Miss Eden's Letters

We came to London last Monday, George and I having passed our whole summer at Eastcombe. He still has a great deal of business at Greenwich,303 but is beginning to see his way through it and is, at all events, in better health and spirits. We shall probably live only part of the year at Greenwich, and there is a very nice house in the park belonging to George’s office, with a little greenhouse next to it, and it may by courtesy be called a small villa.304 For my part I shall like it extremely, but George hates the idea of it so much that I say nothing. He is sure to do at last what he ought, and though he declares he can never go there, we go on very quietly buying furniture, arranging with servants, etc. You see (this is between ourselves) that rather than be bored with this business which he has taken in utter aversion, he would almost prefer giving up his office, thereby making himself uncomfortably poor. I think that’s great nonsense, and that he would repent when he had done it.

Because he has met with dishonesty once, he is not more likely to meet with it again, and as he is always making business for himself, at the London University or Zoological Gardens or somewhere, he cannot want to be idle, and had better do what he is paid for, than what he is not paid for – both if he likes it. But at all events the first is the best, so I go on taking no notice, and he is recovering fast his usual activity.

I daresay London will be pleasant enough in a week or so. I see plenty of stray people about it. Ladies with very considerable figures, and attentive bored husbands attending them in the short walks they are able to take, not to be out of sight of the monthly nurse.

Lady H. Baring being one of the most considerable, and Bingham305 one of the most attentive, I went with them to the Adelphi on Wednesday and was in agonies all the time. The house was so full there would not have been room for even the smallest baby in addition.

It is very odd that the Duke of Wellington will not say one word as to the intentions of the Government, because as it is, nothing can be more terrific than the state of things. I begin to believe what some people say – that he has no plan and does not know what to do. In short another Goderich come to judgement.

The Copleys have been at Chatsworth – an immense party, private theatricals, dancing, etc., and they were all enchanted.

It amused me that Coppy [Miss Copley] should act Antonio in the “Merchant of Venice,” she must have been such a good figure, and somehow the idea tickled my fancy particularly. I think she must have done it well. Antonio is an excellent over-friendly bore, and though it is wrong of us, you know that is the light in which Coppy strikes us.

The Duke of Portland, as usual, does not take joy in Lady Lucy’s306 marriage, and gives her no money. His is a good plan: he holds out his daughters as fortunes till somebody proposes for them, and then he gives them nothing because they accept the proposal. And then in a rage his sons-in-law threaten to carry off their wives to some horrid climate. Lord Howard is going to try the West Indies.

The London University has opened with most unexpected success. They have nearly 250 students entered already, and several of the Professors have distinguished themselves much in their introductory lectures, and there have been crowds sent away who were anxious to hear them. George got your brother Charles307 a place to hear a lecture the other day among the council. He never can make out the names of your brothers, except George, but goes boldly on calling them all “Villiers” and then comes to me to class them. Ever your affectionate

E. E.Miss Eden to Miss VilliersGROSVENOR STREET,November 19, 1828.

MY DEAREST THERESA, George and I went to Norman Court about a month ago, met a very pleasant party there, and had enjoyed ourselves nearly a week, charmed to be out of town, delighted to be killing the poor dear dumb pheasants, and recovering a great deal of lost health, and nursing up an equable flow of spirits, when a letter arrived to say my sister, Mrs. Vansittart, was taken dangerously ill. We had to set off directly, travelled all day – such a horrid journey, particularly the last stage, for we expected to find all was over. However, thank God! that was not the case, though she was in the greatest danger.

You will see the Mostyns at Rome. I do not know what they will have settled to do. There was no use in telling Car how ill her mother was. Caroline’s recovery must be extremely slow, in fact she has not only to recover intellect for herself, but for her husband and 13 children. She has thought and acted for them till they cannot think or act for themselves, and anxiety for them makes her recovery more hazardous.

It has been an unpleasant month! I saw the Lansdownes on Wednesday – just arrived, enchanted with their tour. Only they complained bitterly of the cold all through France and at Paris, and are astonished to find us all so hot. There never was such a season. Very favourable weather for the young pines. I suppose we shall grow them in the open air.

Mademoiselle Taglioni308 is the greatest heroine in Paris – the finest dancer ever seen. “Toutes les autres danseuses tombent,” Vestris says; “Mademoiselle Taglioni redescend.” Full gowns and full sleeves are arrived at a degree of fullness Lady Lansdowne says, which makes it necessary for all the poor husbands to sit backwards in the carriages.

They say Fred Robinson’s marriage with Lady Emily Cowper is settled. I heard it accidentally a fortnight ago and did not believe it, and now I do. Robert says Fred is staying at Panshanger quite alone with the Cowpers and he never saw anything like the love-making, rather absurd, and a bore altogether for the Cowpers. Did I tell you how I had been reading General Miller’s309 “South America,” and had been taken by it? The man himself is in London, on his way back to Peru, and George brought him home to dinner one day. It is pleasant to hear the adventures of an adventurer, and he is remarkably unassuming. He has one fault, in being horribly wounded, and I am particularly weak on that point. A common cut finger disagrees with me, and he does not seem to have a single whole finger left. However he is a hero, and I bore it wonderfully, – kept thinking of American independence, and the cause of liberty all over the world, and was only squeamish, not sick. We are busy furnishing our Greenwich House, and tending fast towards the King’s Bench. I wish you would come home; you will come just as we go. I have not answered your last letter, – no room, but go on writing, I like it.

Love to Mrs. V. Ever your most affectionate

E.E.Lady Campbell to Miss EdenARMAGH,November 26, 1828.

Emmy, are you with child? Or have you had a husband and four children in the hooping-cough? Or have you been driven mad by Orange factions? If none of these evils have befallen you, you might have written me a line more. I know yours was the last letter, but think of me and all my sufferings! And above all, the standing disappointment of not seeing you, when I was literally airing the sheets and killing the fowls for you. And there I was without encumbrance, a free woman, ready to go all over the Causeway – and as I fear I am now beginning a child, I do not know when I shall be my own woman again.

Sir Guy has literally had the whooping-cough and is not well yet, and you who know what Lord Auckland is with a swelled face, may imagine what Sir Guy is with a whoop rending his lungs. The children have all had it rather lightly, but are still rather disagreeable and like a rookery. My dear, I had a glimpse of Lady Wallscourt310 at the Inn. I spent half an hour with her; she is afraid of the whooping-cough and would not come to me. I think I ought to bénir la providence that bricks and mortar stood my friends, and that she could not find a house; for truly I think you anticipated justly that she would not exactly be the person I should wish to spin my days with. However, I will work up a little good feeling and liking towards her next Spring, when she may want it, – and, my dear, I must confess to you that the slang of good society, even, is now grown irksome to me, I suppose from want of habit, particularly when it is not supported by any ideas.

However, my Dearest, don’t think I am bitter. Indeed I love to think of all the good there is in the world, – not for your sake, though you are my great link. But then I consider you as my world in itself.

I hope it will not be in the power of any swindler to keep you from me next year, for I really cannot do so long without a clearance of ideas. There will be such old stores to dispose of. Emily, I am ashamed to confess to you how I have suffered from the Orange spirit of this horrid black North. I am ashamed to tell you how wickedly irritated I was, I am getting better now. The fearful evil I feel of this party spirit is, it is so catching. It kindles all the combustibles of contradiction and retaliation within one, till, though it was injustice that irritated me, yet I fear I should not have dealt justly towards them. I am not sanguine, I think nothing will be done; and I wish I thought better of the Association.311 I am constantly told indirectly that the friends of the Catholics should fear their ascendancy, for if they begin a massacre they will cut down friend and foe. Pleasant little images!.. It is such a comfort to me that by leaving the world one can get rid of its taint to a certain degree; for I do not think I could bear to hear one half of the things I used to think nothing of at all some years ago.

I cannot tell you how kind to us Lord Gosford312 has been. We spent a few days with him in his remnant of a house. I never would cut up my old gown till I had another to my back, which has been his case. He pulled down three-quarters of a liveable house and began a large granite Castle, and inhabits the gore of the house. However, we were very merry in the Lambeau. I think he does seem the most good-humoured person I ever saw…

I am quite glad Lord Gosford liked me, because when I am very long away from you I am afraid you will find me so rusty and grown shabby. He is very pleasant. It was quite refreshing to be in a green liberal atmosphere at Caledon. I like him313 too; he is such a plain matter-of-fact man, and I think there is a good deal of steady ballast of that sort wanted on the Liberal side, because it gives twice as much confidence as talent. Lady Caledon knew something of you but not right. I was obliged to teach her a good deal, she thought you so devoted to the world. You see – you know what I mean. Now I was dying to tell her that it was the world loved you. The children behaved well, which was a relief to me. It is the first time they have been let loose in company. Fanny314 is really a very nice girl, and has very good manners, and I am quite pleased that seven years’ toil should really be rewarded so well, so much beyond my hopes.

Lady Campbell to Miss EdenDecember 6, 1828.

I believe in this world it is always surest and safest to write to those we love best, when life weighs heavy on our spirits; we have many more chances of hitting the right string. Alas, how often I delayed writing to you when I felt low and anxious, and had fears and fits of depression because I would not darken your page; and when I felt lighter I wrote a letter which, after all must have jarred upon you Dearest, when you were still in the slough!315 … I like your Greenwich plan much. I think it will suit you and do you good. I know I shall live to see you a real saint. Then where we are to put Lord Auckland I cannot well make out, unless he ripens into a sort of Wilberforce, but my imagination does not yet carry me so far.

I have been reading Jebb’s Sacred Literature. I like it although one is obliged to hop over a good deal of Greek etymology.

Oh, how I want you to talk to, for it is such an age since we really cleared our minds, and you know, Emmy, we do belong to one another upon some Geometrical System of fitness that we cannot well describe. But my idea is that by finding out what E.E. is to P.C., you ascertain what P.C. is to E.E.

CHAPTER VII

1829-1830

Miss Eden to Miss VilliersGROSVENOR STREET,Wednesday, April 30, 1829.

MY DEAREST THERESA, How attentive we become! frightened to death at the idea of our near meeting, unwritten to. I had your Genoa letter three days ago in the leisure of Hertingfordbury, where I have been Eastering, and could have drawn my pen on the spot to answer you, but I thought some account of the Hatfield theatricals would be more diverting than pure unadulterated daffy-down-dillies and cowslips.

Robert and I went over to Hatfield on Monday, which was the second repetition of the plays. The 1st piece was “A Short Reign and a Merry One.” Mr. Phipps the chief performer; Major Keppel very good; Mr. Egerton clever; Lady Salisbury316 herself I thought the only failure, but some people thought her good, so perhaps I was wrong. Her dress disfigured her cruelly. The second piece was Lady Dacre’s317 translation of the Demoiselle à Marier– Lady F. Leveson, Mr. J. Wortley, and Lord Morpeth the chief performers; and it was impossible anything could be better. In short, the whole evening has lowered my opinion of the merits of professional people. I went expecting to find the gentlefolk all tolerable sticks on the stage, awkward, affected, and only helped through by an indulgent public, and I found I never had laughed more heartily, never had seen a play really well acted in all its parts before, and Lady S., whom I thought the least good, was only objectionable because she was like an actress on the real stage.

The singing was very pretty. Mr. Ashley, Mr. Wortley, Lady F. Leveson, all distinguished themselves. At the end of the first piece, each of the performers sung a little Vaudeville couplet, and Jim Wortley sang one to the Duke of Wellington, who was in the front row, that was applauded and encored and applauded again, and chorussed with great noise. It turned, of course, upon the hero, and the double crown, and Waterloo, and Catholics – you know how these little ideas are dished up – and there was an allusion to the same effect in the Prologue, also received with acclamations.

The Duke seemed very much pleased, and told George to-day the Hatfield theatricals were very good fun. I meant to make this only a half sheet, but I see a long stream of untouched topics before me, so here goes for a whole sheet and rather wider lines… The Duke of Norfolk, Lord Clifford, etc., took their seats yesterday under the auspices of Julia, Lady Petre,318 and the two Miss Petres,319 and several Catholic ladies grouped under our Protestant throne, and now there only remains to come the introduction of that wily dangerous Edward Petre into the House of Commons, and England must fall, and then, I suppose, will get up and begin again.

Poor Lady Derby320 died on Friday after great sufferings and a very long illness. I think it ought to be made a rule of the odd game we all play here that those old attached couples should die together Baucis and Philemon fashion. The survivor’s is a hard place.

Fanny has been, of course, very anxious and unhappy, and has certainly lost a very kind friend in Lady Derby, who expressed the greatest affection for her to the last.

We shall not be the least settled at Greenwich, or near it, when you come back. A fortnight ago when we went there the workmen said they thought they would be out of the house in ten days. George went there yesterday, and they said they thought in about a fortnight more they should have done! A month hence, perhaps, they will ask six weeks more – that is the way painters generally go on. However, our wonderful weather excuses them. It is colder than Christmas and rains eternally. As far as we are concerned it has done its worst. We could not let this house till we find another to go into, and we shall not easily find a tenant after this week, so you will find us here, and here we shall probably stay till the 1st of June.

I only came to town yesterday, so I know little London news. People are dying rather than otherwise. I do not know whether there is much else going on. There is the Drawing-room to-morrow. Malibran has been rather a disappointment to the musical world, I hear, but I have not seen her. F. Robinson pays unremitting court to Lady Emily Cowper. I cannot conceive anything so tiresome, particularly at her age, when, as I remember, the pride of one’s life was to be distinguished by older people than oneself.321 Moreover, that dear good-looking bore, G. Cole, holds it to be his duty to stick by Frederick and flirt en tiers as well as he can. We have grown to be a very depraved set of incendiaries, and it makes me perfectly miserable to think of the peril of our beautiful cathedrals. York Minster gone, and two days ago an attempt was made to set Westminster Abbey on fire. The fire was put out without much harm being done, but no clue has been found to the man. The country is too full; a great deal of distress; great national debt; a redundancy of Spitalfields weavers; and in the course of a good hanging they might hit on these incendiaries, and no sacrifice would be too great for Westminster Abbey.

You know I let your house for three weeks, and the Vansittarts liked it. It seemed odd and unpleasant visiting anybody but you there. Come home soon. God bless you. Love to Mrs. V. Your ever affectionate

E. E.Miss Eden to Miss VilliersPARK LODGE, GREENWICH,322Monday evening, July 8, 1829.

MY DEAREST THERESA, There never was such provocation, such a combination of untoward events. I was in town to-day, went up to return Maria Copley to her home, could have brought you back with me; and Lady Buckinghamshire’s carriage which goes up to town to-morrow morning would have taken you home again. I just ask you, “Did you ever?” Songez-y un peu! Such a plain path so entirely missed. I like you to know the worst, because there is no use in my ranting and raving about as I have this evening, if you do not do your share. I wonder when you wrote to me. If only last night, the thing could not have been helped. You never could have had an answer in time, but if you wrote on Saturday, which I should think was more probable, I just ask you if it is not a little provoking? Now we shall have no talk at all, ever again, our minds must be so over-loaded that writing will be of no earthly use, and you will not see our home while it is new and pretty – in short, there never was such a misfortuneable occurrence. I went on hoping till eight you would come. If it had happened yesterday I should not have wondered. Till that unfortunate day we had all been happier here than we ever had been in our lives, but yesterday was “a day of misfortunes,” like Rosamond’s day in Miss Edgeworth’s book. The footman was suddenly laid up by a violent attack of gout; one of the maid-servants was taken dangerously ill; one of the horses took to kicking itself, of all the things in the world! and hurt itself very much, which it deserves, but it is very inconvenient to us; the cream was sour at breakfast; we got quite wet through going to church, and again coming back; the puppy and kitten fought; there was no mint sauce to the lamb at dinner; – in short, “it was a sight worthy of the gods to see a great man (or, as in my case, a great woman) struggling with such calamities.”

We preserved our cheerfulness wonderfully. I wish you had seen our house; we are all so fond of it. My friends have exhausted themselves in presents with their names, and have now begun again anonymously. I brought from Grosvenor Street a box to-day directed to me, containing a lamp for the drawing-room, and now it is hung up I should be glad to know who sent it.

I went to wish Lady Bath joy a week ago.323 I never was so pleased with any marriage as that. Is Lord Henry324 settled or not? I understood he went down to the Grange meaning to propose, and on Wednesday I heard a long account of his visit, of Mrs. Baring’s agonies of fidget because he did not speak out, and of Harriet’s confidence in his intentions, and how they both grew hourly more shy and more silent. But he had let all the rest of the party disperse, and was staying on alone at the Grange, and was expected to have stayed with the purpose of proposing without so many witnesses. Poor fellow! He seems to have been shyer than ever. I know you will again think it odd of me, and I am sure I cannot explain it, but by dint of hearing so much of their anxieties, and knowing what his must have been, I grow fidgetty as one does reading a story, that the catastrophe should be happy.

It will be a shame if he makes her unhappy. Otherwise, I do not know that they will suit very well. Lady Bath asked me about it, and did not seem very anxious for it, – said he required animation. I hardly knew what to say when she said she was afraid by what she heard of Miss Baring that was not the line, etc. I rode off on her amiability, good sense, £50,000, etc. I hope Lady Bath may take a fancy to her; she will want something to replace Char, but I rather doubt it.

Where am I to direct to you? I could be at home all the week in case any of your other engagements should fail, only come in time to prevent my dining at Eastcombe or elsewhere. Your ever affectionate

E. E.Miss Eden to Miss Villiers.August 1829.

I took a solemn oath that if the post brought me any letter this morning I would, on the first sight of Bidgood with the silver waiter orné de lettres, tear myself from my drawing and give up the rest of the morning to this detestable writing employment; and, you brute, there is a letter from you, and a good letter too, and I must answer it. And yet if you were to see my drawing! I got up at half-past eight this morning that I might have a long enjoyment of it, and of course have been interrupted every five minutes, though I was drapering a red velvet cloak with all sorts of beautiful catching lights and carmine and ultra marine and all the lovely colours in the world mixed up in it. My black heads are framed and hung up in George’s room. I do not like to say how they look, but the room is evidently improved within the last week. I have been at Putney from a Saturday to a Wednesday, my dear – “a procédé,” as Mr. de Roos would call it, a friendly attention, but extremely inconvenient, and moreover I think it bored me ever so little – not much – but it did not amuse me. I like the girls, of all things, and wish for nothing better than a talk with Anne, but there is a want of sense about Lady Grantham which becomes wearisome in a very long tête-à-tête, and we had several. Lord Henry stayed a whole week at the Grange, but nothing came of it. Let us fondly hope the discouragement came from her side. I do not fancy the woman ever being made the victim; and perhaps she found him duller than she expected, and Mr. Baring probably found him poorer. Anyhow, it might not have answered, and I daresay it will all do very well as it is; or he may, in a thoroughly manly spirit (by which I mean the usual conduct of a man) have settled that though he could propose any day, he could go out grouse shooting only on the 12th of August, and that the grouse might grow wild, while she would remain tame (I have only put that in for the love of antithesis, not from pique or attraction), and so that he had better attend to the grouse first, and come back to the Grange afterwards. Lady Bath said he met her and the Buccleughs at Longleat and was in great spirits, and she believed did not care a straw for Miss Baring, but she knew nothing from him of it…

I passed all Wednesday afternoon with Lady Bath, who was in the highest good-humour, and the whole family resplendent with happiness, except dear old Bath, who handsomely avows his joy was a mistake, and he has not the least idea what is to become of him. I saw Char, and the Duke too; and after they all went out riding Lady Bath and I went poking all over the house, looking for the presents he had given her. Such quantities of pretty things! And these were only his little daily gifts, for the jewels were not finished. “The diamonds and emeralds will both be superb,” Lady Bath said; “but I think the pearls the handsomest set I ever saw.”

Think of that little Char with all those things! And she looks as simple and unaffected as ever, – very shy and very happy.