Chapter 2

Very fine missals, beautifully illuminated; autographs of numerous renowned personages, particularly a letter by "Charles the First" to Lady Fisher, from Whitehall, during his confinement; presentation snuff boxes, many of value, and most with lines of dedication; relics of great antiquity, and many of modern date, presented by travellers, forming altogether a Museum of great interest and amusement.

SEVERAL REMARKABLY FINE CAMEOS AND INTAGLIOS.

A MODEL OF THE WARWICK VASE, IN SILVER,

Richly Chased, most exquisite in Workmanship and perfectly Unique.

Many curious models, bronze busts, and in Sevres bisquit; MUSICAL AND OTHER ELEGANT CLOCKS, in ormolu; China essence, and flower vases; a large AEolian harp, telescopes, microscopes, &c.

AN EXTENSIVE AND VALUABLE LIBRARY OF BOOKS,

Comprising many Thousand Volumes, elegantly bound in folio, quarto, and octavo, (large and small.)

A SERIES OF ETCHINGS. THE POWER AND PROGRESS OF GENIUS, EXECUTED BY THE PRINCESS ELIZABETH, AND PRESENTED BY HER TO THE PRINCESS AMELIA;

AN AUTOGRAPH LETTER FROM THE PRESENT KING OF FRANCE,

Accompanying the Memoirs du Duc de Montressor, in scarlet and morocco, a present from His Majesty to Lady Butler and Miss Ponsonby; with many other contributions and valuable presents from persons of the highest rank and literary acquirements to these highly gifted Ladies.

PICTURES, VALUABLE DRAWINGS, AND PRINTS,

In frames and in portfolios, comprising a collection the most choice and valuable, many by the first Artists of the day, Portraits of Kings, exalted and renowned Characters, and Views of the most celebrated Scenery of various Countries. A small quantity of

RARE WINES AND LIQUEURS;

Viz., Old Port, Sherry, Madeira, Lisbon, Bucellas, Vidonia, Maraschino, Noyeau, Eau de la Reine, and other estimable Liqueurs.

*** The entire Sale will be on View at the Chateau from the 4th to the 13th of August.

The CATALOGUES will be ready Three Weeks prior to the Sale; and may be had at 3s. each, at the Villa; Phillips's Hotel, and the King's Head, Llangollen; the Lion, Shrewsbury; the Owen Glendower, Corwen; the Great Hotel, at Bangor; the Waterloo Hotel, Liverpool; the Hen and Chickens, Birmingham; York Hotel, Bath; of Mr. Guernon, Molesworth-street, Dublin, and at Mr. GEORGE ROBINS' Offices, Covent Garden."

* * * * *

The present occupiers were also purchasers of many of the rare "curiosities and relics."

We shall now proceed to cite the descriptions which have been put upon record by several distinguished and popular authors, relative to the "Ladies of Llangollen."

It appears from Volume VI. of the published Letters of the late Miss Anna Seward, that a friendly intimacy was cultivated between that clever _literateur_ and the recluses of Plas Newydd; and it would seem from her correspondence, that their tastes were very comprehensive and multifarious; poetry and politics, music and mystery, tragedy and tattle, being alike acceptable. In a letter addressed to Lady Eleanor Butler and Miss Ponsonby, under date Lichfield, October 4, 1802, Miss Seward exclaims:--

"Ah! dearest ladies, it is under the pressure of a severe cold, fierce cough, and inflamed lungs, that I address you. A duty so delightful had, but for this incapacitating malady, been earlier paid.

"I have to thank dear Miss Ponsonby for a manuscript of many verses, which she had the goodness to make for me in hours so engrossed, amid engagements so indispensable. I had the honour to receive it as I was stepping into the chaise which was to convey Mrs. Smith and myself far from that Edenic region where we had recently passed so many happy hours; from those bowers in Llangollen Vale, whence the purest pleasures have so often flowed to my heart and mind, as from a full and overflowing fountain."

From Lichfield, Nov. 9, 1802, Miss Seward discourses to Miss Ponsonby on modern tragedy, and concludes with the following bit of "blue-stocking gossip:"--

"Though I know her not, I am pleased that Mrs. Spencer has had the good fortune to interest and delight you; for I am always desirous that men of genius should not do what they are so prone to do, marry every-day women.

"Naughty brook, for having behaved outrageously again! That little stream of the mountain is a true spoiled child, whom we love the better for its faults, and for all the trouble and alarm they occasion. You see I presume to involve myself, as if, in some sort, the interesting little virago belonged to me. Certainly it is my peculiar pet amongst your scenic children, dear to my taste, as they are beautiful; to my heart as being yours."

In a letter from Lichfield, June 13, 1805, Miss Seward begins:--

"'With a trembling hand, my beloved Miss Ponsonby, do I take up the pen to thank you for a thrice kind letter. It had not remained several weeks unacknowledged, but for this terrible malady of the head, which has oppressed me with so much severity during the interim. I think it must soon lay me low. Not at my time of life does the constitution, pushed from its equipoise by long enduring disease, regain it amid the struggles.

"Immediately on receiving your last, I sent for Madoc; by far the most captivating work of its genuinely inspired author."

In the same letter the following passage occurs:--

"Our young friend Cary has published his translation of Dante's Inferno. It is thought the best which has appeared, and the sale goes on well. He presents a copy to yourself and Lady Eleanor, and I trust you will receive it soon."

After some literary disquisitions on the Inferno, the Lay of the Last Minstrel, and Madoc; and an allusion to King George's visit to Lichfield, the letter thus concludes:--

"Present me devoutly to your beloved Lady Eleanor. Most interesting is your description of that visit, mutually paid to that desolate and silent Dinbren. How worthy of yourselves that hour of consecration, with all its tributary sighs! Too happy were the days and weeks which I passed beneath its roof, and in its beautiful and sublime environs, to permit such revisitation from me.

"It would break my heart amid its present consciousness, spread over with a dark and impervious pall, which can never be drawn away.

"Dear, and amiable Miss Ponsonby, farewell."

From Lichfield, October 31st, 1805, we have another letter to Miss Ponsonby, with the following tremendous opening:--

"Nothing, my dear Madam, is so common as hypocrisy and treachery where property is concerned; but a greater excess of them never poured their dark currents from the vulgar heart, than in those circumstances which your last letter narrates.

"Thus ever be extortionate villany baffled--and long unclouded be the peace which succeeds to that attempted injury. I cannot express how much I am obliged that you took the kind trouble of retracing the road of peril, which had so nearly engulfed a scene, whose beauties rise perpetually in my sleeping and waking dreams."

What ever could have happened at Plas Newydd to excite so grand a burst of tragic passion: here _is_ matter for curious speculation! Then Miss Seward runs into a not very wise dissertation on politics; then reverts to literary subjects, of which Horace Walpole's genius is the chief topic; bemoans her own dizziness of the head; has another touch at Mr. Pitt; and finally ejaculates "Adieu, dearest Madam! Your beloved Lady Eleanor will accept my affectionate devoirs!" Why did not Miss Seward go to Llangollen, to end her days in peace?

In the lively Memoirs of that celebrated Comedian, the late Mr. Charles Matthews, we have the following humourous letters, descriptive of the "Ladies of Llangollen:"--

"Oswestry, Sept. 4th. 1820.

"The dear inseparable inimitables, Lady Butler and Miss Ponsonby, were in the boxes here on Friday. They came twelve miles from Llangollen, and returned, as they never sleep from home. Oh, such curiosities! I was nearly convulsed. I could scarcely get on for the first ten minutes after my eye caught them. Though I had never seen them, I instantaneously knew them. As they are seated, there is not one point to distinguish them from men: the dressing and powdering of the hair; their well-starched neckcloths; the upper part of their habits, which they always wear, even at a dinner-party, made precisely like men's coats; and regular black beaver men's hats. They looked exactly like two respectable superannuated old clergymen; one the picture of Boruwlaski. I was highly flattered, as they never were in the theatre before.

"The packets now sail at seven in the morning; all _day_-work instead of night, which is delightful; and the weather is heavenly. People are here extremely hospitable; but, of all days in the year, Mr. Ormsby Gore went to Carnarvon assizes (being high sheriff) the day before I arrived. He only returned yesterday; and almost forced me away from the inn. I, however, could not conveniently go there, but have been to call this morning. Such a place!

"By the by, have you any magnolias in the grounds? if not, get me one or two. I saw a Portugal laurel, only four years old, full half the size of that great beauty at Lord Mansfield's; pray have one or two of them placed by themselves on our new lawn.

"I have to-day received an invitation to call, if I have time as I pass, at Llangollen, to receive in due form, from the dear old gentlemen called Lady Butler and Miss Ponsonby, their thanks for the entertainment I afforded them at the theatre."

"Porkington, Oct. 24th.

"Well, I have seen them, heard them, touched them. The pets, "_the ladies_," as they are called, dined here yesterday--Lady Eleanor Butler and Miss Ponsonby, the curiosities of Llangollen mentioned by Miss Seward in her letters, about the year 1760. I mentioned to you in a former letter the effect they produced upon me in public, but never shall I forget the first burst yesterday upon entering the drawing-room: to find the dear antediluvian darlings, attired for dinner in the same manified dress, with the Croix de St. Louis, and other orders, and myriads of large brooches, with stones large enough for snuff-boxes, stuck in their starched neckcloths! I have not room to describe their most fascinating persons. I have an invitation from them, which I much fear I cannot accept. They returned home last night, fourteen miles, after twelve o'clock. They have not slept one night from home for above forty years. I longed to put Lady Eleanor under a bell-glass, and bring her to Highgate for you to look at."

In August 1825, Sir Walter Scott visited Llangollen, and the account of his interview with the famed "ladies of the vale," is given with much humour and smartness by Mr. Lockhart, in his interesting Memoirs of the immortal "Author of Waverley."--

"Our progress through North Wales produced nothing worth recording, except perhaps the feeling of delight which everything in the aspect of the common people, their dress, their houses, their gardens, and their husbandry, could not fail to call up in persons who had just been seeing Ireland for the first time; and a short visit (which was, indeed, the only one he made) to the far-famed "ladies" of Llangollen. They had received some hint that Sir Walter meant to pass their way; and on stopping at the inn, he received an invitation so pressing, to add one more to the long list of the illustrious visitors of their retreat, that it was impossible for him not to comply. We had read histories and descriptions enough of these romantic spinsters, and were prepared to be well amused; but the reality surpassed all expectation.

"An extract from a gossiping letter of the following week will perhaps be sufficient for Llangollen.

"'Elleray, August 24.

* * * "'We slept on Wednesday evening at Capel Curig, which Sir W. supposes to mean the Chapel of the Crags; a pretty little inn in a most picturesque situation certainly, and as to the matter of toasted cheese, quite exquisite. Next day we advanced through, I verily believe, the most perfect gem of a country eye ever saw, having almost all the wildness of Highland backgrounds, and all the loveliness of rich English landscape nearer us, and streams like the purest and most babbling of our own. At Llangollen your papa was waylaid by the celebrated 'Ladies'--viz. Lady Eleanor Butler and the Honourable Miss Ponsonby, who having been one or both crossed in love, forswore all dreams of matrimony in the heyday of youth, beauty, and fashion, and selected this charming spot for the repose of their now time-honoured virginity. It was many a day, however, before they could get implicit credit for being the innocent friends they really were, among the people of the neighbourhood; for their elopement from Ireland had been performed under suspicious circumstances; and as Lady Eleanor arrived here in her natural aspect of a pretty girl, while Miss Ponsonby had condescended to accompany her in the garb of a smart footman in buckskin breeches, years and years elapsed ere full justice was done to the character of their romance. {26} We proceeded up the hill, and found everything about them and their habitation odd and extravagant beyond report. Imagine two women, one apparently seventy, the other sixty-five, dressed in heavy blue riding habits, enormous shoes, and men's hats, with their petticoats so tucked up, that at the first glance of them, fussing and tottering about their porch in the agony of expectation, we took them for a couple of hazy or crazy old sailors. On nearer inspection they both wear a world of brooches, rings, &c., and Lady Eleanor positively _orders_--several stars and crosses, and a red ribbon, exactly like a K.C.B. To crown all, they have crop heads, shaggy, rough, bushy, and as white as snow, the one with age alone, the other assisted by a sprinkling of powder. The elder lady is almost blind, and every way much decayed; the other, the ci-devant groom, in good preservation. But who could paint the prints, the dogs, the cats, the miniatures, the cram of cabinets, clocks, glass-cases, books, bijouterie, dragon-china, nodding mandarins, and whirligigs of every shape and hue--the whole house outside and in (for we must see everything to the dressing-closets), _covered_ with carved oak, very rich and fine some of it--and the illustrated copies of Sir W.'s poems, and the joking simpering compliments about Waverley, and the anxiety to know who McIvor really was, and the absolute devouring of the poor Unknown, who had to carry off, besides all the rest, one small bit of literal _butter_ dug up in a Milesian stone jar lately from the bottom of some Irish bog. Great romance (_i.e._ absurd innocence of character) one must have looked for; but it was confounding to find this mixed up with such eager curiosity, and enormous knowledge of the tattle and scandal of the world they had so long left. Their tables were piled with newspapers from every corner of the kingdom, and they seemed to have the deaths and marriages of the antipodes at their fingers' ends. Their albums and autographs, from Louis XVIII. and George IV., down to magazine poets and quack-doctors, are a museum. I shall never see the spirit of blue-stockingism again in such perfect incarnation. Peveril won't get over their final kissing match for a week. Yet it is too bad to laugh at these good old girls; they have long been the guardian angels of the village, and are worshipped by man, woman, and child about them.'"

In July, 1828, the charming vale of Llangollen was visited by a German Prince (Puckler-Muskau of Prussia), who has thus left on record the impressions which his excursion in that vicinity excited:--

"The most beautiful reality, however, awaited me this morning in Wales. The vision of clouds seemed to have been the harbinger of the magnificence of the vale of Llangollen,--a spot which, in my opinion, far surpasses all the beauties of the Rhine-land, and has, moreover, a character quite its own, from the unusual forms of the peaked tops, and rugged declivities of its mountains. The Dee, a rapid stream, winds through the green valley in a thousand fantastic bendings, overhung with thick underwood. On each side high mountains rise abruptly from the plain, and are crowned with antique ruins, modern country-houses, manufactories, whose towering chimneys send out columns of thick smoke, or with grotesque groups of upright rocks. The vegetation is everywhere rich, and hill and vale are filled with lofty trees, whose varied hues add so infinitely to the beauty and picturesque effect of a landscape. In the midst of this luxuriant nature, arises, with a grandeur heightened by contrast, a single long, black, bare range of mountains, clothed only with thick, dark heather," and from time to time skirting the high road. This magnificent road, which from London to Holyhead, is as even as a 'parquet,' here runs along the side of the left range of mountains, at about their middle elevation and following all their windings; so that in riding along at a brisk trot or gallop, the traveller is presented at every minute with a completely new prospect; and without changing his position, overlooks the valley now before him, now behind, now at his side. On one side is an aqueduct of twenty-five slender arches, a work which would have done honour to Rome. Through this a second river is led over the valley and across the Dee, at an elevation of an hundred and twenty feet above the bed of the natural stream. A few miles further on, the little town of Llangollen offers a delightful resting place, and is deservedly much resorted to.

"There is a beautiful view from the churchyard near the inn: here I climbed upon a tomb, and stood for half an hour enjoying with deep and grateful delight the beauties so richly spread before me. Immediately below me bloomed a terraced garden, filled with vine, honeysuckle, rose, and a hundred gay flowers, which descended to the very edge of the foaming stream. On the right hand, my eye followed the crisped waves in their restless murmuring course through the overhanging thicket; before me rose two lines of wood, divided by a strip of meadow-land filled with grazing cattle; and high above all, rose the bare conical peak of a mountain crowned by the ruins of the old Welsh castle Dinas Bran, or the Crow's Fortress. On the left, the stone houses of the town lie scattered along the valley; the river forms a considerable waterfall near the picturesque bridge, while three colossal rocks rise immediately behind it like giant guards, and shut out all the more distant wonders of this enchanting region.

"Before I left Llangollen I recollected the two celebrated ladies who have inhabited this valley for more than half a century, and of whom I had heard once as a child, and again recently in London. You have doubtless heard your father talk of them;--'si non, voila leur histoire.' Fifty-six years ago, two young, pretty and fashionable ladies, Lady Eleanor Butler, and the daughter of the late Lord Ponsonby, took it in their heads to hate men, to love only each other, and to live from that hour in some remote hermitage. The resolution was immediately executed; and from that time neither lady has ever passed a night out of their cottage. On the other hand, no one who is presentable travels in Wales unprovided with an introduction to them. It is affirmed that the 'scandal' of the great world interests them as much as when they lived in it; and that their curiosity to know what passes has preserved all its freshness. I had compliments to deliver to them from several ladies, but I had neglected to furnish myself with a letter. I therefore sent my card, determined if they declined my visit, as I was led to fear, to storm the cottage. Here, as elsewhere, however, in England, a title easily opened the door, and I immediately received a gracious invitation to a second breakfast. Passing along a charming road, through a trim and pretty pleasure-ground, in a quarter of an hour I reached a small but tasteful gothic cottage, situated directly opposite to Dinas Bran, various glimpses of which were visible through openings cut in the trees. I alighted, and was received at the door by the two ladies. Fortunately I was already prepared by hearsay for their peculiarities; I might otherwise have found it difficult to repress some expression of astonishment. Imagine two ladies, the eldest of whom, Lady Eleanor, a short robust woman, begins to feel her years a little, being now eighty-three; the other, a tall and imposing person, esteems herself still youthful, being only seventy-four. Both wore their still abundant hair combed straight back and powdered, a round man's hat, a man's cravat and waistcoat, but in the place of 'inexpressibles,' a short petticoat and boots: the whole covered by a coat of blue cloth, of a cut quite peculiar,--a sort of middle term between a man's coat and a lady's riding-habit. Over this, Lady Eleanor wore, first, the grand cordon of the order of St. Louis across her shoulder; secondly, the same order around her neck; thirdly, the small cross of the same in her button-hole, and 'pour comble de gloire,' a golden lily of nearly the natural size, as a star,--all, as she said, presents of the Bourbon family. So far the whole effect was somewhat ludicrous. But now, you must imagine both ladies with that agreeable 'aisance,' that air of the world of the 'ancien regime,' courteous and entertaining, without the slightest affectation; speaking French as well as any Englishwoman of my acquaintance; and above all, with that essentially polite, unconstrained, and simply cheerful manner of the good society of that day, which, in our serious hardworking age of business, appears to be going to utter decay. I was really affected with a melancholy sort of pleasure in contemplating it in the persons of the amiable old ladies who are among the last of its living representatives; nor could I witness without lively sympathy the unremitting, natural and affectionate attention with which the younger treated her somewhat infirmer friend, and anticipated all her wants. The charm of such actions lies chiefly in the manner in which they are performed,--in things which appear small and insignificant, but which are never lost upon a susceptible heart.