My father always wrote home an account of little things to entertain the old folks here. Thus, he writes from Exeter, 30 October 1838, “I went to the Cathedral on Sunday morning: the Bishop seemed wonderfully devout. He always is so in appearance, but there was less parade of it on Sunday. I hope his sins, or at least a few of them, were wiped away by his humility.”
He writes to one of his aunts, 19 August 1839, that he had been to Windsor the day before (Sunday) and a friend at court had given him a seat in the inner part of St George’s Chapel, and the Queen “wore a white bonnet placed very far back over the head,” and “seemed tolerably attentive to the service.”... “Afterwards she came out to walk on the terrace, and walked all round amongst the people: we all made way, and divided into two rows to let her pass between: she bowed to the people as she passed, but walked through with a most royal air. She wore the same little bonnet, and a blue gown and shawl. The Duchess of Kent walked behind, occasionally by the side of her, but generally the Queen walked on in front, very boldly, and seemed not to mind going in amongst the crowd.”
He writes to my grandmother, 11 June 1840, “There has been a good deal of talk here today in consequence of a young fellow having last evening fired two pistols at the Queen as she was riding out: he was within eight yards of her carriage, which was a low open one: the bullets passed very near, but both missed her: he is in custody.... Last week I had a ticket given me and was at the great Slave Trade Abolition meeting at Exeter Hall. Prince Albert was in the chair: he looks at least 24 or 25, and has a regular German expression of face. He managed very well and was not at all puzzled or frightened at facing so large a meeting. He read his speech off his hat. There were some good speeches, Archdeacon Wilberforce, Dr Lushington, Sir Robert Peel, the latter much cheered, altho’ the applause to O’Connell beat everything else. It was tremendous. I met him walking in Fleet Street a day or two previously. He was then looking rather meanly dressed, but at the Meeting he was in prime order, his best wig all nicely curled, a new hat, good coat, and his face red and shining as a schoolboy’s.”
At that time of life my father thought a good deal of the way that people dressed. I have seen two letters of his to young men coming up to town: he tells them what things should be done and what things left undone; but, before all things, they must not fail to wear black satin stocks. The satin gleams in a daguerreotype of him, taken at Daguerre’s on 7 or 8 October 1842, “on the roof of a seven story house, whence there is a splendid view of Paris.” Later portraits of him show the gradual decline of the stock into a chequered neckerchief, and then into a lavender necktie taking only one turn round the neck.
He writes to one of his aunts, 9 May 1839, “We went to the National Gallery and saw all the new paintings of the year.” From 1838 to 1868 the Royal Academy exhibitions were held at the National Gallery—I went to several of them there—but they had previously been held at Somerset House. He notes in his diary, 13 July 1832, “Went to Somerset House, saw all the paintings,” and on 25 July, “Went to Angerstein’s paintings.” The present National Gallery was not built then, and the pictures were still at Angerstein’s in Pall Mall.—He also notes, 31 July, “Saw Perkins’ steam gun, which fired 78 bullets in one minute against some very thick iron plates at 30 yards distance, where the bullets were immediately flattened with the force.”
He writes to her again from the Belle Vue at Brussels, 27 July 1839, “The interior of the inn is all good, excepting as to carpets, which are scarce, being of English manufacture and a heavy duty paid on them.” Yet we talk of Brussels carpets: also of Vienna glass. I have a letter here that I wrote to my mother from Vienna, 15 August 1875, “Not a bit of Vienna glass to be seen anywhere.”
My father writes from Louvain, 11 October 1843, “We went out after the rain to see the most remarkable object in the town, the magnificent Hôtel de Ville: far surpassing the idea I had formed from the engravings of it. The whole of the exterior is most elaborately and finely carved, and delicate beyond description; and it is absolutely perfect as regards repair, not one inch of carving being broken.”—Happily it is quite perfect still, in spite of our great Propaganda lie of the Destruction of Louvain.
He writes from Braine-le-Comte, 3 August 1849, “I don’t notice the slightest difference in France caused by the Revolution: all seems just as it used to be.” And from Basle, 8 August, “All the Baden territory is under martial law and full of Prussian troops, but agriculture goes on just as if nothing had happened.”
He writes from Dinan to my grandfather on 12 August 1847, “This morning we went through the market and saw pigs there as tall and thin as greyhounds.” And to my grandmother on 15 August, “You would be surprised to see how exemplary the parish priests are here in their conduct: it beats everything I have ever seen in England. Their whole time is devoted to their flock. They have service every day, and spend the rest of it in calling on the different members of their congregation, the poorest as well as the richest.”
Though my father’s letters were pretty full, my grandmother detected gaps. She writes, 15 January 1840, “You don’t say who you were with at Covent Garden seeing out the old year and bringing in the new. I should like to know.” And then she gives him a little bit of good advice—“Youth passes rapidly away: therefore, my dear son, make the most and the best of it.” Later on she feared that he was making a little too much of it. She writes him, 20 November 1842, “I hope never to hear you express a wish to go on the Continent more. I recollect your saying when you came to Wreyland that you had not been in bed for two nights.” I see from his diary that it was three: one in the diligence, Paris to Boulogne, the next in the steamer, Boulogne to London, and the next in the train, London to Taunton, and in the coach from there. I see also from his diary that he was at Covent Garden with persons of complete respectability.