy the pleasure of hearing +from such undoubted authority that what they +wished to be should be. Amongst the most +eager to take a peep into futurity was our +pretty maid Harriet; although her desire took +the not unusual form of disclamation, ‘nothing +should induce her to have her fortune told, +nothing upon earth!’ ‘She never thought of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_311">[311]</span> +the gipsy, not she!’ and to prove the fact she said +so at least twenty times a day. Now Harriet’s +fortune seemed told already; her destiny was +fixed. She, the belle of the village, was engaged, +as everybody knows, to our village beau Joel +Brent; they were only waiting for a little +more money to marry.... But Harriet, besides +being a beauty, was a coquette, and her affections +for her betrothed did not interfere with +certain flirtations which came like Isabella +‘by the by,’ and occasionally cast a shadow of +coolness between the lovers. There had probably +been a little fracas in the present instance, +for she [remarked] ‘that none but fools believed +in gipsies; that Joel had had his fortune told +and wanted to treat her to a prophecy, but she +was not such a simpleton.’</p> + +<p>“About half an hour after the delivery of +this speech I happened, when tying up a +chrysanthemum, to go to our wood yard for a +stick of proper dimensions and there, enclosed +between the faggot pile and the coal shed, stood +the gipsy in the very act of palmistry, conning +the lines of fate in Harriet’s hand.... She was +listening too intently to see me, but the fortune-teller +did, and stopped so suddenly that her +attention was awakened and the intruder discovered.</p> + +<p>“Harriet at first meditated a denial. She<span class="pagenum" id="Page_312">[312]</span> +called up a pretty unconcerned look, answered +my silence (for I never spoke a word) by muttering +something about ‘coals for the parlour,’ +and catching up my new-painted green watering-pot +instead of the coal-scuttle began filling +it with all her might ... [while making] divers +signs to the gipsy to decamp. The old sybil, +however, budged not a foot, influenced probably +by two reasons, one the hope of securing a +customer in the new-comer, whose appearance +is generally, I am afraid, the very reverse of +dignified, rather merry than wise, the other a +genuine fear of passing through the yard gate +on the outside of which a much more imposing +person, my greyhound Mayflower, who has a +sort of beadle instinct anent drunkards and +pilferers and disorderly persons of all sorts, +stood barking most furiously.</p> + +<p>“... But the fair consulter of destiny, who +had by this time recovered from the shame of +her detection, extricated us from our dilemma +by smuggling the old woman away through the +house.</p> + +<p>“Of course, Harriet was exposed to some +raillery and a good deal of questioning about +her future fate, as to which she preserved an +obstinate but evidently satisfied silence. At +the end of three days, however, [the prescribed +period] when all the family except herself had<span class="pagenum" id="Page_313">[313]</span> +forgotten the story, our pretty soubrette, half +bursting with the long retention, took the +opportunity of lacing on my new half-boots to +reveal the prophecy. ‘She was to see within +the week, and this was Saturday, the young +man, the real young man, whom she was to +marry.’</p> + +<p>“‘Why, Harriet, you know, poor Joel.’</p> + +<p>“‘Joel indeed! the gipsy said that the young +man, the real young man, was to ride up to the +house dressed in a dark great-coat (and Joel +never wore a great-coat in his life—all the +world knew that he wore smock-frocks and +jackets) and mounted on a white horse—and +where should Joel get a white horse?’</p> + +<p>“‘Had this real young man made his appearance +yet?’</p> + +<p>“‘No; there had not been a white horse +past the place since Tuesday; so it must certainly +be to-day.’</p> + +<p>“A good look-out did Harriet keep for white +horses during this fateful Saturday, and plenty +did she see. It was the market day at B——, +and team after team came by with one, two and +three white horses; cart after cart and gig +after gig, each with a white steed; Colonel +M——‘s carriage, with its prancing pair—but +still no horseman. At length one appeared, but +he had a great-coat whiter than the animal he<span class="pagenum" id="Page_314">[314]</span> +rode; another, but he was old farmer Lewington, +a married man; a third, but he was little +Lord L——, a schoolboy on his Arabian pony. +Besides, they all passed the house....</p> + +<p>“At last, just at dusk, just as Harriet, making +believe to close our casement shutters, was +taking her last peep up the road something +white appeared in the distance coming leisurely +down the hill. Was it really a horse? Was it +not rather Titus Strong’s cow driving home to +milking? A minute or two dissipated that +fear; it certainly was a horse, and as certainly +it had a dark rider. Very slowly he descended +the hill, pausing most provokingly at the end +of the village, as if about to turn up the Vicarage +lane. He came on, however, and after another +short stop at the ‘Rose,’ rode full up to our +little gate, and catching Harriet’s hand as she +was opening the wicket, displayed to the half-pleased, +half-angry damsel the smiling, triumphant +face of her own Joel Brent, equipped in +a new great-coat and mounted on his master’s +newly purchased market nag. Oh, Joel! Joel! +The gipsy! the gipsy!”</p> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_315">[315]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXXIV">CHAPTER <abbr title="34">XXXIV</abbr></h2> +</div> + +<p class="center">A CENTRE OF INTEREST</p> + + +<p>As Mary Russell Mitford’s fame as a writer +began to spread wider and wider her cottage +became a centre of interest and attraction to +all those who had learnt to love her works. +Her chief biographer<a id="FNanchor_16" href="#Footnote_16" class="fnanchor">[16]</a>—a contemporary—writes:</p> + +<div class="footnotes"> + +<p><a id="Footnote_16" href="#FNanchor_16" class="label">[16]</a> Rev. A. G. L’Estrange.</p> + +</div> + +<p>“In the summer time when she gave strawberry +parties, the road leading to the cottage +was crowded with the carriages of all the rank +and fashion in the county. By example as +well as precept she ‘brightened the path along +which she dwelt.’ Her kindly nature did not +exhaust itself in a girlish enthusiasm for pets and +flowers, but went forth to meet her fellow-men +and women whose virtues seemed to expand +and whose faults to vanish at her approach.”</p> + +<p>Her conversation had a peculiar charm, considered +by some “to be even better than her +books,” delivered, as it was, by a “voice beautiful +as a chime of bells.”</p> + +<p>It was in the year 1847 that Miss Mitford<span class="pagenum" id="Page_316">[316]</span> +first made the acquaintance of Mr. James T. +Fields—a distinguished American—both author +and publisher—whose “bright, genial, vivacious +letters” and “spirited lectures on ‘Charles +Lamb,’ ‘Longfellow,’ and others” are highly +spoken of by contemporaries.</p> + +<p>Mr. Fields writes in his interesting book +entitled <cite>Yesterday with Authors</cite>:—</p> + +<p>“It was a fortunate hour for me when kind-hearted +John Kenyon said, as I was leaving +his hospitable door in London one summer +midnight: ‘you must know my friend Miss +Mitford. She lives directly in the line of your +route to Oxford, and you must call with my +card and make her acquaintance.’ The day +selected for my call at her cottage door happened +to be a perfect one in which to begin an acquaintance +with the lady of ‘Our Village.’ She +was then living at Three Mile Cross ... on +the high road between Basingstoke and Reading +[where] the village street contained the public-house +and several small shops near-by. There +was also close at hand the village pond full of +ducks and geese, and I noticed several young +rogues on their way to school were occupied in +worrying their feathered friends. The windows +of the cottage were filled with flowers, and +cowslips and violets were plentifully scattered +about the little garden. I remember the room<span class="pagenum" id="Page_317">[317]</span> +into which I was shown was sanded, and a quaint +old clock behind the door was marking off the +hour in small but loud pieces. The cheerful +lady called to me from the head of the stairs to +come up into her sitting-room. I sat down by +the open window to converse with her, and it +was pleasant to see how the village children, as +they went by, stopped to bow and curtsy. +One curly-headed urchin made bold to take off +his well-worn cap, and waited to be recognized +as ‘little Johnny.’ ‘No great scholar,’ said +the kind-hearted lady to me, ‘but a sad rogue +among our flock of geese. Only yesterday the +young marauder was detected by my maid +with a plump gosling stuffed half-way into his +pocket!’ While she was thus discoursing of +Johnny’s peccadilloes, the little fellow looked up +with a knowing expression, and very soon +caught in his cap a ginger-bread dog which she +threw to him from the window. ‘I wish he +loved his book as well as he relishes sweet cakes,’ +she sighed, as the boy kicked up his heels and +disappeared down the lane....</p> + +<p>“From that day our friendship continued, +and during other visits to England I saw her +frequently, driving about the country with her +in her pony-chaise and spending many happy +hours in the new cottage which she afterwards +occupied at Swallowfield.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_318">[318]</span></p> + +<p>“... She was always cheerful and her talk +is delightful to remember. From girlhood she +had known and been intimate with most of the +prominent writers of her time, and her observations +and reminiscences were so shrewd and +pertinent that I have scarcely known her equal.</p> + +<p>“When she talked of Munden and Bannister +and Fawcett and Emery, those delightful old +actors for whom she had such an exquisite +relish, she said they had made comedy to her +a living art full of laughter and tears. How +often have I heard her describe John Kemble, +Mrs. Siddons, Miss O’Neil and Edmund Kean, as +they were wont to electrify the town in her +girlhood! With what gusto she reproduced +Elliston, who was one of her prime favourites, +and tried to make me, through her representation +of him, feel what a spirit there was in the +man....</p> + +<p>“I well remember, one autumn evening, when +half a dozen friends were sitting in her library +after dinner, talking with her of Tom Taylor’s +life of Haydon, then lately published, how +graphically she described to us the eccentric +painter whose genius she was among the foremost +to recognize. The flavour of her discourse +I cannot reproduce; but I was too much +interested in what she was saying to forget +the main incidents she drew for our edification<span class="pagenum" id="Page_319">[319]</span> +during those pleasant hours now far away in +the past.”</p> + +<p>William Howett had paid a visit to the +cottage at Three Mile Cross in the late summer +of 1835, which he described in an article that +appeared in the <cite>Athenæum</cite>. As he drove from +Reading he says:—</p> + +<p>“The sound of the sheep bells came pleasantly +from the pastures where the eye ranged over +wide level fields cleared of their corn and all the +wayside was hung with such heavy and jetty +clusters of blackberries as scarcely ever were +seen in another place.... And now I came to +the sweetest lanes branching off right and left +under trees that met across them and lo! +‘Three Mile Cross!’ ‘But which is Miss +Mitford’s cottage?’ That was the question +I asked of two women that stood in the street. +‘Oh, sir, you’ve passed it. It is where that green +bush hangs over the wall.’ I knocked and who +came but Ben Kirby and no other, and who +quickly presented herself but Mary Russell +Mitford! The very person that every reader +must suppose her to be, the sunny-spirited, +cordial-hearted, frank, kind, unaffected, genuine, +English lady.</p> + +<p>“We had known each other before, though we +had never seen each other, and we shook hands +as old true friends should do; and in the next<span class="pagenum" id="Page_320">[320]</span> +moment passed through that ‘nut-shell of a +house’ (her own true expression) into a perfect +paradise of flowers, and flowering fragrance. +We passed along the garden into the conservatory, +and found her father Dr. Mitford, the +worthy magistrate, and two accomplished ladies +her friends.</p> + +<p>“Now, if anyone should ask me to describe +more particularly this place what can I say +but that it is most graphically described by +the writer herself? Has she not told you that +her garden is her great delight? Has she not +told you that in summer she and her honoured +father live principally in the conservatory +(a ‘rural arcade’ as she calls it) and is it +not so? And is it not a sweet summer abode +with that glowing, odorous bee-haunted garden +all lying before it?</p> + +<p>“As we drove [later] along those umbrageous +lanes, and crossed the sweet pastoral Loddon, +she stayed her pony phaeton [at times] to admire +some goodly house, or picturesque parsonage, +[and I noticed that] every rustic face +we met brightened into smiles, and for every +one she had a counter smile, or a kind passing +word. Everything you see of her only shows +how truly she has spread the vitality of her +heart over her pages, and everything you see +of the country with what accuracy she sketches.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_321">[321]</span></p> + +<p>Mary was much pleased and touched by +this graceful and warm-hearted account by +Mr. Howett of his visit to Three Mile Cross, +and she wrote to him on the subject.</p> + +<p>In his answer, written at Nottingham, after +expressing his great satisfaction at her pleasure, +he goes on to say: “I shall send you a paper +to-morrow containing the account of the great +cricket match played here between Sussex and +Nottingham.... We wished you had been +there—a more animated sight of the kind you +never saw....</p> + +<p>“I could not help seeing what a wide difference +twenty years has produced in the character +of the English population. What a contrast +in this play to bull-baiting and cock-fighting! +So orderly, so manly, so generous in its character.... +A sport that has no drawback of +cruelty or vulgarity in it, but has every recommendation +of skill, taste, health and generous +rivalry. You, dear Miss Mitford,” he continues, +“have done a great deal to promote this better +spirit, and you could not have done more had +you been haranguing Parliament, and bringing +in bills for the purpose.”</p> + +<p>There are many letters extant from Mary +Howett to Miss Mitford, and we should like to +give the following written in February, 1836: +“This new edition of <cite>Our Village</cite> I have been<span class="pagenum" id="Page_322">[322]</span> +coveting ever since I saw the advertisement +of it, and I will tell you why. It is one of those +cheerful, spirited works, full of fair pictures +of humanity which, especially when there are +children who love reading, and being read to, +becomes a household book, turned to again +and again, and remembered and talked of +with affection. So it is by our fireside, it is a +work our little daughter has read and loves to +read, and which our little son Alfred, a most indomitable +young gentleman, likes especially.... +He is as yet a bad reader and therefore he is +read to; and his cry is ‘Read me the <cite>Copse</cite>!’ +or ‘Read me the <cite>Nutting</cite>,’ or a ‘<cite>Ramble into +the Country</cite>!’</p> + +<p>“Such, dear Miss Mitford, being the case +when I saw the new edition advertised, I began +to cast in my mind whether or not we could +buy it, for perhaps you know that <em>literary</em> +people, though <em>makers</em> of books, are not exclusive +<em>buyers</em> thereof, you may think then what +was my delight—and the delight of us all—when +a parcel came in, the string was cut, and +behold it contained no other than those long-coveted +and favourite volumes! Thank you, +therefore, dearest Miss Mitford; you have conferred +a benefit upon our fireside which will +make you even more beloved than formerly, +for now we shall always have you at hand.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_323">[323]</span></p> + +<p>Miss Mitford held communion either personally +or by correspondence with several warm-hearted +Americans, besides her friend Mr. +James T. Fields.</p> + +<p>George Ticknor, the celebrated author of +<cite>The History of Spanish Literature</cite>, and a partner +in Mr. Fields’ publishing firm, when on a visit +to England in 1835, made a pilgrimage with +his family to Three Mile Cross. He writes in +his diary of this visit:—</p> + +<p>“We found Miss Mitford living literally in +a cottage neither <em>ornée</em> nor poetical, except +inasmuch as it had a small garden, crowded +with the richest and most beautiful profusion of +flowers. She has the simplest and kindest +manners, and entertained us for two hours +with the most animated conversation, and a +great variety of anecdote, without any of the +pretensions of an author by profession, and +without any of the stiffness that generally +belongs to single ladies of her age and reputation.”</p> + +<p>Writing to her afterwards he says: “We +shall none of us ever forget the truly delightful +evening we spent in your cottage at ‘Our +Village.’”</p> + +<p>Daniel Webster, the orator and patriot so +greatly valued in the United States, also made +his appearance in Three Mile Cross, together<span class="pagenum" id="Page_324">[324]</span> +with some members of his family, in their +transit from Oxford to Windsor.</p> + +<p>“My local position between these two points +of attraction,” writes Mary, “has often procured +for me the gratification of seeing my +American friends when making that journey; +but during <em>this</em> visit a little circumstance +occurred so characteristic, so graceful, and so +gracious that I cannot resist the temptation +of relating it.</p> + +<p>“Walking in my cottage garden we talked +naturally of the roses and pinks that surrounded +us, and of the different indigenous +flowers of our island and of the United States.... +We spoke of the primrose and the cowslip +immortalized by Shakespeare and by Milton; +and the sweet-scented violets, both white and +purple of our hedgerows and our lanes; that +known as the violet [yellow] being, I suspect, +the little wild pansy (viola tricolor) renowned +as the love-in-idleness of Shakespeare’s famous +compliment to Queen Elizabeth.... I expressed +an interest in two flowers known to me +only by the vivid descriptions of Miss Martineau; +the scarlet lily of New York and of +the Canadian woods, and the original gentian +of Niagara. I observed that our illustrious +guest made some remark to one of the ladies +of his party; but I little expected that so soon<span class="pagenum" id="Page_325">[325]</span> +after his return as seeds of these plants could be +procured, I should receive a packet of each, +signed and directed by his own hand. How +much pleasure these little kindnesses give! +And how many such have come to me from +over the same wide ocean!”</p> + +<p>On New Year’s Day, 1830, Mrs. Mitford died +after a short illness. An affecting account of +her last hours was written by her daughter, in +which she says: “No human being was ever +so devoted to her duties—so just, so pious, so +charitable, so true, so feminine, so generous.... +Never thinking of herself, the most devoted +wife and the most faithful friend. She died in +a good old age, universally beloved and respected.”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Mitford was buried in Shinfield Church—the +parish church of Three Mile Cross and the +other surrounding villages where the Mitfords +used to worship. We have visited the place, +which does not seem to have changed much +since Miss Mitford described it in one of her +village stories.</p> + +<p>She speaks of “the tower of the old village +church fancifully ornamented with brick-work, +and of the churchyard planted with broad +flowering limes and funereal yew-trees, also +of a short avenue of magnificent oaks leading +up to the church.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_326">[326]</span></p> + +<p>“It stands,” she says, “amidst a labyrinth +of green lanes running through a hilly and +richly wooded country whose valleys are +threaded by the silver Loddon.”</p> + +<p>In the month of June of this same year Mary +received an interesting letter from the American +authoress, Miss Sedgwick, whose works, especially +those for children, were much read in this +country some years ago.</p> + +<p>“You cannot,” she remarks, “be ignorant +that your books are re-printed and widely +circulated on this side of the Atlantic, but ... +it is probably difficult for you to realize that +your name has penetrated beyond our maritime +cities, and is familiar and honoured and loved +through many a village circle, and to the borders +of the lonely depths of unpierced woods—that +we venerate ‘Mrs. Mosse’ and are lovers of +‘Sweet Cousin Mary’ ... and, in short, that +your pictures have wrought on our affections +like realities.</p> + +<p>“... My niece, a child of nine years old, +who is sitting by me, not satisfied with requesting +that her <em>love</em> may be sent to Miss +Mitford, has boldly aspired to the honour of +addressing a postscript to her, and I ... not +forgetting who has allowed us a precedent for +spoiling children, have consented to her wishes. +Forgive us both, dear Miss Mitford.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_327">[327]</span></p> + +<p>In her little letter the child asks after the +various characters in the stories that have +taken her fancy, not forgetting the pretty +greyhound Mayflower.</p> + +<p>Miss Mitford responds in the following way:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p>“My dear young friend,</p> + +<p>“I am very much obliged to you for your +kind enquiries respecting the people in my +book. It is much to be asked about by a little +lady on the other side of the Atlantic, and we +are very proud of it accordingly. ‘May’ was +a real greyhound, and everything told of her +was literally true; but alas! she is no more.... +‘Harriet’ and ‘Joel’ are not married yet; +you shall have the very latest intelligence of her. +I am expecting two or three friends to dinner +and she is making an apple-tart and custards—which +I wish with all my heart that you and +your dear aunt were coming to partake of. The +rest of the people are all doing well in their +several ways, and I am always, my dear little +girl,</p> + +<p> +“Most sincerely yours,<br> +<span class="smcap">M. R. Mitford</span>.”<br> +</p> +</div> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_328">[328]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXXV">CHAPTER <abbr title="35">XXXV</abbr></h2> +</div> + +<p class="center">A LONDON WELCOME</p> + + +<p>In the spring of 1836 Miss Mitford paid a short +visit to London. She stayed in the house of +her father’s old friend Sergeant Talfourd, No. 56 +Russell Square. Her stories were so well known +by this time, and so universally admired, that +she received quite an ovation from the literary +world. Dinners and receptions were given in +her honour, and she had the pleasure of meeting +many a writer whose works she valued highly +but whose personality was hitherto unknown +to her.</p> + +<p>Amongst these was the poet Wordsworth. +Writing to her father on May 26th she says:—</p> + +<p>“Mr. Wordsworth, Mr. Landor and Mr. +White dined here. I like Mr. Wordsworth of +all things; he is a most venerable-looking old +man, delightfully mild and placid, and most +kind to me”; and again she writes: “You +cannot imagine how very very kindly Mr. +Wordsworth speaks of my poor works. You +who know what I think of him can imagine<span class="pagenum" id="Page_329">[329]</span> +how much I am gratified by his praise.” Speaking +of the other guests, she says:—</p> + +<p>“Mr. Landor is a very striking-looking person, +and exceedingly clever. Also we had a Mr. +Browning, a young poet (author of <cite>Paracelsus</cite>), +and Mr. Proctor and Mr. Chorley, and quantities +more of poets, etc.... Mr. Willis has +sailed for America. Mr. Moore and Miss Edgeworth +are not in town....</p> + +<p>“There was a curious affair to-night. All +the Sergeants went to the play in a body [to +see Sergeant Talfourd’s <cite>Ion</cite>]. Lord Grey and +his family were in a private box just opposite +to us, and the house was filled with people of +that class, and the pit crammed with gentlemen. +Very very gratifying was it not?”</p> + +<p>Writing to her father on May 31st Miss Mitford +says:—</p> + +<p>“At seven William [Harness] came to take +me to Lord Dacre’s. It is a small house, with a +round table that only holds eight. The company +was William, Mrs. Joanna [Baillie], Mrs. +Sullivan (Lady Dacre’s daughter, the authoress), +Lord and Lady Dacre, a famous talker called +Bobus Smith (otherwise the great Bobus) and +my old friend Mr. Young the actor, who was +delighted to see me, and very attentive and kind +indeed. But how kind they were all!...</p> + +<p>“In the evening we had about fifty people,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_330">[330]</span> +amongst others, Edwin Landseer, who invited +himself to come and paint Dash. He is a charming +person; recollected me instantly, and talked +to me for two whole hours.... You may +imagine that I was very gracious to the best +dog painter that ever lived, who asked my +leave to paint Dash.... Edwin Landseer says +that it is the most beautiful and rarest race of +dogs in existence—the dogs who have most intellect +and most <em>countenance</em>. Stanfield had +talked to him of his intention to paint my +country, and then Edwin Landseer resolved to +paint my dog....</p> + +<p>“Edwin Landseer has a fine Newfoundland +dog whom he has often painted, and who is +content to maintain his posture as long as his +master keeps his palette in his hand, however +long that may be; but the moment the palette +is laid down off darts Neptune and will sit no +more that day....</p> + +<p>“It is very odd that Mr. Knight should want +to paint <em>me</em>. Mr. Lucas will make the most +charming picture of all—<em>of you</em>.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" id="i-371"> +<img src="images/i-371.jpg" alt="" width="443" height="550"> +<p class="caption left"><em>John Lucas</em></p> +<p class="caption center">DR. MITFORD</p> +</div> + +<p>“I told you, my dearest father, that Mr. +Kenyon was to take me to the giraffes and the +Diorama, with both of which I was delighted. +A sweet young woman whom we called for in +Gloucester Place went with us—a Miss Barrett—who +reads Greek as I do French, and has +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_331">[331]</span>published some translations from Æschylus and +some most striking poems. She is a delightful +young creature, shy and timid and modest. +Nothing but her desire to see me got her out +at all, but now she is coming to us to-morrow +night also.”</p> + +<p>Again she writes of her on further acquaintance: +“Miss Barrett has translated the most +difficult of the Greek plays (the <cite>Prometheus +Bound</cite>). If she be spared to the world you will +see her passing all women and most men as a +narrative and dramatic poet. Our sweet Miss +Barrett!—to think of virtue and genius is to +think of her.... She is so sweet and gentle +and so pretty that one looks at her as if she +were some bright flower.”</p> + +<p>The two corresponded afterwards, and their +letters are full of interest. We should like to +quote a passage from one of Miss Barrett’s upon +the Greek drama. “The Œdipus is wonderful,” +she writes, “the sublime truth which pierces +through to your soul like lightning seems to +me to be the humiliating effect of guilt, even +when unconsciously incurred. The abasement, +the self-abasement, of the proud, high-minded +King before the mean mediocre Creon, not +because he is wretched, not because he is blind, +but because he is criminal, appears to me a +wonderful and most affecting conception. And<span class="pagenum" id="Page_332">[332]</span> +there is Euripides with his abandon to the +pathetic, and Æschylus who sheds tears like a +strong man and moves you to more because +you know that his struggle is to restrain them.”</p> + +<p>Miss Mitford writes to her friend in October +of this year (1836):—</p> + +<p>“I have just read your delightful ballad.<a id="FNanchor_17" href="#Footnote_17" class="fnanchor">[17]</a> +My earliest book was <cite>Percy’s Reliques</cite>, the delight +of my childhood, and after them came +Scott’s <cite>Minstrelsy of the Borders</cite>, the favourite +of my youth, so that I am prepared to love +ballads, although perhaps a little biased in +favour of great directness and simplicity by the +earnest plainness of my old pet. Do read +Tennyson’s <cite>Ladye of Shalott</cite>. You will be +charmed with its spirit and picturesqueness.</p> + +<div class="footnotes"> + +<p><a id="Footnote_17" href="#FNanchor_17" class="label">[17]</a> “The Romaunt of the Page.”</p> + +</div> + +<p>“Are you a great reader of the old English +drama? I am—preferring it to every other +sort of reading; of course, admitting and regretting +the grossness of the age, but that from +habit one skips without a thought, just as I +should over so much Greek or Hebrew which I +knew that I could not comprehend. Have you +read Victor Hugo’s plays? ... and his <cite>Notre +Dame</cite>? I admit the bad taste of these, the +excess, but the power and the pathos are to me +indescribably great. And then he has broken +through the conventional phrases and made the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_333">[333]</span> +French a new language. He has accomplished +this partly by going back to the old fountains, +Froissart, etc. Again these old chronicles are +great books of mine.”</p> + +<p>Mary Russell Mitford’s letters written to intimate +friends were at all times a true reflection +of her mind and nature, and it is interesting to +learn from a passage in her <cite>Recollections of a +Literary Life</cite> what her opinion was of the value +of letters, “provided they are truthful and +spontaneous.” “Such is the reality and identity +belonging to letters written at the moment,” +she writes, “and intended only for the eye of a +favourite friend, that it is probable that any +genuine series of epistles, were the writer ever +so little distinguished, would possess the invaluable +quality of individuality, a quality +which so often causes us to linger before an old +portrait of which we know no more than it is +a Burgomaster by Rembrandt or a Venetian +Senator by Titian. The least skilful pen when +flowing from the fullness of the heart, and untroubled +by any misgivings of after publication, +shall often paint with as faithful and life-like a +touch as either of these great masters.”</p> + +<p>Writing to Miss Barrett of her country +rambles in the autumn of 1836 she says: “I +was this afternoon for an hour on Heckfield +Heath, a common dotted with cottages and a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_334">[334]</span> +large piece of water backed by woody hills; the +nearer portion of the ground a forest of oak +and birch and hawthorn and holly and fern, +intersected by grassy glades.... On an open +space just large enough for the purpose a +cricket match was going on,—the older people +sitting on benches, the younger ones lying about +under the trees; and a party of boys just seen +glancing backward and forward in a sunny glade, +where they were engaged in an equally merry +and far more noisy game. Well, there we stood, +Ben and I and Dash, watching and enjoying +the enjoyments we witnessed. And I thought +if I had no pecuniary anxiety, if my dear father +were stronger and our dear friend well<a id="FNanchor_18" href="#Footnote_18" class="fnanchor">[18]</a> I should +be the happiest creature in the world, so strong +was the influence of that happy scene.”</p> + +<div class="footnotes"> + +<p><a id="Footnote_18" href="#FNanchor_18" class="label">[18]</a> Miss Barrett’s health was causing much anxiety to her +friends.</p> + +</div> + +<p>The pecuniary anxiety here referred to had +been growing greater and greater. The literary +earnings of the devoted daughter seem to have +melted away in the father’s speculations. At +last she was urged by her valued friend William +Harness to apply to Government for a pension—an +application which was strongly supported by +influential friends. Her petition, dated May, +1837, to Lord Melbourne concludes with these +words: “I am emboldened to take this step<span class="pagenum" id="Page_335">[335]</span> +by the sight of my father’s white hairs and the +certainty that such another winter as the last +would take from me all power of literary exertion +and send those white hairs with sorrow to +the grave.”</p> + +<p>On the 31st May Miss Mitford writes to her +friend Miss Jephson:—</p> + +<p>“I cannot suffer one four-and-twenty hours +to pass, my own dearest Emily, without telling +you what I am sure will give you so much +pleasure, that I had to-day an announcement +from Lord Melbourne of a pension of £100 a +year. The sum is small, but that cannot be +considered derogatory, which was the amount +given by Sir Robert Peel to Mrs. Hemans and +Mrs. Somerville, and it is a great comfort to +have something to look forward to as a certainty, +however small, in sickness or old age.... +But the real gratification of this transaction +has been the kindness, the warmth of +heart, the cordiality and the delicacy of every +human being connected with the circumstances. +It originated with dear William Harness and +that most kind and zealous friend, Lady Dacre; +and the manner in which it was taken up by +the Duke of Devonshire, Lord and Lady +Holland, Lord and Lady Radnor, Lord Palmerston +and many others, some of whom I had +never even seen, has been such as to make<span class="pagenum" id="Page_336">[336]</span> +this one of the most pleasurable events of my +life....</p> + +<p>“Is not this very honourable to the kind +feelings of our aristocracy? I always knew +that I had as a writer a strong hold in that +quarter; that they turned with disgust from +the trash called fashionable novels to the +common life of Miss Austen, the Irish tales of +Miss Edgeworth, and my humble village stories; +but I did not suspect the strong personal interest +which these stories had excited, and I am +intensely grateful for it.”</p> + +<p>Miss Mitford was further cheered in her outlook +upon life by an offer to edit an important +publication called <cite>Finden’s Tableaux</cite>, a large +quarto work illustrated by fine steel engravings +from the works of the leading artists of the day, +and handsomely bound in leather elaborately +ornamented—a style then much in vogue. +She gladly accepted the offer and was soon +applying to Miss Barrett, her “Sweet Love,” +for a contribution in the shape of a poem. The +poem was supplied, bearing the title of “A +Romance of the Ganges,” and was followed in +course of time by many others.</p> + +<p>This offer was followed in September, 1836, +by a commission from the editors of <cite>Chambers’ +Edinburgh Journal</cite>. “It is one of the signs of +the times,” writes Miss Mitford, “that a periodical<span class="pagenum" id="Page_337">[337]</span> +selling for threepence halfpenny should engage +so high-priced a writer as myself; but they +have a circulation of 200,000 or 300,000.” This +was her passing comment on the transaction, +but it was to be of far more lasting importance +than she anticipated, resulting as it did in a close +friendship with William Chambers, and in a +scheme of collaboration in which she took a +prominent part.<a id="FNanchor_19" href="#Footnote_19" class="fnanchor">[19]</a></p> + +<div class="footnotes"> + +<p><a id="Footnote_19" href="#FNanchor_19" class="label">[19]</a> See <cite>Life and Friendships of Mary Russell Mitford</cite>, by +W. J. Roberts.</p> + +</div> + +<p>Mr. William Chambers paid a visit to Three +Mile Cross in 1847, when he and Miss Mitford +and the latter’s warm friend, Mr. Lovejoy, of +Reading, talked over a scheme for forming +Rural Libraries.</p> + +<p>It was on the 31st March, 1836, that <cite>Pickwick</cite> +first made its appearance, electrifying the reading +world. It came out in monthly numbers, +price one shilling. Of the first number, it seems, +400 copies were printed, but by the time it had +reached the fifteenth number no less than +40,000 were issued!</p> + +<p>Miss Mitford writes to her friend Miss Jephson +in June, 1837:—</p> + +<p>“So you never heard of the <cite>Pickwick Papers</cite>? +Well!... It is fun. London life—but without +anything unpleasant; a lady might read it +all <em>aloud</em>; and it is so graphic, so individual<span class="pagenum" id="Page_338">[338]</span> +and so true that you could curtsy to all the +people as you met them in the street.... +All the boys and girls talk his fun—the boys in +the streets; and yet they who are of the highest +taste like it the most. Sir Benjamin Brodie +takes it to read in his carriage between patient +and patient, and Lord Denman studies <cite>Pickwick</cite> +on the bench whilst the jury are deliberating.</p> + +<p>“Do take some means to borrow the <cite>Pickwick +Papers</cite>. It seems like not having heard of +Hogarth, whom he resembles greatly, except +that he takes a far more cheerful view, a +Shakespearian view, of humanity. It is rather +fragmentary except the trial, which is as complete +and perfect as any bit of comic writing +in the English language. You must read the +<cite>Pickwick Papers</cite>.”</p> + +<div class="figcenter" id="i-380"> +<img src="images/i-380.jpg" alt="Ironwork in the balcony of Sergeant Talfourd’s house" width="217" height="118"> +</div> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_339">[339]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXXVI">CHAPTER <abbr title="36">XXXVI</abbr></h2> +</div> + +<p class="center">A BRAVE HEART</p> + + +<p>Two new works by Mary Russell Mitford had +been recently published—<cite>Belford Regis</cite> and +<cite>Country Stories</cite>. Belford Regis, as the reader +may remember, was her pseudonym for the good +town of Reading.</p> + +<p>She writes in June, 1835, to Sir William +Elford: “I thank you very much, my ever dear +and kind friend, for your kind letter, and I +rejoice that you like my book. It has been +most favourably received and is, I find, reckoned +my best; although when one considers that +<cite>Our Village</cite> has passed through fourteen large +editions in England and nearly as many in +America, one can hardly expect an increase of +popularity and has only to hope for an equal +success for any future production.”</p> + +<p>There was a still further proof of the popularity +of <cite>Our Village</cite> at this time, as Miss Mitford +learnt from a friend travelling in Spain that he +had come across a copy of the work translated +into Spanish.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_340">[340]</span></p> + +<p><cite>Country Stories</cite> appeared two years later. +She dedicated the work to her valued friend, +the Rev. William Harness, “whose old hereditary +friendship,” she writes, “has been the +pride and pleasure of her happiest hours, her +consolation in the sorrows and her support in +the difficulties of life.”</p> + +<p>It was to him that she opened her heart on +religious matters more than to anyone else, +and it is interesting to learn from their correspondence +her opinions upon such matters as +the question of Church Reform, then beginning +to be discussed.</p> + +<p>After receiving a volume of Sermons by the +Rev. William Harness, she writes:—</p> + +<p>“It is a very able and conciliatory plea for +the Church. My opinion (if an insignificant +woman may presume to give one) is that certain +reforms ought to be; that very gross cases of +pluralities should be abolished ... that some +few of the clergy are too rich, and that a great +many are too poor. But although not holding +all her doctrines, I heartily agree with you that, +as an establishment, the Church ought to remain; +for to say nothing of the frightful precedent +of sweeping away property, which would +not stop there, the country would be overrun +with fanatics.... But the Church must be +(as many of her members are) wisely tolerant.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_341">[341]</span> +Bishops must not wage war with theatres, nor +rectors with a Sunday evening game of cricket.”</p> + +<p>Happily reforms in such matters were soon +to be brought forward by Charles Kingsley and +many others. Charles Kingsley, when he was +made Rector of Eversley, was a neighbour of +Miss Mitford’s and became in time her fast +friend.</p> + +<p>During the year 1842 Dr. Mitford’s health +rapidly declined and his devoted daughter was +nearly worn out by her constant attendance +upon him. He had a strange notion which he +held pertinaciously that all outdoor exercise +was bad for her, while, in fact, her short strolls +in her garden or in the neighbouring fields was +the only change that could keep her from breaking +down. When after some hours spent in +weary watching she had seen her father fall +asleep, she would steal out of the house with +Dash for a companion for a scamper round the +meadows. “How grateful I am,” she writes +at this time, “to that great gracious Providence +who makes the most intense enjoyment the +cheapest and the commonest.”</p> + +<p>Dr. Mitford died on the 11th day of December. +He was buried by his wife in Shinfield Church, +being followed by an imposing procession of +neighbours and friends. We cannot help thinking +that this was more to show sympathy and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_342">[342]</span> +respect for Miss Mitford than from special +respect to him.</p> + +<p>That she loved her father dearly in spite of all +his faults is very certain, and that she was +not blind to these faults is also certain. But +she looked upon them at all times very much in +the same way as she did when a young girl on +hearing of his money losses. “Poor Papa!” +she would exclaim, “I am so sorry for him, +I wish he would deal with honest people.”</p> + +<p>A beautiful expression of a dying mother +to her children has been handed down in our +family, “Cover each other’s faults,” she said, +“with a mantle of love.” Miss Mitford did this +and perhaps sometimes unwisely, but her life +was the happier for it. She never knew the +misery of condemning the conduct of her +father.</p> + +<p>“But her father was not the only person +whom Miss Mitford egregiously overestimated, +and unconsciously flattered,” writes Mrs. Tindal. +“She looked upon her friends through rose-coloured +spectacles, she exaggerated their good +gifts and multiplied their graces; she hoped +and believed great things of them.”</p> + +<p>Dr. Mitford had continued to squander the +small means of the household to the last, and +so powerless was his daughter to prevent this +(without giving him great pain) that she remarks<span class="pagenum" id="Page_343">[343]</span> +in a letter to one with whom she was +intimate: “I have to provide for expenses +over which I have no more control than my own +dog Dash.”</p> + +<p>When the true state of affairs became known +Miss Mitford was faced with a list of liabilities +amounting to nearly £1000, but her determination +was at once taken that all the creditors +should have complete satisfaction. “Everybody +shall be paid,” she exclaimed, “if I have +to sell the gown off my back, or pledge my +little pension.”</p> + +<p>But this could never be allowed. Her friends +and admirers were eager to show their desire +to help one who, by her beautiful writings and +unselfish life, had done so much for the good of +humanity. Miss Mitford was astonished and +touched by the letters she received. “I only +pray God,” she writes, “that I may deserve +half that has been said of me.”</p> + +<p>Money was subscribed on all sides, and by +the month of March following nearly the whole +thousand pounds had already been handed +over to her, whilst in addition to this some +hundreds of pounds were promised. Many, too, +were the acts of kind and unostentatious attention +that were showered upon her and which +went straight to her heart. Conspicuous among +these was the welcome act of her friend Mr.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_344">[344]</span> +George Lovejoy, the well-known bookseller of +Reading, in supplying her with books. He was +a man of considerable learning, and his library +was noted from its earliest days for its fine +collection of foreign works, which made it +especially valuable to Miss Mitford, whose love +of French literature was so marked.</p> + +<p>Writing to a friend who had offered to lend +her some books she explains that she has already +seen them. “I have at this moment,” she +writes, “eight sets of books belonging to Mr. +Lovejoy. I have every periodical within a week, +often getting them literally the day before +publication.”</p> + +<p>About this time a source of happiness came +into Mary Mitford’s life in the shape of a little +child of two years old, the son of her attached +servant K——, whom she soon looked upon as +a son of the household, and who as time went on +became her constant little companion in her +strolls about the country.</p> + +<p>A few years later Mary was suffering from +an attack of lameness and she had recourse for +help to that same “historic staff” whose loss +had caused so much bustle and excitement in +the village of Three Mile Cross.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" id="i-387"> +<img src="images/i-387.jpg" alt="Verses written by M. Mitford" width="424" height="600"> +<p class="caption center">VERSES WRITTEN BY M. R. MITFORD, July 12th 1847</p> +</div> + +<p class="p2"></p> +<p>“Long before little Henry could open the +outer door, there he would stand,” she writes, +“the stick in one hand, and, if it were summer, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_345">[345]</span>a flower in the other, waiting for my going out, +the pretty Saxon boy with his upright figure, +his golden hair, his eyes like two stars, and his +bright intelligent smile.”</p> + +<p>Woodcock lane was a chosen resort where +Mary, her servant “the hemmer of flowers,” +little Henry and the dogs would proceed to a +certain green hillock “redolent of wild thyme +and a thousand fairy flowers, delicious in its +coolness, its fragrance and its repose.” Here +whilst Mary sat on the turf with pen in hand +and paper on knee jotting down her thoughts, +she would still keep an eye on the child who was +gathering flowers hard by. “Do not gather +them all, Henry,” she would say, “because +some one who has not so many pretty flowers +at home as we have may come this way and +would like to gather some.”</p> + +<p>Miss Mitford’s many visitors from far and +near had all a kindly word for the little lad—Mr. +Fields especially was much interested in +him.</p> + +<p>In the month of January, 1847, when the +first volume of <cite>Modern Painters</cite> was just +published, Mary Mitford wrote to a friend: +“Have you read an English Graduate’s <cite>Letters +on Art</cite>? The author, Mr. Ruskin, was here +last week and is certainly the most charming +person I have ever known.” In her <cite>Recollections<span class="pagenum" id="Page_346">[346]</span> +of a Literary Life</cite> Miss Mitford speaks with admiration +of his “boldness” in demolishing old +idols and setting up new! “Often,” she remarks, +“he was right, though sometimes wrong, +but always striking, always eloquent, always +true to his own convictions.... Many passages +of <cite>Modern Painters</cite> are really poems in their +tenderness, their sentiment and their grandeur.</p> + +<p>“But the greatest triumph of Mr. Ruskin,” +she remarks, “is that long series of cloud +pictures, unparalleled, I suppose, in any language, +whether painted or written.” Here +follows a long quotation of which we would +give two passages.</p> + +<p>“It is a strange thing,” writes the author, +“how little, in general, people know about the +sky. It is the part of creation in which Nature +has done more for the sake of pleasing man, +more for the sole and evident purpose of talking +to him, and teaching him than in any other of +his works; and it is just the part in which we +least attend to her.... The noblest scenes +of the earth can be seen and known but by few; +it is not intended that man should live always +in the midst of them; he injures them by his +presence, he ceases to feel them if he be always +with them; but the sky is for all; bright as it +is, it is not ‘too bright nor good for human +nature’s daily food.’ It is fitted in all its<span class="pagenum" id="Page_347">[347]</span> +functions for the perpetual comfort, and exalting +of the heart, for the soothing it and purifying +it from its dross and dust.”</p> + +<p>The acquaintance with Mr. Ruskin soon +ripened into a warm friendship, which was the +cause of much happiness to Miss Mitford during +the last years of her life. His attentions to her +when she was unwell were unremitting either +in the way of interesting books to entertain her +or of delicacies of the table to tempt her appetite. +On one occasion when she was confined +to her bed from the effects of a fall, he writes +to her: “I do indeed sympathize most deeply +in the sorrow (it may without exaggeration be +so called) which your present privation must +cause you, especially coming in the time of +spring—your favourite season.... After all +though your feet are in the stocks, you have the +Silas spirit, and the doors will open in the mid-darkness.”</p> + +<p>After an important event in his life had +occurred in 1848, he writes: “Two months ago +I was each day on the point of writing to you +to ask for your sympathy—the kindest and +keenest sympathy that, I think, ever filled +the breadth and depth of an unselfish heart.” +And then alluding to the Revolution of 1848 +he says: “I should be very happy just now +but for these wild storm clouds bursting on my<span class="pagenum" id="Page_348">[348]</span> +dear Italy and my fair France. My occupation +gone and all my earthly treasures ... perished +amidst ‘the tumult of the people and the +imagining of vain things.’ ... I begin to feel +that ... these are not times for watching +clouds or dreaming over quiet waters, that +some serious work is to be done, and that the +time for endurance has come rather than for +meditation, and for hope rather than for +happiness. Happy those whose hope, without +this severe and tearful rending away of all the +props and stability of earthly enjoyments, +has been fixed ‘where the wicked cease from +troubling.’ Mine has not; it was based on +‘those pillars of the earth’ which are astonished +at His reproof.”<a id="FNanchor_20" href="#Footnote_20" class="fnanchor">[20]</a></p> + +<div class="footnotes"> + +<p><a id="Footnote_20" href="#FNanchor_20" class="label">[20]</a> See Cook’s <cite>Life of Ruskin</cite>.</p> + +</div> + +<p>Mary Mitford continued her intimate correspondence +with Miss Barrett after the latter’s +marriage with Robert Browning—which was a +source of much happiness to both. She warmly +admired Mrs. Barrett Browning’s poems, as we +have already seen, but Browning’s poems were +not equally intelligible or attractive to her, and +in a letter to a friend she thus quaintly criticizes +his style and writing: “I am just reading +Robert Browning’s Poems,” she says, “there +is much more in them than I thought to find.... +He ought to be forced to write journey-work<span class="pagenum" id="Page_349">[349]</span> +for his daily bread (say for the <cite>Times</cite>) which +would make him write clearly.”</p> + +<p>In the summer of 1847 Hans Andersen was +in England. “He is the lion of London this +year,” writes Miss Mitford. “Dukes, princes, +and ministers are all disputing for an hour of +his company, and Mr. Boner (his best translator) +says that he is quite unspoilt, as simple +as a child and with as much poetry in his everyday +doings as in his prose.... Mr. Boner +sent me the other day for dear Patty Lovejoy’s +album (she is a sweet little girl of eleven years +old) an autograph of Spohr’s and one of Andersen’s. +The latter is so pretty that I must +transcribe it for you.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p>“‘How blue are the mountains! How blue +the sea and the sky! It is the expression of +love in three different languages.</p> + +<p> +H. C. Andersen.’<br> +</p> + +<p>London, July 16th, 1847.”</p> +</div> + +<p>The Mr. Boner alluded to was a valued friend +of Miss Mitford’s with whom she corresponded +much during the later years of her life.</p> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_350">[350]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXXVII">CHAPTER <abbr title="37">XXXVII</abbr></h2> +</div> + +<p class="center">FAREWELL TO THREE MILE CROSS</p> + + +<p>Writing to her American friend Mr. Fields in +December, 1848, after a sharp attack of illness, +Miss Mitford says: “But I have many alleviations +[to my sufferings] in the general kindness +of the neighbourhood, the particular goodness +of many admirable friends, the affectionate +attention of a most attached and affectionate +old servant, and above all in my continued +interest in books and delight in reading. I love +poetry and people as well at sixty as I did at +sixteen, and can never be sufficiently grateful +to God for having permitted me to retain the +two joy-giving faculties of admiration and +sympathy, by which we are enabled to escape +from the consciousness of our own infirmities +into the great works of all ages and the joys +and sorrows of our immediate friends.” Much +as she loved reading, however, Miss Mitford did +justice to another source of comfort for women +that is open to all, namely needle-work, “that +most effectual sedative, that grand soother and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_351">[351]</span> +composer of woman’s distress,” as she truly +styles it.</p> + +<p>“Is American literature,” she asks Mr. Fields, +“rich in native biography? Just have the +goodness to mention to me any lives of Americans, +whether illustrious or not, that are graphic, +minute and outspoken. I delight in French +memoirs and English lives, especially such as +are either autobiography or made out by diaries +and letters; and America, a young country, +with manners as picturesque and unhackneyed +as the scenery, ought to be full of such works.”</p> + +<p>And again she writes later on: “I have been +reading the autobiographies of Lamartine and +Chateaubriand.... What strange beings these +Frenchmen are! Here is M. de Lamartine at +sixty, poet, orator, historian and statesman, +writing the stories of two ladies—one of them +married—who died for love of him! Think if +Mr. Macaulay should announce himself a lady-killer, +and put the details not merely into a +book but into a feuilleton!”</p> + +<p>Writing to Mrs. Barrett Browning (then in +Italy) in March, 1850, she says: “My <cite>Country +Stories</cite> are just coming out, to my great contentment, +in the ‘Parlour Library’ for a shilling, +or perhaps ninepence—that being the price of +Miss Austen’s novels. I delight in this, and +have no sympathy with your bemoanings over<span class="pagenum" id="Page_352">[352]</span> +American editions. Think of the American +editions of my prose. <cite>Our Village</cite> has been reprinted +in twenty or thirty places, and <cite>Belford +Regis</cite> in almost as many; and I like it. So do +<em>you</em>, say what you may.”</p> + +<p>And writing to the same friend a year later, +when Miss Mitford’s health was improving, she +says: “You will wonder to hear that I have +again taken pen in hand. It reminds me of +Benedick’s speech—‘When I said I should die +a bachelor I never thought to live to be married,’ +but it is our friend Henry Chorley’s fault.” +And writing to Mr. Fields on the same subject, +she says: “After eight years’ absolute cessation +of composition, Henry Chorley, of the Athenæum, +coaxed me last summer into writing for +a lady’s journal which he is editing for Messrs. +Bradbury & Evans, certain Readings of Poetry, +old and new, which will, I suppose, form two or +three separate volumes when collected.... +One pleasure will be the doing what justice I +can to certain American poets—Mr. Whittier, +for instance, whose ‘Massachusetts to Virginia’ +is amongst the finest things ever written ... +and I foresee that day by day our literature will +become more mingled with rich, bright novelties +from America, not reflections of European +brightness but gems all coloured with your own +skies and woods and waters....</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_353">[353]</span></p> + +<p>“I shall cause my book to be immediately +forwarded to you, but I don’t think it will be +ready for a twelvemonth. There is a good deal +in it of my own prose, and it takes a wider range +than usual of poetry, including much that has +never appeared in any of the specimen books.”</p> + +<p>This work ultimately bore the title of <cite>Recollections +of a Literary Life</cite>. It forms delightful +reading, for the author has blended with her +own recollections of the poets or of the places +they have immortalized many interesting experiences +of her own life given in her best style +of writing. It is a truly remarkable work when +we consider how much its author was suffering +from impaired health during the period of its +composition.</p> + +<p>The years 1849-50 were years of sudden +changes and convulsions in the political world +of the Continent, and a whiff of the general excitement +penetrated even to little Three Mile +Cross!</p> + +<p>Mary Mitford writes to an American friend: +“We have here one of the Silvio Pellico exiles—Count +Carpinetta—whose story is quite a +romance. He is just returned from Turin, +where he was received with enthusiasm, might +have been returned as Deputy for two places, +and did recover some of his property confiscated +years ago by the Austrians. It does one’s<span class="pagenum" id="Page_354">[354]</span> +heart good to see a piece of poetical justice +transferred to real life.”</p> + +<p>As a rule Miss Mitford’s judgment, both of +books and of character, was singularly sane, +but there were some exceptions, her admiration +of Louis Napoleon being one of “her most +potent crazes,” as a warm friend styled it. +She believed that his becoming Emperor would +work much good for France, but had she lived +long enough to become acquainted with his +real character and to witness its baleful influence +upon the nation we feel sure she would have +changed her opinion.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" id="i-399"> +<img src="images/i-399.jpg" alt="" width="541" height="550"> +<p class="caption center">OLD HOUSE NEAR SWALLOWFIELD</p> +</div> + +<p>Among the many visitors from all parts to +Three Mile Cross who were desirous to see the +author of <cite>Our Village</cite> there was a certain Dr. +Spencer T. Hall, who had been giving lectures +on scientific subjects at Reading. He recorded +his pleasant experiences in an article published +in a newspaper of the day of which we have a +copy before us. After describing Miss Mitford’s +cottage by the roadside he goes on to say: “A +good garden at the back of the house produced +some of the finest geraniums and strawberries +in the kingdom; and with presents of these +to her London or country friends she could +gracefully, and to them very agreeably, repay +their occasional presents of new books and +game, for no woman stood higher in the estimation<span class="pagenum" id="Page_355">[355]</span> +of some of the ‘county families’ than did +that cottage peeress, on whom they continued +their calls and compliments just as in more +showy if not more happy days. In a corner at +the end of the garden there was a rustic summer-house, +and this was where our little party took +tea, to which the hostess, by her quiet, unaffected +conversation, added a charm that will +be more easily understood than I can otherwise<span class="pagenum" id="Page_356">[356]</span> +describe it when I say that it was rich and +piquant as her village stories or that pleasant +gossip to be found in the volume she afterwards +published under the title of <cite>Recollections of a +Literary Life</cite>, and with which I trust the whole +country for its own sake is now familiar.”</p> + +<p>The reader may remember mention being +made earlier in this work of the wheelwright’s +picturesque workshop in the village of Three +Mile Cross, which stands at the turn of Church +Lane near to the village pond.</p> + +<p>Writing to a friend in November, 1850, Mary +Mitford remarks: “Just now I have been +much interested in a painting that has been +going on in the corner of our village street—the +inside of an old wheelwright’s shop—a large +barn-like place open to the roof, full of detail, +with the light admitted through the half of +hatch doors, and spreading upwards. It is a +fine subject, and finely treated. The artist is +one not yet much known of the name of +Pasmore.... It is capitally peopled too—with +children picking up chips and watching an old +man sharpening a saw and peeping in through +windows, stretching up to look through them.”</p> + +<p>For some years past the cottage at Three +Mile Cross had been gradually getting into +decay, so that at last Miss Mitford was obliged +to contemplate a change of abode. “My poor<span class="pagenum" id="Page_357">[357]</span> +cottage is falling about my ears,” she writes to +a friend in April, 1850. “We were compelled +to move my little pony from his stable to the +chaise house because there were in the stable +three large holes big enough for me to escape +through. Then came a windy night and blew +the roof from the chaise house, and truly the +cottage proper, where we two-legged creatures +dwell, is in little better condition; the walls +seem to be mouldering from the bottom, +crumbling as it were like an old cheese, and +whether anything can be done with it is doubtful. +Besides which as it belongs to Chancery +wards there is a further doubt whether the +master will do what may be done.... Yet I +cling to it—to the green lanes—to the commons, +the copses, the old trees—every bit of the old +country. It is only a person brought up in the +midst of woods and fields in one country place +who can understand that strong local attachment.”</p> + +<p>The move, however, was inevitable, but in +the meantime a cottage in the neighbourhood +had been found that would suit Miss Mitford’s +requirements, and thither her chief belongings, +consisting of a library of some thousands of +volumes and of much furniture, was carted and +the removal accomplished in the month of +September (1851).</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_358">[358]</span></p> + +<p>“It was grief to go,” she writes; “there I +had toiled and striven and tasted as deeply of +bitter anxiety, of fear and of hope as often falls +to the lot of woman. There in the fullness of +age I had lost those whose love had made my +home sweet and precious.... Friends many +and kind; strangers, whose mere names were +an honour, had come to that bright garden and +that garden room. There Mr. Justice Talfourd +had brought the delightful gaiety of his brilliant +youth, and poor Haydon had talked more vivid +pictures than he ever painted. The illustrious +of the last century—Mrs. Opie, Miss Porter, +Mr. Cary—had mingled there with poets, still +in their earliest dawn. It was a heart-tug to +leave that garden.”</p> + +<p>When she was finishing the last series of stories +for <cite>Our Village</cite>, Miss Mitford had addressed +some lines of farewell to the spot that she loved +so dearly, and we would give them here. +“Sorry as I am,” she writes, “to part from a +locality which has become almost identified +with myself, this volume must and shall be the +last.</p> + +<p>“Farewell, then, my beloved village! The +long straggling street, gay and bright in this +sunny, windy April morning, full of all implements +of dirt and noise—men, women, children, +cows, horses, waggons, carts, pigs, dogs, geese<span class="pagenum" id="Page_359">[359]</span> +and chickens, busy, merry, stirring little world, +farewell! Farewell to the breezy common, with +its islands of cottages and cottage gardens, its +oaken avenues populous with rooks; its clear +waters fringed with gorse, where lambs are +straying; its cricket ground where children +already linger, anticipating their summer +revelry; its pretty boundary of field and woodland +and distant farms; and latest and best of +its ornaments, the dear and pleasant mansion +where dwell the neighbours of neighbours, the +friends of friends; farewell to ye all! Ye will +easily dispense with me, but what I shall do +without you I cannot imagine. Mine own dear +village, farewell!”</p> + +<div class="figcenter" id="i-403"> +<img src="images/i-403.jpg" alt="A teapot which belonged to M. R. Mitford" width="250" height="183"> +</div> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_360">[360]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXXVIII">CHAPTER <abbr title="38">XXXVIII</abbr></h2> +</div> + +<p class="center">SWALLOWFIELD</p> + + +<p>The “flitting” was accomplished in September, +1851. “I was compelled to move from the +dear old house,” writes Miss Mitford; “not +very far; not much further than Cowper when +he migrated from Olney to Weston and with +quite as happy an effect.</p> + +<p>“I walked from the one cottage to the other +in an Autumn evening when the vagrant birds +whose habit of assembling here for their annual +departure gives, I suppose, its name of Swallowfield +to the village, were circling and twittering +over my head.</p> + +<p>“Here I am now in this prettiest village, in +the snuggest and cosiest of all snug cabins; a +trim cottage garden divided by a hawthorn +hedge from a little field guarded by grand old +trees; a cheerful glimpse of the high road in +front, just to hint that there is such a thing +as the peopled world; and on either side the +deep, silent, woody lanes that form the distinctive +character of English scenery. Very lovely<span class="pagenum" id="Page_361">[361]</span> +is my favourite lane, leading along a gentle +declivity to the valley of the Loddon, by pastoral +water meadows studded with willow pollards, +past picturesque farm-houses and quaint old +mills, the beautiful river glancing here and +there like molten silver.”</p> + +<p>Again she writes: “I am charmed with my +new cottage.... It stands under the shadow +of superb old trees, oak and elm, upon a scrap +of common which catches every breeze and I +see the coolest of waters from my window.”</p> + +<p>We have visited Swallowfield Cottage, have +been into its various rooms and have wandered +about its pretty garden. No wonder that Miss +Mitford felt it to be a sweet and peaceful home +to retire to! The front court is now a pretty +piece of garden with a small lawn and with +borders of flowers on either side of the path +which leads to the front door from the garden +gate. The house has been enlarged in recent +years by the addition of a small wing on the +left-hand side, while two shallow bay-windows +have also been introduced—but it is still a +cottage in appearance.</p> + +<p>On the right-hand side there still rises the tall +acacia tree with the syringa bush by its side of +which Miss Mitford speaks. “So you do not +write out of doors,” she writes to a literary +friend. “I <em>do</em>, and am writing at this moment<span class="pagenum" id="Page_362">[362]</span> +at a corner of the house under a beautiful acacia +tree with as many snowy tassels as leaves. It +is waving its world of fragrance over my head +mingled with the orange-like odours of a syringa +bush. I have a love of sweet smells that amounts +to a passion.”</p> + +<p>The larger garden at the back as well as the +small front garden are kept up with reverent +care by their present owner; so that they seem +to suggest the presence of their flower-loving +mistress.</p> + +<p>Wild flowers, too, so dear to her heart, were +to be seen just beyond her garden fence. “Have +you the white wild hyacinth [in your parts]?” +she asks a friend. “It makes a charming variety +amongst its blue sisters and is amongst the +purest of white flowers—all so pure. A bank +close to my little field is rich in both. Have you +fritillaries? They are beautiful in our water +meadows, looking like painted glass.”</p> + +<p>Miss Mitford’s many friends both English and +American were soon visiting her in her new +home.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_363">[363]</span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" id="i-407"> +<img src="images/i-407.jpg" alt="" width="421" height="550"> +<p class="caption center">THE LAST HOME</p> +</div> + +<p>“I have often been with her,” writes Mr. +Fields, “among the wooded lanes of her pretty +country, listening to the nightingales, and on +such occasions she would discourse so eloquently +of the sights and sounds about us that +her talk seemed to me ‘far above singing.’ ...</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_365">[365]</span></p> +<p>She knew all the literature of rural life and her +memory was stored with delightful eulogies of +forests and meadows. When she repeated or +read aloud the poetry she loved, her accents +were ‘like flowers’ voices, if they could speak.’</p> + +<p>“... One day we drove along the valley of +the Loddon and she pointed out the Duke of +Wellington’s seat of Strathfieldsaye.... But +the mansion most dear to her in that neighbourhood +was the residence of her tried friends +the Russells of Swallowfield Park. It is indeed +a beautiful old place, full of historical and +literary associations, for there Lord Clarendon +wrote his story of the Great Rebellion. Miss +Mitford never ceased to be thankful that her +declining years were passing in the society of +such neighbours as the Russells.... She frequently +told me that their affectionate kindness +had helped her over the dark places of life more +than once, when without their succour she must +have dropped by the way.”</p> + +<p>Among the many friends who hurried to +Swallowfield to pay their respects to Miss Mitford +was a young writer in whom she was much +interested—James Payn. In his <cite>Literary Recollections</cite> +he calls her “the dear little old lady, +looking like a venerable fairy, with bright +sparkling eyes, a clear incisive voice, and a +laugh that carried you away with it.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_366">[366]</span></p> + +<p>Mary Mitford’s mind, in spite of advancing +years, was ever open to new ideas and new impressions, +so that she gladly hailed the arrival +of works just published in America.</p> + +<p>She writes to Mr. Fields, who on leaving +England had proceeded to Italy, to thank him +for sending her an illustrated edition of <cite>Longfellow’s +Poems</cite> together with a copy of the +<cite>Golden Legend</cite>: “I hope I shall be only one +among the multitude who think this the greatest +and best thing he has done yet, so racy, so +full of character, of what the French call +local colour, so in its best and highest sense, +original.... Then those charming volumes of +De Quincey and Sprague and Grace Greenwood, +and dear Mr. Hawthorne and the two new poets, +who if also young poets will be fresh glories for +America. How can I thank you enough for all +these enjoyments? I have fallen in with Mr. +Kingsley, and a most charming person he is ... +you must know Mr. Kingsley. He is very +young too, really young, for it is characteristic +of our ‘young poets’ that they generally turn +out middle-aged and very often elderly.”</p> + +<p>And again writing to Mr. Fields she says: +“I was delighted with Dr. Holmes’s poems for +their individuality. How charming a person +he must be! And how truly the portrait represents +the mind, the lofty brow full of thought,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_367">[367]</span> +and the wrinkle of humour in the eye! (Between +ourselves I always have a little doubt of +genius when there is no humour; certainly in +the very highest poetry the two go together—Scott, +Shakespeare, Fletcher, Burns.) Another +charming thing in Dr. Holmes is that every +succeeding poem is better than the last.... +And I like him all the better for being a physician—the +one truly noble profession. There +are noble men in all professions, but in medicine +only are the great mass, almost the whole, +generous, liberal, self-denying, living to advance +science and to help mankind.</p> + +<p>“I rejoice to hear of another romance by +the author of <cite>The Scarlet Letter</cite>. That is a real +work of genius.”</p> + +<p>On receiving <cite>The House of Seven Gables</cite> a little +later on, she apologizes to Mr. Fields for a delay +in thanking him for his kind gift saying that +she delayed doing so until she had read the +book twice. “At sixty-five,” she remarks, +“life gets too short to allow us to read every +book once and again; but it is not so with Mr. +Hawthorne, the first time one sketches them +(to borrow Dr. Holmes’s excellent word) and +cannot put them down for the vivid interest; +the next one lingers over the beauty with a +calmer enjoyment. Very beautiful this book +is!”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_368">[368]</span></p> + +<p>Later on she writes to Mr. Fields of Whittier: +“He sent me a charming poem on Burns, full of +tenderness and humanity and the indulgence +which the wise and good can so well afford, and +which only the wisest and best can show to +their erring brethren.”</p> + +<p>She writes early in January, 1852, of her +<cite>Recollections of a Literary Life</cite>: “My book is +out at last, hurried through the press in a fortnight—a +process which half killed me and has +left the volumes no doubt full of errata,—and +you, I mean your House, have not got it. I am +keeping a copy for you personally. People say +that they like it. I think you will, because it +will remind you of this pretty country and of +an old Englishwoman who loves you well.”</p> + +<p>And later on she writes to Mr. Fields: +“Thank you for telling me about the kind +American reception of my book.... I do +assure you that to be heartily greeted by my +kinsmen across the Atlantic is very precious +to me.”</p> + +<p>Miss Mitford writes to her friend Mrs. Hoare +on the subject of Jane Austen’s works: “Your +admiration of Jane Austen is so far from being +a ‘heresy,’ that I never met any high literary +people in my life who did not prefer her to any +female prose writer.... For my own part I +delight in her.” And again writing of truth in<span class="pagenum" id="Page_369">[369]</span> +works of fiction she says: “The greatest fictions +of the world are the truest. Look at the <cite>Vicar +of Wakefield</cite>, look at the <cite>Simple Story</cite>, look at +Scott, look at Jane Austen, greater because +truer than all.” In the same letter she remarks:—</p> + +<p>“Yes, I ought to have liked Shelley better. +But I have a love of clearness—a perfect +hatred of all that is vague and obscure—and I +still think with the grand exception of the ‘Cenci’ +and of a few shorter poems, that there was +rather the making of a great poet, if he had +been spared, than the actual accomplishment of +any great work. It was an immense promise.”</p> + +<p>“If you have command of French books,” +she writes to another friend, “read Saint +Beuve’s <cite>Causeries du Lundi</cite>—charming volumes, +full of variety and attractive in every way.”</p> + +<p>During the late autumn of 1852 Miss Mitford +was busy writing an Introduction to a complete +edition of her <cite>Dramatic Works</cite> which her +publishers were preparing to bring out. À +propos of this undertaking she writes: “For +my own part I am convinced that without pains +there will be no really good writing.... I am +still so difficult to satisfy that I have written +a long preface to the <cite>Dramatic Works</cite> three +times over, many parts far more than three +times.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_370">[370]</span></p> + +<p>This Introduction forms very interesting +reading, giving as it does an account of her own +experiences, together with many shrewd and +clever remarks and criticisms. We have quoted +several passages in our chapters upon the production +of the plays.</p> + +<p>The work was dedicated to Mr. Bennock, a +warm friend and a patron of Art and Letters, +who had first suggested the idea to the author +of gathering together all her plays in this way +and editing them.</p> + +<p>On the 24th December of this same year Miss +Mitford had a severe accident from an overturn +of her pony-chaise in Swallowfield Park. She +was thrown violently down on the hard gravel +road and was much bruised and shaken although +no bones were actually broken. In spite of her +sufferings she indites a letter to her friend Miss +Jephson in which she says: “I am writing to +you at this moment with my left arm bound +tightly to my body and no power of raising +either foot from the ground.... The muscular +power of the lower limbs seem completely +gone.... So much for the bad; now for the +consolation. Nobody else was hurt, nobody to +blame; the two parts of me that are quite +uninjured are my head and my right hand. +K. is safe in bed and Sam is really everything +in the way of help that a man can be, lifting<span class="pagenum" id="Page_371">[371]</span> +me about, and directing a stupid old nurse and +a giddy young maid with surprising foresight +and sagacity. I need not tell you how kind +everybody is; poor Lady Russell comes every +day through mud and rain and wind.... +Everybody comes to me, everybody writes to +me, everybody sends me books.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Bentley has done me good by giving +me something to think of in writing no less than +three pressing applications for a second series +of <cite>Recollections</cite>, and, although I am forbidden +anything like literary composition, and even +most letter writing, yet it is something to plan +and consider over. I shall (if it please God to +grant me health and strength to accomplish this +object) introduce several chapters on French +literature, and am at this moment in full chase +of all Casimir Delavigne’s ballads.”</p> + +<p>Miss Jephson writes to a mutual friend when +sending on this letter to him: “Dear Miss Mitford! +She is like lavender, the sweeter the more it is +bruised. How wonderful are her spirits and +energy after such an accident!... I am glad +she is thinking of a second series of <cite>Recollections</cite>. +She cannot be idle; it would be death to her.”</p> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_372">[372]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXXIX">CHAPTER <abbr title="39">XXXIX</abbr></h2> +</div> + +<p class="center">PEACEFUL CLOSING YEARS</p> + + +<p>The winter of 1852-3 was unusually cold, and +Miss Mitford suffered much from rheumatism +supervening upon the effects of her accident. +For many months she was entirely confined to +her room. She writes to her friend Mr. Fields +in March: “Here I am at Easter still a close +prisoner from the consequences of the accident +that took place before Christmas.... But +when fine weather—warm, genial, sunny weather—comes +I will get down in some way or other, +and trust myself to that which never hurts +anyone, the honest open air. Spring, and even +the approach of spring, has upon me something +the effect that England has upon you. It sets +me dreaming—I see leafy hedges in my dreams +and flowery banks, and then I long to make the +vision a reality.”</p> + +<p>She writes again to Mr. Fields in the month +of June: “I am in somewhat better trim, +although the getting out of doors and into the +pony-chaise, from which Mr. May hoped such<span class="pagenum" id="Page_373">[373]</span> +great things, has hardly answered his expectations.... I +am still unable to stand or walk +unless supported by Sam’s strong hands. However +I am in as good spirits as ever, and just at +this moment most comfortably seated under +the acacia tree at the corner of my house—the +beautiful acacia, literally loaded with snowy +chains—the flowering trees this summer—lilacs, +laburnums, rhododendrons, azalias—have been +one mass of blossoms, and none as graceful as +this waving acacia.... On one side a syringa ... +a jar of roses on the table before me—fresh-gathered +roses, the pride of Sam’s heart; +and little Fanchon at my feet, too idle to eat +the biscuits with which I am trying to tempt +her—biscuits from Boston, sent to me by Mrs. +Sparks, whose kindness is really indefatigable, +and which Fanchon ought to like upon that +principle if upon no other, but you know her +laziness of old. Well, that is a picture of +Swallowfield Cottage at this moment.”</p> + +<p>Among the many gifts from admiring readers +of the <cite>Recollections of a Literary Life</cite> that +arrived at Swallowfield were choice plants for +the garden. No less than twelve climbing roses +for the front of her house appeared from the +Hertfordshire nurseries, also two seedlings called +in honour of her the “Miss Mitford” and the +“Swallowfield.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_374">[374]</span></p> + +<p>Mary Mitford writes to Mr. Fields:—</p> + +<p>“Never, my dear friend, did I expect to like +so well a man who came in your place as I do +like Mr. Ticknor.... It is delightful to hear +him talk of you, and to feel that sort of elder +brotherhood which a senior partner must exercise +is in such hands. He was very kind to +little Harry, and Harry likes him <em>next</em> to you. +He came here on Saturday with the dear +Bennocks, and the Kingsleys met him. Mr. +Hawthorne was to have come but could not +leave Liverpool so soon, so that is a pleasure +to come.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Ticknor will tell you that all is arranged +for printing with Colburn’s successors, Hurst +and Blackett, two separate works, the plays +and dramatic scenes forming one, the stories to +be headed by a long tale, of which I have always +had the idea in my head to form almost a novel. +God grant me strength to do myself and my +publishers justice in that story!”</p> + +<p>The title of the new book was <cite>Atherton and +other Stories</cite>. They are as fresh and bright in +style as if the author were in perfect health, and +yet it was, as she writes to Mr. Fields, “in the +midst of the terrible cough, which did not +allow me to lie down in bed, and a weakness +difficult to describe, that I finished <cite>Atherton</cite>.”</p> + +<p>In her short Preface Miss Mitford mentions<span class="pagenum" id="Page_375">[375]</span> +the adverse circumstances under which the composition +had been carried on, and expresses her +thankfulness to the merciful Providence for +“enabling me still to live by the mind, and not +only to enjoy the never-wearying delight of +reading the thoughts of others, but even to +light up a sick chamber and brighten a wintry +sky by recalling the sweet and sunny valley +which formed one of the most cherished haunts +of my happier years.” And then she closes this, +her last work, with the words: “And now, +gentle reader, health and farewell.</p> + +<p> +<span class="smcap">M. R. Mitford.</span><br> +<br> +<span class="smcap">Swallowfield</span>,<br> +<em>March, 1854</em>.”<br> +</p> + +<p><cite>Atherton</cite> was dedicated to her valued friend +Lady Russell, and was published in three +volumes during the month of April. It was +also published shortly afterwards in America. +She writes to Mr. Fields on May 2nd: “Long +before this time you will, I hope, have received +the sheets of <cite>Atherton</cite>. It has met with an +enthusiastic reception from the English press, +and certainly the friends who have written to +me on the subject seem to prefer the tale which +fills the first volume to anything that I have +done. I hope you will like it. I am sure you +will not detect in it the gloom of a sick chamber.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_376">[376]</span></p> + +<p>And writing to an English friend also in May +she says: “Thank you for your kindness in +liking <cite>Atherton</cite>. It has been a great comfort to +me to find it so indulgently, so very warmly, +received. Mr. Mudie told Mr. Hurst that the +demand was so great that he was obliged to +have four hundred copies in circulation.”</p> + +<p>In this same letter she says: “I am sitting +now at my open window, not high enough to +see out, but inhaling the soft summer breezes, +with an exquisite jar of roses on the window-sill +and a huge sheaf of fresh-gathered meadow-sweet +giving its almondy fragrance from outside; +looking on blue sky and green waving +trees, with a bit of road and some cottages in the +distance, and [hearing] K——‘s little girl’s merry +voice calling Fanchon in the court.... An +avalanche of kindness has come from America, +where, as in Paris, my book has been reprinted. +Letters to me or for me addressed through my +friend Mr. Fields have arrived, I think, from +almost every man of note in the States—Hawthorne, +Longfellow, Holmes, etc. etc. And one +lady, Mrs. Sparkes, wife of Jared Sparks, President +of Harvard University, Cambridge, gravely +invites me, with man-servant and maid-servant, +pony and Fanchon, to go and take up my abode +with them for two or three years, an unlimited +hospitality which seems to English ears astounding.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_377">[377]</span> +Cambridge is close to Boston, where most of +the literary men of America live, and if I were not +such a helpless creature really one would be +tempted to go and thank all these warm-hearted +people for their extraordinary kindness.”</p> + +<p>And writing in August she says: “I do not +think there is an authoress of name who has +not sent me messages full of the kindest interest. +It is one of the highest mercies by which this +visitation has been softened that I can still give +my thoughts and time and love and sympathy, +not merely to dear friends, but to books and +flowers and the common doings of this workaday +world.”</p> + +<p>A lady friend on one occasion had remonstrated +with Mary Mitford for what she considered +a misplaced enthusiasm. “Ah, my dear +friend!” she responds, “do not lecture me for +loving and admiring! It is the last green branch +in the old tree, the lingering touch of life and +youth.”</p> + +<p>À propos of a tendency of hers to extoll at +times some modern poem that had taken her +fancy as being superior to the great poems of +old, Mr. Fields quotes a saying of Pascal’s that +“the heart has reasons that reason does not +know.” “Miss Mitford,” he says, “was a +charming exemplification of this wise saying.”</p> + +<p>During the autumn of 1854 Mary’s condition<span class="pagenum" id="Page_378">[378]</span> +had been rapidly growing worse, though her +letters show that her bright spirit was not +broken by her continued sufferings and increased +weakness, nor her mind in any way +clouded. Her last letter to Mr. Fields was +written on December 23rd, 1854, only eighteen +days before she died. In it she says: “God +bless you, my dear friend! May He send to +both of you health and happiness and length of +days and so much of this world’s goods as is +needful to prevent anxiety and insure comfort. +I have known many rich people in my time, +and the result has convinced me that with +great wealth some deep black shadow is as sure +to walk as it is to follow the bright sunshine. +So I never pray for more than the blessed enough +for those whom I love best.”</p> + +<p>On January 1st, 1855, nine days only before +her death, she wrote the following letter to a +friend: “It has pleased Providence to preserve +to me my calmness of mind and clearness +of intellect, and also my powers of reading by +day and by night, and which is still more my +love of poetry and literature, my cheerfulness +and my enjoyment of little things. This very +day not only my common pensioners the dear +robins, but a saucy troop of sparrows and a +little shining bird of passage whose name I +forget, have all been pecking at once at their<span class="pagenum" id="Page_379">[379]</span> +tray of bread-crumbs outside the window. +Poor, pretty things! How much delight there +is in these common objects if people would +learn to enjoy them; and I really think that +the feeling for these simple pleasures is increasing +with the increase of education.”</p> + +<p>The end came on January 10th and was in +accordance with her sweet life. As she lay with +her hand in that of her dear friend Lady Russell +she expired so quietly that the actual moment +of her departure was not realized. “The +features of her face in death,” we are told, “undisturbed +by any trace of the cares and trials +she had endured, were overspread by an expression +of intense repose and peace and charity +such as no living face had ever known.”</p> + +<p>In the introduction to her <cite>Dramatic Works</cite> +Miss Mitford remarks that she “hopes the plays +will be as mercifully dealt with as if they were +published by her executor, and that the hand +that wrote them were laid in peaceful rest where +the sun glances through the great elms in the +beautiful churchyard of Swallowfield.” And +there she lies in the heart of the country she so +dearly loved and amidst the sights and sounds +that she most cherished.</p> + +<p>We would close this book with the words of a +friend and contemporary author who knew Miss +Mitford well.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_380">[380]</span></p> + +<p>“Pleasant is the memory because happy was +the life, kindly the nature and genial the heart +of Mary Russell Mitford. She had her trials +and she bore them well; trusting and ever +faithful to the <em>Nature</em> she loved; sending forth +from her poor cottage at Three Mile Cross—from +its leaden casement and narrow door—floods +of light and sunshine that have cheered +and brightened the uttermost parts of the +earth.”</p> + +<div class="figcenter" id="i-424"> +<img src="images/i-424.jpg" alt="church and cemetery" width="550" height="476"> +</div> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_381">[381]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="INDEX">INDEX</h2> +</div> + + +<ul class="index"> +<li class="ifrst"> A</li> + +<li class="indx"> Abbey School, Reading, its interesting associations, <a href="#Page_63">63-65</a></li> + +<li class="indx"> Alresford, Hants, birthplace of Mary Russell Mitford, description of, <a href="#Page_1">1-2</a>;</li> +<li class="isub3">Broad Street, Dr. Mitford’s house in, <a href="#Page_5">5</a></li> + +<li class="indx"> Andersen, Hans, his visit to England, his words in an album, <a href="#Page_349">349</a></li> + +<li class="indx"> Anning, Mary, an inhabitant of Lyme Regis, discovers the gigantic fossil bones of the Ichthyosaurus,</li> +<li class="isub3">receives a visit from the King of Saxony, Kenyon’s verses upon her, <a href="#Page_44">44-46</a></li> + +<li class="indx"> Athol, Dowager Duchess of, M. R. M. visits her at Alnwick Castle, 1806, description of, <a href="#Page_104">104-7</a></li> + +<li class="indx"> Austen, Jane, M. R. M.’s admiration of, <a href="#Page_253">253-255</a>, <a href="#Page_368">368-369</a></li> + +<li class="indx"> Aynsley, Lord Charles Murray, son of the Dowager Duchess of Athol, visited by M. R. M. in Northumberland in 1806, <a href="#Page_103">103-105</a>;</li> +<li class="isub3">receives visit from Louis XVIII, in Bocking Deanery, <a href="#Page_111">111-118</a></li> + +<li class="indx"><span class="pagenum" id="Page_382">[382]</span> Aynsley, Lady, wife of the above, first cousin of Dr. Mitford, is visited by</li> + +<li class="indx"> M. R. M. in Northumberland in 1806, at Little Harle Tower, takes her to Alnwick Castle, <a href="#Page_103">103-107</a>;</li> +<li class="isub3">describes visit from Louis XVIII in Bocking Deanery in letter to Mrs. Mitford, <a href="#Page_111">111-118</a></li> + + +<li class="ifrst"> B</li> + +<li class="indx"> Baillie, Joanna, meets M. R. M. in society, <a href="#Page_329">329</a></li> + +<li class="indx"> Barrett, Miss Elizabeth. See under Mrs. Barrett Browning</li> + +<li class="indx"> Bath, M. R. M.’s visit to, <a href="#Page_252">252-255</a></li> + +<li class="indx"> <cite>Belford Regis</cite>, by M. R. M., published 1835, <a href="#Page_339">339</a></li> + +<li class="indx"> Bonar, Charles, translator of Hans Andersen’s’ works, friend of M. R. M., <a href="#Page_349">349</a></li> + +<li class="indx"> Browning, Robert, meets M. R. M., <a href="#Page_329">329</a>;</li> +<li class="isub3">his marriage, <a href="#Page_348">348</a></li> + +<li class="indx"> Browning, Mrs. Barrett, first meets M. R. M. before her marriage, 1836, their interesting correspondence, <a href="#Page_330">330-334</a>;</li> +<li class="isub3">her marriage, her correspondence with M. R. M., <a href="#Page_348">348</a></li> + + +<li class="ifrst"> C</li> + +<li class="indx"><span class="pagenum" id="Page_383">[383]</span> Chorley, Henry, meets M. R. M. in London, <a href="#Page_329">329</a>;</li> + +<li class="isub3">persuades her to resume literary work, <a href="#Page_352">352</a></li> + +<li class="indx"> Cobbett, William, friend of Dr. Mitford, <a href="#Page_126">126-127</a></li> + +<li class="indx"> <cite>Country Stories</cite>, published 1835, <a href="#Page_339">339-340</a></li> + +<li class="indx"> Cowper, William, his letters, <a href="#Page_131">131-132</a></li> + + +<li class="ifrst"> E</li> + +<li class="indx"> Elford, Sir William, his influence on M. R. M., their interesting correspondence, <a href="#Page_128">128-133</a>;</li> +<li class="isub3">his views upon <cite>Our Village</cite>, <a href="#Page_203">203-205</a></li> + +<li class="indx"> Exeter, Bishop of, <a href="#Page_1">1</a></li> + + +<li class="ifrst"> F</li> + +<li class="indx"> Fermor, Arabella (the “Belinda” of <cite>The Rape of the Lock</cite>), marries Mr. Perkins and lives at Ufton Court, <a href="#Page_257">257-264</a></li> + +<li class="indx"> Fields, James T., American publisher and author, describes first visit to M. R. M. at Three Mile Cross, her surroundings and interesting conversation, <a href="#Page_316">316-319</a>;</li> +<li class="isub3">M. R. M.’s letters to him, <a href="#Page_350">350-1</a>;</li> +<li class="isub3">describes his visit to her at Swallowfield, <a href="#Page_362">362-365</a>;</li> +<li class="isub3">her letters to him, <a href="#Page_368">368</a>, <a href="#Page_372">372</a>, <a href="#Page_376">376-378</a></li> + +<li class="indx"> <cite>Foscari</cite>, M. R. M.’s tragedy of, performed at Covent Garden, 5th November, 1826, <a href="#Page_223">223-227</a></li> + + +<li class="ifrst"> H</li> + +<li class="indx"> Hall, Dr. Spencer T., his visit to Three Mile Cross, <a href="#Page_354">354-356</a></li> + +<li class="indx"><span class="pagenum" id="Page_384">[384]</span> Harness, Rev. William, valued friend of the Mitfords, his</li> + +<li class="indx"> wise guardianship of a bequest of Dr. Russell, his views on Dr. Mitford’s conduct, <a href="#Page_158">158-159</a>;</li> +<li class="isub3">meets M. R. M. in London, <a href="#Page_329">329</a>;</li> +<li class="isub3">M. R. M.’s letter to him on Church Reforms, <a href="#Page_340">340-341</a></li> + +<li class="indx"> Hawthorne, Nathaniel, publication of <cite>The Scarlet Letter</cite>, <cite>House of Seven Gables</cite>, etc., etc., M. R. M.’s interest in them, <a href="#Page_367">367</a></li> + +<li class="indx"> Haydon, Benjamin Robert, his picture the “Judgment of Solomon,” becomes friend of M. R. M., described by M. R. M., <a href="#Page_318">318-319</a>;</li> +<li class="isub3">his Life by Tom Taylor, <a href="#Page_318">318</a></li> + +<li class="indx"> Hemans, Mrs., letter to M. R. M., on publication of <cite>Our Village</cite>, <a href="#Page_208">208-209</a>, <a href="#Page_220">220</a></li> + +<li class="indx"> Holmes, Dr. (Oliver Wendell), M. R. M.’s admiration of his poems and personality, <a href="#Page_366">366-367</a></li> + +<li class="indx"> Howett, Mrs. (Mary), authoress, letter to M. R. M. on <cite>Our Village</cite>, <a href="#Page_321">321-322</a></li> + +<li class="indx"> Howett, William, author, describes visit to M. R. M. at Three Mile Cross, letter to M. R. M., <a href="#Page_319">319-321</a></li> + + +<li class="ifrst"> J</li> + +<li class="indx"> Jephson, Miss, letters to her from M. R. M., <a href="#Page_335">335-336</a>, <a href="#Page_370">370-371</a></li> + + +<li class="ifrst"> K</li> + +<li class="indx"> Kenyon, John, friend of the Mitfords, his lines on Mary Anning, <a href="#Page_46">46</a>;</li> +<li class="isub3"><span class="pagenum" id="Page_385">[385]</span>his words on M. R. M. to James T. Fields, <a href="#Page_316">316</a></li> + +<li class="indx"> Kingsley, Charles, <a href="#Page_341">341</a>;</li> +<li class="isub3">described by M. R. M., <a href="#Page_366">366</a></li> + + +<li class="ifrst"> L</li> + +<li class="indx"> Landor, Walter Savage, meets M. R. M. in London, <a href="#Page_228">228</a>, <a href="#Page_229">229</a></li> + +<li class="indx"> Landseer, Edwin, offers to paint M. R. M.’s dog, <a href="#Page_330">330</a></li> + +<li class="indx"> Lansdowne, Lord, proposes M. R. M.’s health at meeting, <a href="#Page_137">137-139</a></li> + +<li class="indx"> Longfellow, Henry Wadsworth, M. R. M.’s words on his poems and the <cite>Golden Legend</cite>, <a href="#Page_366">366</a></li> + +<li class="indx"> Louis XVIII and court at Gosfield Hall, his visit to Bocking Deanery described by Lady Charles Aynsley, <a href="#Page_110">110-118</a>;</li> +<li class="isub3">his remarkable memory, <a href="#Page_136">136</a>, <a href="#Page_137">137</a></li> + +<li class="indx"> Lyme Regis, removal of Mitfords to, in 1795, the Great House described by M. R. M., its association with the Monmouth Rebellion, <a href="#Page_29">29-39</a></li> + + +<li class="ifrst"> M</li> + +<li class="indx"> Macready, William Charles, takes leading rôle in <cite>Foscari</cite>, <a href="#Page_222">222-224</a></li> + +<li class="indx"> Mitford, Dr., marriage and birth of child, <a href="#Page_2">2</a>;</li> +<li class="isub3">his gambling, loss of fortune, starts practice in Reading, <a href="#Page_22">22</a>, <a href="#Page_23">23</a>;</li> +<li class="isub3">removal to Lyme Regis, <a href="#Page_29">29-50</a>;</li> +<li class="isub3">further losses, flight to London to debtors’ Sanctuary, wins prize in lottery, <a href="#Page_52">52-56</a>;</li> +<li class="isub3">builds Bertram House, <a href="#Page_92">92</a>;</li> +<li class="isub3">further losses, <a href="#Page_139">139-141</a>;</li> +<li class="isub3"><span class="pagenum" id="Page_386">[386]</span>obliged to leave Bertram</li> +<li class="isub3">House, settles at Three Mile Cross, <a href="#Page_158">158-162</a>;</li> +<li class="isub3">witnesses performance of <cite>Foscari</cite>, <a href="#Page_221">221</a>;</li> +<li class="isub3">portrait by Lucas, <a href="#Page_330">330</a>;</li> +<li class="isub3">illness and death, confusion of his affairs, <a href="#Page_341">341-343</a></li> + +<li class="indx"> Mitford, Mrs., née Russell, only child and heiress of Dr. Russell, Rector of Ashe, marriage with</li> +<li class="isub3">Dr. Mitford, birth of her only daughter, Mary, in 1787, home in Alresford, <a href="#Page_2">2-8</a>;</li> +<li class="isub3">visits her daughter in Hans Place, <a href="#Page_72">72</a>;</li> +<li class="isub3">another visit, <a href="#Page_87">87</a>, <a href="#Page_88">88</a>;</li> +<li class="isub3">letter on Louis XVIII’s visit to Bocking, <a href="#Page_113">113-118</a>;</li> +<li class="isub3">her death, New Year’s Day, 1830;</li> +<li class="isub3">buried in Shinfield churchyard, her daughter’s tribute, <a href="#Page_325">325-326</a></li> + +<li class="indx"> Mitford, Mary Russell, born at Alresford, Hants, December 16th, 1787, <a href="#Page_2">2</a>;</li> +<li class="isub3">early recollections of her home in Broad Street, precocious power of reading, <a href="#Page_5">5-8</a>;</li> +<li class="isub3">their village neighbours, at a rustic wedding, <a href="#Page_9">9-21</a>;</li> +<li class="isub3">removal of family to Reading, 1791, her early recollections of the town, <a href="#Page_22">22-25</a>;</li> +<li class="isub3">a flying visit to London, <a href="#Page_25">25-28</a>;</li> +<li class="isub3">removal of family to Lyme Regis, 1795, her recollections of the Great House, etc., <a href="#Page_29">29-39</a>;</li> +<li class="isub3">rambles on the shore, <a href="#Page_40">40-44</a>;</li> +<li class="isub3">sudden loss of fortune, flight to London, <a href="#Page_49">49-51</a>;</li> +<li class="isub3"><span class="pagenum" id="Page_387">[387]</span>family takes refuge in debtors’ Sanctuary, a lottery ticket bought, turns</li> +<li class="isub3">up a prize, <a href="#Page_52">52-55</a>;</li> +<li class="isub3">sent to a school in Hans Place, her recollections of it, <a href="#Page_64">64-73</a>;</li> +<li class="isub3">amusing account of old French Society, <a href="#Page_74">74-81</a>;</li> +<li class="isub3">interest in French drama, visits to the theatre, great actors of the day, Miss Rowden’s inspiring influence, <a href="#Page_82">82-88</a>;</li> +<li class="isub3">an incident of school life, <a href="#Page_88">88-91</a>;</li> +<li class="isub3">leaves school, 1802, recollections of old Reading, <a href="#Page_92">92-99</a>;</li> +<li class="isub3">removal of family to Bertram House, <a href="#Page_99">99-100</a>;</li> +<li class="isub3">her visit to Northumberland with her father, guests of Lord and Lady Murray Aynsley, visits to Alnwick Castle, Morpeth and Cheviot Hills, returns home, <a href="#Page_104">104-109</a>;</li> +<li class="isub3">early poems published in 1810-11, successful, <a href="#Page_119">119-121</a>;</li> +<li class="isub3">describes performances of “Greek tragedies,” by Dr. Valpy’s pupils, <a href="#Page_121">121-123</a>;</li> +<li class="isub3">short visit to London, <a href="#Page_123">123-125</a>;</li> +<li class="isub3">writes of Cobbett and Sir Francis Burdett, <a href="#Page_126">126-128</a>;</li> +<li class="isub3">introduced to Sir William Elford, becomes his chosen correspondent, their interesting letters, <a href="#Page_128">128-133</a>;</li> +<li class="isub3">in London in June, 1814, witnesses the assemblage of Crowned Heads on the fall of Napoleon, sees the Duke of Wellington, <a href="#Page_134">134-137</a>;</li> +<li class="isub3">an ovation to M. R. M. at a public meeting, <a href="#Page_137">137-139</a>;</li> +<li class="isub3">more loss of money owing to her father’s gambling, <a href="#Page_139">139-140</a>;</li> +<li class="isub3"><span class="pagenum" id="Page_388">[388]</span>flattering recognition by</li> +<li class="isub3">American publishers, <a href="#Page_141">141-143</a>;</li> +<li class="isub3">Sir William Elford’s visit to Bertram House, their correspondence resumed, writes of singers and actors of the day, and distinguished writers, <a href="#Page_144">144-155</a>;</li> +<li class="isub3">Haydon’s “Judgment of Solomon,” describes the artist, <a href="#Page_156">156-158</a>;</li> +<li class="isub3">further losses of property, forced to quit Bertram House, the family settle in Three Mile Cross, M. R. M.’s detailed account of their cottage and the village, <a href="#Page_161">161-178</a>;</li> +<li class="isub3">describes village scenes, and a sunset over the Loddon, <a href="#Page_182">182-189</a>;</li> +<li class="isub3"><cite>The Talking Lady</cite>, <a href="#Page_190">190-196</a>;</li> +<li class="isub3">describes her garden, a quack doctor, <a href="#Page_196">196-202</a>;</li> +<li class="isub3">publication of <cite>Our Village</cite>, the opening paragraph, letters received about it, its early success, <a href="#Page_203">203-211</a>;</li> +<li class="isub3"><cite>Patty’s New Hat</cite>, <a href="#Page_212">212-217</a>;</li> +<li class="isub3">a fog in the country, Mrs. Heman’s words, <a href="#Page_217">217-220</a>;</li> +<li class="isub3">tries hand at tragedy, <cite>Foscari</cite> and <cite>Julian</cite> approved by Macready, <cite>Foscari</cite> + performed at Covent Garden Theatre, 1826, M. R. M. present and describes its success, <a href="#Page_221">221-229</a>;</li> +<li class="isub3">writes <cite>Rienzi</cite>, + produced at Drury Lane Theatre, its great success, M. R. M. in town, letters of congratulation, performed in New York, tribute from James Crissy, <a href="#Page_230">230-240</a>;</li> +<li class="isub3"><span class="pagenum" id="Page_389">[389]</span>her stories of two émigrés neighbours, 241-249;</li> +<li class="isub3">describes visits to Southampton, Bath, Richmond Park, and Hampton Court, <a href="#Page_250">250-259</a>;</li> +<li class="isub3">writes of Ufton Court and its associations, <a href="#Page_264">264-270</a>;</li> +<li class="isub3">writes of Three Mile Cross in 1830, <cite>The Black Velvet Bag</cite>, <a href="#Page_271">271-282</a>;</li> +<li class="isub3">stories of eccentric neighbours, <a href="#Page_283">283-291</a>;</li> +<li class="isub3">attends country Mayings and visits Silchester, <a href="#Page_292">292-301</a>;</li> +<li class="isub3">a trip to Aberleigh (Arborfield) on the Loddon, <a href="#Page_302">302-306</a>;</li> +<li class="isub3">stories of gipsies, <a href="#Page_306">306-314</a>;</li> +<li class="isub3">her friendship with James T. Fields, his visit to Three Mile Cross, also visits from William Howett, George Ticknor, and Daniel Webster, <a href="#Page_315">315-325</a>;</li> +<li class="isub3">words on her mother’s death, letter to a child, <a href="#Page_325">325-327</a>;</li> +<li class="isub3">stays with Sergeant Talfourd, receives warm welcome from leading writers, correspondence with Miss Barrett (afterwards Mrs. Barrett Browning), <a href="#Page_328">328-334</a>;</li> +<li class="isub3">pecuniary anxieties, receives pension, undertakes fresh literary work, <a href="#Page_334">334-337</a>;</li> +<li class="isub3">writes on first appearance of <cite>Pickwick</cite>, <a href="#Page_337">337-338</a>;</li> +<li class="isub3">publication of <cite>Belford Regis</cite>, and <cite>Country Stories</cite>, <cite>Our Village</cite>, translated into Spanish, <a href="#Page_339">339-340</a>;</li> +<li class="isub3">writes to William Harness on Church reforms, <a href="#Page_340">340-341</a>;</li> +<li class="isub3"><span class="pagenum" id="Page_390">[390]</span>death of her father, 1842, resolves to pay all his debts but whole sum subscribed by</li> +<li class="isub3">friends, receives constant supply of books from Mr. George Lovejoy, little Henry, adopted child of the family, <a href="#Page_341">341-345</a>;</li> +<li class="isub3">her interest in <cite>Modern Painters</cite> and friendship for Ruskin, her words on Browning’s poems, Hans Andersen in London, <a href="#Page_345">345-349</a>;</li> +<li class="isub3">letters to Mr. Fields, <cite>Country Stories</cite> republished, commencing her <cite>Recollections of a Literary Life</cite>, + an Italian exile in Three Mile Cross, her views on Louis Napoleon, receives a visit from</li> +<li class="isub4">Dr. Spencer Hall, decides to leave Three Mile Cross, her farewell to the village, <a href="#Page_350">350-359</a>;</li> +<li class="isub3">settles at Swallowfield, describes her cottage and garden, visits[**P3 1st i missing] from Mr. Fields, Mr. James Payne and others, her affection for the Russells of Swallowfield Park, <a href="#Page_360">360-365</a>;</li> +<li class="isub3">her interest on works of Longfellow, Hawthorne, O. W. Holmes, and Whittier, <a href="#Page_366">366-368</a>;</li> +<li class="isub3"><cite>Recollections of a Literary Life</cite> + published, its success in America, her admiration of Jane Austen’s works, her remarks on Shelley and on Saint Bouve, writes introduction to her dramatic works, <a href="#Page_368">368-370</a>;</li> +<li class="isub3"><span class="pagenum" id="Page_391">[391]</span>her + severe accident, her courage, cheerful letters to Mr. Fields, kind attentions from far and near, visits from Mr. Ticknor, writes <cite>Atherton and Other Stories</cite>,</li> +<li class="isub3">dedicated to Lady Russell, its great success, <a href="#Page_370">370-376</a>;</li> +<li class="isub3">her last illness, her delight in beauty of nature to the end, her last letter to Mr. Fields, her death, January 1st, 1855, buried in Swallowfield churchyard, <a href="#Page_376">376-380</a></li> + +<li class="indx"> Molière, M. R. M.’s early delight in his comedies, <a href="#Page_84">84-85</a></li> + +<li class="indx"> “Monsieur” (Le Conte d’Artois) visits Lord and Lady Aynsley in Bocking Deanery, <a href="#Page_114">114-118</a></li> + + +<li class="ifrst"> N</li> + +<li class="indx"> North, Christopher (John Wilson), his amusing scene in the “Noctes Ambrosianæ” upon the publication of <cite>Our Village</cite>, <a href="#Page_209">209-211</a></li> + + +<li class="ifrst"> O</li> + +<li class="indx"> <cite>Our Village</cite>, publication of, March, 1824, its success, etc. (see under Mary Russell Mitford), <a href="#Page_203">203-211</a></li> + + +<li class="ifrst"> P</li> + +<li class="indx"> Pepys (Samuel), M. R. M. on his “Memoirs,” <a href="#Page_153">153</a></li> + +<li class="indx"> <cite>Pickwick</cite>, publication of, <a href="#Page_31">31</a> March, 1836, its great success, <a href="#Page_337">337-338</a></li> + +<li class="indx"> Pope (Alexander), M. R. M.’s early remarks on him as a letter writer and poet, <a href="#Page_132">132-133</a>;</li> +<li class="isub3">quotation from <cite>Rape of the Lock</cite>, <a href="#Page_258">258-259</a>;</li> +<li class="isub3"><span class="pagenum" id="Page_392">[392]</span>its heroine Belinda, <a href="#Page_260">260-263</a></li> + + +<li class="ifrst"> R</li> + +<li class="indx"> Racine, his “Athalie,” <a href="#Page_221">221</a></li> + +<li class="indx"> Reading (“Belford Regis”), removal of Mitford family to, 1791, <a href="#Page_22">22-23</a>;</li> +<li class="isub3">M. R. M.’s early recollections of, <a href="#Page_25">25</a>, <a href="#Page_56">56-59</a>, <a href="#Page_63">63-65</a>;</li> +<li class="isub3">shopping adventures, <a href="#Page_271">271-282</a></li> + +<li class="indx"> <cite>Recollections of a Literary Life</cite>, by M. R. M., <a href="#Page_352">352</a>;</li> +<li class="isub3">published in January, 1852, its success in America, <a href="#Page_368">368</a></li> + +<li class="indx"> <cite>Rienzi</cite>, M. R. M.’s tragedy of, performed at Drury Lane, October 4, 1828, <a href="#Page_232">232-235</a> (see under Mary Russell Mitford)</li> + +<li class="indx"> Rowden, Miss, a teacher in the school in Hans Place, her inspiring influence on M. R. M., <a href="#Page_68">68</a>, <a href="#Page_85">85-88</a></li> + +<li class="indx"> Russell, Dr., Rector of Ashe, his daughter marries Dr. Mitford, <a href="#Page_2">2</a></li> + +<li class="indx"> Russell, Lady, of Swallowfield Park, <a href="#Page_365">365</a>, <a href="#Page_371">371</a>;</li> +<li class="isub3">M. R. M.’s <cite>Atherton</cite> dedicated to her, <a href="#Page_375">375</a></li> + + +<li class="ifrst"> S</li> + +<li class="indx"> St. Quintin, M., arrival in Reading, becomes head of Abbey School, marries the English teacher, removes School to Hans Place, London, 1798, M. R. M. becomes their pupil, <a href="#Page_64">64-68</a>;</li> +<li class="isub3">his hospitality to émigrés, <a href="#Page_74">74-91</a></li> + +<li class="indx"> Sedgwick, American authoress, her letters to M. R. M., <a href="#Page_220">220</a>, <a href="#Page_326">326-327</a></li> +<li class="isub3"><span class="pagenum" id="Page_393">[393]</span>Seward, Anna, “Swan of Lichfield,” M. R. M.’s early</li> + +<li class="indx"> strictures on her writing, <a href="#Page_130">130-132</a></li> + +<li class="indx"> Shakespeare, William, M. R. M.’s early appreciation of <cite>Much Ado About Nothing</cite>, <a href="#Page_133">133</a></li> + +<li class="indx"> Shelley (Percy Bysshe), M. R. M. on his poems, <a href="#Page_369">369</a></li> + +<li class="indx"> Sherwood, Mrs. (née Butt), sees M. R. M. when a child, <a href="#Page_23">23-25</a>;</li> +<li class="isub3">her recollections of Abbey School, Reading, <a href="#Page_64">64-65</a></li> + +<li class="indx"> Swallowfield, M. R. M. residing at, <a href="#Page_360">360-380</a></li> + +<li class="indx"> Swallowfield Park, abode of the Russell family, <a href="#Page_365">365</a></li> + + +<li class="ifrst"> T</li> + +<li class="indx"> Talfourd Sergeant, author of <cite>Ion</cite>, present at performance of <cite>Foscari</cite>, <a href="#Page_222">222-224</a>;</li> +<li class="isub3">M. R. M. at his house in London, interesting society, <a href="#Page_328">328-330</a></li> + +<li class="indx"> Three Mile Cross, prototype of <cite>Our Village</cite>, description of, <a href="#Page_156">156-183</a> (see under Mary Russell Mitford)</li> + +<li class="indx"> Ticknor, George (American author and publisher), describes visit to M. R. M. at Three Mile Cross in 1835, <a href="#Page_323">323</a>;</li> +<li class="isub3">visits her at Swallowfield, <a href="#Page_374">374</a></li> + +<li class="indx"><span class="pagenum" id="Page_394">[394]</span> Trollope, Mrs. (authoress), describes performance of <cite>Rienzi</cite> in New York, <a href="#Page_236">236</a></li> + + +<li class="ifrst"> U</li> + +<li class="indx"> Ufton Court (in Berkshire), description of, <a href="#Page_260">260-269</a></li> + + +<li class="ifrst"> V</li> + +<li class="indx"> Valpy, Dr., headmaster of Reading Grammar School, man of great influence, <a href="#Page_62">62-65</a>;</li> +<li class="isub3">introduces acting of Greek tragedy in original language, described by M. R. M., <a href="#Page_121">121-123</a></li> + +<li class="indx"> Voltaire, M. R. M. reading his tragedies at school, <a href="#Page_83">83</a></li> + + +<li class="ifrst"> W</li> + +<li class="indx"> Walpole (Horace), M. R. M.’s admiration for his letters, <a href="#Page_132">132</a>;</li> +<li class="isub3">her words upon him, <a href="#Page_257">257</a></li> + +<li class="indx"> Webster, Daniel (American statesman and author), his visit to Three Mile Cross described by M. R. M., <a href="#Page_323">323-325</a></li> + +<li class="indx"> Whittier (John Greenleaf), M. R. M.’s admiration of his “Massachusetts to Virginia,” <a href="#Page_352">352</a>;</li> +<li class="isub3">and of his poem on Burns, <a href="#Page_368">368</a></li> + +<li class="indx"> Wordsworth, William, his personality described by M. R. M., <a href="#Page_328">328-329</a></li> + + +<li class="ifrst"> Y</li> + +<li class="indx"> Young, Charles Mayne, performs leading rôle in <cite>Rienzi</cite>, <a href="#Page_232">232-235</a></li> +</ul> + + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="BY_THE_SAME_AUTHOR"><em>BY THE SAME AUTHOR</em></h2> +</div> + + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p><b>THE HOUSE IN ST. MARTIN’S STREET</b>: +Being Chronicles of the Burney Family.</p> + +<p> +<em>Demy 8vo.</em> <b>21s.</b> <em>net.</em><br> +</p> + +<p><b>MARIA EDGEWORTH AND HER CIRCLE +IN THE DAYS OF BONAPARTE AND +BOURBON.</b></p> + +<p> +<em>Demy 8vo.</em> <b>21s.</b> <em>net.</em><br> +</p> + +<p><b>FANNY BURNEY AT THE COURT OF +QUEEN CHARLOTTE.</b></p> + +<p> +<em>Demy 8vo.</em> <b>16s.</b> <em>net.</em><br> +</p> + +<p><b>JANE AUSTEN</b>: Her Homes and Her Friends.</p> + +<p> +<em>Crown 8vo.</em> <b>5s.</b> <em>net.</em><br> +</p> + +<p><b>JUNIPER HALL</b>: a Rendezvous of certain illustrious +personages during the French Revolution, +including Alexander d’Arblay and Fanny Burney.</p> + +<p> +<em>Crown 8vo.</em> <b>5s.</b> <em>net.</em><br> +</p> +</div> + +<p>The above 5 books are illustrated by <span class="smcap">Ellen G. Hill</span>.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p><b>STORY OF THE PRINCESS DES URSINS +IN SPAIN</b> (Camerera-Mayor). Illustrated.</p> + +<p> +<em>New Edition. Crown 8vo.</em> <b>5s.</b> <em>net.</em><br> +</p> +</div> + + +<p>THE BODLEY HEAD. +</p> +<div style='text-align:center'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 76491 ***</div> +</body> +</html> + diff --git a/76491-h/images/cover.jpg b/76491-h/images/cover.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..e368773 --- /dev/null +++ b/76491-h/images/cover.jpg diff --git a/76491-h/images/i-046.jpg b/76491-h/images/i-046.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..c2a45e3 --- /dev/null +++ b/76491-h/images/i-046.jpg diff --git a/76491-h/images/i-053.jpg b/76491-h/images/i-053.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..e85a219 --- /dev/null +++ b/76491-h/images/i-053.jpg diff --git a/76491-h/images/i-057.jpg b/76491-h/images/i-057.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..18b29a4 --- /dev/null +++ b/76491-h/images/i-057.jpg diff --git a/76491-h/images/i-061.jpg b/76491-h/images/i-061.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 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