I left Nice, as you are aware, at the beginning of February, went to Rome for a week, to be confirmed by the Holy Father, and then continued the pilgrimage of thanksgiving to Jerusalem. I performed the last ceremonies in the sanctuary of Our Lady of Victories in Paris about the beginning of June, and returned to England. I had kept as much as possible out of the way of letters and newspapers, but had inevitably heard much that was very disagreeable—all sorts of lying stories, for instance, deliberately and maliciously circulated about me—and I arrived here in a state of very uncomfortable anticipation. However, I found everything very much better than I anticipated. Every one seemed glad to see me, and I received much kindness from all the people about. Religious matters were easily arranged; and though large mobs of people assembled to see me go to Mass, they were disappointed, as I had got a little oratory ready in the house, which is served every day by the Fathers of Charity. And I have special permission from the Pope for myself, my "familiars" and guests to satisfy the obligation in it on every day in the year. We have here between 9,000 and 10,000 Catholics, who are of course delighted at what has happened.
I am going to Rome about the 23rd of this month, and shall, I think, certainly stay there till about Septuagesima; but if I am tempted I shall stop over Easter. When I return I shall go to Bute. Bute will be much stiffer than this: they got pictures of me and made them into cockshys; and I have had at least one threatening letter from there. Besides that there are no Catholics that I know of,[[16]] and I cannot have a daily Mass.
My old friends are all much the same, except Lady Elizabeth, who takes no more notice of me than if I were a dead dog. I have written her letter after letter, without even acknowledgment. The company of my dear friend, Sneyd, is a great pleasure to me. He is my secretary. He is, however, an awful liberal, and is even now reading Charles Kingsley's "Hypatia" with approval. I consider it one of the most impure as well as heretical books I ever saw. I have been reading lately, and with the greatest pleasure, Canon Jenkins's "Age of the Martyrs,"[[17]] which is really charming, and a worthy product of Oxford, where, however, I hear that the blighting disease of Liberalism has fairly set in. You have, I hear, Mgr. Capel with you, lecturing on something or other; but I know not what success or effect he has had. Ever most sincerely yours,
BUTE.
1869, at Mountstuart
There were reasons why the feeling in the island of Bute about the young peer's change of religion was, as he expressed it, "much stiffer" than it was in Cardiff. The sentiments of resentful surprise which the Presbyterians felt at the lord of the island embracing a faith so alien from their own was fostered and aggravated by the disappointment with which the local Liberals learned that he was politically quite out of sympathy with the Whig principles of his kinsman and former tutor-at-law, the Liberal M.P. for Cardiff and Lord-Lieutenant of Buteshire.[[18]] One Radical newspaper asserted that Lord Bute had purposely delayed the profession of his new faith until after the general election, so that his influence as a Tory might help the Conservative candidate for the county to win the seat! And the Liberal Buteman thought fit to devote a page, a month after Bute's reception into the Church, to reprinting a catena of the articles commenting on that event which had appeared in the principal newspapers of the country. The feeling with which, in an age more tolerant or more indifferent, one peruses these journalistic effusions, is one of wonder, first at their extraordinary impertinence, and secondly at the cool audacity with which they sit in judgment on the action of one of whose character, personality, and motives they one and all show themselves to be in a state of absolutely abysmal ignorance. The Times summed up a spiteful article by concluding that the "defection of an average curate would have said more for the Roman Catholic religion, and might be expected to lead to more lasting results"; the Daily News announced that the new convert "had taken up his honours, wealth, and influence, and laid them in the lap of the Church of Rome," adding that it was "of course a pity when a man believed too much in religion"; a West of Scotland journal was "sure that the acquisition would, except in a pecuniary way, be of little advantage to those who had wheedled him out of his wits and into their snares"; a Glasgow evening paper denounced the "Jesuitism" with which "his perverted lordship" had denied the fact of his reception in 1867, and the "fatal facility" with which he had been received in 1868; and another Scottish journal, after waxing eloquent over the "lithe figure, agile step, and penetrating eye of the handsome young peer," lamented that "the poorest labourer on his vast domains had an immediate access to truth and duty, to conscience, and to God, which since last Christmas was denied to his unfortunate lord." The Glasgow Herald, after admitting that Lord Bute "was believed to be a studious, thoughtful youth, with high ideas of the responsibility of his position," dolefully goes on: "If, as is most likely, this perversion is the result of priestly influences acting upon a weak, ductile, and naturally superstitious mind, we may expect a continual eclipse of all intellectual vigour." One wonders if this sapient prophet ever had the grace to acknowledge the falsity of his forecast. The Scotsman was an honourable exception to the general tone of the contemporary press. It announced the event "not in the slightest degree in the spirit of taunt or reproach"; and the final sentence of a temperate article repudiated any desire "to reproach Lord Bute with a change of religious opinion, which even those who most deeply regret it must admit to be made at great sacrifices and under the influence only of conscience."
On this reasonable and even generous note the subject may well be left. A man of sensitive and impressionable nature, and one who was himself possessed by an almost passionate love of truth, could not be insensible to public attacks on his candour and honesty, or to mendacious statements of alleged facts, such as he refers to in his letter cited above. But he bore them all in silence, with the quiet dignity characteristic of him, and trusting to time for the vindication of the rectitude of his motives and conduct. How amply this trust was justified was shown by the mutual respect, regard, and affection which daily grew and strengthened between him and his friends, neighbours, and dependents, not only in Bute, but on his extensive estates in other parts of the country, during the next thirty years.
[[1]] Hartwell Grissell. The letter was dated from Mountstuart, November 19, 1872.
[[2]] Mr. Buckle, in Vol. V. of his "Life of Disraeli," quotes Mr. Montague Corry as writing (September 22, 1868): "Fergusson says no ingenuity can counteract the influence which certain priests and prelates have over him, chief among them being Monsignor Capel. The speedy result is inevitable."
Sir James Fergusson, as Bute's guardian, probably felt it necessary to take this view in self-vindication. The fact, however, was, as is abundantly shown by the letter in the text, as well as by the authentic history of Bute's conversion as given in preceding pages, that the event was brought about by his own study, thought, and prayer, and was in no sense due to the influence of Capel, or of any other "priests or prelates."