Fifty-One Years of Victorian Life Part 8

In the afternoon some of us, including Lord Derby, were offered a choice of cruising about among the s.h.i.+ps or going over to see Lord and Lady De La Warr at a little house they had somewhere on the coast called Inchmery. We chose the latter, and were sent in a tug called the _Undaunted_. I tried to immortalise the expedition in a so-called poem of which I only quote a few verses--needless to say Lord Derby was the hero:

"There was an Earl--a n.o.ble Earl Who would a sailor be, And therefore asked two kindly dames To take him out to sea....

"We've often heard of Inchmery, Its charms and crabs are vaunted; Bring round the tug and cast her off, That splendid tug _Undaunted_!

"The splendid tug sailed fast and far, She bore as fair a band As ever dared the heaving deep And sighed to gain the land.

"She bore our Only General, Whose prowess must be granted, For he can always go to sleep And always wake when wanted.

"A great Colonial Governor Who would have ruled the main, Only emotions swelled his breast Which he could not restrain."

As to the above, Lord Wolseley explained to us that he shared a characteristic with Napoleon and I rather think Wellington--namely, that he could always go to sleep in a minute when he so desired, and wake with equal celerity. He exemplified this by retiring into the little cabin of the launch when the waves became somewhat restive, and fell fast asleep immediately, seated on a bench. The poor Colonial Governor, Sir William Des Voeux, was less happy--he had to lie prostrate at the bottom of the launch during the short transit until we landed.

The De La Warrs gave us an excellent tea, and we then strolled among the rocks on the sh.o.r.e, where it was supposed that the great Lord Derby wanted to find crabs:

"The time speeds on--and now at length, By new-born terrors haunted, Soldier and sage demand the tug-- 'Where is the good _Undaunted_'?

"What object meets their straining eyes, From aid and rescue far?

Dauntless perhaps, but useless quite, She's stranded on the bar.

"The Captain smiles, 'It wasn't I,'

The General's out of reach, The n.o.ble Earl sits down to play Aunt Sally on the beach."

It was a fine sight to see Lord Derby (uncle of the present Lord Derby), regarded by most people as an exceptionally solemn statesman, sitting tranquilly on the sh.o.r.e throwing stones--a sort of ducks and drakes--into the sea--quite unmoved by the tug's disaster.

However, Lord De La Warr came to the rescue with a launch which took us safely back to the _Mirror_--minus Sir William, who had found the tug quite bad enough and declined to trust himself to the launch. He remained for the night at Inchmery, and I presume, like the rest of us, found his way back to London next day.

[Sidenote: KNOWSLEY]

The Lord Derby of this expedition was a great friend of mine. His wife, formerly Lady Salisbury, was Lady Galloway's mother, and I originally met her staying at Galloway House--after which she invited us several times to Knowsley. I think my first visit there was in 1879 when we met the Leckys--afterwards great friends--and Mr. and Mrs. Robert Lowe (afterwards Lord Sherbrooke). He was an albino and chiefly remembered for his abortive attempt to tax matches, giving rise to the joke "ex luce lucellum." She was, I believe, a very good-natured woman, but it was funny to see the result of her excessive flow of conversation. She would begin with a circle round her, and person after person would gradually steal away, leaving her at length with only one victim whom amiability or good manners forbade to depart.

I well recollect that Lady Derby won my heart on this occasion by coming to the front door to meet us on arrival, under the evident impression that as a young woman I might be shy coming to a very large house among those, including my host, who were mostly strangers. I dare say that I might have survived the shock, but I was much struck with the courtesy and thoughtfulness of a woman old enough to be my mother, and it was one of the first lessons, of which I have had many in life, of the great effect of the manner in which people originally receive their guests.

Lady Derby was a remarkable woman in many ways. Her heart was first in her husband and children and then in politics. She could never take a lightsome view of life and let it carry her along. She always wished to manage and direct it. Her motives were invariably excellent, but occasionally things might have gone better had she taken less trouble about them. She did great things for her children, who adored her, but even with them it might sometimes have been well had their lives been left a little more to their own discretion. She was kindness itself to me, and I used greatly to enjoy going to Derby House, then in St. James's Square, where she was always at home to her particular friends at tea-time and where one always had the chance of meeting interesting people.

[Sidenote: APOTHEOSIS OF THE QUEEN]

To conclude my recollections of the Jubilee. I think that it was in the autumn of 1887, and not after the Diamond Jubilee, that we were staying with Lord and Lady Muncaster at their beautiful home in c.u.mberland. We went to the local church and an Archdeacon was preaching for some Society which involved a plea for missionary effort. He spoke to this effect (of course these are not the exact words): "There are black men, brown men, red men, and yellow men in the British Empire. We must not despise any of them, for we are all children of one Great----" I naturally expected "Father," but he added "Mother"! So far had Queen Victoria advanced in the tutelary rank! I was told after her death that the Tibetans had adopted her as a protecting deity--and that they attributed the invasion of their country to the fact that she had died, as we had never disturbed them in her lifetime. I record later on how natives in Madras did "poojah" to her statue, offering coconuts and such like tribute--but the Indians also did "poojah" to a steam-engine when they first saw it, so perhaps this was not an extraordinary token of reverence.

CHAPTER VI

GHOST STORIES AND TRAVELS IN GREECE

To go a little back in recollections of the eighties one of our friends was Lord Cairns, Lord Chancellor in 1868 and again from 1874 till, I believe, his death. Once when I was sitting near him at dinner, we were discussing ghost stories. He said that without giving them general credence he was impressed by one which had been told him by the wife of the Prussian Minister, Madame Bernstorff. (I think, though am not sure, that Bernstorff was Minister before there was a German Emba.s.sy.) The story was, briefly, that a man in Berlin had a dream, thrice repeated, in which a comrade appeared to him and said that he had been murdered, and that his dead body was being carried out of the city, covered with straw, by a certain gate. The man roused himself, told the police, the body was duly found and the murderers arrested. "Well," said I, "I think I have read that story in Dryden, and believe he took it from Chaucer." Sure enough I found the tale in "The c.o.c.k and the Fox," Dryden's modernised version of Chaucer's "Tale of the Nun's Priest"--but the amusing thing is that Dryden says,

"An ancient author, equal with the best, Relates this tale of dreams among the rest"--

and a note explains that the "ancient author" was Cicero, from whose treatise, _De Divinatione_, the story was taken. I sent the book to Lord Cairns, who answered (June 25th, 1883): "It is Madame Bernstorff's story to the letter! It was most kind of you to send it to me, and it is a fresh proof that there is nothing new under the sun! The 'catena' of Cicero--Chaucer--Dryden--Bernstorff is very amusing."

[Sidenote: LORD HALSBURY'S GHOST STORY]

Being a Lord Chancellor does not render a man immune from belief in ghosts. I have more than once heard the late Lord Halsbury relate his adventure in this line. As a young man he went to stay with a friend, who put him up for the night. After he had gone to bed, a figure entered his room, and taking it to be his host he spoke to it, but it made no reply and left as silently as it entered. At breakfast next morning he said to the master of the house--I suppose jokingly--"If you did come in my room last night I think you might have answered when I spoke to you." Both his hosts looked embarra.s.sed, and then his friend said, "Well, to tell you the truth, that room is considered to be haunted; but it is our best room, and my wife thought that a hard-headed lawyer would not be liable to be disturbed, so we put you there." Mr. Giffard, as, Lord Halsbury then was, left without further incident, but some time after, meeting his friend again, he said, "Well, how's your ghost getting on?" "Oh, my dear fellow,"

was the reply, "don't talk of my ghost. My aunt came to stay with me and we put her into that room. The ghost came in and tried to get into her bed, and she will never speak to me again!"

Lord Halsbury also had a story about a ghost who haunted his brother's house in London. I think it was a little old woman, I cannot remember the details, but he certainly seemed to believe in it.

Talking of dreams and apparitions, though I cannot remember the year--probably in the early nineties--I recollect a rather amusing instance of the explosion of one of such stories when thoroughly sifted.

Mr. (afterwards Sir James) Knowles told me one day that the great object of Myers and Gurney and the founders of the Psychical Society was to obtain evidence of a genuine apparition seen by _two_ witnesses who would both bear such testimony as would stand cross-examination by a barrister.

This was most sensible, as one person may honestly believe in an appearance, which may be an hallucination caused by circ.u.mstances, and affected by his own mental or bodily condition, but it is hardly possible that such conditions will enable two people to see the same spirit at the same moment unless it should actually appear. Mr. Knowles said that at last the Psychical Society had found a well-authenticated story in which two thoroughly credible witnesses had seen the ghost, and this was to come out in the forthcoming number of _The Nineteenth Century_.

[Sidenote: THE GHOSTLY REPORTER]

The witnesses were an English judge and his wife; to the best of my recollection they were Sir Edmund and Lady Hornby, and the scene of the apparition Shanghai. Anyhow, I perfectly recollect the story, which was as follows. The judge had been trying a case during the day, and he and his wife had retired to bed when a man (European, not native) entered their bedroom. They were much annoyed by this intrusion and asked what he wanted. He replied that he was a reporter who had been in court, but had been obliged to leave before the conclusion of the trial, and was extremely anxious that the judge should tell him what the verdict was that he might complete the report for his paper. The judge, to get rid of him, gave some answer that satisfied him, and the man departed. Next day the judge learnt that a reporter had been present who was taken ill and died before the conclusion of the trial, and he was convinced that this was his ghostly visitor. The weak point, said Mr. Knowles, was that the narrators would not allow themselves to be cross-examined by a barrister. They were very old, and nervous about the publication of the story in print, and the thought of cross-examination was quite too much for them. However, Mr.

Knowles and the other investigators were fully satisfied as to their bona fides, and the tale duly appeared in an article in the Review. No sooner was it published than various people wrote pointing out that it was all a misapprehension. There had been no reporter who had suddenly died on the occasion specified, and various other details were disproved by officials and others who had been at the place at the time when the judge was by way of having presided over the trial and seen the ghost. (Sir Edmund was a judge of the Supreme Court of China and j.a.pan.) Mr. Knowles came again and said, "There you see!" The story when subjected to the light of publicity fell to the ground. No doubt something had put the germ into the old people's heads and it had blossomed in the course of years.

To return for a minute to the year 1887. In that year my husband was appointed Lord Lieutenant of Oxfords.h.i.+re--an appointment which he held until his death. This is referred to in the following verses by Mr. Lionel Ashley, younger son of the great Lord Shaftesbury and a friend of my husband's and mine of long standing. Lady Galloway and I used to call him "the Bard," as he was fond of making verses about us. I insert these because they give such a happy idea of one of Osterley Sat.u.r.day-to-Monday parties. They are dated June 19th, 1887, which I see by our Visitors' List was the Sunday.

"In a cot may be found, I have heard the remark, More delight than in Castles with pillars.

But we find in the Palace of Osterley Park, All the charms of suburban Villiers.

"A Sunday in Osterley Gardens and Halls, That's a day to look on to and after.

Its pleasures my memory fondly recalls, And the talk, with its wisdom and laughter.

"In a nice little church a grave sermon we heard, Which reproved Christianity flabby, And urged that in heaven a place be preferred To a Jubilee seat in the Abbey.

"The Irish question, in masterly way, Mr. Lowell made easy and clear.

We must make them content, without further delay, But the method was not his affair.

"Of the Queen's new Lieutenant, with pleasure we hail The appointment, for now 'tis a mercy, From cold shoulders in Oxfords.h.i.+re never will fail To protect her a glorious Jersey.

"Then may everyone of th' ill.u.s.trious Brood Learn to make the same excellent stand his own, That not only the names, but the qualities good May descend to each 'Child' and each 'Grandison.'"

The last line was rather prophetic, as there was no "Grandison" apart from the family's Irish t.i.tle at the time of writing. My husband, as already mentioned, bore the name for the three weeks between his grandfather's and father's death, but our elder son was always Villiers. Now _his_ son is Grandison and I think bids fair to inherit the "qualities good" of his grandfather--he could not do better.