From my early youth I heartily desired to know more of the life of my great-great-aunt, Mrs. Elizabeth Montagu. Every scrap of information I could pick up respecting her I accumulated; therefore when my cousins, Mrs. Wellesley and her sister, Miss Montagu, in October, 1899, gave me the whole of her manuscripts contained in 68 cases, holding from 100 to 150 letters in each, my joy was unbounded!
In 1810 my grandfather, the 4th Baron Rokeby (her nephew and adopted son), published two volumes of her letters; these were followed by two more volumes in 1813. To enable him to perform this pleasing task he asked all her principal friends to return her letters to him, beginning with the Dowager Marchioness of Bath,[1] daughter of the Duchess of Portland, who gave him back the earliest letters to her mother, many carefully inserted in a curious grey paper book by the duchess, who placed the date of reception on each, and evidently valued them exceedingly. The Rev. Montagu Pennington returned her letters to his aunt, Mrs. Elizabeth Carter, the learned translator of Epictetus; Mrs. Freind those to her husband; and many other people did the same. From General Pulteney, at Lord Bath’s death, she had asked for and received her correspondence with Lord Bath, which she carefully preserved. At the death of Lord Lyttelton, the executors, at her request, returned her her letters; those to Gilbert West and other correspondents were returned in the same manner. Meanwhile she kept all letters of her special friends, as well as notabilities, so that one may deem the collection quite unique, though doubtless many letters have disappeared, notably those of Sir Joshua Reynolds, many of whose letters were destroyed by an ignorant caretaker of Mrs. Montagu’s house, Denton Hall, near Newcastle-on-Tyne. There are none of Horace Walpole’s, from whom she must have received some; and those from several other celebrities she knew well are missing.
[1] Née Elizabeth Cavendish, born 1735, died 1825, ætat 91.
Owing to the enormous quantity of letters undated, the sorting has been terribly difficult, and I spent one entire winter in making up bundles and labelling each year. My grandfather made a variety of mistakes as to the dates of the letters. I hope I have atoned for some of his deficiencies, though a few mistakes are probably inevitable. He nearly blinded himself by working at night, and my grandmother[2] had constantly to copy the letters in a large round hand to enable him to make them out. After my grandmother’s death he discontinued arranging them, though they might have been continued till 1800, the year of Mrs. Montagu’s death.
[2] Née Elizabeth Charlton.
In the present volumes only her early life is presented, interwoven with portions of her most intimate friends’ letters to herself. Were the whole of this vast correspondence printed, a large bookcase could be filled with the volumes. In order to consult the varied tastes of the general reader, I have endeavoured to pick out the most interesting portions of her letters, such as relate to customs, fashions in dress, price of food, habits, but I have often groaned in spirit at having to leave out much that was noble in sentiment, or long comments upon contemporary books and events. If life should be spared me, I hope to be able to continue my narrative, for, like the ring produced by a stone thrown on the water, her circle of friends and acquaintances increased yearly, and not only comprised her English friends and every person of distinction in Great Britain, but also the most distinguished foreigners of all nations, notably the French. It has been asserted that Gilbert West was the first person to influence Mrs. Montagu on religious points. That his amiable Christianity may have strengthened her religious opinions I do not deny, but I hope it will be seen from this book that from her earliest days, when at the height of her joie de vivre, the religious sentiment was existent—a religion that prompted her ever to the kindest actions to all classes, that had nothing bitter or narrow in it, no dogmatism. Adored by men of all opinions, and liking their society, she was the purest of the pure, as is amply proved by the letters of Lord Lyttelton, Dr. Monsey, and others, but she was no prude with all this. Her worthy husband adored her, and no wife could have been more devoted and obedient than she was. His was a noble character, and doubtless influenced her much for good. As a wife, a friend, a camarade in all things, grave or gay, she was unequalled; as a housewife she was notable, beloved by her servants, by the poor of her parish, and by her miners and their wives and children. She planned feasts and dances and instituted schools for them, and fed and clothed the destitute.
With Mr. Raikes[3] she was one of the first people to institute Sunday-schools. She was as interested in Betty’s rheumatism as she was in the conversation of a duke or a duchess; a discussion with bishops and Gilbert West on religion, or with Emerson on mathematics, or Elizabeth Carter on Epictetus, all came alike to her gifted nature. She danced with the gay, she wept with the mourner; her sympathies never lay idle, even to the very end of life; and in a century which has been deemed by many to be coarse, uneducated, and irreligious, her sweet wholesome nature shone like a star, and attracted all minor lights. Where in the twentieth century should we find a coterie of men and women of the highest rank and influence in the world, either from intellect or position, so content and devoted to each other, so free from the petty jealousies and sarcasms of the present fashionable society, so anxious for each other’s welfare, socially and morally; so free from cant or prudery, so devoted to each other’s interest?
[3] Robert Raikes, born 1735, died 1811. The first Sunday-school instituted by him in 1781.
A great and terrible break in this book was caused by the death of my beloved husband in May, 1904, after a long, lingering illness. I doubt if I should have taken courage to resume my pen if it had not been for my friend Mr. A. M. Broadley, whose interest in my literary work and affectionate solicitude for myself has been a kindly spur to goad me on to action, so as to complete the present volumes. To him I tender my thanks for past and present encouragement, as well as many other kindnesses.