Chapter 6

The house is of the Elizabethan period and is one of the best preserved specimens of that style, but of its vast extent and magnificence I can give you no idea. We arrived about five o’clock, and were ushered through an immense hall of carved oak hung with banners up a fine staircase to the grand saloon, where we were received by the host and hostess. Now of this grand saloon I must try to give you a conception. It was, I should think, from seventy-five to one hundred feet in length. The ceiling overhead was very rich with hanging corbels, like stalactites, and the entire walls were panelled, with a full-length family portrait in each panel, which was arched at the top, so that the whole wall was composed of these round-topped pictures with rich gilding between. Notwithstanding its vast size, the sofas and tables were so disposed all over the apartment as to give it the most friendly, warm, and social aspect.

Lady Braybrooke herself ushered me to my apartments, which were the state rooms. First came Mr. Bancroft’s dressing-room, where was a blazing fire. Then came the bedroom, with the state bed of blue and gold, covered with embroidery, and with the arms and coronet of Howard de Walden. The walls were hung with crimson and white damask, and the sofas and chairs also, and it was surrounded by pictures, among others a full length of Queen Charlotte, just opposite the foot of the bed, always saluted me every morning when I awoke, with her fan, her hoop, and her deep ruffles.

My dressing-room, which was on the opposite side from Mr. Bancroft’s, was a perfect gem. It was painted by the famous Rebecco who came over from Italy to ornament so many of the great English houses at one time. The whole ceiling and walls were covered with beautiful designs and with gilding, and a beautiful recess for a couch was supported by fluted gilded columns; the architraves and mouldings of the doors were gilt, and the panels of the doors were filled with Rebecco’s beautiful designs. The chairs were of light blue embroidered with thick, heavy gold, and all this bearing the stamp of antiquity was a thousand times more interesting than mere modern splendor. In the centre of the room was a toilet of white muslin (universal here), and on it a gilt dressing-glass, which gave pretty effect to the whole.

I sat at dinner between Lord Braybrooke and Sir John Boileau, and found them both very agreeable. The dining-room is as magnificent as the other apartments. The ceiling is in the Elizabethan style, covered with figures, and the walls white and gold panelling hung with full-length family portraits not set into the wall like the saloon, but in frames. In the evening the young people had a round game at cards and the elder ones seemed to prefer talking to a game at whist. The ladies brought down their embroidery or netting. At eleven a tray with wine and water is brought in and a quantity of bed candlesticks, and everybody retires when they like. The next morning the guests assembled at half-past nine in the great gallery which leads to the chapel to go in together to prayers. The chapel is really a beautiful little piece of architecture, with a vaulted roof and windows of painted glass. On one side is the original cast of the large monument to Lord Cornwallis (our lord) which is in Westminster Abbey. After breakfast we passed a couple of hours in going all over the house, which is in perfect keeping in every part.

We returned to the library, a room as splendid as the saloon, only instead of pictured panels it was surrounded by books in beautiful gilt bindings. In the immense bay window was a large Louis Quatorze table, round which the ladies all placed themselves at their embroidery, though I preferred looking over curious illuminated missals, etc., etc.

The next day was the meeting of the County Agricultural Society. . . . At the hour appointed we all repaired to the ground where the prizes were to be given out. . . . Lord Braybrooke made first a most paternal and interesting address, which showed me in the most favorable view the relation between the noble and the lower class in England, a relation which must depend much on the personal character of the lord of the manor. . . . First came prizes to ploughmen, then the plough boys, then the shepherds, then to such peasants as had reared many children without aid, then to women who had been many years in the same farmer’s service, etc., etc. A clock was awarded to a poor man and his wife who had reared six children and buried seven without aid from the parish. The rapture with which Mr. and Mrs. Flitton and the whole six children gazed on this clock, an immense treasure for a peasant’s cottage, was both comic and affecting. . . . The next morning we made our adieus to our kind host and hostess, and set off for London, accompanied by Sir John Tyrrell, Major Beresford, and young Mr. Boileau.

_To W. D. B._

LONDON, November 4, 1847.

DEAR W.: . . . Mr. Bancroft and I dined on Friday, the 22d, with Mr. and Mrs. Hawes, under-Secretary of State, to meet Mr. Brooke, the Rajah of Sarawak, who is a great lion in London just now. He is an English gentleman of large fortune who has done much to Christianize Borneo, and to open its trade to the English. I sat between him and Mr. Ward, formerly Minister to Mexico before Mr. Pakenham. He wrote a very nice book on Mexico, and is an agreeable and intelligent person. . . . On Wednesday A. and I went together to the National Gallery, and just as we were setting out Mr. Butler of New York came in and I invited him to join us. . . . While we were seated before a charming Claude who should come in but Mr. R. W. Emerson and we had quite a joyful greeting. Just then came in Mr. Rogers with two ladies, one on each arm. He renewed his request that I would bring my son to breakfast with him, and appointed Friday morning, and then added if those gentlemen who are with you are your friends and countrymen, perhaps they will accompany you. They very gladly acceded, and I was thankful Mr. Emerson had chanced to be with me at that moment as it procured him a high pleasure.

Yesterday your father and I dined with Sir George Grey. . . . About four o’clock came on such a fog as I have not seen in London, and the newspapers of this morning speak of it as greater than has been known for many years. Sir George Grey lives in Eaton Place, which is parallel and just behind Eaton Square. In going that little distance, though there is a brilliant gas light at every door, the coachman was completely bewildered, and lost himself entirely. We could only walk the horses, the footman exploring ahead. When the guests by degrees arrived, there was the same rejoicing as if we had met on Mont St. Bernard after a contest with an Alpine snow-storm. . . . Lady Grey told me she was dining with the Queen once in one of these tremendous fogs, and that many of the guests did not arrive till dinner was half through, which was horrible at a royal dinner; but the elements care little for royalty.

November 14th.

On Saturday we dined at the Duc de Broglie’s. He married the daughter of Madam de Staël, but she is not now living. I was very agreeably placed with Mr. Macaulay on one side of me, so that I found it more pleasant than diplomatic dinners usually. At the English tables we meet people who know each other well, and have a common culture and tastes and habits of familiarity, and a fund of pleasant stories, but of course, at foreign tables, they neither know each other or the English so well as to give the same easy flow to conversation. I am afraid we are the greatest diners-out in London, but we are brought into contact a great deal with the literary and Parliamentary people, which our colleagues know little about, as also with the clergy and the judges. I should not be willing to make it the habit of my life, but it is time not misspent during the years of our abode here. . . . The good old Archbishop of York is dead, and I am glad I paid my visit to him when I did. Mr. Rogers has paid me a long visit to-day and gave me all the particulars of his death. It was a subject I should not have introduced, for of that knot of intimate friends, Mr. Grenville, the Archbishop, and himself, he is now all that remains.

November 28th.

. . . On Monday evening I went without Mr. Bancroft to a little party at Mrs. Lyell’s, where I was introduced to Mrs. Somerville. She has resided for the last nine years abroad, chiefly at Venice, but has now come to London and taken a house very near us. . . . Her daughter told me that nothing could exceed the ease and simplicity with which her literary occupations were carried on. She is just publishing a book upon Natural Geography without regard to political boundaries. She writes principally before she rises in the morning on a little piece of board, with her inkstand on a table by her side. After she leaves her room she is as much at leisure as other people, but if an idea strikes her she takes her little board into a corner or window and writes quietly for a short time and returns to join the circle.

Dr. Somerville told me that his wife did not discover her genius for mathematics till she was about sixteen. Her brother, who has no talent for it, was receiving a mathematical lesson from a master while she was hemming and stitching in the room. In this way she first heard the problems of Euclid stated and was ravished. When the lesson was over, she carried off the book to her room and devoured it. For a long time she pursued her studies secretly, as she had scaled heights of science which were not considered feminine by those about her.

December 2d.

I put down my pen yesterday when the carriage came to the door for my drive. It was a day bright, beaming, and exhilarating as one of our own winter days. I was so busy enjoying the unusual beams of the unclouded sun that I did not perceive for some time that I had left my muff, and was obliged to drive home again to get it. While I was waiting in the carriage for the footman to get it, two of the most agreeable old-lady faces in the world presented themselves at the window. They were the Miss Berrys. They had driven up behind me and got out to have a little talk on the sidewalk. I took them into Mr. Bancroft’s room and was thankful that my muff had sent me back to receive a visit which at their age is rarely paid. . . . I found them full of delight at Mr. Brooke, the Rajah of Sarawak, with whose nobleness of soul they would have great sympathy. He is just now the lion of London, and like all other lions is run after by most people because he is one, and by the few because he deserves to be one. Now, lest you should know nothing about him, let me tell you that at his own expense he fitted out a vessel, and established himself at Borneo, where he soon acquired so great [an] ascendancy over the native Rajah, that he insisted on resigning to him the government of his province of Sarawak. Here, with only three European companions, by moral and intellectual force alone, he succeeded in suppressing piracy and civil war among the natives and opened a trade with the interior of Borneo which promises great advantages to England. . . . Everybody here has the _Influenza_—a right-down influenza, that sends people to their beds. Those who have triumphed at their exemption in the evening, wake up perhaps in the morning full of aches in every limb, and scoff no longer. . . . Dinner parties are sometimes quite broken up by the excuses that come pouring in at the last moment. Lady John Russell had seven last week at a small dinner of twelve; 1,200 policemen at one time were taken off duty, so that the thieves might have had their own way, but they were probably as badly off themselves.

_To Mr. and Mrs. I. P. D._

LONDON, December 16, 1847.

MY DEAR UNCLE AND AUNT: . . . On Saturday Mr. Hallam wrote us that Sir Robert Peel had promised to breakfast with him on Monday morning and he thought we should like to meet him in that quiet way. So we presented ourselves at ten o’clock, and were joined by Sir Robert, Lord Mahon, Macaulay, and Milman, who with Hallam himself, formed a circle that could not be exceeded in the wide world. I was the only lady, except Miss Hallam; but I am especially favored in the breakfast line. I would cross the Atlantic only for the pleasure I had that morning in hearing such men talk for two or three hours in an entirely easy unceremonious breakfast way. Sir Robert was full of stories, and showed himself as much the scholar as the statesman. Macaulay was overflowing as usual, and Lord Mahon and Milman are full of learning and accomplishments. The classical scholarship of these men is very perfect and sometimes one catches a glimpse of awfully deep abysses of learning. But then it is _only_ a glimpse, for their learning has no cumbrous and dull pedantry about it. They are all men of society and men of the world, who keep up with it everywhere. There is many a pleasant story and many a good joke, and everything discussed but politics, which, as Sir Robert and Macaulay belong to opposite dynasties, might be dangerous ground.

After dinner we went a little before ten to Lady Charlotte Lindsay’s. She came last week to say that she was to have a little dinner on Monday and wished us to come in afterwards. This is universal here, and is the easiest and most agreeable form of society. She had Lord Brougham and Colonel and Mrs. Dawson-Damer, etc., to dine. . . . Mrs. Damer wished us to come the next evening to her in the same way, just to get our cup of tea. These nice little teas are what you need in Boston. There is no supper, no expense, nothing but society. Mrs. Damer is the granddaughter of the beautiful Lady Waldegrave, the niece of Horace Walpole, who married the Duke of Gloucester. She was left an orphan at a year old and was confided by her mother to the care of Mrs. Fitzherbert. She lived with her until her marriage and was a great pet of George IV, and tells a great many interesting stories of him and Mrs. Fitzherbert, who was five years older than he.

[Picture: Mrs. Dawson Damer. From the miniature by Isabey, by permission of Lady Constance Leslie]

_To W. D. B._

LONDON, December 30, 1847.

DEAR W.: Your father left me on the 18th to go to Paris. This is the best of all seasons for him to be there, for the Ministers are all out of town at Christmas, and in Paris everything is at its height. My friends are very kind to me—those who remain in town. . . . One day I dined at Sir Francis Simpkinson’s and found a pleasant party. Lady Simpkinson is a sister of Lady Franklin, whom I was very glad to meet, as she has been in America and knows many Americans, Mrs. Kirkland for one. . . . Then I have passed one evening for the first time at Mr. Tagent’s, the Unitarian clergyman, where I met many of the literary people who are out of the great world, and yet very desirable to see.

There, too, I met the Misses Cushman, Charlotte and Susan, who attend his church. I was very much pleased with both of them. I have never seen them play, but they will send me a list of their parts at their next engagement and I shall certainly go to hear them. They are of Old Colony descent (from Elder Cushman), and have very much of the New England character, culture, and good sense. On Monday I dined at Sir Edward Codrington’s, the hero of Navarino, with the Marquis and Marchioness of Queensberry, and a party of admirals and navy officers. On Tuesday I dined at Lady Braye’s, where were Mr. Rogers, Dr. Holland, Sir Augustus and Lady Albinia Foster, formerly British Minister to the United States. He could describe _our Court_, as he called it, in the time of Madison and Monroe.

January 1, 1848.

This evening, in addition to my usual morning letter from your father, I have another; a new postal arrangement beginning to-day with the New Year. He gives me a most interesting conversation he has just been having with Baron von Humboldt, who is now in Paris. He says he poured out a delicious stream of remarks, anecdotes, narratives, opinion. He feels great interest in our Mexican affairs, as he has been much there, and is a Mexican by adoption.

His letter, dated the 31st December, says: “Madam Adelaide died at three this morning.” This death astonished me, for he saw her only a few evenings since at the Palace. She was a woman of strong intellect and character, and her brother, the King, was very much attached to her as a counsellor and friend. . . . There were more than 100 Americans to be presented on New Year’s Day at Paris, and, as Madam Adelaide’s death took place without a day’s warning, you can imagine the embroidered coats and finery which were laid on the shelf.

Saturday, January 7th.

Yesterday, my dear son, I had a delightful dinner at the dear Miss Berrys. They drove to the door on Thursday and left a little note to say, “Can you forgive a poor sick soul for not coming to you before, when you were all alone,” and begging me to come the next day at seven, to dine. There was Lady Charlotte and Lady Stuart de Rothesay, who was many years ambassadress at Paris, and very agreeable. Then there was Dr. Holland and Mr. Stanley, the under-Secretary of State, etc. In the evening came quite an additional party, and I passed it most pleasantly. . . . Your father writes that on Friday he dined at Thiers’ with Mignet, Cousin, Pontois, and Lord Normanby. He says such a dinner is “unique in a man’s life.” “Mignet is delightful, frank, open, gay, full of intelligence, and of that grace which makes society charming.” . . . Your father to-day gives me some account of Thiers. He is now fifty: he rises at five o’clock every morning, toils till twelve, breakfasts, makes researches, and then goes to the Chambers. In the evening he always receives his friends except Wednesdays and Thursdays, when he attends his wife to the opera and to the Académie.

_To Mr. and Mrs. I. P. D._

LONDON, January 28th, 1848.

MY DEAR UNCLE AND AUNT: . . . Last Monday I received [this] note from George Sumner, which I thought might interest you: “My dear Mrs. Bancroft: I hasten to congratulate you upon an event most honorable to Mr. Bancroft and to our country. The highest honor which can be bestowed in France upon a foreigner has just been conferred on him. He was chosen this afternoon a Corresponding Member of the Institute. Five names were presented for the vacant chair of History. Every vote but one was in favor of Mr. Bancroft (that one for Mr. Grote of London, author of the ‘History of Greece’). A gratifying fact in regard to this election is that it comes without the knowledge of Mr. Bancroft, and without any of those preliminary visits on his part, and those appeals to academicians whose votes are desired, that are so common with candidates for vacancies at the Institute. The honor acquires double value for being unsought, and I have heard with no small satisfaction several Members of the Academy contrast the modest reserve of Mr. Bancroft with the restless manoeuvres to which they have been accustomed. Prescott, you know, is already a member, and I think America may be satisfied with two out of seven of a class of History which is selected from the world.”

[Picture: Mrs. Fitzherbert. From the pastel by J. Russell]

_To T. D._

LONDON, February 24, 1848.

MY DEAR BROTHER: . . . Great excitement exists in London to-day at the reception of the news from France. Guizot is overthrown, and Count Molé is made Prime Minister. The National Guards have sided with the people, and would not fire upon them, and that secret of the weakness of the army being revealed, I do not see why the Liberal party cannot obtain all they want in the end. Louis Philippe has sacrificed the happiness of France for the advancement of his own family, but nations in the nineteenth [century] have learned that they were not made to be the slaves of a dynasty. Mr. Bancroft dines with the French Minister to-day, not with a party, but quite _en famille_, and he will learn there what the hopes and fears of the Government are.

February 25th.

The news this morning is only from Amiens, which has risen in support of France. The railways are torn up all round Paris, to prevent the passage of troops, and the roads and barriers are all in possession of the people. All France will follow the lead of Paris, and what will be the result Heaven only knows.

_To I. P. D._

LONDON, February 26, 1848.

MY DEAR UNCLE: . . . On Thursday Mr. Bancroft dined with Count Jarnac, the Minister in the Duc de Broglie’s absence, and he little dreamed of the blow awaiting him. The fortifications and the army seemed to make the King quite secure. On Friday Mr. Bancroft went to dine with Kenyon, and I drove there with him for a little air. On my return Cates, the butler, saluted me with the wondrous news of the deposition and flight of the royal family, which Mr. Brodhead had rushed up from his club to impart to us. I was engaged to a little party at Mr. Hallam’s, where I found everybody in great excitement.

Sunday Noon.

To-day we were to have dined with Baron de Rothschild, but this morning I got a note from the beautiful baroness, saying that her sister-in-law and her mother with three children, had just arrived from Paris at her house in the greatest distress, without a change of clothes, and in deep anxiety about the Baron, who had stayed behind.

Our colleagues all look bewildered and perplexed beyond measure. . . . The English aristocracy have no love for Louis Philippe, but much less for a republic, so near at hand, and everybody seemed perplexed and uneasy.

Tuesday.

On Sunday the Duc de Nemours arrived at the French Embassy, and Monday the poor Duchess de Montpensier, the innocent cause of all the trouble. No one knows where the Duchess de Nemours and her young children are, and the King and Queen are entirely missing. At one moment it is reported that he is drowned, and then, again, at Brussels.

Wednesday.

To-day the French Embassy have received despatches announcing the new government, and Count Jarnac has immediately resigned. This made it impossible for the Duc de Nemours and the Duchess de Montpensier to remain at the Embassy, and they fell by inheritance to Mr. Van de Weyer, whose Queen is Louis Philippe’s daughter. The Queen has taken Louis Philippe’s daughter, Princess Clementine, who married Prince Auguste de Saxe-Coburg to the Palace, but for State Policy’s sake she can do nothing about the others. Mr. Van de Weyer offered Mr. Bates’s place of East Sheen, which was most gratefully accepted.

Friday.

This morning came Thackeray, who is the soul of _Punch_, and showed me a piece he had written for the next number.

Saturday.

The King has arrived. What a crossing of the Channel, pea-jacket, woollen comforter, and all! The flight is a perfect comedy, and if _Punch_ had tried to invent anything more ludicrous, it would have failed. Panic, despotism, and cowardice.

These things are much more exciting here than across the water. We are so near the scene of action and everybody has a more personal interest here in all these matters. The whole week has been like a long play, and now, on Saturday night, I want nothing but repose. What a dream it must be to the chief actors! The Queen, who is always good and noble, was averse to such ignominious flight; she preferred staying and taking what came, and if Madam Adelaide had lived, they would never have made such a [word undecipherable] figure. Her pride and courage would have inspired them. With her seemed to fly Louis Philippe’s star, as Napoleon’s with Josephine. . . . Mr. Emerson has just come to London and we give him a dinner on Tuesday, the 14th. Several persons wish much to see him, and Monckton Milnes reviewed him in _Blackwood_.