HISTORY AND BIOGRAPHY
THE LIFE OF THOMAS COUTTS, BANKER. By Ernest Hartley Coleridge. 2 Vols. Lane. 42s. net.
Thomas Coutts, virtual founder of the Bank of his name as it now is, was born in 1735, and, according to the standards of Scotland, well born, having, that is, wise, reputable forbears, relatives with place-names of their own—Stuarts of Allanbank and the like—and a coat-of-arms. "Instead of which," as the old story has it, at the age of twenty-eight he married his mother's nursemaid, and loved and served her faithfully until, after some fifty years' partnership, she wandered out of her mind and then out of his world. By that time his three daughters by her had married, one an Earl of Guilford, one a Marquis of Bute, and one Sir Francis Burdett. By that time also Coutts was one of the most considerable bankers in London, and one of the richest men in England. It might now be thought that his adventures in life were over—but not at all. At seventy years of age he stepped once more into the Pays du Tendre, and took into his protection—which in his case, it really appears, had no secondary meaning—Miss Harriot Mellon, a low comedy actress of abundant charm, humble birth, little education, and excellent disposition. She was then twenty-eight. He fell headlong in love with her and head over heels. He endowed her with stock and other movables to the amount of £500 a year, and when, at the age of eighty, he made her his second wife he settled the whole of that endowment upon herself. At his death, Mr. Coleridge tells us, her private fortune could not have been less than £200,000. Notwithstanding the estrangement and unconcealed disgust of "the ladies," as he always called his daughters, she made him perfectly happy for nine years; and when, at eighty-nine, he died, very reasonably, he left her practically everything he possessed.
That in outline is the life-history of Thomas Coutts as Mr. Ernest Coleridge pleasantly and ably narrates it in two portly volumes. The book offers a view of eighteenth-century manners which is not often, and seldom so well, illustrated. Coutts must have been, and he was, a notable man of affairs; but he was a good deal better than that. He knew, of course, everybody who was anybody. He was the friend and correspondent of Lord Bute, the favourite of Lord Chatham, of William Pitt. He lent, mero motu ejus, £10,000 to Charles Fox without security of any kind. He lent large sums to the Duchess of Devonshire, and forwent the interest until such time as her son was pleased to pay it; for her husband never would. He lectured that great and gay lady upon her follies with perfect freedom and no result. All the royal rips, sons of George III., banked with him, or, in other words, borrowed from him; and they dined with him too. Edward Duke of Kent, the only one of them who was not a rip, made a friend of him as well as a convenience. It is interesting to remark how Coutts deals with these disreputable magnates. He is respectful of their degree in so far as he is shopkeeper and they customers; but outside the bank-parlour he stands on level terms. His children are to commence with their children; his wife's table is as good as their tables. Servant-girl or not, his wife, Mrs. Coutts, is the equal of their wives. There is nothing of Sir Pertinax MacSycophant in his letters, although, as a trader, he continually has his eye upon business, and is never above doing himself a good turn. Mr. Coleridge is to be congratulated upon having presented so engaging a picture of the sound, cautious, and upright Scots merchant, who kept his head and his balance through the convulsions of the American and French wars, and cultivated the domestic virtues in the same social set as Old Q. and the Duchess of Gordon.
But, except for that sappy core of romance which twice betrayed itself in act and once in word, Tom Coutts was a dry stick. While his views of political affairs were sound and uncommonly independent, his expression of them was not interesting. He was by inheritance a Tory, yet he was staunch upon the American war. "The idea," he wrote in 1775 to Lord Stair, "of reducing such a continent to obedience (especially after letting them have so much time to unite) appears to me, so far as I am capable of judging, to be absolutely impossible." So, too, he opposed the war with revolutionary France. "The war made against their growth seems to me to be exactly the way to encourage instead of destroying them. There is no instance of opposition by force of arms subduing opinions! which by such manners have always grown stronger and more inveterate." One might be reading the present Dean of St. Paul's. The same faculty of seeing things as they really were allowed him to have no good opinion of Pitt's Reform proposals of 1784, and gave him as early as 1785 a plan of dealing with Irish disaffection which was in fact adopted in 1800, to our cost. "As to Ireland, I apprehend it is an aristocracy of about thirty nobles, etc., who command two hundred votes in the Lower House, and that these thirty may be bought and a union accomplished more easily than that heap of nonsense called the Irish propositions." They were bought.
Mr. Coleridge prints a recently discovered bundle of his love-letters to Harriot Mellon, from which, if one could feel love-letters to be fair game, it would be tempting, and easy, to make extracts. They are striking by their extraordinary difference from his other familiar correspondence. Coutts becomes emotional, profuse, sentimental, and occasionally ridiculous. Few love-letters, however, will stand the test of examination in cold blood. It can be said of his at least that there is nothing in them which is not intended to honour the recipient. To Coutts his Harriot was a pattern of womanly virtue. It is Mr. Coleridge's opinion, as it is our own, that she deserved it. That she made him happy is obvious; that she returned him a grateful love let this, which was written by herself five years after her wedding-day, bear witness:
"I never lose my spirits." My blessed Tom said these words to me in a dream. After he had kissed me and laid his dear head on my bosom, I felt his tears on my cheek—I was so happy, but so melancholy happy. He looked so well, tranquil and divine.... I see him at this moment, upright, beautiful and composed, as in his long and immaculate life. He looks just as I first saw his dear, blessed face upwards of twenty years ago.
That is both tenderly and prettily said. Tom Coutts, in his marriage as in other things, knew what he was about.
THE TURKS IN EUROPE. By W. E. D. Allen. Murray. 10s. 6d. net.
"La Turquie est le pays classique du massacres," it has been truly said.... "Son historie se résume à ceci: pillages, meurtres, vols, concussions—sur toutes les échilles—révoltes, insurrections, répercussions, guerres étrangères, guerres civiles, révolutions, contre-révolutions, séditions, mutineries." All these things are the theme of Mr. Allen's interesting and well-written sketch of the Turkish power, from the rise of Osman in the thirteenth century down to the Treaty of Bukarest in 1913. Mr. Allen does not, however, confine himself to a mere record of horrors. He contrives throughout his book to draw in a few lines the characters of the chief actors in the drama, and, especially in the later chapters, to expose the policies, European and Turkish, which have created and complicated the long nightmare of the Near East. Many of our troubles of the last forty years are attributed by him to the Treaty of Berlin in 1878, the triumph of Lord Beaconsfield's policy. It was a treaty concluded, he says, "in a spirit of shameless bargain, with a sublime disregard of elementary ethics, and in open contempt of the right of civilised peoples to determine their own future. It was essentially a temporary arrangement concluded between rival Imperialist States." A few years later the "grim raw races" in the Balkans were again in a savage ferment, and we could enjoy "the spectacle of the heads of the civilised world, in their palaces in the capitals of Europe, setting those same 'grim raw races' to kill." Mr. Allen in his narrative of this later period does not spare his criticism of the diabolic diplomacy of Berlin and Vienna, of the brilliant cunning of their agents in Turkey—and notably Baron Marschal von Bieberstein.
ST. CATHERINE OF SIENA. By Alfred W. Pollard. Sidgwick & Jackson. 3s. net.
In this little volume, one of a series called Messages of the Saints, Mr. Pollard has re-told the ever-fascinating story of St. Catherine, Siena's fourteenth-century saint. "In the present sketch," says the author, "there is nothing original, save possibly its point of view and (I believe) the chapter on St. Catherine's book."
Its point of view is that of an ardent if critical admirer of St. Catherine, and full justice is done to what after all are the qualities which made of her not only the most lovable, but perhaps the most amazing of saintly women. Amor vincit omnia is the motto which springs to the mind as most fit for Catherine of Siena. In an age of cruelty she is love personified. It was love for her fellow-creatures, concern for their immortal welfare, that led her, a poor ignorant "little bit of a woman," to face with the simplicity of a child and the wisdom born of simplicity princes and popes, and force them, not to her own will, but to what she conceived to be the Will of God.
To all who have lived long enough in Siena, Catherine becomes a living personality. So real indeed that it would scarcely be surprising to meet her one evening at dusk in that long steep street—still the street of the tanners—where six hundred years ago she walked with her lantern on her way to the sick and dying during the plague. In Siena one is apt to forget that St. Catherine was a figure in politics and the composer of a book about which the learned dispute. Still, on the day of her festival the townsfolk sing the "Praise of Catherine," to them merely the tanner's daughter who, greatly to the glory of their beautiful little city, somehow became a saint.
Mr. Pollard's chapter on the Libro della Divina Dottrina, the treatise said to have been dictated by St. Catherine while in a trance, is valuable because it summarises typical pronouncements of the mystic upon the various stages of the soul in its pilgrimage towards a spiritual goal.
As a revelation of the subconscious self, if for no other reason, St. Catherine's book has its own intense interest. Those who are already familiar with her story may, by the help of Mr. Pollard's pleasant sketch, refresh their memory of its details, and to those who are not it should, as he hopes, prove a stimulating introduction to the life of a wonderful woman.
VICTORIAN RECOLLECTIONS. By J. H. Bridges. Bell. 7s. 6d. net.
Mr. Bridges deliberately adopts the attitude of the laudator temporis acti se puero. The worst of this prose is that, just as it may attract the sympathy of men of his own generation, it inevitably repels slightly those of a younger. Nothing is more tiresome than to listen to judgments on life and manners whose chief point lies in the opening words, "Well, I tell you in 185—we did not," or "we did"—such criticism automatically provokes the retort, "Well, this isn't 185—," whereat your ancient growls, "I would to God it were," and youth and eld stand back to uncomfortable back, with no chance of doing any useful work.
Fortunately Mr. Bridges, although angry at the modern depreciation of things Victorian, is better than his threat. He is not too comparative, and although overfond of censure, his blame has a humorous quality which keeps it inoffensive. At times the humour is unconscious, as in Mr. Bridges' charming suggestion that the beauty of the primrose is more noticed and "more respected" because ardent Tory enthusiasm associated Peter Bell's flower with the late Lord Beaconsfield: but Mr. Bridges' essentially "pawky" quality of mind—we use the word in an amiable sense—crops out not infrequently as, for instance, in his grave statement that he would be "in favour of a law forbidding anyone to own more than 150 newspapers."
Mr. Bridges gives an account of his schooldays under a flogging master, which adds yet another count to the indictment against Victorian methods of education. He does not tell us much that is unfamiliar, either of Eton or Oxford, though many will be glad to have his description of the old-time Don, and the Dean Gaisford's letter to a noble father who enquired after his son's University progress:
"My Lord, Such letters give much trouble to
"Your humble servant,
"The Dean of Christ Church."
In the late fifties Mr. Bridges visited Canada and the United States, and he records his conviction that Senator Douglas was Lincoln's "superior as speaker and politician," a verdict which makes one wonder a little what his standards of oratory are, and how a politician, obviously inferior in moral character, who also fails to keep his country's confidence can be called the inferior of one who wins its trust. Mr. Bridges abandoned his plan to settle in the New World, and returned to England and started farming, first in the Eastern counties and subsequently in Shropshire. In the chapters dealing with his life in rural England he sketches some village types for the reader with a genuine feeling for character. Particularly good is the final chapter, "A Survival," with its touching picture of Old Tom, "the last survivor hereabouts of the old-style agricultural labourer." Whatever one's political colour, one cannot help sympathising with Mr. Bridges and Old Tom in their lament at the decay of rural England, and at the growth of conditions which made it possible for "more and more people to wax rich in London and in the big towns, while no one can earn a living in the country." Though the latter ceased to be true during the war, one is yet uncertain how far the prosperity then enjoyed by the farmer will continue as war conditions slowly depart.
THE LIFE OF LIZA LEHMANN. By Herself. T. Fisher Unwin. 10s. 6d. net.
Born in London, daughter of a Scotswoman, educated in Italy, married to an Englishman, Liza Lehmann's heart—and she was a woman who always let her heart rule her head—was unconsciously fixed in England. Yet as we turn the pages of her autobiography there is hardly one in which we do not feel conscious that she belonged by unalterable temperament to the land of Die Gartenlaube and Familie Buchholz. Many English singers and audiences in the happy days before the war have felt that for all their devotion to Schumann, the domestic intimacies of Frauenliebe und Leben were too intensely German for an English sense of proportion and sense of humour. Let them read The Life of Liza Lehmann in their own tongue, and they will turn with relief to the reticence and dignity of Chamisso's lyrics. It is evident that she was a woman who never did an act, never cherished a thought, that was not a kind one. She collaborated in an opera with Mr. Laurence Housman; he considered that she had wrecked his play, she thought that he had wrecked her music; but she records the awkward incident without the least trace of ill-will, nay, without the least supposition that he or anyone else in the world could have borne ill-will to her. Liszt, Brahms, Browning, and Verdi were among her acquaintances; but she has little to tell us about them. They counted for far less in her life than Madame Clara Butt, Mr. Kennerley Rumford, Mr. Arthur Boosey, and Mr. Landon Ronald; and even these were unsubstantial shadows compared to her mother, her husband, and her sons. A large proportion of her book is taken up with newspaper criticisms and interviews, mostly American. They gave the authoress no little pleasure, and they will give the reader no little amusement; indeed, as studies of American literary style, they are most instructive. The final chapter, dealing with the death of her elder son, so shortly to be followed by her own, can hardly be touched upon in a review; it seems an intrusion to read it.
THE GLORY OF THE COMING. By Irvin S. Cobb. Hodder & Stoughton. 7s. net.
THE 25TH DIVISION IN FRANCE AND FLANDERS. Harrison. 4s. net.
These two war books, extremely dissimilar, belong to two well-known types. Mr. Cobb is an American journalist, and he gives a lively, journalistic account of the coming and doing of the American armies in France. The other book is a detailed and somewhat bare record of the doings of the 25th Division, by Lieut.-Col. M. Kincaid-Smith. The 25th Division made a great name for itself in the war; this book shows that it was not unearned.
THE PARAVANE ADVENTURE. By L. Cope Cornford. Hodder & Stoughton. 7s. 6d. net.
The story of the paravane, the remarkable anti-submarine contrivance invented by Commander Burney and used by the Allied navies and also by merchant ships during the later period of the war, is told by Mr. Cope Cornford in a popular style and with considerable enthusiasm. It is possible that he is over-enthusiastic, for in a prefatory note he tells us that some naval officers and also the Admiralty consider that he exaggerates the effects of the paravane. There is no doubt, however, as the official figures themselves show, that paravanes and "Otters" (as they were called when fitted to merchant vessels) did have an enormous success. The total tonnage of H.M. ships and merchant ships definitely saved by them comes to over a quarter of a million; and the financial saving to the British Empire is estimated at approximately £100,000,000. Mr. Cope Cornford has a good deal of criticism—some open and more, we think, implied—to make against the Admiralty. Exactly how far it is justified we cannot say; but there are certainly a good many people with inside knowledge who assert that the Admiralty were decidedly cold about the paravane, even if they did not actually "crab" it. And the rewards and honours bestowed on the brilliant young officers who devoted themselves to the paravane and Otter services were not particularly generous.
SUBMARINES AND SEA POWER. By Charles Domville-Fife. Bell. 10s. 6d. net.
Mr. Domville-Fife's purpose is to discuss the importance of the submarine arm in naval warfare of the future. His treatment of the subject is very balanced and his conclusions are cautious. He gives us a great deal of interesting information about the history of submarine craft (beginning as far back as 1578) and of the submarine explosive mine. In dealing with the tactics of submarines and their influence in naval strategy, he speaks as an expert; for not only has he devoted many years to their study, but during the war he was in command of anti-submarine craft and an instructor at H.M. School of Submarine Mining. The economic influence of the submarine on this country, Mr. Domville thinks, is summed up in the words of Lord Selborne in 1915: "After the war the whole question of our agricultural and economic policy of the food production at home will have to be revised in the light of our submarine experience." But what of the League of Nations? Are we not entitled to voice our views of the future of naval warfare in the light of that? Here Mr. Domville-Fife is guarded. He looks forward "steadfastly and even hopefully towards the vivid dawn of a new era." But he is not for abandoning the old motto, Si vis pacem para bellum.