IV
Lady Holland’s girlhood at Battle Abbey—Her “court” at Holland House—Her relationship to myself—Her ways—Her insolence—Anecdotes—Lady Palmerston—Cobden and Lord Palmerston—Lord John Russell—Lady Jersey and Lady Londonderry—Their social inluence exerted in favour of Mr. Disraeli—Letters from Lady Beaconsfield—Her dinners—Lord Lyndhurst and Mr. Disraeli—Interesting letter from the latter—His difficulties in early life—His opinion of Mr. Gladstone—An ingenuous diplomatist.
Battle Abbey was purchased by the Duke of Cleveland, then Sir Harry Vane, in 1857, but within the last few years it has once more become the property of the Webster family, the present Sir Augustus Webster, with admirable devotion to the traditions of his line, having repurchased it when it was put up for sale.
At Battle Abbey once lived the celebrated Lady Holland, who, as Elizabeth Vassall, daughter of a rich Jamaica planter, became the wife of Sir Godfrey Webster, the fourth baronet. As a matter of fact, young Lady Webster was prevented from living in the Abbey itself by Sir Godfrey’s mother, the Dowager, being made to reside with her husband in a little house close by; and with the intention of driving away her mother-in-law, the bride, it is said, attempted to frighten the old lady by arranging ghostly manifestations and sounds in the Abbey. These, however, proved of no avail, and merely increased the quarrel between the old and the young Lady Webster. In the end, indeed, matters reached such a pitch that Sir Godfrey took his wife abroad, with the result that at Florence she met Henry Fox, third Lord Holland and the nephew of Charles James Fox, with whom she eventually eloped.
LADY HOLLAND
Old Lady Holland at one time held a sort of “court” at Holland House. Owing to her elopement, as may well be understood, she was never received at St. James’s; nevertheless, she was made a great deal of by the leading ladies of the Whig party, who used to crowd to her evening receptions, and her youthful escapade was in latter years almost totally forgotten or overlooked. I well remember being taken to see her, and, on the occasion of these visits, though imbued with great awe, I did not find her the terrible old woman of whose sternness I had heard so much; she was, as a matter of fact, very nice to me. The old Duchess of Cleveland used, very amusingly, to tell how, as a girl, she once paid a visit to Holland House, and was treated with the greatest sternness by its mistress, who cross-examined her (so she would declare) exactly as if she had come straight out of a charity school, and expressed the strongest disapproval on learning that her young visitor was allowed a sitting-room as well as a bedroom in her father’s house. “I think it the greatest of mistakes,” said Lady Holland, “to allow girls so many luxuries—unless you marry well you will feel the difference.” In after-years the Minerva of Holland House sent a message to the Duchess to come and see her “as an old acquaintance,” but the latter, mindful of the snubs she had received as a young girl, bluntly refused to go. To me, as I have said, Lady Holland was most affable; my sister and myself, however, it should be added, had gone to see her at her special request, my brother being just engaged to marry Lady Holland’s grand-daughter, Miss Pellew, whose mother, Harriet, was the daughter born of her first marriage with Sir Godfrey Webster. In order to prevent her child from being claimed by its father after her divorce, Lady Webster, as Lady Holland then was, had caused it to be hidden away; she then pretended it was dead, and actually had a funeral service performed over the body of a kid, after which Harriet Webster returned to her mother’s house as an adopted child. The sham burial is alluded to by Byron, who wrote:—
Have you heard what a lady in Italy did,
When to spite a cross husband she buried a kid?
Many were the stories of her dictatorial ways and passion for interfering with and upsetting everybody. At times, indeed, she was positively insolent. She was declared, for instance, on one occasion when a very shy young man was sitting next her at dinner, to have plunged her hand into his pocket, drawn out his handkerchief, and, with a sniff of disgust, given it to the servant behind her chair, with the words, “Take that to the wash!” In Count D’Orsay, however, Lady Holland met her match, for, seated next him at dinner during the early days of his residence in England, she kept letting her napkin slip from her lap, expecting that the awestruck young foreigner would continue to keep picking it up, as a commanding motion of the hand on each occasion directly indicated. Polite at first, he soon wearied of what he discerned to be no accident but a mere piece of impertinence, which was effectually checked by the words, “Should I not do better, Madam, to sit under the table in order to keep passing you your napkin more quickly?” Lady Holland’s passage-of-arms with the Belgian minister, M. Van de Weyer, is probably better known. With characteristic bad taste she jeered him about the Belgians, saying, “Les Belges! Qu’est ce que les Belges? I never heard of them.” “Madam,” was his grave reply, “it was some one called Julius Cæsar, a pretty clever fellow, as you may have heard, who called them by that name.”
HOLLAND HOUSE
Lady Holland could not brook the slightest opposition to her wishes, and would ever attempt to overcome any obstacles which might stand in the way of her will. On one occasion, whilst at Tunbridge Wells, she heard that no stranger was ever allowed to visit Eridge Castle—which, I believe, up to my cousin’s father’s day was actually the case. Accordingly, she never rested till she obtained leave to inspect it, and when this was accorded, marched through the place in triumph with a large party, in which her maid was even included. Her behaviour, indeed, even when staying at other people’s houses, was dictatorial in the extreme. Once, when at Brocket on a self-given invitation to a party with old Lord Melbourne, she completely upset the household and installed herself exactly as if she were at home. Her room, as it happened, chanced to be on the first floor, the windows completely surrounded by the magnificent flowers of a splendid magnolia. Lady Holland, however, did not appreciate their scent, which, as she afterwards casually told Lord Melbourne, was too strong; and, without asking permission, ordered every blossom to be cut off within twenty-four hours of her arrival.
In spite of these very unlovable traits of character old Lady Holland, I believe, had many good points, the chief of which was that she never bore malice against those who refused to submit to her iron rule. Indeed, the contrary rather was the case, and those who firmly stood up to her in no way fell into her bad graces. A staunch and faithful friend, she was long remembered with gratitude and regret by those who had known her well, and, in spite of all her faults and her dictatorial ways, she contrived to make Holland House the resort of the most cultivated, learned, and clever society of her day.
Although Lady Holland did not owe her position as presiding genius at Holland House to any especial distinction as a brilliant conversationalist or wit, she occasionally made some very trenchant and clever criticisms. Of two old people (a devoted couple who, it was notorious, had been lovers for many years whilst the wife’s first husband was yet alive) she said: “Is it not pretty to watch them—they almost make adultery respectable!”
Lord Holland—a mere cypher in the household—was a man of great geniality and charm, and no doubt this largely contributed to the attraction of his wife’s parties. He, poor man, would as soon have thought of asking any one to dinner without first consulting her as of attempting to fly. This, perhaps, was no bad thing, for he was so good-natured that had he been allowed to invite people as the fancy seized him, Holland House would have been perpetually suffering from a very invasion; as it was, the dinners there were far too crowded, many of the guests having to find places at a side-table. Lady Holland, who liked to do out-of-the-way things, very often chose to dine about two hours earlier than any one else, alleging her weak health as an excuse, but, as Talleyrand said, there was probably another reason—to upset everybody; this she loved to do, not from caprice, but in order to show her power.
Wielding great social influence, though of a totally different kind from that exercised by Lady Holland, Lady Palmerston is still remembered by those who knew her as the most admirable hostess possible to conceive. At Cambridge House in old days she used to give the most charming parties imaginable—indeed, I liked them best of all those which I remember. There is no doubt that her tact and her advice were often of great political service to her husband.
LORD PALMERSTON
Lord Palmerston himself was a most adroit man of the world, and besides this there was in his character a certain not unpleasant mixture of French levity combined with English familiarity. His social qualities served him in excellent stead in his political life, for he had a manner of speaking to people, even to those he did not know, which conveyed the impression that their name, constituency, and even their family were perfectly well known to him. By these tactics, and also by asking the wives of M.P.’s to his parties, he was able to do a great deal in the way of retarding the passage of any measures which, for a time at least, he might not be anxious to see pressed forward.
Mr. Bernal Osborne was often a terrible thorn in the flesh to Lord Palmerston, although nominally a strong supporter of that statesman, under whom he served as Secretary of the Admiralty in 1857. Towards the close of his tenure of this office Mr. Osborne, however, became very dissatisfied, and used to complain that his post had been reduced to something very like a mere head-clerkship, his duties being limited to registering minutes of the Board by day and furnishing silent notes by night. Mr. Osborne, of course, was by nature opposed to control of any sort, and being, above all, a political free-lance, the holding of office in any form was quite unsuitable to his disposition, interfering as it did with those onslaughts for which he was so well known in the House of Commons. Later on in life he became a trifle more restrained in his utterances, age causing him to regard everything with more patience. His long experience of politics, he once said, had sobered him so much that he could spy good qualities in every one—even in bishops.
Lord Palmerston was a politician in whom the country, as a whole, reposed the utmost confidence. Though a Liberal, he was a regular John Bull, and neither “retrenchment” nor “reform” was, I think, particularly dear to him; whilst, as was well known, any slight to England would be met with very spirited remonstrances during his tenure of office. There were those indeed who assailed his Government as not being Liberal at all. Bernal Osborne, for instance, roundly attacked the Army Estimates in 1860, when he was particularly severe upon Aldershot, which he described as “an indifferent preparatory school for forming indifferent generals.” Later on, when the House had gone into Committee, Osborne declared that Lord Palmerston (who had characterised his assailant’s remarks as light and violent) was suffering from the effects of the Mansion House dinner, combined with the larger doses of colchicum taken to combat them. Lord Palmerston received this attack in a perfectly bland manner, merely retorting that colchicum was sedative rather than exciting, and consequently more suitable to the Honourable Member than to himself. On another occasion Mr. Osborne applied to Lord Palmerston the lines—
He frolics with the burden of four score,
adding that the Prime Minister’s fault, nevertheless, was not age but youth, as was shown by his extravagance—a youthful folly. “He is indeed,” added he, “never satisfied unless he is squandering the public money.” This was a pleasantry which Lord Palmerston did not relish at all, and, it was said, never forgot.
Mr. Cobden disliked Lord Palmerston as a politician, and would often say to me, “Whatever I may do the old rascal will always insist upon calling me his honourable friend.” As a matter of fact, Lord Palmerston once offered the great Free Trader a baronetcy, an offer which was without hesitation declined.
LORD JOHN RUSSELL
Lord John Russell was a totally different man, both in manner and appearance, from Lord Palmerston—short, stumpy, and not at all good-looking. I only recollect having met him once, on which occasion, I must say, he was most agreeable. This was at a time when he had taken Tennyson’s house near us in the country. A great friend of Lord John’s happening to be one of our guests, it was suggested that we should all go over in a party, which we did, and were most kindly received. I especially remember some one pointing out to me a writing-table in the library with two enormous stains of ink splashed on each side of the blotting-book. “They are rather remarkable ink-stains,” said my guide; “the Poet Laureate made one, and the Prime Minister has made the other.”
Bernal Osborne was always giving Lord John nicknames in the House of Commons. One of these was “a political Mrs. Harris,” another “Dr. Sagrado.” His Irish policy in particular provoked some extremely sarcastic attacks from Mr. Osborne, who once declared that it differed as little from that of the Conservatives as Tweedledum differed from Tweedledee. “Drainage seemed to him the only thing upon which the Liberal Cabinet was agreed—a set of Commissioners of Sewers was what it really was.”
LADY LONDONDERRY
As a girl I was much at Lady Jersey’s house in Berkeley Square, having been a great friend of her daughter’s. The great lady of her day, she wielded considerable social influence, which she used, whenever possible, in favour of Lord Beaconsfield, then plain Benjamin Disraeli, and not particularly favoured by society in general. As a matter of fact, Mr. Disraeli had rendered Lady Jersey an important service, having taken great trouble to assist one of her relatives under peculiarly delicate circumstances. This she never forgot, and did everything she could to help him. Another great lady who also lent her aid to the young politician was Lady Londonderry, who used to hold a sort of court at Holdernesse House (now Londonderry House). Here she would receive her guests sitting on a daïs under a canopy. To me she was always most affable, but I could not with truth say that, as a general rule, she took much trouble to entertain those who came to her receptions; indeed, she exhibited great hauteur, and sometimes took little notice of them. Some great ladies in old days (but not the very clever ones) gave themselves great airs; small wonder, when they were brought up to think they were the very salt of the earth. One there was whose behaviour at her parties was so frigidly condescending that people used to ask one another, “Are you going to see Lady —— insult her guests to-night?”
Nevertheless, as I have said, Lady Londonderry joined with Lady Jersey in doing everything possible to assist and push on Benjamin Disraeli, with the result that their efforts were eventually crowned with success. I remember Lady Chesterfield (who, after Lady Beaconsfield’s death, was a devoted friend of the great statesman; indeed he wanted, and I think actually proposed, to marry her) saying to me how strange that she should not have known Dizzy in old days. But it was not so strange after all; for at the beginning of his career there were many who fought shy of him, and later on certain people disliked his wife. Lady Beaconsfield was, however, a dear friend of mine, and I was much grieved at her death. Her handwriting was, I think I may say, the worst I ever saw, so different from her husband’s, which was firm, clear, and easy to read. Nevertheless, she wrote bright little letters, which gave one excitement as well as pleasure, for to discover their meaning was much like deciphering a cuneiform inscription. The following is a specimen of her style:—
Grosvenor Gate,
May 9, 1859.
My Dear Dorothy—I have a portrait same as yours. Under mine is written in old English letters: “Forti nihil difficile”—nothing difficult to the brave—which I put because it is Dizzy’s motto, and I think he has earned it. At the back of the portrait—“Dizzy, 1859.” It stands on my table in one of the new sort of frames. He will write his name on the portrait if you prefer it. Town is going to be very gay, at least the Palace. Comte Persigny comes here as Ambassador very soon, to our party’s great dismay. Duc de Malakoff very sorry to go—kiss’d Lord Malmesbury on each cheek! When are you coming to town? Dizzy begs his love to you, and kind regards to Mr. Nevill.—Affectionately yours,
Mary Anne Disraeli.
She wrote to me frequently with regard to politics, in which she took great interest:
Grosvenor Gate,
February 15, 1860.
Dearest Dorothy—I was so glad to see you bright and strong this morning, and I hope you will come to town very soon. You have no idea of the excitement about this unpopular budget—a great meeting at Lord Salisbury’s—Lord Derby spoke beautifully.
The Government consider themselves in danger; your young friend, Dizzy, is in fine fighting form.
Most affectionately yours,
M. A. Disraeli.
MY HANDWRITING
I have said that Lady Beaconsfield’s handwriting was the worst I ever saw; but, on reflection, I think such a statement is inaccurate—my own is worse.
When I lived in the country, in Sussex, I used at one time to educate a few poor girls at a school which I had built for their benefit. When their education had gone on as far as seemed necessary, I used to try and find good places for them; many turned out treasures, a few did not do me much credit. One, a very nice girl, I thought was likely to suit the person to whom I sent her—a famous doctor. He asked her several questions which she answered satisfactorily, but when she produced her character, written by me, it was returned to her, after a brief perusal, with these ominous words: “I cannot take you now, for I am sure this letter must be a forgery—no lady could have written it.” The poor girl came back to me crying, and not knowing quite what to do. By means, however, of a personal interview, I was able to convince the doctor that the letter was no forgery, and everything was put right.
At the dinners given by Lord and Lady Beaconsfield, the guests were for the most part either politicians, or people connected with politics, to which one might say the host devoted his whole life. Most of these dinners, Lady Beaconsfield told me, were furnished by a caterer at a fixed price of so much per head, and I well remember her declaring how annoyed she was with my brother (who always accepted every invitation, and invariably excused himself at the last moment on the grounds of impending death) at his having, after the most solemn assurances, played her his usual trick. “He might,” said she, “just as well have made me throw a sovereign into the Thames,” for this was the price per head at which her contract was made. They were not at all bad dinners from a gastronomic point of view, though in these luxurious days I suspect they would not be thought very much of. The Beaconsfields were in no way luxurious people, nor did they care for art, which did not then excite as much attention as to-day, when every one appears to be more or less interested in house decoration, collecting, and the like.
MR. DISRAELI’S MARRIAGE
Mr. Disraeli’s marriage to Mrs. Wyndham Lewis was of great use to him in his political career, for, his own means being anything but considerable, the fortune which was thus at his disposal saved him from much trouble and worry; whilst Mrs. Disraeli, being absolutely devoted to her husband, was always delighted to assist him in every possible way. I well remember, however, his being very much annoyed at a remark made by Mr. Bernal Osborne, which somehow got round to his ears. “After all, Dizzy only likes his wife out of gratitude.” As a matter of fact this was far from being the case, for, though fully appreciative of what he owed to his wife, the great statesman was also completely devoted to her. As a proof of Dizzy’s carelessness about money, and almost culpable lack of mercenary precaution, I may add that to the best of my belief (though he well knew that Lady Beaconsfield’s fortune must return to her husband’s family after her death) he never took the trouble to insure her life. He was indeed absolutely devoid of all calculating financial instinct, though shrewd and clever enough in all matters which might in any way assist his political career. I have already told how he contrived to secure Lady Jersey’s support; in another way he managed to conciliate Lord Lyndhurst, for, recognising how valuable the latter’s aid would be, Dizzy, who stood high in a certain lady’s graces, forbore from paying his court to her on perceiving that he was regarded as an unwelcome intruder by his older rival. By this self-sacrificing behaviour, he secured a most valuable political patron and ally.
Lord Beaconsfield’s long friendship with me was in a great measure caused by his sincere affection and regard for my dear brother, the late Lord Orford, with whom he was ever on the most intimate terms, as the following graceful letter will show:—
2 Whitehall Gardens, S.W.,
December 28, 1876.
My Dearest Orford—A little line to thank you for remembering me. One likes to be remembered by those whom one never forgets. I am here alone, at this dreary season, in consequence of the confusion in those waters where we once passed happy hours. I was going to pass my Xmas at Weston with our friends the Bradfords, and then to Trentham for a few days, when my Sovereign Lady appealed to me not to leave her at this moment, and declared it an act of high imprudence for myself and Derby to leave town at this conjuncture.
Our friends, the Turks, are better diplomatists than Europeans in general, and the affair will probably be longer than the common mind imagines. It requires one’s wits about one. I feel as if sailing on a sea full of torpedoes. My profound conviction is, that the Russians dread war, and never contemplated it except with a crowd of allies. When the pinch comes they find themselves quite isolated, and Mephistopheles Bismarck scarcely suppresses his laughter when he beholds that gentle Faust, the Emperor of Russia, struggling in his toils. But to get them out of the scrape with honour, Hic labor, hoc opus est. There must be a golden bridge, and if necessary, it must even be gilt: every possible facility—perfume on the violet.
I hope you are well and tolerably happy.—Remember sometimes, your affectionate
Beaconsfield.
BEACONSFIELD’S DIFFICULTIES
Lord Beaconsfield in his early political days, it must be remembered, had many difficulties of a widely different sort with which to contend. In addition to the disadvantage of not being favourably looked upon by many, some did not scruple to call him a mere dandy who should not be taken too seriously. Later on he had to educate his party, being obliged, as was once rather wittily said, “to drag an omnibus full of country gentlemen uphill.”
His Reform Bill of 1859 even excited a certain amount of ridicule. I remember it being described as “a piece of Downing Street millinery,” whilst his “Fancy Franchise,” as it was called, was declared to be “not at all the thing for the people of England.” A more serious criticism called it “change without progress.” It is very difficult to say what Lord Beaconsfield’s real view of politics was, but my own impression is that he was deeply attached to the traditions of government by aristocracy, the romantic side of which appealed to his imagination and nature. At heart I think he feared the eventual triumph of a sort of mob rule, the coming of which it was ever his object to delay. Undoubtedly in his last years he was extremely pessimistic as to the future, having, rightly or wrongly, no particular confidence in the political sagacity of an English democracy, the judgment of which he thought could be easily swayed by unprincipled and specious agitators.
Always most guarded in his references to his great opponent, Mr. Gladstone, and speaking very little about him at any time, Lord Beaconsfield without doubt entertained a real and sincere distrust of him as a politician, quite apart from any question of rivalry. There were times, I know, when the Conservative leader was more than half inclined to think that the Liberal policy was being dictated by no sound mind, a conviction which is fully supported by certain references to being “governed by Colney Hatch,” which Lord Beaconsfield made to a very dear relative of mine. Mr. Gladstone, indeed, owing to his habit of saying things which he afterwards declared were never meant to convey the meaning which was naturally to be drawn from them, caused many people who were not under the spell of his marvellous fascination to wonder whether the Grand Old Man’s intelligence had not become more or less unbalanced. He had a habit of saying things which, taken literally, meant much, but as a number of them were often but pious opinions, it was better to assume that they meant nothing at all. To take Mr. Gladstone too seriously was sometimes very dangerous, as I believe a foreign diplomatist of singularly trustful nature once discovered. From a conversation with the Grand Old Man the secretary in question, then chargé d’affaires, formed the impression that the evacuation of Egypt by England was merely a question of a comparatively short time. Was it not an act of justice dear to Mr. Gladstone’s heart? Bursting with joy at this noble utterance, this somewhat ingenuous diplomat, in spite of warnings from more worldly colleagues, at once informed his Government of the glad tidings, which Government, making serious inquiry into the matter, of course discovered that England had not the slightest intention of removing one soldier from the land of the Pharaohs. The end of the whole affair was that the unfortunate and confiding diplomatist fell into great disgrace, and was eventually practically obliged to abandon his career.
Bernal Osborne once nicknamed Mr. Gladstone the “Milo” of politics, a name which certain events at the end of the Grand Old Man’s political career rendered singularly appropriate. Milo of Crotona, the Greek athlete famous for his strength, perished, it is said, owing to his hands becoming fixed in a cleft of a tree which he had endeavoured to rend in twain. Mr. Gladstone’s political life, or at least tenure of political power, was ended by his having become entangled in the Home Rule movement and by the efforts which he made to cleave in two that Parliamentary bond which, in spite of his endeavours, still holds England and Ireland together.
THE IRISH QUESTION
Mr. Osborne himself held some very original views as to the Irish question, being particularly opposed to the system of government by a Viceroy, which he deemed obsolete and demoralising, besides tending to bring Royalty into contempt. Dublin Castle, he declared, was regarded by both Conservatives and Liberals as a political club, of which the Viceroy was merely a temporary manager, a roi fainéant with no real power. The British monarchy in Ireland, he once said, is in reality embodied in the not very agreeable form of the Judge at the Assizes, who puts on the black cap. Mr. Osborne always maintained that occasional visits from the Sovereign would effect a great deal in conciliating the Irish people, by nature inclined to poetry and sentiment.