Chapter 3

"I began by saying that I esteemed myself fortunate in being permitted to deliver to the fair recluses the compliments with which I was charged by my grandfather, who had had the honour of visiting them fifty years ago. Their beauty indeed they had lost, but not their memory: they remembered the C--- C--- very well, immediately produced an old memorial of him, and expressed their wonder that so young a man was dead already. Not only the venerable ladies, but their house, was full of interest; indeed it contained some real treasures. There is scarcely a remarkable person of the last half century who has not sent them a portrait or some curiosity or antique as a token of remembrance. The collection of these, a well-furnished library, a delightful situation, an equable, tranquil life, and perfect friendship and union,--these have been their possessions; and if we may judge by their robust old age and their cheerful temper, they have not chosen amiss."

During the summer of 1833, Miss Catherine Sinclair, the clever authoress of "Modern Accomplishments," made an excursion through Wales, and thus describes her visit to Plas Newydd:--

"No eyes but those of a poet are worthy to behold the celebrated valley of Llangollen, where we next proceeded, after having drawn largely on the firm of Messrs. Wordsworth, Cowper, Thomson, and Co. for language to pay a due tribute of admiration to this surpassing scene,--but who has a genius equal to the majesty of nature? I thought of the Mahometan who turned back when he observed some such rich and fertile plain, saying, he had been only promised one Paradise, and did not wish to enjoy it upon earth. Instead of following his example, however, we advanced, trying to fancy ourselves on the banks of the Rhine, to which so many travellers have compared this beautiful valley. Pray employ your unrivalled taste in imagining the rugged mountains,--the sparkling river,--the ancient trees,--the smiling cottages,--the daisied meadows, and the fertile gardens, all grouped or scattered in the way you think best,--and invention can suggest nothing more perfect.

"The valley of Llangollen belonged once to the far-famed Owen Glendower, mentioned in Shakespeare's Plays, as 'not in the roll of common men.' His palace stood near this formerly, and here he maintained a war during twelve years against Henry IV., being a keen adherent of Richard's; besides which, a private feud against Lord Grey de Ruthyn whetted his exertions. Peace was, however, about to be concluded in 1415, between the Welsh chief and the English king, on very honourable terms, when, as we frequently observe, if any one attains his utmost earthly desires, Owen died. But though the vale of Llangollen boasts of such a hero, its chief celebrity arises from a pair of heroines; and we lost no time in doing homage to their memories, by scrambling our way up a steep ascent to that well-known cottage, where the late Lady Eleanor Butler and the Honourable Miss Ponsonby, during more than half a century, devoted their long lives so romantically to friendship, celibacy, and the knitting of blue stockings. It seems only astonishing that this is so very rare an occurrence, for any one with a friend so richly endowed as my accomplished correspondent, might feel safe from the possibility of tiring, and might like to connect her name with so charming a scene and with so romantic a story. Two successors to these fair hermits have already sprung up, as substitutes for the original occupants, following the same exclusive plan of life; and in a moment of enthusiasm I felt much inclined to knock at the door and ask if they would make it a trio. In the case of Lady Eleanor Butler and Miss Ponsonby, very transient visits only were acceptable, and even their own names remained long concealed, as the friends eloped clandestinely without confiding to any one, except a maid servant, the place of their retreat. The cause of this very close seclusion having been variously conjectured, excited much gossipping curiosity at the time; but from whatever cause the hermitage originated, here, embowered in roses, they 'made a solitude and called it peace.' After discussing the Ladies of Llangollen, our thoughts naturally diverged into a general consideration, whether the greatest number of voluntary recluses have relinquished social intercourse on account of disappointed affection, mortified vanity, or mistaken devotion.

"What a beau ideal of earthly felicity springs up to the imagination in taking a glance at the beautiful cottage of Llangollen! all the every-day vexations and vulgar cares of life, seem there swept aside, and nothing left for the inhabitants but to lead a life of graceful leisure, tying up carnations, engrafting roses, gazing at the splendid scenery around, and talking in perpetual ecstacies about flowers and perfumes. Almost every grown-up person entertains, at the out-set of life, notions of happiness with a cottage nearly similar to that which a little girl enjoys with her first doll,--dressing it up, altering, arranging, painting, and spoiling it; but this hermitage really is a singular looking toy. The building is long and low, so completely cased in richly-carved oak, that it might be mistaken for an enormous wardrobe. The garden slopes upwards from the river Dee, and is greatly embellished by a splendid beech hedge about forty feet high; several charming little summer houses are sprinkled about the grounds; and in one most romantic arbour, overlooking the fine cascade, we found a volume lying open on the seat, which proved to be Southey's Roderick; suitable reading for such a scene of poetical beauty.

"An attempt at embellishment has been made, by placing a stuffed bear near the house, probably in imitation of the Zoological Gardens; but the idea is rather a failure, and would appear more suitable over the door of a perfumer's shop, to intimate the presence of bear's grease. A little gim-crack model of a wooden house is also visible, by way of an ornament, stuck on the summit of a wooden pillar, but the effect is disproportioned to all surrounding objects, even more than the designs on Chinese paper; where men of six feet high are represented entering mansions half their own height, and birds may be seen flying larger than either the houses or their inhabitants. In a cottage built of oak and roofed with thatch, it would be very desirable that the inhabitants should have some taste for the study of entomology, as they might find an inexhaustible hunting-field among the wooden walls and creepers. It has been disputed whether more inconvenience is endured from the extreme cold of an English winter, or from the swarms of insects inevitably encountered during the heat of an Italian summer; but those who inhabit this 'Fairy Palace of the Vale,' might be able from experience at home, to decide the question. They could afford sufficient employment for an entire pin-manufactory, to supply impaling machines for all the specimens of insects that might be collected and classified here. The birds too, were so vociferous, that we seemed standing in an aviary, and the locality would not at all have suited Lady ---, who scolded her gardener for 'letting the sparrows make such a noise under her windows in the morning.' It is much to be lamented how many 'harmonious blackbirds' annually fall victims to the preservation of cherries; and though the 'four-and-twenty baked in a pie,' might be rather too loud when they all 'began to sing,' yet a few in a garden are so enlivening and delightful, that it would be better never to taste fruit again than to lose such a concert of natural melody as we enjoyed at Llangollen."

Mr. Roscoe, in his remarkably interesting "Wanderings in North Wales," is less enthusiastic than some tourists on the subject of our present narrative; he says:--

"Plas Newydd, for so many years the residence of the fair recluses of the lovely vale of Llangollen, stands on a gentle eminence close to the town, ornamented with a carved railing in front, and decorated with grotesque gables and ornaments. The present proprietors are also two maiden ladies, who seem disposed to perpetuate the conventual celebrity of this place; and are certainly not less urbane than the former possessors, in permitting visitors to gratify their taste in the inspection of the beautiful grounds. Attended by my _cicerone_, the gardener, I passed from one object of natural beauty to another,--the vale of Pen-gwern surrounded by part of the Berwyn chain, the woody dingle, and brawling brook of the Cyflymed, with many others, which are supplied with the most gratifying conveniences for their leisurely inspection. After all, I must confess, filled as was my mind by the impressions of the majestic scenes with which it had become familiar, the miniature landscapes supplied by the situation of Plas Newydd, fell far short of the anticipation I had formed, and they forcibly recalled the emotion I remembered to have felt after viewing the mimic hills and vales, and passionless cascades of the poet Shenstone, in his retreat at the Leasowes, near Hagley."

Miss Costello, who made the tour of North Wales in 1844 is even less complimentary, and is thus smartly satirical in the peculiarities of the departed "Ladies:"--

"One of the great attractions of Llangollen a few years ago was the romantic story attached to the place and the residence there of Lady Eleanor Butler and Miss Ponsonby. Pilgrimages were made to this shrine of friendship, and the ladies were overwhelmed with visitors, and their cottage filled with offerings. Their tomb is now in the churchyard, and their cottage let; and very few persons recollect much about them, or feel any interest in a sentimental history, which belonged to the last century, and now can only excite a smile at the eccentricity of its heroines, who, under pretence of retiring from society, made themselves conspicuous throughout the country. Most of their accumulated stores were sold by public auction, on the death of the last of the friends, and the cottage, as it now stands, is by no means either a rural or picturesque object. It is covered inside and out with carved wood, some of value, and some quite worthless; and all that remains of the taste of the former proprietors merely proves how little was required to please fifty years ago. The trees, planted by the friends, are now grown high, and shut out all view of the country; in fact, the whole place has a vulgar, common-place appearance, and excited in my mind no sort of interest, nor was my indifference agreeably dispelled by the view of an engraving, hung up in the little boudoir, representing the two ladies sitting at their table covered with curiosities, both dressed in masculine habits, and both frightfully ugly. These portraits, it seems, were taken by an amateur, by stealth, as neither of 'The Ladies of Llangollen' would consent to sit, and a lamentable record is it which creates most unpleasing sensations to the lover of the graceful, beautiful, and venerable.

"The 'ladies' were, although singular in the extreme, remarkably charitable and considerate of the necessities of their neighbours, and their loss has been greatly felt. They seemed vain and pompous, but accomplished and intellectual, and were a strange compound of wisdom and folly, pride and condescension."

The celebrated Madame de Genlis, in an entertaining miscellany, under the title of "Souvenirs de Felicie L---," has given the following graphic narrative of "The Fair Recluses of Llangollen:"--

"During my residence in England (says she), nothing struck me so much as the delicious cottage of Llangollen, in North Wales. It is not a little extraordinary, that a circumstance so singular and remarkable as that connected with this retreat, should hitherto have escaped the notice of all modern travellers. The manner in which I became acquainted with it was this:--During our long-stay at Bury, a small company of five or six persons, including ourselves, met every evening from seven till half-past ten o'clock. We diverted ourselves with music and conversation, so that the time past very agreeably. One night friendship happened to be the subject of conversation, and I declared that I would with pleasure undertake a long journey to see two persons who had long been united by the bonds of genuine friendship. 'Well, Madam,' replied Mr. Stuart (now Lord Castlereagh), go to Llangollen; you will there see a model of perfect friendship, which will afford you the more delight, as it is exhibited by two females who are yet young and charming in every respect. Would you like to hear the history of Lady Eleanor Butler and Miss Ponsonby?'--'It would give me the greatest pleasure.'--'I will relate it to you.' At these words the company drew nearer to Mr. Stuart, we formed a little circle round him, and after recollecting himself a few moments, he thus began his narrative:--

"'Lady Eleanor Butler, was born in Dublin. She was left an orphan while in her cradle; and possessing an ample fortune, together with an amiable disposition and a beautiful person, her hand was solicited by persons belonging to the first families in Ireland. At an early age she manifested great repugnance to the idea of giving herself a master. This love of independence, which she never dissembled, did no injury to her reputation; her conduct has always been irreproachable, and no female is more highly distinguished for sweetness of temper, modesty, and all the virtues which adorn her sex. In tender infancy a mutual attachment took place between her and Miss Ponsonby, by an accident which made a deep impression on their imagination. They had no difficulty to persuade themselves that heaven had formed them for each other; that is, that it had designed each of them to devote her existence to the other, so that they might glide together down the stream of life, in the bosom of peace, the most intimate friendship, and delicious independence. This idea their sensibility was destined to realize. Their friendship gradually grew stronger with their years, so that at seventeen they mutually engaged never to sacrifice their liberty, or to part from each other. From that moment they formed the design of withdrawing from the world, and of settling for good in some sequestered retreat. Having heard of the charming scenery of Wales, they secretly absconded from their friends for the purpose of fixing upon their future residence. They visited Llangollen, and there, on the summit of a mountain, they found a little detached cottage, with the situation of which they were delighted. Here they resolved to form their establishment. Meanwhile the guardians of the young fugitives sent people after them, and they were conveyed back to Dublin. They declared that they would return to their mountain as soon as they were of age. Accordingly, at twenty-one, in spite of the entreaties and remonstrances of their relatives and friends, they quitted Ireland for ever, and flew to Llangollen. Miss Ponsonby is not rich, but Lady Eleanor possesses a considerable fortune. She purchased the little hut and the property of the mountain, where she built a cottage, very simple in external appearance, but the interior of which displays the greatest elegance. On the top of the mountain she has formed about the house a court and flower-garden; a hedge of rosebushes is the only enclosure that surrounds this rural habitation. A convenient carriage-road, the steepness of which has been diminished by art, was carried along the mountain. On the side of the latter some ancient pines of prodigious height were preserved; fruit trees were planted, and a great quantity of cherry trees in particular, which produce the best and finest cherries in England. The two friends likewise possess a farm for their cattle, with a pretty farm-house and a kitchen-garden at the foot of the mountain. In this sequestered abode these two extraordinary persons, with minds equally cultivated, and accomplishments equally pleasing, have now resided ten years, without ever having been absent from it a single night. Nevertheless they are not unsociable, they sometimes pay visits to the neighbouring gentry, and receive with the greatest politeness travellers on their way to or from Ireland, who are recommended to them by any of their old friends.'

"This account strongly excited my curiosity, and produced the same effect on Mademoiselle d'Orleans and my two young companions. We determined the same night to set out immediately for Llangollen, by the circuitous route of Brighton, Portsmouth, and the Isle of Wight. It was the latter end of July when we arrived at Llangollen. This place has not the rich appearance of the English villages in general, but nothing can equal the cleanliness of the houses, and among the lower classes of any country this is an infallible proof of abundance. Llangollen, surrounded with woods and meadows, clothed with the freshest verdure, is situated at the foot of the mountain belonging to the two friends, which there forms a majestic pyramid covered with trees and flowers. We arrived at the cottage, the only object of our journey, an hour before sunset.

"The two friends had received in the morning by a messenger the letter which Mr. Stuart had given me for them. We were received with a grace, a cordiality, and kindness, of which it would be impossible for me to give any idea. I could not turn my eyes from those two ladies, rendered so interesting by their friendship and so extraordinary on account of their way of life. I perceived in them none of that vanity which takes delight in the surprize of others. Their mutual attachment, and their whole conduct evince such simplicity, that astonishment soon gives way to softer emotions; all they do and say breathes the utmost frankness and sincerity. One circumstance which I cannot help remarking is, that after living so many years in this sequestered retreat, they speak French with equal fluency and purity. I was likewise much struck with the little resemblance there is between them. Lady Eleanor has a charming face, embellished with the glow of health; her whole appearance and manner announce vivacity and the most unaffected gaiety. Miss Ponsonby has a fine countenance, but pale and melancholy. One seems to have been born in this solitude, so perfectly is she at her ease in it; for her easy carriage shews that she has not retained the slightest recollection of the world and its vain pleasures. The other, silent and pensive, has too much candour and innocence for you to suppose that repentance has conducted her into solitude, but you would suppose that she still cherishes some painful regrets. Both have the most engaging politeness, and highly-cultivated minds. An excellent library, composed of the best English, French, and Italian authors, affords them an inexhaustible source of diversified amusement and solid occupation; for reading is not truly profitable except when a person has time to read again.

"The interior of the house is delightful on account of the just proportion and distribution of the apartments, the elegance of the ornaments and furniture, and the admirable view which you enjoy from all the windows; the drawing-room is adorned with charming landscapes, drawn and coloured from nature, by Miss Ponsonby. Lady Eleanor is a great proficient in music; and their solitary habitation is filled with embroidery by them both, of wonderful execution. Miss Ponsonby, who writes the finest hand I ever saw, has copied a number of select pieces in verse and prose, which she has ornamented with vignettes and arabesques, in the best taste, and which form a most valuable collection. Thus the arts are cultivated there with equal modesty and success, and their productions are admired with a feeling that is not experienced elsewhere; the spectator observes with delight that so much merit is secure in this peaceful retreat from the shafts of satire and envy, and that talents unaccompanied with ostentation and pride, have there never coveted any suffrages but those of friendship.

"This evening was a scene of enchantment for me; not one painful reflection disturbed its felicity. I retired to rest, but my imagination was so fully occupied with what I had seen and heard, that my thoughts kept me for a long time awake. At length, I was just falling asleep, when I was roused by the most melodious sounds. I listened in great astonishment; it was not music, but an indistinct and celestial harmony which penetrated my very soul. I discovered that it was produced by a violent wind which had just then arisen; my ear distinguished the distant noise and the whistling usually heard on such occasions, but the winds changing their nature as they approached this asylum of peace and friendship, formed only the most enchanting harmony as they met its trees and its walls. I was strongly disposed to believe in prodigies; but nevertheless I was determined to investigate the nature of this, but I durst not rise for fear of waking Mademoiselle d'Orleans, who was extremely fatigued with her journey, and slept in a bed close by mine. The tempest suddenly ceased, and the harmonious sounds appeared to be carried to a distance by the retiring winds. I raised my head towards the heavens to catch the last tones of this celestial concert, which seemed to be lost in the clouds. I listened with transport like St. Cecilia; if I had had my harp in my hands I should certainly have dropped it; at that moment all terrestrial music appeared totally spiritless and insipid.

"Next morning the whole mystery was explained. On opening my window I found in the balcony an Eolian harp, an instrument with which I was then unacquainted, and which, when the wind blows upon it, produces such enchanting sounds.