THE STORY OF

MY LIFE

BY

AUGUSTUS J. C. HARE

AUTHOR OF "MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE,"

"THE STORY OF TWO n.o.bLE LIVES,"

ETC. ETC.

VOLUME III

LONDON GEORGE ALLEN, 156, CHARING CROSS ROAD

1896

[_All rights reserved_]

_Printed by_ BALLANTYNE, HANSON & CO.

_At the Ballantyne Press_

CONTENTS

PAGE

ENGLISH PLEASURES AND ROMAN TRIALS 1 LAST YEARS OF ESMERALDA 233 THE ROMAN CATHOLIC CONSPIRACY 273 LAST YEARS WITH THE MOTHER 314 INDEX TO VOLS. I., II. AND III. 421

LIST OF ILl.u.s.tRATIONS

VOL. III

ANNE F. M. L. HARE. _From Swinton._ (_Photogravure_) _Frontispiece_

PAGE THE CORONATION CHAIR, WESTMINSTER 4 BAMBOROUGH CASTLE 9 THE SUNDIAL GARDEN, FORD 12 THE FOUNTAIN, FORD 13 FORD CASTLE, THE TERRACE 28 ELIZABETH, LADY STUART DE ROTHESAY. _From a miniature_ _by Miss A. Dixon._ (_Photogravure_) _To face_ 32 THE Pa.s.s OF BRACCO 52 AT PORTO VENERE 53 LA SPINA, PISA 62 CONTADINA, VALLEY OF THE SACCO 99 THE BRIDGE OF AUGUSTUS, NARNI 101 THE MEDI?VAL BRIDGE, NARNI 102 VIEW FROM THE BOBOLI GARDENS, FLORENCE 104 HOLMHURST, FROM THE GARDEN 108 LADY AUGUSTA STANLEY. (_Photogravure_) _To face_ 110 ALTON BARNES CHURCH 111 BODRYDDAN 124 S. REMY 137 FROM MAISON S. FRAN?OIS, CANNES 138 BOCCA WOOD, CANNES 140 MAISON S. FRAN?OIS, CANNES 141 MARIA HARE. (_Line engraving_) _To face_ 142 CAGNES 145 ANTIBES 147 LE PUY 150 ROYAT 151 IN THE DEAN'S GARDEN, CANTERBURY 156 ARTHUR PENRHYN STANLEY, DEAN OF WESTMINSTER. (_Photogravure_) _To face_ 158 COURTYARD, DEANERY, WESTMINSTER 160 PALACE GARDEN, PETERBOROUGH 163 FONTAINES 184 ARC DE S. CESAIRE, ALISCAMPS, ARLES 185 AT SAVONA 186 SESTRI 189 CASTLE OF ESTE 227 PETRARCH'S TOMB, ARQUA 230 TOMB OF THE COUNT OF CASTELBARCO, VERONA 231 ESMERALDA'S GRAVE 271 MARY STANLEY. (_Photogravure_) _To face_ 282 JOIGNY 316 PORTE D'ARROUX, AUTUN 321 FORD CASTLE, THE LIBRARY 325 BAR-LE-DUC 334 BRIDGE OF BAR-LE-DUC 335 MANTUA 337 VICENZA 339 VICENZA FROM MONTE BERICO 340 THE PRATO DELLA VALLE, PADUA 341 SIENA 342 S. GEMIGNANO 343 THE H?TEL DE LONDRES DURING THE FLOOD 349 S. ANTONIO, PISA, DURING THE FLOOD 355 VIEW FROM THE VIA GREGORIANA 361 NEMI 369 TIVOLI 371 BRACCIANO 375 GRAVE OF AUGUSTUS W. HARE, ROME 377 FROM THE LOGGIA DEI LANZI 379 PIAZZA S. DOMENICO, BOLOGNA 381 CLUNY 384 CLOISTER OF FONTENAY 385 ST. MARTIN'S, CANTERBURY 394 HENRY ALFORD, DEAN OF CANTERBURY. (_Photogravure_) _To face_ 394 THE CHURCH LANE, HURSTMONCEAUX 410

XII

ENGLISH PLEASURES AND ROMAN TRIALS

"The holidays of joy are the vigils of sorrow."--_Proverb._

"Dear friend, not every herb puts forth a flower; Nor every flower that blossoms fruit doth bear; Nor hath each spoken word a virtue rare; Nor every stone in earth its healing power."

--_Folgore da San Gemignano._

"Gather ye rosebuds while ye may, Old Time is still a-flying, And this same flower that smiles to-day To-morrow will be dying."--HERRICK.

We were for some time at the Deanery at Westminster in the summer of 1865. I think it was then that Archbishop Manning's consecration took place. I heard much about it, though I was not there. Manning looked like the white marble statue of a saint, especially when the consecration was over and he moved slowly down the church, giving the benediction. Newman was there also, and looked even more statuesque still. Wonderful was the selfcontrolling power which both these priests had. Many years before, as the Stanleys were going into St. Margaret's, there was a scuffle, and a huge black cat was driven out of the church.

No one thought any more about it, and n.o.body saw any more of it, till, just as Newman was coming forward within the altar-rail, and was in the act of reading the Communion Service, the black cat sprang from one of the rafters of the roof, and came crashing down upon him, falling upon the hem of his white surplice. Newman's face never changed a muscle, and quietly, reverently, and slowly he went on reading the service without moving: but it must have seemed like a demon.[268]

During this visit to London I frequently saw, at the house of Lady Franklin (widow of the Arctic voyager) the gentle and pleasing Queen Dowager (Emma) of the Sandwich Islands.[269] Her complexion was copper-coloured, but she was very good-looking, and simply but handsomely attired in the dress of an English widow lady. She had greatly looked forward to the fogs of England, having been used to nothing but the blue or copper-coloured sky of the Pacific, and was dreadfully disappointed when she saw the resplendent blue sky of the glorious day on which she arrived at Southampton. "Why, I might just as well have been in the Sandwich Islands." She went over Westminster Abbey with far more knowledge of the tombs and persons they commemorate than I have seen in European royalties with whom I have visited the Abbey in later days. In stepping back to allow the Queen to inspect the Coronation Chair, my mother had a bad fall on the pavement of Edward the Confessor's Chapel, and the concern and amiability she showed made her very attractive.

Mr. Evans, of St. Andrew's, Wells Street, preached in Westminster Abbey at the evening service whilst we were at the Deanery. He preached on the destruction of the Temple, applying it to Westminster--that we were not to be taken in by "the grandeur of the building, the solemn distances of the choir, the misty shadows of the roof, the windows by painters who dipped their pencils in the rainbow," &c. He described the different Jewish temples; the first, rising from the heart of David and the hand of Solomon; the second, of Zerubabel; the third built by Herod, and "certainly _he_ was no saint."

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE CORONATION CHAIR, WESTMINSTER.[270]]

After the sermon was over I rushed upstairs, and was preaching it to the family with all its quaintnesses, when I saw Mary Stanley making most unaccountable faces, and turning round, I found Mr. Evans close behind me. The little dark figure had hirpled itself into the room and was listening all the time.

Madame Mohl (whom I have described at Paris in 1858) was staying at the Deanery, where Arthur and Augusta were very fond of her, and always called her "Molina." She was most amusing.

"When I was leaving Paris, I asked my friend M. Bourdon whether I could take anything to England for him, and he said that he was obliged to me, and that if I would take a very valuable Indian shawl, he would avail himself of my offer. However, before I left Paris, my little friend Barbara was starting for England, and she said to me that part of her box was empty, and that she could take anything I wanted, so I was very glad to give her M. Bourdon's Indian shawl. Now Barbara was in that dreadful accident at Staplehurst, and so were all her boxes, and when the train went over, the boxes went down into the water, and all the things were spoilt. At first I hoped it was not so bad, but 'the fact is that the shawl _is_ spoilt,' wrote Barbara to me, and ever since that M.

Bourdon and I have been _en froid_, which I am very sorry for, as we used to be such good friends."

"Oh, that will soon pa.s.s," I said.

"No, I am afraid it will _not_," said Madame Mohl, "for remember we are _en froid_, not merely _en delicatesse_. Being _en delicatesse_ is easily remedied. 'Je suis en delicatesse avec maman,' said a young lady to me.... A little while ago I went to see the famous author Jules Janin. He could not attend to me. He was sitting at a table covered with papers and was writing notes. Messengers went off with the notes, and almost immediately came back with the answers, which were evidently written a very short distance off.

This went on for some time, till at last Jules Janin looked up and said, 'Je vous demande mille pardons: faites bien d'excuses, Madame: c'est que je suis en delicatesse avec ma femme.'"

One day Madame Mohl told me:--

"There was a handsome young woman married to a man who was in her own, which was a very lowly station of life, but after her marriage she consented to go a journey by sea with a family which she had previously lived with. On the way the ship was wrecked, and she was one of the few persons saved. It was a desolate coast, and one of the officers who was saved with her fell in love with her--she was a very pretty young woman--and married her. Eventually they returned to England, and he died, leaving her a very fine place and a large fortune. Some years after, her favourite maid told her that she was going to be married, and, being attached to her maid, she desired her to bring her betrothed that she might see what he was like. When he came in, she recognised her own first husband. He did not know her again, but going upstairs, she put on an old shawl, and coming down said, 'Do you remember that shawl?'--'Yes,' he said, 'it is the shawl which I gave to my wife on our wedding-day.' Then the lady revealed herself and took her husband back; but he was a low man, and led her an awful life and drank dreadfully; but on the whole that was a good thing perhaps, for it soon brought on delirium tremens, so that he died and she got rid of him. 'What a fool she was ever to let him know who she was!' was what I felt when I heard the story."

"Well, I suppose she wanted to save her maid from marrying a man who was married already," I said; "it would have been very wrong if she had not."

"So the Bishop of Winchester seemed to think," said Madame Mohl, "for he was there when the story was told, and he was very much shocked and very grave, and he said, 'I think, Madame, that you should recollect our life is only a railway, and that it does not signify so much if we are comfortable in the railway, as at the home to which we are going.' But I told him I would rather be comfortable in the railway as well, and that I would certainly not have been such a fool--and the Bishop of Winchester thought I was a very wicked person."

In August and September my mother was very well, and had a succession of visitors, so that I was able to be away from her.

_To_ MY MOTHER.