MATILDA BETHAM-EDWARDS.
A winding road from the top of the old-fashioned High Street of Hastings leads to High Wickham, where, on an elevation of some hundred feet above the level of the main road on the East Hill stands a cottage, which is the abode of a learned and accomplished author, Miss Betham-Edwards. The quaint little "Villa Julia," as she has named it after a friend, is the first of a terrace of picturesque and irregularly-built houses. A tortuous path winds up the steep ascent, and on reaching the summit, one of the finest views in Southern England is obtained.
The vast panorama embraces sea, woodland, streets, and roads, the umbrageous Old London coach-road, above, the grassy slopes reaching to the West and Castle hills. Far beyond may be seen the crumbling ruins of the Conqueror's stronghold (alas! this historic spot is now defaced by an odiously vulgar and disfiguring "lift!"), and further still, the noble headland of Beachy Head and broad expanse of sea, on which the rays of sunshine glitter brightly. Between the East and West hills, a green environment, lies nestled the town, with its fine old churches of All Saints' and St. Clement's. On a clear day, such as the present, no view can be more exhilarating, and the ridge on which Miss Betham-Edwards's cottage stands is lifted high above the noise of the road below. Behind stretch the gorse-covered downs leading to Fairlight, from whence may be seen the coast of France, forty miles off, as the crow flies. Close under the author's windows are hawthorn trees made merry by robins all through the winter, and at the back of the house may be heard the cuckoo, the thrush, and the blackbird, as in the heart of the country. Truly, it is a unique spot, inviting to repose and inspiring cheerfulness of mind.
The interior of the Villa Julia is in thorough keeping with the exterior. The little study which commands this glorious view is upstairs. It is a charming room, simplicity itself, yet gives evidence of taste and culture. There is nothing here to offend the eye, and no suggestion of the art-decorator, but it is all just an expression of its occupant's taste and character. "I have a fancy," says Miss Betham-Edwards, "to have different shades of gold-colour running through everything. It is an effective background for the pictures and pottery"; accordingly, the handsome Morocco carpet, bought by herself in the Bazaar at Algiers, is of warm hue. The furniture and wall-paper have the prevailing delicate tints; an arched recess on each side of the fireplace displays lovely specimens of brilliant pottery from Athens and Constantinople, with many shelves below, filled with volumes in various foreign languages. On the mantelshelf stand statuettes of Goethe and Schiller, remembrances of Weimar; the walls are hung with water-colour sketches by Mdme. Bodichen and many French artists. Long low dwarf bookcases fill two sides of the room, the top shelves of which are lavishly adorned with more pottery from Germany, Italy, Spain, and Switzerland, the whole collected by the author on her foreign travels. Her choice little library contains first and foremost the great books of the world, and, besides these, a representative selection of modern literature. "It is in a small compass," she remarks, "but I keep it for myself, eliminating and giving away useless volumes which creep in." On a neatly arranged writing table stand a stationery-case and a French schoolboy's desk, which is rather an ornamental contrivance of papier-maché. "I invariably use it," says Miss Edwards, "it is a most convenient thing, and has such a good slope. When one is worn out I buy another. I do not like things about me when I write; I keep a clear table, and MSS. in the next room. I rise early, and work for five hours every morning absolutely undisturbed: my maid does not even bring me a telegram."
From the window just below on the left can be seen the house of one of Miss Betham-Edwards's confrères, Mr. Coventry Patmore, the poet. A little further on is the picturesque villa which Dr. Elizabeth Blackwell (the first woman doctor) inhabits. "As remarkable and good a woman as ever lived," she adds. "I do not go much into society, for I find the winter is the best time for writing. I lead a completely retired literary life, but I have a few kindred spirits around me, and I occasionally hold little receptions when we all meet."
In person Miss Betham-Edwards is about the medium height, middle-aged, and slender in figure. She is fair in complexion; has hazel eyes, and a mass of thick, dark hair, grey over the temples, and worn in a twist at the back, the ends dispersed neatly round a small and compact head. She is wearing black for the present, being in mourning, but is fond of warm, cheerful colours for habitual use. "But, indeed," she says, smiling, "I have not much time to think of dress, and I was greatly amused by the remark of a former old landlady who, anxious that I should look my best at some social gathering, remarked austerely to me, 'Really, Madam, you do not dress according to your talents!' Upon which I replied 'My good woman, if all folks dressed according to their talents, two-thirds, I fear, would go but scantily clothed.'"
Matilda Barbara Betham-Edwards is a countrywoman of Crabbe, R. Bloomfield, Constable, Gainsborough, and Arthur Young. She was born at Westerfield, Suffolk, and in the fine old Elizabethan Manor House of Westerfield, Ipswich, her childhood and girlhood were spent. There was literature in her family on the maternal side, three Bethams having honourably distinguished themselves, viz., her grandfather, the Rev. W. Betham, the compiler of the "Genealogical Tables of the Sovereigns of the World"; her uncle, Sir W. Betham, Ulster King of Arms, the learned and ingenious author of "Etruria Celtica," "The Gael and the Cymri," etc.; and lastly, her aunt and godmother, Matilda Betham, the author of "A Biographical Dictionary of Celebrated Women," and other works, and the intimate friend of Charles and Mary Lamb, Southey, and Coleridge.