GROVE HOUSE, KENSINGTON,
Jan. 27, 1822.
As if wakening from a long dream, I find myself sitting in exactly the same comer, on the same chair, in the same room where Fanny, and Honora, and I were three years ago! Lady Elizabeth Whitbread [Footnote: Eldest daughter of the first Earl Grey.] looks better than she did when we left her, though much thinner: her kindness and the winning dignity of her manners the same as ever. She was at breakfast with us at half-past nine this morning, when she went to her church and we to Kensington — Mrs. Batty’s pew — Harriet and I. Fanny stayed at home for the good of her body, and Lady Elizabeth left with her, for the good of her soul, that wicked Cain. [Footnote: Lord Byron’s Cain, which was preached against in Kensington Church by Mr. Rennel.]
Miss Grant will be here on Monday, absent a fortnight nursing Mrs. Nesbitt. A new dog, Jubal: Lady Elizabeth heard one of the little Battys say, “Lion has hatched a new dog,” and the sister correcting her, “Oh, my dear! hatched! you mean laid!” Jubal is very like Lion, only younger and handsomer: milk-white, and shorn poodle fashion.
To MRS. RUXTON. GROVE HOUSE, Feb. 1822.
I am glad you like the preface to Frank: the engineer and the scientific part will tire you — skip and go on to the third volume. Delightful breakfast to-day at Mr. Ricardo’s. We have this last week seen all Calcott’s principal pictures, and those by Mulready, an Irish artist: one of a messenger playing truant; the enraged mistress, and the faces of the boys he is playing with, and the little child he had the care of asleep, all tell their story well; but none of these come near the exquisite humour and ingenuity of Hogarth. I have the face of that imbecile, round-eyed, half-drunk friend of ours in the corner of the “Election Dinner” now before me, and I can never think of it without laughing.
We have seen Sir Thomas Lawrence’s magnificent picture of the King in his coronation robes, which is to be sent to the Pope. [Footnote: Now in the Lateran Palace.] He flatters with great skill, choosing every creature’s best. An admirable picture of Walter Scott; ditto ditto of Lady Jersey and Lady Conyngham. Lord Anglesea came in while we were with Sir Thomas: he is no longer handsome, but a model for the “nice conduct” of a wooden leg. It was within an inch of running through Walter Scott’s picture, which was on the floor leaning on the wall; but, by a skilful sidelong manoeuvre, he bowed out of its way. His gray hair looks much better than His Majesty’s flaxen wig — bad taste.
To MRS. EDGEWORTH. KENSINGTON GORE, Feb. 6, 1822.
A dreadful storm two nights ago, which blew down two fine old trees in the park, and a miserable wet day, in which we made our way to the dentist’s.
Colonel Talbot dined here — cast in the same mould as all the other Talbots I have ever seen: his face has been bronzed by hardships, and scorched by the reflection from American snows: his manner of speaking slow — not too slow, only slow enough to be calmly distinct; and when relating wonders and dangers, gives you at once the certainty of truth, and the belief in his fortitude and intrepid presence of mind. He related the visit from his European friend, when he had built his log house, and was his own servant-of-all-work; and gave us an account of an attack of the Indians upon Fort Talbot. He gives me the idea of the most cool courage imaginable. I could not help looking at him, as if he were Robinson Crusoe come to life again, and continuing stories from his own book. He has now a very good house, or palace I should say; for he is not only lord of all he surveys, but actually king.
Do you recollect American Mrs. Griffith writing to tell me that Mr. Ralston would come to see us, and my extreme disappointment at his finding in Dublin that Miss Edgeworth was not at home, and so not going down to Edgeworthstown, and not seeing Lovell’s school? He has found us out now, and Lady Elizabeth invited him here. He has travelled over half Europe and is going to Spain; but upon my giving him a note to Macintosh, with a draft upon him for five minutes’ conversation, and notes to some other celebrated people, he, like a sensible man, determined to delay his journey on purpose to see them. Lady Elizabeth has been so kind to ask him to dine here to-day, and commissioned me to invite whoever I pleased to meet him. First we wrote to your brother, but be could not come; and then to Dr. Holland, but he was engaged to Holland House. In his note to me he says, “I have seen Mr. Ralston several times, and have been greatly pleased with his ingenuousness, acquirements, and agreeable manners.” His father and mother are grand — and what is rather better, most benevolent — people in Philadelphia. Meantime I must go and write a letter of introduction for him to Count Edouard de la Grange, who is just returned from Spain to Paris, and may serve him. But I forgot to finish my sentence about the invitations to dinner. My third invitation was to Mr. Calcott, the painter, with whom we made acquaintance a few days ago. He has been more civil than I can tell you, promising us his ticket for the Exhibition, and preparing the way for our seeing pictures at Lord Liverpool’s, Sir John Swinburne’s, etc.; so I was glad to have this opportunity of asking him, and he breaks an engagement to the Academy to accept of Lady Elizabeth’s invitation.
Now I must “put on bonnet” to go to Lady Grey’s. She is the most touching sight! and Lady Elizabeth’s affection and respect for her! She has desired to see Fanny and Harriet to-day.
Feb. 9.
Like a child who keeps the plums of his pudding for the last, but who is so tedious in getting through the beginning, that his plate is taken away before he gets to his plums, so I often put off what I think the plums of my letters till “the post, ma’am,” hurries it off without the best part.
In my hurried conclusion I forgot to tell you that Mr. Ralston has lately become acquainted with Mr. Perkins, the American, who has tried experiments on the compressibility of water, the results of which have astonished all the scientific world.
Wollaston, as Mr. Ralston affirms, has verified and warrants the truth of these experiments, which have not yet been published. The most wonderful part appeared to me incredible: under a great degree of compression the water, Mr. Ralston said, turned to gas!
Feb. 20.
Lady Lansdowne was here yesterday while I was in town; she heard that Fanny and Harriet were at home: got out and sat with them: very agreeable. Lady Bathurst has been here, and Lady Georgiana: asked us to a select party — Princess Lieven, etc., — but we declined: could not leave Lady Elizabeth. I do not know that there is any truth in the report that Lady Georgiana is to marry Lord Liverpool: I should think not; for when we were at Cirencester, Lady Bathurst read out of a letter, “So I hear Lady Georgiana is to be our Prime Minister,” which she would not have done if the thing were really going on; and when I went to Lord Liverpool’s a few days ago, he was in deep mourning, the hatchment still up on his house, his note-paper half an inch black border. If he were courting, surely the black border would diminish, and the hatchment would be taken down. I wish it were true, for I like both parties, and think it would be remarkably well suited.
Feb. 24.
Yesterday Captain Beaufort walked here to see us, and then walked with Harriet and me to Lady Listowel’s, ci-devant Lady Ennismore, looking just the same as when we saw her at Kilkenny: excessively civil to us. Two curious pictures there done by an Irish boy, or man, of the name of Grogan, of Cork: one of these is an Irish wake; there is a great deal of original humour and invention in it, of the Wilkie, or, better still, of the Hogarth style.
But all this time you would be glad to know whether I am likely to have a house over my head or not? it cannot be decided till Tuesday — 8, or 12, Holles Street.
Yesterday we went to see Mrs. Moutray at Mr. Sumner’s most comfortable and superb house. She had been to see the poor Queen’s pictures and goods, which are now for sale: a melancholy sight; all her dress, even her stays, laid out, and tarnished finery, to be purchased by the lowest of the low. There was a full-length picture of her when she was young and happy; another, beautiful, by Opie or Lawrence, standing screwing up a harp with one hand, and playing with her little daughter with the other.
To MRS. RUXTON. 8 HOLLES STREET, March 9.
We are comfortably settled in this good central situation. We were last
Monday at a select early party at Mrs. Hope’s. The new gallery of
Flemish pictures given to Mr. Hope by his brother is beautifully
arranged.
I have had the greatest pleasure in Francis Beaufort [Footnote: Brother of the fourth Mrs. Edgeworth.] going with us to our delightful breakfasts at Mr. Ricardo’s — they enjoy each other’s conversation so much. It has now become high fashion with blue ladies to talk Political Economy, and make a great jabbering on the subject, while others who have more sense, like Mrs. Marcet, hold their tongues and listen. A gentleman answered very well the other day when asked if he would be of the famous Political Economy Club, that he would, whenever he could find two members of it that agree in any one point. Meantime, fine ladies require that their daughters’ governesses should teach Political Economy. “Do you teach Political Economy?” “No, but I can learn it.” “O dear, no; if you don’t teach it, you won’t do for me.”
Another style of governess is now the fashion, — the ultra-French: a lady-governess of this party and one of the Orleans’ or liberaux met and came to high words, till all was calmed by the timely display of a ball-dress, trimmed with roses alternately red and white,—”Garniture aux préjugés vaincus.” This should have been worn by those who formerly invented in the Revolution “Bals aux victimes.”
Yesterday we breakfasted at Mrs. Somerville’s, and sat in her painting-room. Left her at one o’clock, and went by appointment to Lansdowne House. Lady Lansdowne quite affectionate to Fanny and Harriet; had fire and warm air in the superb new statue saloon on purpose for them. Mrs. Kennedy, — Sir Samuel Romilly’s daughter, — came in, invited to meet us, very pleasing manners. Mrs. Nicholls, — Lady Lansdowne’s niece,—”I like that you should know all I love.”
Then we went with Captain and Mrs. Beaufort to Belzoni’s tomb, — the model first, and then the tomb as large as life, painted in its proper colours, — a very striking spectacle, but I need not describe it; the book represents it perfectly.
Next door to the tomb are the Laplanders, the man about my size, at work, intently, but stupidly, on making a wooden spoon. The wife was more intelligent: a child of five years, very quiet gray eyes. In the middle of the apartment is a pen full of reindeer, — very gentle and ravenously eager for moss, of which there was a great basket. This moss, which they love as well as their own, has been found in great quantities on Bagshot Heath.
We went one night to the House of Commons: Mr. Whitbread took us there. A garret the whole size of the room — the former chapel — now the House of Commons; below, kitcats of Gothic chapel windows stopped up appear on each side above the floor: above, roof-beams. One lantern with one farthing candle, in a tin candlestick, all the light. In the middle of the garret is what seemed like a sentry-box of deal boards and old chairs placed round it: on these we got and stood and peeped over the top of the boards. Saw the large chandelier with lights blazing, immediately below: a grating of iron across veiled the light so that we could look down and beyond it: we saw half the table with the mace lying on it and papers, and by peeping hard two figures of clerks at the further end, but no eye could see the Speaker or his chair, — only his feet; his voice and terrible “ORDER” was soon heard. We could see part of the Treasury Bench and the Opposition in their places, — the tops of their heads, profiles, and gestures perfectly. There was not any interesting debate, — the Knightsbridge affair and the Salt Tax, — but it was entertaining to us because we were curious to see and hear the principal speakers on each side. We heard Lord Londonderry, Mr. Peel, and Mr. Vansittart; and on the other side, Denman, Brougham, and Bennett, and several hesitating country gentlemen, who seemed to be speaking to please their constituents only. Sir John Sebright was as much at ease as in his own drawing-room at Beechwood: Mr. Brougham we thought the best speaker we heard, Mr. Peel next; Mr. Vansittart the best language, and most correct English, though there was little in what he said. The Speaker, we were told, had made this observation on Mr. Vansittart, that he never makes a mistake in grammar. Lord Londonderry makes the most extraordinary blunders and mal-à-propos. Mr. Denman speaks well. The whole, the speaking and the interest of the scene surpassed our expectations, and we felt proud to mark the vast difference between the English House of Commons and the French Chambre des Députés. Nevertheless, there are disturbances in Suffolk, and Lord Londonderry had to get up from dinner to order troops to be sent there.
To MRS. EDGEWORTH. 8 HOLLES STREET, March, 1822.
Your brother Francis is kind to us beyond description, and lets us take him where we will; he dined with us at Mrs. Weddell’s, — this dear old lady copied last year in her seventy-second year a beautiful crayon picture of Lady Dundas, — and here we met Lady Louisa Stuart, Mr. Stanley of Alderley, and many others.
Yesterday we went the moment we had swallowed our breakfast, — N.B. superfine green tea given to us by Mrs. Taddy, — by appointment to Newgate. The private door opened at sight of our tickets, and the great doors and the little doors, and the thick doors, and doors of all sorts, were unbolted and unlocked, and on we went through dreary but clean passages, till we came to a room where rows of empty benches fronted us. A table on which lay a large Bible. Several ladies and gentlemen entered and took their seats on benches at either side of the table, in silence.
Enter Mrs. Fry in a drab-coloured silk cloak, and plain borderless Quaker cap; a most benevolent countenance, — Guido-Madonna face, — calm, benign. “I must make an inquiry, — Is Maria Edgeworth here? and where?” I went forward; she bade us come and sit beside her. Her first smile as she looked upon me I can never forget.
The prisoners came in, and in an orderly manner ranged themselves on the benches. All quite clean, faces, hair, caps, and hands. On a very low bench in front, little children were seated and were settled by their mothers. Almost all these women, about thirty, were under sentence of transportation, some few only were for imprisonment. One who did not appear was under sentence of death, — frequently women when sentenced to death become ill, and unable to attend Mrs. Fry; the others come regularly and voluntarily.
She opened the Bible, and read in the most sweetly solemn, sedate voice I ever heard, slowly and distinctly, without anything in the manner that could distract attention from the matter. Sometimes she paused to explain, which she did with great judgment, addressing the convicts, “we have felt; we are convinced.” They were very attentive, unaffectedly interested I thought in all she said, and touched by her manner. There was nothing put on in their countenances, not any appearance of hypocrisy. I studied their countenances carefully, but I could not see any which, without knowing to whom they belonged, I should have decided was bad; yet Mrs. Fry assured me that all those women had been of the worst sort. She confirmed what we have read and heard, that it was by their love of their children that she first obtained influence over these abandoned women. When she first took notice of one or two of their fine children, the mothers said that if she could but save their children from the misery they had gone through in vice, they would do anything she bid them. And when they saw the change made in their children by her schooling, they begged to attend themselves. I could not have conceived that the love of their children could have remained so strong in hearts in which every other feeling of virtue had so long been dead. The Vicar of Wakefield’s sermon in prison is, it seems, founded on a deep and true knowledge of human nature,—”the spark of good is often smothered, never wholly extinguished.”
Mrs. Fry often says an extempore prayer; but this day she was quite silent while she covered her face with her hands for some minutes: the women were perfectly silent with their eyes fixed upon her, and when she said, “you may go,” they went away slowly. The children sat quite still the whole time, — when one leaned, the mother behind set her upright.
Mrs. Fry told us that the dividing the w
omen into classes has been of the greatest advantage, and putting them under the care of monitors. There is some little pecuniary advantage attached to the office of monitor which makes them emulous to obtain it.
We went through the female wards with Mrs. Fry, and saw the women at various works, — knitting, rug-making, etc. They have done a great deal of needlework very neatly, and some very ingenious. When I expressed my foolish wonder at this to Mrs. Fry’s sister, she replied, “We have to do, recollect, ma’am, not with fools, but with rogues.”
There is only one being among all those upon whom she has tried to make salutary impression, on whom she could make none, — an old Jewess. She is so depraved, and so odiously dirty that she cannot be purified, body or mind; wash her and put clean clothes on, she tears and dirties them, and swarms with vermin again in twenty-four hours. I saw her in the kitchen where they were served with broth: a horrible spectacle, which haunted me the whole day and night afterwards. One eye had been put out and closed up, and the other glared with malignant passion. I asked her if she was not happier since Mrs. Fry had come to Newgate. She made no direct reply, but said, “It is hard to be happy in a jail; if you tasted that broth you’d find it is nothing but dishwater.” I did taste it, and found it was very good.
Far from being disappointed with the sight of what Mrs. Fry has effected, I was delighted. We emerged again from the thick, dark, silent walls of Newgate to the bustling city, and thence to the elegant part of the town; and before we had time to arrange our ideas, and while the mild Quaker face and voice, and wonderful resolution and successful exertions of this admirable woman were fresh in our minds, morning visitors flowed in, and common life again went on.
Complete Novels of Maria Edgeworth Page 665
