One factor in the success of the paper was Oliver Borthwick, the son of Lord Glenesk. Journalism attracted him; he entered his father's office early; his aptitudes for the business showed themselves at once, and before many years he was managing editor. He had an inquiring, inventive mind. He kept his Conservatism for politics, and applied to the conduct of The Morning Post the most original and even radical and sometimes daring methods. He understood details and thought no detail beneath the notice of a manager. He liked to do things which the old hands in the office pronounced impossible, among them that paged index to the contents of the paper which he first believed and then proved to be practicable. All this did not stand in the way of broad conceptions and great schemes for which his father gave him a free hand. Lord Glenesk asked me one day if Oliver had told me of his newest plan. I said no. "Well, you had better ask him about it. I shall not interfere, though it is going to cost a lot of money"; and he named a sum which ran into many figures. Those were the relations which existed between father and son. But there came a day when they existed no longer. Oliver Borthwick's joy in his work was such that he never spared himself and he died at thirty-two, his father still living. The only gift he lacked was the gift of adapting his work to his strength. He overworked recklessly; he could not do otherwise. He would spare everybody but himself. And so to-day, instead of being an ornament of his profession and of social life, Oliver Borthwick is only a memory and a lasting regret.
Since the foregoing was written Mr. Reginald Lucas has published his Lord Glenesk and The Morning Post, an agreeable and informing book. This is not the place to comment on it but I should like to add to what I have said above of Lord Glenesk a passage from a signed review by me in The Morning Post:
"As I think of the man whom I knew, the importance of the things he did, great and brilliant as they were, seems to me less than the importance of the man himself. If I could, I should like to describe not what he did but what he was. I should say that his friendships, to which I have already referred, were part not only of his life but of himself. The range of them would show that. Political friendships came to him in his position as a matter of course. But friendships non-political were more numerous and more remarkable still. The late Queen's regard for him was a strong one. Early in life he was the friend of that astonishing Frenchwoman, Elizabeth Rachel Felix, more commonly known as Rachel, perhaps the greatest tragedian of all time, in almost the full flower of her genius at seventeen. Later in life he was the friend, the very helpful and trusted friend, of Madame Sarah Bernhardt. He early conceived and retained to the end an affection for the French Emperor. I need not go on with the catalogue but there are many friends, not to be named, who were under obligations to him for kindnesses and whom he seems to have liked because he had helped them. All through life that was true. He gave freely, generously, delicately. Nihil humani was his motto or one of his mottoes. There must have been many. A life so varied as his does not move to the music of a single air on a single string.
"Not the briefest, and not even the most public, notice of Lord Glenesk can omit all reference to the happiness of his private life. Even the few lines above may show what part his wife had in his happiness, and he in hers. Of his daughter, Lady Bathurst, Mr. Lucas has told us something with due reserve; enough to give his readers at least a hint of the affection between her and her father and why it was on both sides so deep, and is on hers so abiding. Oliver was to all the world a beloved and brilliant figure, and when the time came his father's right hand; then finally relieving him of his executive cares. Then at thirty-two came the end, and then the father at seventy-five takes up the burden once more, but not for long.
"Mr. Lucas tells us that President Roosevelt's 'manner of receiving Oliver was particularly flattering.' I hope it may interest his friends if I enlarge that a little. Oliver told me when he came to Washington that he had the usual introduction from the British Ambassador, which is indispensable, and asked me what he had better do. He wished something more than a formal interview as one of the many whom it was the President's habit to receive in line, bestowing a few cordial but conventional words on each. I saw the President that afternoon, told him something of Oliver's position and of Oliver himself. He answered, 'Bring him to lunch to-morrow.' At lunch the President put him next to himself and the two talked together during and after this meal. Then Oliver and I walked away. He said, 'The President is a great natural force,' a phrase which recalls Lord Morley's later remark that the two greatest natural phenomena he had seen in the United States were Niagara and President Roosevelt. The day following I again saw the President, who perhaps will for once allow himself to be quoted. He said: 'Your friend Oliver Borthwick is a very young man, but a man.' Then a pause; then, 'And what charm he has. It is long since I have met any newcomer whom I have liked better.'"
CHAPTER XXXVI
QUEEN VICTORIA AT BALMORAL—KING EDWARD AT
DUNROBIN—ADMIRAL SIR HEDWORTH LAMBTON—OTHER
ANECDOTES
Invercauld, of which Lord Glenesk was long tenant, lies near Balmoral; a name famous the world over as the Highland home of Queen Victoria and then of the late King. A castle on which the very German taste of the very German husband of the great Queen has left its mark. It is no more a fine castle than Buckingham Palace is a fine palace. It stands, however, in a beautiful country and some of the best drives within easy reach are those on the Invercauld property. They are private but all gates swing open to Kings and Queens.
The privacy was one thing the Queen liked. So long as she was in the Highlands the loyalty of her subjects was expected to manifest itself by ignoring her presence. If you saw the Sovereign approaching you effaced yourself. You slipped behind a tree or looked over the hedge or retied your shoelaces. You might do anything except be aware of this august lady's presence and recognize it by the usual salute and the bared head as she went by. The Queen was ever, as her son was, insistent upon etiquette. No form of ceremony must be neglected. But at Balmoral the etiquette consisted in the absence of all form or ceremony outdoors. You were expected to know this, and if you did not know it but stood at attention with lifted hat this mark of homage would not be well received. I once heard a stranger who had offended in this way say that the look upon the Queen's face as she passed was a lesson not to be forgotten.