On the occasion now mentioned, there was a large gathering of day and Sunday scholars, a picture worthy of Wilkie’s pencil. Sir Samuel and his lady were encircled by guests old and young, receiving from them demonstrations of affection in loud huzzas.
Soon after my return from Italy I attended meetings connected with Wesleyan Methodism, when my friend Mr. McArthur, (afterwards knighted), was Lord Mayor of London. He invited me at different times to meet a large number of ministers of his own and other communions, and at such times he manifested the catholic spirit by which he was eminently distinguished. I think it was once in his mayoralty that the archbishops and bishops dined at the Mansion House table, when toasts were proposed, to which the Archbishop of Canterbury had to respond. Afterwards Nonconformists were honoured in the common way, and it fell to my lot to reply in a few words. The Archbishop had, in a good-natured style, referred to the cares and troubles of his right reverend brethren, and himself. Alluding to what he had said, I ventured to remark I was quite content with my humbler position, and had no aspirations after a seat on the Episcopal Bench. Further, I pleaded, as I always do, for catholic union, and remarked that I strove to be a Christian first; next, a patriotic religious Englishman; and thirdly, a devout Dissenter, adding that I should be ashamed of my Nonconformity, if that were so obstreperous, as to quarrel with the subordinate place I assigned to it.
At the close of the year 1882 Dr. Tait, Archbishop of Canterbury, died. With him I had the pleasure of being acquainted soon after his appointment to the See of London. Our relations afterwards were very friendly. I was kindly invited to share in the pleasure of his Lambeth hospitality; and at a time of deep domestic sorrow he was one of the very first to express affectionate sympathy in a letter of condolence. I found him always very kind, and he impressed me with the conviction that in his judgment of Conformity and Nonconformity, and of the relative duties of Churchmen and Dissenters, he took much more sensible views than most of his brethren. He did not seem to anticipate, as at all probable, the comprehension of all, or most, English Christians within the pale of one community; since each denomination has its principles, its traditions, and its trust property, and is not likely to merge its peculiarities in the adoption of others. A wise, liberal, Christian modus vivendi was the object of his desire. I attended his funeral, and met in his residence at Addiscombe, a large number of clergymen, and men of different opinions, drawn together by a common regard for his eminent moral and religious worth. The trees were bare, the ground was covered with snow, and the long procession walked through the park, the winter sun brightening the scene. The whole struck me as very solemn, and in harmony with the occasion that had brought us together.
My journeys abroad were approaching an end when in 1882 my daughter and I spent a few weeks in Switzerland, on the shores of the Genevan lake, and in its neighbourhood. One memorable expedition we made was to Grenoble and the Grande Chartreuse. The monastery was difficult of access early in this century, but now there are well-appointed vehicles for conveying tourists from the railway to the gates of this romantic retreat. The ascent as far as Laurent du Pont is up a road lined with acacias, bordering barley fields, commanding glimpses of a magnificent valley, with bosky dells, cut in twain by the river Isere. The gorge to the right increases in grandeur as one ascends. Purple rocks rise from depths of massy verdure, sublimity succeeds beauty, and, after reaching a broad mountain-girdled plain, one arrives at a halting place called Laurent du Pont. Thence the road becomes more steep, winding along ledges of rock, whence, through openings, one looks down on pine woods, and sees the stream fighting its way, like our contested passage through this troublesome world. We reached a thick forest at the top of the pass, and came to the monastery—a pile, of buildings sheltered on green uplands. There were before us long walls, square towers, and steep roofs, dappled with dormer windows; here and there was a slender spire. The buildings stand 4268 feet above the level of the sea, and one of the corridors is 660 feet long. The original foundation dates far back; but little of what one now sees is older than the seventeenth century. The founder was the famous Bruno, who, with six companions, retreated to this spot so secluded and desolate. Chartre signifies a prison, but it also expresses what we mean by the word charter. The buildings have been seven times destroyed, but in the seventeenth century the convent reached its meridian glory.
No sooner had we entered the penetralia of the building, than we saw notices requesting visitors not to smoke, nor loiter, nor speak loudly; and in the distance were monks with white cloaks and cowls, gliding about like ghosts from the other world. Pictures of Carthusian convents were hanging on the corridor walls; and the Chapter House exhibited badly painted portraits of past generals. Following our guide, we entered a vaulted cloister, with windows on one side and doors on the other, bearing texts of Scripture, such as “Narrow is the way which leadeth unto life,” and “Whosoever he be of you that forsaketh not all that he hath cannot be My disciple.” Stations of the Cross are hung upon the walls; through a window are caught glimpses of a green garden, bright and cheery amidst sombre appearances all round. The dormitories have each a cupboard-like bed, a little reading desk, a stove, directions for novices, a statuette of the Virgin, and a crucifix. There are workshops fitted up with lathes, and a small chapel with an altar cloth, covered with skulls and cross-bones. Inscriptions such as “Vanity of vanities, all is vanity,” expressed the characteristic feeling of the inmates. The library is handsome, well fitted up, with beautifully bound books.
Visitors are not admitted to the monastic chapel; but from a tribune they are permitted to look down on the ante-chapel, and witness matins at the appointed hour. The brotherhood are remarkable for industry, being graziers of cattle, and manufacturers of liqueurs.
The clock struck six just after we left the monastery, and a calm summer evening shone on the old walls, the green pastures, and the climbing woods. The pass, as we descended, struck us as almost equal to the Via Mala in grandeur, united with beauties which the other scene can scarcely boast. Road-making, tree-felling, saw-mills, iron works, distilleries, cement manufactories, told of widespread industry. The old monastery lay behind; modern enterprise stood out before.
We were rapidly driven through Laurent du Pont, as the star-studded sky, streaked by the Milky Way, overarched the region. We noticed glow-worms in the hedges, brought out by advancing night, and presently the wide vale at the foot of the descending road seemed dusted with bright-looking objects like glow-worms; but they turned out to be the lamps of Voirons, where we took the train for Grenoble, and finished a day of remarkable interest.
CHAPTER XIV
1883–1885
At this period I was engaged in the preparation of “The Spanish Reformers,” and to give vividness to the work, with regard to local scenery and circumstances, I resolved in March 1883 to visit the Peninsula, where I might gather what was possible for the accomplishment of my purpose.