Part 8
Amiel's estimate of the value of his life-work was not a high one. "This Journal of mine," he said, "represents the material of a good many volumes; what prodigious waste of thought, of strength. It will be useful to nobody, and even for myself it has rather helped me to shirk life than to practice it." And again, "Is everything I have produced taken together, my correspondence, these thousands of journal pages, my lectures, my articles, my poems, my notes of different kinds--anything better than withered leaves? To whom and to what have I been useful? Will my name survive me a single day? And will it ever mean anything to anybody? A life of no account! When it is all added up, nothing!"
"Amiel," says Mrs. Ward, "might have been saved from despair by love and marriage, by paternity, by strenuous and successful literary production."
Family life attracted him perpetually. "I cannot escape from the ideal of it," he said. "A companion of my life, of my work, of my thoughts, of my hopes; within, a common worship--towards the world outside, kindness and beneficence; education to undertake; the thousand and one moral relations which develop around the first--all these ideas intoxicate me sometimes."
But in vain. "Reality, the present, the irreparable, the necessary, repel and even terrify me. I have too much imagination, conscience, and penetration, and not enough character. The life of thought alone seems to me to have enough elasticity and immensity to be free enough from the irreparable; practical life makes me afraid. I am distrustful of myself and of happiness because I know myself. The ideal poisons for me all imperfect possession, and I abhor all useless regrets and repentances."
Mrs. Ward dramatized this strange individuality in the character of Langham. The love-scene in which Langham wins the hand of the beautiful Rose, followed by the all-night mental struggle in which he finally feels compelled to renounce all that he has gained, is almost tragic in its intensity.
Poor Langham, with the prize fairly within his grasp, found that he lacked the courage to retain it. And so the morning after the proposal, instead of the pleasantly anticipated call from her accepted lover, the unfortunate Rose was shocked to receive a pessimistic letter announcing that the engagement had not survived the night. To the casual reader it would seem that such a man as Langham would be impossible. But that Amiel was just such a person his elaborate journal fully reveals. And Professor Mark Pattison has given his testimony that Amiel was not alone in his experiences, for six months after the journal was published he wrote, "I can vouch that there is in existence at least one other soul which has lived through the same struggles mental and moral as Amiel."
Among the very large number of persons who come upon the stage in the action of this remarkable book, several besides the Squire, Grey, and Langham may have been suggested by persons whom the author knew. But the prototypes of these three are the only ones who really enter, in a vital way, into the actual construction of the novel. "But who was the real Elsmere?" one naturally asks. Many attempts have been made to identify this good preacher or that worthy reformer with the famous character, much to the annoyance of the author, who really created Elsmere out of the influences already described. The real Elsmere would be obviously one whose religious views were moulded by Mark Pattison and Thomas H. Green, and one who was profoundly interested in, if not influenced by, the strange self-distrust of Amiel. The real Elsmere would be also one whose religious convictions led inevitably to the desire to perform some practical service to mankind. Such an Elsmere exists in the person of Mrs. Ward herself, who is to-day regarded by the workers and associates of the Passmore Edwards Settlement, in Tavistock Place, London, with very much the same love and gratitude as Elsmere won from the people of Elgood Street. For this beneficent institution was a direct result of the novel, and owes its existence very largely to Mrs. Ward's energetic and influential efforts.
III
OTHER PEOPLE AND SCENERY
"The History of David Grieve," Mrs. Ward's third novel, is by many considered, next to "Robert Elsmere," her greatest achievement. David and his sister Louie are the orphan children of a sturdy and high-minded Englishman whose wife was a French woman of somewhat doubtful character. Their development from early childhood to full maturity is traced with a power of psychological analysis seldom equaled. Both are intensely human and fall easy prey to the temptations of their environment, but in the end David overcomes the evil influences, while poor Louie, inheriting more of her mother's temperament, goes to her death in poverty and disgrace.
The most attractive part of the book is the opening, where the two children are seen roaming the hills of the wild moorland country of their birth. This is the Kinderscout region, in Derbyshire, something over twenty miles southeast of Manchester.
The visitor must take the train to Hayfield, called Clough End in the novel, and then, if he is fortunate enough to have permission from the owner, may drive a distance of four or five miles to what is now called Upper House, the country home of a wealthy merchant of Manchester. This was originally known as Marriott's Farm, and for several hundred years was owned by a family of that name. Here Mrs. Ward spent two days, when the entire house consisted of what is now the right wing. She walked over the moors and along the top of the Kinderscout with Mr. Marriott as her guide, and thus obtained the knowledge for the most perfect description of pastoral life to be found in any of her novels.
Needham's Farm, the home of David and Louie, is the only other farm in the neighborhood. It is now known as the Lower House, and is owned by the same Manchester gentleman, but is leased to a family named Needham, who have occupied it for many years. It looks now just as it did when Mrs. Ward described it.
The "Owd Smithy," where the prayer-meeting was held and Louie wickedly played the ghost of Jenny Crum, is now only remotely suggested by a heap of rocks bearing little resemblance to a building of any kind. Huge mill-stones, partly embedded in the earth, are scattered about here and there. The Downfall, which, when the water is coming over, is visible for miles around, is ordinarily a bare, bleak pile of rocks, for it is usually nearly if not quite dry. But after a heavy rain the water comes over in large volume, and, if the wind is strong, is blown back, presenting a most curious spectacle of a cascade seeming to disappear in the air when halfway to the bottom. Not far away is the Mermaid's Pool, haunted by the ghost of Jenny Crum. There is a real ghost story connected with this pool, which doubtless formed the basis of Mrs. Ward's legend. An old farmer named Tom Heys was much troubled by a ghost, of which he could not rid himself. He once shot at it, but without effect except that the bullet-mark is in the old house even now. An old woman once saw the ghost while shearing sheep. She threw the tongs at it. Instantly the room was filled with flying fleece, while the woman's clothes were cut to pieces and fell off her body. These were some of the troublesome pranks played by the ghost. At length the farmer discovered, somewhere on his place, an old skull, which doubtless belonged to His Ghostship, and carried it to the Mermaid's Pool, where he deposited it
"To stay as long as holly's green, And rocks on Kinderscout are seen."
This effectually disposed of the ghost so far as he was concerned, but the spirit still hovers over the Mermaid's Pool.
Market Place, Manchester, where we find David after his flight from the old farm, looks to-day very much the same. Half Street, however, on the east of the cathedral, has disappeared. Purcell's shop in this street was described from a quaint little book-shop which actually existed at the time.
The Parisian scenes of "David Grieve," the Louvre, the Boulevards, the Latin Quarter, Fontainebleau, Saint-Germain, and Barbizon, are all too well known to need mention here. The final scenes of the novel, where David's wife is brought after the beginning of her fatal illness, are in one of the most beautiful localities in the English Lake District. Lucy's house is supposed to be on the right bank of the river. The house is imaginary (the one on the left bank having no connection with the story), but the location is exactly described. This is just above Pelter Bridge, a mile north of Ambleside, where the river Rothay combines with the adjacent hills to make one of those fascinating scenes for which Westmoreland is famous. Nab Scar looms up before us, and off to the left is Loughrigg. A stroll along the river brings one to the little bridge at the outlet of Rydal Water, where David walked for quiet meditation during his wife's illness; and still farther northward the larch plantations on the side of Silver How add their touch of beauty to the landscape. This entire region has always been dear to Mrs. Ward's heart from the associations of her girlhood, and, if Lucy must die, she could think of no more lovely spot for the last sad scenes.
One character in "David Grieve" is drawn from real life--Elise Delaunay, the French girl with whom David falls in love on his first visit to Paris. This is, in some respects, a portrait of Marie Bashkirtseff, a young native of Russia, whose brief career as an artist attracted much notice. Marie was born of wealthy parents in 1860. When she was only ten years old her mother quarreled with her husband and left him, taking the children with her. Marie returned to her father, with whom she traveled extensively. A born artist, the journey through Italy created in her a new and thrilling interest. She resolved to devote her life to art, and in 1877 entered the school of Julian in Paris. She soon showed astonishing capacity, and Julian assured her that her draughtsmanship was remarkable. One of her paintings, "Le Meeting," was exhibited in the Salon of 1884, and attracted much notice. Reproductions were made in all the leading papers, and it was finally bought by the cousin of the Czar, the Grand Duke Constantino Constantinowitch, a distinguished connoisseur and himself a painter. This picture represents half a dozen street gamins of the ordinary Parisian type holding a conference in the street. Their faces exhibit all the seriousness of a group of financiers consulting upon some project of vast importance.
The peculiarity of Marie's character is set forth by her biographer in words which enable the reader of "David Grieve" instantly to recognize Elise Delaunay:--
She never wholly yields herself up to any fixed rule of conduct, or even passion, being swayed this way or that by the intense impressionability of her nature. She herself recognized this anomaly in the remark, "My life can't endure; I have a deal too much of some things and a deal too little of others, and a character not made to last." The very intensity of her desire to see life at all points seems to defeat itself, and she cannot help stealing side glances at ambition during the most romantic tete-a-tete with a lover, or being tortured by visions of unsatisfied love when art should have engrossed all her faculties.
In the last year of her life Marie achieved an admiration for Bastien-Lepage which, her biographer says, "has a suspicious flavour of love about it. It is the strongest, sweetest, most impassioned feeling of her existence." She died in 1884, at the early age of twenty-four, assured by Bastien-Lepage that no other woman had ever accomplished so much at her age.
"Marcella" and "Sir George Tressady" are novels of English social and political life--a field in which Mrs. Ward is peculiarly at home, and in which she has no superior. Marcella, who in her final development became one of the most beautiful women of all Mrs. Ward's characters, was suggested by the personality of an intimate friend, whose name need not be mentioned. Mellor Park, the home of Marcella, is drawn from Hampden House in Buckinghamshire. It is a famous old house, some centuries old, now the country-seat of the Earl of Buckinghamshire, and, with its well-kept gardens and spacious park, is unusually attractive. Twenty years ago, however, it was in a state of neglect. The road leading to it was full of underbrush, the garden was wholly uncared-for, and the house itself much in need of repair. This is the state in which Mrs. Ward describes it--and she knew it well, for she had leased it for a season and made it her summer home. The murder of the gamekeeper, described as taking place near Mellor Park, really happened at Stocks, Mrs. Ward's present home near Tring.
The village of Ferth, where Sir George Tressady had his home and owned the collieries, is a mining village ten miles from Crewe, known as "Talk o' the Hill." The ugly black house to which Tressady brought home his young wife was described from an actual house which the author visited.
"Helbeck of Bannisdale" was written while the author was living at Levens Hall, the handsome country home of Captain Bagot, M.P., which Mrs. Ward leased for a summer. It is a few miles south of Kendal, in Westmoreland, and just on the border of the "Peat Moss" country. The old hall dates back to 1170, the original deed now in possession of Captain Bagot bearing that date. The dining-room has an inlaid design over the mantel with the date 1586. The entrance-hall, dining-room, and drawing-room contain many antique relics. But the most remarkable feature of Levens is the garden, containing about two hundred yews trained and trimmed into every conceivable shape. There is an "umbrella" which has required two hundred years of constant care to reach its present size and shape; a British lion, with perfect coronet; a peacock with correctly formed neck and tail feathers; a barrister's wig, a kaffir's hut, and so on through a long list of curious shapes. In front of the house the river Kent, with a bridge of two arches, makes a picturesque scene. This is the "bridge over the Bannisdale River" which marked the end of Laura's drive with Mason, where at sight of Helbeck the young man made his sudden and unceremonious departure. A spacious park skirts the river, through which runs a grassy road bounded by splendid oaks intertwining their branches high above. Following this path we reached a foot-bridge barely wide enough for one person to cross, on the park end of which is a rough platform apparently built for fishermen. Here Laura kept her clandestine appointment with Mason, and on her way home was mistaken for the ghost of the "Bannisdale Lady," much to the terror of a poor old man who chanced to be passing, and not a little to her own subsequent embarrassment. A little beyond is the deep pool where Laura was drowned.
The exterior of Bannisdale Hall is not Levens, but Sizergh Castle, some two or three miles nearer Kendal. At the time of the story a Catholic family of Stricklands owned the place, but, like Helbeck, were gradually selling parts of their property, and dealers from London and elsewhere were constantly coming to carry off furniture or paintings. The family finally lost the property, and it was acquired by a distant relative, Sir Gerald Strickland, who was recently appointed Governor of New South Wales, and who now owns but does not occupy it.
The little chapel, high up on a hill, where Laura was buried, is at Cartmel Fell, in Northern Lancashire. A quaint little chapel five or six hundred years old, it is well worth a visit.
The scenes of "Eleanor" are in Italy, and here Mrs. Ward fairly revels in descriptions of "Italy, the beloved and beautiful." The opening chapters have their setting in the Villa Barberini, on the ridge of the Alban Hills, south of Rome, from the balcony of which the dome of St. Peter's can be seen in the distance, dominating the landscape by day and seeming at night to be the one thing which has definite form and identity. There is a visit to Nemi and Egeria's Spring, after which the scene changes to the valley of the Paglia, beyond the hill town of Orvieto, "a valley with wooded hills on either side, of a bluish-green color, checkered with hill towns and slim campaniles and winding roads; and, binding it all in one, the loops and reaches of a full brown river."
Torre Amiata--the real name of which is Torre Alfina--is a magnificent castle, "a place of remote and enchanting beauty." Through some Italian friends, Mrs. Ward met the agent of this great estate, who put his house at her disposal for a season. This happy opportunity gave her the intimate acquaintance with the surrounding country which she used with such excellent skill in "Eleanor," and enabled her, among other things, to discover the ruined convent and chapel which formed the dismal retreat of Lucy and Eleanor in their strange flight from Mr. Manisty.
"Lady Rose's Daughter," which followed "Eleanor," likewise reflects the author's love of Italy. It was written, in part at least, in the beautiful villa at Cadenabbia, on Lake Como, from which a view of surpassing loveliness meets the eye in every direction. Mrs. Ward never tires of it, and in her leisure moments while there found great delight in reproducing in her sketch-book the charming colors of a landscape which can scarcely be equaled in any other part of the world.
The setting of the novel in its earlier chapters is London. But when Julie Le Breton, worn out by mental anguish, the result of experiences which had nearly ruined her life, could be rescued and brought back to life only by a quiet rest amid pleasant surroundings, Lake Como was the place selected by her kind-hearted little friend the duchess. As her strength gradually returned she daily walked over the hill to the path that led to the woods overhanging the Villa Carlotta.
Such a path! To the left hand, and, as it seemed, steeply beneath her feet, all earth and heaven--the wide lake, the purple mountains, the glories of a flaming sky. On the calm spaces of water lay a shimmer of crimson and gold, repeating the noble splendor of the clouds.... To her right a green hillside--each blade of grass, each flower, each tuft of heath, enskied, transfigured by the broad light that poured across it from the hidden west. And on the very hilltop a few scattered olives, peaches, and wild cherries scrawled upon the blue, their bare, leaning stems, their pearly whites, their golden pinks and feathery gray, all in a glory of sunset that made of them things enchanted, aerial, fantastical, like a dance of Botticelli angels on the height.
The story opens with a graphic description of Lady Henry's salon--frequented by the most prominent people in London--where the chief attraction was not the great lady herself, but her maid companion, Julie Le Breton. Everywhere Julie was met with smiles and evidence of eager interest. She knew every one, and "her rule appeared to be at once absolute and welcome." But one evening Lady Henry was ill and gave orders that the guests be turned away with her apologies. As the carriages drove up, one by one, the footman rehearsed Lady Henry's excuses. But a group of men soon assembled in the inner vestibule, and Julie felt impelled to invite them into the library, where they were implored not to make any noise. The distinguished frequenters of Lady Henry's salon were all there. Coffee was served, and, stimulated by the blazing fire and a sense of excitement due to the novelty of the situation, an animated conversation sprang up, which continued till midnight and was at last suddenly interrupted by the unexpected appearance of Lady Henry herself.
Lady Henry's awakening led to Julie's dismissal. But her friends did not desert her. A little cottage was found, where Julie was soon comfortably installed.
This much of the story--and little if any more--was suggested by the life of Julie de Lespinasse, a Frenchwoman who figured brilliantly in the Paris society of the middle of the eighteenth century.
In 1754 the Marquise du Deffand was one of the famous women of Paris. Her quick intelligence and a great reputation for wit had brought to her drawing-room the famous authors, philosophers, and learned men of the day. But the great lady, now nearly sixty, was entirely blind and subject to a "chronic weariness that devoured her." She sought a remedy in the society of an extraordinarily attractive young woman, of somewhat doubtful parentage, named Julie de Lespinasse, whom she took into her home as a companion. Julie became a great social success. For ten years she remained with Madame du Deffand, when a bitter quarrel separated them. Julie's friends combined to assure her an income and a home, and she was soon established almost opposite the house of her former patron. The Marechale de Luxembourg presented her with a complete suite of furniture. Turgot, the famous Minister of Louis XVI, and President Henault were among those who provided funds. D'Alembert, distinguished as a philosopher, author, and geometrician, who was the cause of the quarrel with the marquise, became Julie's most intimate friend. When she founded her own salon, his official patronage and constant presence assured its success. Her success was, in fact, astonishingly rapid. "In the space of a few months," says her biographer, the Marquis de Segur, "the modest room with the crimson blinds was nightly filled, between the hours of six and ten, by a crowd of chosen visitors, courtiers and men of letters, soldiers and churchmen, ambassadors and great ladies, ... each and all gayly jostling elbows as they struggled up the narrow wooden stairs, unregretting, and forgetting in the ardor of their talk, the richest houses in Paris, their suppers and balls, the opera, and the futile lures of the grand world."
The remarkable career and unique personality of this famous woman furnished the suggestion for Julie Le Breton. But beyond this the resemblance is slight. The subsequent history of the Frenchwoman has no relation to the story of "Lady Rose's Daughter," and the personality of the two women differs in many respects.
"The Marriage of William Ashe" is like "Lady Rose's Daughter" in two important respects: it is a story in which the author reveals an extraordinary knowledge of English politics and familiarity with the social life of the upper classes, and it is one in which a story of real life plays an important part. Indeed, there is far more of real life in this novel than in any other the author has written. William Ashe and his frivolous and erratic wife Kitty are portraits, considerably modified, it is true, but nevertheless real, of William and Caroline Lamb. William Lamb--known to posterity as Lord Melbourne--did not become a distinguished statesman until after he had entered the House of Lords. For twenty-five years he had been a member of the House of Commons, of little influence and almost unknown to the country at large. But soon after the death of George IV he entered the cabinet of Earl Grey as Home Secretary. This was in 1830. Less than four years later he rose suddenly to the highest position in the state. As Premier it was his unique privilege to instruct the young Queen, Victoria, in the duties of her high office--a task which he executed with commendable tact and skill. It is the inconsequential William Lamb of the House of Commons, and not the exalted Lord Melbourne, whom Mrs. Ward had in mind in portraying William Ashe; and it was more particularly his young wife, Caroline Lamb, who furnished the real motive of the novel.